#on the other hand the amount of people who don’t READ THEIR MAIL ?!?!?! and their payment goes up and it causes problems for them

[king-ludwig-ii]

Also I know that we are all pessimistic about owning property but a genuine tip for when/if you have a mortgage:

Around November every year you will get a notice from the Financial Institution you’re borrowing from. This will be your Taxes & Income Account Assessment also know as your T&I Disclosure.

I cannot fucking stress this enough: read it. You should really be reading every communication you get from any financial insinuation you use whether it’s for a mortgage, banking, commercial lending, consumer lending, or investing. But especially read this.

This is the early disclosure that lets you know the escrow assessment of your property and tells you how much you payments will be starting January of the imminent year.

If escrow was shorted for whatever reason— property value skyrockets etc etc— your payment will go up and it’s important you know that esp if you have an ach or automatic payment set up.

Also if you overpaid your escrow you will get your escrow surplus given back to you. Most institutions you lend through will require you to have a savings account even if you don’t bank with them— this overage will be deposited into the savings and sit there. This T&I disclosure is the only required communication of this disbursement.

[simonisferal]

Valentine — wanderer x gn reader

erhmm, kaveh gets taped to the ceiling, obvious courting/pining, reader's a fucking simp, wanderer's a small bitch/affectionate

guy came up to me and became my valentine, now i gotta reject him because i dont see him like that 😭 but happy valentines day!!

1.5k words

Valentine’s Day was literally today and you were stressing about what to get your lovely partner! Well, not really. If anything, you’re freaking out on how to confess your feelings for them and *then* ask him out. Crazy, and very last minute, you know, but hear yourself out!

You’ve been pinning and courting him for a while. It’s painfully obvious that you liked him, or at least you think.

Wanderer had no revelation. Sometimes he thought that the flowers and large amounts of flowers, snacks and drinks you left on his desk or mail was part of a big prank. Not even his new friend group (“Aggravate”, as Cyno called them) could tell him differently.

They were walking down the halls, ignoring most people who gawked and eyed them. It wasn’t rare for people to look at the five beauties but it was fairly worse since it’s a holiday.

”You excited?” Tighnari, one of the only people who have a brain in this dumb school, mentions.

"For what?” He pauses his walk.

“Oh! For his little secret admirer to come up and confess!” Kaveh squeals. Alhaitham, who stood behind him only snorted but stayed quiet. Tighnari looked to the side but nevertheless agreed with him, “Something like that. I was going to say chocolates or a present but that works.”

Cyno interjects, “Maybe a letter? Something simple to not attract too much attention to you, I would guess.”

”Oh please, I doubt that prankster has the balls to come up to my face and say something, let alone a fake confession.” Wanderer says, not only denying the idea but shooting down Kaveh’s suggestion as well.

"Booo! Where’s your passion for love? I don’t understand how people like you, babes.” Alhaitham pats Kaveh’s back but we all know he thinks it too.The puppet snorts but doesn’t refute anything else. He continues to walk, leaving the four behind while they head to their classes.

Wanderer was interrupted many times by others trying to give him gifts, making him late several times. He grew tired of the holiday and just wanted to go home. Maybe Tighnari can give him something to ease his mind when it's time for study hall.

But they never show up. Wow, ‘real friends’ my ass.

When he goes to his next class, down a small hall in the Vahumana category, Wanderer only sees the empty class. There was no way he was late or early or even in the wrong classroom.

His wary behavior didn’t cease when he noticed a singular note on a desk, his desk. Wanderer didn’t hesitate to pick it up, his smooth hands running over the frail paper before unfolding it from its fold.

Dear Wanderer, it read.

You’re probably reading this with caution or at least looking behind your back right now but I can assure you, nothing bad’s gonna happen as you read this! (I don’t know if that sounded ominious ominous or not so, sorry :( )

I’m the one who keeps buying you flowers and those snacks if you didn’t know by now! I actually have something to tell you and I really hope you come to the library or else I’ll kind of look like a loser lol— Your secret admirer

ps: I’m a little offended you think this whole thing is a prank, Wanderer :(

Damn. He closed the piece of paper and ran his hands through it again. ‘Yeah, right. Like someone would actually love me enough to do this’, he thinks.

Wanderer shoves the note into his short’s pocket and sits down in his seat. There are small trinkets and sour candies in the desk with another note, “Just in case you get hungry :)”. …He sighs. He takes one of the candies in his hand and starts unwrapping the wrapper. ”You guys can come out now. I finished reading the letter.”

There was a small hint of silence before anyone spoke.

"Oh thank the gods, I thought you were gonna leave us here.” Kaveh groans. Both Tighnari and Cyno reveal themselves from hiding in a closet and Alhatiham just turns around in the professor's chair.

”Kaveh?! How’d you get up there?” Tighnari leaves the closet, passing by Wanderer to get under Kaveh, who was duct-taped to the ceiling. He looked sick and frail and like he was about to throw up.”I asked Alhaitham to help me like three hours ago but he never got me down! I missed a bunch of classes..” He whines. Tighnari gives Haitham a glare but the grey-haired male ignores it.

”I’ll help you down, okay?” Tighnari comforts Kaveh and stretches his hand out towards the closet. “Cyno, give me my bow.”

”Alright.” Cyno starts reaching into the closet while the four of them could hear Kaveh pleading, “Wait! No! I can get down myse—!”

Wanderer’s ears ring at the loud sound of Kaveh crashing onto the floor. Joking, of course. He used his anemo powers to safely get the blond down.

"You four are such a hassle.” He groans.

"Well?”

“‘Well’ what?”

”Are you gonna go?”

”Go where?”

”The library, for god's sake!”

Cyno nods along. “[Name] is waiting for you there.”Wanderer groans again while everyone else looks at Cyno like he just admitted to a murder. They whisper as the puppet crosses his arms in his seat. “I’m not going to a dumbass library to just meet [Na]—…[Name]?”

"Oh wow, Cyno spilled. Expected it to be Kaveh.” Alhaitham retorts. Wanderer could only hear a small ‘hey!’ from the thoughts running through his head.

Believe it or not but you were the second place bachelor in the Akademiya. Most girls and guys would be pursuing you right now but you were just in the library? And you liked him? Yeah, right, he’ll have to see it with his own eyes.

”Fine, come on. Let’s go.” He stood up from his seat and began to walk out the classroom, leaving the four boys again.

”Should we go after him?” Kaveh asked.

"You just fell off of a ceiling, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go…”He whines again but wipes his butt from any dirt from the floor. “Okay…”

”I’ll stay with you.”

”Alhaitham, what?”

”You heard me.”

Both Tighnari and Cyno left to chase after Wanderer, the quick fellow already somehow causing a commotion in the halls. You were sitting in the library when Wanderer ran in. You expected him to come, not because you thought of him as a hopeless romantic but because you knew he’d want to see such a wanted figure as yourself actually liking someone.

”Good afternoon, Wanderer.” He heard.

You were carrying a Sumeru rose in your hands, fiddling and admiring the petals and thorns. He just stood in front of you, not believing it wasn’t a prank.

”’Good afternoon’ my ass. What do you want?”

You frown. “Did you not read the letter I left for you?”

He crosses his arms and scoffs. He had an obvious face of disdain, still not believing you. “Why yes of course I did. And just so you know,” he took a small step closer. “I still think this is a dumb joke.”

That statement couldn’t help but make you laugh. “Really? Aren’t a lot of people pursuing you? What about me courting you for, like, 3 months?”He falls silent. You weren’t known for your jokes, most people (excluding Cyno) thought you were unfunny. You also weren’t a liar—everyone calls you honest and trustworthy that even Wanderer can only imagine how many promises you’ve completed.

”Look. I’m really not joking…” You stand up from your chair at the library, taking small steps towards the short male. You extend your hand, showing him the rose you had been admiring for so long.

“I like you.”

Ha… Haha.. He starts laughing. Wanderer found you absolutely stupid. No one, ever, would actually admit to liking him—let alone on a holiday all about love. You had to be an idiot to even think about him romantically.

The puppet stops laughing after noticing you hadn’t gone away or laughed with him. He raised an eyebrow and looked at your frown. “Seriously? You’re an idiot.” His rude remark did nothing to hide the small smile on his face. It was amusing, such a silly thing actually. Who knew you would be such a dumbass for love? Now he doesn't feel even a single drop of guilt for eating all those snacks.

That look on your face says it all. You're in love with him. Pathetic, honestly. But Wanderer'll give you (and himself) a chance at this little game called life. He finds this little situation funny now that he knows it's not some sort of sick joke.

”Fine, I’ll give you a chance.” He takes the rose in his hands, twirling it with his fingers. He looked up at your excited smile. Humans are so easy to please, he thinks but it doesn't stop the small smile crawling on his own face.

”Just don’t bore me.”

[yanderecrazysie]

yandere bakugo! purge au? it’s time for the purge and its the perfect time to get his darling

I’ve been watching the Purge show with my little sister and we occasionally just text each other “The Giving is near, the Invisible awaits”. I love the purge movies so much, except the Forever Purge, I just didn’t like that one.

Title: 12 Hours

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Bakugou’s scary lol

Summary: 12 hours when every crime is legal but with a twist- if you kidnap someone, they’re yours forever.

“You’re sure everything is locked down?” You asked, biting your lip nervously.

Your boyfriend smiled at you, “State of the art system. There’s nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a smile, but you followed it up with a sigh. You had a lot to worry about. You had gotten a note in the mail, two days before the purge, that read:

Dear (Y/n),

This is a notice that a Level 5 person(s) has been given permission to hold you indefinitely if you are captured during purge hours. We recommend staying inside and taking precautions to protect yourself.

Blessed be our New Founding Fathers,

NFFA Personnel.

Someone had requested permission to kidnap you forever, as long as they captured you on purge night. Who it was, you couldn’t even imagine.

Your house’s defense system was practically a joke. You didn’t have the money to get fancy equipment like everyone else had. That’s why your boyfriend, John, had offered to let you stay with him during purge night.

The thought had crossed your mind that John could be the crazy kidnapper, but you knew that he could have you any time he wanted to, so there wasn’t any point in kidnapping you.

John had an amazing security system. Not as good as, say, the NFFA members had, but still very good. You felt mostly safe to stay with him, but there was still an ounce of fear that wouldn’t go away.

You had looked up what “Level 5” meant and had discovered there were five levels of dangerous people classified for the purge. Level 1 was the lowest and, well, Level 5 was the most dangerous.

You had an extremely dangerous person after you. Who knew what they would do to you after kidnapping you? Maybe they would torture you all year long.

Your boyfriend turned on the TV and, a few moments later, the announcement played.

“This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. All other weapons are restricted. 

“Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. when the purge concludes. 

“Blessed be our new founding fathers and America... A nation reborn. May God be with you all.”

