#and then like. every time i go to the museum and there are everyday mundane obejcts i feel like fuckin dying

[0jamajos]

every single time I learn more things about ancient or prehistoric people I wish I could reach through time and fucking hug them like, you're me, you're human, you had a favorite random trinket that you loved, neanderthals brought flowers for their dead, you guys had friends, and loved to have soup your mom made for you and served in that ceramic bowl I saw at the museum, you made household items shaped like silly little animals, I love you, you're me, we would have been friends, I want to cry

[khaaidar]

Hey friend, I wanted to write a letter to you, to tell you how my life has been.

I’m currently sitting at a coffee shop, the music is obnoxiously loud here (not a fan of it). 

I got back from a trip earlier this week, it was so lovely. I went to Japan for 2 weeks, time flew by so quick it’s hard for me to believe I even went there. I’m a little sad to be back but I’m back. I feel like I went on this trip to escape my reality. It was still nice to escape, explore new landscapes, and forget about my responsibilities. I went by myself, met a few friends, had a little moment with a guy, went to so many museums and coffee shops, and fell in love with Tokyo. I took a quick trip to Kyoto but I felt really lonely there. 

I’m back in Toronto now, it’s fine. The first few days of being here were a little too sad, I cried every day. I think it was good for my soul to escape my mundane life and explore life again, i felt like a kid, i felt like i could make mistakes again, have fun, nourish my body, feel beautiful, have time to think again, appreciate my relationships, reflect on my life and work, and reevaluate my habits. 

But yes, i'm back and i'm trying to make it work again. I've been wanting to quit my job but i will stick with it for a few more months. I'm not the biggest fan of my lifestyle here; I sit at my desk 5 days a week by myself or with my roommate in the same room. Madison has been staying with me for the last 2 months, it's been kind of nice. She's very positive, ambitious, healthy, and has a great routine, although sometimes we can act like annoying siblings to each other... 

I also want to move out of my place, it is so noisy and i can't with the area and it's also just a little overpriced. I believe my apartment is one of the main reasons why i've been so negative about my life in the last year. Maybe i've always been negative about my life?

I need to start working on my portfolio again, i need to see what i've made so far and what i should work on.

I haven't been sewing at all lately, i should get back into it. i keep getting messages from people being interested in my pieces.

I'm not dating anyone right now. I go on dates once in a while but it hasn't been working out; i either fall in love right away with someone that doesn't live in the same city or i'm not attracted to them at all. I always find those people the most interesting, the ones i'm not really attracted to. I crave love, it's something i've been craving for years. i find love in my everyday life, in my friends, in new opportunities. I've been feeling confident in that idea and in the idea that i will fall in love soon.

I want to travel more, i love the way it changes the chemistry of my brain.

I'm seeing an old friend tonight with some of his friends. I'm slightly nervous, i hope i will be talkative, i will take a shot before i go.

It is definitely challenging to keep my mindset positive but i'm trying to. Being physically active helps, and listening to lana less helps too. i want to take an acting class or pilates or contemporary dance class tomorrow...or maybe i should just sign up for a full course?

Anyways, i think i'm doing way better than i think. i love you, i can't wait to see you again. Can you promise me that i will fall in love soon?

[a-d-curtis]

Artifacts

“Uh…” Aang looked down at the dilapidated wooden bucket that was placed reverently into his hands. The man bestowing it sank deferentially into a low bow; his head ducked so deeply that all Aang could see was the back of the man’s thin topknot tied far back on his balding head. “Uh… thanks?”

Aang looked down at the bucket in his hands. The bucket was old; that much was obvious. Aang held it up to get a closer look. The metal braid that held the darkened, dried wooden planks together was rusted until it was nearly black. When Aang looked into the bucket, he noted that the plank at the bottom didn’t fit snuggly like it should.

“Do you want me to… um, to help you fix your bucket? If you soak this wood, the planks will expand tightening the planks, and I can straiten out that bottom piece for you… this isn’t very useful if we can’t get it watertight again. But I can always make you a new one, if you, you know… need a water bucket… or something…?” Aang trailed off as the gentleman rose slowly out of his bow, looking at Aang with a look of utter disbelief, as though Aang’s words filling him with dismay.

“What?!” the man sputtered. “Make a new one?! No, no! You must not understand! This is an authentic, an original, air nomad water bucket!” He enunciated each word as though only someone truly obtuse would not see this for the prize that it was.

“Oh, right…” Aang hedged, looking at the beat-up old bucket. “I see.”

Of course Aang knew what this was. He and his friends had carried buckets just like this to and from the stream near the Southern Air Temple everyday. Each monk child would carry one in each hand as they bounded back from the stream, anxious to deliver the water to the cook. It was a mundane thing, something that just needed to get done. The sooner they got through with that chore, the more likely they might be able to squeeze in a quick game of airball before breakfast!

Out of habit, Aang looked behind him, searching for Katara to swoop in and help him navigate this awkward interaction. But of course she wasn’t there, Aang remembered with a slight drop in his stomach that he had come on this trip solo. Katara was still back in Ba Sing Se, busy working on a new project for the museum. Aang didn’t plan to be here in this small village more than a day, so instead of pulling Katara away from her work to come with him as he wanted to, he simply opted to handle this little task alone.

Aang held up the bucket with an importance he certainly didn’t feel and declared, “Why so it is! This is… um, very… special.” He looked at the bucket again, biting on his lip at his choice of words. To him, this bucket looked anything but special.

But the man beamed with delight at Aang’s praise!

“Yes, yes, it is!”

The man in his enthusiasm took the bucket from Aang’s hands and turned it over excitedly. “See!” The man pointed out. “Right here! An Air Nomad symbol!” Again he spoke the words like they were wondrous. “Carved right here on the bottom!”

Aang bent over to look. Sure enough. There it was. Three Air swirls carved (rather poorly, Aang noted) in the bottom wood piece.

“Well,” Aang said, brightening up a little as he took the bucket back from the man. “that would explain why the bottom doesn’t fit!” Aang shifted his staff into the crook of his elbow and turned the bucket upside down under his arm and gave the bottom a firm pound with his fist, knocking the bottom panel right out. The man gave an audible squawk, his hands jumping over his mouth aghast as the piece of wood fell into the dirt.

But Aang kept talking as he picked up the bucket’s base and flipped it over, fitting it back into the bottom of the water bucket. “See we always put the symbol on the inside of the bucket.” After making sure the base was fit in more securely, Aang handed the bucket back to the man. “There! That ought to hold water a lot better now! I still suggest you soak the whole thing, but now it ought to do it’s job just fine!”

The man looked at the bucket shoved so casually into his hands with a gaping mouth for a moment. Then his words began to tumble out of his mouth. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Avatar Aang! Now I know: the symbol goes on the inside! Oh I wish my father was here to see! You see my father acquired this treasure on one of his travels along the Granite Trading Route when he was a young man, bought it off a peddler near Dong Shaan City. This has sat in a place of prominence in my house ever since! My father had a great appreciation of antiques; and he had quite a collection. But this was his most prized – his only genuine Air Nomad artifact!”

The man’s face sobered, his voice taking on a formal tone as he once again fell into a deep bow, holding the bucket out towards Aang reverently. “But I would like you to have it now, Avatar Aang. A way to return it to its rightful place, among its rightful people. It wouldn’t be right for me to keep it, when an Air Nomad still exists to return it to.”

Aang hesitated before taking the old bucket apprehensively. The bucket suddenly felt heavier, and he felt heavier too. Sure he had run into situations like this before, where people felt inclined to present him with gifts. But it was always the most awkward for him when-- like now-- they were gifts recovered from the Air Nomads: a set of long cooking chopsticks, a half-broken glider, a rare item of fragile old saffron clothing. But these items didn’t belong to Aang, and they held no significance to him personally. Like this bucket. It is true that it appeared to be a genuine Air Nomad bucket. But to him, it was just a bucket. Something they had used a dime a dozen when he was a child. A tool. Nothing sacred or important and certainly not something revered. What would he do now with a leaky old bucket?

Wish for a new one, probably. Aang answered his own question ruefully. One that held water better, I’m sure.

He knew Katara would probably be thrilled if she were here. She was always getting excited over every little Air Nomad trinket or knickknack they found. In fact, a new Air Nomad exhibit at the Museum of Natural History is what Katara was working on right now in Ba Sing Se. In addition to working as a consultant for the project, Katara was also donating a great many of the things she had collected to the exhibit, things she had gathered over the past couple of years since she and Aang had begun traveling together.

Aang never objected when Katara would accumulate Air Nomad objects, and he appreciated her enthusiasm. Really. He was touched by how important his heritage was to her. However, there was something about it that more recently had begun to bother him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but Katara’s tendency to ���collect” his people’s leftover things didn’t always sit right with Aang.

Maybe it was something about how collecting these “antiques” made him feel even more distant from his people; each item proof of how long they had been gone, how far removed he was from them. Proof that his family was little more than memories and artifacts now. These items served as a concrete reminder that his people were extinct, gone forever. It made it harder to just forget and pretend he was just on a journey right now. That the others were still out there, just not right here with him.

Aang imagined taking this man’s bucket back to the museum. He imagined it being put behind glass on a display pedestal. What would people gain from observing this bucket? How would a bucket like this make them feel? It certainly wouldn’t make them laugh remembering the time that Dhun got his head stuck in one of these buckets when he’d been showing off for the girls from the western air temple and fell head first into the custodial closet after tumbling off his glider. They wouldn’t imagine the taste of sweet exhilaration from that water fight Aang had started that time when all the kids had decided to dump their buckets on each other instead of delivering them to the cook (they also wouldn’t recall the feeling of raw hands after lugging one of these buckets up the northern chanting tower to scrub every, single, stair as punishment for their water fight.)

What would this bucket teach a common museum patron about Aang’s people? About who they were and how they lived and what they valued?

Nothing. It would mean nothing at all.

And seeing it on display would only solidify the cold, concrete feeling in Aang’s gut that he was also an artifact now. A remnant of a nation dead. And long since, at that. Should he be on display? Did he now fit better in a museum among his people’s remaining relics than anywhere else?

Maybe it was these unspoken apprehensions that spurred Aang to find excuses to leave the museum as often as possible. Aang knew that the Museum Curator would gladly have Aang take up a permanent residence at the museum if he could finagle it, just so the dry little man could pepper him with questions about his people’s agricultural practices, yearly migration habits, and gross national trade products. Katara’s project was a good one, but one that Aang found himself finding more and more excuses not to be a part of.

Aang hadn’t told Katara any of these feelings, so he knew he couldn’t expect her to just know. And sometimes he found himself falling into the same trap, getting excited or possessive of every scrap of his culture they came across. But lately he had been working extra hard, actively trying not to. This was exactly the kind of attachment his people had tried to avoid; placing value on something that was inherently temporary and unimportant.

Aang knew he couldn’t let go of his attachments to the people in his life – a spiritual flaw that he had long since come to accept about himself – but attachment to things was still something he still tried valiantly to avoid.

Aang looked up from the bucket in his hands at the man before him, his head still bowed, although he glanced up apprehensively, evaluating Aang’s reaction to his gift. Aang could see the sincerity in the man’s eyes, his wish to honor the Last Airbender with this gift. But there was pity there too. And maybe even a little guilt? A glimpse of the world’s collective shame at allowing an entire nation to be massacred.

Aang was used to these kinds of looks: looks of pity, shame, guilt. He had lost more than anyone would truly understand, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be pitied all the time for it.

Aang took a fortifying breath, and as he exhaled, he let go of the flare of resentment he’d felt. It was his choice how he would respond. Would he pity himself too? Or would he choose to live in the moment, accepting without clinging to the loss?

Aang smiled and moved the bucket handle onto his arm, and his glider into the crook of his shoulder so he could bow respectfully to the man. “What did you say your name was?” Aang asked warmly.

“Um, I didn’t say, but it’s Shao, sir,” the man replied as he looked self-consciously to the side, his shoulders still hunched in a bow.

“Well, Shao!” Aang said cheerfully as he wrapped his arm around Shao’s shoulder, lifting him from his bow and compelling the man to walk with him. “This is a really nice bucket—I mean a really nice genuine Air Nomad artifact. And I am honored by your generosity and your gift.” Which was true. Aang was honored that Shao would offer something that clearly meant so much to him. “Please consider your gift accepted and appreciated. However,” Aang stopped walking and turned toward Shao, placing the bucket back in his hands, “it would make me happiest if you would keep it. Remember your father when you look at it. The Air Nomads, we gift this back to you.”

Shao looked at the bucket in his hands, stunned before a glow began to lighten his expression leaving a large smile radiating brightly on his face. “Thank you, Avatar Aang! I, and my children, will treasure this forever!”

Aang clapped Shao’s back heartily before walking backwards several jaunty steps.

“Or maybe just get yourself a drink of water with it,” Aang winked before opening his glider and lifting lightly into the sky, flying light and free, unburdened. Remembering his people by being one.

Just a Nomad on the wind.

………………

Other works in this series:

Chant

Incense

[literate-lamb]

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics​ and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises. 

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store. 

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night. 

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him. 

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.” 

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops. 

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches. 

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair. 

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date. 

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say. 

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it. 

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days. 

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?” 

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things. 

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour. 

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby. 

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane. 

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka. 

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling. 

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled. 

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago. 

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster. 

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you. 

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.” 

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?” 

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers. 

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors. 

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand. 

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. 

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms. 

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third. 

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?” 

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar. 

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt. 

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world. 

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two. 

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

 “Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry. 

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know. 

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in. 

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.” 

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire. 

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.” 

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers. 

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’ 

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.” 

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence. 

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back. 

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed. 

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.” 

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running. 

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear 

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍 

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’ 

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately. 

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?” 

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.” 

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt. 

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand… 

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this. 

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end. 

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive. 

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.” 

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—” 

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room. 

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his. 

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his. 

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red. 

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds. 

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala. 

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it. 

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you. 

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it. 

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived. 

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself. 

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America. 

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar. 

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said. 

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access. 

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter. 

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes. 

