#i found the stones at the saturday market last week

[itsmebytch001]

Aaron being single and all gets the attention of a few ladies around the area. They know he has a daughter. They all be like ‘I’ll be her mommy for him’.

When said women start dating Aaron they barely last a week because y/n scares them away.

Aaron notices and is kinda proud of his daughter being overprotective of him.

She would do pranks like flour in hair dryer, ballon dropped on head full of glue and glitter, laxative in food.

She would act all good girl in front of her dad but when he turns his back it’s game over.

(I Love this one!)

Aaron was lonely, He a man pushing 45 was single with his daughter as his main company, and though he loved you pices the company of a 10 year old can only be tolerated so long, and it wasn't like he wasn't attracting women it was just they never stayed more than a week, and after Diana he simply wasn't willing to put himself through all that again.

Women thought highly of him for being a competent single Dad and thought that you needed a Mommy, and sure you wanted a Mommy, but you could feel that these women didn't really care about you, you were just a stepping stone to Aaron. And you weren't having it.

The first was Linda who was warded off by your posioning of the food with laxitives, sure she could never prove it, but it was you.

The second was Mira scared off by a can of hair spray and a lighter.

The third was Tiff who was a germaphobe, so you being the normal child you were found a dead rat, came home to find her sitting on the couch, and threw it at her.

Of course Aaron didn't know about these events, if he had he would chastise you, but from his perspective he simply could not keep a woman.

Aaron: "I don't know what wrong? Am I just past my prime?"

Jeff: "I mean yeah, your 45"

Aaron: "I know I know, but It's like I got some lady I see once of twice and once I bring her home, she's gone"

Jeff: "You think it's the house?"

Aaron: "What is wrong with my house?!"

Jeff: "I don't know, it might spook her off"

Aaron: "There is nothing wrong with my home, and besides what would you know, you haven't been in the game for 10 years now you got Rio"

Jeff: "Yeah...I am lucky aren't I"

Aaron: "Ay! Keep your mind on one thing!"

Jeff: "Do you think...maybe it's Y/n?"

Aaron: "What do you mean?"

Jeff: "Sometimes when you aren't around she starts acting a menace"

Aaron: "Ha, your lying"

Jeff: "No man seriously, Miles says she's running a gum black market at school, dealing it out her piece for pocket change"

Aaron: "Come on man that's harmless"

Jeff: "MULTIPLE times I've had teachers come up and tell me how Y/n's been caught stealing from the school"

Aaron: "Oh really? And what she stealing?"

Jeff: "Paint, markers, a stapler, a chair"

Aaron: "If any of this is true, why haven't been told?"

Jeff: "Because all the teachers are to busy fawning over you! I'm telling you man Y/n is a little devil"

Aaron: "I think you and I are talkin bout different people" He rolls his eyes, but later in the day he can't stop thinking about what Jeff said, were you a different person when he was gone?

So he started watching you a little more, some would call it stalking, but is it really stalking if it's your own daughter? So he found himself observing you from across the road of Brooklyn Middle, and just as Jeff said, handing out bits on gum, and being handed change, but that was just small, kids stuff right? And he was proud that you were only ten and already a hustler, but were you also a thief?

That Friday Once school ended and he was waiting for you outside the gate having you rush over to him come home time noticed you were struggling to carry along your bag.

Aaron: "You want to me to carry that for you?"

Y/n: "No, It's fine"

Aaron: "You sure? it looks heavy"

Y/n: "Really Pa I'm good"

Suspicious

Later that night Aaron found himself sifting through your bag, only at the bottom to find a selcection of books, that weren't yours? He took out the books and placed them on the dinner table and waited for Saturday morning to confront you, and come Saturday morning you emerged from your room with tired little eyes to see your school bag had been emptied onto the table, and your stolen books had been found.

Aaron: "explain yourself"

Y/n: "Uhhhhh....Those are Floras...she asked me to hold them for her"

Damm she's a bad lair.

Aaron: "Y/n, This" He held up a thick textbook. "Is a Arabic language revision book"

Y/n: "Yeah?"

Aaron: "Flora dose not speak Arabic, if your going to lie to me least have it be consistent"

Y/n: "You don't Know she might" Your Dad raised an eyebrow at you, where you really going to try spin this?

Aaron: "get back in your room"

Y/n: "What?"

Aaron: "get back to your room, now, you can come out when your ready to tell me the truth"

Y/n: "Bu-"

Aaron: "Back! Now"

Y/n: "Fine! Whatever"

Aaron: "Don't whatever me young lady!"

It had been two hours now and still neither of you were budging, your Dad would pop in your room and ask 'You ready to talk?' To wtich he had met radio silence from you and a blank stare.

And he thought to maybe call some of his old flings, as them how they were, catch up.

Calling Mira...

ring

ring

Mira: "What do you want?"

Aaron: "Hii Mira...I know it's been awhile since we last tak-"

Mira: "What do you want Aaron?"

Aaron: "I was just wondering if you'd like to come round and have dinner, we could catch up"

Mira: "You still got that daughter of yours?"

Aaron: "uh Yes?"

Mira: "I am not gonna put my self round that psychotic little girl of yours-"

Aaron: "Excuse me?"

Mira: "Good bye Aaron, Don't be calling me again til you get rid of that thing!"

Aaron: "The Fuc-"

Call ended

Calling Tiff

ring

ring

Tiff: "You got alot of nerve calling me Aaron"

Aaron: "you just picked up and you already mad?"

Tiff: "What do you want?""

Aaron: "Damm, you are you so mad?"

Tiff: "Your child threw a dead animal at me"

Aaron: "Sorry, what?"

Tiff: "Did I stutter?"

Call ended

Aaron didn't need to call Linda to see a pattern forming, you were a diffrent person when he turned his back...but what now? He knew you were stealing things you simply didn't need, and throwing dead animals at people and scaring off all the women, he re entered your room.

Aaron: "Y/n"

Y/n: "Yes?"

Aaron: "You gonna tell me why I just got off the phone with Tiff, and she told me you threw a dead animal at her?"

...

Aaron: "Well did you?"

Y/n: "...No"

Aaron: "Don't lie to me girl I leave you at Auntie Rio's house and we both know how that gose If I tell her what you've been doing"

Y/n: "...maybe "

Aaron: "WHY?!"

Y/n: "Because...just because?"

Aaron: "Just because? Your gonna have to come up with a better answer than that before I start meting dolls"

Y/n: "Melt them...Mom will just buy me more"

Aaron: "Well Maybe You'd just like to live with Diana wouldn't you?"

Y/n: "Maybe I would"

Aaron: "Really? Really you wanna go stay with your Mom?"

Y/n: "Maybe I DO!"

Aaron: "Fine, start packing a bag because you ain't living here no more"

Y/n: "FINE"

Aaron: "FINE!" He slammed the door, realising he, a grown man pushing 40 had just stepped down to the level of his 10 year old, he heard rummaging coming from your room only for you to burst out the door with a suitcase ready to leave.

Y/n: "I'm ready, when do we leave?"

...

Aaron: "I-Baby I was kidding-"

Y/n: "Well I wasn't, I wanna stay with Mom"

Aaron: "...Well I'm not gonna shofer you there"

Y/n: "Fine, I'll go there myself" You declared as you went to make your dramatic exit, Aaron thought you were just pulling a stunt, you would drop the bag and aplogise, until he saw you turn the knob and begin to step out.

Aaron: "NOPE" He grabbed you by the back of your shirt and hoisted you up into the air and you flinged yourself around trying to get free.

Y/n: "PUT ME DOWN!!"

Aaron: "I did not fight for majority custody just for you to throw it back in my face!" He yelled as he plopped you back into your room shutting the door on you and keeping your packed bag, holding the door closed as you hit it with your tiny 10 year old fists.

Y/n: "LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!"

Aaron: "You keep yellin your just staying in there longer!"

GIVE ME MORE SUGGESTIONS!!!

[ledenews]

The Remains of One Hoppin’ Hotel in Photos – Part 2

Lunch at the Tea Room in the basement of Stone & Thomas was special because the place was proper despite a lunch-counter kind of menu. There were napkins and polished silverware perfectly placed on each table, and the eateries patrons were usually dressed in clothes usually reserved for Sunday services. The food, though, was prepared out of site, and the atmosphere was fair less casual than what was found inside an Elby’s or Burger Chef. The Tea Room – if space was even available, that is – was a part of “going to the city” for thousands of residents throughout the Upper Ohio Valley when they made the trek to downtown Wheeling during the 1950s through the 1980s. Main and Markets streets during those days offered a wide array of commerce with everything from hammers and nails to fine jewels and silk neckties. Most communities up and down the Ohio River were stoked by local industry and five-and-dimes like G.C. Murphy anchored the downtowns in cities like Martins Ferry and Moundsville, but Wheeling served as the metropolis for the region because, throughout the history of the Friendly City, it was where everyone came to find everything they could possibly need. That began to change, though, during the 1980s because the Ohio Valley Mall featured the new trend in the retail industry, and that was one-stop-shopping like downtowns offered but now a roof covered consumers as they strolled from store to store inside the biggest one-story building anyone had ever seen. Stores like Stones and L.S. Good suddenly became anchor stores at the mall, so the existing business owners began leaning on live entertainment more than ever. The Best Western Wheeling Inn was very popular when Jamboree USA hosted two shows each Saturday in downtown Wheeling. “That’s when we heard a lot more about what shows were at the Civic Center and the Capitol (Theatre), and the (Best Western Wheeling Inn) was packed every weekend,” recalled Lynne Walton, a former bartender at the Riverside Lounge that operated inside the hotel. “I had always heard there were a lot of Canadians that came to Wheeling for the Jamboree shows, and that was true. There were more than I imagined. “The businesses leaving downtown was a topic people talked about a lot, but it didn’t seem like it was doomsday or anything,” she said. “The hotel seemed like it was always crowded.” That’s because there was always a party in the bar and on the balconies of the former Best Western Wheeling Inn. Fabulous Fanny’s was the first bar inside the Wheeling Inn when the hotel first opened in the early 1980s, and it was a small pub tucked away just off of the lobby and behind an Elby’s. Then came the Riverside Restaurant, a popular eatery that kept the Boury family in the food service business following the 1988 sale of 73 Elby’s locations in four states to Elias Brothers. “The food was great, too,” Walton remembered. “I didn’t wait on many of the tables back then, but we had a lot of people who sat at the bar to eat their dinners while they met with their friends. “With all of the news about the hotel and the demolition that’s coming sometime soon, I’ve thought about a lot of the people I used to work with and all of the friends I made,” she added. “So many people are really sad to see it go, but the Riverside closed a long time ago and that was really surprising to me because of the view from that back deck. Everyone always wanted to sit there.” While the front signage for the Wheeling Inn and the Riverside was removed late last week, a demolition date has not been finalized by the owners, the Wheeling Convention and Visitors Bureau. “There are steps that have to be taken, but we’re moving forward with all of it so that corner can have a new future,” said Frank O’Brien, the executive director of the Wheeling CVB. “The most important step has been taken, and we’re having a lot of conversations about what could be next for that part of our downtown.” The glasses used at the Riverside Restaurant were still in place when the Wheeling CVB the hotel in mid-January. The area of the hotel where the Riverside Restaurant operated had not been utilized by the most recent owner at the time of the January 17th purchase. The inside of the former Riverside Restaurant has been heavily damaged by water over the years. This area of the former Fabulous Fannie's Lounge was used as a banquet area when the bar was closed, and most recently for storage for old mattresses and furniture. An Elby's Family Restaurant and a Young's Cafeteria did business in the hotel several years ago. Fabulous Fannie's was one of the most popular bars in the valley let alone downtown Wheeling. These two pink booths were very popular seating areas at the former Riverside Restaurant. The spa area was located in the basement of the Wheeling Inn. The hot tub was a popular destination for hotel guests for many years. No one is sure how long the champagne bottle has been next to the spa's hot tub. When the Best Western Wheeling Open re-opened in the early 1980s, the entrance to the hotel was staffed with greeters and bell boys. Read the full article

[mortuarybunny]

Moonstone magic 🌙🕯💜✨

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 25 May 1839

7 40/..

12 50/..

fine morning – sun out – F48 ½° inside and outside now at 8 ½ am then wrote the 2 following pages to Marian – ‘Shibden hall – Saturday 25 May 1839 – My dear Marian – I write merely to express our hope that you had a good journey home, and found all there, and at Market W- as you expected and wished – and to tell you that our journey is necessary delayed till the latter end of next week, but, I trust, not longer – you may count upon our being here up to next Friday night; for, if by possibility we should get off a day sooner, your letter will follow us immediately, and be received in London – I had a note from Mr. Parker on Thursday night – ‘After a good deal of bargaining I have sold the High Royds estate to Mr. Stocks – I have the honour to remain’..... I have not seen Mr. Parker nor heard more from him – but Booth told me he had heard the price was three-and-twenty-hundred – Dont grieve about Holt – he has acted like a child in the business; and those who most wished him to have the place, can only say he is right served – let us hear from you – we shall be glad to know the particulars – you will be sorry to hear we have another accident to the engine – the shaft of the fly-wheel broke on Thursday; and we cannot be repaired and set going again before Monday or Tuesday – all this is very tiresome – but the Hall-motto is always comfortable, dum spiro spero – we are very busy – things always crow upon one towards the last – Adneys’ best love and mine – Ever affectionately yours AL.’ and sent my letter to ‘Miss Marian Lister Northcave’ by George and then breakfast at 9 10/.. in 20 minutes and out at 9 ½ with Robert Mann + 3 (David Mann, Jack Green, and William Lord) at the Low terrace getting clayey stuff off,

SH:7/ML/E/23/0050

and scraplings (bought sometime ago) on – came in about 10 to Joshua Keighley – paid him his last bill for fixtures at the Northgate hotel and a bill for A- (Hatters street) – he said his brother William and he would be glad to sell me their ¼ share of the Spiggs fast coal – Samuel Holdsworth wanted to buy it, but he wanted it for nothing – I said it was not worth much but what was worse I should not much like to have anything to do with the partners Critchley Holt and co. – the 2 Hemingways, John and Isaac (father and son) had waited sometime – A- and I went into the little breakfast to them at 10 50/.. for five minute then – left them their Landymere stone lease, and Isaac his farm agreement to read, and left them to themselves and A- and I went out – to the Lodge – Robert Norton joiner, and Joseph Booth and Robert Wharton masons hanging the Lodge gates that came from Mallinsons’ on Thursday – A- and I returned to the H-x in 35 minutes at 11 ½ and they signed and A- dated witnessed the 2 stone leases and the farm agreement, and then after a few minutes civil talk, A- and I left at 12 them to drink their beer at their leisure – then at my desk at accounts till went down with A- to her luncheon at 12 50/.. – then had old Fawcett (carpenter) and paid him little 2 bills, 1 for A-  1 for myself and A- and I out again at 1 ½ - to Listerwick – and thence with Joseph Mann to the top of the fields to see his pigs marking out the line of coal called board talked over the line of main gates from Airgate pit to WP. and desired Joseph to be at Low moor by 6am tomorrow and back here (at the hall) at 10 to tell me how they were going on with the fly wheel shaft – returned to Listerwick – paid Robert Fielding (fireman) his last fortnights’ wages – then came home – some while talking to Robert Mann respecting the WP. main gates – then A- came to me again – and went with me back to the Lodge and about – Booth came at 5 – orders to him for Monday – to tell Holt I was determined to settle these 3 things before I went his bill, hi salary, and the way of (line of) of the main gates from AP. to W. – Holt to come and shew DB. how to keep the colliery books – DB. to wall up west end of hay barn and alter the flue of Mitham wooll cambers’ wash-house and get John Bottomleys’ stable repaired – A- out with me till came in at 5 50/.. – John Booth and Sam will have finished this our 2nd potato setting on Tuesday night – then they are to weed the land and the conery oak-planting (full of dandelions) – and straw house is to be sided of all the joiners stuff so that John B- may get his hay-cutter from out of the granary to there the straw house – George on returning from H-x this morning brought me letter from Marian – got to Leeds in ½ hour .:. to York in good time – High Royds sold to Mr. Stocks for £250 [£2500?] to be paid 20 July – from 5 50/.. to 7 10/.. in the tower study arranging my books – dinner [at]  7 ¼ - came into the tower again at 8 ¼ till coffee downstairs in the little breakfast room – A- then read French and I slept – came to the tower study again about 9 ¼ - at my books again till 10 ½ A- writing her journal by me and latterly till now 11pm asleep on the hearth rug – had just written all but the 1st 18 lines of today now at 11pm very fine day – had A- a few minutes – then at memoranda – F50° inside and 41 ½° outside now at 11 1/2pm – undressed – ready for bed – then stood writing till 12 ¾ writing for A- copy of letter to her sister she came at this moment in great haste thro’ my room to the watercloset  complained of her bowels after dinner

[taylizmasterpost]

Julianne Hough Is (maybe) a Thing (October 2009 - January 2010)

So Taylor and Julianne had interacted before this point. Taylor and Kellie and Julianne had hosted something together earlier, and Julianne was on Dance Wars back when Liz was, but Julianne’s presence in Taylor’s life ramps up a TON for this very brief period of time. Julianne was 21 and Taylor was 18 (slightly larger age gap than TayLiz).