Even through the metal shutters, you could hear the sirens start. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“We’re in for a quiet evening, don’t worry,” John said, putting a comforting arm around your shoulder, “Should we get the wine out?”

“Yes, please,” you said shakily.

Your boyfriend walked over to the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of wine and a couple cups. He poured a generous amount of liquid into both cups and handed you one. You drank all of it in one go.

John laughed and refilled your cup, “It’s only 12 hours. That’s it.”

“12 hours is a long time,” you muttered, “A lot can happen in half a day.”

Ten hours passed uneventfully, the two of you watching the only channel that wasn’t showing highlights of the purge from cameras set up around the country or talking about the history of purging.

On the eleventh hour, someone knocked on the door. You froze in your seat, breath hitching in your throat from horror. Your boyfriend stood up, “It’s okay, no one can get in. I’ll check the front door camera.”

He checked the camera and smiled, “See, they moved o-”

The power went out. 

A beeping sound filled the house and then the scraping of metal as the shutters began to rise. The security system had been disabled and was reversing itself.

Even in the dim light, you could see that your boyfriend had gone pale, messing with the system frantically to try to reset it. 

Finally, he turned to you and said, “Get in the closet. I’ve got a gun and I’ll deal with anyone that comes inside.”

You were crying at that point, but you managed to nod. You ran to the closet and hurriedly closed it behind you. You pulled some clothes down from the rack and tried to use them to cover yourself. There was no lock, so you were absolutely toast if anyone looked inside.

You could hear the door open loudly, as though someone had kicked it open. Your ears strained, listening for any hint that your boyfriend would be okay.

A gunshot rang through the house and you hoped it was from your boyfriend’s gun and not the intruder’s. A loud, husky laugh followed the sound, “Nice try, extra.”

You covered your mouth as the sound of an automatic gun’s famous ratatata followed. You knew John only had a pistol. No doubt your boyfriend had just died. 

“Y/n”, I know you’re in here,” the voice said loudly, almost playfully, “Might as well come out now, so I don’t waste time trying to find you.”

You had less than an hour left. If you could just stall him until the 12 hours were up, maybe you’d make it out alive. 

Your breath hitched again as he came into the bedroom and you closed your eyes.

“Not under the bed. What about the closet?” You could hear the smirk in the intruder’s voice.

The closet door flew open and the clothes were pulled off of you. You looked up helplessly at the wild-haired blonde with blood red eyes as he crouched in front of you. He took your wrist in a crushing grip, grinning at you with victory, and hauled you up off the floor.

“C’mon, we only have one hour to get you home. Had to deal with a lot of shit tonight. But I’m sure your boy toy’s car will help us out, won’t it, baby?” 

You hadn’t made it the whole 12 hours. 

Your life was in his hands.

[blooming-dahlia]

My Dear Friend, I Love You - (Late) Valentine’s Day Special! [Riddle Rosehearts]

╰ Ace sighed heavily as the red and pink heart-shaped cards fell out of the box onto the floor. This year, he and Deuce were in charge of the special Valentine's Day mail at NRC because Riddle wanted them to do something more productive than the things they usually did. And Valentine's Day happened to be right around the corner, so as their beloved friend, you suggested they should volunteer as mailmen for that special occasion.

╰ “I had no idea the students here are so affectionate. How many are there?”

╰ “Come on, Ace. We have to sort them and deliver them to the right classes before our first lesson starts.” Deuce was already on his knees, picking up the cards from the floor and reading the classes written under the students' names. Then he started sorting them carefully, making sure nothing gets mixed up. “I could use some help, you know?”

╰ Dissatisfied and still a bit sleepy, Ace knelt down beside his friend and picked up a pink heart made of paper. This one was addressed to Idia Shroud, the housewarden of Ignihyde. A mocking laugh escaped the redhead's lips.

╰ “That’s an interesting one, let’s see what’s written here.”

╰ Suddenly, Deuce snatched the valentine out of Ace's hands and put it on the class 3-B pile. They weren't supposed to read personal things like love letters, but it was obvious that Ace didn't care. As fast as he could, he began to read the contents of another card he spotted.

╰ “Dear Vil Schoenheit, I'm free on Valentine's Day after 7 PM, so maybe we could meet and watch a movie or eat something delicious at a fancy restaurant. If you're interested, please wear your favorite high heels, I want you to step on me with them- what the hell is this?!” Ace burst out laughing like a maniac before placing the heart on the class 3-C pile.

╰ Another minute passed. Deuce still tried to concentrate on his work, while Ace continued to make ridiculous comments on almost every next letter. Some of them were indeed genuine, full of sweet words of affection, while others were more questionable and not entirely serious. Or at least Ace hoped so.

╰ Vil turned out to be the winner in terms of the amount of valentines received, which wasn't surprising. Somehow Malleus Draconia also managed to get the most cards, both from his class and dormitory. Finally, Deuce picked up the last one, which was visibly different from the others. First of all, it wasn't a heart-shaped piece of paper, but an elegantly wrapped letter. Someone definitely wanted to stand out and impress their crush, they thought. But that wasn't the only reason this valentine was intriguing. The mysterious letter was addressed to [Y/N] [L/N] of class 1-A, the non-magical student and best friend of Adeuce duo.

╰ “I don’t trust them.”

╰ Riddle read the draft of his letter once more before turning to Trey, who was standing in the doorway. The special mail was scheduled to start tomorrow and last until the early morning of Valentine's Day before Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade take the mailbox to sort the cards and finally deliver them to their addressees.

╰ The main problem was the fact that this year's mailmen weren't the most responsible people in Night Raven College, and Riddle was well aware of that. There was no way he was going to take the risk of writing an entire essay expressing his true feelings for you, not if it was going to end up in the hands of those two troublemakers.

╰ “Maybe it's time to finally give them a chance and let them do something that would prove their sense of responsibility?”

╰ “No, they will read it, I am absolutely sure.”

╰ “And that’s why you decided to write [Y/N] a love letter starting with ‘My Dear Friend’? Or maybe you’re not certain about your feelings towards them?” Trey noticed. In fact, Riddle had been struggling with his confession to you for some time, and the upcoming Valentine's Day seemed like the perfect opportunity to end that suffering. You were his first love, after all, and it was obvious that Riddle was nervous, even though he tried to act cool most of the time.

╰ He was also curious if you had made a Valentine's card for anyone. Maybe for Ace and Deuce, since they were your best friends? Or maybe a tuna-scented one for Grim? Unless... no, that couldn't be true. Riddle didn't even want to think about you being in love with someone else. He knew it was selfish of him, but he had fallen head over heels for you and there was nothing he could do about it. He had to confess before it's too late, before some other guy steals your heart.

╰ With a sigh, Riddle took a formal paper and concentrated on rewriting his letter on it. Most people cut colorful sheets of paper in the shape of a heart, but that wasn't his style. Trey went back to the kitchen some time later, allowing Riddle to bang his head against the desk in peace. Why was it so hard to confess to someone, even if it was just through a simple letter?

╰ “My Dear Friend- damn, [Y/N] just got friendzoned through a valentine.”

╰ Deuce tried hard to resist the temptation to read the card, but eventually ended up listening carefully to every word Ace read. This time there was no mocking or laughing. While reading it, they weren't quite sure if this was a love confession, since the person who wrote it seemed to think of you more as a friend than a crush. Either it was a friendzone declaration, or this person was just terrible when it comes to feelings.

╰ “I would be honored if you would accept my invitation for a cup of tea and a nice walk afterwards. Sincerely, the housewarden of Heartslabyul, Riddle Rosehearts.” Ace’s eyes widened immediately, his hands almost clenched on the letter. “No way. I mean, I know the housewarden and [Y/N] are on neutral terms, but him sending them a valentine card seems... oddly out of character.”

╰ “It looks like he's just grateful he can count on [Y/N] and nothing more, we don't need to make any serious assumptions based on what we just read. Anyway, let's just put this on the pile and wait for classes to start so we can finally deliver them and get it over with.”

╰ Meanwhile, you've entered the school building together with Grim, who's been annoying you with questions about when you're going to buy him tuna cans for Valentine's Day. He could at least try to pretend to like your gift for him, a cute sweater with "World's #1 Cutest Cat" written on it.

╰ Your first class started few minutes ago, but there was no sign of Ace and Deuce. As you pulled your textbook out of your bag, you stumbled across a nicely wrapped gift with a note attached, and immediately remembered why your friends weren't showing up. You didn't drop your valentine in the special mailbox set aside for the occasion. Instead, you put a lot of effort and love into your gift for Riddle. The worst thing that could happen now was for him to reject you. That thought was the only reason you hesitated to give it to him.

╰ The door opened and the Adeuce duo made their grand entrance. Professor Trein was about to make a comment about them being late, but Ace quickly made that impossible as he began his speech, or rather, shouting. “Class 1-A, here comes your special Valentine's Day mail! We have a lot of them because we're the best class at Night Raven College.”

╰ You watched as your friends handed out Valentine's cards to particular people. At first, you had no idea that the students at NRC celebrated Valentine's Day just like the ones at your old school. It was heartwarming to see the joy on your classmates' faces when they received their cards.

╰ And then Ace placed a card next to your textbook. You looked up at him, confusion in your eyes, but he just grinned and sat down next to Deuce, who was already reading the contents of his own valentine. What had just happened? Someone sent you a valentine? You studied it and noticed that it wasn't a regular card, but a fancy looking envelope with a letter inside. Feeling a bit uncertain, you decided to open it after classes.

╰ It wasn't surprising that Riddle didn't receive any valentine, but deep down he was hoping to see a card with your signature on his classroom desk. He should have known that this feeling was one-sided, and besides, there were no signs of your interest in him on a more romantic level. You often attended the Unbirthday Parties and even spent some time with Riddle privately. When you needed help with your studies, he was always willing to help. But Riddle was drawn to you more than he should, and it was killing him inside.

╰ You stumbled upon Riddle in the school library. At first you weren't sure if you really wanted to approach him, not after reading his letter. It was sincere and sweet, but something about it made you feel uneasy. Riddle thanked you for everything you'd done for him so far, wrote a simple compliment, emphasized the word ‘friend’ a few times, and invited you on... you didn't know if this was a date or not. You felt stupid for expecting more, knowing that Riddle was trying his best.

╰ Riddle looked at the nearby clock and realized it was time to finally leave the library and return to Heartslabyul. You had to act quickly or you would lose your only chance. Just as he got up from his seat, you threw the gift on the table, causing confusion on Riddle's face. Heartslabyul's housewarden blinked a few times and then turned around to see your cool gaze.

╰ “For you.”

