#i know a few people logically. and i have to remind myself im not the only person on earth who feels the same way i do

[perilegs]

i know astrology is fake but i'm not too keen on how a lot of people on this website seem to be clowning on it as a hobby a bit too hard. i swear the woman who thinks it's neat how she and her friends with the same sun sign are all similar isn't trying to say that you are who you are born as and there is nothing you can do to change it. it's a hobby. an interest. what happened to finding meaning and joy in the small things. does it affect you if someone enjoys tarot reading or crystals. does it make you upset someone has interests that they enjoy.

[laika-of-the-stars]

any time i think about respecting the dead i nearly bawl my eyes out because i wonder if anyone will respect me like i would respect them when im just bones. does that make sense

[laughroditee]

🔴 "Your Ghost" | Part 2 - XIII Death

Part 1 is here // Read on AO3 CW: this story takes place after Soap's death and contains supernatural elements, tarot, mentions of death and blood. this chapter contains descriptions of anxiety, mild violence, angst, and references to alcohol abuse. the series will eventually contain smut and be 18+. Characters in this chapter: Evangeline Stephens (female OC), Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley Summary: Evangeline reluctantly talks to Simon about Johnny at Johnny's urging. Word Count: 1969

Mood Music:

The ghost of John MacTavish looked down at me with a serious expression.  “I did.  I need yer help, Evangeline.  Yer the only one who can do it.”

“No,” I said.

He blinked. “‘No?’”

“No,” I repeated, my eyes a little too wide. 

“Ye haven’t even heard what I want from ye.”  John looked annoyed, his brows drawing down in a frown that lined his face. It made him look maybe just a little bit intimidating.  Having issues with displeasing someone, who me?

“Don’t want to.  Can’t.”  I shook my head for extra emphasis as if I needed it.  “Mm-mm.”

“Are ye always so childish?” 

Oof, right in the feelings.  “You want me to talk to someone, don’t you?” I accused, my finger jabbing the air at him.  

“How—?”

“Knight of Swords.  Air.  Communication,” I explained as if this were common knowledge and a perfectly logical conclusion to reach.  “You just have that very chatty air about you, and I dunno, man, I’m not about that life.  I have social anxiety.  I don’t play well with strangers because I’m too busy having a heart attack around them.  It’s just not a strength that I have.”

John looked momentarily apologetic before despair swallowed the expression.  This gave me pause.  Fuck me and my Catholic guilt.  “Fine!  Okay, alright, I’ll hear you out, but I can’t promise you anything.”  I sat down on the edge of the bed, just trying to quell the anxious jitters making my fingers shake, The Knight of Swords card dancing slightly in my grasp.  I placed it back with the other two in the reading and looked up at my ghostly kinsman.

John’s examining gaze was concerned as he stood across from me.  “Ye alright, lass?”

Reminding myself to take a deep breath, I simply nodded.

A single confirmation nod from John was all he gave before launching into his story.  “I was a soldier in life.  SAS.  British special forces.  We were on a mission a few months ago, chasin’ a Russian terrorist in the London tunnels.  Makarov.”  His eyes blazed as the memories washed through him, spitting his enemy’s name as if it were poison.  “We had ‘im too.  But the fucker was slippery.  My captain and I got shot while we were diffusin’ a bomb.”  John’s hand went to his shoulder as if to soothe the phantom wound.  “Makarov was about to finish ‘im off – my captain, I mean – but I managed to get up and clap the bastard, only… I ended up gettin’ shot in the head.  Killed instantly.  Then Makarov buggered off.”

I listened intently to John’s story, my heart squeezing in my chest for him.  “I’m so sorry, John.  I… don’t know what else to say.  You were really brave.”

He smirked.  “A lot of good it did me.  Still, Captain Price is alive, and I dunnae regret that.”  His eyes seemed focused on something far away, and I waited for him to continue.

When he didn’t, I had to prompt him.  “John?  What is it that you want from me?”

His eyes refocused on me, his mouth set in a grim line.  “I need yer help, Evangeline….  My boyfriend was there that day.  One of my teammates.  He’s not doin’ well.”

Shit.  I blew out a long breath as if I was trying to exorcise my demons.  “I’m so sorry,” I repeated uselessly.  “John, I’m… probably the last person you want to go and talk to your boyfriend about your death or literally anything else.  I suck at this kind of thing.  I never know what to say to grieving people, even if I’ve known them forever.  Words just aren’t enough.”

“Please,” he said, kneeling by the bed, his ghostly hand passing through mine as it lay on my lap, chilling me.  “You’re all I have, lass.”

Despite the urgency in his voice, I was hesitant for reasons that should have been obvious.  I stared down at the three cards on the bed once again, reinterpreting the reading as The Knight of Swords representing John, the Death card — for the first time in one of my readings — representing his literal death, and the Three of Swords representing his boyfriend’s subsequent heartbreak.  There are always multiple ways to interpret the cards in every situation; you just have to move through it and see what fits—a little like grief.

I looked back at him with an expression of resignation on my face.  “You’re lucky I like you.”

His face lit up.  “So you’ll do it?”

I sighed, coming to terms with the decision I was about to make.  “Yeah.  I’ll do it.”

“Sorry I called ye childish,” he said apologetically.

“Mm.”

“Yer beau’iful,” he tried again.

I gave him a grin.  “Aww, how kind of you to say.”

“Yes, I am kind. Now you compliment me.”

“Why should I when you just did it yourself?”

He chuckled before his expression sobered.  “Thank you, Evangeline. I cannae repay the favor you’re doin’ me.”

I looked back at him, noting how similar our eyes were.  “You can owe me in the next life, how’s that?”

“Sounds like a fair deal.  So, are ye gonna clean up this mess?”

“Sorry, you’ll have to clean yourself up.”

“Funny.”

I leaned down and started to gather my fallen tarot cards, picking out carpet lint and hairs occasionally as I stacked the deck.

”Y’know…,” he began, “ye make me wish I could’ve met you while I was livin’.  Think we coulda been friends?”

Deck neatly in hand, I looked up at him, a warm, bittersweet feeling blossoming inside my chest.  “Yeah, I think we could’ve been.  Could still be.”

He laughed.  “Well, bein’ friends with me is a blessing in itself.”

“I’m sure it is.”

We headed out by taxi to John’s old flat to see his boyfriend, Simon.  Simon Riley.  I turned the name over in my mind as we drove, wondering what kind of man he was.  It was odd traveling in a car with a complete stranger, knowing that you have a ghost with you.  I kept looking at the driver in the rearview mirror, paranoid that he’d be able to see John, but aside from my own awkwardness, the trip concluded uneventfully.

I stared at the door that I was supposed to be knocking on and felt immediately threatened, that familiar fight-or-flight feeling making my extremities tingle.  “Shit.  John, I can’t…”

“Easy.  I’ll be right here; I won’t leave ye.  But we have to get in and get to Simon, alright?  The eejit’s blootered.”

I stared at him in confusion.  “He’s what?”

John rolled his eyes, exasperated.  “Drinkin’, hen.  He’s right sloshed.  Now get knockin’.”

Stepping toward the door, I looked at John and said, “I feel like your Scottish level just increased.”  I wrapped my knuckles on the door before I lost my nerve and stepped back.

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes.  “I think yer just too American to understand—“

The door flew open, revealing the personification of my Death card: an enormous man wearing a skull balaclava, no shirt, about one billion muscles, and an appropriately sized scowl.  His displeasure was evident despite the mask covering his features.  It radiated off of him in waves like heat, like the smell of alcohol that invaded my nostrils as it drifted out from him.  Piercing dark eyes stared down at me briefly before squinting, and then he slammed the door in my face.  I could hear his heavy footfalls retreating further into the flat.  I looked at John, at a complete loss, and maybe with a bit of anxiety.  Just a wee bit.

He sighed.  “Knock again, Evangeline.  He’ll answer.”  

“Why do you not look convinced?”

“Because I’m not.”

“I appreciate your honesty.  Is he gonna kill me?” I asked, somehow finding the nerve to knock again through my blooming dissociation.  It was a genuine fear.  What do I actually know about these guys?  Not much.  John hadn’t told me anything about Simon besides that they were both in the military.  He most certainly didn’t tell me about how absofuckinglutely intimidating his man was; he looked like he could just break me in half with those dark brooding eyeballs of his, no hands necessary.  My heart lurched, palpitating in my chest wildly like a canary in a proverbial coal mine.

“He won’t kill ye,” John assured me and my anxiety.

Ten beats passed. Nothing.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” John said in frustration and then disappeared through the wall of the flat.  I could hear him swearing and yelling, all in vain.  He emerged, raking a hand through his mohawk in irritation.  When his eyes finally locked with mine, a silent plea filled them.

I didn’t like that look on John’s face; the pain and concern etched there was almost a tangible thing, and it hurt.  It made me feel edgy and a bit unstable, as if the ground beneath me wasn’t as sturdy as I believed before coming out here.  I stepped up and knocked again, louder, more insistent.  For him.

This time, I could hear the lumbering stomps of Simon’s gait as he approached the door to the flat, and I braced myself for whatever might come.  My hair sucked forward from the sudden vacuum the door caused, and I nearly expected the door to be ripped from its hinges, such was the velocity at which the door opened.  I hadn’t stepped back, but Jesus, I wished that I had.

“The fuck do you want?”  Simon’s voice was a low growl, his thick British accent raking across me like a physical attack.

There was that small animal voice in the back of my head as I looked up at the angry behemoth at the door, which said, with zero doubt, “You are going to die.”  He braced a forearm on the doorframe, leaning in closer.  My eyes widened fractionally with every millimeter that decreased between us.  Shit.

“Um… A-are you Simon?  Simon Riley?”

He blinked at me with unfocused eyes.  He’d been drinking heavily as he reeked of alcohol, which was wonderful for me because we all know that drunk people are totally predictable.  “Who’s askin’?”

My eyes flicked to John, who stood beside the door, nodding encouragingly.  “M-my name is Evangeline.  I’m here about John—"

“Johnny,” John — or Johnny — corrected me.

“Johnny?”  I glanced at my ghostly companion, who nodded.

Simon narrowed his eyes.  “The fuck you on about?”

“Look, I know this will sound crazy, but he sent me here with a message.”  This was a bit of a stretch since, now that I thought about it, Johnny didn’t actually give me a message for Simon.

“So, what, you’re a bloody fortune teller?” Simon asked, his gravelly voice seething with bitter outrage.

Shit shit shit shit shit.  “No, that’s not—“ I started, taking a defensive step backward, but he barreled on.

“What the fuck do you want here?”

“Johnny wanted me to—“ 

I had little time to react before he picked me up by my jacket lapels and slammed me against his door, the air quickly evicted from my lungs.  The back of my head stung as I looked in horror at him.

“Johnny doesn’t want anything.  He’s fucking dead.”