The important thing about JH’s presence in Taylor’s life for this period of time, however, is that Julianne is out as “not straight,” and is the only woman possibly romantically connected to Taylor to have come out like this -- unless you could Dianna with #Shirtgate and/or think Cara Delevingne and Taylor have hooked up at some point. So, let’s keep this in mind moving forward. However, JH is also incredibly racist and even did blackface at one point, so we do not stan and are not shipping this.

24 October 2009 - Taylor and JH paint each other for Katy Perry’s birthday party. Taylor maybe gives JH a blue boob grab and JH paints her initials onto Taylor’s dress. This is the evidence most people point to as to something happening with them during the “Lost Years.” Is it a smoking gun? No, but it’s definitely interesting.

I’m divided into two camps of belief on Taylor’s relationship with JH: either they were hooking up, or JH was just a big gay mentor/friend figure for Taylor. I’ve put the evidence of their interactions below, so you can try to figure it out with me:

25 October 2009 - JH and Taylor tweet at each other a bunch about the party. 

Taylor Squared also attend a hockey game together.

27 October 2009 - Taylor and Selena have dinner. JH crashes. She tweets at Taylor then invites her to the “MJ premiere.” Taylor tweets about being chased by the paps, presumably because she was hanging out publicly with Selena and JH.

That night, Liz and Taylor perform together on Dancing With the Stars:

28 October 2009 - Taylor Squared go shopping and have a dinner date. They also take these obviously staged car photos.

(The lens has to have been on the hood of the car or something. There’s no way they didn’t notice the camera).

29 October 2009 - Taylor films the Roomies Sketch for SNL. If you haven’t go seen it yet, go WATCH IT RIGHT NOW. It is the start of all of the Gaylor Swift rumors (which we’ll get to later). 

Considering how Taylor reacted when Liz got sick, and the fact that a lot of SNL sketches are based on jokes about the guest’s life/work, etc., I’m thinking this sketch was possibly about tour roommates TayLiz. But if that doesn’t sell you on it, maybe this gif comparison will:

1 November 2009 -  Taylor and Liz go to Paramore concert in Nashville. They dance together to the songs “Misery Business” and “That’s What You Get.” Very girlfriend-y.

7 November 2009 - Taylor hosts Saturday Night Live and the Roomies Sketch airs. 

Immediately after the Roomies Sketch airs, people flood After Ellen (a lesbian forum site -- think the L Chat but earlier) with gossip about Taylor being gay. Unfortunately, the original screenshot does not exist, but here’s someone on the L Chat talking about what happened that night:

Now while, once again, I hope all that stuff with Emily didn’t actually happen, for Taylor’s sake, it is really intriguing that the possibly-TayLiz-based Roomies sketch is the start of all of Taylor’s gay rumors.

11 November 2009 - CMT Awards. Taylor performs and wins an award. JH congratulates her on it with a tweet.

The secret message for Story of Us is “CMT Awards.” At the CMT awards in 2009, Taylor was separated from the band, so if TayLiz was having a hard time, (possibly due to JH jealousy, maybe because they hadn’t seen each other that much since tour ended) this would fit the line “standing alone in a crowded room and we’re not speaking.” Liz had retweeted Taylor about SNL earlier this week, though, so they may have been on good terms and this is not the CMT Awards that the linter note refers to. Or the liner notes are all lies. Who knows?

“Now I’m standing alone in a crowded room and we’re not speaking”????

12 November 2009 - JH and Taylor have a movie night together.

16 November 2009 - Taylor leaves for the Fearless tour in London. JH tweets at her to “have fun.”

18 November 2009 - TayLiz are papped in London returning to their hotel at midnight. (The London paps LOVE Taylor around this period of time, so a lot of the best TayLiz photos come from when they’re in London).

20 November 2009 - Liz tweets that she loves London. Taylor and Co are specifically in London for the Fearless tour, and TayLiz seem to be most “on” when they’re touring together. Perhaps that’s why she’s so excited to be in London...

21 November 2009 - Taylor and Liz go shopping and get lunch with Caitlin and Andrea at Portobello Market.

23-24 November 2009 - Fearless in London. The tour goes on break for the holidays after this.

December 2009 - Taylor and Taylor “break up”. 

9 December 2009 Taylor goes on an ice cream date with Emma Stone in New York after connecting over email (note that this is the same story she tells about who she wrote Enchanted about -- connecting over e-mail and then meeting in person in NYC). So as much as I’d like to give Enchanted to Liz, it fits better with Emma.

What this implies to me is that whatever was going on with JH wasn’t that serious, if Enchanted is indeed about Emma and Taylor went and got ice cream because she was trying to pursue something with her. Or nothing was going on at all and JH was just some big gay mentor. Or even just a friend.

10 December 2009 - Taylor tweets about liking the song I Know About You by Dashboard Confessional that has a bunch of lyrical parallels to cardigan. Here’s a few choice ones:

It’s a shame, I know 

But it all shakes out real slow 

When the forays of your weekend 

Hang like smoke on your clothes 

11 December 2009 - TayLiz and Caitlin go shopping together in NYC

13 December 2009 - Taylor’s 20th Birthday. Her backup dancer, Brandon, comes out at her party (something that’s interesting because he notes that it was while touring with her that he’d found a queer community):

The first time Stansell came out publicly was at Taylor Swift’s birthday party 10 years ago. “I was dancing on Taylor Swift’s Fearless tour,” says Stansell, 33. He was also juggling his studies as a senior at the conservative Belmont College in Nashville. He wasn’t out there, and he wasn’t out to his conservative parents. But he had found a support system for the first time. “I had queer friends in my life,” he says. “And I had a boyfriend.”

To me, this suggests that there were multiple queer people on tour at the time, and Taylor and Liz may have been two of them. However, it’s also possible that he had just found a queer community within Nashville, but the fact that the quote goes straight from “I was touring with Taylor” to “I had queer friends” implies to me some sort of connection between the two.

Liz tweets Happy Birthday at Taylor:

24 December 2009 - Taylor and JH are caught by a fan shopping together at Walmart:

31 December 2009 -  Taylor spends NYE going to the spa with Julianne, going to dinner with Hayley Williams and then goes to her brother’s NYE party.

2 January 2010 - Liz tweets the lyrics to John Mayer’s Heartbreak Warfare

Maybe Liz just likes the song. But I think it’s interesting considering Taylor seems to be out and about with another woman after a whole summer of them being Roomies. I also think it’s intriguing that one of Liz’s favorite nicknames for Taylor is “Tay,” which just happens to be the secret message of Back to December... Did something go wrong between TayLiz at the end of December? Or is the song really for Taylor Lautner, despite the obvious stuntiness of that relationship?

6 January 2010 - Liz congratulates Taylor on something and says she “missed our family,” implying they haven’t seen each other since touring in London together.

9 January 2010 - TayLiz attend a housewarming party together.

19 January 2010 - TayLiz and Caitlin hang out.

23 January 2010 - TayLiz and Caitlin get on a plane to get back on tour.

25 January 2010 - Taylor films something with The Agency and there are a lot of laughs.

27 January 2010 - Taylor and JH attend the same cancer charity event together,

This is the last time we see Taylor and JH together for a long while, and judging by the way Taylor seems to be deliberately avoiding touching JH’s bare back in that last hug, if they had anything, it’s over by this point. Taylor is single and ready to mingle mope about it for a few months.

CONCLUSION: So, did Taylor and JH happen? Maybe. Maybe not. On one hand, I want to believe it did, since, as stated previously, JH is the only out queer woman that Taylor has rumors with. 

The SNL Roomies sketch certainly reads to me as being about TayLiz being roomies on tour, and so the fact that all of Taylor’s gay rumors started here certainly makes a case for TayLiz having been doing something during the first half of the Fearless tour. However, they seem to have drifted apart a bit during the winter. Could this be due to JH? Or something else entirely? Could JH have just been a gay mentor? Who knows for sure. However, something must’ve caused TayLiz to cool down because what’s next is:

Single Taylor and The Gay Australia Trip (February 2010)

[theretirementstory]

Bonjour à tous, it’s a cloudy day here in Bar-sur-Aube and we are due rain. Ha! That is not going to affect my mood, I have been invited out for lunch, have baked « un petit gâteau », date and walnut this time, and will have my best bib and tucker on by lunchtime.

Today sees 70 years on the throne for Queen Elizabeth II, the first British monarch to celebrate a Platinum Jubilee. Congratulations Your Majesty.

This week has again been about trying to get out for a walk, each day. I smile to myself at this, as I remember my grandfather going out for walks each day, he could be gone for hours and if I went to look for him, he could usually be found sitting on a bench « putting the world to rights » with his friends. Unfortunately for me, most of my routes don’t have a bench so I have to plod on. I sometimes overdo the walking but am always pleased to arrive home and « flop into my chair ».

I plucked up courage to ring the builder, again, about sorting out my roof. I spoke to him and again he said he would call. I then pressed him for a day and it was agreed to be the following day. As I laid in bed, telling myself I needed to get up, I heard the ring of my doorbell, yes there was the builder and his gang, it was 8am!!! Well barefoot and in nightclothes I was giving them all the information. Plus I produced the bill I had paid for the work to be done previously. Now if I tell you that the work done last time took about three quarters of an hour, cost me almost a thousand euros, and this time the men were here for three hours replacing parts of the guttering, soldering and sliding about on the roof. Fingers crossed it has fixed the problem, I should find out today as the wind is from a SSW direction and it is this combination of wind and driving rain which has usually seen the water penetration.

Knitting has taken its toll on my elbows this week, has it stopped me, not on your life! I finished another little hat, am racing on with the second blanket for « the twins », after that I have a little cardigan to complete then I can rest my arms 🤔.

I am sure you know that I can easily be stopped  when it comes to housework, welI I have been rather good about that this week. Keeping on top of jobs, tidying as I go 😃. So much so that I didn’t feel guilty about phoning a couple of old work colleagues for a « catch up ». It is great to hear what they have been up to and of course be reminded of my old life, then I put the phone down and I am back here « my happy place » .

I have been looking at the possibility of a couple of short trips away, I do want to meet up with Pauline this month in Paris and if she is free I am hoping I can go on the 20 February. The next little one may be for around the end of March, it all depends on the bills I get in and whether the guy is going to come and do the work at the front of the house before April! Well I can play it by ear, it doesn’t have to be set in stone.

Marie-Therese came for her coffee and cake and then left, to take her French class. I went to take the knitting workshop with the refugees, only to find that the office was closed, shutters firmly closed, so I came back home and relaxed.

I am so pleased I have got into the way of going to the market on a Saturday, it gets me out and about seeing people, I call at the bar for a coffee then go back home. Usually rejuvenated, as I was yesterday, when after lunch, I did washing, then made, soup, a corned beef and onion pie and a date and walnut cake to take to my friends this lunchtime.

So what about my family, well « The Daddy » isn’t too good again and now my grandchildren seem to have this horrible cold again. I do hope that it soon clears up as head colds can quickly turn worse if you are susceptible to them. At the moment ”The Mummy” is the only well one among them.

 »The Paralegal » has taken a couple of days off work and has caught up with a few jobs that needed to be done. That information I sent you about Saltburn, the place is open 12:30 to 5:30 today, so if you are out and about why not pop in! I will leave you with this quote by J Hawes, I think it could be applied to each and everyone, but at this time, in the UK, I can think of « an appropriate  » person.

«  A good name is seldom regained. When character is gone, all is gone, and one of the richest jewels of life is lost »

Lots of renovations taking place, rejuvenating this medieval town.

Jusqu’à la semaine prochaine.

[astraeagreengrass]

Blue

The Blue Henley™ and that’s it.

Word Count: 1.567

Warnings: Short and sweet. Mentions of sexy times (no actual sexy times though). English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

A/N: Did I just write something inspired by The Blue Henley™? You bet I did! This is my submission to @jalapenobarnes writing challenge. My prompt was “Basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss”. Thank you Saran for hosting this challenge and allowing me to participate!

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes. Unfortunately he is a fictional character and therefore is property of Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. Sebastian Stan’s face belongs to himself. The plot is my own creation.

My masterlist

He is greeted at the threshold by the voices of John, Paul, George and Ringo. 

The Beatles were new to him - like online shopping and Nespresso machines. Maybe, if he’d gone home after ‘45, he’d have dragged Steve to one of their concerts or seen them at Ed Sullivan’s show. And his grandchildren would gawk at him and tell him how lucky he was to have seen the Beatles together.

Maybe.

He couldn’t help it sometimes - how his mind involuntarily drew intricate scenarios of “what ifs” and possibilities. Bucky supposed it was his curse for having lived so long and so hard. His atonement was the constant back and forth of then and now, dealing with the aftermath of everything he missed.

But at least he didn’t kill John Lennon.

The record player was a gift for his 102nd birthday. It resembled very little the one he had back home - his 1940s home. It was sleek, light and state-of-the-art, with that classic vintage look that people liked their electronics to have even if they were far from vintage. 

You’d been so nervous when you gave it to him you couldn’t even wait for the sun to be high in the sky and your lover to be out of the bed. Nervous hands twisted the duvet as Bucky opened the package, careful not to ruin the glitter wrapping paper. He loved it, even if it took him a while to learn how to use the record player. But, once he did, it made way for your favorite tradition: spring saturdays at the flea market, the one in DUMBO or maybe in Williamsburg, looking for old records.

The Beatles, the Stones, Led Zeppelin, Elvis Presley, The Doors, Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, Marvin Gaye and Queen to more recent acts: Nirvana, Guns and Roses, Pearl Jam, the pop groups from the early 2000’s and performers like Bruno Mars and Beyoncé.

Any decade, any rhythm - Bucky Barnes liked music. And you indulged him in his new-found passion, adding soundtrack to the most unexpected moments of his day and being his partner whenever he fancied a dance.

Like now. He found you in the kitchen counter, hips moving slowly as you chopped carrots for dinner.

“Hold me tight / And tell me I’m the only one / And then I might / Never be theAAAAAH” you yelled, half a scream, half a laugh when Bucky surprised you by tickling your sides.

“Holy shit, Barnes! I have a knife on my hands. I could’ve cut myself!” you exclaimed while Bucky doubled over with laughter. 

You threw the knife on the sink, fake pouting, as Bucky came over to you, laugh forgotten. He was all saunter and swagger now, hands reaching out to hold you hips.

“That would teach you not to make dinner while shaking this ass” as to qualify his point, he landed a sharp smack on your left butt cheek, causing you to jump. 

You narrowed your eyes, snark remark at the tip of your tongue when you noticed it.

Blue.

Light blue. Almost teal, but not quite, evenly spread across the expanse of his chest and arms. Blue like his eyes, like the sky on a summer day, like a perfect Caribbean sea.

Beautiful blue.

“Is that… new?” was all you could muster while your gaze roamed the cotton. Your hands left their resting place on the nape of his neck and slid down, as if they could grasp the magnificent color and cradle it.

“Yeah” Bucky said, confused by your reaction. “I bought it last week.”

Such a simple explanation for such a magnificent happenstance. You could picture him: self-conscious and a little overwhelmed as he browsed some fast-fashion looking for simple pieces that didn’t stand out much. Bucky stuck to the classic blacks, whites and grays. Their simplicity made him feel safe and your boyfriend’s comfort would always come before any fashion trend.

Oftentimes a navy color would make an appearance and the way it complimented his eyes made your heart speed up. But this blue... This blue was different. You couldn’t place what was so special about it – was it the shade? An almost exact match to his irises? Was it the contrast of índigo fabric and golden-black forearms?

Bucky watched with raised eyebrows and a confused frown as the tips of your fingers carefully roamed the expanse of his torso, as if you were touching a valuable art piece instead of a US$ 9.99 henley from H&M.

“You okay, doll?” he asked. 

“Yeah” you gawked. “I’m perfect, actually.”