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment. 

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication. 

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

[is-it-madness]

Metal Fingers

A/N 1: This fic is for my lovely beta/bestie @wowjeena Heyyo, would you be up to writing a soulmate au with Bucky? You can choose which type of soulmate au but can you make the reader a normal person (so not an Avenger or anything related)?? Thanks girl and if you don’t wanna that’s chill 👉🏼👉🏼 So... it’s not exactly a soulmate au, but I hope this is okay instead ☺️💜💜 I’m also so sorry it took so long. I hope you like it, my dear.

A/N 2: The Bucky Barnes Exhibit states he was born in 1916, but at the bottom where it gives his life span, it says he was born in 1917. I googled it to find the correct year, and it said 1917… I don’t know what to do with that information, other than to tell you guys there’s a mistake in the movie. 

A/N 3: I apparently couldn’t make this a one shot, so it’ll be a multi part story. I’m aiming between 3-5 parts

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x single mom!reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.5k+

~~~

Part 1

A Fallen Comrade.

James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes

Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom. Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front. Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation and torture. But his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, The Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.

He knew these words. He read and reread them dozens— if not hundreds— of times. He wrote them down in every one of his notebooks as he was scrapping, searching for his memories that were just out of his reach. He could nearly taste them. They fluttered teasingly in front of him: close, but not close enough for him to snatch out of the air of uncertainty. 

He pulled a fresh notebook from his bag and a pencil, worried away from teeth and words. 

Start with what you know…

My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I was taken captive by Hydra and was used by them. I know a man named Steve. He was my friend.  

He trailed off. This is where he always was left floating in a sea of not knowing. He was left grasping for more. He was a starved man, empty without his memories. The few he managed to uncover did little to tide him over from insanity. He bit at that familiar indentation on his pencil, trying to think of something, anything at this point that was more than those four simple sentences he’s written everyday for the past several weeks. Sighing and pulling his baseball cap lower in frustration, Bucky returned his supplies to his bag, stood, and swung it over his right shoulder. Eyes low, and clutching his bag, Bucky made his way towards the exit of the crowded museum. Ever since the Potomac, this section of the Smithsonian was more packed than usual.

Nearly there. Nearly there. 

It was an understatement to say that Bucky Barnes didn’t like crowded areas. Too many bodies, pressing, and pushing against each other, loud noises, pointless conversations discussing mundane things. 

Nearly there. Nearly ther—

“Oof!”

He wouldn’t have noticed the boy that ran into him if his bag hadn’t slipped from his hand, spilling out the contents onto the floor. Bucky hurriedly crouched to retrieve his precious memories. He barely registers the boy picking up the items that had strayed a bit further. 

“Here you go Mister! I’m sorry for bumping into you like that.”

Bucky silently takes his belongings back from the little boy standing in front of him. 

Bucky unintentionally begins to analyze him.

Probably seven or eight. Bright eyes. Tousled hair. Skinny. Doesn’t clear 100 pounds soaking.

He shakes his head. Stop. No more. 

“Whoa, cool! Metal fingers!!”

Bucky quickly retracts his fingerless-gloved hand.

The boy pulls his hand from his sweatshirt pocket. “Yours are cooler, but I have metal fingers too! Well, actually it’s a metal arm because the doctors had to get rid of my real one because I got hurt super bad, but I think it’s really cool.”

The boy said this all extremely fast, Bucky had to blink a few times to register what he had said. A compliment? For his hand? A hand that’s maimed, killed, and caused so many people to suffer?

“Uh… I… I have a metal arm too.”

The little boy’s eyes widened even more. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but Bucky took off his glove and showed it to the boy.

He took Bucky’s hand in his and stared at it, looking back and forth at Bucky’s hand and his. Bucky stood there stiffly, unsure how to respond. The boy looked up at Bucky solemnly.

“Do you have super powers?” he whispered. 

Bucky couldn’t help but crack a smile at his seriousness, but before he could answer, a woman came running through the crowd.

“Noah!”

The boy turned to give her a lopsided grin. “Hi Mom!”

“How many times have I told you to stay by my side, young man?”

The boy, Noah, dropped Bucky’s hand and took a step closer to the woman. “Sorry. But Mom!”

A raised brow silenced Noah. The woman looked up at Bucky.

“I’m so sorry if he was bothering you. He’s very social.”

Bucky forgot how to speak for a minute. The woman standing in front of him was… well, he’d never seen anyone as beautiful as her. Bright, sparkling eyes confirming where Noah got his from, a soft voice, and a sweet smile.

“Oh, uh, no. I mean, he is. I mean‒” When was the last time he had gotten tongue-tied?

Bucky cleared his throat, forced himself to try to ignore the sweet smile that was widening, and tried again. “He wasn’t bothering me. We were just talking about‒”

“His metal arm! Look at it, Mom!” Noah hurries back to Bucky’s side and holds his mechanical hand. “Look how awesome it is! And it’s huge!” He started poking Bucky’s upper arm and gasps. “And so are his muscles!! I bet he could crush anything!”

Noah began miming picking up heavy objects or crushing imaginary things, complete with sound effects. Bucky doesn’t miss Noah’s mother’s eyes widen slightly when Noah pointed out how massive his biceps are.

“Noah, honey, why don’t we go check out the exhibit?”

“Oh yeah! Let’s go, Mom!” He nearly takes off again before giving his mother a sheepish smile.

“What did you do?”

“I… I turned our map into a paper airplane.”

“And?”

“And... it… flew out of my hands?”

“Mm hmm. I see. Well, I guess we’ll just have to come back another time.”

Noah gasps and clutches his mom’s hand. “No! Please Mom! Don’t do this to me!!”

Her laugh causes Bucky’s heart to skip a few beats, and it frustrates him that he doesn’t know why.

“Which exhibit are you looking for?”

Noah looks at Bucky and salutes. “We’re here to see the Mister Captain America exhibit.”

“I could take you guys there.”

What. On earth. Gave him that idea?!

“Woo! Let’s‒”

Noah’s cheer was cut off by his mother. “Oh, no that’s okay. I’m sure you’re busy and you probably have something to get to you.”

She’s right… Why did I even offer in the first place? I can’t‒

“It’s not a problem. I was heading over there right now actually.” 

Jesus! What’s wrong with me?

Noah grabbed his mother’s hand and followed Bucky to the famed exhibit.

~~~

“So, I take it Noah’s a fan of the Captain?”

The beautiful lady standing next to him nodded. “Yeah, Noah loves him; really looks up to him.”

“Makes sense, he’s a good guy.”

“Sounds like you’ve met him before.”

“You could say that.”

They were pulled away from their conversation when Noah ran up to them, grinning.

“Mom! Look how skinny Steve was! And, and his friend? Um… Bucky? Yeah! Bucky! He would always help Steve out because Steve would always get in fights! So Bucky would come and have to save him!” 

Noah then proceeded to animatedly tell his audience how Steve became the Captain and fought in the War. When he went to go read the display in front of Steve’s motorcycle, Bucky turned back to the woman.

“Is this his first time here?”

She nodded and smiled. “I promised I would take him when I had a day off. He’s been waiting for weeks.”

A pause.

“How ‘bout you?”

“What?” Damn that smile! He got distracted.

“I take it this isn’t your first time here?”

“No, ma’am.”

Her giggle caused his firm expression to slip into a small smile.

Bucky spent the rest of the afternoon showing Noah around. He learned that Noah and his mother had been in a terrible car accident two years before. The injuries Noah sustained to his right arm were irreversible, thus leading to an amputation, a prosthetic arm, and even though she didn’t say, expensive medical bills burdened on his mother.

When the museum closed, Noah was asking his mother when they’d be able to return.

“I’m not sure baby. How about next weekend?”

Noah did a little dance showing his affirmation. Then he looked at Bucky.

“Will you be here too, Mr. James?”

“Uh, yeah sure kid. I’ll be here.”

Noah fist pumped as his mother said goodbye to Bucky.

~~~

Holy shit. Holy shit! 

You had been trying to keep your cool ever since you found Noah with James. You were eating dinner and you still hadn’t gotten over him. That man was fucking stunning. Blue, blue eyes that were filled with such sorrow, a smile that made your insides flutter, and a deep voice you were willing to listen to for hours on end. Soft and sonorous. And he was so sweet and kind with Noah. That alone had you taking a liking to him.

“Mom?! Mom!”

“Oh— sorry, baby. What’s wrong?”

“Thanks for taking me to the museum.”

You ruffle his hair. “Thanks for being so patient for me.”

He smiles as he shovels pasta into his mouth. 

~~~

My Ride or Die:

@lehuka123 @thejournalman @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere @rebloggingeverything @just-the-hiddles @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @thehumanistsdiary @fanfictionaries @astheworlddturns @bbarnestan @buckyfan12

[artsninspo]

Unexpected Renaissance (Tre X Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Trevante Rhodes X Reader

Word count: 1.9K 

Summary: When Tre and the reader meet at his fraternity’s party they have no idea the kind of bond heading up to his room is bound to create. 

---

I was in my junior year of college when you met Tre. A totally different person; stuck up, condescending and exclusively committed to your artistic pursuits. I felt disconnected from my culture but connected to my ancestry unable to find beauty in the mundane everyday stuff that makes black beautiful. Guess surburbia and privilege can do that to a person. My mother decided to take a sabbatical and my father being a dean organized my special permission to have a roving semester. I was never interested in my mother’s mystification of the south or how she spoke about it with all its lore.

I was mortified to hear my cousin Toya didn’t know what to do with her life. But tapping into my inner artist you listened anyway considering it might be good inspiration for some work. While both of my parents went to survey some family land Toya painted my face.

“You ever been to a college party?” She asked.

“Of course… I’m in college” I stated obviously making Toya snicker.

“You’re a real bitch you know that. But still you my cousin - that’s what this family does they judge me. But you see, I’m a real bitch, I’m not gonna let you go out sad in whatever this shit is. Aren’t you supposed to be an artist?” She asked the real deal from then. “Is it avant garde or some shit I don’t understand?” She added making me smile.

“Some shit” I nodded.

“Yeah well you ain’t about to wear them rags around me. What size are you?” She asked.

“12”

“I’m sure my mama got something laying around that looks better than those rags. Cause I bet you’re into that classist sustainability bullshit too huh” Toya snapped.

“Yes I am, but I think it should start with the corporations and the rich. The lower classes naturally practice many sustainable methods.” I acknowledged.

“Good, then you ain’t all the way air headed” she commented pulling out a dress.

“I’m not a scholar I’m an artist” I clarified.

“They make y’all pay for that too? Any of those niggas in museums degreed up?” Toya asked smug as always.

“You’d do well in intellectual circles.” I commented putting on the dress and denim jacket.

“And you’re about to tear up this party” she smiled looking at me in disbelief.

The ride to campus was short and we could hear the music from the house once we got out the car. I’d never been to an HBCU before. I especially stayed away from fratboys. I watched as people greeted Toya with familiarity.

“Who’s your homegirl?” One of the guys asked. Clearly high ranking in the sorority by his confidence and posturing.

“Met her at the hair store, you said you want pretty girls” Toya justified omitting our familial relations, taking his hand and disappearing. It wasn’t until about an hour or so later that she returned and him and a few other guys got into line that I saw Tre. His movement in the stroll caught my eye and so did his arms.he had this elegance and the way the light his his skin was perfect. I didn’t realize I was staring until he was beside me. I got a closer look at his biceps .

“Tre, like what you see?” He introduced and I snickered wiping my eyes at his confidence.

“You crossed the room” I noted.

“I thought it was the right thing to do with you staring so hard” he commented. He kept talking but my mind was wrapped up on all the pieces I could create with him as the subject. My final project was on black version of renaissance art.

“What does your penis look like?” I asked interrupting him with a raised eyebrow.

“Wow, you came in with Toya right? That happened pretty fast” he swallowed as his air of confidence deflated slightly.

“What’s it look like, you have pictures on your phone?” I asked.

“Is it a prerequisite?” He asked and nodded.

“Actually it is” I responded truthfully. The tiny penises on the most renowned works of art never sat well with me. Appreciating the beauty of the sculptors work only so see those tiny members always was a sore point. Tre motioned for me to follow him in his room. I noticed eyes on us, even Toyas. He closed the door and I looked around a bit noting the minimal design.

“I bet that bed is filthy”

“Nah, I like clean sheets” he commented taking his shirt off leaving his gold chain. It made me smiled as I decided to add that touch.

“How tall are you?”

“Six feet” he noted as you stored the I information in my memory bank trying to consider how expensive it would be to do a life size sculpture in dark stone.

“Fuck” I muttered making him smile.

“You don’t want no foreplay or nothing, we can just get to it?” He asked dropping his pants and by far the best shaped and well endowed nude model I’d ever come across. Not to mention he was handsome. I circled him using my gift - a laser accurate photographic memory. I needed the body to be perfect. I could ask him for pictures of his face later I thought.

When I got up from looking at his member there was sheer confusion in his eyes.

“What, you want me to sit?” He asked confusing me.

“You can put your clothes back on.” I commented ecstatic.

“What the fuck?” He asked dressing. It hit me like a ton of bricks.

“I’m sorry, you just had perfect biceps. I’m an artist and I think you’d be an excellent sculpture. I’m probably gonna sketch you when I get back home” I told him as he grabbed his shirt. He was dumbfounded and annoyed.

“What kind of-“ he started about to blast me so I pulled out my phone finally coming back into reality and the evident danger.

“Look, I’m an artist - senior year I want to have a collection, enough for an exhibit. I’ve been waiting for the perfect subject to model a sculpture after. Michelangelo’s David is beautiful. He may have me in skill but you have David by at least six inches. In scale” I explained tempering the tension and complementing his manhood. The fire faded in his eyes as he looked through my digital portfolio.

“You did all this” he looked surprised and impressed.

“Yeah, I think it’s important for black people to enjoy art they can see themselves in” I admitted.

“You’re lucky you think my biceps are beautiful any other guy would have been fucked up with you getting that close and not sucking” he said frankly.

“My sincerest apologies.” I admitted and he smiled. “Think Toyas ready to go?” I asked.