I froze under his gaze, which was both hateful and wounded, the cold rush of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream.

Johnny interjected in a panic, “The first thing I ever said to him was,  ‘Let’s get ourselves a win.’ Tell him!”

I could feel my throat starting to close up.  I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe.

“Shit.”  Johnny rushed forward, moving through Simon, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but it was useless.  Next, he passed through me, my body feeling the chill of his presence, a strange, otherworldly shiver as suddenly, my mouth moved.

“LT, let ‘er go.”  The voice was mine, but the speaker was Johnny, his Scottish inflection clear in my voice.

Part 3

[dandelion-skies]

ADHD is weird bc like

“Im going to take away all of your emotional permanence! Your concept of emotions will be the same as that of a baby playing peekaboo”

So you work on it. Because it’s not fun living like that! I quite like the emotional permanence, than you very much. Knowing and remembering how I feel about things is in fact, quite important to me.

BUT I FORGOT THAT TECHNICALLY SPEAKING, ATTRACTION IS A FORM OF EMOTION TOO. Do you know how annoying that is?

Imagine you’re me. Closeted. Spent years trying to figure out what I exactly I am, and after some life events finally figured out their gender. Because gender is permanent, you live with it inside of you.

But sexual and romantic orientation? That’s a force outside of you! Something that only happens through interaction with certain people! Now I figured out years ago I was asexual, and this has been a mostly unwavering piece of knowledge since. But because I don’t have the experience of finding people I barely know physically attractive, I had nothing to remind me of what romance meant to me.

I’m still entirely unsure of how other people experience romance, but I suppose I’m demiromantic. I’ve had crushes before, though few and far between, and only on people I was already close to platonically. And now, with the digital age, I’m not seeing these friends frequently enough to solidify my emotions about them. Yes, talking online is great, if it’s continual and in depth, nothing that I do with any of my in person friends. So I go through the summer, not seeing my friends because they’re back at home now. Away from university, away from me. And I miss them, I know that. The memories with them feel nice!

But by the time summer has finished I’ve created somewhat… false ideas of them in my head. False ideas of myself, too. I think of them as being different to how they actually are. Not bad, just maybe emphasising some of their traits.

And as for me? Spending the summer at home, closeted, my brother calling me gay constantly to poke fun and me having to deny it because the last time I tried coming out it really didn’t go down so well- I almost convince myself that I’m straight! I think to myself, “well, I could probably learn to love a boy. Surely there’s things about it that I wouldn’t find so terrible.” I even choose a boy to try and like. I try and imagine dates, and romance, and even, just for the sake of testing it, naked.

I try and ignore the repulsion I feel as I push the girl I definitely DONT have a crush on to the back of my mind. She and I aren’t compatible anyway. We’re too different! Plus, I feel very strongly that I would like to share things I enjoy, like baking and video games and rollercoasters, and she doesn’t like baking or rollercoasters. It’s an illogical crush, so I should ignore it and choose a logical one.

So, fast forward, and I see both parties in person. The boy, whom I invite over to bake with me, play video games with, and talk about how much we both enjoyed rollercoasters at this particular theme park. My three uncompromisables, if you will.

(I recognise that they’re quite inane things to not compromise on, but they’re important to me!)

This boy is perfect! My family all think we’re going to profess undying love for each other and get married one day, but I say goodbye and I’m left with a nauseating feeling of recognition that there is an expectation with him that there will be romance. Even if not from him, from my family.

On the other hand, I see the girl. And she’s perfect. Every imperfection about her is perfect. Beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off her, and I just know she knows I’m staring. I try and joke about it, fake flirt! Apologise a bit for the fake flirting- but I’m still transfixed. I’m angry that we aren’t alone, that there are other people around us, and I just keep staring and staring and listening to her voice and watching the way she stands. Okay, maybe that sounds a tad bit creepy. And I’m trying not to be! And we shop for some food together, and she buys instant meals. And I ask her if she likes rollercoasters, and she tells me she’s terrified of them. It’s irrational to like her! I know that the relationship probably wouldn’t work out, so it’s not worth pursuing. But by god does it feel so different to boys! It feels electric and real and brilliant and emotional.

But most of all, I’m not left with that numb nausea, the confused pleading with myself after I try and like a boy. And then it’s all followed up by some sort of hyperfixation on my sexuality like I need to know all about it and make it me again before I forget.

Of course, this post is about ADHD and I did derail a bit, but can you really blame me? Consider the subject matter. And I’ll consider my audience too. I write too much.

The tl;dr is, adhd made me forget I was a lesbian. Pretty girl reminded me.

[cepheusgalaxy]

I... something's weird

My mom started using the pronouns I asked her to a while ago... and it doesn't feel right? Like, probably it is because I'm not that used to it so I need a period of adaptation... but what if it's not? Like, my disphoria did't come that much from pronouns but I still don't wanna use she/her... or do I? Do I really wanna use he/him or I'm just going along with the "boy = he/him" logic??? I've tried they/them some times too... but it felt so bad. But thinking of it now, it may be becaude I always heard it with sarcasm? As a joke. As an insult. I also love my mom, and I know she's trying to help... but she keeps reminding me that its hard to keep up when I change pronouns and it makes me feel guilty... I've kept he/him for now because I thought that's what I wanted? But I'm not sure anymore. And regarding my name... I know I've chosen Heron but is it really the right one? Like... I didn't mind it much but lately i've been feeling so annoyed at it... It's a fine name and I liked it even but not anymore. I guess that's normal? I kind of hate it when certain people use it. And i like these people, a lot. But then theres my dad... He calls me by this name with such affection and I don't feel uncorfotable at all. Every time he calls me I think of that. Should I really change my name at all? I don't wanna hear that hesitation my mom has when she calls me a he. I still like it when my dad calls me by my birthname. Should I change names and have just him call me by that? Should I give up on Heron? Maybe I shouldn't even be worrying about that. I only figured that I was trans a few months ago... it hasn't even been a year. People take a lot of time to figure out that. But I don't wanna wait.

I know I'm trans, but am I in the way I thought I was? I usually have a first thought regarding a thing but then I dismiss it. And all the time I end up coming to that same first conclusion. When I first started questioning I went with lots of "complex" nonbinary genders, what if I was right? Maybe I'm more genderfucked than I first thought.

But I guess I'm afraid too. I'm afraid of labelling myself and exploring because people won't get it. And I know I shouldn't be tinking about anyone but ME when it comes to that but I can't... I'm not exactly out in school. Some of my friends know I have something going on and i "look" kinda queer but I just left things with a "yea im a little bit gay maybe" and I can't help but think that if I label myself with a weird gender nobody will get it and ill just feel even more misunderstood.

I know I'm masc. But how much?

Where does my disphoria comes from? Where does my euphoria comes from? I wish I had the answers and why is it so hard to choose a name

Perhaps I should go with something longer. I also kinda like "international" names. Maybe something with 'a'? To match my birthname. I still like it. Even tho I hate it.

Avalon? Idk what kind of name is this but it sounds great. Amy? Amelie? Is it fine by me if I go by a gendered name? Why is it so hard?

I wish I knew more people like me. Personally. I just feel so lonely. I like to be alone a lot of the time but sometimes I just feel like im never with anyone that gets it. Sometimes I feel like im kind of a bad friend because--along other reasons (im terrible at comforting people or helping when theyre upset...)--sometimes i don't really wanna hang out with them because we barely share any interests. I have this one friend i love to hang out wit because we share the same passions and can do nothing or anythimg together but with my other friends-i like them sm but we don't really connect. They keep saying im gifted or somethinf cuz i can draw, they never shut up about how im oh-so great with art and i do a doodle and theyre like "OH wow what a masterpiece" and im doing an illustration for the sake of it, to feel good for making art, to make my world a little prettier with the colors i chose, decorating my homework or whatever and they all "woah you didn't have to humiliate us" every time! Its annoying! I hate it! We don't share anything, they like doing things that are not completely my thing-i mostly do them for the sake of hanging out with them because i always have such a great time-they have lifes completely different from mine and available at different times. Do you know that "you didn't really have a childhood if you didn't do x or y" meme? I HATE it. Cuz i didn't do x or y. It makes me feel so dismissed. So different. And most of my friends DID do x and y so i don't share that with them. I'm just so tired of being different all the time. I wish I was surrounded by more people like me. Maybe this will sound really gen z but idk what i'd do without social media. I'd prob feel even worse.

And my friends have struggles so different from mine. They don't have nice homes. They had such a troubled childhood. They had different joys too. They had sleepovers, childhood friends they grew up close to and still are close friends to this day and are so comfortable around each other and always went to the same school. I didn't really have this kind of friend because my mom didn't know in what school to put me at the time so i never stayed in one school for more than one year. My most was 2. And they're all cishet. They're all allo-i mean, exept from one. And i am so afraid for her. She goes around using she/her, once she told she'd like to go by he/him, we talked about gender sometimes and we saw that she liked the bigender label but her family is super religious and her therapist is also from her church and does "spiritual healing as well as mental" and she said she was over being bi because christians shouldn' be bi and--anyways i... and i don't know how to help my friends and they have so many problems and they don't know how to help me and i don't really talk about my problems with them and i don't know if i trust then enough to... share it all and i just wish i had more queer friends and people who understood me because i always feel so unseen ;( and lonely. And miserable.

And my mom-i just, and my dad, they are divorced but they keep bringing each other up and long story short theyre driving ne crazy they don't like each other but they can never get along and they keep dragging me and my siblings to their long ENDLESS conversations about the other one and im SO DONE I JUST WISH THEY COULD IGNORE EACH OTHER AND COLABORATE

And were traveling-my siblings me and my mom and everytime we do she always plans out everything but she doesnt really gives us freedom to have free chill time when we're there because everything is just so tightly scheduled planned and thats something really minor but i really need free chill MY tine EVERY DAY to recharge, even if it is from fun, to write, draw, read, do whatever i want-and me and my mom have ideas of fun so different and UGH

And she keeps calling me he and she is technically being supportive and avoiding misgendering me but WHY DO I FEEL SO UNCONFORTABLE?? And i shouldn't be mad at her because she is technically doing the right thing but :( i need to figure things out for myelf, find a support group because I REALLY need to surround with my kind and then tell her how it turns out for me.

I just-it's so hard being fourteen, when will this stop?