Bucky liked to think he knew you better than he knew himself – your spontaneity, creativity and enthusiasm over the smallest things. Life with you was never dull: it was a collection of happy moments that pieced his broken soul back together. Bucky believed he was used to the spur-of-the-moment midnight walks or the impromptu dance offs in the kitchen, but apparently he wasn’t.

Not when you grabbed him by the collar of the blue henley and kissed him.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss, like the sweet pecks you usually showered him with when he arrived home.  And it wasn’t a violent kiss, like the ones he usually took from you, breath out of breath, in the sacred intimacy of your bedroom.

This kiss was urgent and needy, yet full of the same love he felt every time your mouth reached for his. It tasted like honey on his tongue and sounded like a symphony made of the tiny moans that escaped you when he pulled on your bottom lip with his teeth.

The hand on Bucky's collar moved to his hair. The silky soft brown strands were much shorter, but still long enough to grab them, making him to groan. You felt light-headed, your lungs burning for air and your calves worn out from the effort of standing on your tiptoes, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The only thing that mattered was him and that blue shirt.

“What was that for?” Bucky whispered when you manage to disentangle yourself from him. Your breath was coming in short, uneven gasps that teased him to no end. His gaze involuntarily lowered from your flushed cheeks to your chest, and the rapid way it rose and fell made him uncomfortable in his pants.

“Nothing" you replied. “You just look really good.”

Bucky laughed - a deep, delicious sound deep from his stomach, echoing at the walls of your heart. You swore you could live in the crinkles of his eyes because Heaven couldn’t compare to this world whenever Bucky Barnes laughed.

Especially if he was wearing that blue henley.

Bucky’s laugh turned into a smirk when he tightened his hold on your hips - one hand was warm and the other a little colder, just the way you liked it and how you wanted it to be forever. Swiftly, he rose you on the counter and moved to stand between your legs. The familiarity and domesticity of it didn’t make it any less thrilling. On the contrary, knowing this love was a constant rather than a possibility caused the butterflies to flutter harder in the pit of your belly. 

His vibranium hand squeezed you thigh before hooking your leg around his waist. The friction of your sweatpants with his jeans was the torturous prelude before the chorus. Bucky grunted in your ear, low and deep and warm as his breath hit the shell of your ear, right before he sucked it.

Oh.

Your hand was twisted in the blue fabric, unsure if you wanted to rip if off him or be it - to hug him and envelop him so perfectly and never let him go. Your embrace was suffocating. A tangle of arms, legs and lips dancing to their own song, writing notes on your skin. It was so easy to get lost in him. To drown in the blissful feel of Bucky’s touch and ignore the revolving world around you

A loud noise startled you, pulling you both apart. Bucky quickly turned to the crash, shielding your body with his. There, in the corner of the living room, the record player - now silent - was on the floor. Standing above the wreckage, nonchalantly licking a white paw, was Alpine.

You sighed.

“Did you say hello to her when you arrived?"

“Nope” Bucky said, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He chuckled.

You absentmindedly dragged your nails across the nape of his neck and he purred, much like his feline counterpart when he greeted her favorite human.

“That record player was so expensive” you grumbled, face tucked in the blissful blue henley. Damn Alpine for ruining the plans you had for that shirt.

“I know. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It’s yours, actually.”

“You know what else is mine?”

“Huh?”

“You are.”

You looked up to find him grinning, mischief on the corner of his lips and a twinkle in his gaze. You barely had time to squeal when Bucky lifted you from the counter and over his shoulder and moved to the bedroom, making sure to shut the door. 

“What about Alpine? She’ll destroy the apartment” you asked, body bouncing on the mattress. 

Bucky shrugged then tugged on his henley, tossing the blue to the floor.

Yeah. He looked much better without it.

“It’ll be worth it.”

General taglist: @ivoryhazlewood​ @youclickedthislink​ 

[quickspinner]

Beautiful Dreams - Ch 3 Dreams Worth Chasing

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | AO3

Marinette was on her way to pick up her missing folder, and Luka had a plan. Sort of. He caught himself chewing his freshly painted thumbnail and made a face (both at himself and the taste). He was going to be a wreck by the time she got here if he didn’t do something. 

Luka picked up his electric guitar and cranked his amp. Rocking out was always the best way to deal with nerves. He was breathing a little hard by the time he finished his own version of Jagged Stone’s Rock Giant but he was comparatively relaxed when a slightly timid knock sounded on his door. 

Okay. He could do this. He was smooth, no matter how much Juleka liked to pick on him. 

Luka opened the door and there she was, stylish and put together as always, and as always his heart stuttered in his chest. Her hair was looking a little windblown and a strand stuck to her lips. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him, and he didn’t miss the way her gaze flicked over his white t-shirt and black jeans, nor the faint color that tinted her cheeks. He tended to keep his arms covered when he was with his students, as the type of parents who could afford his rates were often the type who didn’t really appreciate tattoos, but he’d left his arms bare today just to see if he’d been imagining things at the market. He concluded a little smugly that he hadn’t and Marinette wasn’t put off by his ink at all. That gave him the boost he needed to stop staring like an idiot himself.

“Come on in,” he offered, stepping back. “I put it in the back so I wouldn’t lose it or spill anything on it, I’ll go grab it. Make yourself at home.”

“Last time I did that I fell asleep,” Marinette said wryly, and he laughed, wincing slightly at how it echoed in the hallway.

“I hope you’re better rested today,” he called as he reached for the folder where he’d left it on top of his dresser. 

“I wish. Was that you playing just now?” she asked when he returned with the folder in hand, and then answered herself before he could. “Sorry, that was a stupid question, of course it was you. It was good—I mean of course, you’d be good, you’re a teacher. I just—I’m a big fan of Jagged Stone and…” She seemed to run out of steam, blushing.

He’d thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach but the idea that her slip-up at the market hadn’t been just a fluke, that she was nervous because maybe she was just a little bit affected by him too was enough to make him feel sixteen again for the second time in as many weeks. 

“I’m a teacher,” Luka said, leaning one shoulder against the wall as casually as possible. “But I’m a musician first and the electric guitar’s always been my first love. I play every chance I get. I’m glad you liked it, I’m a big fan of Jagged Stone myself.” He held the folder out to her.

Marinette took it, her gaze on the floor. “He’s actually one of my oldest clients.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s impressive. Louis told me you worked for him, but I didn’t realize you’d been working with him that long.”

“It was luck that started it, really, but we’ve had a good working relationship. Not so much lately since he’s sort of semi-retired but…” She trailed off, blushing harder, and Luka gestured to a poster on his wall. 

“Louis told me you designed that one. He’s very proud of you. As he should be, I’m really impressed,” he said. “It’s one of my favorites.” He grinned back at her. “You’re really talented, Marinette.” 

She lit up red as a tomato and stammered something about needing to go.

“Of course,” he said, stepping back and motioning her ahead of him. “I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy.” That’s such a lie. I want to keep you forever.

He walked her to the door. Now or never, Couffaine.

“Marinette.” Luka took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to her. “If you’d like to hear more, my band is playing this weekend. I’d love for you to come.” 

“Oh,” Marinette said, taking the paper and unfolding it slowly to look at the flier. “I’m...not sure? I’ll have to see if I’m free.”

“I understand. Well, I hope you can make it.” He took a breath. “Maybe after our set is over, I can buy you a drink.” 

Her gaze snapped to his face and Luka did all he could to keep his expression relaxed and friendly, though his eyes were locked on hers. He shrugged slightly. “No pressure, just...if you feel like getting out.”

Marinette bit her lip and lowered her eyes, and then looked back up and smiled. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Great.” Luka smiled and opened the door for her. “Have a good week.”

She smiled back at him, blushing faintly. “Thanks. You too.”

He watched her get into her car, and then stepped back inside, shut the door, and leaned against it, all his breath rushing out with a whoosh. “Your move, dreamer,” he muttered. “Hope I see you Saturday. If you come, it’s on.” 

***

Luka went through his usual pre-show routine, and his body and mind readied themselves to sink into the music in response. If he had something different than usual dwelling at the corners of his mind, no one noticed, and no one spoke to him, his bandmates having long ago learned to respect his space before a show.

If there was any place at all that Luka could feel at home outside of his family, it was at the club. He’d practically grown up in the back rooms of clubs and bars and anywhere else they could find that had a stage and somewhere to plug in an amp, trailing behind his mother with Juleka’s hand held tightly in his. Anarka Couffaine was fiery and bombastic where Luka was quiet and calm, but once he began to take the stage, first by her side and later on his own with Juleka at his, it became obvious he was his mother’s son. The stage contained and tempered Anarka’s fire, taming it into something other people could share. It fanned Luka’s flame, giving him the energy to reach out, to connect, to give others a glimpse of the inner world he guarded so carefully.

If Marinette was out there, beyond the stage light and the wall of crowd noise, she would see him tonight. 

She’s here, he thought to himself as he picked up his guitar and stripped the strap over his head. She has to be. 

No way he was going to fumble it this time. He was in his element here, he’d made his choice, made his peace with it, and now there was nothing left to do but act.

Behind him, the count tapped out, and Luka played.

***

For once, the pounding of his heart didn’t stop when he stepped off the stage. Luka accepted and returned the fistbumps and backslaps and congratulations of his bandmates on an excellent show. He stowed his gear as quickly as he could, and grabbed the extra bag he’d packed.

There was only so much he could do in the small, cramped bathroom, but he got his stage makeup washed off, freshened up as much as he could, and changed his shirt. He redid his eyeliner and ruffled up his hair, before taking a deep breath. He tossed his bag in the back with the rest of his stuff, and went to look for Marinette.  

He found her faster than he expected, wearing a slinky red dress and her hair pinned up, standing at a table with a couple of other people. Luka lingered just a moment to prepare himself and then slipped through the crowd and touched her elbow. “Hey, Marinette. Glad you could make it.”

“Luka!” The smile she turned on him was blinding. “Luka that was amazing!” 

He grinned back, instantly captivated. “Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I loved it! Oh!” She jumped as the brunette next to her elbowed her. “Um, Luka, this is my best friend Alya, and I’m pretty sure you and Nino have met.”

“We have. Good to see you again, Nino.” He exchanged a handshake and a shoulder bump with the other man, trying not to sigh at this slight complication. He hasn’t counted on having to hit on Marinette in front of her ex-husband’s best friend. 

Not that it was going to stop him.

Nino gave him a neutral nod as he pulled back. “Hey Luka, long time no see. The band was sick.” 

“Thanks,” Luka grinned, and offered his hand to Alya. “Nice to meet you, Alya.” She took his hand and looked him up and down, but not like she was checking him out—more like she was sizing him up. Luka had been on the receiving end of the BFF stare too many times to be bothered. He gave her his blandest smile and turned to Marinette. “So, can I buy you that drink?”

Marinette’s cheeks pinked. “Sure.” 

He walked Marinette to the bar and let her order what she liked, and got a beer for himself. “So you liked the set?”

“I loved it,” Marinette smiled up at him. “The covers were cool but there were some original songs in there too, right? I really liked the one you did…” She gestured vaguely, forehead creasing in thought. “Umm, I think it went ‘not the right hand, not the right touch, but she always said I needed too much’? And it had that amazing guitar solo in the middle? That was my favorite.”

“Yeah?” Luka grinned, leaning against the bar. “I wrote that one, I’m glad you liked it.”

Marinette’s eyes went huge. “You wrote it? Like out of nothing?”

“More or less,” Luka chuckled. “I roughed it out and wrote the instrumentals, and our vocalist Jenner, he helped me work out the lyrics and the vocals. Only fair, really, since he had to sing it. I can usually put the melodies together on my own, but I always have to have some help with the words.”

“The melodies were so evocative and emotional though,” Marinette said, picking up her drink as the bartender delivered it. “The words are just the icing on the cake.” 

“That’s nice of you to say,” Luka picked up his beer and motioned Marinette to precede him back to the table. 

Marinette didn’t move right away, giving him an adorably pouty look that came with such sad eyes that it made him want to cringe. “You make it sound like you think I’m insincere.”

“That was absolutely not my intention, I’m sorry.” Luka sighed and drummed his fingers on the bar, trying to find a better way to explain. “People tend to...notice words more, I guess. When people talk to us about a song they usually talk about how the words affected them, or that they thought this or that thing we did with the instrumentals is cool or catchy. I don’t get a lot of people who talk about how the music itself made them feel. So, what I meant was, thank you. That’s nice to hear.”

“Oh.” Marinette tucked a strand of hair back, clearly processing. “Then...you’re welcome. I really do feel that way, especially…” she hesitated, tilting her head slightly as she looked up at him. “Especially when you were taking the lead. I mean, I’m no expert, but, um...wow. That was incredible, what you can do with that guitar.” 

It might be a shy, hesitant flirt, but he’d take it. He leaned into her space just a little, one hand resting on the bar next to her elbow. “Well, considering you’ve spent a lot of time around Jagged Stone—and don’t think I don’t know he’s not the only musician you’ve worked with—I think I’m very flattered, expert or no.” 

He couldn’t quite see if she was blushing in the blue light coming off the bar, but he was pretty sure she was as she stammered something about getting back to the table and turned quickly, nearly tripping in her haste to put some space between them. Luka caught her arm to steady her, and rested just his fingertips on her back as he tried to shield her from some of the jostling of the crowd as they wound their way back to the table. Once over her initial fluster, she leaned back into his protection almost automatically, tucking her petite figure against his side when things got a bit tight. 

When they got back to her friends, Marinette excitedly recounted their conversation. It wasn’t quite enough to make Luka blush, he knew what his strengths were, but it did make it easy to keep a smile on his face. 

As Marinette talked on, Alya fixed Luka with a stare. When there was a lull in the conversation, she said, “Marinette, why don’t you go grab us another round.”

Marinette frowned. “Alya, nobody’s even finished—”

“Food,” Alya declared. “Get us some food. Please.” She reached over and slid Marinette’s glass in front of her. “I’ll watch your drink. Shoo.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes and stood up. “Rude,” she sniffed. “You better not ditch Luka all by himself while I’m gone.”

“Of course not!” Alya promised.

Luka frowned, wanting to offer to go in Marinette’s place, or at least to go with her, but it was obvious that Alya just wanted Marinette out of the way. If that was the case he might as well sit here and get it over with. The crowd was clearing a bit as the DJ got rolling, people pressing toward either the bar or the dance floor, so she’d probably be okay.

Sure enough, as soon as Marinette was out of earshot, Alya rounded on him. “So what’s the deal? Are you into my girl or what?”

Direct. He could appreciate that. “Yes.” He lifted his bottle to his lips, watching Marinette over Alya’s shoulder trying to make her way through the crowd. 

“Like a house and picket fence interested or like take her home and fuck her brains out interested?”

“Alya!” Nino hissed, looking horrified.

Luka barely managed to swallow before he laughed, putting his drink back down. “Both.”

“Oh my God,” Nino groaned, putting his hands over his face.

Alya grinned. “Good answer, Blue.”

“It’s Luka,” he said, amused. 

“Make it past the second date and I’ll consider remembering that. So you teach music for a living?”

“I do all kinds of music for a living, but my steadiest income comes from my students, yes.”

“And you’re okay with being a stepdad?”

“You really don’t have to answer any of this,” Nino broke in. “Alya, come on.”

Luka ignored him. “Totally. Louis is a great kid and I like him. Honestly I didn’t have the greatest example in the dad department myself, so it’s a little scary, but I can deal.”

“Would you want more kids than just Louis?”

“Sure, I’d be open to that someday. Though I’d want us all to get settled with each other first before we brought a baby into the mix.” Luka sat back and let Alya continue giving him the third degree, refusing to answer only a few very personal questions. Finally she folded her arms and regarded him thoughtfully.

Luka smiled. “So, do I pass?”

Alya snorted. “If you can live up to half of what you just said I’ll gift wrap her for you myself.” She leaned forward. “Take advantage of my girl and I’ll kill you. Push her into anything before she’s ready and there are no words for the kind of hell I will put you through.”

“Noted,” Luka replied without any change of expression. Alya gave a nod and stood up.

“Listen, be blunt with her. She’s terrible at flirting. You have no idea how many men hit on her and she never even noticed. If you just hint around like you did with this, even if you think you’re being obvious at the time, she’ll convince herself it doesn’t really mean what you’re trying to mean. Now I better go help Marinette or we’ll be waiting here all night.”

“I can’t believe you let her grill you like that,” Nino said as Alya walked away, his eyes glued to her...back. 