“Nah” Tre said telling me she was occupied with his eyes.

“Alright thanks, thanks for being cool about my request” I nodded.

...

Tre was different than any other subject. It was like he was iridescent. I got another dimension another colour, more depth anytime I looked at him. Toya came home from her work one day saying Tre wanted me to call him. She never asked about that night so I didn’t say anything. We talked all night. Then there was another party and this time I went with my sketchbook and coals he stood with shirtless as I tried capturing his chest and shoulders having finished his rough outline.

Then he was visiting museums with me. Stopping by my makeshift studio in the sabbatical house nearly shitting himself every time pops came in to inquire about my progress. He was there when I cursed out suppliers and cried at the cost of a life sized adaptation, immortalization through art. He was there when the sabbatical and semester were over and we were heading back home. Then there was a Tre sized hole with me. I missed him, I missed our conversations and somehow all the art school politics, drama and preoccupations meant a little less. I found myself drifting away from superficial and towards real. My renaissance was happening at the same time I was preparing my exhibit. My Mona Lisa had brown skin and cornrows — it was Toya.

Tre and I didn’t cross paths again because of my travels until my graduation. He was visibly absent from the exhibit and frustrated about it. I’d never put out anything wit I’m that wasn’t perfect. I showed him my favourite places, I just got my own place afforded by my art instead of my parents wealth. We had sex that night, a fitting way to celebrate. He’d made a comment about not seeing me naked and how it wasn’t fair. I told him he wasn’t going to. Wrapped my insecurity on the moral high ground of not living for the visual satisfaction of men. Tre being Tre - a good man let me get away with it. Still we ended up in my unlit living room going at it on the couch. He used his hands to make mental notes. He took his hands feeling every curve, every roll every imperfection before showing me sex with artistic geniuses and proteges was nothing. I knew I loved him when he woke up and covered me over respecting my wishes about being seen. Somehow that night turned into every night for two weeks. Then he moved in three weeks later. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

I slide my stool back looking at the life sized sculpture of my man. I swallow a little emotional about it finally coming to an end. I swallow standing and daring to probe it for imperfections as my greatest critic. No one knows this body like I do.

“Tre!” I scream. “Tre!” I repeat with urgency like it can animate and walk out of the studio. He comes sleepily leaning in the doorway with his eyes barely open.

“What’s wrong babe?” He asks.

“Babe, it’s finished, four years later it’s finished” I squeal jumping into his arms and it’s a miracle he catches me smiling as he holds me close. I’ve never toiled at anything this long.

“So are you sick of looking at me yet?” He teases and I smile as he kisses me.

“No”

“You said once you finish we can start our family” he says with a one track mind.

“You’re not sick of me yet?” I retort.

“No” he admits.

I smile having denied him kids for the past two years since we’ve been married. The first year we were honeymooners and then the pressure for kids began. He stood with me in solidarity for the public while wearing me out behind closed doors. I stopped taking my birth control six months ago and have been neglecting my real husband for the art piece.

I step down from his hold taking off my glasses and gloves.

“Tre?” I ask putting things back in their place.

“Yeah?”

“I need you for something else” I admit and he swallows nodding despite his agitation the greatest husband ever. I can never thank Toya enough for dragging me to that party.

“What babe?”

“Let’s get started on our greatest masterpiece yet” I smile and it takes the double-entendre awhile to set in before he smiles ready and we get started.

______________

TAGLIST:

@determinednot2fall @twistedcharismaaa​ @l-auteuse​ @chaneajoyyy​ @thickemadame​ @longpause-awkwardsmile​ @klaylakayblack​ @amelatonin​ @just-juicee​ @xo-goldengirl​ @ljstraightnochaser​ @itsjustyazz​ @soufcakmistress​ @nijajoha  @iamrheaspeaks @4tprincess  @justgetitoverwith0​ @queenflaws @abeautifulmindexposed @coveredingodiv @nahimjustfeelingit-writes​@champagnesugamama​ @heavensangelxo​ @bugngiz​ @cherrystainedlipsbaby​ @tip222u​ @keiva1000​ @doublesidedscoobysnacks​ @shalynn-m​ @bakarilennox​ @tyees​ @damienwitcher 

[sleeplessincairo]

[ dating bucky barnes would include: ]

warnings: a somewhat vague sexual outline and a few cusses

///

Him walking around with a notebook everywhere. Bucky got the idea from Steve when he saw him writing new things to his modern day to-do-list, so Bucky decided to do the same except fill his notebook up with his old memories instead; anything he could remember from his life before being The Winter Soldier. At first, there were only a few pages filled but as his life starting to include domestic and mundane-as well as a healthy environment-activities, he started having spontaneous and soon-to-be-frequent flashbacks that, later on, contributed to dozens of notebooks filled with not The Winter Soldier, not Prisoner #56898, not White-Wolf, but James Buchanan Barnes.

You never mentioned the notebook to Bucky nor asked to read it-Bucky was a private person, and you understood and respected that-but you still started carrying a pen with you, just in case he ever needed one.

At first, the notebook(s) was/were filled with solely memories of his past-No matter how insignificant. Whether it was that time the toilet got clogged in his shabby little apartment and had to stay with Steve and Sarah Rogers for a week because he couldn't afford a plumber or that time he lost his shoe in bar brawl and some swanky chrome-dome gave him a few bucks to buy some shoes and a sock without a hole in it. He wrote everything his mind could clearly grasp. But as the two of you got closer, he started filling it with memories he had with/of you because-even if he would never admit it-you made him feel right at home.

You may or may not have stolen his dog tags from the Smithsonian museum just as a reminder that even after all the pain, despair, manipulation, and torture he still managed to be the good person he was all those years ago. He was still James Barnes, local heartthrob that volunteered at the soup kitchen during his free time, that fought a war and lost an arm during the process, that dreamt of flying cars and a future without all fights and wars, that had a soft spot for a certain trouble-attracting boy whose heart was too big for his body.

“Jesus doll, I didn’t know I was dating a thief.” “Oh James, I thought you’d already realized that when I stole your heart from right under your nose.”

Bucky’s not big on talking or directly verbally professing his love, but that’s okay; His eyes tell you everything. There was always something about Bucky’s eyes that were so mesmerizing, so captivating, you could instantly tell how he was feeling. Before you, his eyes resembled a pale arctic blue that were as cold as glaciers-His eyes were hollowed and empty, scratched raw from any emotion but your growing presence thawed them out, they warmed through the cold exterior of what was once The Winter Soldier and reminded you that the hottest fires burn blue.

He does, however, reference quite a few interesting slang choices from the 40′s, which is his own little way of demonstrating verbal affection, ranging from calling you ‘Doll’ & ‘Sweetheart’ to calling you ‘The Cat’s Meow’ & ‘Butter and Egg Fly’

He’s never been very invested in hygiene. It never really was something important for him since he was in the Army and BO was a pretty normal thing, and then he became The Winter Soldier and HYDRA never exactly gave him a bathtub-Not that he was in the right mindset to to care about it anyway-So you usually have to remind him to shower everyday-Not that you mind, it would usually end with the both of you showering together and you having the opportunity to wash his hair yourself.

Soon enough, Bucky gets real invested in hygiene, he starts reading about self-care routines, exfoliating, conditioning, and gets completely hooked. Secretly, he does it because he likes the routine, something mundane and fixed to do to keep him busy.

You’re the only one that gets to call him James. Something about the way you say it warms his heart, he’d focus completely on the way your mouth moves as you say it-It reminded him of the way his mother would say his full name before busting his chops about coming home all dirty but then later ruffling his thick hair and offering a plate of strawberry jam sandwhiches, or how the word was always lurking in the dark corners of his mind like the silhouette of a ghost he couldn’t seem to recognize until you brought it to life.

Him always reaching out for your hand when he feels out-of-place, outside, or honestly just all the time because it helps him feel secure and grounded.

Steve third wheeling the both of you all the time. No seriously, literally all the time. He spends more time in the apartment you and Bucky share more than his own to the point where you and Bucky wonder if he actually has one. 

Steve has a key to your place-Even though, the both of you never gave him a key in the first place-and has a habit of interrupting the both of you or walking in on the worst possible moments.

“Hey guys, what are ya doi-Oh...Sorry I didn't know-Buck, you don't need to throw-Jesus, okay, okay I’m going.”

“Who the hell does it look like I’m doing, Steve.”

Bucky being very insecure about his arm, he even refuses to touch you with that arm-Subconsciously, he’s afraid he’ll accidentally hurt you. At first, he only ever wears long-sleeved shirts and a glove even on the hottest days as if he’d somehow forget that there was a metallic limb under all the cotton, but slowly like molasses he starts accepting it. He starts wearing open finger gloves, then discarding the gloves, then wearing 3-quarter sleeves, then short-sleeved shirts, then sleeveless shirts, then finally feeling comfortable enough to take off his shirt in front of you which leads to a night filled with discarded clothing, the sounds of soft murmurs and reassurances, the rolling of each other’s names off each other tongues like a prayer, and the rustling of the blanket against the delicate movement of your intertwined bodies skin-on-skin, skin-on-metal as the both of you unravel thread by thread in each other’s arms.

Truth is, you love his metal arm, you love the way it’s cool against your warm cheek on hot summer nights, you love the splashes of light that kiss it every morning making it sparkle, you love the soft and soothing whirring noises it lets out breaking the silence in your room, you love it because it’s a part of him and God knows how much you love everything about this man.

Despite being the assassin that killed JFK, managed to get away with it, and mind boggle conspiracists for decades he’s a bit clumsy. He has a habit of accidentally breaking things and later on, not telling you about it.

"James Buchanan Barnes, I thought I developed super strength-and even asked Stark to do some tests on me, but apparently you just happened to forget to mention and explain why the fuck doors are falling off their hinges!"

Losing sleep with Bucky. He tends to have very frequent and graphic nightmares which leads to various panic attacks and the inability to sleep, and you're more than happy to stay up with him and comfort him. Sometimes you’d talk while he listened and watched the way your lips moved or the way the pony tail you had gone to bed with loosened and hundreds of strands escaped the grasp of the hair band or the way a yawn would escape your lips and your hand would momentarily rise to cover your mouth but get lazy halfway, other times you’d lay in each other’s arms in complete silence while you traced patterns on his chest and trail kisses across his skin.

You being his anchor. You holding him tightly and assuring him that he’s okay, that you're here, that you're real, that he’s out, that he’s safe, and many other tender 3-worded sentences uttered over and over again like a mantra until he’s murmuring them back into your chest. 

Sometimes, when he has really bad nightmares and panic attacks you grab his notebook and start reading the memories out loud while you lay his head on your lap and run your hand through his hair in a calming manner until he calms down. It soon becomes a regular thing where you read him a memory before he goes to bed like a bedtime story.

Bucky Barnes is a man who was tortured and tormented for years, a man whose life was ripped right from his very arms along with his very own arm, a man who has gone through a long and unforgettable journey where he has learned to cope, grow, accept, and embrace himself and now he’s made it his mission to encourage and help others to do the same, whether they're struggling with their sexuality, amputation, mental illness, gender, or general self-acceptance.

You educated him about women’s rights because things are a lot different then in the 1940s; women are no longer obligated to get married, cater to a man’s every whim, have children, and other traditional gender roles. At first, Bucky’s very confused and doesn't understand why feminism is so important-I mean, lets face it, Bucky was raised in a traditional society and was later on manipulated to being a bloodthirsty assassin and now suddenly, he can think on his own and his life has turned completely upside down from thinking his own thoughts without HYDRA around to thinking past social constructs and norms so its normal for him to be a bit weary. However, you're there to explain thoroughly about how unjust society still is and how women may have won a few battles but still have a war to fight in a society where they are hyper-sexualized, mistreated, and controlled, and Bucky immediately thinks of Peggy Carter and how the men used to catcall her, how they raked her body with inappropriate stares, how she was ignored and seen as a pretty face, and then he finally understands. 

Dozens of articles about mysterious beatings of assaulters around New York.

His metal arm is decorated with dozens of pins, magnets, and stickers of all the movements he supports. Oh man, you should see him during Women’s marches and Pride fairs, considering all the black he usually wears seeing him dressed in bright colors or a pink shirt that says ‘On Wednesdays, we destroy the patriarchy’. It’s a sight that truly belongs in the history books.

Bucky breaking hold of the toxic masculinity he was subjected to in the 1940s and advocating for men to be able to display their God-given emotions freely, to not feel obligated to put on a tough guy front, to telling boys its okay to cry, to feel, to act, to wear, and to be whomever they please to be. 

Bucky visiting youth centers and giving advice and support to the kids there. Every kid he meets reminds him of Steve, whether its in their stubbornness, taste for trouble, lostness, or the glimmer of potential he sees in every single one of them. He remembers every single name of the teenager he meets and later on, uses them as a mantra whenever he’s undergoing a panic or anxiety attack as well as use SHIELD’s equipment to check up on them every once in a while.

Bucky going to children’s hospitals every week to cheer up the little kids there. He ends up being quite the inspiration and their ‘Favorite Superhero’ for the kids with amputations there and they end up being one of the very few people who are allowed to touch his metal arm. Something about the way their eyes shine with hope and their hands melt at the feeling of the metal warms his heart and his insecurities.

[gypsysoul220]

Contemporary Artist Janine Antoni

Janine Antoni famously states “Arrive In your Body” while talking to PBS. It was a new way of thinking about the way every day objects without intent. “ We go around the world dealing with objects made out of, how there made, and who made them, it’s an alienated relationship. I want to give you an object where you have the history on it’s surface, and that you relate to it threw your own physicality”  (Horodner, Bomb Magazine).  She Calls it an object that makes you think of the origin of the object.

I actually got intrigued and flabbergasted as well as her intelligently stated quote and it too got me thinking, half the stuff I hold I don’t even know the history, the meaning, the root word or the origin of the word of the actual object.