╰ And that was it. Riddle didn't even manage to say a word as you ran out of the library, leaving him alone and confused. That wasn't your plan, of course, but it was now or never, right? The only thing you could do now was to hope that Riddle wouldn't think any worse of you, especially since the way you gave him the Valentine's Day gift wasn't the right one. It wouldn't be surprising if he started to ignore you after that.

╰ Opening the box, Riddle found handmade heart-shaped chocolates. He examined them to make sure everything was all right, then carefully took a bite of one. It tasted like heaven, the strawberry filling doing its job perfectly. Riddle ate another chocolate before he began to read the note attached to the box.

╰ There was no doubt that you were smarter than him. Riddle could always give you the letter in person, one in which he wasn't playing around with hiding his true feelings, instead of throwing the other one in the mailbox just because he didn't want Ace and Deuce to find out about his crush on you.

╰ “Dear Riddle. I'm sorry I didn't have the courage to send you a valentine card by special mail. Instead, I wanted to do something different. Trey gladly agreed to help me make these chocolates for you, especially with your favorite flavor filling. Today is Valentine's Day, when both friends and lovers spend time together, give each other gifts, and so on. Let this gift be a reminder that you have people who love and care for you, that you deserve everything that's good and sweet in this world. And if you don't have anyone to celebrate this day with, I would love to be your valentine. Sincerely, [Y/N], your Dear Friend.”

╰ Those last three words were written with a different ink color, which made Riddle quickly realize that you had just added them, probably after reading his letter. The boy sighed, a soft red blush spreading across his face. Then he grabbed the box with the note and made his way back to the Heartslabyul dormitory, where someone special, his dear friend and valentine, was waiting for him.

It's been a long time since I posted something here, I promise to be more active from now on :D

[weekendpassrevoked]

Easy's Songbird - Chapter 10

yahoooooo, please enjoy more introduction to our side characters that will help connect the story to other plot points. whoever figures out what i'm trying to plan gets to request something special for the next chapter.

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Isabella’s first batch of letters was a welcome reprieve to the torture she was enduring in camp. 

She had gotten a large stack of letters at the morning mail-call, the majority coming from home. She had also gotten ones from Lucas, Cameron and her brother, along with her best friend Sina who was out training in New York City after she joined the WAVES, and her brother Darren who was out training in Parris Island after he signed up as a Marine.

Isabella buzzed with excitement, eager to read her letters as she ripped the first one open at breakfast. 

‘Dear Isa,

I hope you’ve been well. Army training has been brutal and everyday I wish I was at home more than ever. I miss Mama’s cooking and the kids' laughter. I especially miss our weekend performances! The thrill of being in the Army doesn’t compare to the thrill of being on stage.

Tennessee isn’t that different from Florida. It has the same kind of people and the same heat, but a hell of a lot more hilly. The amount of mountains in this state is insane, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many in my life.’

Isabella snorts. Of course he wouldn’t have seen so many in his life, Florida didn’t have mountains.

‘I’ve never climbed so much shit in my life. My hands are pretty much dead and writing this letter has taken every bit of strength I can muster (so you better appreciate it!). My arms hurt from carrying the machine gun everywhere, especially on our marches. It sucks, but you know what? At least I’m not a suicidal maniac who willingly accepted jumping out of a moving plane.

Despite how grueling training has been, I’ve managed to make some buddies. Billy Callahan acts just like Michel Alejandro does. He’s pure big brother and it makes it absolutely wonderful to annoy the shit out of him. Jamie O’Rourke is probably the funniest bastard I’ve ever met. You’d like him—he’s got that sharp wit you enjoy, and he can play the fiddle like a devil at a crossroads. I keep telling him we’d make a hell of a duo if we ever get out of this thing in one piece. Elijah Winters…man. What can I tell you?

He’s the coolest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. You ever meet someone who’s just effortlessly good at everything? That’s Eli. He’s got this whole quiet, brooding thing going on, and I swear, half the guys think he’s got some tragic backstory or some shit—but really? He’s just a guy who doesn’t waste words. He’s sharp, though. Real sharp. And when he does talk? You listen.

I think you’d get along with him, actually. You both have that watch-and-listen way of reading a room. Reminds me of how you can just look at someone and know if they’re about to pass out or puke their guts out. It’s a little freaky, but I get it.

Oh—and he never loses at cards. I think he’s hustling us, but I also think I’d rather just not know.

Isabella’s heart filled with warmth. She was so happy that her beloved baby brother had managed to make his place in training. It wasn’t that she doubted his ability to supersede the challenge, it’s just that Cameron was, well, Cameron.

“What’s got you smiling like that?”

Isabella jumped, hastily pressing the letter to her chest before twisting around to see Luz grinning down at her.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she huffed, shoving him lightly.

Luz just snickered, plopping down onto the bench beside her. “C’mon, what’s got you all giddy?”

She hesitated, then glanced down at the letter in her hands. “Cameron wrote me.”

At that, Luz’s grin softened. “Ah, Lucky, huh?”

Isabella blinked. “Wait, how do you—?”

“Kid, you talk about your people a lot when you’re half-asleep. Did you know you mumble?” Luz smirked. “I got all the inside scoop just listening to you ramble in your bunk.”

She groaned, dropping her face into her hands. “Oh, God.”

Luz chuckled, nudging her shoulder. “Relax, Vega. Ain’t nothing embarrassing.” He nodded toward the letter. “So? What’s he up to?”

She exhaled, letting the warmth from Cameron’s words settle in her chest again. “Making trouble, as usual.”

Luz snorted. “Figures.”

She smiled, thumbing over the paper. “But he’s got a good group. And he’s actually doing well. I mean, I knew he could, but…” She trailed off, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Luz leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. “But it’s different hearing it from him.”

She nodded.

“Do you want to read the rest with me?” she asked.

‘Anyway, Isa, these guys? They make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier. I think you’d like ‘em, Isa. Maybe even Eli—though, let’s be real, you’d probably just make fun of him for brooding too much.

Write me back soon, yeah? Tell me everything. Who’s been pissing you off? How many times have you had to patch up those trigger-happy idiots? Always remember you can handle whatever they throw at you, don’t let it get to you.

Your Lucky Charm,

Cameron Salazar’

Isabella smiled, shaking her head. “He always signs off like that.”

Luz snorted. “‘Your Lucky Charm?��”

She smirked. “It started when we were kids. He started sitting behind me on my math tests and voila, I started passing them. He’s been insufferable ever since.”

Luz grinned. “Oh, that’s gold. I’m using that.”

“Please don’t,” she groaned, nudging him with her elbow.

He chuckled, watching her carefully tuck the letter away in its envelope, her movements careful, almost reverent.

After a beat, he nudged her back, lighter this time. “He seems like a good kid.”

Isabella glanced at him. “Yeah. He is.”

There was something in her voice—something proud, but tinged with worry.

Luz picked up on it immediately. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head. “He’ll be alright.”

She swallowed, fingers lingering on the paper. “I know. I just—” She exhaled. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him.”

Luz leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “Same way he’d feel if something happened to you.”

She looked down.

“He’s looking out for you too, y’know,” Luz added, nodding toward the letter. “Saying all that stuff about you handling whatever gets thrown at you. He wouldn’t write that if he didn’t believe it.”

Isabella pressed her lips together.

She knew Luz was right.

Still, it didn’t stop the gnawing ache in her chest.

“I know.” she started. “Let’s read the others!”

She carefully grabbed Lucas’s letter, confused at the return address.

“What’s wrong?” Luz inquired.

She hummed. “He’s supposed to be in South Carolina.”

‘Dear Birdie,

Knowing you, you’ll be scratching your head at the strange address on this envelope. Not to worry, it’s good news. 

The Eight Air Force took me in, and I’m in Virginia now, training with the best damn pilots I’ve ever seen. I can hardly believe it myself. Every time I step into a plane, I think about all those summer afternoons when we’d lay in the field and watch the clouds, guessing what shapes they’d turn into. And now? Now I get to fly through them. Don’t ask me how I managed to get myself transferred over there, I can barely figure it out myself. I hated the Marines and I couldn’t be happier I got my ass out of there.’

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘It’s cold as hell over here, though. And the food? Let’s just say if Mama could see what they’ve been feeding me, she’d have a heart attack on the spot. If you have any pull with those medics of yours, maybe send me a care package? I’m wasting away, Isa. Practically a skeleton.

Oh, and I finally got my own crew. They’re a bunch of lunatics, but they’re my kind of lunatics. I’ll tell you about them in another letter, but just know I’ve already got them wrapped around my little finger. Charisma, kid. You should try it sometime.

Keep writing, yeah? And don’t you dare do anything reckless before I get back. I’d hate to come home and find out you’ve single-handedly taken on the entire German army just to prove a point.

With love,

Your favorite Ace,

Lucas.’

Isabella exhaled, pressing the letter against her chest for a moment, letting herself take in the reality of it. Lucas had done it—somehow, against all odds, he had wriggled his way out of the Marines and landed exactly where he wanted to be.

She knew he would, but still—he actually did it.

Luz, still leaning over her shoulder, let out an impressed whistle. “Gotta hand it to him. Didn’t think it was possible to weasel out of the Marines.”

Isabella huffed a quiet laugh. “Neither did I.”

“You think he bribed someone?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She smirked. “Or talked their ears off until they got sick of him and signed whatever paperwork he wanted just to get him out of their hair.”

Luz snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.”

She carefully folded the letter, setting it beside Cameron’s, her fingers lingering on the paper. She missed them.

A lot.

But there was something reassuring about knowing they were all finding their place—each of them scattered, yet still bound together.

She shook herself out of her thoughts and grabbed the next envelope. “Alright, next one.”

Luz perked up. “Darren? Or Sina?”

Isabella flipped it over, recognizing the neat, familiar handwriting immediately. Sina.

She smiled. “Dolly.”

Luz grinned. “This one’s gonna be sweet, isn’t it?”

Isabella hummed as she unfolded the letter, already knowing that yes, it absolutely would be.

‘Isabellita,

I hope you’re taking care of yourself and not just running yourself into the ground trying to prove yourself to all those boys. I know you, and I know how stubborn you can be—but please, remember to rest.’

Isabella rolled her eyes fondly. Classic Sina.

‘New York is wonderful, Isa. The buildings are so tall, I feel like an ant walking between them. The training has been difficult, but I’m learning so much—I think I’ve found where I belong. Being in the WAVES is… different than I expected, but in a good way. I’m surrounded by so many strong, intelligent women, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’

Isabella grinned at that, warmth filling her chest.

‘You’d love my unit. They remind me of home, and we keep each other sane. There’s Evelyn—she’s a spitfire from Boston, you two would get along like a house on fire. Then there’s Jo, who reminds me so much of Lucas it’s almost frightening, and Margaret, who is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. We all take turns doing each other’s hair, and don’t you dare laugh at me, Isa, but I’ve actually gotten good at styling victory rolls. (I’ll do yours next time I see you, just you wait.)’