“It’s not the first best friend interrogation I’ve been through, although that was one of the more entertaining,” Luka grinned, propping his thick boots up on the currently empty chair next to him. “It’s usually easier to just go with it. What’s the harm if it gets her on board?”

There was no answer, and Luka looked over to find Nino regarding him soberly. “What?”

“Nothing, just...I thought you and Adrien were friends, dude.”

“We are.”

“You won’t be any more if he finds out you’re dating Marinette behind his back.”

“I’m not doing anything behind his back. If she actually agrees to go out with me, I’ll call and tell him myself.”

“He still loves her.”

Luka shrugged. “She still loves him too. You can see it every time she talks about him. But they’re done, and he doesn’t get a say anymore. And honestly man? If it was you and Alya was Adrien’s ex-wife, would it stop you?”

“You think you feel about Marinette like I feel about Alya?”

Luka looked across to where the girls were working their way back across the crowd. “Hell yeah,” he breathed. 

Nino blew out a long sigh, and lifted his glass. Luka clinked it with his bottle and they both took a long drink. “Then I guess, good luck, bro.” 

“Just do me a favor and don’t say anything to Adrien yet, okay?” Luka said. “I’m not asking you to lie to him if it comes up, but just leave it alone for now. She could still turn me down and I don’t want to cause a big shitstorm over nothing.”

Nino eyed him. “You’ll tell him before you two go out?”

“Absolutely.”

Nino sighed. “Okay.” 

The girls finally returned, setting an assortment of bar food on the table. “Dance with me, Nino,” Alya ordered.

“Yes ma’am,” Nino sighed, standing up with a put-upon air but a smile on his face. 

Luka watched them go and then turned back to Marinette as she settled back in her chair. 

“So,” Marinette sighed. “How bad was she?”

“Pretty bad,” Luka chuckled, and Marinette giggled nervously. “I didn’t mind though, she’s just looking out for you.”

“Sorry, I told her it wasn’t like that, but—“ she gestured vaguely, not meeting his eyes. 

Score one for the BFF. Blunt it is then. “What if it was like that?” Luka leaned his elbows on the table and tilted his head so that he was looking up at her. “What if I was hoping you’d come out tonight so that I could ask you out without being totally unprofessional?”

Marinette went red as a cherry and her mouth opened and closed and nothing came out. 

“I know we don’t know each other all that well, but I’d really like to change that.” He put his hand out, palm up, on the table. “So if you want, we can talk some and maybe dance a little and then, if you’re feeling it, I could take you out for coffee tomorrow?”

He could see her swallow. She looked like a deer in the headlights and he wondered if he’d been a little too direct. Luka withdrew, sitting back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I won’t bring it up again.”

“No, I, it’s j-just, I mean I’m divorced and I have a k-kid and—and—“

“I know all that already,” Luka said gently, leaning forward again. 

“But—But I’m boring and you’re all dyed hair and tattoos and you can play guitar like that and—why would you want to go out with me?”

Luka’s smile spread slowly across his face. “Well that sounds like something we can talk about over coffee. If you’d like.” 

Marinette bit her lip and blushed, looking away, but he could see the smile tugging at her lips. "Coffee sounds nice," she finally managed, giving up on containing her smile. 

"Do you maybe want to join Nino and Alya on the dance floor?" he suggested. They both looked automatically towards the couple on the dance floor, only for Luka's eyebrows to raise and Marinette to bring a hand up to cover her jaw drop. 

"On second thought," Luka amended. "Maybe we'd better leave them to themselves." He coughed, trying to keep back his laughter. "Damn, I'm not sure whether to feel sorry for Nino or high-five him." He and Marinette exchanged a look, and they both broke down in a fit of laughter that lasted several minutes. 

***

When Marinette walked into the little coffee shop the next day, Luka had to slide his gaze away for a moment, trying not to remember how she looked under the club lights, her red dress swirling around her thighs when Alya had finally convinced her to dance while Luka and a still-flushed Nino watched from their table.

She was lovely in a different way today, soft and sweet in a peasant style top over jeans, her hair flowing loose around her shoulders. Luka was just as glad to be spared the distraction of her bare neck, though God did that loose hair make him want to tangle his fingers in it. 

He swallowed and managed to greet her in a mostly normal voice. “Can I get you something?” he asked her, but Marinette set her purse down and shook her head. 

“I’ll get it,” she smiled, and went to the counter to order. She didn’t ask for it to go, which he thought was a good sign. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Luka asked when she came back and sat down at the table. “I hope we didn’t keep you out too late last night.”

“No, I’m fine,” Marinette said, waving her hands. “I’m kind of a night owl anyway, at least when Louis is with Adrien. Usually I’m designing and not dancing, but I had fun last night. A lot of fun. And the band, that was really great, I‘m really glad you invited me. ”

“That’s great to hear,” Luka smiled. “Have you thought about what we talked about?”

“I…” Marinette blushed, but went on bravely. “I like you, Luka. I think I’d like to go out with you. I just…” She chewed her lip.

“Go on,” Luka said gently. 

“I’m worried about Louis. And…” Marinette tapped a finger on her cup thoughtfully, staring at the table. “I’ve been with Adrien since we were kids. I’m not sure I even know what grownup dating looks like.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her eyes shot to his, like that was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Luka smiled at her. “I think it’s sweet. You were in love, you took a chance, and you gave it your best.” He took her hand carefully and squeezed it. “Listen, my sister and I were raised by a single mother, so I know at least a little bit about where you’re coming from—more than a little bit about where Louis is coming from, and I promise you I’ll be as sensitive with him as I can, and if we need to work with his therapist to figure out how to approach this with him then I’m absolutely willing to do that. But let me make something perfectly clear, Marinette. There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not leftovers or damaged goods or whatever other awful words that roll around in your mind when you hear the word divorce. You’re not a failure, you’re not a mistake, you’re not stupid for taking a chance on young love, and you are so far from being unloveable. Okay? And even if you decide that you don’t want to be with me, I don’t want you going into any other relationship thinking any of those things. So what if you don’t know what so-called ‘normal’ dating is? It’s not that big of a deal to ask a guy what that looks like to him and expect him to be honest back. There is nothing wrong with you. You are successful and smart and pretty and a great mom and there are a million guys out there who would fall all over themselves to date you. I’m just lucky enough to be the first in line.”

She stared at him, and he thought he saw a shimmer in the dim café lighting. Luka squeezed her hand and let go, standing up. “Tell you what, I’m gonna give you a minute. I’ll bring us back some pastries or something.”

When he got back to the table, Marinette looked a little more composed. “You’re very upfront with your feelings,” she observed quietly as he sat down.

“I try to be,” he agreed. “Partly because I’m not really that great with words and when I beat around the bush I end up creating a lot of misunderstandings. I’m not scaring you off, am I?”

“No, it’s just...I don’t think I’m as brave as you are.” Her gaze slanted away.

Luka touched the back of her hand. “May I?” She blushed and nodded, and he took her hand. “That’s all there is to it, Marinette. Just one decision at a time.” He held out his other hand. “It’s up to you.” She put her other hand slowly in his. “And if it’s too much and you change your mind, that’s okay too.” He opened his fingers so that he was just cradling each of her hands in his loosely. “You have a creator’s hands.” 

Marinette huffed. “Rough and scarred up?”

He grinned. “Just like mine. Although I would have said strong and capable.” 

She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I don’t think we compare. You’re a teacher and a musician. I just make clothes.”

“Art is art, Marinette, and don’t sell yourself short, I may not know much about fashion but I know that you don’t get a position like yours just because you can sew. And I doubt making clothes is all you do. You must have other interests. Can I ask about this?” He turned her hand slightly so that the ladybug tattoo was facing upwards.

“Oh,” Marinette said, blushing. “That was just—it was stupid.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” he said lightly. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I know tattoos can get really personal.”

Marinette’s eyes slid away. “Maybe sometime, just...not now.” 

“Sure,” Luka said easily, letting her turn her hand in his so the ladybug was out of sight. “So tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

“Oh. Um,” Marinette frowned for a moment, thinking, and Luka’s mouth twitched as he tried not to smile at how seriously she took the question. “My father’s a baker. He and my mother own the bakery on Rue Gotlib, and that’s where I grew up. Sometimes I still design cakes for my parents, just for fun.” 

He listened to her talk about her family, and volunteered information about his. “My father’s never really been in the picture,” he told her. “Oddly enough we’ve gotten closer since my mom passed, but he travels a lot, so I only really see him every once in a while when he’s in town. My sister lives here, though, and we’re really close. I think I told you she and her wife just had a baby about a month ago, so that’s been a bit of an adventure for all of us.” 

“I remember those days,” Marinette said sympathetically. “It’s a huge adjustment for everybody.” 

“They’re doing great with it,” Luka said, smiling fondly, pulling out his phone, and pulling up a picture. He and Juleka leaned over Rose where she lay in a hospital bed holding up a little pink bundle for the camera. “That’s my sister, and that’s her wife Rose, and that’s Angelique.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Marinette cooed, leaning closer, and Luka swiped through a couple more pictures—he and Juleka hugging, him holding the baby, Rose and Juleka asleep on each other side-by-side in the narrow hospital bed—until he found a close up of Angie. “She’s precious.” 

“She’s been a light in our world this past year, just getting ready for her and watching her grow in the sonogram pictures,” Luka said, putting away the phone a little reluctantly. “I painted the nursery three times because Rose couldn’t pick a color and I don’t regret a second of it.” Marinette giggled, a hand over her mouth, and Luka smiled at her. “I try to get over and see them as often as I can without being in the way. She’s just learning how to smile now.” 

“Ooooh,” Marinette swooned, putting her hands to her chest. “When Louis was that age, Adrien used to—” She broke off and bit her lip. 

Luka’s expression didn’t change. “Go on,” he encouraged. 

She did, haltingly, and it took a few minutes to find their rhythm again, but then it began to flow. Marinette seemed to find it easier to talk about other people rather than herself, a fact Luka filed away for reference. It was funny, the way she talked about her friends and Louis and even her assistant at work while only just touching on her own thoughts. Luka didn’t press, content for the moment to learn about whatever part of her life she felt comfortable sharing.

“I have to go soon,” Luka said regretfully, checking the time. “I do actually have some students today. So, how are you feeling about a date?” He leaned his elbows on the table, trying to keep his tone casual. “I’m thinking maybe we could check out a museum and a café?”  

“That—“ Marinette took a deep breath, and then smiled. “That sounds really nice. I’d love to go.”

Luka grinned and they both pulled out their phones and hashed out a time and place. 

“It’s a date then,” Luka said, once everything was settled. “I have to go now, but...I’m really looking forward to it.” He reached over and tucked a lock of hair gently behind her ear, letting his fingers brush her suddenly blushing cheek lightly as he drew back. “See you soon, Marinette.”

“See you soon, Luka,” she said shyly as he got up from the table. He glanced back with a smile as he opened the door, and the little ladybug danced as she waved.

***

“Hi Luka. I got your message. What did you need? I thought the lessons were going well.”

”Hey, Adrien. Sorry to bother you but I...kind of need to talk to you about something. You’re probably not going to like it.”

“...You’re not calling to talk to me about Louis, are you?”

“No. I’m calling to tell you I’m taking Marinette out this weekend. On a date.”

“...”

“Adrien?”

“If I say I’m not okay with it?” 

“Then things are going to be rough for a while, because I’m not disrespecting her by asking for your permission. It’s not up to you, man. But I didn’t want you to find out from somebody else and think I was hiding it.”

“I might appreciate that eventually. I’m having a bit of trouble mustering any appreciation at the moment.”

“I understand. I know this sucks, man. I’m sorry for that.”

“Not sorry enough to back off.”

“Would you?”

“God, I really hate you right now, Couffaine.”

“Understood. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | AO3

[world-of-aus]

You’re My Mission One-Shot Soulmate AU! (Teaser)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: TBD

Summary: *work in progress

Warnings: violence, angst, fluff

Author’s Note: Hello! So i’ve just been accepted into my masters program to continue my work in Special education and since i’ve just started my courses i may fall behind on posting ever so slightly, im hoping to have this one shot out on Saturday and Behind The Screen on Sunday, just a couple of days late while i adjust to my coursework. Since i wont be posting an update till later tomorrow i wanted to grace you all with a teaser! I hope you enjoy and thank you to @amanda-the-fangirl​ for sending in her wonderful idea! can’t wait to have the full work finished and edited!

You awoke with a pounding head; a pained groan fell from your lips as you tried to move your aching body. Panic seeped into you when you found you couldn't move your arms, pins and needles prickling at your fingers as you struggled with the ties that had you bound. You looked around with wide eyes, but there wasn’t much to make out in the dimly lit room. You scourged your hazy brain for something, anything to tell you how you had ended up here in this situation. Your eyes widened in horror.

You quickened your pace as you pushed yourself into the sea of bodies, you pushed against them as you tried to get away from his watchful eyes. You felt the coldness of his stare on you, watching you, studying you, much like the day before, he had only continued to draw closer as the week had passed. At first you had just thought you had stumbled upon the most mysterious man, with the most marvelous crystal blue eyes.  Though when you were walking through the minuscule be isles of your streets corner market and bumped into him once more you had chalked it up to fate playing games. The third and fourth time had you biting your lip with nervousness, surely you would have seen this man before if he really did have the same schedule as you, unless, you had shaken your head of those thoughts, it couldn’t be. You had decided to swallow down your nerves and approach him on the fifth day, you hadn’t known he was there until you felt a chill run up your spine, the feel of eyes watching your every move as you ordered your favorite caffeinated drink from the overly friendly barista. Sure enough when you had handed your payment to the cashier, you chanced a glance over your shoulder to already find his gaze on yours, he had your breath catching in your throat.

You moved off stiffly to the side to allow the next customer to move up, you gazed away from the predatory eyes focusing on the baristas behind the bar, you took a deep breath deciding that you would go over to the mysterious man and confront him, in your mind there was simply no explanation for why he was always appearing in locations you had never seen him before. Your name was called and you took uneasy steps forward taking the warm cup from the smiling teen. Turning on your heel you steeled yourself as you made your way towards the man sitting in the middle of the local coffee house. Taking a breath, you found your words, “excuse me,” you voiced warmly, “ I feel like I've seen a lot  of you in places I've never seen you before, and maybe that’s just a coincidence, do I know you?” you questioned.

His eyes were looked on yours as he shook his head once, you swallowed fingers tapping on your Styrofoam cup nervously.  

“are you-” you paused, “are you following me?” you questioned voice dropping.

Your nearly dropped the hot drink in your hands when his head nodded once, rather than questioning him any further you probably did the last thing you should have done, you ran. Your heart had was racing in your chest as you raced out the doors and onto the busy streets. You looked behind you with wide eyes to see he was feet away. You quickened your pace, continuing to push through the crowds, eventually the crowd thinned the closer you got to home. You didn’t dare chance a glance back over your shoulder, you already knew he would be there. With a thrumming heart you continued to push forward, the heels of your ankle high boots thumping against the cemented side walk. If you strained your ears enough you could hear the pair of feet trailing you.

You were still another 3 blocks from your home, you began to grow desperate as the people on the streets became fewer and fewer. You did what could be described as your next biggest mistake, the one that was going to do you in. You ran, and in your hurry to get away from him you truly weren't thinking, and you ran into an alleyway, a choked sob fell from your lips as your hit a dead end. You baked away from the stoned brick, silent tears fell from your eyes, a silent gasp fell from your lips when you backed into something hard behind you. Turning ever so slowly, you looked up with wide eyes, your mouth fell open in a scream but nothing ever came as the world around you went black.

The sound of a steel door slamming had you jumping in the wooden chair you had been bound too. You waited with baited breath as you heard heavy footsteps approach you. He appeared under the single industrial pendant light. His eyes were set, jaw stiff, nostrils flaring as he looked you over, your body tensed when they landed on the knife in his hands.

“You know, you almost had me thinking I had gone after the wrong person,” he grunted.

Your eyes widened slightly, a look of horror coming over you features, “i don’t even know who you are, what do you want?” you whimpered.

His jaw clenched, “cut the shit and drop the façade y/n, it's just me and you,”  

You quivered in your chair, “i- I don’t know what you’re talking about, how do you know my name?” you questioned shakily, “please just let me go I swear I won’t tell anyone anything I sw-”

A fist to the face cut off your words, your head snapped to the side, blood seeped from your split lip.

Your jaw clenched, spitting the blood that had gathered in your mouth you turned your head back towards him, he was closer now.

You adjusted yourself in the uncomfortable chair, “did you really forget that I can’t feel the pain you inflict on me?” you glared.