For example, a paintbrush, which is a simple object. We would say paint, is to painting, and brush is to glaze something over.  It got me thinking as to when the first paintbrush was made? What was the original purpose of a brush? Was it an accident? Another example could even be the research I did this past year on a word we had to break apart which was disorder. Simply meaning “no order” the root word dis means no or none, which came from the old French originating from Latin. Simple mundane words taken out of context can mean so much more and that’s what Antoni wants people to realize. Antoni was born  in January 1964 and raised on the sunny shores of Freeport, in the Bahamas. Now she lives in the chaos of the busiest city in the world, New York. At the age of 49, she considers herself a “Performative object artist,” or better known as a sculpture, photographer, and a performer. She graduated with a BA at Sarah Lawrence, than got her MFA at Rhode Island School of Design at 1989. In addition she mentored at the Columbia University school of the Arts. Her work is about using everyday objects and making her viewers think of the origin of the object. She uses a wide range palette of medias, from horse saddles, pigments of lip sticks, soap, chocolates and even lard. Not only does she use these objects but she makes a big statement because those  mediums in large amounts. Her techniques of creating these works through her body physically and mentally. she wants to use her body to create a “natural” art piece.  Antoni uses many different parts of her body to execute her works, like her hair, eyelashes, and even her mouth to eat and chew the sculptures. For her unique and creative concept, her works have been shown and mentioned in The New York Times, PBS, Bomb Magazine, Books like the “Women and Art in the 21 Century.” She had performed her works at the Metropolitan Art museum in New York and many other wonderful places. Antoni’s philosophy was mostly concentrated highly on the importance of feminism, and the role is has in the 21st century society. Her pieces vary with her ideas as well as her thoughts.  She started creating the feminist performances in the 1970s. She has a close relationship with the emotional, symbolic, and physical idealized society we put ourselves in.

Loving Care was a very uniquely interpretive, performance, using her long brown hair as a mop, while showing the inconsistency of “dirtying” the floor with hair coloring. When first performing this piece, Antoni repeatedly stated that this was NOT a performance and that she wanted to create the sense of “relic” morality. Something as simple as beauty and mopping  is what relic simply means.

After slowly going back and fourth, she gradually pushed the audience out of the room of where the hair color first originated to the end of the door. People thought it was a shocking that she “kicked” them out.

She strives for reaction from others for all of her works, but especially from this piece. The audience’s was that , yes, something as simple as mopping a floor can get a simple reaction of getting work done by getting all of the floor mopped. Her response to her admirers was simply “Because it’s both intimate, and destructive "  (Horodner, Bomb Magazine). This piece as simple as mopping a floor had a very symbolic message.

She wanted her viewers to imagine something as simple as a mop for the use of it, the reasoning for its  existence, and the goal and satisfaction one gets from using it. To have that satisfaction of using a mundane object Antonia says that to really understand an object one must learn the object through their own bodies, that is when one will understand the object.  At that time, Antoni used to talk more about feministic views and what many women still do presently. She accentuates the stereotypical views and reactions that are “usual” while mopping a floor, or the way we portray ourselves to society, also how one has to color their hair to represent themselves.

Why is the stereotype of women seen as one who is always cleaning, and having to please others by looks. This is the philosophy question I ask myself all the time. It’s usually because not one else would, do that “dirty” work. For centuries, homework has been considered women’s work.

After watching the clip of Loving Care on YouTube, I’ve come to the conclusion, about Antoni is work of LovingCare that it is  like dancing. While mopping the floor, she has a sense of grace to it, swaying in her movement, it  isn't sloppy, it’s very long and drawn out. She seems to not mind “mopping” the floor, with the lack of verbal language, and the repetitive motion of dipping her head in the bucket without verbal langue, and at the same time a good way to color one’s hair. She killed two birds with one stone; she talked about the important of  “role play” and the simple objects we take for granite.

My favorite piece was called Gnaw. It was hard to imagine that these two oversized, 600 pound, what looks to be like stone is actually made from chocolate and lard. Sounds yummy, am I right?  You should ask Antoni how it taste, yes you guessed it. She nibbled and chewed parts of the block, spat and swallowed different sections to create the different textures.

She used these food pieces to show her weakness, and the weak for many other men and women in the world. She knows for women the stereotypical coping mechanism of abusing chocolate and sweets for dealing with emotions, and the inability to fulfill what one woman desires whatever it may be.

Antoni realized after gnawing constantly, and aggressively on these un-healthy, fattening foods that she felt more stressed. Her anxiety sky rocketed with the foods she was ingesting as she was creating a deviant act of self-purging. The sores around her mouth, which was the number one tool to create these pieces where imbedded in different parts of the blocks as well at teeth marks. She states how, “ We’re a bulimic society” --- how everyone creates a close relationship to an object or objects and how we in a sense throw them away at the end of the day.

You see a repetition of emotions pouring out throughout her works, with a wide range of feministic beliefs by her body, her thoughts of our social world and how it  contributes to our everyday mundane tasks and goals.  Antoni want’s people to not see objects for the  simplicity of  their usages but get to know the reasoning’s and the background of it. Antoni’s ideas come from her curious questioning and spontaneous ideas. Some are from her life experiences, and some from interesting facts she found throughout her life.

Antoni reminds me of  two famous well-known characters, Lady Gaga, and Alice from Alice and  wonderland. Lady Gaga for the intensity of her ideas and the outrageous ways of portraying them with lots of hidden meanings in her songs. The song Bad Romance is a symbolic representation of Lady Gaga doing everything to keep her fame and idealizing more the “bad qualities,” of the media. In a sense

She’s a “ psychopath” according to vigilantcitizen.com. At first, I thought she was talking about a boy that she liked, but was bad for her. Really analyzing this Lady Gaga is talking about society as a whole and wanting more of it and doing so in bad ways. I mentioned Alice and Wonderland because she’s always questioning, and wondering what if, or imagine if. At first it gets her in a lot of trouble but the she accepts her surroundings and adapts to it accordingly. Also Antoni, Alice and Lady Gaga observe life through a different lens than an ordinary person. Alice asked her father if she’s gone mad, “ I’m afraid so, But all the best people are.

Works Cited:

"BOMB Magazine: Janine Antoni by Stuart Horodner." Atom. N.p., n.d.   Web. 15 Apr. 2013.

Danto, Ginger. "ART/ARCHITECTURE; Life as a Tightrope: Weave,

Walk And Fall." The New York Times. The New York Times, 24 Aug. 2003. Web. 15 Apr. 2013.

"JANINE ANTONI;Rich Woman, Scrubwoman." The New York Times. The New York    Times, 28 Jan. 1996. Web. 15 Apr. 2013.

Glueck, Grace. "ART IN REVIEW; Janine Antoni: 'Imbed'" The New York Times. The New York Times, 02 Apr. 1999. Web. 15 Apr. 2013.

"Http://vimeo.com/48913765." PBS Eight. AZpbs.org. Arizona State University, n.d.          

           Television."Janine Antoni." PBS. PBS, n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2013.

"Janine Antoni." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 04 Aug. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2013.

"Lady Gaga's Bad Romance - The Occult Meaning - The Vigilant Citizen." The Vigilant     Citizen RSS. N.p., n.d. Web. 19 Apr. 2013.

Menkes, Suzy. "The Modern Blouse Strikes Out on Its Own." The New York  Times. The New York Times, 16 Apr. 2013. Web. 15 Apr. 2013.

"Open File: Janine Antoni - Gnaw." Open File: Janine Antoni - Gnaw.N.p., n.d. Web. 15 Apr. 2013.

[jammin-strawberry-jammin]

The Butterfly Effect-Part 1 ~Katsuki Bakugo x fem!reader

Warning!⚠️ violence, cussing

Previous Parts: Prologue Prologue 1.5

Next Part: Part 2

You smiled to yourself as you basked in the warmth of your bed.

You felt like you could stay in your little bed of heaven forever. However, that feeling quickly retracted as your four year old daughter executed her methods of waking you up.

“Mama! It’s time to wake up!” Miyoko yelled from on top of your back. You pretended to be asleep. Miyoko shook your shoulder. You “snored” loudly.

“Mama!” She laughed while shaking your shoulder harder. You rolled over with a loud fake yawn while stretching out your arms. You grabbed Miyoko and gently pinned her onto her back.

“How dare you wake me up!” You joked.

“Your punishment is death...by tickles!!!”

Miyoko squealed as she tried to get away from your vengeful fingers but it was no use. You tickled her until your fingers got tired. You then kissed her forehead and then let her run away from you. You got out of bed and started on making lunches for the two of you.

“Miyoko! Make sure you get dressed for school! Don’t forget you’re going to the Disaster Museum today! So you need to wear tennis shoes!” You yelled to your daughter from the kitchen.

“I know Mama!”

After you were done making and packing lunch for you and Miyoko, you went back to your room to get ready for your own work.

As soon as you were done getting ready, you went to Miyoko’s room to check up on her.

When you got to her bedroom, you smiled at what you saw. Miyoko was doing different hero poses in her mirror. You couldn’t help but gush at how cute she was with her overall dress and light pink t-shirt.

“Come on my little hero, I need to do your hair,” you said after looking at the time. Miyoko grinned at her nickname and bounced over to you. “I can’t wait until I get my quirk so then I can be a real hero!” Miyoko said as you began to brush her spikey blonde locks the best you could. “Oh yeah, those bad guys won’t stand a chance against you,” you encouraged, but in reality you were getting slightly worried. Miyoko and Hiroyuki were the only two in their class who haven’t gotten their quirks yet. You were beginning to wonder if they ever would.

You clipped Miyoko’s spikey blonde bangs to the side with a barrette that had her favorite hero’s emblem on it, half of a snowflake and half of a flame. “Okay my Little Hero, after you get your shoes on, we’ll be all set. Let’s get going,” you said as you grabbed the bentos and your keys from off the counter. Miyoko quickly got her tennis shoes on and you both rushed out the door.

~*~

At first, the idea of working for a hero agency sounded fun.

To be fair, it was exciting being around all that action everyday. But after that initial excitement of actually working under a Pro Hero wore off, you realized that it’s just like every other mundane office job.

Sure, there are a lot of really interesting jobs in a hero agency like going out in the field and helping pedestrians, catching criminals and stopping robberies. With jobs like these, you’d think working under a hero agency would be the coolest thing ever. But somehow, you pulled the short straw and got stuck with all the paperwork.

Your job is to deal with the damages that come after the big fights. You’d be surprised at how much damage is actually caused during a criminal pursuit if you didn’t see it everyday. Hero agencies get into law suits all the time for all the damages caused during a pursuit. So, they started hiring people like you to sort out these lawsuits. You wouldn’t call yourself a lawyer, though. You worked more as a freelancer. Your job consisted mostly of you watching videos of past pursuits, recording live action pursuits for evidence, distinguishing damages that belonged to whatever agency that you were currently employed under, writing those damages down (along with their costs), and sending them off for people to get compensation. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself the best, but you were heavily sought after.

The crime alert started blaring. You stood up from your cubicle. “What’s happening? Give me the details, Anko,” you asked your co-worker as you got your blazer jacket on. “The pursuit started as a simple store robbery, but it has escalated into a high risk pursuit. You better get going, some idiot keeps setting off explosives,” Anko told you with a bored tone in her voice. A funny feeling nestled into your chest. “Where is this happening?” You asked as you grabbed everything you would need. “Well, I think they said they’re at the Disaster Museum now.” Realization hit you like a train.

“Miyoko!”

~*~

“Come back here you bastard!”

The villain didn’t stop. In fact, he laughed and just kept running. Eventually he turned to go into a service door of a nearby building. “Hey Bakugo! We gotta make a plan Bro! I think the building that villain just went into is the Disaster Museum. We can’t just run in there, we don’t know how many civilians are in there,” Kirishima yelled while chasing after the other Pro.

Bakugo huffed out an angry breath of air. “You and Dunce Face go to the main entrance and see if you two can start evacuating people out the front. I’ll stay on this shitty villain’s trail,” Bakugo told Kirishima. Kirishima smiled. “You got it Bro!” He said before calling to Kaminari and turning around towards the front entrance. Bakugo ran faster after the villain.

When he got inside the building, it was dark. Bakugo guessed they must have entered through a repairs part of the museum. There were broken down animatronics scattered all over the room. A lot of the props looked like they’d been there awhile based on the inch thick dust that had gathered on top of them. Some of them were saved by some sheets covering them, but those sheets didn’t stop the floor from getting dusty. Bakugo could easily see a trail of footprints on the floor from the villain that had recently made his way through here and he started following them.

The trail led to a closet in the room. Bakugo reached for the handle. The villain busted through the door and started running towards the center the museum. Bakugo quickly recovered from the blow of door and chased after the villain again. This time the villain was chased into a fairly small control room.

“You have no where to go you bastard, so don’t even try running again,” Bakugo said as he blocked the entrance. The villain gave a malicious grin and laughed.

“I don’t have to. I’m right where I want to be,” the villain said before revealing a bomb sewn to his chest.

*~*

Hello guys! We’re finally getting into the real story! I’m excited! Tell me what you guys think! Also if you wanna be put into the tags list just tell me!

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[missmarquin]

A Love That Burns Like the Sun

Their love burns like the sun, seemingly forever until it blinks out. The moments before a star's death are always the strongest though and the older they get, the more they love and love and love.It’s been a long time since Sylvain has drowned in the darkness that was space. Sylvix, Oneshot, Modern AU.  Read on A03 for better quality! ---

A Love That Burns Like the Sun

Sylvain’s waiting for his coffee to cool as he watches Felix flit back and forth, his chaotic energy filling the room as he readies for the morning. There’s a piece of toast in one hand and one leg in his trousers as the other tries to pull them over his hips. He trips in his haste, barely catching himself on the kitchen table. Sylvain doesn’t laugh, but he watches the familiar scene fondly, lips quirking into an amused smile as he settles into the hard wooden chair. 

The kitchen set is the only thing he’d taken from his parent’s and not because it was theirs; no, his grandmother had left it for them in her will-- them, not him-- as one final fuck you to his father and the way that he deals with gay sons. 

Of course, the words his father had used so many years ago had been far more colorful-- so colorful in fact that Sylvain’s grandmother had slapped his father across the back of the head before kicking him out. 