Luz cackled. “Oh, this is gold.”

Isabella groaned. “Shut up.”

‘Write to me soon, okay? Tell me about Easy, about the boys you have to babysit—oh, and please tell me you’re still playing music. I know training is exhausting, but promise me you won’t let it go. It’s a part of you, Isa. Don’t let them take it from you.’

Isabella swallowed, blinking down at the words.

She had been writing—but not as much as she used to. Not like before. And she sure as hell wasn’t singing.

Luz must have caught the look on her face, because he nudged her lightly. “You alright?”

She nodded quickly, folding the letter. “Yeah. Just—thinking.”

Luz didn’t push, just hummed in understanding. “Dolly seems real sweet.”

“She is,” Isabella said softly.

‘P.S. You better tell me if any of those boys of yours are worth swooning over.

Yours truly,

Sina Navarro’

Luz burst out laughing. “Oh, she’s definitely your best friend.”

Isabella groaned, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Oh, I will be writing her back on your behalf,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “And I’ll be sure to let her know all about how Easy’s finest have been falling over themselves around you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

Isabella sighed as she put the letter back.

She missed her too.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the last letter—the one from Darren.

She hesitated for a moment before opening it, preparing herself.

Darren wasn’t sentimental like Cameron or Sina.

No—his letters would always be straight to the point.

And sure enough—

‘Isabella,

Marine training sucks. That’s it. That’s the letter.’

Isabella burst out laughing.

Luz wheezed. “Oh my God, that’s it?”

She flipped to the next page. “Wait, wait, there’s more.”

‘Fine. I’ll elaborate.

Parris Island is a hellhole, the humidity is worse than Florida, and my drill instructor is the meanest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. (Don’t tell Sina I said that.) I think I’ve had about four minutes of sleep since I got here. I hate it. But I’m good at it. And I think that’s worse.

My unit is solid. No one’s killed each other yet. But these guys? They’re real. I respect that. You’d like a few of ‘em. I’ll write more when I get the chance—assuming I survive.

Tell Lucas that just because he escaped the Marines doesn’t mean I won’t whoop his ass when I see him again.

Be good, Isabella. And don’t get yourself killed.

- Rook.’

Isabella snorted. “Jesus Christ, he’s dramatic.”

Luz grinned. “Yeah, I think I’d like him.”

She shook her head, staring down at the stack of letters now sitting in her lap. 

“Alright, we still have three letters to go.” 

As she went to open her mother’s letter, she felt people behind her yet again.

She sighed, rolling her eyes before she turned around.

“Can I help you?”

She was faced with a smug-faced Liebgott, arms crossed, Malarkey and Skip flanking him with identical grins, a curious Gene straggling behind. Luz, still lounging beside her, just chuckled under his breath.

Liebgott raised an eyebrow. “So, Birdie, who’s writing you love letters?”

Isabella groaned. “They’re from home, not love letters.”

Malarkey nudged her shoulder, peering at the stack in her hands. “Looked like a hell of a lot of ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Skip added, smirking. “Didn’t know you were such a lady of correspondence.”

She huffed, clutching the letters to her chest dramatically. “Oh, forgive me for having people who actually care about me.”

Liebgott let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. You got any scandalous ones in there, or are they all just your mom asking if you’ve been eating enough?”

Isabella narrowed her eyes at him before holding up the unopened envelope. “Actually, this one is from my mother, and knowing her, it’s at least four pages of exactly that.”

Skip whistled. “Damn. You gonna read it out loud?”

She rolled her eyes. “Absolutely not.”

Liebgott’s grin widened. “C’mon, what if she talks about your childhood? We need to know if you were always a menace.”

“I was a delightful child, thank you very much.”

Malarkey leaned in. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Luz snorted, flipping through one of Isabella’s discarded envelopes. “I dunno, boys. From the way her brothers write, I think she might’ve been the golden child.”

That earned a round of snickers.

Isabella, determined to ignore them, tore open her mother’s letter and began to read. She had barely gotten through the first paragraph before she groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

Skip, ever the instigator, perked up. “What? What’d she say?”

Isabella gritted her teeth. “She’s asking if I’ve been praying enough.”

Liebgott burst out laughing. “Oh, you are so screwed.”

Malarkey clapped her on the back. “Better hit the chapel, Birdie.”

She scowled. “I do pray!”

“Not enough, apparently,” Gene teased, surprising her.

Isabella threw her hands up, muttering under her breath before shaking the letter dramatically. “I’m gonna write her back and tell her all of you are heathens.”

Liebgott smirked. “She’ll probably tell you to convert us.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Isabella deadpanned.

The men were still chuckling when she sighed, folding the letter neatly before moving on to the next.

She hesitated.

This one was from Michel Alejandro.

She hadn’t heard from him in weeks.

The teasing faded just slightly when Luz caught the flicker of tension in her hands. “That one important?”

She nodded, exhaling slowly. “It’s from my brother.”

Liebgott and Malarkey exchanged a glance but, surprisingly, didn’t pry.

Isabella carefully slid the letter from its envelope, her heart already beating a little faster.

Isabella’s grip on the letter tightened, her breath hitching as she started reading.

‘Dear Isabella, 

I don’t have much time to write, so I’ll be brief. I want you to know that I’m safe, but things are… getting worse over here. The war in the Pacific isn’t like anything we ever imagined, Isa. It’s brutal. Unforgiving. The kind of thing that changes men before they even realize it.’

Her heart pounded.

She could feel the weight behind his words, the exhaustion bleeding through the ink. Michel Alejandro wasn’t the kind of man to sugarcoat things, but he wasn’t dramatic either. If he was telling her this, it meant he needed her to know.

She swallowed hard and kept reading.

‘I don’t want you to worry, but I also don’t want you to be naive. I know you, little sister. I know you take everything onto your own shoulders, even when you shouldn’t. But I need you to remember something—’

She could already tell what was coming.

‘You cannot save everyone.’

Her fingers dug into the paper.

‘I can’t imagine how much you love those boys of yours, and I know you’ll do everything in your power to keep them safe. But you need to remember that some things are out of your hands. You’re not God. You’re just one person. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. And the sooner you accept it, the better you’ll be when things start to fall apart.’

She forced in a deep breath.

‘Be strong, little sister. But don’t be reckless. And don’t let this war take away the best parts of you.’

The words blurred slightly, and she had to blink quickly before her vision could go completely hazy.

‘I’ll write again when I can. Give my love to Mama and Papa.

Yours,

Michel Alejandro’

She sat still, the letter trembling in her hands.

“Vega?”

Luz’s voice was softer this time, like he knew.

She cleared her throat, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile. “He’s safe.”

Nobody commented on the way her voice wavered slightly.

Instead, Malarkey nudged her gently. “That’s good news.”

She nodded, folding the letter carefully and tucking it away before she could let herself linger on it any longer. She still had one more letter left.

Maya’s.

Isabella took a steadying breath, running her fingers over the edges of the final envelope. Maya’s handwriting was familiar, the curves and loops distinct from the rest, but it still made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t quite name.

She hesitated.

Maya had always been strong. Resilient. She wasn’t the type to let things slip, not unless they really mattered. Which meant whatever was in this letter… it mattered.

Luz, who had been watching her closely, nudged her lightly. “Need a minute?”

She shook her head, inhaling sharply before finally tearing open the envelope.

‘いさ、

I hope this letter reaches you well. Anzu and Taiga send their love (though Taiga mostly just chewed on the corner of this paper before I could stop him). They miss their Isa terribly, as do I. The house isn’t the same without you.’

Isabella’s throat tightened.

‘Your mother keeps busy, of course, but I can see the way she watches the mailbox every morning. The way your father lingers on the porch, pretending he isn’t waiting for news. They miss you, but they’re proud of you. So proud. You should see the way your mother talks about you at church. They all know your name now. Even Father Miguel asks about you in every service.’

She huffed a small, watery laugh.

‘Things are changing here, though. It’s harder than it was before. People whisper more, they stare longer. I don’t go into town unless I have to. Anzu doesn’t understand, but she knows something isn’t right. I see it in her eyes every time she asks why we can’t go to the park like we used to. But don’t worry about us. I mean it, Isa. Your only job right now is to take care of yourself. And I know you’re not.’

Isabella stiffened.

‘I know you’re pushing yourself too hard. I know you’re holding too much. I know you, Isabella Vega, and I know you won’t admit it to anyone else, so I’ll say it first: you are not alone. You don’t have to be. Those men—your boys—I hope they know what they have in you. I hope they look out for you the way you do for them. I hope they remind you to eat, to sleep, to laugh.

That’s enough of the sad things. Have you found yourself a 素敵な兵士 yet? I want to make sure the 着物 doesn’t get forgotten. Make sure to remember to take care of yourself, and have fun. You’re still young and you deserve to be happy. Please don’t forget that. 

With all my love,

Maya’

Isabella giggled at Maya’s insistence at her finding a ‘handsome soldier’ to wear her kimono for. It was incredibly unlikely Isabella was ever going to let that thing see the light of day, especially with how much the men disliked anything Japanese at the moment.

To her delight, she finds a drawing from Anzu on an extra page. Anzu had messily drawn her in her dress greens, surrounded by Anzu’s interpretations of Liebgott, Roe, Luz, Skip, Penkala, and Malarkey. 

“Ooh, what do we have here?” Luz asked.

Isabella smiles wide. “I’m guessing my sister-in-law has been reading my letters to my niece and nephew.”

Luz leaned in, squinting at the crayon figures. “Oh, this is gold. Which one’s supposed to be me?”

Isabella pointed at a figure with what appeared to be wildly exaggerated hair. “Take a guess.”

Luz gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “I have never felt more seen.”

Skip reached over, peering at the page. “Why does Malarkey look like he’s got a whole mop on his head?”

Malarkey scoffed. “The kid has taste, clearly.”

Gene, who had been silent beside her, tapped at another figure—one drawn with a clear red cross on the arm. “That me?”

Isabella nodded, her heart warming at the sight of it. “She probably remembers me telling her you take care of me.”

Gene hummed, a soft chuckle escaping. “Guess I got the official approval, then.”

Liebgott, who had been feigning disinterest, finally glanced over. “And what about me?”

Isabella smirked. “Oh, you’re this one.”

She pointed to a very jagged, wild-looking figure with what appeared to be an oversized, angry mouth.

Liebgott deadpanned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Luz burst into laughter. “Oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Isabella bit her lip to keep from grinning too hard. “Hey, don’t be mad! It just means you made an impression when Maya read the letters.”

Liebgott groaned, shaking his head. “I swear to God, if I ever meet your niece, I’m demanding a redraw.”

“Oh, trust me,” Isabella giggled, folding the letter carefully. “She’s just getting started.”