Though Bucky’s face had remained the same stoic stare, his eyes looked away from yours, you scoffed. “You know you could jeopardize this entire mission for us right, what the hell are you even doing Barnes, what the hell is all of this?” you questioned pulling at the restraints.

He let out a tense breath through his lips, “I just,” his fist clenched at his side, “I just needed to make sure you were okay,”

A sarcastic laugh left your lips, “and this,” you growled tugging at the restraints, “this is your way of making sure I was okay, didn’t think you cared, if I recall it was you fleeing the moment you found out we were s-”

“don't say it,” he growled, eyes growing dark as he glared at you.

You shook your head at the man in front of you, “see you still haven’t accepted it,” you muttered, “yet here we are, with me tied to a fucking chair because you wanted to make sure I was okay.”

The two of you grew quiet as you murdered one another with the intensity of killer eyes, “can you untie me my arms uncomfortable,” you muttered. Though Bucky personally couldn’t inflict any pain on you the ropes binding your hands now that was another story.

Bucky didn’t utter a word as he went behind you to cut the restraints, your arms fell limp at your sides, a inaudible pained groan fell from your lips. You pushed yourself up on wobby legs, gathering your bearings. Once the feeling had returned to your numbed limbs, you turned to face the stoic man next to you. It took you a second to reel your hand back, your fist flying into the side of Bucky’s cheek throwing him off guard, your foot was the next thing to swing taking a direct hit into the middle of his chest sending him flying a few feet back.

A growl left his lips as he stood, a pained expression on his face, “that’s what you get Barnes,” you hissed standing your ground, “it's been a damn year, and now all of a sudden you decide to “care”, if you even want to call it that,”

“y/n” he tried

“I don’t want to hear it,” you muttered, “does the team even know you’re here, that you’ve been following me?” You seethed, “Pierce could very well have caught on, he has eyes on me, it’s been a year and the asshole still doesn’t trust me, and now you showing up out of the blue to come check up on me, what the hell bucky!”

You could see his façade fall the longer he stared at you, “the team hasn’t heard from you, they were worried.”

An angry groan tore from your lips, “fuck you Barnes, why is it so hard for you to give into your feelings,” you yelled, “the teams well aware I wouldn’t be in contact until I got everything I needed to frame pierce, and IF they were worried why not send someone else, why YOU!”

[eleanorblue]

The Best Day of the Worst Year

It was a gorgeous morning--the sky was crystal blue, it was unseasonably warm, there was little wind to speak of--and I wanted a donut. 

We hadn't been leaving the apartment except for work all week, scuttling from home to lab like frightened mice. We’d stocked up on groceries the weekend before in order to minimize the amount of time we had to spend outside. Of course, we’d been spending much of our time inside ever since March, but now, our biggest fear wasn’t the virus. We were afraid of what everyone--the other nervous inhabitants of our city, the intimidating protesters from (mostly) out-of-town, the blank-faced National Guard members stationed around city hall--might do whenever the announcement came. 

Earlier that week, I’d been walking home from work when a troop of motorcyclists sped past, revving their engines and shouting slogans. It was clear from the vile glads on their bikes and the twisted things they yelled why they were here. They didn’t say anything  to ME specifically--they were just causing a ruckus--but I worried what their presence signified. I knew these people were capable of violence. Two gun-carrying men had already been arrested under suspicion of plotting some sort of attack. 

But it was Saturday, and I always bought donuts on Saturdays, and nothing serious had actually happened all week. The marketplace was right across the street from the convention center--the epicenter of the protests and counterprotests and counter-counterprotests--but I figured I’d be in and out quickly and it wasn’t likely that anything would go down in broad daylight in the twenty minutes I’d be out. 

(Besides...maybe I was a little curious to see the protests for myself.)

So off I went to the donut shop. The streets were fairly empty until I got to the protests, but the market was as busy as ever. As I stood in line, waiting to buy my donuts (I always get two donuts with vanilla frosting and sprinkles--yes, I am that boring), my phone vibrated in my pocket.

It went off again. And again. And again.

Then suddenly, there was a great roar from the crowd outside that made everyone in the market turn towards the windows. I’ve been in cheering crowds before--clapping in the audience after a musical, shouting in the bleachers at sporting events--but this cheer was different. This didn't sound like a bunch of voices cheering at the same together--it was a singular roar, as if everyone’s voices had merged together to become one. 

I looked at my phone and nearly dropped it. 

It was 11:30 am on November 7th. Philadelphia had just counted enough votes for the Associated Press to call Pennsylvania. Every major news outlet had just called the U.S. Presidential Election for Joe Biden. 

And I was standing across the street from where those votes had been counted. 

I ran outside. 

There were two groups standing outside the convention center, separated by yellow tape and police officers. On the side closest to the convention center, there were around 50-100 Trump supporters. They stood silently, solemnly, holding their flags and banners. 

The other side--made up of hundreds of people--was having a party. Cheering, whooping. Waving handmade signs and flags. Every few minutes, a chant would break out--“Lock him up! Lock him up! Lock him up!” Or, “Biden won! Biden won! Biden won!”

Holy shit, I thought. 

I took a couple of pictures and videos and sent them to my family. Then I started to feel antsy. Not much was happening, and the street was too crowded for my liking during a pandemic. 

I decided to walk to Independence Hall--the site of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. It was only a few blocks away, and it seemed appropriate to go there the day Trump was voted out of power.

When I got there, I discovered that I was not the only person who had had that idea. 

I crossed Arch Street and climbed up on a row of stone benches so I could better see. The streets were beginning to fill with excited Philadelphians, laughing and cheering. It looked like they were setting up for something--a temporary stage had been erected, and bright-shirted volunteers were scurrying around with pamphlets and clipboards. Someone started playing music. 

I realized three things. One, there was absolutely no way I was going to hide inside--not on this gorgeous, electric, miraculous morning. Two, I needed to change--I was dressed for typical November weather, and it was hot. Three I was hungry. I’d forgotten about the donuts, after all. 

I went home quickly, put on something lighter, and made myself a sandwich. Then I went back out and headed for my favorite park. 

In the short time I’d been inside, the city had changed. 

Cars honked and people screamed wildly out of their sunroofs, waving at pedestrians. People in their apartments cheered out of their windows, waving banners. I passed a woman in her forties walking down the street, just banging a pot with a spoon. 

Someone was playing music in my favorite park as well, and little kids were dancing in a circle. I sat on a bench, ate my sandwich, and marveled. 

I don’t have the words to describe how it felt to be in Philadelphia on that day. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. The atmosphere was jubilant, electric, euphoric. The near-unbearable tension, worry, and unease of the last week had been wiped away, and people sobbed with relief as they laughed with joy. 

Biden won! Biden won! Biden won!

Suddenly, a loud cheer rose up from Locust Street. A crowd rounded the corner, waving Biden 2020 signs as they marched down the street. Everyone in the park--myself included--rushed to the stone walls to meet them. 

They kept coming. And kept coming. And kept coming. Marching down the street, heading northeast.

It was a whole spontaneous parade. 

“We’re heading to Independence Hall!” a man shouted. “Come on!”

I am a shy person. I’m pretty reserved in public. I rarely talk to people I don’t know. I’m not the kind of person who engages with random people on the street. 

But I joined that parade.

 More and more people joined us as we marched towards Independence Hall. Others stayed inside, calling out from their windows. I waved to them all. Church bells rang, cowbells clanged, and people whooped and screamed with joy. 

It was a cacophony, and I hate cacophonies, but I loved this one. 

Independence Park was MUCH more crowded than it had been an hour earlier. The green between Chestnut and Market was packed with people, and even the green between Market and Arch was pretty dense. I wove my way through the crowd until I found a space where I could stand without worrying about COVID. 

The speeches had started. Organizers climbed on the makeshift stage and spoke about all the work that had gone into this election--campaigning for Biden, registering people to vote, and actually getting people to the poll. They talked about all the work that still needed to be done...and how that work was now possible.

After all, we were happy, but we weren’t stupid. We knew we were still living in a global pandemic with massive income inequality during rampant climate change. 74 million people apparently thought that Trump was the better choice, which was and is quite frightening. And we knew we still had three more months under Trump, and he was going to try to pull a bunch of BS to try and invalidate the election. 

But for the first time in four years, there was HOPE. It might actually be possible to work to address the devastating inequalities that plague us. There was going to be an END to the constant barrage of assaults on our democracy and people. We’d have an administration that actually, like, listening to experts. An administration that believed in science. An administration that believed in...decency, in respect and courtesy and kindness. 

Instead of constantly having to fight to protect the liberties we’d managed to scrape together, we could actually make progress. 

The rest of the day blurs together in my memory. I spent it wandering around Center City, calling out to and cheering with random strangers. There was a dance party at City Hall, and I, Ella who has never danced in public ever before, bounced around to some teenage pop songs. There were parades up and down Broad Street, and I saw people dressed in inflatable T-Rex and Unicorn costumes. (I don’t really know why.) Someone handed me a pamphlet on reforming the prison system, and another person gave me a t-shirt with Dr. Fauci’s face. (Another person gave me a booklet on repenting for my sins before the end times--that was kind of strange.) Some clever person was blasting Hamilton songs at one of the parks. 

The world turned upside down...

For the first time I’m thinking past tomorrow!

History is happening in Manhattan Philadelphia and we just happen to live in the greatest city in the world, the greatest city in the world! 

When I finally came home that evening and crashed into bed, I could still hear the noise from outside. Cowbells, cheering, singing, laughing. It all melded into tone symphony of joy and relief, of celebration in the midst of misery, of light in the darkest hour. 

It was the sound of people who could breathe again. 

[missmalice202]

Designing Your Melody: Chapter 07 - Notes

Chapter 01 - Chapter 06

Giving her dress form one final once-over, Marinette decided that everything was perfect. She had finished her outfit for Jagged Stone a few days ago, but that didn’t stop her from agonizing whether or not it was truly done. Maybe there was something she had missed, or an aspect of the entire design that could have been improved upon. Quite frankly, she had been driving herself a little crazy looking for anything that wasn’t absolutely perfect. Her obsessive behavior got to the point that on Saturday night, a full day after she had “finished” it, when her parents had come up to let her know that dinner was ready they had found her standing in the middle of her room, staring unblinking at her creation. In the same exact position she had been in hours before when her mother had brought her up a lunch tray that had been left untouched on her desk.

Deciding that enough was enough, they had demanded that she cover up the dress form and take a break. Worrying about it wouldn’t do any good.

So, Marinette had grudgingly listened to her parents’ advice and left it alone.

After an agonizing weekend of trying to ignore her hidden masterpiece, Monday morning finally rolled around – the day she was due to deliver her creation to the record company for Jagged Stone’s photo shoot.

With utmost care, she removed the sheet covering up the outfit. She laid the custom embroidered garment bag she had prepared on her chaise lounge. Returning to the dress form, she gingerly removed the jacket, inspecting it one last time for any loose threads or stray pieces of lint. Black sequins sparkling in the light streaming from her windows, she carried it over to the garment bag and placed it on its hanger, smoothing the purple satin lapels to prevent any wrinkling from transit. She gave the black and purple military style cuffs a quick tug to ensure they hung properly in the bag.

Returning to the form one last time, she carefully removed the yellow snakeskin pants that hung there. Grabbing a second hanger, she clipped the pants delicately and slipped them inside the garment bag with the jacket.

A final inspection was made before she zipped the bag closed and hung it up on the clothing rack next to her sewing station.

It filled her with immense pride to see her initials emblazed on that garment bag. Knowing that the entire world would soon see the product of her passion was a heady feeling indeed. She rolled her shoulders back to ease the tension that had gathered there. It was too late now to turn back.

Grabbing the garment bag and her little pink purse, she climbed down her trap door and left her parent’s bakery to make her delivery.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

“I did it, Alya.” She said. “It’s out of my hands now.” Her hand gripped her cell phone as she strode through the lobby of Roth Records, her heels clicking a rapid tempo against marble floor.

“I’m so proud of you, girl. I can’t believe it! My BFF is Jagged Stone’s designer. I just can’t wait until I can see your clothes on billboards all across the city.”

She giggled loudly, the sound of it echoing through the lobby, catching the attention of a dark-haired man heading through the lobby on his way to the elevator bank, guitar case slung securely on his back. She was too focused on getting out of the building to notice him whip his head around, searching the surrounding area for the source of that clear peal of laughter. There was something about that voice that pricked his memory, but he couldn’t place where he had heard it before. Shaking his shaggy hair out of his face, he scanned the lobby one last time with his aquamarine eyes before gripping the strap of his guitar case and continuing on his way.

“Honestly, I can hardly believe it myself. When I delivered it to Ms. Rolling, I was so nervous I almost passed out. I don’t know why this is such a big deal for me. I wasn’t this nervous when I designed his album cover all those years ago. And I certainly wasn’t this stressed out over any of the other pieces I’ve made. What makes this so different?” she wondered as she made it to the entrance to the building.

“How about to celebrate your glorious success, I’ll treat you to lunch.” Marinette glanced at her watch before agreeing. “Good. I’ll meet you at that cute little café we went to with the boys a few weeks ago. It’s close to the record label, right?”

Marinette nodded before realizing that Alya couldn’t see the gesture through the phone. “Yeah, it’s right around the corner. I’ll see you there in 20 minutes?” After hearing confirmation from her friend, she hung up her phone, stuffed it back in her purse and walked down the street, looking forward to meeting her friend for a relaxed meal after the crazy couple of weeks she’d just endured.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Luka marched down halls of Roth Records, his impassive expression belying his irritation. It felt like he’d spent more time in this god forsaken building in the past week than he had at his own home, and he was getting a little tired of it.

For some unknown reason, he had been roped into some sort of power play between rock legend Jagged Stone and the CEO or Roth Records, Bob Roth. After he and Jagged had finished recording what the two musicians considered an award winning song, the CEO said that it wasn’t good enough and “would never sell”. The blowout after that conversation was having lasting repercussions and now there was tension between the two entertainment giants.

Jagged Stone was refusing to back down and sacrifice his “creative process” to make a “soulless, vanilla, cookie cutter money maker”. He knew what his demographic wanted and it pissed him off that even after all these years, Mr. Roth was still trying to undermine his talents to make a profit. The results spoke for themselves and Jagged would not sell out.

Roth on the other hand, was doing everything he could to mold the aged rocker into a package that he considered “hip and now” and was sabotaging any effort Jagged made to stay true to his carefully cultivated image.

Stuck in the middle of their cold war was Luka, who had done everything he could to stay out of their struggle for dominance. He kept his head down, did his recording sessions, and kept his opinions to himself. He just wanted to play the music he and Jagged created together.

He turned down the hall towards the recording studio he was due to meet his collaborator in when he suddenly found himself wearing someone else’s coffee order. He looked from the brown splatter covering the front of his white “Jagged Stone: World Tour” t-shirt to the unfortunate intern holding an empty to go cup in his hand.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” the timid intern cried as he looked around in a panic trying to find something he could use to help clean the guitarist up.

With a shake of his head, he assured the panicking boy that he wasn’t in trouble and that it wasn’t a big deal before walking away. Honestly, he just wanted this day to be over already so he could go home and just jam out by himself for a bit.

Footsteps echoing in the now empty hallway, he finally arrived at his destination. But before he could enter the sanctuary of the empty studio, he heard his name called from his left.

He watched as Jagged Stone’s agent approached him, her ever present tabled clutched tightly in her hands in a white knuckled grip.

“Good, I caught you before you got started, Luka.”

Her eyes widened as she took in his muddied appearance. “What the hell happened to you?”

He delicately peeled the coffee-soaked shirt away from his stomach, the shirt making a squelching sound as it clung to his skin. “I had a run in with the coffee gopher. Literally.”

She shook her head at his attempt at humor before tapping away at her tablet. “We’ve got some time before Jagged is done with his shoot. We’re running a bit behind because Mr. Roth found out he went behind his back and commissioned his own design to replace the one that the marketing team wanted to use. Why don’t you go to the dressing room and take that shirt off and I’ll get you a clean one?”

Not seeing any reason to object – especially since the coffee was starting to chill against his skin and was getting a bit sticky – he agreed.

Once in the dressing room, Penny disappeared to find him a replacement shirt.

Carefully setting his guitar on the counter, he removed his black riding jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. Peeling the soaked shirt over his head, he glanced at the mirror and froze. His eyes widened and he spun around quickly, dropping his wet shirt with a plop.