“Felix,” Sylvain finally says, “Sit down for a moment. Have some coffee with me.”

Felix pauses. He’s finally shimmied his pants over his hips and there’s a bite out of his toast, his cheeks reddened with his haste. He snatches the food from his mouth to reply with, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m already going to be late for work.” 

“So be late then,” Sylvain tells him with a shrug. 

“I can’t--”

“You’re the boss. You can do whatever you want.”

“My students, Sylvain,” Felix bites out. The words aren’t harsh, just punctuated and so very Felix in their tone. He puts a lot of stock into the fencing school and Sylvain loves that about him, he loves how much Felix loves his students. 

There’s a but though, as there is with many things. 

“How often do we get mornings together, Fe? Just the two of us?” Perhaps it’s a low blow, but Sylvain’s never claimed to be a good person, and judging by the way Felix pauses, it’s worked. 

Felix drags a hand down his face, pulling at his skin tiredly. “Syl,” he sighs, eyeing the empty chair across from Sylvain. 

“We never had a moment alone, darling.” Sylvain’s lips practically curl around the endearment and he sees the tremble of Felix’s lips. He’s got a retort ready to throw at him, but to Sylvain’s surprise, he drops into the chair instead. 

“What’s another ten minutes?”

“Only ten?” Sylvain pouts at that, finally taking a sip of his coffee. 

“You’re pushing it,” Felix warns, but it’s all bark and no bite. He reaches for a mug and pours his own coffee, wrapping his fingers around it to warm them. I only drink it black, like my soul, he’d once joked, years and years ago. 

Felix had been wrong of course. If anyone had a soul as black as the night, it’d be Sylvain. He only showed his good parts to people, so practiced at wearing a false smile that fooled so easily. And even if it’s gotten better, even if it’s changed over the years, Felix was the only one who’d really ever seen him at his worst and maybe that’s why Sylvain loved him so, so much. He’d seen him amidst those dark moments, pulled him from them without judgement and he’d never left. He was still there, face still cranky and annoyed as ever, but he was still there.

“What?” Felix asks, vexed, and Sylvain realizes that he’d been staring. He’s always staring, really; was Felix just now noticing?

“It’s nothing,” Sylvain promises, flashing him a thin smile and Felix narrows his eyes at him. 

“What’s wrong?” There’s a tinge of concern in his voice, just the tiniest bit and it makes Sylvain’s heart practically ache. 

“Fe, it’s-- No really, there’s nothing wrong.”

“You were staring,” Felix tells him, concern bleeding into prickliness and as soon as it had come, the man’s worry is seemingly gone.

“Since when have I not stared at you?” Sylvain replies smoothly. Honestly and earnestly, and Felix’s eyes widen slightly as he sputters before turning away to hide the pink dusting across his cheeks. “Flustered even now,” he continues to tease. “Fe, we’ve been married for nearly fifteen years.”

Fifteen years, Sylvain thinks. Incredible and astounding, everyday better than the one before because he gets to wake up with Felix by his side. Their love burns like the sun, seemingly forever until it blinks out. The moments before a star's death are always the strongest though and the older they get, the more they love and love and love. 

It’s been a long time since Sylvain has drowned in the darkness that was space. 

“Idiot,” Felix mutters, sipping at his mug to stop himself from saying anything else. 

“Forever and always.”

There’s a long moment before Felix speaks. “I know you Sylvain. What were you thinking about?” The question is quiet and probing in its approach, but Felix isn’t trying to back him into a corner. He always allows Sylvain to bolt if he wishes. 

“Us,” Sylvain answers immediately. Felix blinks, opening his mouth to reply, but Sylvain raises a hand. “Goddess Fe, nothing bad. Just…” His words fail him as he fingers his mug, the warm ceramic a balm across his cold skin. “It hasn’t been easy for us,” he finally says, “But look at us now. I get to wake up with the morning and watch you trip over yourself as you get ready, every day.”

“How mundane,” Felix snorts, dropping his mug back to the table. “What a silly thing to enjoy.”

Waking up every morning next to the love of his life wasn’t something that Sylvain would have thought he’d have, twenty years ago, so he’ll take pleasure in the most mundane of things. Even if it’s as simple as watching Felix trip into his pants, while shoveling breakfast into his mouth. 

“I enjoy you,” Sylvain tells him instead, reaching out to grasp at his hand. Felix doesn’t pull away and Sylvain rubs his thumb along the back of his hand. “Stay home today,” he asks. “Call in on your students. Cancel class and laze away the day with me. We can do nothing if you’d like, stuffing ourselves full of snack food and watching shitty romantic comedies. 

“Or we could go out, have a picnic or go to a museum. Whatever you want to do.”

“Insatiable,” Felix tells him, but it’s in jest, the closest to telling a joke that he ever comes to. 

“You say that like it’s a problem,” Sylvain counters, narrowing his eyes slightly and Felix returns the expression, his own amber eyes practically glowing at the implication. Impulsively, Sylvain places his mug down and reaches forward, grabbing Felix’s chair. He pulls him impossibly close, pressing his fingers into his shirt and pulling tightly-- 

“Sylvain, you’ll crinkle it--”

He yanks Felix close but doesn’t kiss him, only rubbing their noses in a childish show of affection that has Felix grumbling in response. 

“Childish oaf,” Felix chastises, but Sylvain can tell by the hiccup in his breath that he’s not unaffected and resists the urge to further tease him about it. The annoyed tone and burning peach across his nose is plenty enough.

“Have you forgotten what day it is?” Sylvain asks him quietly. 

Felix blinks, pulling back slightly to cock his head to the side. It’s not the first time that Sylvain’s remembered something small and silly, holding onto it until he can bring it up later. And really, he doesn’t expect Felix to remember, not really, because Sylvain is the one that’s overly sentimental. 

Felix hasn’t put his hair up yet, so Sylvain reaches up and tugs at one of the locks. “It’s the day you said yes.”

Felix looks confused, just like Sylvain knew he’d be. “I said yes in the middle of December,” Felix says seriously, as though he were concerned that Sylvain was losing his damn mind. It’s a tone that he uses more often than Sylvain would like to admit. “I remember because you thought a midnight picnic would be romantic and all I got out of it was a boot full of snow.”

Sylvain frowns at that. “You got a husband out of it.”

“No, I got a husband later on. I remember that because you insisted on a private ceremony at the beach and I spent the entire day with sand in my--” 

“It’s the day that you said yes,” Sylvain repeats, pressing his lips to Felix’s cheek in a chaste peck. 

“That’s what you said earlier--”

“I’m not talking about the proposal.” Sylvain is quiet when he leans back a little, moving his hand to cup Felix’s cheek instead, thumbing the soft skin and the hard line of his jaw. “I’m talking about--”

“Oh,” Felix breathes. “Oh.” 

The night that they never mention, the one where Sylvain spiraled into a drunken panic full of self loathing and regret. The one where an ex-girlfriend dumped a drink all over his lap at the mere sight of him at a club, causing Sylvain to bolt like a coltish fawn before anyone could see the tears of hatred for himself. The night where Sylvain cried and cried and cried, screaming that there was no one, that he’d be forever alone because the one person he actually loved wouldn’t give him the light of day. 

The one where Felix grabbed him harshly by the face, pressing their foreheads together and calling him a fool. Where Felix said fucking yes and it was the beginning of the end, but a good change, the best change.

Felix doesn’t like to talk about the night. He’s always been one part embarrassed, one part ashamed about his actions years prior to it, but Sylvain loves that night. He loves that night almost as much as he loves the man before him. 

Felix reaches out to grasp Sylvain’s hand gently, squeezing it as he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together like that night so long ago. Sylvain closes his eyes, willing himself to take deep breaths, feeling Felix’s presence before him and soaking it in, taking in the fresh clean soap scent his face. It anchors him, Felix anchors him, he’s always been Sylvain’s roots, ever since they were literally children. 

It’s a love that was born with their meeting, carefully crafted over their lifetime until it’s flared into this, into whatever they were, and Sylvain wouldn’t trade the world for Felix. 

“I still wonder if you’ll ever settle down,” Sylvain finally. “Every morning is a whirlwind for you.”

“Buffoon,” Felix breathes against him. “Dim-witted fool. I’m here, aren’t I? If that’s not settling down, then I don’t know what is, because only a moron would settle for you.” Sylvain hums at that, smiling into Felix’s hold. 

Sylvain pulls back and Felix kisses him, slow and calculated, intent on pulling everything from Sylvain that he can. It’s not like Felix, but Sylvain likes it, he’s into it, he pulls him closer and responds in kind. 

“I guess I can play hooky,” Felix murmurs against Sylvain’s lips, fingers reaching up to thread through his hair and scratching at his scalp lightly. “Whatever you want to do,” he finishes. 

“I just want to enjoy breakfast with you everyday, forever.”

Felix’s face hardens into annoyance and Sylvain laughs. “Sap,” Felix complains. “Sentimental dolt.” But he doesn’t let go of Sylvain either, fingers still laced together as he reaches for his coffee. The sip he takes is a clear distraction. 

Sylvain smiles at him, watching Felix like he’s the sun, squeezing his hand lightly once and then twice. Felix glances back, mug held close to his face as his lips contort into a near snarl. All bark, never any bite; not with Sylvain at least. 

But Felix squeezes back and Sylvain files it away, for a rainy day. 

Not that he’ll ever need it. 

[thebiasrekkers]

No Words - Interlude ii-

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Type: Interlude [Flashback]

Genre: Idol, Poly, Interracial, Tall Female, Smut, Angst, Fluff [if you squint]

Warning: Mention of racism/ racist situation. 

A/N - It’s building up, please bear with this bit of backstory. I’m giving you a chance to refill your Namjesus juice. Cause the rest of the interlude is sex, pining, and just ...why are some folk so scared when it comes to love? An age-old question with no answer -.-

Words:  2073

----

1 year ago.

“I don’t know if I can keep this up.” Tasha moaned as they filed into the dorm. A scattered sound of backpacks, shoes, and coats filled a thick silence. They were one year into a grueling schedule of hands-on work along with a heavy course load. Tasha’s pillow-muffled grunts were an everyday occurrence. The same thing - every day. They went out for language study, then to shadow the technical crew, and then hours at cafes guzzling coffee.

She could tell there were bags under her eyes. Tasha flopped like a fish on the couch. Her brows rose as the other woman moaned her displeasure. “I can’t take it?! I want to go out! We should go out, damnit!”

Tasha already saw the reluctance forming on her face. “No, no! Listen here!” She bumbled off the couch at her recoil. “No, come on! Please, I’m dying! We haven’t done anything besides work. We have to take a breather.” Tasha grabbed her hands as she grimaced.

“Aish,” Tasha smirked. She dropped her head. “You’re not gonna let this go are you?” Tasha shook her head vigorously with a pout. “Tsk, fine.” The other woman shot up with a twirl.

“You loovvvee me.” A sing-song tease as Tasha twirled down the hall toward her room. “And now I’m not going to be a liar, either.”

“Wait, what?” She turned toward the hallway.

“Well, the gang is getting together for post-production celebration.” She narrowed her eyes as Tasha continued. “..you never seem to be interested. So I told them I’d get you to come out tonight.”

“Seriously?” The edge of irritation was impossible to hide.

“Woman, I get you want to be the best - but you need to take a moment to enjoy yourself. We’re building a blueprint here! It does no good to you, or anybody, if you burn the fuck out.” Tasha came half-stomping back to the front room. Her hands were tucked into her hips with a stern set to her face. “I mean it. We have this opportunity to get immersed in everything. If you drag me to another museum I’m going to riot.”

Maybe Tasha had a point. She had been mainly interested in the informational portion of their trip. Museums, lectures, visiting heritage sites - taking photos of seemingly mundane things. She wanted a simple experience, there was nothing wrong with that. But, even back in the states? She wasn’t much for nightlife. Even after BTS music show wrap gatherings? She could be found off to the side buried in a book. Sometimes pouring over note cards and notebooks. It was fascinating the cinematographic techniques were completely different from the states. It was more aesthetically pleasing, the quality of the music shows could bring some fresh air to videos in the states.

She came off as a bit of a lone wolf, and that wasn’t exactly her intention. Tasha would disturb her studies to drag her to tables full of meat, smoke, and laughter. She was happy to listen to horror stories and near misses. It was almost becoming tolerable to be near the boys on an almost constant basis.

Almost.

Tasha was eating it up, especially when they had the place to themselves. There would be peals of laughter as folk tumbled from chairs. Ah, the soju flow was heavy. She didn’t mind pouring for them or manning the grill when people got too far gone. There were always moments in karaoke, jokes, and games.

She decided to indulge a bit still trying to figure out the right soju combination. The regular soju was smooth, different brands tended to be harsher than others. It wasn’t until out with the full crew that Taehyung offered a fruity brand. She went through the whole range before landing on Peach. She always cut her alcohol with something and it just so happened that cider matched perfectly.

For her, anyway. It was a ‘carbonation thing’ - that was always her response. They were having a great time, honestly. You could even say she let her hair down a bit. And she kept it up, for a good moment, she blossomed socially. Tasha was an absolute extrovert to start - she had no problem suggesting risky and risque games to liven up the place.

There was a time when those games wound up a little too dangerous for her liking. Spin the bottle and Truth or Dare. Harmless, right? This combination with overworked, tipsy co-workers? Not so much. Liquor makes you honest, the saying goes.

There was a time when those games wound up a little too dangerous for her liking. Spin the bottle and Truth or Dare. Harmless, right? This combination with overworked, tipsy co-workers? Not so much. Liquor makes you honest, the saying goes.

Some people got extremely honest that night.

Now, it was no secret that they were apart of the handful of females that made the cut for the program. But they were the only African-American females. It was interesting the stares they received when they were seen backstage manning the boards, or even carrying equipment. It was something they were used to, and it didn’t bother them.

They considered themselves open to any and all questioning, again - in a new place? You learn things about yourself. And it’s only fair that you let others learn you as well. Right?

So, when a particularly soju soaked night of bullshitting turned into something a bit more raw and personal?