[frosnpls]

cw rhory (and suicide) talk again and general mental health talk

following on from that post yesterday i do definitely need therapy because as much as i convince myself ive healed (and to be fair i have, his death may have been traumatic but its incredible how quickly you realise you were being abused when youre... not being abused anymore) i do sometimes miss him and i hate it. ill see things like accounts from others who've lost people to suicide and it triggers that deep emptiness i felt when he first died despite the fact that he essentially ruined the first few years of my adult life

part of me wishes id never even met him but then i dont know if i would be as close to the friends i have now without him having been there (most of them anyway, if we pretend he didnt have one my best friends blocked because he would get jealous of how much fun i had speaking to her) and i also think he would have. died a lot sooner if i hadnt met him. his brother in law once told me it seemed like id afforded them two more years with him alive and i think it was meant to be grateful but in a way it was just upsetting because it made me feel guilty for all the times i had wished i didn't know him. it felt like i couldnt even afford a theoretical past version of myself that release. i know ultimately his death wasn't my fault and in fact i actively prevented it for a long time but it always always feels like i should have done something else. i feel like i shouldve told his brother that he was actively suicidal again but id come to his brother about it so many times that i think he just didnt think anything of it anymore.

and like despite how much i suffered through everything i dealt with with him i. do miss how we were sometimes. not him specifically, but the relationship we had when it was good. sometimes it upsets me that i cant even remember most of the positive times despite there being so many of them for the first two years we knew each other. sometimes i catch a glimpse of the tattoo on my arm when im getting out of the shower. the tattoo of one of his drawings, one of the only ones i managed to save when he deleted every single message he'd ever sent me. and sometimes it makes me feel like shit because i have this constant reminder of the boy who abused me emblazoned on my body, and nobody's first tattoo at the age of 21 should be a memorial to their boyfriend who killed himself, and it just makes me feel like shit because under everything else i really did love him and thats why i never walked away. thats why i didnt give up on him even when i started realising how damaging it all was for me. i loved him so much and i fucking hate saying it because logically i shouldnt have. its. a lot and its so complicated and nobody but me ever, ever saw it because he masked it around other people or would just dm me instead of saying anything out loud, and i could only tell people very nervously in private and i never had a way of proving it.

i think the hardest part is that my aocial circle now is almost exactly the same as it was when he was in it. all of our friends mourned that loss just the same. some of them know about the abuse now, but most of them don't, and the grief they will occasionally express (though never directly around me, which i appreciate) is so plain and easily explained and i almost feel jealous that i can't grieve the way they can. without any of the complicating factors. and that sounds so horrible but i wish my feelings about him were just SIMPLE.

i have a floater in my left eye. when i was with him, i developed stress stims. i would bash my hand against my head or bash my head against the corner of my desk. floaters are caused by head trauma. im consistently reminded of what that time was like every time i move my left eye in the right lighting.

i remember one particularly bad night where i cried for four hours straight because he just refused to talk to me like a normal person, blamed me for everything that was happening between us and told me to leave him alone and never speak to him again. i knew if i agreed to that he would kill himself as soon as he could. i knew i was the only thing keeping him alive, and that he resented me for that. i used to get acne on my nose and sleeve burns on my eyelids from crying so often and for so long each time.

it was fucking horrendous and i can't even vent to anyone because most of them grieved his death too. we don't even say his name - if he comes up it's always "you know" or "someone else, you know who i mean". so i think i... should really do a proper therapist hunt.

[starflowersatsunset]

braindump

i wish there was an explanation for why my body's reaction to extensive trauma is... more trauma?? like idk... i know it's trying to help me by shutting down and refusing to function, but that leaves me stuck in my current chaotic situations and unable to free myself from them. and then i have to decide to keep going??? how silly.

and lol @ me asking my ed specialist if taking a few days off would help. her response: "oh honey... this is gonna take much longer than a few days. your body is literally unable process your trauma and is responding through rewarding you for not eating, so that your body shuts down and you don't have to be here anymore. the last 2 years doesn't get solved in a few days."

but can't it just be... better than this??? i know logically... no. and i'm going to fight it like hell because i want to take care of myself and grow from this. but damn... it's such a mindfuck when someone turns to you and says, "you've been through more traumatic experiences in 2 years than most people go through in 10. now, you have to figure out how to keep going."

but... i got this. im gonna reward myself with snacks. and friendship. remind myself of all the texts and hours on the phone and visits and love that my friends have shown me throughout this time. and how understanding that my skate group has been since they gave me a position on the board and then i had to disappear cuz of health stuff. and how i still have my ticket to sol blume and rico nasty and remember all the concerts that i'll never see if i yeet myself because it hurts. there are good things. i know there are. i just also hate that there is so much sadness alongside them.

[mrfoox]

How to stop avoiding things that stress me out until it becomes a problem...

[spamtonology]

Anon from spamton's mischaracterisation ask here! Thank you for your time answering my ask, im very happy to see people opinions on my thoughts! I just wanted to say that in point 2 i mentioned, the "sad and obsessed with neo" part was kind of, not properly written from my part? And could probably lead to some misunderstanding which i apologise for, spamton wanting to get to neo is very important for his entire story, So it should be ver understandble that people Focus on that for bigger Scale!

also wanted to say that spamton is generally very diverse character, and toby fox did amazing job balancing comedy with tragedy, where something spamton says makes any Player laugh, but if you think more about it you realise meaning behind it, and go like "oh, OH" which makes spamton such great character (i want to talk about that one part later too) and taking it only to one part is taking the entire point of his character!

And last thing about the infantilising part, i do agree with most things said, spamton is infact homeless adult (if we want to involve spamton's fan assigned birthday in 1978 that would mean that in 201x spamton is like 30-40 year old) and heavily coded to be mentaly ill and disabled, and when i think (as an disabled person myself) properly including the disabilities in stories could make a big diffrence and making the whole "taking care of spamton" possibly better, but most of the time its always just, infantilising spamton (and i generally noticed that infantilisation of mentally ill or disabled characters is very common thing in media)

Thank you for getting into this discussion Again i really apprieciate it!!!

Hello again Anon! You’re very welcome, the ask was an absolute treat to answer and I’m glad you sent it!

I understand your wording may have been confusing on the NEO part, it’s perfectly fine, I know I have some awkward wording myself. But, making him “only sad” is a real issue that does happen in the fandom and does a disservice to the multifaceted character he is.

Spamton is very much a Fridge Horror type character, where the things he says at first seem innocuous or funny, but with replay or knowing later context, it suddenly becomes...sad. Scary. The “Letting your old pal Spamton kill you” line is a good example, he might be addressing Kris, but he’s really talking about himself. He’s likely implying he wanted to commit suicide in the past.

Feel free to talk more on that aspect, it’s one of the best things about his character in my opinion!

I like Spamton’s fan-assigned birthday of May 3, 1978 a lot and generally use it in my fanworks, though I also like to make Spamton a few years older at 50, mostly because I like round numbers and anything with 5 in it. He would have been very young as a Big Shot too, which might make his story even sadder to some.

I am also disabled, and include some experiences with my own disability into Spamton’s character, though of course his circumstances are wildly different. I do need help with a few things, and it seems logical that he would too; as a severely mentally ill adult he might need assistance with a few things including reminders and physical support if necessary. There is a definite difference between that and infantilizing him.

 I can’t name too many fanfiction besides my own and Steppin’ Out as portraying actual disabilities making his Activities of Daily Living impaired in a respectful manner, and wish there would be more content like this, because so many fans want to take care of him but forget that you can take care of a disabled adult and still treat them like an adult. I don’t know if it’s somehow easier to write him as childish, if it’s pure ignorance/ableism, or the author thinks it’s “cute”, but...At least make an effort, you know?

I’ve done a lot of research for my fanfiction, and google is only a few words and a click away. If, like me, you forget easily, you can collate these research points and links into a document (Google docs preferred, though you could use Word too). If you don’t know a word or phrase, look it up or ask a friend knowledgeable in that area.

But, yes, research, research is so important for storywriting. All those memes about shady-looking search results including things like “How much blood can a human lose and still be alive” are real and true, that’s the type of thing authors (both original and fanfiction) look up in order to research for their story! If you’re especially paranoid about your search history being seen by others (mostly advertisers) incognito mode/private browsing is your friend.

I went off a minor tangent here, but I hope it was helpful! Thank you again for your ask, and feel free to ask more!

[thisdreamplace]

hi! i was wondering if you've got any advice when you're paralyzed by fear? meaning i'm so afraid of even trying to see if the law works, so ended up putting it off. yet i keep reading about it, seeing other people's success stories doesn't help and logically i know i won't understand if i don't see it for myself. but then i'm just too afraid of what will happen if it is fake - i feel like i built it up so much to the point idk how to live if it doesn't work. like i just don't want to live if it won't work, but! i won't try bc self-preseravtion i guess. other part of me thinks it's saving my life by not doing it. but i'm so tired, i can't willpower thru it and i just at this point just want to try it out but it just won't let me. and i tried confronting it to see what my life would be like if it won'r work and i feel like i won't have any prospects and it turns depressing and i just don't have any motivation to live. sorry for weighing on you like this, but i'm beyond desperate.

okay, wow. thanks for sharing, a lot of that is definitely heavy to carry.

my best advice to you would be to let it go ? i mean. im thinking of myself, when i was in those dark places, and when i saw the law as my saving grace. it put so much pressure and weight on myself and my life. it’s no surprise that instead of doing something, you just do nothing because it’s all too much.

so stop putting all that power in something outside of you. i think the law is so cute and it promises you this wonderful perfect life and then you have all the people and their success stories that keep you fired up. i get it, but its time to leave it behind. your actual well-being is on the line here, as you expressed you’re clearly in a dark place. i’ve seen so many people use the law as their anchor, as their reason for still being alive and it’s honestly unnerving. i get it because i’ve hit new rock bottoms quite a few times while making the law my savior too.

as much as we hate to hear it, the truth of the matter is not even the law will save you. because while you’re calling the law your one true shot at life, you’re totally misunderstanding that you are your shot at life.

life gets so much better when we stop trying to make it be something else and we let it be what it is. through this we can enjoy it more, we can say okay. what’s in front of me that i can work with ? what’s in front of me now that i can enjoy/do/experience ? i won’t wait on a false god anymore — i go out there and experience life for me.

of course, along with that, allowing yourself to live and be a human being, comes a change in mindset you must work on along side yourself. allowing neutrality, allowing beauty and lovely meanings where you decide. dedicating yourself to allowing yourself to be the true you and not the you who’s identity was born of fear and survival — but the true loving and free form you that exists beneath it all. it all works together, but its one moment at a time.

and i would suggest you begin at actually letting it go. get offline, sit with yourself and stop asking what “should” life be like but instead ask yourself “what can i do now ?” it might be small. but it’s important because you’re doing it for you and not for some special outside force you’ve put all your faith in. it’s time to build the faith in yourself. because you quite literally have the ability to live your life. it’s time to remind yourself of that again.

i feel like this may not have been the advice you wanted :D maybe you were hoping i’d say don’t give up now ! keep going ! but no. give up now. and by give up i mean let go of what clearly isn’t working and find a direction that fits more true to your soul. if you thought that following the law the same way everyone insists you follow the law is the only way to your dream life, you are fully mistaken. the best path is the one that works for you, not the one that’s hyped up online lol