There, hanging on a hook on the wall, was a cream colored garment bag. However, it wasn’t the bag itself that had him rushing across the room. It was the three letters embroidered on the bag that had him so transfixed.

Reaching out his hand, he stoked his fingertip across the threads, calluses catching slightly. MDC. The same initials as those lazily scrawled on the paper still folded in his jacket pocket. The same initials that he had been obsessing over for the past few weeks. The initials of the designer of his dream outfit. The initials of his muse.

His heart pounded in his ears, for once drowning out the notes that endlessly played in his mind. Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence. How many designers had the initials “MDC” in Paris? He needed to know if his suspicions were true and he needed to know now.

He strode to the door of the dressing room and yanked it open, oblivious to the fact that he was still shirtless and sticky from residual coffee until he realized that he had scared Penny half to death by suddenly opening the door as she held up a hand to knock.

“I’ve got a shirt for you.” She offered the black garment to him, drawing his attention to the article she was holding. “You might want to put it on before you cause a stir around here.” She chuckled as he blushed and took the shirt from her.

“Can I ask you something,” came a muffled inquiry as he thrust his head into the shirt. “What’s that bag hanging up over there?”

Penny looked at the garment bag he had gestured toward. “Oh, that was Jagged Stone’s outfit for the photo shoot I was telling you about. You remember Jagged telling you about her the other day, don’t you? Why do you ask?”

Luka tried to remember the conversation he’d had regarding the designer Jagged had spoke so highly of. “What did he say her name was? M… Ma… Ma… Mary?”

Penny chuckled. “Her name is Marinette. She actually dropped that off for us a little bit ago. You may have passed her on your way in, now that I think about it.”

Luka couldn’t believe his luck. If she was who he thought she was, then he’d finally gotten her name. The first real lead to finding his mystery designer and it was finding out her name was ‘Marinette’. He smiled at his good fortune, unaware of the suspicious look Penny was giving him as she observed his pleased expression.

“Would you like to see what she made for Jagged?”

His head whipped up as he looked at her, eyes widening slightly in anticipation.

She laughed. “I take that as a yes.”

When they entered the studio where Jagged’s photo shoot was being held, Luka’s breath hitched as he took in the outfit that Jagged Stone was wearing. It was definitely hers. Even to his untrained eye, he could sense her style in every stitch. The way the jacket fell across the rocker’s slim shoulders, how it fell gracefully down his back, the way the tailoring made it seem almost fluid in the way the fabric moved. Everything about the design just screamed her.

As he watched the singer move from pose to pose as the photographer directed him, the song she had inspired inside Luka’s soul began crashing through his mind, once again driving him to distraction. With his fingers tapping out the notes on his left leg, he turned to Penny and asked her if he could get this “Marinette”’s contact information.

She’s a little surprised at the eagerness that Luka expresses in his question. She can’t recall a time that she’d ever really seen him express even a little bit of the passion he’s showing her now. But unfortunately, she has to deny his request.

“I’m sorry, Luka, but I can’t just give you that information. We keep the contact information of our employees - or in Marinette’s case, independent contractors – protected.”

Watching his face crumble in disappointment, she sighs. “I’ll tell you what I can do. I’ll contact Marinette and ask her permission to share her information with you.” He smiles a little before nodding his head.

Finally, finally he found her. Now, he just has to sit back and wait to hear from Penny. Feeling considerably lighter and with his fingers itching to press the strings of his guitar against the fretboard, he heads back to the dressing room where he had left his guitar unattended in his haste to see his Marinette’s designs in the flesh.

Chapter 08

*Thanks again for taking the time to enjoy my story. I appreciate all your likes and reblogs. I was so excited for this chapter that I just had to get it out and posted as soon as I could (and considering it’s 4am here, that should tell ya something). Luka knows Marinette’s name! Well, her first name at least. What’s he gonna do with this information? We’ll have to find out. Just keep in mind that I’m not going to make it easy for these two. mwahahaha!

Until next time, my lovelies XOXO*

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1828 Saturday 17 May

8 1/2 10 1/2

Breakfast about 9 1/2 or rather later - sat talking a little to Mrs. D- [Dalton] their butcher's bills have been £300 a year and £200 a year - vary very much - 11 servants, 8 women and 3 men - 1 hour or 1 1/2 hour packing - at breakfast Marianne and her nonsense calling me nanny she asked how I liked I said the name was certainly quite new to me and surprised but I was otherwise indifferent about it what a goose she is and I now rather dislike her - she told me yesterday she only painted to please her father her own happiness was to lie in bed reading a good novel - Sat a few minutes with Mr. D- [Dalton] in his study - a momentary take leave of Marianne and all the rest of the girls in her painting room - then sat with Mrs. D- [Dalton] she summed up what I said, they said in Paris I ought to buy for visiting next winter to £118 which she said would dress her for 2 years -

Left the party at 1 55/60 - IN- [Isabella Norcliffe] would see me off - we walked about - went into the church yard - off at 2 10/60 in the Telegraph (4 inside coach) for Durham - only one man inside besides myself, and he left us at Darlington, and I was alone the rest of the way - the footman took my liggage [sic] and the butler went to open me the coach door for which each got half a crown I have no intention returning to my friends at Croft or meeting them in July at Hartlepool as they wish me to do for a few days or as long as I can Marianne would teaze and not one of the rest would repay me - incurred a cross just after leaving Rushyford thinking of Pi [Mariana] -

Got to Darlington (and change horses) in 35 minutes, a nice town - neatly kept handsome looking church - a greek cross ∴ looking all of a heap - at the far end of the town, left, the 'Eldon main, Fire coal 7/6 a ton - line coal 6/8 a ton' - change horses at Rushyford, a singley-standing neat-looking splashed Inn 1/2 way between Darlington and Durham - here the road turns off westward to Bp. [Bishop] auckland which being about 10 miles from Durham may probably be about a mile from here? - flat, uninteresting drive from Croft to Rushyford, beyond this the range of limestone hill (right) begins to near a little, the country is more undulating - a little hill or 2 in the road, and patches of wood are to be seen, and the situation of Durham upon the Wear is picturesque - no sight of the city till within about a mile, descend the hill - the cathedral finely placed on a hill, and the city creeping down along its declivity at the foot of which runs the wear with a good bridge over it -

At 5 1/4 alighted at the 1/2 moon, an ale-house nearly opposite the Waterloo Inn or hotel which, the King's or Queen's head (I forget which) are called the best Inns in Durham - the former not good-enough-looking to strike me, or catch my attention in any way - sent off my luggage to another alehouse the hat and feather, close to the marketplace, and ordered my place to be taken for Sunderland (on purpose to see the bridge) at 6 -

Took a prettyish young woman with me from the Inn as guide to the cathedral - close by, the bp's [bishop's] palace built out of, and called the castle, the old tower (square with bevelled corners?) standing close to it, in the garden on grounds on a mound like Clifford's Tower, York - entrance to the palace a castle court by an old castle-gateway - fine-looking cathedral - plain exterior - 2 lowish-looking west towers and latern tower high above its neighbours - the present cathedral, said the woman who shewed it, built about 900 years ago - the 2 doors under the 2 west towers instead of opening outward, open into what is called St. Mary's Chapel, said to be part of the old, original church - a very fine specimen of 3 aisles of circular arches all the groinings of which finished in dog-tooth - here stands a large table tomb, the stone quite plain, said to be the tomb of 'St. Bede - this chapel is just fitted up with reading desk etc. for evening lectures - the deal of the benches, etc., not yet painted - only just done - last week - circular arches along the nave, chancel, and transepts - the most striking thing, all the pairs of columns dissimilar - 1 pair fluted straight - 2 or 3 pairs fluted in different patterns - spirally, and chequered - very odd effect - never saw anything like it before -

Very odd columns in the Durham Cathedral (Image Source) 

Pavement of the nave not good - north door into the nave very bad - cloisters perfect - in - very good repair - behind the altar is the shrine of St. Cuthbert and behind this what they call the nine altars, a spacious chapel which, with its large middle window and 2 side windows finished outside in 3 gables? with 2 turret somehow at each outside gable, forms a singular sort of looking attachment to the main building as one looks at from without - the large stone covering St. Cuthbert's bones just behind the altar was removed the other day - the bones taken up, put into a common deal coffin, and reinterred in the same place as before - no fine monuments - 2 or 3 old ones of the lords Neville, killed in battle against the Scots - the woman said the singing was excellent and the organ one of the finest in England, much finer than that in York -

Dr. Prossers a good looking gothic house - the other building round the close (my guide called it the college) making no great appearance - the close like a long quadrangular court, too confined - the city (brick built) all up hill and down - saw not one good street - small poorish market place (market day) the most striking object in it, the pump, the well being covered over with a little massy round-topped building surmounted by a huge figure of Neptune with his trident-

At 6 5/60 took my seat by the old coachman (tho' I had my place inside) and left the inside to the market people such a coach, such tackling, and 4 such horses I never before saw in England - I wondered how and when we should get to Sunderland - said the coachman 'all where we are going is underminded' - strong symptoms of a coal country - rail-ways raised on the black shale, and here and there the smoke of an engine to be descried - Houghton-le-spring 1/2 way between Durham and Sunderland - a niceish good village - no 'squire - only the rector who has a low but handsome 2 storied gothic house approached by a handsome castle-like gateway - very good-looking church - the people talked of Houghton bank - It was by this, rising steeply from the village, that we crossed the great ridge of lime hill - about 2 years since they cut thro' the hill (3 or 4 hundred yards in length) the present road which is in the deepest part, they say, 15 yards deep - almost all was done by blasting - the sides perpendicular - no complaint of its being filled up with snow last winter - does not look more than 7 yards wide if so much - only just room for 2 carriages to pass comfortably - singular looking cleft as one saw it in the distance on approaching Houghton - no view of the sea till within 2 or 3 miles of Sunderland, tho' perhaps one ought to see it from the top of Houghton bank - brick or limestone buildings all the way - villages pretty good - the coachman pointed out where Wearmouth ended and Sunderland began - fine, broad, handsome long street - nothing like it in Durham -

Alighted at the George Inn at 7 10/60 - hearing that a coach would leave the Golden Lion at 8 1/2 in the morning for N.C. [Newcastle], went and took up my quarters there for the night - best Inn in Sunderland - no great appearance outside, but apparently plenty of room - got into a little sitting room by the door, with a roaring fire in it, hot as flames - tho' a little starved on entering, soon obliged to open the window - had tea immediately - not a muffin nor tea cake in the house, but not having eaten since breakfast at 9 1/2 made a hearty meal on dry toast and butter - market day, too, at Sunderland - the market held in the street, but the butchers stalls, all looked neat and well - went to my room at 9 1/2 - the chambermaid shewed me into a much smaller room than I had seen on entering said it was the undermaid the other was engaged I remonstrated said I was annoyed sent for the mistress she was out when would she up in the morning not till eleven sat up late made the woman change me into the next room which was however the same or no better than the other found the people took me for a nobody and I suspected on seeing the waiter last night and quietly resolved to make the best of it determining to save my money - Do not believe the bed was damp, but slept on my plaid and in my drawers and greatcoat - everything very clean - very fine day -  

Letter this morning (about noon) from Mrs. Duffin, York, to say her nephew Matthew was elected to to Christ Church Oxford - all her father wished - read aloud to Mr. D- [Dalton] the kind messages to him and Mrs. D- [Dalton] to go to the Duffins when they want a bed in York etc. etc. 

Croft to Darlington . 4 D- [Darlington] to Durham . 18 D- [Durham] to Sunderland . 13

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/10/0160 - SH:7/ML/E/10/0161

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 10 March 1838

6 ¾

11 50

fine morning F31° at 6 ¾ and 35° at 9am read from p. 258 to 278 Lardners’ Russia vol. 3 – but read disturbedly and uncomfortably – A- came in and out – breakfast at 9 in about ¾ hour then wrote copy of letter for A- to Doctor Lyon then had Booth at 10 ¾ - wanted some money  gave him a check n°223 for £100 – talk about the tubbing – JO. had told B- he could tub the engine pit for £50 – nonsense! - £200 would not have done it, even had the scheme been on all accounts feasible enough to be tried – told B- to ask Garforth if he could plan any way of doing without the steam engine – of pumping the water by means of the present water wheel – the Stump X Inn chimneys all smoke – chimney pots to be tried – read B- the article (vid. Herald of Saturday 3 March p. 2 col. 3) on the patent smoke consumer – thought of getting Mr. Harper to inquire into it – A- had SW. saw him about 12 (when B- went away) and sent him down to the meer to see the failing part of Mawson’s puddle-dike, if peradventure  it should be still visible and not covered over – Note from Mr. Parker to say Mr. Risdale had sold 5 of my Navigation shares for ‘£431 per share net into pocket – they dared not offer the whole at once for fear of depressing the market – the transfer will be here tonight for signature and the purchase money will be paid next week. The purchaser is a Lady near Doncaster. will you have any objection to sell the remaining stock in two share?’ sent word by the boy messenger that I would send an answer – then came in and sat with A- talked over P-‘s note etc. sat with her at luncheon and then came upstairs about (after 1) and till half past one wrote all but the 2 first lines of today – then went down again to A- for ¼ hour and then went out – to the meer and with Robert Mann + 4 at filling up the meer-embankment breach, and setting straight again (easing them of the rubbish and stones) trees borne down by the great flood till 5 then all came up to the pedestals at the Laburnum gate with hollies and briers and planted them which took till 6 – no drinking this afternoon – I found them all sitting in the hut yesterday between 4 and 5 pm came in at 6 55 Sam Booth who has been laid up with English cholera these last 2 days came tonight and went to the post – paid him his fortnights’ wages, and paid George Thomas for coals, and gave Hartley money in a/c of Sun wood quarry – just before coming in at 6 55 – went to see Matty – she is better – read at and after dinner from p. 278 to 328 end of vol. 3 Lardners’ Russia then read the newspaper and wrote the last 8 lines till 10 1/2pm at which hour F

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (11)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Descriptions of depression. Some pretty heavy sads. 

A/N: Flashback time. Grief can be all consuming and overwhelming. This time, we follow her while she tries to learn how to live again, before a night in 1946 changes everything. 

And again...I am sorry.

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

In her hand, is a ripped piece of faded blue cloth, with a familiar gray patch sewn into it; smudgy rust-red splotches color the edges like fingerprints.

Wings. Gray wings. Nostalgically familiar, because back in the war, each of the Howling Commandos wore one on their left sleeve, a mirror image tribute to the one painted on Steve’s helmet.

Including Bucky. Who wore one on the left sleeve of his coat.

The left sleeve of his blue coat.

Now, he stares uncomprehendingly at the piece of cloth. “What - “ he starts, but his voice fades. Small shivers are running through her body as she watches him, her face filled with dread. Taking a shaky breath, she whispers.

“There was one other time we met.”

*****

February 1945

The telegram informing her of Bucky’s death, written in Steve Rogers’ messy, cursive scrawl, sits on her kitchen table for a week. Across the creamy white paper are crinkled watermarks and trickles of black ink, where the paper swallowed her teardrops and bled out the sorrow of Steve’s words. One night, in a fit of anger, she tears it to shreds and feeds each piece to the hungry flames licking up the stone wall of her fireplace. There is immediate relief at the words disappearing, but even without their physical presence, the grief always returns.

March 1945

The plush wool feels soft in her hands. A week after his last visit, she saw the bundle in a storefront and bartered two of her old dresses for it; the color was a simple heather gray, but she knew it would look perfect against the deep blue of his coat. Every evening, she would knit until her fingers ached, but in a few weeks, she had a thick wool scarf, one of her old hair ribbons tied around it for a bow. She thought she would keep it as his birthday gift. Now, on what would have been Bucky’s 28th birthday, she wraps it around her neck and crawls into bed. Sleep doesn’t come, but every memory of him arrives like a fresh bullet, punched clean through her chest.

May 1945

Over! The war is over! Relieved cries reverberate through the town when VE Day arrives, children running down streets screaming with excitement, mothers and widows weeping joyously in the streets. Healing will take decades, but with those words, the world begins to plan for what comes next. Life is breathed back into the village and in the crowded town square, she lifts her face to the sunshine and closes her eyes. Fingers the chain around her neck holding the St. Michael medal Bucky gave her for their engagement, and wonders if she will ever be warm again.

July 1945

Wildflowers grow in riotous bursts of yellow and red and purple, filling the space behind her chicken coop with color. Laying amid the blooms, she sits in the baking summer sun, tracing her fingers over the colorful images on the postcards Bucky gave her. She thinks about traveling. About visiting those places, seeing them with new eyes, free from war. When she looks at the Brooklyn postcard, she wonders about visiting his family, but then she sees the crooked hearts he drew on the back, and she knows it would be too much. She puts the cards away.