“Oh, come on! Is it really that big a deal?” One of her classmates quipped. There was an uncomfortable air surrounding the table. “I mean, it’s like kindergarten antics, you know?” Dean was your playbook styled …individual. She wouldn’t bother to call him a man because he didn’t act like one.

The Truth or Dare was stuttered when he asked a question that only the two women of color could answer. Tasha was actually settled on the lap of a TD she’d gotten close with, Minjae. They all received training on sensitive things while touring in the states. Current issues that plagued the US so they could stay aware of possible questions or situations the boys could find themselves in.

Tasha tried to lighten the mood waving her hand, “Look, it’s just safe to ask, Dean. I don’t think you’d want some strange person coming to feel you up without your permission.” This softly as Minjae gently shook his head at her, as if to signal her to switch topics.

Dean sighed, turning to a couple of the other classmates, trying to find some validation. They sort of shrugged, but read the room and didn’t bother to indulge him. It wasn’t until he turned to her with that lopsided grin. “I mean, look at you! I always thought you had contacts in. Imagine when we found that was your real eye color!” He barked a laugh, a few of the ‘we’ laughed with him.

“I mean, you’re beautiful for a bl-” There was a female next to him named Allison. She watched with her mouth agape as he continued. Before he finished that statement? She elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t you fucking dare finish that statement, Dean!” He buckled with a sharp inhale. He looked confused as he measured the looks of disapproval.

Embarrassment.

Before she dared to open her mouth and let every obscenity fly, they all turned to their supervisors. The head PD crossed his arms across his chest, matching the red-faced anger of his colleagues. “This was a mistake.” She stood up hastily grabbing her bag and her notebook. Tasha tried to untangle herself from the bench seating but wasn’t fast enough. She escaped into the night gulping down the winter air. Ah, it was so mild. She was used to the painful cold Midwest winters, and she missed it.

Damn, she really missed it. She’d been doing so well! She managed to stave off the homesickness, determined to find a niche. But now? Now she craved a familiarity, a comfort that she hadn’t found? She wasn’t really looking for it, honestly. She’d heard the rumors, done the research, and seen all the YouTube videos. There was a deep groan bubbling in her chest; the heel of her palm digging into her eye sockets.

Deep breaths slowed her rapid heart, snow fell soft and slow on her face. She could almost picture something like home. But a voice interrupted her meditation.

“A-are you ok, Noona?” A deep voice quietly rumbled behind her.

Her brow furrowed as she turned around. “V-ssi, why are you here?” She managed to not cry, thankfully. Her hands tucked under her arms as the cold registered. “Don’t get sick on my behalf,” She managed a slight smile. His breath hitched a fraction before he lowered his gaze. “Ah, don’t worry about me.” That boxy smile plastered on his face as he looked at her again.

“You could come back in, you know?” He bit into his bottom lip. A subtle brow ticking upward as he extended his hand. She got ready to open her mouth. He could see the reasons forming behind her gaze. “Don’t worry about him, noona.”

“I think I should just go. I don’t want people worrying about me.” She stared at his hand before her eyes slid to the side. “You should ju-” He interrupted her again.

“You read a lot, don’t you, Noona?” She furrowed her brow at his question.

“Y-yea, but what does th-,” He didn’t give her time to ponder the reasoning as he answered her.

“I read too. There is a philosopher, Marcus Aurelius he was a Roman Emperor.” He seemed to ramble, his hand still extended, licking his lips. “He said, The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.” She sighed tilting her head back. “He’s a coward. I don’t think you’re a coward.” She turned to the extended hand suddenly covered in snow.

“Tsk,” She moved the snow from his hand as she took it. “..fine.” That boxy smile lit up the night as he turned to tug her back inside. Jeongguk came barreling outside his expression lightened as he saw Taehyung dragging her back with him. “A-ah! Yes, we’re getting ready to play more games.”

She groaned as the maknae continued, “That asshole was sent home.” He turned Tae with a nod, as she titled her head.

“Oh, they sent him back to the dorm.”

“No, they sent him home.” Jeongguk continued as Tae slowed up. “As in he’s done here.” The veins in Jeongguk’s forearms seemed to pulsate as he crossed them.

“Oh, shit.” She gasped. “I didn’t want him to lose the opportunity.” She sounded remorseful, Tae and Gguk, on the other hand, were mystified by her response.

“You’re kidding right, noona?” Jeongguk tilted his head to Tae confused. Taehyung only sighed, “No, she’s not kidding, Gguk-ah.” They both made their irritation known.

“Look, people are - how they are? Ok. It’s something I’ve dealt with all my life. It’s just..”

“Wrong,” Taehyung spoke between clenched teeth. There was something slightly imposing when they stood together. “It’s wrong, and there’s no place for it around us. You know we have an international fan base. Our music crosses so many boundaries!” Taehyung threw up a hand as Jeongguk seemed to tap in and finish the statement.

“…races, religions, sex, all of it. We don’t care about that. We want people to feel like we aren’t just musicians. We are a family; a community even.” Jeongguk’s tone was firm and full of conviction. “If we can have people around the globe connect with us through our music? Why would we not connect to their issues if we could?”

She looked between the two of them, dumbfounded. Had she ever wondered? Pondered their stance on the world around them? She blinked rapidly unable to find anything wrong with their words.

She wasn’t a coward. This wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. Taehyung and Jeongguk extended a hand to her. The boxy-bunny smile combination was dangerous, damnit.

“Oh my god, fine. Fine. You’re right. Let’s go.” She took both of their hands and they pulled her back into the restaurant. It seemed brighter somehow. New food was cooking. the staff was all seated around massive grilling tables.

The drinks and laughter flowed, they sat with their supervisors who quickly got tipsy so they could let loose.

[rheajstudies]

10 Questions Tag!

Thanks @yourstudyfriend for tagging me!

1. Do you like videogames? What is/has been your favourite?

I don’t think i’d consider myself a video game person per se, but i build in the sims 4 nearly everyday. I got the game about one and a half years ago and i’ve loved making houses with it (gameplay has never really interested me so I never played the sims before the sims 4). Growing up I was a large super mario fan for the gameboy advanced!

2. What album is your all time favourite? Why do you recommend it?

Ok i’m stuck between Love and Compromise by Mahalia and Sun and Moon by Sam Kim. They are two very different albums in my opinion but they both take me on a journey every time I listen. Sun and Moon puts me in a relaxed, happy mood while Love and Compromise puts me in a reminiscing mind frame, taking me through a lot of different emotions. Highly recommend both artists!

3. Who are your favourite Youtubers?

Loving the sims I watch A LOT of speed builds (read: everyday lol). Some of my favorite builders are Marmelad, Mr. Olkan, Bear and Bun and XFreezerbunnyX. I also tend to watch a decent amount of Markiplier. Lastly, I just discovered Kelly Stamps not too long ago, and I really love her personality and sense of humor!

4. What type of art is your favourite - music, visual (fine arts, sculptures, design etc.), drama or literature?

The fist thing that came to my mind was music because I’m listening to something all the time, but i really am a huge museum person, courtesy of my mother. My mom always took me to all the museums in a city when we traveled, art and science. I definitely love a trip to an art museum though music may just nudge it out especially during this pandemic where I have heavily relied on music to keep me sane. 

5. Do you keep a journal? What about a planner?

I keep a bullet journal as a planner! I’ve tried to keep a separate journal as a sort of diary/daily journal, but I’m not very consistent with it.

6. Do you like to dance? In your room, or in public places? What’s the best song to dance to in your opinion?

I do like to dance! I took dance classes for about 13 years, but I mainly dance in my home now. I don’t know if I have a go to song but the greatest showman soundtrack always gets me moving lately. 

7. Which Disney princess are you?

So I went and took a quiz (https://ohmy.disney.com/quiz/2014/06/25/quiz-which-disney-princess-are-you/) and I got Mulan, which I can totally see but also I felt very connected to Moana when I saw the movie but I think they have a lot of similar personality traits. 

8. What mundane aspect of life do you enjoy more than others?

I really enjoy shopping. Not like to the mall but like going out to get groceries, batteries and other home supplies. I make a whole day out of it normally and I can spend hours going store to store getting everything I need.

9. Do you like celebrating your birthday? Why/Why not? And if you do, what was your best birthday so far?

I think this is the first birthday that I am not excited for. I’m starting to feel kind of old and it scares me a bit to realize that life is flying right on by me. My favorite birthday so far would either be my 16th or my 21st. For my 16th, my mom took my friends and I to Cedar Point (which I was obsessed with lol) and for my 21st my friends and I went out to a cool rooftop restaurant and then went out to a sushi bar that sold some pretty cool drinks.

10. What’s your favourite type of bird?

I love penguins! They are always my favorite part of the zoo. My zoo actually opened up about a month ago by appointment and I decided to go. I learned once I got there that unfortunately since the penguin enclosure is in doors, they were off limits. My fav penguin is the Galapagos Penguin!

Here are my questions to you guys!

1. If you could go anywhere right now for 24 hours, where would yo go?

2. What is your favorite podcast?

3. What is the best book you have ever read?

4. Breakfast, Lunch, or Dinner?

5. What piece of media (book, movie, tv, etc.) shaped your personality most?

6. Do you prefer bullet journaling or traditional planners?

7. What is your favorite color to wear?

8. Do you visit museums when you travel? If you do, what has been your favorite?

9. What is your go to song to raise your mood?

10. Do you collect anything? If you do, what excites you about collecting your item?

I tag: @paper-gir1 @patriotstudies @relaxandstudy and @leilanistudies

[darknytemare]

No Words -interlude ii-

BTS - V Imagine - Tall Girl - Interracial - Interlude [Flashback]

TW: Mentions of racism/ racist situations.

1 year ago.

“I don’t know if I can keep this up.” Tasha moaned as they filed into the dorm. A scattered sound of backpacks, shoes, and coats filled a thick silence. They were one year into a grueling schedule of hands-on work along with a heavy course load. Tasha’s pillow-muffled grunts were an everyday occurrence. The same thing - every day. They went out for language study, then to shadow the technical crew, and then hours at cafes guzzling coffee. 

She could tell there were bags under her eyes. Tasha flopped like a fish on the couch. Her brows rose as the other woman moaned her displeasure. “I can’t take it?! I want to go out! We should go out, damnit!” 

Tasha already saw the reluctance forming on her face. “No, no! Listen here!” She bumbled off the couch at her recoil. “No, come on! Please, I’m dying! We haven’t done anything besides work. We have to take a breather.” Tasha grabbed her hands as she grimaced. 

“Aish,” Tasha smirked. She dropped her head. “You’re not gonna let this go are you?” Tasha shook her head vigorously with a pout. “Tsk, fine.” The other woman shot up with a twirl. 

“You loovvvee me.” A sing-song tease as Tasha twirled down the hall toward her room. “And now I’m not going to be a liar, either.” 

“Wait, what?” She turned toward the hallway.

“Well, the gang is getting together for post-production celebration.” She narrowed her eyes as Tasha continued. “..you never seem to be interested. So I told them I’d get you to come out tonight.”

“Seriously?” The edge of irritation was impossible to hide.

“Woman, I get you want to be the best - but you need to take a moment to enjoy yourself. We’re building a blueprint here! It does no good to you, or anybody, if you burn the fuck out.” Tasha came half-stomping back to the front room. Her hands were tucked into her hips with a stern set to her face. “I mean it. We have this opportunity to get immersed in everything. If you drag me to another museum I’m going to riot.”

Maybe Tasha had a point. She had been mainly interested in the informational portion of their trip. Museums, lectures, visiting heritage sites - taking photos of seemingly mundane things. She wanted a simple experience, there was nothing wrong with that. But, even back in the states? She wasn’t much for nightlife. Even after BTS music show wrap gatherings? She could be found off to the side buried in a book. Sometimes pouring over note cards and notebooks. It was fascinating the cinematographic techniques were completely different from the states. It was more aesthetically pleasing, the quality of the music shows could bring some fresh air to videos in the states. 

She came off as a bit of a lone wolf, and that wasn’t exactly her intention. Tasha would disturb her studies to drag her to tables full of meat, smoke, and laughter. She was happy to listen to horror stories and near misses. It was almost becoming tolerable to be near the boys on an almost constant basis.

Almost.

Tasha was eating it up, especially when they had the place to themselves. There would be peals of laughter as folk tumbled from chairs. Ah, the soju flow was heavy. She didn’t mind pouring for them or manning the grill when people got too far gone. There were always moments in karaoke, jokes, and games. 

She decided to indulge a bit still trying to figure out the right soju combination. The regular soju was smooth, different brands tended to be harsher than others. It wasn’t until out with the full crew that Taehyung offered a fruity brand. She went through the whole range before landing on Peach. She always cut her alcohol with something and it just so happened that cider matched perfectly.

For her, anyway. It was a ‘carbonation thing’ - that was always her response. They were having a great time, honestly. You could even say she let her hair down a bit. And she kept it up, for a good moment, she blossomed socially. Tasha was an absolute extrovert to start - she had no problem suggesting risky and risque games to liven up the place. 

There was a time when those games wound up a little too dangerous for her liking. Spin the bottle and Truth or Dare. Harmless, right? This combination with overworked, tipsy co-workers? Not so much. Liquor makes you honest, the saying goes. 

There was a time when those games wound up a little too dangerous for her liking. Spin the bottle and Truth or Dare. Harmless, right? This combination with overworked, tipsy co-workers? Not so much. Liquor makes you honest, the saying goes. 

Some people got extremely honest that night. 

Now, it was no secret that they were apart of the handful of females that made the cut for the program. But they were the only African-American females. It was interesting the stares they received when they were seen backstage manning the boards, or even carrying equipment. It was something they were used to, and it didn’t bother them. 

They considered themselves open to any and all questioning, again - in a new place? You learn things about yourself. And it’s only fair that you let others learn you as well. Right? 

So, when a particularly soju soaked night of bullshitting turned into something a bit more raw and personal? 

“Oh, come on! Is it really that big a deal?” One of her classmates quipped. There was an uncomfortable air surrounding the table. “I mean, it’s like kindergarten antics, you know?” Dean was your playbook styled ...individual. She wouldn’t bother to call him a man because he didn’t act like one. 