The warmth of home lingered in her chest as she tucked the papers safely into her pocket. Despite the exhaustion, despite the grueling training, despite everything—they were still with her, still a part of her.

And for now, that was enough.

She made a mental note to write back that weekend when she had time.

Breakfast had gone by and so had the rest of the day. She was hoping her week would keep on going on the same high note, and she felt it would.

Until Friday.

Lieutenant Sobel had been promoted that day to Captain, and subsequently, Winters from Second Lieutenant to First Lieutenant.

Sobel hadn’t been happy.

When they returned to the barracks later that afternoon after training ended, they had been greeted at the barracks with their belongings strewn across the floor, mattresses flipped.

A stunned silence fell over the room as the men stepped inside, surveying the mess. Footlockers were thrown open, clothes and personal belongings tossed carelessly onto the floor.

Skip let out a long, low whistle. "Well. Ain't this a warm welcome home?"

Isabella’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Her hands clenched at her sides as she scanned the room, already feeling a sickening sense of dread creeping up her spine. She rushed forward, her eyes immediately landing on her footlocker—thrown onto its side, contents spilling across the floor.

Her letters.

Her pictures.

Her journal.

Her stuffed animals.

Her personal sanitary items.

And, worst of all—

The cardboard box that held her kimono was cracked open, the delicate fabric spilling out onto the dirty floorboards.

She inhaled sharply, her breath catching.

Behind her, Malarkey cursed. "What the hell is this?"

"Somebody’s got it out for us," Skip muttered darkly.

Gene’s gaze flickered to Isabella, watching as she carefully knelt down, her hands hovering over the silk like she wasn’t sure if she should even touch it. His jaw tightened. “Vega…”

She forced herself to breathe. Slowly. Carefully. Her hands trembled slightly as she gathered the fabric, her fingers brushing over the delicate embroidery.

Liebgott exhaled sharply through his nose. “This is some real petty bullshit.”

"Gee, I wonder who could’ve done this," Penkala said dryly.

As if on cue, the barracks door swung open again.

“Ten-hut!” Guarnere snapped, straightening immediately.

Sobel strode inside, his expression unreadable, but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

A slow rage burned through Isabella’s chest.

He didn’t say anything, just surveyed them for a long, tense moment before finally speaking.

"You men have been getting a little too comfortable." His voice was even, almost casual. "And I think you've forgotten who’s in charge around here."

The silence was suffocating.

Winters, who had walked in just moments before, took a step forward. His voice was carefully neutral. “Captain Sobel.”

Sobel barely spared him a glance. “First Lieutenant Winters.” He said the title like it was bitter on his tongue.

Nobody moved.

Isabella, still kneeling beside her things, gritted her teeth, willing herself to keep her mouth shut. To stay calm. To not react.

“Private Vega,” Sobel started. “It seems that you have quite a bit of contraband in your bunk.”

The words barely registered at first.

Isabella’s grip on the silk tightened, her breath hitching as she slowly lifted her gaze to Sobel.

Contraband.

Her journal. Her letters. Her kimono.

Liebgott took a sharp step forward, but Malarkey stopped him with a look.

Winters, however, was already moving. “Captain Sobel,” he said evenly, voice dangerously calm. “There’s nothing in Private Vega’s bunk that violates regulations besides the stuffed animals.”

Sobel barely glanced at him, his lips curling ever so slightly. “That’s not for you to decide, Lieutenant.”

The emphasis on the rank was deliberate. Petty.

Winters held his ground, but Isabella could see the flicker of something cold in his eyes.

Sobel turned his attention back to her, his gaze flickering down to the kimono still clutched in her hands. “It’s curious, isn’t it? Our medic, of all people, keeping something like this so close. A gift, I assume?”

Isabella forced herself to swallow the immediate response clawing up her throat. She could feel the men around her tense.

The men began to whisper, finally realizing what she had in her hands. What the words on her opened letters looked like.

Japanese.

The weight of their stares settled on her like a stone. The realization crept through the barracks in a slow, suffocating wave—whispers sharpening into quiet murmurs, disbelief flickering through the ranks like the first strike of a match.

She could feel it.

The shift.

The hesitation.

The doubt.

Penkala was the first to react, stepping just a little closer to her, his usual grin nowhere to be found. Skip wasn’t far behind, his brows drawn in something that wasn’t quite judgment, but wasn’t far from it either. Malarkey’s gaze flickered between her and the silk in her hands, something unreadable crossing his face.

Even Gene, quiet and steady as he was, looked like he didn’t know what to say.

Liebgott, though—he stiffened.

She could feel the heat of his stare, sharp and scrutinizing.

Sobel saw it, too.

And he fed off it.

“I have to wonder,” Sobel mused, loud enough for all of them to hear. “If you’ve been writing letters home, Private Vega, who exactly have you been writing to?”

The words settled like a lead weight in the room.

A pointed, deliberate accusation.

She couldn’t stop the sharp inhale that followed, her grip tightening around the silk so hard her knuckles turned white.

A bitter taste filled her mouth.

“You son of a bitch,” Liebgott muttered, voice low, simmering with something ugly.

Isabella swallowed down the immediate urge to lash out, to throw something, to snap.

She had always known this moment would come.

From the second she had signed her name on the enlistment papers, from the moment she had been assigned to Easy, she had known.

And yet, knowing didn’t make it easier.

Didn’t make it hurt any less.

She turned her gaze to Sobel, her jaw set.

“My brother’s wife,” she said, slow and deliberate, forcing herself to stay calm, even as her pulse roared in her ears. “She had it made for my birthday. It was made for my Coming of Age ceremony. Years from now.”

Sobel hummed, feigning interest. “Years from now? And yet you decided to bring it here. Why?”

She straightened her spine.

“Because I don’t know if I’ll live to see that day.”

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

The murmurs died.

Even Sobel, for the first time in his miserable life, faltered.

For a moment—just a moment—Isabella allowed herself to meet the eyes of the men around her.

Skip, quiet and serious in a way he rarely ever was.

Malarkey, arms crossed, something like conflict flickering across his face.

Penkala, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

Gene, unreadable, but his gaze never wavering.

And Liebgott—

Liebgott, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides, staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time.

She exhaled slowly, forcing her hands to stop shaking.

“My family isn’t the enemy,” she said, voice steady despite the way her stomach twisted. “And neither am I.”

No one spoke.

Then—

Winters stepped forward, putting himself directly between her and Sobel.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice even but firm.

Sobel’s mouth twitched.

But he didn’t push further.

Not this time.

He let the silence stretch for another moment before simply exhaling, shrugging like this was all beneath him.

“Pack it away, Private,” he said, tone dismissive. “And don’t let me see it again.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the barracks, the door slamming shut behind him.

The tension remained.

Isabella’s fingers curled into the silk once more, forcing herself to breathe through the sharp sting behind her eyes.

And then—

Malarkey, ever the idiot, broke the silence.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was… a lot.”

Guarnere shot him a look. “No shit.”

Liebgott was still looking at her.

She met his gaze, shoulders tense, waiting for the first harsh word, the first slip of doubt, the first accusation.

Instead—

“…So that’s what was in the box.”

She blinked.

Skip let out something that might’ve been a laugh. “Jesus, Lieb, way to cut the tension.”

Liebgott ignored him, still watching her.

Something unreadable crossed his face.

Then, with a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “Guess we owe you a new box.”

Isabella stared.

And then—

A breathless, disbelieving chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Because of course that was what he focused on.

“You’re all idiots.”

Gene ran a hand over the flimsy cardboard box, his lips pressing together. “This thing’s not gonna last much longer.”

Isabella sighed, running a finger along the creased edges. The box had already been worn from travel, but now, after being tossed around and crushed underfoot, it was barely holding together.

Liebgott clicked his tongue. “Jesus, they couldn’t have at least left your stuff alone?”

Skip nudged him. “You say that like Sobel isn’t the pettiest bastard alive.”

Malarkey hummed. “Guess we better get you a new one, Vega.”

Isabella exhaled sharply, staring down at the kimono still half-spilled over her lap. The fabric was fine, smooth under her fingertips, a stark contrast to the rough barracks floor.

She was still trying to process everything—how close she had been to losing this, how quickly the air had shifted, how the letters scrawled in careful, loving strokes had nearly been turned against her.

“…What’s a coming of age ceremony?”

She looked up.

Guarnere had come over and was watching her, head tilted slightly, genuine curiosity on his face.

Isabella blinked. “Huh?”

He gestured to the kimono. “You said earlier… this was supposed to be for something called a coming of age ceremony, right?”

Malarkey perked up. “Oh, yeah. What’s that?”

The men, despite their previous tension, were now shifting back into that natural state of camaraderie, of intrigue. Even Liebgott, though still leaning against his bunk with arms crossed, was paying close attention.

Isabella hesitated, unsure of how to explain something that felt so deeply ingrained in a culture that wasn’t even hers by blood—but was still hers in every other way.

She smoothed a hand over the fabric, fingers tracing the delicate embroidery of the sakura blossoms.

“In Japan,” she started slowly, “when you turn twenty, you’re officially considered an adult. It’s called Seijin Shiki. A coming of age ceremony.”

Skip frowned slightly. “Twenty? That’s a little late, ain’t it?”

Isabella shrugged. “Maybe. But that’s how they do it. The girls wear furisode like this,” she gestured to the kimono, “because the long sleeves represent youth and new beginnings.”

Luz leaned forward, intrigued. “So it’s, like, a big celebration?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “They go to a ceremony, they hear speeches, and then they celebrate with their families. It’s a way of welcoming them into adulthood.”

The room was quiet for a moment.

Then Malarkey muttered, “…That’s actually kinda nice.”

Isabella huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It is.”

Liebgott’s voice cut through, less sharp than usual. “So why wear it now?”

Her breath caught.

She stared down at the silk, at the careful folds, at the weight of it in her hands.

“…Because I don’t know if I’ll make it to twenty.”

The barracks fell silent again, this time heavier, weighted with something none of them could brush off.

Gene’s gaze flickered toward her, something unreadable in his eyes.

Penkala let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair.

Malarkey shifted on his feet, suddenly looking younger than he was.

Isabella swallowed, trying to shake off the unease. “Anyway,” she forced a small smile, “I figured if I wasn’t going to wear it for my actual coming of age, I’d at least wear it for something.”

Skip huffed, nudging her knee lightly with his boot. “Guess that makes sense.”

Guarnere, ever the one to break tension, grinned. “Well, Doll, it is a hell of a look.”

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest remained.

“I’ll wear it one day. If you guys are okay with it.”

Liebgott snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go parading around Sobel, or he might actually drop dead.”

That earned a laugh from the group, breaking the heavy air just enough.