September 1945

Leaves begin to fall, carpeting the grassy bank near the stream. Going through the motions, she dumps clothes from her basket, dunking them in the gurgling water, scrubbing them clean under crystal clear moonlight. Humming under her breath, she sings to pass the time, but the only words she can find are the ones she sang the first night Bucky found her by the creek and walked her home. We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. It hurts too much, so she just stops singing.

October 1945

Soldiers have been returning for weeks. Gaunt and haunted, new men arrive every few days, and do their best to pick up the threads of their old lives. One Saturday morning, she walks through the stalls of the market, examining produce and talking with the vendors. A young soldier steps aside to let her pass, quickly pulling off his hat and smiling. Offering a quiet hello in response, she finishes her shopping and leaves; the soldier jogs after her and nervously asks, could he perhaps walk her home? The earnest look in his eyes is so familiar, it makes her sick. She gently tells him no.

December 1945

Taking a sharp kitchen knife, she goes into the trees and cuts an armful of pine boughs. She spreads them through her house, taking deep breaths of the sharp, piney scent. In the white vase on her table, she tucks them carefully in place and adds a small sprig of holly, the red berries shining brightly. Curled in the armchair beside her fire, she drinks tea and listens to the staticky crackle of Christmas hymns on her new radio. It’s a daily battle, but it happens. Life really does go on.

February 1946

Coming home late one evening, she unlocks her back door and hangs her coat in the hallway. Rubbing chilly hands together, she walks into her kitchen and turns on the light. She skids to a stop. Filling the small space, are two hulking men dressed in black. One steps forward and quickly grabs her arms, while the other plays with a length of rope and smiles at her. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Someone wants a word.”

There’s a cursory struggle, but she doesn’t fight hard. She thinks to herself, if they kill her, maybe she’ll see Bucky on the other side.

That thought makes her smile, before the world goes dark.

*****

For the second time in her life, she awakens in a cold cell. Stretching her aching limps, she knows immediately this most certainly isn’t heaven.

Hell has a very specific look to it. One she knows far too intimately by now.

The small cell is clean, containing a lumpy bed and a worn blanket; in the corner is a pitcher of water and a bucket, and high on the wall is a small window letting in slivers of light. Her hands are bound in front of her, rough pieces of rope looped so tight around her wrists, the skin has rubbed itself raw. Blood soaks into the bristly rope fibers, staining it with streaks of black.

Where is she this time?

Leaning back against the wall, she blows out a long breath and there’s a strange satisfaction in her realization.

She just doesn’t care.

*****

Hours or maybe days later, her door creaks open. Outlined in the doorframe, is a tall Hydra guard dressed all in black, a mask over his face, a pair of reflective goggles covering his eyes. When he sees her, the gun in his hands trembles the slightest bit, before it steadies once more.

So, she thinks. Here it comes.

Motioning with the gun, the guard indicates she should stand, but she mutinously stays on the bed. If she has to go, she will be defiant to the end.

Stepping forward, he hesitates briefly, before grasping the rope and jerking her to her feet. Balancing his gun at the back of her neck, he pushes her forward.

Down a long hall they go, moving through a set of wooden doors. With a mute resistance, she refuses to walk, forcing him to physically drag her instead. Finally, he simply picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, stalking down the hallway with a series of breathless grunts.

She kicks him the entire way.

When he arrives at a heavy oak door, he bangs three times and throws it open.

The room is surprising. This is no torture chamber, filled with metal tables and metal chairs and the metallic taste of electricity on her tongue. It is warm and cozy, a roaring fireplace on one wall, armchairs strewn casually around, tall shelves lined with books. 

In the middle of the room, stands Colonel Richter, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Please, come in,” he says cordially, laughter in his voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The guard dumps her in a sprawling heap and departs. In the flickering firelight, she struggles awkwardly to her feet and readies for battle.

“You again. What do you want? You know I won’t help you,” she snaps, her eyes roaming around the room, searching for threats.

Richter looks amused. Sipping his whiskey, he comes slowly closer until he is only inches from her face.

“First things first. Before, when you stole away in the dead of night - that was a bit rude, don’t you think?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The quick crack of his backhand sends her stumbling sideways. The heavy ring he wears rips open a fat gash on her cheek and she instantly feels blood begin to ooze.

“Such language for a lady. Did you learn that from him? Let’s try again, shall we? I have a story for you and I’d like you to listen,” he says. “A few months ago, we were working on him and in the middle of one of his delirious rants, I hear something interesting. Can you guess?”

Glaring at him, she remains silent.

“No guesses?” he grins, raising his eyebrows. “Alright then. Through all the screaming and crying, I hear him say your god damn name. Imagine my surprise.”

The first prickles of confused fear skate up her back. “What the hell are you talking about?” she spits out.

“It took some digging, but we managed to trace the path he and that wretched group of assholes from his unit made the last couple years of the war. I sent a few search parties out, and low and behold - here you are.”

Bucky told her once, how he and Captain Rogers parachuted from an airplane. She remembers him laughing about the free-fall, how it made his stomach swoop in a million directions. That feeling of free-falling sweeps over her now, turning her blood to ice.

“What do you mean? Who?”

Richter smiles widely, his eyes gleaming. Grabbing the bloody ropes around her wrists, he yanks her forward and pushes her into the shadowy corner of the room.

“Wait here. I have a surprise for you.”

Outside the door, she hears voices arguing. The scuffle of feet and the sharp bite of an angry voice. Suddenly, the door swings open and four guards enter, dragging a fifth man.

From the dark shadows, she muffles a scream.

Bucky looks exhausted. Dressed in a long-sleeved green shirt and ragged brown pants, he’s thinner than the last time she saw him. Rings of black circle his eyes, the vibrant blue now dull and listless. All his beautiful dark hair has been buzzed short and she can see bloody sores scabbing over along his temples. The left sleeve of his wool shirt is empty, pinned up at his shoulder and his right arm is tucked behind him, a leather strap looped around his wrist and stretched across his chest, keeping his good arm immobile.

“You didn’t tell me it was a party,” he rasps mockingly. “I would’ve put on my fancy clothes.”

One of the guards grabs a fistful of his shirt and drags him closer. “Jesus Christ, I am so fucking sick of your fucking mouth,” he sneers and Bucky shoots him a cocky grin.

“Sweetheart, you’re adorable when you’re mad,” he stage-whispers. In the blink of an eye, the guard draws back his arm and smashes his fist into Bucky’s face. Dropping to his knees, Bucky’s mocking laugh turns into a rattling cough that comes up with a spray of blood and he spits strings of red on the floor. “Like being kissed by your mom,” he says weakly.

Swearing ferociously, the guard moves to kick him, but Richter holds up his hand.

“For god’s sake, every fucking time. You know he does this, why do you let him get to you?”

The guard is visibly furious, but he says nothing. Instead, he grabs Bucky by the back of his shirt, hauling him roughly to his feet. Bucky sways precariously, before he finds his balance. Taking several deep breaths, he fixes his mouth back into that mocking smirk and lifts his chin.

“Evening boys. What the fuck can I do for you today?”

Richter gives him a congenial smile. “We have a visitor tonight. I thought perhaps you’d like to meet her.”

Bucky barks out a hollow laugh. “I sincerely fuckin’ doubt that.”

Richter’s smile grows impossibly larger. “Well, let’s see, shall we?”

Pulling her from the shadows, he throws her forward and she stumbles into the light.

Here’s the thing.

Bucky Barnes is so weak, he can barely stay on his feet. For the last five days, he’s eaten nothing more than a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. When he walks, he greatly favors his right side, still unbalanced by the loss of his left arm even a year later, and when he speaks, his voice has a perpetually guttural sound, his vocal cords shredded from months of screaming. Sprinkled across his shaved head, are a mess of pink scars where the dull razor blades they used bit cruelly into his scalp.

He looks exactly as one would expect. A prisoner of war.

For weeks, he’s been on the verge of collapse, but the moment he sees her, none of that matters.

Horrified disbelief fills his face and his eyes flick from the tears on her face, to the trickle of blood down her cheek, to the blood-soaked ropes around her wrists.

With a feral howl, he lunges toward her.

Throwing off the shocked guards at his side, he head-butts the man in front of him, sending him flying back. With a well-aimed kick, he knocks the legs from under the fourth guard and the man falls hard, before Bucky levels a savage kick to his head.

Richter laughs delightedly as he watches the show, until Bucky rushes for him. Lifting his gun, he sets it casually against her temple and cocks it. At the click of the hammer, Bucky skids to a stop, his mouth still twisted in a vicious snarl. Sweat dripping down his face, blood dripping from his busted lip, his chest heaves furiously.

“You god damn motherfucking cocksucking piece of shit, you let her go. Let her fuckin’ go, or I’ll fuckin’ gut you.”

“I thought so,” Richter says smugly. “So, our Soldier has something to fight for. How utterly inconvenient.”

“You’re god damn straight I fuckin’ do,” Bucky hisses, staggering under the rush of adrenaline. “Hurt her and I swear to god, I swear to fuckin’ god, I will slit your fuckin’ throat.”

With a dramatic sigh, Richter keeps his eyes on Bucky and bends down to speak in her ear.

“Apparently this one’s special, fights harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. Every time we wipe him, every memory comes back in a couple days. I don’t know what Zola did to him, but his brain fixes it too fast. Basically, he just won't fucking stay down.”

“Fuck no I won’t,” Bucky interrupts.

“See what I mean? You know what happened last time,” Richter says softly, his breath hot in her ear. “I don’t care if he is Zola’s little pet, he’s a wild fucking animal and I’m not above putting him down. So here we are. You fix him or I kill him. Your choice.”

“What the fuck is he talking about,” Bucky asks, looking directly at her now. “What - darlin, what the hell does he mean?”

Looking into his eyes, she thinks about that lovely blue. For the rest of her life, she knows she will see it everywhere. In everything.

Behind him, the guard he head-butted lumbers to his feet and manages to get his forearm locked around Bucky’s neck. 

Richter stands behind her, waiting. Against her skin, he presses a light kiss and she shudders at the hideous feel.

“Come now. You love him, don’t you? Do the right thing.”

Clasped in a tight chokehold, she can see Bucky’s face turning red as he splutters for breath.

“No,” she chokes out. “I won’t. I won’t.”

Cruel fingers dig into the back of her neck and he hisses in her ear. “If you say no, I will put him in that chair and fry his fucking brain every single day for the rest of his life and I will make you watch. Even if he heals fast, he still screams like a baby. Trust me on that one.”

Bucky is still fighting, his throat working uselessly as he tries to draw a breath.

Every scenario, every choice, every possibility, flies through her head. Trying desperately to come up with a solution, with a way to save them both, she thinks and thinks and thinks.

And she comes up empty, because the answer is simple.

There is no solution.

There is no solution.

Then what choice does she have?

She remembers the parade of men from before, the sound of their screams as the chair rocked bolts of electricity through them again and again. The thought of Bucky strapped in that chair, his body convulsing as the electric currents wrack his body, as he screams for her to help him - it is inconceivable. She knows what she has to do. She knows.

What choice does she have?

“Yes,” she sobs, her eyes filling with tears. “Fine, yes, I’ll do it, please just - let him go.”

Motioning to the guard, Richter points at the floor. The man releases his death-grip on Bucky’s throat, kicking his feet from under him and Bucky falls hard to his knees. Wrenching herself from Richter’s harsh grip, she rushes to catch him before Bucky’s face hits the floor.

“You have one minute,” Richter warns, fading into the shadows of the dark room. “And then you do it. If you leave anything behind again, I will kill him.”

After everything, here they are. Together.

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, the warm light cocoons them in their own world, one last time.

Bucky rests his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes when she cradles his thin frame against her. In the quiet room, his short, shallow breaths echo raggedly. Carefully, she runs her fingers soothingly up his neck, over the spiky tufts of dark hair and his body wilts in her tight embrace.

Sighing wearily, he picks his head up and touches his forehead to hers. Cupping his face, she brushes her fingers over the scratchy stubble lining his sunken cheeks and he gives her a rueful smile.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking. You okay with a one-armed husband?” he breathes. “Promise I can still love you just as hard.”

Tears streaming down her face, she returns his smile. “I love it. It makes you look dashing.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he replies, pushing his nose against hers. Precious seconds slip by as they sit in silence, breathing each other in. Both trying their damndest to remember everything about the other, before they lose it all. Finally, she whispers her favorite words in his ear.

“I love you, Bucky.”

He hums contentedly and smiles. “I love you too. Don’t ever forget it, okay? I know I won’t.”

It takes every last drop of willpower for her not break down. Because he will forget. He will forget, and she will make certain that he does.

Rubbing her cheek against his, she presses her lips to the shell of his ear, giving him one more thing that the rest of the world cannot take. Something that is theirs, and theirs alone.

“You’re everything for me, Bucky Barnes. You’re the love of my life,” she murmurs, and he leans his head against her. When he opens his eyes, she finds an endless ocean of sadness pouring from the blue depths and he speaks quickly under his breath.

“Listen to me. Whatever happens, I need you to do something for me, okay?” The desperate urgency in his voice makes her heart skip. “No matter what happens, don’t you dare stay here. I can see it in your face honey, don’t you stay here, stuck in this room inside your head, thinking you could’ve done something different. You understand me?”

Swallowing hard, she tries to answer, but he cuts her off. The words are full of fear, holding a message he needs her to accept. “Please, I’m begging you. When you get out of here, you find a way to go on. Find a way to live.”

Losing him again will break her. That fact is as certain as the sun rising in the east.

There’s no way she can do this again, but in her heart, she knows that’s not what he needs. He needs her to agree, he needs her to try, and if she has to send his mind into a graveyard of buried memories, at least she can do this one thing for him.

She owes their love that much.

“I will,” she says. “I promise, I will.”

“That’s my girl,” he whispers with a tired smile. Staring into his eyes, she does everything she can to memorize the love she finds there, before Bucky gives her a crooked smile and tells her one more secret. “You know what? I don’t regret anything that happened. If I had to do it all over, I wouldn’t change one damn thing. It all led me to you, and I’ll remember every piece of us to the end. Because this kind of love, it never leaves. Right?”

“No, it never leaves,” she echoes. Placing her hands on his cheeks, she kisses him full on the mouth, tasting blood and salt and love, trying with her whole heart to carve even a small bit of herself into his bones.

Breaking the kiss, her heart plummets at the sight of his sweet smile.

Blinking away her tears, she takes a deep breath.

And then she tears her entire world apart.

Surprise fills Bucky’s face when he feels the heat begin to pulse from her hands, when he sees the soft glow of white light from her fingers. Watching her in confusion, his lips part as though he wants to say something, but no words come. Concentrating harder than she ever has before, she gathers everything, all those beautiful memories that make Bucky Barnes the man he has become and she wipes them all away.

All his stories about the Howling Commandos. That spring day he caught a foul ball at a Dodgers game. Steve Rogers’ floppy blond hair shining in the summer sun at Coney Island. The way his mother sang while she baked, and the fairytales he read his sister before bed. How he felt looking in the mirror the first time he put on his uniform, pale and scared to death. Watching a brilliant red sun sinking in the ocean, the day he sailed for England. Every memory he has of her. The thrill of their first kiss and the way she held his arm when he walked her home from church  and the first time they made love and how nervous he felt asking her to marry him.

How god damn much he loves her.

Every colorful memory he owns, she siphons away. Nothing is left behind, because this time, she can take no chances.

The white light burns hotter, so bright Bucky squeezes his eyes closed and still she watches him through it all, until finally, finally, finally -

She lets go.

Bucky slumps unconscious, his chin tucked to his chest. Pressing one final kiss to his forehead, her silent tears splash to the floor. She wants to stay forever, to be there when he opens his eyes, to force herself back into this new life, to make him remember her. To make him remember who they are together.

My god. Oh my god, what has she done.

Before she can say a word, the guards rip him from her arms. Dragging him away, his head lolls to the side and the last thing she sees, before they exit the room, are Bucky’s eyes beginning to flutter open.

“Wait -“ she says, panic filling every last cell in her body, “no, please wait, don’t - please, where are you taking him?”

“He has work to do,” Richter says dismissively.

Sick with heartbreak and drowning in regret, she remains kneeling on the floor, and every last piece of her soul shatters.

*****

Day later, there’s a screech of metal, and her door bangs open.

Richter saunters in, a length of cloth folded over his arm. Behind him, is the Hydra guard who escorted her from her cell last time, his gun cocked and aimed.