[liquidstar]

hi i saw your post bout pro ship going around and Im?? I mean you deleted it so I guess that means u changed ur mind (i also read ur other asks so I know ur not One of Those)

i just find it so weird that pro ship is associated with pedophilia bc like..I always thought it meant "idc if u ship stucky or stony go ship whatever u want"! but now this whole thing reminds me of steven universe fans making an artist depressed for drawing a character thinner or lighter and bc of that i find myself siding with Pro-ship rather than those... but I just wish people dont think pro ship meant oh! i support incest and lolicon ://

as someone in the spectrum this whole discourse is especially so difficult. i also dont want to get "cancelled" when i say Pro-ship (the one with the meaning i believe in) is good bc I really dont want drama at all, but the term that I thought that should he positive and drama free IS the drama itself. ugh. sorry for the rant.

but anyways that post you deleted about hitting people with car is :/ yikes. it just gives me Toxic Fandom vibes, death threats arent cool no matter who it is. im glad you deleted it! posts similar to that are the reason why I feel like "pro ship" looks less toxic tbh even if I dont have any problematic ships and I dont approve of them either.

sorry if this ask is long! I just type this way when im thinking of a lot of things!

anon.... i deleted the post bc i was sick of getting pedo apologists writing essays in my notes about why jacking off to child porn is actually ok and healthy and getting harassment from them. yeah, surprise surprise, the people who defend cp harass people and only use the "harassment" thing as a way to create a weird strawman character to gain the moral highground. but it was the "pro shippers" who just a few months back harassed a voice actor with images of cp because they said they were uncomfortable with it because of their trauma. clearly though theyre the good guys who want safety in fandom spaces, right anon?

i stand by everything i said 100% and if you cant understand why youre either ignorant or lack critical thinking completely based on the way you just assume that Obviously i must have come around to the "pro ship" way despite its links to pedo apologism. if the fine line between you and someone who jacks off to lolicon hentai is so thin you need to distinguish between it every time you talk about it theres a problem. there is no "good version" of it, its just a foot-in-the-door tactic to make you slowly become more OK with their batshit logic over time. its intentionally designed that way. of-fucking-course people associate "pro-ship" with pedophilic content, you yourself literally had to distinguish between those parts of the "community" and i feel like i need to remind you that the whole "pro-ship" thing came side-by-side with MAPs but was later watered down to seem more friendly and welcoming, to trick people into thinking its just a friendly fandom place.

as if you cant be against harassment or bad faith media criticism without being "pro ship". similarly you can be against pedophilic content w/o being an "anti" and i dont consider myself one bc thats a huge strawman caricature, even you yourself used phrasing in that regard lol, i guess im not "one of those" because im not someone with weird "us-vs-them" groupthink. but that being said im obviously against the community that welcomes people who blindly support cp based on an all-or-nothing mentality and borderline cultlike tactics built into it, ones that youre playing straight into. if you have good intent get the fuck out of there while you still can and start examining yourself more. and get the fuck out of your own head with this fear of being "canceled"

idk which post you read that you took that away that i "changed my mind" but go read these instead instead of projecting what you must think is the "correct opinion" onto me

[grayfilmsandstuff]

Heyyyy homieeeee saw your post and I really liked it! Figured I’d try it out myself 👉👈

I’m a 5’3 short hair sandy blonde and on the curvier side. and a I’m a entrepreneur (ESTP-T), Im highly competitive against games or sports if i know i can do it. I’m kind of the loud soccer mom of the group who’s constantly getting hurt but having a pain tolerance Thats through the roof makes up for it. All of my friends are guys since I seem to get along with them better than girls. I’m reckless but know when to step in when a friend is in need. Music is also a big part of my life as I always have some sort of rap or 80s song playing to keep my mind busy. I swim competitively against other people and I’ve even made it into districts a few times. I’m a small artist but like to keep it a hobby instead of a job. I’m incredibly patient and enjoy hanging with kids.

Thanks shawty and remember to drink some water 😘

here you go, sorry this took so long afdgagdjd

also thanks for the reminder i should prolly drink some water rn

i match you wiiiiiiith...

2BDamned!

- you were brought in leaning on the shoulders of Hank and Sanford, wincing in pain but not making a sound. 2BD immediately knew if he didn't save you soon he would lose you. he had only seen you for a few seconds but he knew you were someone worth keeping around

- obviously he was real quick and he was able to save you! yay for him!

- you do manage to hurt yourself a lot more than anyone else because you don't realize you're hurt until later. he finds your clumsiness cute but also how the heck do you manage to hurt yourself getting food from the pantry

- you've also hurt yourself pulling some real heroic stunts. one time you were out fighting with Hank and you came back with a bullet hole through your shoulder because apparently they were about to get in the head, so you saved them. 2BD wishes he was there to see it and fall for you even harder

- he's not very good at many sports or athletic challenges but he's scary good at puzzles and logic problems, so whenever you challenge him to a one on one he loses miserably. but when you challenge him to an escape room you lose miserably.

- you and him have the mother and father dynamic of the team. you joke about it a lot but every time you do he gets all flustered

- "you and me are the only responsible ones here, if i'm being honest. we're like the mom and dad of this team, huh?"

- "yeah haha... . . .wait we're what"

- he does enjoy watching you play or joke around with the other three like they're your kids, it makes him feel all happy inside because not only are you happy but you're also making the dudes he considers his 'kids' happy

- he's also really into 80s music, but he didn't know that you liked it until you invited him to listen to it once and he realized he knew the song. now he loves your music taste on top of everything else?? ughhh why are you so perfect

- he's not very good with physical affection, but one time while you were listening to music together he timidly put his arm around your shoulders. you decided 'hey, why the heck not' and leaned into him. let's just say he could not wipe the smile off of his face for the next few hours

- he loves your art! watching you draw or even drawing with you is one of his favorite things to do because watching you create something so intricate and beautiful out of nothing is astounding. he just scribbles on the paper and hopes it looks good

- you think his drawing is cute though so you support everything he makes

UGH i LOVE writing for 2b this was so agdhsgsjdhd

also ur music taste.. .. ..please be my friend

[weabooweedwitch]

NL anon again, I’m just gonna start signing these with 📌 because I’m not great at direct messaging lol. If you’re looking for something to learn that 1) doesn’t have a high cost of entry, 2) pays well and 3) doesn’t require physical labor, I recommend coding. I’m learning python for data analysis right now and I keep all my notes in a little book, and I think it’s the “easiest” code I’ve ever attempted. It’s very logic based and everything makes sense, and once you’re certified you can work remotely for a decent salary. The good thing about code is that even without a bachelors, if you have proper certification you can apply for jobs anyways and there’s a good chance you’ll get it unless the employer is an asshole or looking for something specialized. Also you can learn it for free online! Maybe this isn’t helpful, if it isn’t feel free to just ignore this but if there’s any way we can help please let us know!

No this is actually EXTREMELY helpful because I've been heavily considering learning to code for the last few years now! For not only the reasons you mentioned but also I just like technology and I've always wanted to make my own rpg maker game or something and like, it just sounds so cool to be able to make a little game or program that I completely coded myself? And SO many jobs need people who know how to code! I've also I can be pretty good st problem solving so part of me like, really hopes I would actually be good at coding

Where I was hitting the wall was um. When I started to look into it, I just. Couldn't decide what kind of program to learn? I know there are several different, im not sure on the terminology, coding programs and depending on the job, they want you to know specific ones or even several? So I was just really intimidated not knowing which one to pick or start with. I didn't want to pick one and invest a lot of time becoming good at it and then it "turn out to be a waste of time"

But no thank you this is actually really great advice and it actually reminds me that my old roommate that I used to rent from who worked in IT also said python would be a great thing for me to learn?

But yeah I'm just sort of like. I'm at the point where I feel like the only way I could make a decent living in America is either coding or trading stock and getting lucky. Like deadass like some catch lightning in a bottle, get lucky off some pump and dump crypto scam sort of deal. That's how incredibly defeated and anxious and depressed i feel about the state of things in America that I legitimately start hoping for these wild scenarios. And then I'm not even allowed to post about wanting to move elsewhere on my own blog without getting accused of some random bonkers shit based off of... a weird personal assumption someone else made 🤦‍♀️

[fairycosmos]

something ive been thinking about lately is how ive had so many interactions with people where the other person gets confused, says the wrong thing, says something embarrassing, etc and i legitimately don't care. like i forget about it immediately. but if *I* do something like that my brain spends the next few days telling me how the other person now thinks I'm stupid for making a mistake. logically i know that no one thinks about me the way i think about myself but i still can never fight off those thoughts telling me that everyone thinks im weird/embarrassing/stupid

honestly! it’s like our brains exist to make living as hard as humanly possible for no reason. what gets me is how we thoroughly understand on a logical level that nobody! cares! about our stupid little fuck ups and yet we’ll still fixate on them for years to come. despite that knowledge. and the embarrassment is so searing and strong ugh it makes me sick. it’s such a waste of time and energy and sooo draining on top of that. it’s like shame is just burned into the subconscious or something. but YEAH it’s always good to remind yourself that no one has you under a magnifying glass the way you have yourself under a magnifying glass. can’t remember the last time someone embarrassed themselves in front of me, but i spend sooo much time ruminating on my own mishaps. i wonder if it’s an ego thing? maybe just a person thing. anyway i think it’s always good to practice allowing yourself to exist the way you allow others to exist

[mikkaeus]

lessons from 1000 hours of tutoring high school kids - a letter to my past self

not all those hours were maths, but this is about maths

Not in order of importance; in the order they came to my head. 

1. Do not trust a kid when they say that they understand something. They understand jack shit. Make them explain it back to you. 

2. When teaching sth new try to prod them to reaching the conclusion themselves instead of just straight up explaining it, if time permits. 

3. Things I have assumed and have been sorely mistaken:

a) If an area is identified to be an issue in the lesson, the kid will go and do some questions and revise themselves to fix it.

b) Kids take notes. (I’m still kicking myself for only realising this more than 6 months in with this kid. I get paid too much to be making stupid mistakes like this.)

c) Kids know how to take notes. (Session 1: Take notes, here is a detailed outline that you can then expand on with examples and stuff. Session 2: The kid has copied my scaffold word for word and not expanded anything on it. Me: You need to actually EXPLAIN how to complete the square for example, not just write “completing the square”. Kid: Okay yeah I get it. Session 3: For each topic he’s googled an explanation and copied entire paragraphs word for word, because he “thought they’d phrase it better than him”. He’s using terminology that I 100% guarantee he does not understand at all. I now understand why high school teachers always said use your own words when making notes - something that I had always thought should be blindingly obvious to everyone.)