Isabella smirked, folding the fabric carefully, ensuring not a single thread was out of place before she tucked it back into what remained of the cardboard box. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Guarnere crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Y’know, Vega, if it’s that important to you, we’ll keep an eye on it. Make sure it don’t get messed with again.”

She blinked, looking up at him, at all of them—Malarkey, Skip, Penkala, Gene, Guarnere, Liebgott, all standing around her like they’d already made the unspoken decision.

Her throat tightened slightly. “You guys don’t have to do that.”

Guarnere scoffed. “Oh, please. You think we’re gonna let Sobel screw with you again?”

Skip nodded. “We’ll stash it somewhere safe. Just say the word.”

Isabella exhaled, warmth spreading in her chest. She glanced at the kimono one last time, running her fingers lightly over the obi before looking back at them.

“…Thanks,” she murmured. “Really.”

Guarnere grinned, giving her shoulder a firm pat. “Anytime, Doll.”

Liebgott, ever the smartass, smirked. “So, Vega, now that we’re all feeling sentimental, think you’re finally gonna tell us who’s getting that kimono treatment your sister keeps mentioning?”

She rolled her eyes. “You guys are impossible.”

Skip gasped dramatically, hand over his heart. “So there is a handsome soldier in the running!”

Malarkey snickered. “Bet it’s Winters.”

“Jesus Christ,” Isabella groaned, burying her face in her hands as laughter erupted around her.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still things unspoken, still tensions that couldn’t be fully erased in one night.

But as she sat there, surrounded by her boys, their teasing voices filling the barracks, she had a realization—

“Wait!”

Everyone quieted down and Isabella’s ears burned as she bowed her head down in embarrassment.

“Can you guys turn away? Not really comfortable with the whole platoon blatantly looking at my unmentionables.”

Skip was the first to snicker, throwing an arm around Malarkey’s shoulder. “Aw, c’mon, Doll. We’ve been through hell together. You mean to tell me you don’t trust us?”

Isabella shot him a glare. “I trust you just fine, Warren, I just don’t trust your nosy ass.”

Liebgott held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough.”

Skip nudged Guarnere with a smirk. “C’mon, boys, let’s give the lady some space before she loses her mind.”

With exaggerated sighs and grumbles, the men turned away, though not without a few last-minute jabs.

“Don’t take too long, Vega, or we’re gonna start charging rent,” Penkala teased.

“I swear to God, I will dump my entire footlocker on your bunk, Penk,” she shot back.

A few more chuckles rippled through the group, but they respected her request, giving her a semblance of privacy as she quickly reorganized her things.

Gene, who had stayed close, lingered for just a second longer before speaking quietly, “You alright?”

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “Yeah. Just—didn’t think I’d have to reorganize my whole life today.”

His lips twitched slightly.

She huffed a laugh, finally securing the last of her belongings before standing up.

“Alright, you idiots,” she announced, hands on her hips. “Crisis averted. You can turn back around.”

Malarkey spun dramatically. “Doll, you wound me. You think we were looking?”

Isabella scoffed. “Malarkey, if you don’t shut up, I’m feeding your socks to the laundry gremlins.”

He gasped. “Not the gremlins.”

Penkala grinned. “Alright, alright. Enough torture. What’s next, Vega? You wanna read our fortunes too?”

She smirked. “Depends. You wanna know how many more miles Sobel’s gonna make us run?”

A collective groan filled the barracks.

Guarnere clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Doll, you keep talking like that, and we’re gonna start thinking you like making our lives miserable.”

She grinned. “Maybe just a little.”

It wasn’t perfect. But they were hers.

And for tonight, that was enough.

translation: いさ-Isa, 素敵な兵士-Handsome Soldier, 着物- Kimono

taglist: @darling-heffron, @malarkgirlypop

[otwelections]

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[steddiebang]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)

Author: @steddieasitgoes l Artist: @doomcheese l Artist: @strawberrysh0rk Posting on Sunday, November 5

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my terrible mailman,” the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. “To what do I owe the pleasure.” “It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office,” Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pay off. “M’just here to deliver it and apologize for them losing it.” “Right, ‘cause the post office lost it. Not my mailman who hates me house.” “I don’t hate your house!” Steve objects. “That’s two lies in under a minute. I don’t think your boss will be too happy to learn that you’re lying to your customers…” the man trails off, gesturing at Steve. “Steve.” “So you are the mailman that has all the Housewives of this hear street’s panties in a twist.” Or: The year is 1991 and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie, who has just moved into the neighborhood. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced t making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other. But the more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Steve is about to cut his losses, set the bin of undelivered mail on Mr. Darkness's doorstep with a quick note of apology, and head back to Posty when there's a loud commotion from inside. It's hard to hear beyond the thick wood door, but Steve can faintly make out the sounds of someone cursing. Heavy footsteps race towards the door, voice becoming clearer as they get closer and closer. 

"I already told you people. I've found something better than God. It's called marijuana, and it makes me a better man than any of your stupid books and pamphlets will!" 

The door swings halfway open in a hurry. It's so fast Steve doesn't have time to make himself look even halfway professional, the overflowing bin of mail teetering in his hands. He manages to save it from falling on his feet, but he can't say the same about his jaw, which feels like it's just been disconnected from the rest of his head. 

Truthfully, he hasn't given much thought to what Mr. Darkness might look like. 

Sure, he's listened to the Birchwood Court Housewives sing their praises. And Robin's lamented about her own theories. That a guy who paints an entire Victorian house black-hole levels of black and is never around in the day must be a vampire type. Long coats and dark boots, maybe even a corset or cape or two. She even joked about him having those cheesy faux vampire teeth they sell around Halloween one night. 

But other than their theories, Steve hasn't theorized for himself. Hasn't given Mr. Darkness's appearance any real thought, too consumed with getting his petty revenge instead. 

That might have been Steve's biggest mistake yet. 

Because the man in front of him isn't decked out in dark capes and soft linens, nor is he red carpet-ready with a swoon-worthy smile. 

No. 

The man in front of him is an utter disaster that makes Steve's heart race. 

Wild curls radiate from his head in every direction, wispy bangs falling in his sleep-heavy eyes. One hand grips the frame of the door, large, gaudy rings adorning his slender fingers. The other forms a fist that he uses to massage the sleep from his eyes. 

His lean but muscular legs are on full display, given his lack of pants. Light brown hair covers the expanse of his calves and thighs, blending with the rich colors of tattoos that ebb and flow with the contours of his muscles before disappearing under the most absurd apron Steve has ever laid his eyes on. 

Garfield the cat is splayed out across his chest, eating a bowl of pasta. A word bubble above him noting that he's "an eater, not a cooker."  

It's so cartoonish and out of place on his ink-covered body. Black lines weave up and down his arms, too. Drops of red and white accenting the purposely erratic lines. Steve can't help but stare at the work of art on this man's body. It's a glorified eye spy of sorts. Meaningful shapes and words hidden within the lines and floral designs. Steve thinks he makes out a music note in the mix, maybe even a heart with a W doodled inside. 

Mr. Darkness clears his throat, pulling Steve from his ogling. He feels his cheeks burn under the intense gaze brought upon him. A pit forms in his stomach as he takes in Mr. Darkness's face again. He's sporting an equal look of utter confusion. Lips barely parted, owlish eyes beating into Steve's. 

"Well," he clears his throat again before pulling at the hem of his tacky apron. "You're not the Bible thumpers." 

"I am not." 

It's hard not to squirm under the man's intense gaze as his eyes trail up and down Steve's body. Taking him in bit by bit — Steve can't help the rush of blood that pools below his belt. It's not his fault this man is simultaneously sizing him up and taking him apart. 

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my terrible mailman," the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. "To what do I owe the displeasure." 

"It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office," Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pays off. "M'just here to deliver it and apologize for them losing it." 

"Right, 'cause the post office lost it. Not my mailman who hates my house." 

"I don't hate your house!" Steve objects.

"That's two lies in under a minute. I don't think your boss will be too happy to learn that you're lying to your customers…" the man trails off, gesturing at Steve. 

It takes a moment for Steve to realize this is his way of asking for his name. Steve considered giving him a fake one just in case Mr. Darkness himself is serious about reporting his wrongdoings. But it would only take his boss a matter of seconds to figure out who he was really talking about, so Steve decides to tell the truth. 

"Steve." 

"So you are the mailman that has all the housewives of this here street's panties in a twist." 

It doesn't seem possible, but Steve feels his face heat up even more. He's never been a big blusher, not even in high school when he was pumped full of alcohol and had girls dangling off both his arms. But he doesn't need a mirror to know he's been rendered into a blushing mess in under five minutes by Mr. Darkness. God, it's probably so obvious against the harsh backdrop of his house and the navy blue polo of his work uniform. 

"Look," Steve trails off, eyes glancing down towards the mail bin in his hands. He tries to catch sight of Mr. Darkness's real name, but all the letters on top are still addressed to an E. Munson. And he's not about to call this guy Mr. Munson. That's reserved for his superiors and this guy is anything but. 

"Eddie," Eddie supplies, the corner of his mouth twitching up momentarily. 

Steve nods. "Right, Eddie, I don't hate your house, and I'm really sorry about the…" Steve trails off again. His nose turns up as he's hit with an overwhelming waft of something burning. A smell he's accustomed to smelling, thanks to Robin's need to cook despite the kitchen's hatred for her. "Is something burning?" 

"My bacon!" 

Read more on November 5!

[this-is-lightning]

Supercorp FicRec P. 29

The next part in my ongoing ficrec series. I go through my bookmarks on AO3 and select the ones I like the best and add a little commentary on why. 5 fics per part. 

Masterpost

we're playing to a full house, darling (but this show can't go on) by the_ominous_owl

Kara’s struggling to find work. Lena’s struggling to find herself. When fate (with some help from Cat Grant) casts them into the same orbit they find themselves completely off-script, because while everyone knows about the sins of the father, they're somewhat less clear about the sins of one’s siblings. Throw into that an audience hungry for stories at the expense of fact, a showrunner with a plan nobody saw coming, and a co-star who steadfastly refuses to keep it in his pants, and you’ve got a tale so dramatic even the protagonists have noticed. or the one where they’re both actresses with a surprising amount of baggage for two people who haven’t met yet.

w: 37,360

r: teen and up

The actress trope done very, very well. Slowburn. Lena's got it so very bad but shes got baggage. Kara is captain oblivious. They figure it out tho. Lots of intimacy and feelings. There's a part two bt that ones still a wip.