The Truth or Dare was stuttered when he asked a question that only the two women of color could answer. Tasha was actually settled on the lap of a TD she’d gotten close with, Minjae. They all received training on sensitive things while touring in the states. Current issues that plagued the US so they could stay aware of possible questions or situations the boys could find themselves in.

Tasha tried to lighten the mood waving her hand, “Look, it’s just safe to ask, Dean. I don’t think you’d want some strange person coming to feel you up without your permission.” This softly as Minjae gently shook his head at her, as if to signal her to switch topics.

Dean sighed, turning to a couple of the other classmates, trying to find some validation. They sort of shrugged, but read the room and didn’t bother to indulge him. It wasn’t until he turned to her with that lopsided grin. “I mean, look at you! I always thought you had contacts in. Imagine when we found that was your real eye color!” He barked a laugh, a few of the ‘we’ laughed with him.

“I mean, you’re beautiful for a bl-” There was a female next to him named Allison. She watched with her mouth agape as he continued. Before he finished that statement? She elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t you fucking dare finish that statement, Dean!” He buckled with a sharp inhale. He looked confused as he measured the looks of disapproval. 

Embarrassment.

Before she dared to open her mouth and let every obscenity fly, they all turned to their supervisors. The head PD crossed his arms across his chest, matching the red-faced anger of his colleagues. “This was a mistake.” She stood up hastily grabbing her bag and her notebook. Tasha tried to untangle herself from the bench seating but wasn’t fast enough. She escaped into the night gulping down the winter air. Ah, it was so mild. She was used to the painful cold Midwest winters, and she missed it. 

Damn, she really missed it. She’d been doing so well! She managed to stave off the homesickness, determined to find a niche. But now? Now she craved a familiarity, a comfort that she hadn’t found? She wasn’t really looking for it, honestly. She’d heard the rumors, done the research, and seen all the YouTube videos. There was a deep groan bubbling in her chest; the heel of her palm digging into her eye sockets. 

Deep breaths slowed her rapid heart, snow fell soft and slow on her face. She could almost picture something like home. But a voice interrupted her meditation.

“A-are you ok, Noona?” A deep voice quietly rumbled behind her.

Her brow furrowed as she turned around. “V-ssi, why are you here?” She managed to not cry, thankfully. Her hands tucked under her arms as the cold registered. “Don’t get sick on my behalf,” She managed a slight smile. His breath hitched a fraction before he lowered his gaze. “Ah, don’t worry about me.” That boxy smile plastered on his face as he looked at her again.

“You could come back in, you know?” He bit into his bottom lip. A subtle brow ticking upward as he extended his hand. She got ready to open her mouth. He could see the reasons forming behind her gaze. “Don’t worry about him, noona.” 

“I think I should just go. I don’t want people worrying about me.” She stared at his hand before her eyes slid to the side. “You should ju-” He interrupted her again.

“You read a lot, don’t you, Noona?” She furrowed her brow at his question. 

“Y-yea, but what does th-,” He didn’t give her time to ponder the reasoning as he answered her.

“I read too. There is a philosopher, Marcus Aurelius he was a Roman Emperor.” He seemed to ramble, his hand still extended, licking his lips. “He said, The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.” She sighed tilting her head back. “He’s a coward. I don’t think you’re a coward.” She turned to the extended hand suddenly covered in snow. 

“Tsk,” She moved the snow from his hand as she took it. “..fine.” That boxy smile lit up the night as he turned to tug her back inside. Jeongguk came barreling outside his expression lightened as he saw Taehyung dragging her back with him. “A-ah! Yes, we’re getting ready to play more games.” 

She groaned as the maknae continued, “That asshole was sent home.” He turned Tae with a nod, as she titled her head. 

“Oh, they sent him back to the dorm.”

“No, they sent him home.” Jeongguk continued as Tae slowed up. “As in he’s done here.” The veins in Jeongguk’s forearms seemed to pulsate as he crossed them.

“Oh, shit.” She gasped. “I didn’t want him to lose the opportunity.” She sounded remorseful, Tae and Gguk, on the other hand, were mystified by her response.

“You’re kidding right, noona?” Jeongguk tilted his head to Tae confused. Taehyung only sighed, “No, she’s not kidding, Gguk-ah.” They both made their irritation known.

“Look, people are - how they are? Ok. It’s something I’ve dealt with all my life. It’s just..” 

“Wrong,” Taehyung spoke between clenched teeth. There was something slightly imposing when they stood together. “It’s wrong, and there’s no place for it around us. You know we have an international fan base. Our music crosses so many boundaries!” Taehyung threw up a hand as Jeongguk seemed to tap in and finish the statement.

“...races, religions, sex, all of it. We don’t care about that. We want people to feel like we aren’t just musicians. We are a family; a community even.” Jeongguk’s tone was firm and full of conviction. “If we can have people around the globe connect with us through our music? Why would we not connect to their issues if we could?” 

She looked between the two of them, dumbfounded. Had she ever wondered? Pondered their stance on the world around them? She blinked rapidly unable to find anything wrong with their words. 

She wasn’t a coward. This wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. Taehyung and Jeongguk extended a hand to her. The boxy-bunny smile combination was dangerous, damnit. 

“Oh my god, fine. Fine. You’re right. Let’s go.” She took both of their hands and they pulled her back into the restaurant. It seemed brighter somehow. New food was cooking. the staff was all seated around massive grilling tables. 

The drinks and laughter flowed, they sat with their supervisors who quickly got tipsy so they could let loose.

[brownhardyho]

Fluffy Alphabet: Ben Hardy

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

A/N: Decided to write another alphabet HC for Ben, but a fluffy version! I was also inspired by @sweetlygwilym ‘s piece on Gwilym Lee, thanks sis for the fluffy inspo! Happy reading fam! 😊

Warnings: MAJOR FLUFF AHEAD 

Word count: 2,132 (I got kinda carried away haha)

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Ben finds everything about you attractive: how kind and genuine you are to the people you encounter, how funny you are without even trying, how soft your skin is, your sense of style, and let’s not forget about your HOT BAAAWDY fam! The list goes on and on and Ben is just in shock sometimes about how on earth he is lucky to have you in his life.

Aside from his tight, fit body that Ben works hard for, you absolutely love Ben’s gorgeous green eyes. Whenever he looks at you it’s like his eyes are looking into the depths of your soul. You also adore how kind he is, how big his heart is, and how genuinely curious he is about everything.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

You both definitely want to children, but not at this point in time. Both your careers are taking off, and you enjoy traveling with each other so much that the idea of welcoming a baby into the world is a HUGE responsibility that you’re not quite ready for. With that said though, Ben’s heart swells whenever you are baby sitting your best friend’s little girl. So kids are definitely something you both want in the future!

C = (How do they cuddle?)

Ben ‘Cinnamon Roll’ Hardy is the cuddliest man you have ever known. You’ve always loved that Ben is a touchy feely guy, but you didn’t realize exactly how much until you first moved in together. Cooking in the kitchen? Ben will stand behind you and hug your body against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. “What’s cookin, good lookin’?” Just lounging around the flat on a Sunday morning? Ben will have a bear hold on you, blowing raspberries into your neck so that he can hear you laugh. Had a long day at work? Ben will cuddle with you until you both fall asleep. Feeling emotional, overwhelmed, happy, or sad/tired? BEN WILL GO IN WITH THE CUDDLES

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Dates with Ben never fail to surprise you. Whether it’s spending a Sunday afternoon visiting a museum, taking Frankie on a walk through the park, or getting dressed to the nines to go clubbing, Ben always has something up his sleeve. You both also really love staying in and actually binge watching Netflix, too!

 E = Everything (You are my __ (e.g my life, my world…)

Person; Ben knows that he can talk to you about anything. First and foremost, he trusts and respects you. Ben admires you for who you are and how you can be his number one supporter and confidant BUT you never hesitate to call him out on his shit. He knows you will always be honest with him and that your love for him knows no bounds. Ben loves you with all of his heart, he would do anything for you. You make Ben a better man, you are the love of his life and his person.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Ben knew he was in love with you the moment you started playing with Frankie on the day you first met. Frankie is very protective of Ben and most of the time it takes her a while to warm up to new people. But not with you. She ran straight into your outstretched arms and basically tackled you, licking your face. It’s as if she had known you for years and Ben’s heart melted at the sight of you two.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Benny boy is the softest man you have ever known. He is comfortable with himself, his sexuality, and expressing his emotions. He has always been really gentle with you, his strong hands softly caressing the sides of your body when he pulls you close. Ben wants you to feel comfortable, loved, and safe with him at all times.

H = Holding hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Ben was shocked to feel how naturally cold your hands were in the beginning of your relationship, so he intertwines his warm fingers with yours. Whenever you are both walking through a crowded place, he’ll tighten his grip so that he doesn’t lose you. When you are both in bed reading, his pinky will find yours and link them together.

I = Impression (First impression?)

Ben’s very first impression of you was hearing you laugh. He was walking Frankie at the park and you were sitting on a bench, Skyping your sister, and you were laughing aloud as she was telling you an embarrassing story. To Ben, your laugh literally lit up his world, so he threw a ball in your direction so that Frankie could fetch it. His plan worked because as you turned to look to see if the owner of the cute beagle was near, your eyes met his and you smiled at him. Ben swear that it was love at first sight.

J = Joker (Are they into pulling pranks?)

Oh fam, does Ben have jokes! He’ll pull low key ones around the flat, like hanging mistletoe when it is in the middle of July. “Ben you don’t need mistletoe to kiss me” “I know but now you won’t have an excuse to NOT kiss me, love!”

You got jokes too. One time when you visited him on set, you had the help of the costume ladies in acquiring a fake baby bump. When Ben first saw you, his eyes beamed at you. “Why aren’t you shocked?” “Baby, jokes on you because I want you to be the mother of my children.”

K = Kiss (How do they kiss?)

Ben is both a sensual and soft kisser at the same time. He’ll kiss your temple and cup your cheeks at first, then his hands will move to the back of your neck and you hip to pull you closer to him to that he can deepen the kiss. Morning kisses are the best because he’ll place small pecks starting from your shoulder, to your neck, all over your face, eventually meeting your lips.

L = Love (Who said ‘I love you’ first?)

Ben said I love you first. Albeit, even though he was plastered, he said it first and he meant it. It was about 2 months into your relationship and Ben took you with him to meet up with his BoRhap family at a local pub. You were dancing with Lucy and when you went to find Ben, he was at the bar with the boys taking shots. You went up to stand next to him and just when you were about to ask if he was ok, Drunk Ben goes:

“Wow, you’re pretty” he hiccups, his green eyes scanning your body.

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself stud,” You smirk, raising your eyebrows at Rami, Gwil, and Joe.

“What’s your name?” Ben smiles

“Y/N,” you reply

“Wait, that’s my girlfriend’s name!” Ben exclaims, flabbergasted.

“Ben, I am your girlfriend!” You chuckle, the boys are dying laughing right about now.

“You mean to say that I come home to a gorgeous woman like you?!” Ben asks, shocked

“Imma ‘fraid so,” You nod.

“God, I love you!” He happily shouts, pulling you to him, making a scene and dipping your body to give you a kiss. The boys cheered rowdily and this is also the moment when you realized you are in love with Ben.

M = Memory (What’s their favorite memory together?)

When he surprised you for your birthday by taking you on vacation. You literally had just gotten home and you were welcomed by the sight of Ben smiling from ear to ear with your suitcases by his side. You didn’t know the destination until you got there. Yu and Ben spent a week in Bora Bora just catching the sunrays and swimming in the beautiful, teal ocean.

N = No (What’s their pet peeve?)

Ben cannot stand rude and ignorant people that are close minded, as do you. You both also strongly dislike drivers that don’t signal.

O = Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

Red, because on the first day you met, you were wearing a red coat and also because that’s your power suit color.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use? What pet names do you use on them?)

For you: Babygirl, Sweetheart, Love, Honey

For him: Hon, Benny (YOU are the only one allowed to call him this), lover, bubs

Q = Quaint (What is their favorite non-modern thing?)

He loves sending you postcards when he is away for work and you do the same thing too!

R = Romantic (Are they romantic during the relationship?)

Romantic might as well be Ben’s middle name! Ben always starts the day by telling you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. It’s the little things like taking you out to lunch or even giving you foot massages at the end of the day that make you fall in love with him even more. Ben always wants you to feel loved and will do anything to make sure this happens every.

S = Smile (What makes them smile without fail?)

Seeing you play with Frankie makes him smile, seeing you dance like know one is watching makes him smile, literally anything you do will make Ben smile. When he sees you in your element, talking to passionately about your job and interests, warms his heart.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

If he is with you, Ben will literally talk about anything. From the most mundane things about how your day went to insightful conversations about culture and race, Ben is very comfortable about talking to you about everything. He learns something new everyday through your conversations, and that makes him appreciate your relationship even more.

U = Unbearable (What habit do they have that’s unbearable? What habit do you have that they find unbearable?)

As perfect as Ben is, on habit of his that you find unbearable is that he still has a smoking habit. He doesn’t smoke as much as he used to, but on the sporadic occasion that he has the urge to light a cigarette, he’ll step outside and take it. You have been very honest at the beginning of your relationship about your dislike of this nasty habit, and Ben really is trying to quit, for real this time.

The only habit of yours that Ben finds unbearable is that you leave your makeup out on the bathroom counter when you are in a rush to get ready. Unbearable isn’t really the right word, but Ben will never admit that he gets secretly turned on when he watches you do your makeup… Jokes on him because you do notice when he is watching you!

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Ben loves it when you come watch him play rugby with his friends. He prides himself in being physically active, so whenever he has the chance to show off his skills in front of you, he will take it! Ben absolutely gets a kick out of seeing you bit your lip and cross your legs when you watch him out on the field.

W = Wedding (How was the wedding?)