4. Not everyone is as obsessed with not making mistakes or not being able to solve problems are you are. (For these kids, being stumped at a difficult question isn’t the end of the world.) They think a question ends at figuring out the answer, whether that be from the help of a textbook, the solutions, their friend, or me. You need to impress upon them that it doesn’t matter what the answer is! It’s about what you learn from the question. How was the way they were thinking about the question incorrect? How can they avoid this in the future? What general advice can they give themselves? And then they need to actually commit to reducing incidences of the same mistake in the future. Some kids I’ve been giving the same damn advice to every problem they get stuck on, and magically they can solve it after I give them the advice. Just remember the general advice!! You’re spending all this time studying but you’re running into the same wall over and over again instead of remembering to take the rope out of your bag. I’m not magic! I’m just sitting here reminding you that there IS a rope in your bag!!  (Not that my method of angry scribbling in red pen across my working and writing that I’m a fucking idiot is something I’d actually recommend, but they could definitely afford to be less laissez-faire about learning from their mistakes.)

5. Actually make good notes during the session; otherwise, the kids probably retain nothing. It is kinda awkward to be sitting there writing away but it is a necessarily evil. Also, you can write while they’re chipping away at a question themselves, and that way you don’t need to be watching them like a hawk while they do algebra painfully slowly. (I feel like kids make more mistakes in sessions than they do normally.) 

6. The key to being able to solve a problem is believing that you CAN solve the problem. I’ve been saying this a lot recently - if you follow the rules for maths, there’s no reason it should be wrong - when I have Year 11s and 12s asking me every step of simple algebra if something is correct, or asking whether you’re allowed to do something, and I ask them, “what do you think?” and they reply, “I don’t know.” (Related: Another thing I’ve been saying a lot is that algebra is about doing the same thing to both sides. They just think it’s magic!) Anyway, I brought this up because of problem solving questions actually, not basic algebra. Of course, you can teach them how to break down the question, or general processes like “if you don’t have enough information, go back and check you’ve used everything in the question”, but all that’s useless if they don’t believe that they can solve it by themselves. That means

a) You need to actually encourage them. Even though you’re not a... fluffy or particularly inspiring person, just try. 

b) YOU need to believe that they can do it too. Think of the number of times you’ve been shocked that some kid managed to make a leap of logic you thought was beyond them. Kids are better than you think (and also worse than you think, but we’ve already talked at length about that). 

7. It’s most of the time more beneficial to force the kid to go through the expanded version of the working instead of the abbreviated version. They’re not you, trying to economise as much as possible on working to save precious seconds for rechecking at the end. Don’t push that obsession onto them when their goals and skill level is completely different. Especially if they’re:

a) making silly mistakes

b) not understanding why something works and just following the pattern for a specific context, and then being completely lost in another context. (eg. not being able to use the null factor law for when the factors weren’t linear with a gradient of 1, because they always skipped straight to x= instead of actually writing out each factor equalling zero, and then rearranging). 

8. Stop lecturing for too long. Make sure you’re writing stuff down, not only for the purpose of notes for them to look at later, but because not everyone’s good with auditory learning (you’re one of those people! and yet you subject others to the same shit you rant about out length about your professors!). Make them do work through a problem or part of a problem or ask them questions or something. 

9. A lot of kids do not know how to study properly. A few important things:

a) Do not automatically look back at past questions when solving a Q. You need to treat every question as completely new, and only look back if you’re stuck. That way you force active recall every question and thus making sure you’re actually remembering what the process is. You don’t get any worked examples in your exam. 

b) I do not know how this is every single fucking kid but knowing how to use your dang calculator saves lives!! It’s literally 50% of your grade and you’re sitting there two days before your exam struggling to graph a parabola??? After all the hours you poured into studying the content? Yes your calculators are gross and unfriendly but they’re your best friend. Not only should you know how to use them, you should be fast at using them, and you should know everything it can do that could be remotely helpful. 

c) Sit full exam papers under exam conditions. That shit is like gold and kids are piddling it away by just leisurely working through one question at a time with the help of their textbook (and me). 

d) Print out the formula sheet, and use it. Know what’s on there and what’s not. 

I don’t know if this is a pretty standard experience for people with a track record of excellent academic results* (by this I mean just assuming some things are obvious to everyone) or if I’m particularly bad because I’ve always only interacted with a very narrow range of people. anyway feels fucking bad for my kids but. im trying. god knows ive come a long way since i first started.

*or as I prefer to state it, a track record of being a huge fucking nerd

[mrsalwayswrite]

This Night (40s!Bucky Barnes x Hispanic!OFC)

Summary: When she saved a scrawny blond in a back alley, she would never have anticipated the ripple effects it would have. Nor how meeting someone with a pair of baby blue eyes and cocky smirk would draw her in, encouraging her that for one night, to taste revelry like she never had before.

This is my submission for @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ Marvel Diversity Challenge! My prompt was “a little danger never hurt”. 

I am going to admit, I’m super nervous to post this. I’ve never written a person of color before and would be horrified to accidently offend someone. That being said, I also had so much fun writing this piece. I adore 40s Bucky and Steve, so I was excited to finally have the inspiration to write them. 

Few notes:

-All translations are via google and what I can remember from university (if any of my Spanish is wrong, please please please someone tell me and i’ll correct it!)

-I threw in some 40s slang for fun, so that will be in italics.

-In the little research I did (again, someone please correct me if I am wrong), in the 40s there were not many Hispanic or Latino people living in NYC yet. So for my OFC and her family, they would very much stand out. 

Warnings: a few swear words, some angst, sexual tension, topic of racial discrimination and inequality 

Words: 8k (the story kept growing, i’m so sorry)

<gif is from Pinterest>

She clutched the parcel to her chest, trying to avoid the muddy puddles on the sidewalk. Mr. Hendricks would be furious with her if she got any mud on the packaging of the parcel. He always said it reflected his reputation.  

 Weaving through those walking down the busy Brooklyn sidewalk, she could feel the few glares and inaudible comments following in her wake. She tried to ignore it, knowing was not the first nor last time others judged her for her different skin tone. Though she doubted she would ever get used to it. One of her older brothers would try and cheer her up saying the white folks were jealous since they burned when in the sun too long while Spaniards became more beautiful. Without fail, she would smack him but end up laughing along. 

 Peeking at the address scrawled in precise handwriting, she surveyed the street names around. A sinking feeling in her gut confirmed her fear- she had somehow gotten lost. 

“Mierda.” She hissed, turning around in a circle. Not just to try and relocate her whereabouts but on the off chance her mother happened to be behind her to whack her over the head for swearing. 

 Not wanting to be run over by a fellow pedestrian, she stepped off the sidewalk into an alley nearby while she tried to get her bearings. She brushed down the front of her workwear, dark blue, princess style dress with its Peter Pan collar, double pockets and pleated skirt. A glance at her tights showed a couple spots of mud she somehow managed to still get on her even though her kitten heels were still mostly clean. A miracle really. 

 It was only mid-afternoon but Mr. Hendricks hated when she returned late from delivering parcels. He was the best tailor in Brooklyn and practically thrived off that title. He employed her to help keep things organized, the shop looking nice and delivering parcels to their patrons. It was mindless work but that did not bother her. It was a job...and she was lucky to have one. Being from one of the few Hispanic families in the area was not a perk when trying to find work. She knew the only reason she even got this job was she willingly took half the pay he would have given to anyone else, she could sew well, and she was pretty. 

 A crash at the end of the alley drew her attention behind her. There was some hushed talking followed by another sound of something hitting the ground. Hard. 

 Logically, she knew she should walk away. She was already lost. Her mother frequently reminded her to not involve herself in other people's business, it would only get her in trouble. The problem was her curiosity was a near palpable thing, driving her forward, along with her independent streak the size of the Upper Bay. So when she heard what sounded like a smack and another crash, her feet started moving without a second thought. 

 She darted around a half brick wall to find herself at an "L" intersection. And at the end of both alleys, stood a tall man with a face like a bulldog and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, fists at his side. Below him lay a much smaller, blond man who was sprawled out on the dirty ground. The smaller man groaned, rubbing a hand on his jaw. He rolled onto his side, then slowly and painfully rose back onto his feet, his own fists in front of him in a poor imitation of a boxer. 

 "You think you somethin' special, huh?" The larger man jeered, a nasty smirk on his face. He leaned on his back foot, preparing to throw another punch. 

 The smaller man raised his fists but made no other move, prepared to take the hit and most likely go back down. 

 So, she decided to do something stupid. 

 "BILL!!" She cried out, her voice echoing off the brick walls of the alleys. 

 Both men froze, turning to look at her. 

 Tucking the parcel under her arm, she jogged over to the smaller man, uncaring now of the muddy puddles. "There you are, Bill. I've been so worried. You promised to show me where Mrs. Wilcox lives. I tried to find her myself but I got so lost." Ignoring the quizzical look from the blond man, she stood between the two men, meeting the eyes of the larger one. She twirled a strand of her long, black hair around her finger, nerves getting to her but she pressed on. "I'm so sorry for whatever trouble he has caused you. He won't bother you again. We have to go now; our boss will dock our wages if we aren't back soon."

 The man trailed his eyes over her as if looking for a lie tattooed on her skin or dress. Finding nothing of interest, he stared hard at his victim for a long moment. She found herself holding her breath, silently praying her ruse worked. 

 Finally, he rolled his shoulders and unclenched his fists, his thick jowls still tense. "Keep ‘im away from me or next time his ass will end up in the hospital."

 Slowly, she released her breath as she watched the bulldog of a man turn on his heel and stomp away, back down the alley and onto the main sidewalk. 

 "Are you hurt?" She asked, looking over the smaller man. As he dusted off his brown trousers and tan jacket, she was surprised to realize he stood about her height, and probably about her age, in the young twenties. If her guessing was any good. 

 He rubbed his jaw again and winced where an impressive bruise was already growing. "I've had worse." 

 She could not help but smile at his nonchalance. His bright blue eyes met her own honey brown. A timid smile echoed hers, his face so open and expressive. Something about the man she found endearing already. Maybe defending him was not such a stupid action.  

 "All that stuff you said, about lookin' for me and gettin' lost…"

 She huffed a laugh. "I am actually lost. I'm trying to find this address here." She showed him the scrap of paper with the address scribbled on it.

 It took only a glance before he handed the paper back with a smile. "You're not too far. Only three streets away….I... I can take you there if you like."

 "Oh, I'd hate to impose on you."

 "No, it's really fine. Seems you saved me from...well…" He shrugged, sticking his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket. 

 "And... you...don't mind, you know, being seen with me?"

 "No, why?" Eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed slightly, he stared at her like that was the strangest question. 

 It was in that moment she knew, whoever this scrawny man was- he was a good man. The difference in their ethnicity made no difference to him. He was a rarity in her experience with most New Yorkers. 

 Even though it was 1940 and this was supposed to be a land of equal opportunity. 

 It was not. 

 With a shrug and momentarily, awkward silence as they both thought about their own answers to his question, they fell into step with one another as they headed back out of the alley.