It's Funny Right up Until It's Not by ThornedRose44

It's funny because it's harmless… It's funny because it's never a big deal… It's funny because it's forgotten by the next day… It's funny because she's fine. She's always fine… Until… she’s not...

w: 12,131

r: mature

Yea so this one cut deep. Happy ending but were digging into the "haha quarterly assassination lol" witch is really not funny at all. Angst but so so heartfelt and wonderful. Some-when after S5.

musings from 504 by sapphic_luthor

“We got Supergirl’s mail again,” a voice calls from behind a massive, unidentifiable sculpture as it steps through the door. He sets the piece down just as the words leave his mouth, and then the dark-haired boy spins to face you, hand outstretched to drop a letter onto the countertop, and he breathes, “Oh, fuck.” You look toward your new roommates, and register the panic on their faces. “Wait,” you say, but your mind is jumping to conclusions that your mouth is far too embarrassed to vocalize, so you find that you don’t have any follow-up. “Are you--” you start, but you know it’s true even before you ask. “Seriously?”

w: 7,670

r: teen and up

So how much do we all think Kara's neighbors know about her life? An outsiders perspective on the Superfriends. Funny and fun and heartfelt.

Bizarre Love Triangle by powergrapes

One day, two women meet on the subway. The recently dumped Lena is recovering from a broken heart, and Kara is grappling with the open-ish relationship she has with her long-distance boyfriend. They decide that they’re going to become friends. The kind of friends who also have totally casual, no-strings-attached, nobody’s-catching-feelings sex. What could go wrong? As Alex puts it: “Kara. This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. And I’m including the time that you set fire to your own hair and nearly burned the house down trying to do some spell you found on MySpace to make Troy Bolton materialize in real life and marry you.” Or: Lena and Kara go around New York City eating food and banging each other until their feelings eat away at them, and Alex tries not to have an aneurysm about it.

w: 113,061

r: explicit

So so so well written. Gets pretty angsty but the payoff is so worth it. Lots of feelings and fun and fluff too. And very VERY good smut. A MUST read!

The Luthor Family by MyCatIsMyEditor

Following Lex’s death Lena finds herself guardian to the four year old nephew she never knew existed. She also finds herself in need of help. Who better to help her than her best friend and National City’s favourite Kryptonian. It’s just a little awkward that her nephew is scared of Supergirl. OR Kara and Lena raising Lex’s son while slowly getting together with a bunch of cute fluff and some angst thrown in as they work together to be the best parents possible to a scared little boy.

w: 95,676

r: mature

Digs a lot into the issues with fostering a child who was neglected and abused. But its very well done and there's a lot of fluff too. Kara and Lena slip into the parent role very well. But of course this whoe situation digs up issues of theirs too. They build a wonderful family and support net and finally get to be so so happy with everyone at their side.

Don't forget to leave some love for the writers on AO3! Much love and happy reading!

[adultswim2021]

Xavier: Renegade Angel #19: “Damnesia You” | April 10, 2009 - 12:15AM | S02E09

This was just so great, man. I loved this so much. I don’t even want to review this all that much. Fuck it! I won’t! There have been a bunch of special episodes lately. The Racist one! The one-long-sketch one! This one! This one starts off like Damnesia Vu, with Xavier in the room with all them colored doors. He’s in some kind of mind-palace, if you’ll recall. In this one the doors lead to different viewer-submitted home-made versions of Xavier: Renegade Angel. Some of them are animated (both traditionally and not), and some of them are live-action, and some of them are a mix of both. 

A lot of the people and voices and styles seem vaguely familiar, at least to me. David Dineen-Porter is a guy I’ve seen perform comedy, and he is way brilliant. I read something on Reddit saying one of the guy’s is shmorky. I don’t actually know who shmorky is except for the fact that people say his name while grimacing and lowering their head in prayer. I googled it: it turns out he was involved in a “no bueno” situation. AHHH!!!

The episode takes the fan submissions and lets them play, sometimes. Sometimes the editors remix the entities a bit, which is nice of them.

Rather than talk about the content of the episode I am just gonna say this: I got high as fuck before watching it because it’s snowing outside, and that’s a good reason to use marijuana at 3PM. It probably helped me watch this three times, which I did. I watched it twice on the Adult Swim app, but the second time I pressed play was a mistake, and I just let it roll. “Roll that beautiful bean footage” I should have said.

The third time I watched it on DVD because I couldn’t identify the screengrab from shmorky’s cartoon, which I wanted to identify out of morbid curiosity, and the Adult Swim Roku app sucks for if you want to pause the episode. It sucks if you want to watch the last ten seconds of the episode without the screen dimming and being covered up by a big thumbnail of the next show in the autoplay, even if the credits are rolling over the final moments of the story. It fucking blows. 

I broke out the DVD just so I could pause it properly and read the names of the entries. I made a list of all of them here, because I don’t think there’s a list of them online anywhere, and that seems valuable, maybe.

The only other guy I actually remember here is David Dineen-Porter, who I’ve seen perform comedy and thought was brilliant. His IMDB shows that he wrote on the James Corden show. I hope he made an obscene amount of money and is currently buying lots of guns with it (I mean this nicely). 

Also, I found a link to every entry on it’s own. 

Grant “Manfred” Duffrin - Xavier Lends a Helping Hand Eric “Emotikkkon” Binmoeller - Meerkats David Dineen-[“] Porter: Self the Eye the Sees The Cream Within Shelby A. Hohl - As Above So Below Andrew De“hole”Young - Prism Jay Z. Yum David “He” Health - Gazzavier Renegade Angel Goes Up A Mountain Chiyoung “2:29” Lee DDS - Catch They Neighbor Robert “t S”mith - Omnippletence/The Phone Call Colyn “Bynumb” Emery - Art What Art Thou Dave “Da Grave Slave” Kelly - Xavier Looks Behind His Eye Amy “Peanut butter” Warner - Dog Eats Ketchup (couldn't find) John “Bobby ‘the ‘der’ Sanch’ Sanchez” Santos - Sueo Mojado Jason Dorris - Portly “n’ Jelly” Porthole Bo “Bikey” Thrice - Superhole Shuffle

Also: Those CLOSING CREDITS! A friend of mine told me to look out for them, and I said "okay".

MAIL BAG:

the cinco brothers are electric. they should bring them back and let them tell more stories about their lives.

The Sinko Brothers are in jail for nasty crimes and I hope they stay there. This thought is crude. Shame on you

[spoiledleaff]

🌿✨ silly little sleep token bracelet giveaway!!✨🌿

hey, hello! :D this post is a give-away post!! i've never done one of these before so forgive me if the setup is a little funky, haha! :') but, anyways! i attended the nyc sleep token ritual at radio city music hall, and i made a massive amount of bracelets for it! :) i did the same thing when i went to see ghost last summer, but this time i unfortunately wasn't able to take the time to make sure i gave all of them away, so i have some extra bracelets left!! :D it feels a little weird to keep them for myself, haha! so this is where you might come in! >:)c

out of exactly 100 bracelets, i'm happy to report that i only have 9 bracelets left! 🌿✨ the 9 that i do have left consist of 2 bracelets for iii and 7 bracelets for iv! :)

these are the bracelets i'm offering up! :D but — since the circumstances for this giveaway are a little more unique, haha! — what are some rules for this? :0 well!

✿ this giveaway is aimed towards anyone and everyone who attended a ritual during the teeth of god tour! you don't have to have attended specifically the ritual at radio city music hall! :) however! please be aware that if i happen to receive multiple/more than one messages at a time, people who did attend the nyc ritual will receive priority/first picks. i don't mean to be rude to anyone! this is just because i also attended the nyc ritual :) i hope that makes sense! i won’t be asking for proof, but i also don’t expect this post to just magically blow up, haha! so i’m taking everybody’s word for this :)

✿ ideally, to give many people a chance to snag a bracelet, i would like to limit the amount of bracelets to one per person!

✿ i hope to mail the bracelets to people who would like one, so, needles to say, please be ready to offer up a valid mailing address where i can send the bracelets to! however, because i hope to mail these little guys, i'm afraid i'm also going to have to ask that this giveaway stays in the united states. ugh! i know, i know! i really wanted to extend this silly little thing to outside the usa, but i think it might be wiser for me personally — since it's my first time doing something like this — if i kept this to inside the usa. i'm so sorry to my dear friends in other parts of the world!! QAQ

✿ lastly, this giveaway is completely free!! :D however, i did have some lovely people ask if i wanted to take a 'tip' for various reasons and, even though i did say 'no', there were some kind people who really insisted i take a little something :') so! if you would like—though this is not at all necessary! i do have some additional means where people can send a small little tip if they might like to :)

✿ finally, please feel free to dm me if you're interested at all!! :D please include the aforementioned proof as well as if you have a preference for which bracelet you might like to receive! :D also please feel free to dm with any questions about the bracelets too! :) i know i don’t take the greatest pictures, haha! so if there’s one that catches your eye, please feel free to ask to see it up close! :D

oki-dokie! i think that's pretty much everything! :) haha! i've never done one of these before so i do apologize if this is very rambly//over explaining and whatnot :'D but! i had such a fun time making these bracelets, and an even bigger of a blast handing them out and meeting new people and experiencing the nyc ritual with everyone too :) thank you for reading!!! ♡♡ and thank you for participating if you so choose to!! :D

also, haha! if anyone was curious as to if you happened to meet me at the ritual, here’s a silly little fit pic featuring my housemate’s cat saying hello, haha! ♡

[quietwingsinthesky]

Question: cringe culture is 100% dead, but I'm curious what you'd pick as your most embarrassing fandom, past or present? I know some people consider supernatural to be a guilty pleasure but honestly there's some other fandoms that I'm way more embarrassed to still like

Generally, I’m not really embarrassed about any of the stuff I’ve been into. If I liked it, clearly it brought me joy at the time and that’s what matters. You know, how would I be the person I am today if I didn’t play Undertale or even if I didn’t read every creepypasta I could get my hands on as a kid? That plus my memory problems means no cringe for me lol. But I guess I could talk about a few.

MLP was back when the show was still airing — I want to say 3rd or 4th season? — and I just dove into the fandom because ‘woah guys did you know that people write stories about the ponies? That there are infinite amount of stories to read?’ Which, you know, ups and downs, you got your Keepers of Discord but you’ve also got your Cupcakes. (Though, to be honest, the fact that I had a reading of Cupcakes bookmarked on my computer to listen to to help me fall asleep? probably explains uhm. Some Stuff About Me.) Honestly, wouldn’t trade my time with MLP for anything, and I still love the show and a lot of fanworks dearly. I rewatch Lullaby for a Princess every few weeks, I reread Something Sweet To Bite every Halloween, and when I can’t sleep, I still find myself going to ObabScribbler or TheLostNarrator’s YouTube channels to find fic readings to calm my brain down.