Caked in dried mud and an obscene amount of blood, the bright blue of Bucky’s Howlie jacket is nearly unrecognizable. The left arm is mostly torn away, the thick material hanging in ragged strips below the elbow. With a grunt, Richter tears away a piece of fabric at the shoulder and tosses it at her.

“Here. Thought you might want this,” he says coldly.

At her feet, the cloth looks dark and dirty, but in the midst of grimy blue, she sees the gray wings Bucky had sewn into his jacket sleeve. She remembers tracing her fingers over them, asking what they meant. Bucky had grinned, his chest swelling with a bit of pride, before he wove tales for her about the Howling Commandos. He glossed over their missions and focused on the men instead, and she remembers how wonderfully he could tell a story. The small bits of humor he found amid the bleakness of war painted a bright world for her to see.

Now, she picks it up, touching the rusty-red smudges lining the edges of the wings. She looks up at him.

“Why?”

Richter says nothing, but a grim smile pulls at his lips. He draws out the pause, savoring the expectation in her face, before carelessly dropping a bomb.

“Zola lost him during a routine experiment. He coded on the table. Guess we haven’t made our soldiers as durable as we need just yet.”

This bomb, it finishes the job Steve’s telegram began. For the second time, she learns the love of her life is dead and now there is nothing but cold emptiness where her heart used to be.

“We no longer require your services. We have a new machine that should work just fine,” he tilts his head, looking down at her. “But thank you for your help.”

Spinning on his heel, he shoves the remains of the blue coat at the guard still waiting in the doorway.

“Burn it,” he orders. “And leave her here to rot.”

The door bangs shut and the lock clicks with a sickening finality.

*****

No food. No water.

For two days, she hears footsteps marching back and forth in front of her door. Something seems to be happening, but through it all, no one pays attention to the woman locked in the cell at the end of the hall, waiting to die.

In her dreams, she sees Bucky strapped to a table exactly like the one they used for her. Was he scared? Did he go willingly or did he fight? Did it happen quickly? Did it hurt? Did he realize what was happening before his heart stopped?

Was there any part of him, maybe buried deep down, that loved her to the end?

She dismisses that last thought. No, of course there wasn’t. She made sure of that fact.

In a strange way, she finds a perverse relief in Bucky’s death. At least this way, he will never know how she betrayed him.

Perhaps if there is an afterlife, someday she can find him there and beg his forgiveness.

On the morning of the third day, sunlight flows through the rectangular window near the ceiling and she waits on her bed. For someone to come. Anyone. To save her. To kill her. Either would work, she’s not picky. Watching the slow crawl of sunlight move across the floor, she counts the minutes, until she notices something peculiar.

Silence.

Sitting up takes a massive effort and rising to her feet almost knocks her out. Knees wobbling dangerously, her sweaty hand presses to the wall for balance, and she stumbles to the door.

“Hello?” she croaks, but it comes as nothing more than a rough whisper. Wrapping her fingers around the bars of the door, she rests her forehead against the cold metal. Summoning her strength, she tries again. “Is anyone there?”

Silence.

No one answers. No lights illuminate the hallway. There is no hum of electricity, no sound of a distant radio playing, no raucous laughter. There is no one there.

So. They left her to die then.

Angry tears fill her eyes, and she bangs a weak fist on the door. Without expecting a solution, she grabs the door handle and rattles it, hot tears spilling over and streaking through the dirt on her cheeks.

But miraculously - the door opens.

Stepping cautiously into the doorway, she scans the hallway and finds nothing. Perplexed, she looks down and her confusion grows. Outside the door, a cloth bundle is propped against the wall. Crouching down, she hesitantly pulls at the loose knot and it falls open, revealing a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, two apples, and a cracked leather canteen full of water.

Common sense screams at her to think, but she throws caution to the wind. Grabbing the canteen with trembling fingers, she flips the lid and chugs the cold water. It has a dusty, alkaline taste, but she cries with relief. Tearing off a hunk of bread, she stuffs it in her mouth, her eyes drifting closed at the taste. It hits the hollowness in her belly so fast, she almost retches, but she manages to keep it down.

The rest, she wraps up in the cloth sack and hugs it to her chest.

She walks down the hall. Through a small office, down another hall.

With every step, she expects to be stopped. But nothing happens.

At the end of the hall, is a heavy black door. When she opens it, sunlight spills in and she takes a deep breath of fresh air.

From the outside, the base looks like a series of old buildings, but there is literally nothing else. No people. No vehicles. Nothing but the peppy chirp of birds warbling in the trees. For one brief moment, she stands in the morning light and thinks about giving up. Such a soothing thought.

But then the sound of Bucky’s voice fills her head.

Find a way to live.

The years that follow will be filled with devastating sadness, but beneath it all, she will hold these words close to her heart. She can do this for him.

So, she starts walking.

Down the ruts of the narrow access road leading away from the building, one foot in front of the other. She anticipates bullets hitting her from behind, but nothing happens. On she walks, through a forest of trees, one step after another. Into the open, where the access road joins up with a small country lane. She turns left and keeps going. Five slow miles she traipses along, until a town appears.

On the edge of the main street, she sees a small grocery store and walks inside. Covered in grime, shivering from head to toe, she tries to speak, but instead, she collapses. An older woman looks up from behind the counter, and her curls of thick black hair bounce when she rushes around the front counter shouting in Italian for help.

For two weeks, she stays there recovering, but no one comes.

In that sleepy Italian town, she finally understands.

After everything she has done, after everything they stole from her, after they broke her one last time - it appears that Hydra really was finished with her.

With freedom should come relief, but that is an emotion reserved for saints, not sinners like her. What she has done, she can never undo.

She will live with that fact, from now until the end of her days.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

[kyndaris]

Edibles Galore

An early start to the day meant that our erstwhile Canadian friends missed out on a hearty banquet of food. Unable to delay much further, we boarded our coach as we headed to our second must-buy product on our trip. Yes, you read that right. We were bequeathed a coach! For a party of four. But I’ll get to the reason why later. 

Whereas my mother had been convinced to purchase some pearl dust earlier on in the week, she was less inclined to purchase Lingzhi. This was a fungus that was also known as red reishi. As we sat and listened to the sales pitch on why we should purchase it, I scanned through the pamphlet the workers had also provided. Apparently red reishi helps support healthy blood circulation  as well as metabolic activity of human cells. The humans of years past also sought it as a means for eternal life.

Despite their best efforts, my mother remained unmoved and we left with our purses sealed shut. The Canadian duo, on the other hand, had been convinced to purchase a little of this miraculous item. To be used on an experimental scale.

Back onto the coach we went until we arrived at Xincheng Taroko Station. Due to the dangerous mountain paths, our tour guide had purchased train tickets for the rest of our journey up the east coast of Taiwan.

After forty five minutes, watching both the mountains and sea race by, we reunited with our van driver. He had taken the long route. Whereas we had enjoyed a leisurely forty five minute train ride, he had endured a gruelling four hours on the road. The reason why we had not joined him was that in years past, tour groups had slipped off the road and fell to their peril. In order to ensure the safety of tourists, it was better to risk only the driver in such circumstances.

Luggage secured, we hopped back in to the van, none the worse for wear and endured an hour long drive to Taipei - the city where our tour had first started. To our delight, the National Palace Museum was open. Prior to this, Taiwan had closed many popular tourist sights due to the fact that several members of the Diamond Princess Cruise had visited them. Yes, that one.

From the third floor, we wandered through the exhibition floors. It started off with a few expertly cut jade pieces that helped demonstrate the illusion of movement before we moved on to several bronze antiques. What I found fascinating was how China also enjoyed the Bronze Age during a similar period as their European counterparts.  I also liked how rather than stone, the Chinese employed many jade weapons before using the stone for more religious and cultural purposes. Even now, jade remains an important cornerstone for the Chinese. I would know, I have a jade bracelet on my arm to assist with my health and protect me from evil. 

Once the upper halls of the Museum had been scoured clean, we headed out for lunch after my mother grew hungry looking at the Meat-shaped stone. Then it was back inside to take a gander at ancient scroll work and calligraphy before we had to leave.

From the museum, we checked in to our hotel: Green World. While not as impressive or as peculiar as the other hotels we had stayed in previously, it served adequately enough as a place to rest and recharge.

At four in the afternoon, we returned to the lobby. Our tour guide had one last area to show us before abandoning us in the middle of Taipei city. In direct contrast to the other night markets we had visited before, Shilin Night Market was a sea of people. Beyond just the stalls selling clothes, knickknacks and food there was also a plethora of carnival games. With our mother footing the bill, my Canadian friend and I took up a set of BB pistols and started shooting balloons down in earnest. After a rocky start, I showed off my excellent marksman skills and decimated the competition. Of course, had it not been for first-person shooters training me to be a remorseless killer, I would never have been so good. 

Several hours afterwards, our stomachs filled to the brim with all manner of street food and cake, we flagged down a taxi . A few minutes later we were back at our hotel, ready for the return journey on Saturday, the 22nd of February.

[theysaywhatasadsight]

The Trouble With Wanting, Chapter 3

A/n: i have like zero excuses sksjhf its em exams; anyhoo this is chapter 3 of me and @ciarawritesmarvel ‘s fic for Fic Wars hosted by @chillingbucky and @revengingbarnes 

Chapter One Chapter Two Series Masterlist

"Spill. Seriously. I brought out the good chai, too." Shruti sipped on hers as Y/N suddenly jerked out of her daydream. Her best friend since times immemorial, the girl sitting opposite her had seen all her phases and scandals; Not that she had too many to boast of.

"Nothing. Captain America saved my life on that stupid date, and then turns out his daughter is in my class. That's all."

"Mhmm. And I'm the queen of England and you're fucking Meghan Markle. Tell me you at least flirted with him. Or got his number! God, imagine dating an Avenger." Now Shruti was the one with the dreamy eyes.

She loved the girl to death, but the girl was too unrealistic sometimes. Not that she'd complain, of course. Sweet, polite Cap would probably be only concerned with her until his daughter was studying under her care. Right. Right?

Not that she was only concerned about Sarah because well, her father was who he was. Surely growing up around violence and weaponry wasn't good for her. She hadn't seen the kid in the public eye, so maybe she had grown up sheltered and wouldn't have her existence revealed to the world yet. The kid was bright and loved talking to people, Y/N would hate if some idiotic pap took advantage and left her scarred for life.

"You have that look."

"What look?"

"Oh you know, the one. The 'I'm a counsellor, I'm thinking deeply. Hmm, maybe you should do this. Maybe that behaviour is harmful for you.'" Pausing her rant, Shruti grabbed a biscuit on the tray. "I'm sure the kid is growing up okay. Hell of a childhood, but at least she's got a good head on her shoulders."

"Shru, she's like 3."

"It's a tough world out there. I was doing my taxes when I was two."

"Jesus, crack a good joke sometimes."

~

I should not be this creepy. Y/N muttered to herself as she sat overlooking the kids colouring, Sarah's blond hair quite reminiscent of her father. She clearly was a daddy's girl, which made her wonder how much her mother was involved in her upbringing.

Unless her research skills had really gone to shit, there wasn't much evidence of Sarah's mom. She didn't pick her up from school or attended any of their events. Steve, she had learned, looking at old photos and chatting to other teachers, somehow managed to come to all of them.

Y/N put all thoughts of mysterious fathers and absent mothers to the back of her head as  she exclaimed and gasped over the drawings the children rushed to show her. 

~

Spoke too soon. The kid had been waiting for over half an hour, if not more. No sign of telltale baseball caps or aviators.

"Hey there, Sarah. Cap not here yet?"

"He must be busy." The little girl sighed, resting her hands in her chin. "Maybe he forgot."

"Well I'm sure he didn't. Maybe it's the traffic, yeah?"

"Mhmm."

Y/N sat down next to Sarah on the sidewalk. "You wanna play a game?"

~

After several rounds of stone, paper, scissors and another one where clasped hands meant bad luck, it was clear that Steve had indeed, forgotten.

Checking her phone and realising she would be incredibly late reaching home, she got up, holding out a hand to the kid. 

"How about I drop you home? Can you give me directions?" Sarah beamed up at her.

"You know the tower?"

"You...stay at the Avengers Tower?" Y/N stuttered at her.

"Where else would I go?" 

~

Even though the receptionist had looked mildly spooked when sarah had shown up with Y/N in tow, she had let them pass on the girl's insistence, eyeing Y/N suspiciously.

Couldn't leave her at the door, okay? I'm just being careful. No curiosity, whatsoever.

Guided by the lilting voice of an A.I., Sarah led her up to what seemed to be the common living area, where there was clear evidence of  destruction that can only be wrought by sugar high toddlers.

"Aunty Nat! Uncle Clint! Anyone here? Peterrrrr!" Sarah called out, letting go of Y/N's hand momentarily.

"Clint's out. Peter's not home yet and ooh-" Natasha Romanoff of all people stood in front of her suddenly, fiery red hair held back with a knot and a child squirming in her arms. She blew air kisses at Sarah then turned her attention to the other woman.

"Fri mentioned Sarah was bringing a friend." Y/N tried to look for any signs of hostility but found only warm eyes and a confused furrow of eyebrows.

She's a spy, remember? She's supposed to be good at this.

"Yes, uhm, actually St-Captain forgot to mention that he wouldn't be picking up Sarah today, so I came to drop her off."

"Oh Really? Funny, I remember Steve telling me he would get her after he came back from...nevermind. He must've been delayed."

"Yeah." Y/N sighed and smiling at Sarah one last  time, turned back towards the elevator. "So, uh...nice meeting you."

Natasha smiled at her. "Absolutely."

~

"Not bad, I can see why the entire clan is smitten with her." Nat remarked to Clint as both assassins stood in the training room, munching on strawberries and watching Peter and Bucky train.

"His left is weak, Parker! Pay attention!" She barked out.

"Did Steve genuinely forget to come home or…?" Clint tailed off. "I mean, he generally calls. And as for the teacher, yes, she's cute, great with kids. What's not to like?"

"Checked out some records, turns out she was at the same restaurant, the one that blew up."

"Heh. Funny. Imagine being saved by a dude and finding out he's your student's parent."

"Yes, indeed." Nat slapped Clint's hand as he moved to take another fruit, "Get in contact with Rogers. The kids are getting antsy."

~

A week had passed since she had dropped Sarah off. Since then, an assortment of various Avengers, poorly disguise had come to fetch the kid. On an occasion, a teen, possibly an intern on babysitting duty. He did seem quite excited to see her though, so it was possible he was another well sheltered kid. He was the only one that had come and greeted her, and informed her that Captain Rogers was back, he was merely 'mildly injured'.

She saw him herself three days later, hand bandaged. She beamed at him from afar as he picked up Sarah and turned to look at her, smiling lightly.

She ran into him into the grocery store, shopping to replace Shruti's stock of coffee ice cream they had eaten while binging some old movie she understood only half of, busy imagining herself and a very handsome man she was mildly in love with in the place of the lead actors.

Stop behaving like a 16 year old with a crush. You're a grown ass woman. She chided herself as she leaned into the freezer, grabbing a tub. She leaned a little too far, and braced to slip on her ass, but was caught by a pair of strong hands. Turning to thank her saviour, she was pleasantly surprised by seeing it was Steve.

"Oh dear, seems you're always saving me." She smiled up at him. Imagining it was pleasant enough but in real life it sent a shiver down her spine.

"When a pretty lady needs rescuing, seems criminal not to help. Not to mention it's kinda my job."

Is he blushing? Wait, wait, what if this is mutual?

Her musing was interrupted by Sarah yelling her name, barrelling down the aisle. She picked her up and chatted with her while Stevd continued to shop. 

"Ms. L/N, are you free Saturday night?"

"Well, I think so. Why, are you having a party?"

"Nooooo, daddy is also free that day! What a coincidence!!" She grinned mischievously.

"Sarah." Steve chided.

Y/N set her down carefully and pretended to think. "Hmm, there is a new place near The Booksborough market I've been wanting to try out, can't hurt to have extra security." She winked at Steve who was as red as a tomato by now. Unnoticed by both, Sarah slipped out YN's phone from her bag and fed Steve's number in it.

"He'll call you." She announced, bouncing up to Steve and grasping his hand.

"Oh, he'd better." Y/N waved at the man before turning and walking away. 

"You really need to keep quiet sometimes, Sarah. Not all advice from Uncle Bucky is good."

"Yes but if I wasn't there, there would be no Saturday plans. Now, payment, Ice Cream? Please?"