 "So, what's your name? Or is it actually Bill?" She spoke up once they hit the sidewalk. 

 "Do I look like a Bill?"

 She squinted her eyes then shook her head giggling. "No, you don't."

 "It's Steve…. Steve Rogers."

 "It's nice to meet you, Steve."

 He directed them down another street. Their shoulders brushed occasionally as they walked, due more to their need to maneuver around puddles and other pedestrians than any sense of intimacy. "You gonna tell me your name or do I have to make one up for you?"

 "Oh! Sorry. It's Elana Morales-Díaz. So, what caused the fight?"

 The tips of his ears and cheeks turned pink as he ducked his head. "He, um, we...we had a disagreement."

 "Obviously. I would hate to know you're friends and beat each other up for fun."

 "My best friend is a boxer. He's tryin’ to teach me some moves…. does that count as beating each other up?"

 She pretended to think about it. "I may let that one slide but it sounds like you might need some new friends."

 "Yeah," he chuckled and peeked over at her. "Know of any openings?"

 "I just might."

 They stood at an intersection waiting to cross the street when they heard a shout from further down the road. Neither paid much attention initially until the shout repeated itself. 

 "STEVE!"

 The blond looked down the road, a smile on his lips. He waved and tugged on Elana to move away from the curb. She followed along, surprised since he told her they needed to cross. 

 A man glided through the pedestrians easily, a few lingering looks thrown his way by some of the women. When he noticed her standing next to Steve, his eyes widened for a brief moment before a lazy smirk appeared on his face and his strut became more pronounced. With boxing gloves dangling over his shoulder, his white shirt and black trousers, he looked like he just walked out of a gym. Especially with the way his dark brown hair ruffled in the breeze, a few strands sticking up like he had run his hands through it a few times. 

 "I leave you for one afternoon and I come back to find you with the prettiest gal in all of New York." 

 Steve rolled his eyes. "You're always at the gym now."

 The man put Steve in a teasing headlock. Only after a flirtatious wink at her, he released the smaller man. "So, you gonna introduce me to this wolfess, Steve?"

 "Ah, right. Elana, this is my best friend, Bucky Barnes. Buck, this is Elana."

 "Nice to meet you." She said, a small smile at their interactions. It reminded her of her brothers.

 The man -Bucky- reached over and took her hand but instead of shaking it, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, maintaining eye contact the whole time. "Pleasure is mine."

 Oh, he was a charmer. The kind her mother warned her about. Then again, her father had the same devilish charisma and Elana liked to remind her mother of that. To which her mother would laugh and say that's why she warned her daughter of those men, she knew from experience. With just a wink and kiss, she would fall madly in love, leave her home and give him five babies before she even knew it. It was always after this statement often said loudly and with feigned annoyance that Elana's father would wrap his arms around his wife, lovingly kiss her temple and remind her how long he had to chase her before she even agreed to go on a date with him. 

 "So how do you guys know each other?" Bucky asked, those blue eyes bouncing between the two of them. 

 Steve coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. It was then Bucky finally seemed to notice the slowly darkening bruise on Steve's jaw. 

 "Steve!" He grabbed his friend's face and glanced over him, concern etched in his movements and expression. "What happened this time, punk?"

 "Nothin'...just a disagreement. I had 'im on the ropes."

 He dropped his hand, running it through his brunet hair. "You gotta stop pickin’ fights, one of these days…" The implications hung heavily in the air. 

 "Ah, Steve…" When he looked over at her, she nodded toward the parcel still in her arms.

 "Oh right! Sorry. Buck, I gotta take her to drop somethin' off."

 Bucky shrugged. "Lead the way, punk."

 "Jerk."

 The three of them quickly crossed the street. Steve, and soon Bucky when he understood what was going on, pointed out markers for her in case she got lost again. In a short time, they arrived at the house, one of the nicer ones in Brooklyn. The boys waited on the sidewalk as Elana walked up to the front door and handed the parcel over with the man's tailored suit. 

 "Where you off to now, doll?" Bucky asked when she approached them. 

 "Oh, I need to get back to the shop. Mr. Hendricks will most likely be upset with how late I am anyway."

 "The tailorin’ shop near Prospect Park?"

 "Yeah." She played with a strand of her hair, trying to hide her nerves.

 "What a coincidence. We were headed that way ourselves, right, Steve?"

 "What?" Steve looked at Bucky, head tilted in confusion. Bucky cuffed him in the back of the head. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Um, gonna take a nice walk in the park."

 Elana could not help but giggle at the two. With Bucky looking skyward like he was silently praying for patience to deal with his best friend; meanwhile Steve rubbed the back of his head and glared at his best friend. Although she just met them and hardly knew them, she found herself enjoying their presence. Friends were not something she had in great supply...or any supply really. 

 Plus, if she was being honest with herself, she found her gaze drifting to the tall, charming brunet more times than she cared to admit. The butterflies in her stomach did not help the situation. She knew it was foolish. He was attractive and knew it. But when he turned those baby blues on her and winked, she could not help but be drawn to him, like a moth to the flame. 

 "How come we ain't seen you round before? I know I'd remember a dame as beautiful as you round Brooklyn." Bucky said on her left side while Steve walked on her right. Neither one crowded her space. Sometimes one would touch a hand to her back to direct her steps or hold her elbow when she jumped a puddle. It was sweet instead of condescending. 

 She shrugged. "I recently got the job at the tailor shop and I live in Queens."

 They both winced making her laugh. She would never understand this animosity the boroughs had with each other. 

 "Well that explains a lot." Steve muttered. 

 "Hey!" She nudged the blond with her shoulder as she muttered. "Me gusta Queens. Ustedes dos están celosos."

 "What language is that?" Steve asked, curiosity evident. 

 "Spanish."

 "Is that why you have an accent?"

 She nodded, unable to meet their gazes as she answered. "My family moved here from Spain when I was six." Although she had grown up here in New York City, gone to school just like the other kids, she still maintained a slight accent to her words, different from the stereotypical New Yorker's accent. 

 "Say somethin’ else." Bucky smiled down at her. 

 She laughed. "Like what?"

 "I don't know. Anythin’."

 "El cielo es azul. Me duelen los pies con estos tacones. Me he reído más con ustedes dos que en semanas".

 Bucky had almost a dazed look on his face. "That's beautiful."

 "You have no idea what I said."

 "Doesn't matter." The brunet stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Steve can talk in Irish." 

 "Buck…"

 "What?" 

 "I mean, a little." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My ma came from Ireland." 

 Bucky snorted. "You wrote a poem for a girl in the second grade in Irish and read it to her on the playground. I'd say that's more than a little."

 Steve's face was red and jaw dropped as he stared at his friend. "How...how...how do you know that?" He sputtered. "We weren't even friends yet."

 Bucky winked at Elana as he answered. "Gotta be friends with the right people."

 The three of them walked back, talking and laughing. Well it was mostly the boys talking and teasing one another but she enjoyed just listening to their banter. Occasionally they would direct a question to her or she would throw out a remark that had them laughing. 

 She guided them to the back alley of the street front shops. Mr. Hendricks disliked her walking through the front unless she had her work apron on and clean shoes. 

 "Well thank you for helping me and walking me back."

 "It's not a big deal." Steve said. 

 "We'll see you round, yeah? I'd hate to just meet a gorgeous dame like you then never see her again." Bucky threw a wink at her, adjusting the boxing gloves still over his shoulder. 

 She opened her mouth to tease them then stopped. She truly hoped this was not the last time she saw these two. In a spur of the moment decision, she stepped closer to say goodbye. She pressed her cheeks to Steve's first, giving the traditional cheek kiss. She did the same to Bucky, though she had to rise on her toes to reach his face, and she suspected he bent over slightly. 

 "Hasta luego, mis amigos."

 "What was that, doll?"

 She looked from Bucky's smirk to Steve's red face and back. "A traditional goodbye."

 "Mmm…I could get used to that." The boxer teased, nudging his friend who refused to meet her eyes now. 

 She smiled and started to open the back door when Bucky's hand grabbed her forearm, stalling her movements. 

 "Hey, wait." Those baby blue eyes met her honey brown ones. "It's Friday night.  We usually go to the Stork Club for drinks and dancin’. Come with us."

 "Oh, I don't know…"

 "Come on. It'll be great. If it helps, we'll pick you up from your house."

 She could not help the laugh that slipped out at the thought.  "You'd come to Queens... to get me?"

 "It might break my heart to leave my beloved Brooklyn but I'd do it for you, doll."

 "Honestly it'd be dangerous for you to come to my house." 

 "A little danger never hurt." He brushed some of her hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine. 

 He was trouble, complete trouble for her...and she knew it. But the longer he stared at her with those pleading eyes and hand now at the nape of her neck, she could feel her resolve crumbling. "I have three brothers and a protective father."

 "They can't be that bad… Come on, please? Steve, help me out!"

 Steve just laughed, raising his hands in surrender. 

 She bit the inside of her cheek thinking about it. Her brother Mateo owed her for when she covered for him when he almost got caught smoking cigarettes behind the apartment building. Tonight, her parents were supposed to visit her eldest brother and his new wife in the Bronx. 

 "Ok…" She whispered. 

 "Yeah?" A beaming grin spread over his face.

 "Ok...I'll meet you there though."

 "Yes!" Bucky bent over and kissed her cheek loudly. "You won't regret it! Nine o'clock!"

 "Nueve. Estaré allí."

 "I still don't know what you said, doll, but I love it."

 She laughed, pushing him away from her. "Go! Before I'm even more late."

 Before they were three steps away, she ducked inside the back of the shop. Hopefully she was able to slip in unnoticed. The shop should be closing soon so Mr. Hendricks would be in his little office room. 

 She leaned against the back door, hands pressed against her cheeks to will away the warmth in them. Thankfully with her brown skin, the blush would be harder to notice. As she stood there, the realization of what she just agreed to finally hit her. An icy fist landed in her gut, drowning the blush away. She had never been to a club before. She had no idea what to wear...or how to act. How was she even going to get there? 

 Underneath the fear though was a determination to go. Why couldn't she have fun for one night, like other young women she regularly saw and envied. Both of those Brooklyn boys seemed nice. Thinking about them brought the flush back to her skin, especially when she thought of the kiss on the cheek from Bucky. He was trouble and fun and charming and devilish and… and she wanted to spend more time with him. And Steve, the sweet, kind, funny guy that he was. She liked them both. But when thinking about those baby blue eyes, insufferable smirk and broad shoulders...her heartbeat sped up and butterflies erupted in her belly. 

 "Oh Dios, ¿qué voy a hacer?" She whispered to herself. 