Your wedding is a destination wedding in Spain. The ceremony took place on a cliff during golden hour and you were both surrounded by your families and closest friends. The pure happiness and love provided the ambiance that day and when Ben saw you, in your beautiful white dress, walking down the aisle towards him, the world stopped and he was only focused on you. Happy tears filled his green eyes, as he was overwhelmed with all the emotions. The reception was LIT AF and it literally lasted until the sunrise on the next day. It was absolutely perfect, and you both would not have it any other way.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Everything by Ella Mai ft. John Legend

Y = You (You are the ___to my ___ (e.g. the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

You are the light to my life.

Z = Zzz (How heavy of a sleeper are they? How do they sleep?)

Ben is a deep sleeper and likes to be the little spoon. He loves when you wrap your arms and legs around him and has, on occasion, sleep talked. This usually happens whenever he comes home late at night after wrapping a long shoot. To your amusement, when Ben sleep talks, it’s really fast and incoherent. He will deny that this ever happened, but you have the receipts to prove him wrong!

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

i need happy izuku head canons blease ;;;; let the child be happy

You are the first person to explicitly ask for happy and I feel like there’s some significance in that.

- Izuku kept a small collection of interesting things he found while cleaning the beach.  Jewelry, old toys, and the rare seashell line a little shoe box under his bed.  They remind him how far he’s come.

- He and his Mom love each other so much.  They text everyday and call at least once a week.  Sometimes, his Mom will buy him something (probably hero merch) for no other reason than she thought he would like it.  Then she’ll send a picture of it sitting on his bed with the caption “Here’s what’s waiting for you at home! :)”

- Besides being recognized on the train after the sports festival, he’s a a good couple encounters with nice fans.  The first was a patrol session not long after Nighteye’s death.  Izuku was still feeling really down, when two middle schoolers ran up to him out of no where.  They said they saw him fighting Overhaul online and were huge fans.  He signed their notebooks and took pictures with them, and overall had a really pleasant experience.

- They two also recommended a fan forum about him.  Not about his class, but him specifically.  It doesn’t have as many members as people like Todoroki or Bakugou, but they’re very active.  Izuku can only go on it maybe once a week he’s so overwhelmed with gratitude.  Maybe he’ll make a post one day.

- Sometimes, All Might will take him off campus to do something fun.  For a while, he assumed it would always be training, but it rarely was.  They’d go to movies, nice restaurants, museums, and a bunch of other fun places.  When asked why, All Might just said, “An important part of being in top hero shape is taking care of your mental health, and one of the best ways to do that is to do something fun every once and a while.  Plus, I like spending time with you.”  Then he’d ruffle Izuku’s hair and they’d get back to it.

- I made a headcanon weeks ago that All Might liked to prank Izuku with bad movies, but Izuku also managed to get All Might sometimes too.  One word: Zardos.  After All Might got over the initial shock of “How the hell does this kid even know about this movie at his age, one it’s old ass heck and it is in no way age appropriate for a sixteen-year-old,” they had a great time riffing on it. (Zardos is the movie I prank my friends with 10/10 perfect for bad movie night)

- Everyone in Class 1-A looks up to him.  His smarts, his drive, and his kindness are all aspects to be admired.  Everyone goes to him first for advice about things relating to their quirks.  Some even as him about mundane things, because Midoriya’s a good guy and they want to here his opinion.  If they were to rehold class elections, he’d win in a landslide.

- He made an important self discovery while out to the arcade with friends: he is a skill crane master.  After almost twenty minutes and an embarrassing amount of money, Kamanari and Mina gave up on the cutest little dolphin plush.  Izuku gave it a wing after and got it on the first try, even though he’d never done it before.  Everyone was stunned, as it is common knowledge that skill crane is the most broken game in all of arcadedum.  But Izuku can get just about anything in under three tries.  It’s become tradition when the class goes out to put Izuku in front of any machine they come across.  Usually, he gives the prizes to his friends since he prefers the fun of the game to the reward.

[tipsycad147]

Beginning Witchcraft: A Free 30-Day Crash Course

Are you intrigued by the idea of exploring witchcraft?

With countless books, websites, forums, traditions, holidays, and new vocabulary to learn about, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed.

The guide below sets simple, realistic goals that will start you down the path to a more magical spiritual life.

The ideas below are completely free, easy and perfect for beginning witchcraft as a practice in your life.

Day 1:  Set a clear goal.

What do you hope to learn by beginning witchcraft as a practice?

Would you like to know more about herbs and how to use them?

Are you interested in researching your folkloric heritage?

Maybe you want to explore a more natural lifestyle in our fast-paced, throwaway consumer culture?

Spirituality tends to be serendipitous.  You’ll likely learn a few things you didn’t expect to.  But knowing what you want out of your practice goes a long way to getting it.

Once you decide where your focus will be, you can customise these exercises to suit your aspirations.

Day 2:  Nip stereotypes in the bud.

Before you get too far down the road of the Craft, take a moment to consider what your preconceptions are.

Open a notepad on your desk top.  (Or, for those of you who still remember how to write with a pen, open an actual notepad).

Write down what comes to mind when you think of the word “witch.”:

Then, check out some common myths about witchcraft and see if any appeared on your list.

Day 3:  Notice the moon.

Is it waxing?  Waning?  Full?  Totally black?

Research the current moon phase and its meaning.

Or don’t.  Just take a moment to look up in the sky tonight and be inspired by this beautiful cosmic body.

Day 4:  Head to the library.

Your local library likely keeps books on the subject of magic and witchcraft.

If not, try looking at books with peripheral relevance, like books about classical mythology, herbalism and dream interpretation.

Pick one, and plan to read it by its due date.

Or, if you like to sit at home and curl up with your Amazon account, check out these beginner-friendly suggestions.

Day 5:  Plan a morning ritual.

Start your day on a positive note by planning a simple morning ritual.

Design it according to your preferences and what you have on hand.

Here are some clever ideas for a spiritual wake up call.

Day 6:  Learn the Wheel of the Year.

Not all witches observe the Wheel of the Year.

But it’s so frequently referenced in witch circles. blogs, books and websites that it’s worth it to know it even if you don’t plan to celebrate it.

It takes 20 minutes to memorise the holidays and dates.  Of course, learning their meanings goes much deeper, but the basic facts are enough to start with.

Day 7:  Work with colour magic.

You need not begin your experiments with spell craft using elaborate techniques and tools.

For example, try choosing a shirt to wear in a colour that corresponds to your intentions.

For common colour correspondences and other ideas about colour magic, go here.

Day 8:  Set up an altar.

Clear a small space on your dress or a bookshelf.

Or, if you want to keep it discreet, have some fun with your discretion.  One of my favourite ideas:  DIY your own secret book safe.

Choose items with meaning to you to include on your altar.  Stones or natural items found on nature walks, mementos or family heirlooms, and photographs of your ancestors all make nice additions.

Day 9:  Explore the Elements.

What Element correspondences to your birth sign?

Do something simple to get in touch with your dominant element.  Here are some ideas to get you started:

Fire Sign

Earth Sign

Water Sign

Air Sign

Day 10:  Give divination a try.

If you happen to own runes or a tarot deck, great.  Bust those bad boys out and draw for yourself.

But if not, you need not run out and buy anything.  Divination tools are, in many ways, best found in nature any way.

Here’s one that’s free and only requires you to step outside your front door:

Cloud Scrying for Beginners.

Day 11:  Research an herb you’re not familiar with.

It doesn’t have to be a super esoteric herb.

Even if you know the culinary uses of basil, try looking into its metaphysical properties.  Then, come up with some creative ways to employ it in your practice.

Day 12:  Go on a scavenger hunt in own your house.

While many new to the Craft think they need to spend a lot of money on ritual gear, this usually ends in disappointment and frustration.

I am a big proponent of starting with what you have.

Lots of everyday items may be used in magic.  Look for these common household items used in witchcraft.

Day 13:  Get kitchen witchin’.

The kitchen is the cauldron of the home and very often the jackpot of a magical household.

Start with the herbs and spices.

Choose a kitchen witch spell to try or come up with your own.

Make cooking a sensual experience.  Listen for the crackle of water on perfectly heated oil.  Inhale fragrant fresh herbs.  Enjoy the sensation of oil between your fingers or the feeling of soft dough as you knead it on the countertop.

Day 14:  Take a nature walk.

Unless there’s an active heat adviser or a hurricane, do this no matter the weather conditions.

If it’s freezing, bundle up and bring some hot cocoa.  If it’s raining and hot, consider leaving the umbrella behind and get wet on purpose.

We live so much of our lives in climate-controlled structures without so much as a potted plant.  Getting in touch with nature sometimes means experiencing discomfort.

Notice that when you endure this discomfort, you come home feeling refreshed, awake, and alive.

And if it’s nice, take your time and try some these ideas to make your nature walk more magical than mundane.

Day 15:  Reflect on what you learned so far.

You’re halfway there!  If you dedicated yourself to this 30-day exercise, you likely learned some things you didn’t know before and have a better grasp on where you want to go.

Take a look at the goal you set at the beginning of the month.  How much closer do you feel to achieving it?

Day 16:  Explore your heritage.

Your ancestors practised witchcraft, whether you know it or not.  If you reach back far enough in time, no matter where your bloodlines originate, someone, somewhere used something that anthropologists classify as folk magic.

Curious?  Do some digging!  If you already know where you came from, start there.  If not, call up your oldest living relatives and ask them where their people came from.  Old people love to talk about their family history.  Take advantage of this!

Day 17:  Assess your relationship with the Earth.

How much time do you spend in nature?  How much of that time is interrupted by your screens?

Are you conscientious about things like land conservation and recycling?

If you’ve never thought about these things, don’t feel bad.  Our culture doesn’t do a very good job of instilling a respect for the natural world.

Don’t know where to start?  Check out 10 Ways to Live Closer to the Earth for some easy suggestions.

Day 18:  Go on a witchy field trip.

You pick the destination.  Here are some suggestions:

-Visit an occult shop.

-Attend a Unitarian Universalist church (where witches are generally welcome)

-Find a quiet stretch of parkland to meditate.

-Go to a museum that features exhibits on local folklore and history.

Day 19:  Purge.

Go through your closets, drawers and dusty shelves.  Clear out cluttered corners where the energy is stale.

Give everything a clean sweep.

Make a pile of things to drop off at goodwill.

Then, open the windows, boil a pot of water on the stove with a cleansing herb or two.  Use whatever you have available (see Day 13).  Try one of the following:

-Lemon, orange or lime peel

-rosemary

-garden sage

-a few drops of essential oil

-pine needles

Let the water soft boil for an hour.

Enjoy the raised vibrations of your happier home!

Day 20:  Meditate before bed.

Start with 5 minutes, and then work up to 10 or 20 gradually. Trying to clear your mind completely as a beginner really frustrates all even people with years of meditation practice.   I find that in the beginning, guided meditation helps a lot.

My favourite is this one by Kelly Howell (you need headphones for best results).

Day 21:  Try something seasonal.

Preferably, an authentic local experience.

Gather wildflowers or evergreens by the roadside.  Bake something using seasonal ingredients.  Visit a local farm and ask about what’s growing there.

Get back in touch with the natural world.  Check in with it just like you’d check in with any other category of current events.

Day 22:  Explore sun magic.

While there seems to be an abundance of emphasis on the moon in modern spell work, the sun is also useful!

Read about the creative ways to use the sun in witchcraft.

Either watch the sunrise or the sunset today.  Notice that taking the time to observe its majesty lifts your mood and clears your mind.

Day 23:  Check the news.

No, not the mainstream political pundit talking heads on CNN.

Look into some alternative publications that feature news about witches.

The Wild Hunt has an excellent reputation for professional journalism.

Day 24:  Plan out your next full moon.

Go look up the next date of the the full moon.

Make some solid plans to celebrate it.

Check out 25 Ways to Celebrate the Full Moon for some creative suggestions.

Day 25:  Try chanting.

There’s a reason nearly every folk culture in the world uses some form of chanting in spiritual practice.

Look up some chants.  Find sources you can actually listen to.  Try one that’s appropriate.

Or, just choose a word or phrase that you find empowering.  Find a quiet space and repeat it over and over.

This is a powerful way to still the mind and focus your intentions.

Day 26:  Start a dream journal.

Access your deepest thoughts, fears and desires by beginning a dream journal.

Your dream journal need not be fancy.  A simple composition book works.  You can usually pick one up for less than a dollar.

However, I recommend keeping it low-tech and avoiding writing down your dreams in digital format.

Dreams are best recording at the very first moment of waking, and screens tend to disrupt your natural sleeping/waking process.

For more on working with dreams, check out Dream Work for Beginners.

Day 27:  Decide on some personal ethics.

Your morals and boundaries are personal.

No one gets to decide for you what is okay and not okay.

Before you go further, decide what your limitations are and promise to respect them.

For example, if negative spells make you uncomfortable, don’t do them.

Never feel pressured to engage in any spiritual practice that runs contrary to your beliefs.  Anyone who refuses to respect your space doesn’t deserve a place in it.  Period.

That goes both ways.  Respect the right of others to decide what’s okay for them and what’s not okay.  Never rope someone into a ritual who expresses reservations or hesitation.

Day 28: Take a cleansing bath for the soul.

Or shower.  I know bathtubs aren’t a thing everywhere.  Either way, do something to make it special.

Light candles, play soft music, make your own sugar scrub.  Be creative.  Think outside the box.

You can even use colour magic by dying your own bathwater.

If you prefer, keep it basic and try using self-massage techniques.   Or simply visualise negative energy draining with the water at the end.

Day 29:  Write your own spell.

It’s time to start putting what you learned to use.

Try not to be intimidated by spell writing.  Don’t get caught up in the “right way” to do things.

Use your intuition to choose ingredients, timing and other elements that support your goal.

For a basic framework, check out How to Write Your Own Spell.

Day 30:  Try levitation.

Just kidding.  You can’t levitate.

Well, you can, but only in a zero-gravity situation.  So unless you happen to have access to an electrostatic vacuum chamber, you’re stuck with the current conditions of unaltered gravitational pull.

Hopefully, your journey over this 30 days has dispelled some of the more ridiculous misconceptions and gave you a realistic glimpse into the world of witchcraft.

But really, it’s only the jumping off point.

You’re launched.  Get flying.

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