 *****

 Just after nine o'clock, Elana climbed out of the taxi. She stared up at the sign that brightly screamed ‘Stork Club’. So many people milled about, either walking into the club or chatting, waiting for others in their group. A couple people already looked like they had been hitting the bottles for some time, if the rambunctious yelling and obnoxious laughter said anything. The atmosphere was loud and vibrant with an air of debauchery...and she had not even stepped foot in the door. 

 "Oh Dios, ¿por qué estoy aquí? Estúpido. Tan estúpido. Debería irme. Ni siquiera se darán cuenta." She murmured to herself, her hands wringing the strap on her clutch. Actually, it was not even hers. She "borrowed" it from her mother's closet and prayed that she could return it before her mother noticed.

 "Elana!" 

 At the call of her name, she turned around to see Bucky and Steve crossing the street, dodging a car that decided they were taking too long. 

 "You made it!" Bucky exclaimed, bubbling with excitement. He scanned her over, giving a low whistle. "Damn, doll, you look beautiful."

 "Gracias." She smoothed down her floral-patterned tea dress that reached mid-calf, her kitten heels still on from earlier. Her raven hair hung loosely down her back, unstyled in the typical curls that most women wore. There had been no time to try one of those hair styles and not bring attention to herself before she snuck out. Just to make her even more self-conscious, the cherry red lipstick she wore felt heavy on her lips. Something she only wore on rare occasions. "You fellas clean up nicely."

 Checking over them, they each wore nice suits. Though Steve's looked a size or two too large and the prominent bruise on his cheek ruined the look a bit. Bucky was practically sinful in his suit, showing off his broad shoulders and strong legs, his hair slicked back. Improper thoughts flooded her mind and a heat warmed her cheeks. She had a feeling she would need to go to confession tomorrow. That was tomorrow’s worry though, tonight was about fun.

 "Ready to have the time of your life?" Bucky asked, excitement practically bubbled under his skin. 

 "That's a high standard."

 "Guess I better not disappoint. C'mon!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the crowded, open door. In her sudden fear, she reached back and snagged Steve's hand, dragging him along. She would never admit it but having both of them on either side of her made her feel better. 

 There were several different calls for Bucky, vying for his attention. He just waved or yelled something back but kept her hand in his, pulling them through. She noticed more than one disappointed female face when Bucky passed them. It churned something in her stomach which she tried to ignore. 

 When they finally entered the dance hall, she froze. It was nothing like she imagined and so much better. At the far end was a stage with a large band playing an upbeat song that made her bounce on her toes without realizing it. A large bar area was set up, packed with people already looking for something to wet their throats. Booths and tables lined the walls. Already the hardwood, dance floor looked packed with couples jiving. Mirrors and photographs hung on the walls making the place feel bigger even when it was so crowded. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat and a youthful zeal she had never experienced. 

 It was intoxicating and nerve-wracking. She could not wait to join in. 

 The next thing she noticed when she glanced at all the people...she was the only non-white person there. 

 "Let's get a table." Bucky tugged them along towards an open booth on the right side of the dance floor. 

 She slid in on one side while Steve scooted in on the other. Bucky stood at the end, grinning ear to ear as he seemed to quickly survey the place. 

 "Right." He tossed his suit jacket on the seat next to her then clapped his hands, the sound muffled by the volume from the band nearby. "What kinda drink would you like?"

 "Ah, vino?"

 He nodded and waltzed towards the bar, throwing an arm around the shoulder of one of the men standing there waiting. 

 She turned back to the blond. "You're not drinking?"

 "Nah, too many health issues to make it worth it." 

 She hummed and took note of Steve's fidgeting. "Is this your first time too?"

 He chuckled. "No. I just don't...well, this isn't where I'd prefer to be on a Friday night...but don't tell Bucky... though he probably knows."

 "What would you rather be doing?"

 "Drawin’ or paintin’, maybe playin’ cards but I'm terrible at them."

 "You're an artist?" The realization warmed her heart. This scrawny man with a heart too big for his body and kindness an invisible cloak around him. It made sense somehow. He could look past the ugly and see beauty and somehow capture it. 

 "I don't know if I'd say that...I just enjoy it. It's usually what I end up doin’ when I come here. Doodlin’ on a napkin while Buck dances with every girl he can."

 Her stomach dropped while hearing that, which was stupid. So stupid. She swallowed thickly, hoping Steve did not notice, before she spoke again to distract herself. "Well if you doodle something tonight, can I see it after?"

 "If you like."

 Bucky appeared a minute later with a foamy glass of beer and a glass of red wine. Carefully, he placed them both on the table. "Ready to cut a rug?" He asked, looking at her expectedly. 

 "Um, I don't...I've never danced like this before." She hesitantly admitted. Steve gave her a sympathetic smile like he understood. 

 "Don't matter. I bet you're a swell dancer." He held out his hand for her. When she did not immediately accept his hand, he wiggled his fingers. "C'mon, ain't that hard. I'll teach you."

 With a sigh, she took his hand, his smile beaming as he tugged her out of the booth. She could not help but smile back at his sheer enthusiasm. It was contagious. 

 He led her off to the side of the dance floor. Putting one hand on her lower back and taking the other in his hand, he began demonstrating the steps. Her eyes stayed glued to his feet while he moved, willing her brain to understand and not make a fool of her. 

 "You got this, doll. Told you, you're a natural. Just follow my movement, let me lead."

 So she did and before she knew it, they were flying around the dance floor. 

 Bucky was an amazing dancer and it showed in how he effortlessly led her. A couple times she stumbled or stepped on his toes but he would just grin and encourage her to keep going. The faces of those around them blurred. The music seemed to sink into her blood and with every beat of the drum or clap of the hands from the band, her heartbeat echoed it. It was intoxicating and she had not even had a sip of alcohol. Now she understood why people flocked to these dance halls. There was something freeing in them, losing yourself to the music and movements. For a short time, you could ignore the outside world and all its trials. Here, you could be free. 

 Eventually she begged a break, practically panting from the several songs they danced through. The brightness in her eyes and smile though showed how much fun she was having. Still holding hands, they weaved through the crowd back to their booth where Steve sat with a napkin in front of him, pencil in hand and eyes focused downward. She slid into the booth first, Bucky right behind her. 

 "Have fun?" Steve asked, eyes bouncing between the two before him. 

 "I can't breathe." She giggled out, hand pressed to her chest. Her lungs struggled to fill up properly but instead of installing fear into her, it only made her laugh. 

 Bucky took a long sip of his beer and slung his arm behind Elana, on the back of the booth. "Told you, you'd have fun. You're a great dancer."

 "Only cause I had a great teacher." Taking a sip of her wine, she focused on the quiet artist.  "Did you draw something, Steve?"  

 "Yeah, just a little sketch."

 "Can I see it?"

 He slid the napkin over to her, nerves obvious. Giving him a small, reassuring smile, she flipped the napkin over and felt her heart stop and jaw drop. The pencil sketch was of Bucky and her dancing. His mouth was next to her ear, whispering instructions or flirtatious comments, his hand on her lower back. Her gaze was on his chest but the brilliant smile on her lips gave her away. The sketch was so realistic, it was astounding. It completely captured Bucky's confidence and her nervousness but somehow the opposite emotions only added to the image, bringing a sense of balance and trust between the two dancing partners. 

 "Steve, esto es…. hermoso…. increíble." She breathed out, never taking her eyes off the napkin. When she finally looked up to see him blushing and fiddling with the pencil, she smiled. 

 Bucky had been leaning against her so he could see the sketch also. "That might be your best one yet, pal."

 "Thanks, guys. S'nothing."

 "May I keep it?" She softly asked, eyes tracing the delicate lines and shading.

 The embarrassed blond flapped a hand at her. "Course. It was for you if you wanted it anyway."

 Silently, she reached across and squeezed Steve's hand, unable to convey all the emotions she was feeling. "There's one thing you got wrong."

 "What's that?"

 "I'm not that pretty."

 Both Steve and Bucky chuckled.  

 "Elana," Bucky started, gazing down at her. "He drew you like-"

 "Bucky!" A silky voice interrupted. A young woman stood at the end of their booth. Her blonde hair in perfect curls, bright red lipstick matched the equally bright red dress she wore. Her eyes zeroed in on the handsome brunet at the table, ignoring the other two patrons like they were just wallpaper. "Wanna dance?" 

 The sun-kissed woman could feel Bucky's hesitation. Nudging him gently in the ribs, she nodded towards the interloper. "Go. Have fun. I still need to catch my breath."

 With a nod, he slipped out of the booth and followed the beautiful woman onto the dance floor. The two easily fell into step like they had done this a million times, each movement flawless and smiles on both of their faces. 

 She turned back to Steve, ignoring the churning in her gut. "What's your favorite thing to draw?"

 They talked for a few minutes about art classes he had taken and the few commissioned pieces he had done for local businesses. The passion he spoke with about art, hands flapping and eyes alight, it was impossible not to join in his enthusiasm. 

 The presence of someone standing at the end of the table drew their attention away from the quick sketch of a monkey Steve had drawn on another napkin. This young woman had a haughty expression on her otherwise pretty face, glaring down her nose at Elana. 

 "You shouldn't be here." She stated, venom lacing every word. Hands on her curvy hips, the gold stitching in her emerald dress catching the light from above. 

 "Ruby, we-"

 "No one is talkin’ to you, Steve." She barked then continued glaring at Elana. "I bet you're a real floozy, comin’ in here lookin’ like that. Well news flash, no one wants you or your kind here."

 Tears stung in Elana’s eyes, threatening to fall. She knew this would happen. It always happened. There was always someone to remind her she was not one of them, even if her own eyes could see it. She had hoped tonight would be different. That for once, she could fit in. 

 "I want her here. She's my date."

 The lady -Ruby- spun on her heel so quick, her dress flared out. "Bucky," she crooned, her voice sugary-sweet, so different than a moment ago. "You're lookin' like a real Fred Astaire out there tonight. Let's go-"

 Bucky did not even look her way as he slid back onto the bench, eyes focused on Elana. "You alright there, doll?"

 She nodded numbly, staring at the table. Twirling a strand of hair absent-mindedly around her finger, she tried to force the tears from falling. It was not even the worst insult she had heard hurled at her, but it still cut her to the quick. Every time. 

 "Why don't we head out, yeah? Steve there looks like he's gettin' a little warm and the music ain't so good tonight." Bucky said gently. 

 She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak. 

 "Bucky, stay…" Ruby tried one last time but he leveled a glare at her that made her take a step back. 

 "Take a powder, Ruby, I ain't interested."

 Bucky wrapped his hand around Elana's, entwining their fingers as he slid out of the booth with her right behind him. Without even a backwards glance, he led the three of them out of the dance hall. Elana kept her head down the whole time, unable to meet anyone's eyes for fear of what she would see. 

 The night air was blissfully cool after the heat of the dance hall. It kissed her skin as if trying to help calm her down. At this point, the street was not as busy, everyone mostly inside now. Only a few pedestrians and cars interrupted the quiet scene. 

 "Elana, I'm so sorry."

 "Debería irme. No debería haber venido. Soy tan estúpida." She muttered to herself, not even hearing Bucky's statement. It was a foolish idea to come out. For so long she had tried to fit in, especially as a child. Her mother always told her to be herself and embrace her difference. That was easier said than done. Tonight felt like a taste of it when she was on the dance floor. What things could have been like if everyone was accepted. If where she was from did not matter. She had been so happy dancing with Bucky, this handsome devil who treated her like she was special, holding her hand in front of everyone. Sure, Steve said he danced with a lot of girls but for tonight, she was someone while on his arm. She was someone special. 

 And oh, did she love the feeling of his hand wrapped around hers. Him holding her close as they danced, his warm breath hitting her neck just right. He was trouble, through and through. Her mother would call him a Casanova and tell her to run the other way. Yet she did not want to. He drew something out of her. An almost recklessness. A desire for more. More in life. To experience life with a passion. Both this new feeling and Bucky’s presence were addicting...and she found herself unable to turn away. At least not for tonight. She wanted to revel in it tonight. 

 It was not until a hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head up to meet a pair of worried baby blue eyes that she was jolted from her internal spiral. 

 "Hey, hey. I have no idea what you're sayin' but it don't sound good. Why don't we walk for a bit, mmm? The night's still young."

 Wordlessly, she followed. It was then she noticed Bucky was still holding her hand, palms flat against one another's. That realization drew a small smile on her lips. On her other side walked Steve, hands in his pockets but a genuine smile on his face when he caught her eye. Even after all this, these two Brooklyn boys wanted to be with her. With that in mind, she shoved her despair and pain away. Let tomorrow bring what worries that came with it. Tonight she wanted to be reckless without fear of the consequences. Tonight was supposed to be fun.  

 "Can't believe Ruby would say that. Always thought she was a nice dame." The brunet mused, slipping his suit jacket back on before taking Elana's hand once again.

 "She only showed what she wanted you to see, Buck."

 "Dance with a girl a couple times and she thinks you owe her or somethin'."

 The blond quirked an eyebrow at his friend.  "Was it only dancin'?"

 "What you gettin' at, Rogers?"

 "You ditched some other girl for her once before."

 His head swiveled to stare at the smaller man in shock. "I did?"

 Elana spoke up. "Sounds like you have quite the selection of dance partners to choose from."

 Steve snorted. "Guy has been doll-dizzy since he was twelve."

 "What can I say? I appreciate fine art." Bucky said with a self-satisfied grin.

 "Don't usually lock lips with paintings or statues…"

 "You know what, Rogers!"

 Elana laughed as Bucky let go of her hand to race around her and put Steve in a headlock. The two pretended to box for a couple minutes, grins on both their faces. When finished, the champion boxer slid up to her, a rakish smile teasing his lips as he claimed her hand back.

 "Well if those gals are fine art, you sweetheart, are a masterpiece." He twirled her around once, making her dress flare out around her legs. "Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?"

 "Yes, Bucky."

 "Good, I'd hate for you to forget." He winked and the trio started walking again. 

 "Oh, here." Steve suddenly said, fishing something out of his pocket. He held out his hand almost shyly.  

 She took the offered item to see it was the napkin with the sketch on it. "Oh, Steve. Muchas gracias." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a red stain behind. "Oops."

 "Here." Bucky tossed over a handkerchief to Steve. 

 She glanced at the napkin one more time before reverently placing it in her clutch. She already knew where she was going to put this in her room so she would always remember this night.

 "Oh drat." Steve said after glancing at his watch. "It's almost eleven. I have class early tomorrow."

 "Go on, punk. I'll look after her."

 Elana hugged Steve and was thrilled when he squeezed her back just as tightly. "I'm so happy to have met you."

 "This isn't goodbye, right?"

 "I hope not. You have more artwork to show me."

 He blushed yet nodded before giving Bucky a quick hug. 

 "Night, Steve."

 "Night, jerk."

 Together, they watched Steve walk down the sidewalk, wave back at them then disappear down the next street. 

 "Wanna keep walkin'?"

 She nodded. She knew she should go home. It was getting late and she still had to get back to Queens. Yet walking side by side with this man whom she had only met several hours ago, she found the idea abhorrent. Glancing up at the night sky, only a couple of the stars were visible through the smoke, clouds and street lamps. They were lovely though, a reminder that there were greater things out there, one just had to look for them. At least, that is what her father always said. 

 "Hey," Bucky's voice pulled her attention back, "I never got to say it earlier but thanks...for havin’ Steve's back earlier today. Punk doesn't know when to quit."

 "I'm glad he got in that fight...is that odd? If he didn't, I wouldn’t have met either one of you."

 "Alright, this ONE time I'm glad he got in a fight. Though, we probably would have ran into each other eventually."

 They walked in comfortable silence for a couple minutes. Two cars passed them separately and only a handful of people walked their way. Otherwise it almost felt like they were alone. It was peaceful, still holding hands and wandering the streets of Brooklyn.  

 "Y'know, I was kinda hopin' we'd get at least one slow song at the dance hall."

 "Me too." She confessed. 

 "Well, we should!" An idea sparked in his eyes. "Wait here." He moved over to one of the parked cars near them. He tried to open it but it was locked so he moved to the next one. This one opened without hesitation and he slid in. The whole time Elana switched between watching Bucky and scanning the streets for someone to yell at them. What was he thinking? Suddenly music came on, drifting from the radio through the open passenger door. 

 Bucky stood there, leaning against the car with the biggest grin on his smug face. "Who needs a dance hall?"

 She laughed, understanding what he had done. "We’re going to get in trouble."

 "No, we ain't. C'mon."

 "Oh, Dios mío, yes we are!" 

 "Dance with me." He cooed, standing before her looking like an Adonis. 

 With that lazy smirk and enthralling blue eyes staring down at her, refusal was not an option. The words died on her tongue as she stared up at him. The music was slow, a singer crooning about his love. The moment felt like something from a fairytale story her mother would tell her as a little girl. She knew she should go home. Stop this heat that seared through her when she found herself caught in his eyes. Stop the butterflies in her stomach when around him. Stop the way she melted under his touch, his hands always so gentle. 

 But she wanted this. Right now. To pretend this was her reality. To dance with her prince under the stars. That love did not care about the differences in their skin tones. For when the sun rose and this dream faded, reality would seep back in. Plus, he was a charmer. Doll-dizzy. She would not keep his attention past this night. 

 For now though, she could pretend. Enjoy the night in a way she never had before. 

 He placed her hands behind his neck and his on her hips. Standing there under the streetlight and distant starlight, they danced, swaying back and forth. Her head landed on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath it. So steady and soothing. The world faded away around them, the only things that mattered was their dancing and the music. It wrapped around them like a warm, thick blanket. Enveloping them in a sense of security and vitality. One of his hands slowly traced her spine leaving a trail of fire behind. His cheek pressed against the top of her head. She felt safe...and wanted. A heady feeling that she could sense herself beginning to crave even more. Her hand tangled in the hair, her fingers lightly scraping the back of his neck. 

 "Say something in Spanish." He whispered, his lips against her scalp. 

 "Gracias por esto ... todo esto. Ha sido la mejor noche de mi vida".

 She looked back up at him, hoping to convey without words what she said. As she lifted her head up, their eyes locked. Tension filled the empty space around them, pulling them closer. For a split second, his eyes drifted to her lips and back up. Her heartbeat began racing anew. Slowly, as if waiting for her to turn away, his head tilted towards hers, his hands gripping her just a little tighter. His breath fanned across her face, warming her inside and out. She swore her heart was going to beat out of her chest. His nose brushed hers, an almost timid action that drew a smile from her. He chuckled silently then somehow pulled her even closer. She closed her eyes, a gasp escaping her when she felt the faintest touch of his lips on the corner of her mouth. 

 "Hey! Hey, you kids! What ya doin’ with my car?!" 

 All the tension evaporated like rain drops under the scorching sun. 

 "Shit...c'mon!" He grabbed her hand and started running away. Holding on tight, she ran next to him, as well as she could while wearing heels. The yells of the car's owner soon a distant sound behind them. 

 Finally, they stopped two streets later. He let go of her hand, running his hands through his hair and pacing. She leaned against the brick wall, hand over her mouth, giggles spilling forth between gasps of air. Never in her life had she done anything like this. She closed her eyes as the giggles turned into full-body laughter. One hand covered her mouth and the other wrapped around her own waist to try and contain the sound. This night was nothing like she expected but it only seemed to get better and better. This newfound revelry of youthful zeal, this silly recklessness...she wanted more and more of it. 

 When the laughter dissolved into small chuckles, she wiped her eyes as she opened them, hoping her make-up had not smudged too much. Not that she particularly cared in the moment.

 What she saw standing before her killed the laughter on her tongue. 

 Bucky stood just at arm's length, staring at her like she was the stars in the heavens. 

 In a single step, he crowded her against the brick wall. "Elana…" he growled, voice low, and it might have been the most exhilarating sound she had ever heard. One of his hands cupped the back of her head, as he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, their lips just pressed together. A soft pressure that made her melt into his arms. 

 He leaned back to press his forehead against hers. His breath just as shaky as hers, both still breathing hard from their run. 

 "That was my first kiss." She blurted out, immediately regretting the words once they escaped. 

 He leaned back to look her in the eye. "Really?"

 She shrugged nervously. "Not many fellas lining up to kiss a girl like me."

 "Their loss, doll face." He smirked, running a thumb over her bottom lip. "May I have the honor of your second kiss ever?"

 She giggled and nodded. 

 This time when their lips touched, it felt like more. The first was like licking the spoon used after mixing cookie dough. A taste of what was to come. The second kiss was eating warm cookies right out of the oven and practically ascending to heaven. 

 His lips slanted over hers perfectly, as if they were formed just for her. Their mouths moved in tandem, picking up speed. No longer were the kisses sweet and gentle. His tongue traced her bottom lip and she willingly opened her mouth to receive it like a present. These kisses were all-consuming and fiery. It was as if his touch seared into her soul, leaving an imprint there for all eternity. 

 She knew right away when she met Bucky Barnes, he was trouble. He was the kind of man her mother warned her about. The kind to sweep her off her feet and make her forget the world around her. He was kind, charming and so full of life. Yet she knew even as she was wrapped in his arms, lips pressed against his, that there was one truth that would haunt her. Even if she ignored it for now. That truth would never leave. So she overlooked it, sinking deeper and deeper into his kisses and embrace. Drowning herself in him. With her back pressed against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair and mouths devouring one another, she had never felt more alive. 

 Tonight, she would choose the fire he poured into her. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy life without fear. Tonight, she wanted to pretend that this night would never end. To thrive in this feeling of passion and life, that nothing could go wrong. 

 For the truth was one day, he was bound to break her heart.