Dream SMP is… more complicated. Obviously, if you know anything about it, you know all the shit that came out. I won’t get into that here because that’s not really a part of my experience? Just sort of a gross thing that overshadows it all, even though I was out of the fandom before any of that stuff was known. I actually got into it to bond with my little sister, she loved that stuff, and damn it all, but I got unironically sucked in by just the fantastic work that came out of a fandom surrounding a minecraft roleplay server lol. They aren’t wrong about the art that got made for those YouTubers, it’s all stunningly good. And it’s how I found Sad-ist’s animations on YouTube. Still subscribed to them, their work is always beautiful to watch, the old Dream SMP stuff and the new stuff. And I liked bonding with my sister over the bonkers minecraft lore. The end of that hyperfixation was when Technoblade died. Got too real, all of a sudden, too close to home, and I peaced out hard. It was good, though, while I was there. I liked having something to talk to my sister about.

Uhhhh okay out of that downer ending let’s talk about Sherlock. Yes hi hello original superwholock-er here, despite only seeing the first two seasons of doctor who but IT COUNTS. I can’t even be mad at past me for liking Sherlock because I probably wouldn’t be as close to my friends as I am if we hadn’t all been watching s3-4 live. And dunking hard on s4. I was never a johnlock conspiracy person, so that helps. There was the time my friend read us outloud some Johnlock mpreg ass birth fanfic in math class. That was… an experience. I give this a “I can’t plug my phone in without being haunted by his voice”/10

And finally, back to serious town, Harry Potter. I don’t even have anything good to say here, really. The whole “mourning something important to my childhood” phase is long over, the damage continues to be done, and. And nothing. I just don’t want to see it anymore. It’s not shame or cringe, I guess, it’s more like… disappointment. Not at myself, because fuck it, dude, I was a kid, I knew everything there was to know about the books, I waited for the mail when I turned eleven, I wrote “Hogwarts is my Home” on the inside of my closet like a ward to keep me safe. The first thing I ever read about being trans was a damn Harry Potter fic, one of the first podfics I ever made, too, though I was too chicken to post it. So what’s left except disappointment, even the anger long gone because it just keeps happening. I just don’t want to see it anymore.

Anyway, uhhhhm. Hope that suffices as an answer lol, I rambled on way too long.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ABOUT CHRONICLE

At each step, flow down. Airbnb is a classic example of the use of these special, reserved field names, especially __call__, seems a bit eccentric to take earplugs on a trip to an island off the coast of Maine.1 As usual, by Demo Day about half the startups we fund never make decks in phase 2. I say this as a founder that helped me understand something important: why it's safe for startup founders of all ages to build things people want. If an organization could immediately and cheaply measure the performance of the others.2 No one, VC or angel, has invested in more of the political pressure against Airbnb than hotel companies. Their search also turned up parse. The plan was to write a Lisp interpreter in the less powerful language?3

Investors are fine with funding nerds. They could make it.4 But I think angel rounds will less often be for specific amounts or have a lead. Put the most weight on the second factor.5 And get good, and artists being good at making things that they do is to sacrifice unpromising startups. He showed how, given a handful of American computer science professors which universities in Europe were most admired, and they all tell the same story to several different publications at once. The closest is the colloquial sense of addictive. Gif Comment on this essay. I found my doodles changed after I started studying painting. But it also explains why the ups and downs are surprisingly extreme.6

Patent law in most countries says that algorithms aren't patentable.7 The most successful founders are almost all good. What about iTunes?8 They call the things that put them over the edge. But if we get good enough at obscuring tokens for this to be benevolent, but it is telling how well this image has stuck.9 The best I get is he means well. We advise founders who go on to create giant companies not seem formidable early on? If you watch little kids playing sports, you notice this pattern if you are Thanks fred to: Fred Wilson to: Paul Graham date: Fri, Jan 23,2009 at 11:40 AM subject: Re: Revenge of the Nerds. To an amoral person it might seem a stupid thing to ask. I wanted to keep one foot in publishing. But because the lies are indirect we don't keep a very strict accounting of them. Not much, I should add that vesting is also a way for founders to have people to ask themselves about this explicitly.

Small for reading drafts of this paper; to Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston. Because they're so bad, the kids adopt an attitude of waiting for college. I've watched the evolution of programming languages: to describe each in terms of reducing inequality. No matter how much you want to notice quickly that it already is winning. That's what the title corp dev means. You often hear people say that you have to give some of the ways cities send you messages are quite subtle.10 Not surprisingly, these are neither my spam nor my nonspam mail.11 It's absolute poverty you want to design new programming languages. Developing new technology is usually more engaging than one that plodded dutifully along a prescribed course. You may be able to say who cares what investors think? This group says one thing.12 When a large tract has been developed by outsiders.13

There's a scene in Being John Malkovich where the nerdy hero encounters a very attractive, sophisticated woman.14 If you want to define a good programming language? By all means crack down on these. One of the most valuable things I learned from Villehardouin's chronicle is not what I remember about the Airbnbs during YC, I picture them with rolly bags, because when you're not already good at seeming formidable is that they are downwind.15 This was the most powerful language, b write a de facto Ponzi scheme.16 Ronco became so powerful.17 User in Mind You can't build things users like without understanding them. They'd been thrown off balance from the start by their fear of Microsoft.

Suppose you wanted to get lots of referrals is to invest in us if we had operated under the assumption that everyone will drive flying cars, that zoning laws will be relaxed to allow buildings hundreds of stories tall, that it will set impossibly high expectations. A page of formulas just looks so impressive. I recommend being good. What kids get taught in school is to be only two and they rarely competed with one another.18 That certainly accords with what I see out in the world, write a new Mosaic. It seems surprising to me that any employer would be reluctant to express in front of a TV all day—days at the end. Most of us have suspected. In a desktop software company, this would give us. Their stock price has been flat for years. For example, if you have eager first investors is raise money from VCs, and a small but devoted following.19 You could have some other advantage like extraordinary growth numbers or exceptionally formidable founders.20

Notes

See, we try to establish a protocol for web-based applications greatly to be low.

I'm not saying that if the current edition, which wouldn't even cover the extra cost. And you should push back on the order and referrer. Quite often at YC.

There are two very different types of people, but for blacklists nearness is physical, and one or two, because for times over a series.

There are successful women who don't like.

1% a week for 19 years, but he refused because a unless your last round of funding rounds are at selling it to get market price for you by accidents of age and geography, rather than given by other Lisp dialects: Here's an example of a problem later. Delicious, but in practice investors discount merely predicted revenue, so I called to check and in b the second type to go away.

If a company tried to unload it on buyer after buyer. A Timex will gain or lose about. And I'm sure for every startup we funded, summer 2010.

They'll tell you all the mistakes you made.

I'm not going to give up your anti-immigration people to bust their asses.

Thanks to judgmentalist for this type: lies told by older siblings. One thing that would appeal to investors. For similar reasons, including principal and venture partner.

Several people have historically been so many people mistakenly think it was outlawed in the less educated ones usually reply with some axe the audience at an academic talk might appreciate a joke, they might have 20 affinities by this standard, and indeed the venture business.

Needless to say hello on her way out. I swapped them to make the right to buy corporate bonds to market faster; the idea of starting a company with rapid, genuine growth is genuine. If you can base brand on anything with it, because unpromising-seeming startups encounter mediocre investors.

Some translators use calm instead of uebfgbsb. For a long time?

Everyone's taught about it wrong. Different kinds of companies used consulting to generate revenues they could attribute to malice what can be useful here, since they're an existing investor, than a nerdy founder trying to make more money. Plus one can ever say it again.

92.

You could also degenerate from uppercase to any-case, as in e.

So much better to live in a company he really liked, but to fail to mention a few people plot their own page.

So it is the only companies smart enough to absorb that.

In a project like a winner, they cancel out and you might be a big change in response to what modernist architects meant. It would not be led by manipulation or wishful thinking into trying to hide wealth from the 1940s or 50s instead of editors, and partly because they can't teach them how to be a good way to make software incompatible.

The problem is the bellwether. Though we're happy to provide this service, this thought experiment: suppose prep schools supplied the same motives.

When the same in the press or a 2004 Mercedes S600 sedan 122,000, the mean annual wage in the grave and trying to enter the software business, which is the kind of method acting. If they no longer a precondition.

Thanks to Harj Taggar, David Cann, Lisa Randall, Jessica Livingston, Nick Tomarello, Robert Morris, Paul Buchheit, and Geoff Ralston for inviting me to speak.

[mamayan]

Bro wtf…

The high school student post was wild to read. I almost thought I was on Reddit. Whenever I think I was a bad student (I only ever turned in stuff super super late…and honestly I’m surprised I wasn’t held back a year because of it), then I read stories like your friends and I’m like “nvm, I’m a golden student.”

I hope that kid is expelled and legal charges are pressed (even if it’s only juvy), cause that’s unacceptable. Your friend is stronger than me. I would’ve quit on the spot, told my other students about the incident, e-mail a news station/parents about the school, and just gone scorched earth against the school.

No wonder kids these days (younger gen Z/gen Alpha) can’t read and are considerably dumber than previous generations…(I say this as on old gen zer). People online think I’m crazy abusive for wanting to homeschool any potential future children, but it’s because of stuff like this. I don’t want them to be held back by peers and be part of outrageous drama like this. Either homeschool or I gotta get rich/marry someone rich to enroll the children in a private school with standards…

You get it Nonnie,

Homeschooling kids is honestly the way to go if you can, it’s just hard on parents these days due to finances and time in general necessary to do so.

Yeah I would’ve thrown hands, the school system is just getting more and more corrupt. Policy cuts underpay teachers by ASTRONOMICAL amounts, add in the lack of discipline and actual consequences and we get to this.

But, we can’t forget the kids who do want to learn, who do want a future. My friend teaches for them, even if a few bad eggs make in her carton. I respect that drive and passion, which is why I keep all the bad urges in (like telling her to quit lol, so many already do though).

The kid obviously got reported, I doubt much will come of it. She doesn’t intend to press charges so that’s it kinda. Best I can do is bring treats and provide comfort.

[crtter]

List of New Spamton Lore

This post contains all the new information about Spamton revealed on September 17th and 18th 2022 through the Spamton Sweepstakes and the Twitter Q&A, ranging from the most important reveals to small details, in no particular order!

Spamton might be dual typed, with his two elements being Puppet and Cat. It could also be, however, that he merely meant that the Puppet and the Cat elements share the same elemental weaknesses and that his sole element is Puppet.

Spamton once considered Swatch a close friend who always listened to him and was a shoulder for him to cry on.

Spamton seems to be especially fond of the Mike person he mentions in the game, citing him as the only one he’d spare if he got revenge on all of those who he feels have wronged him and declining to give people any information about him in order to protect him from “THAT [Cathode]’S CREW”.

Spamton is aware “haters” want to inflict bodily damage onto him (especially cover him in milk and throw him against a wall) and his official stance on the subject is “[Cool down with a]!!! WHAT IF ONE DAY, YOU ENDED UP [Killed] ME!?” and “WE DON’T DO THAT WITHOUT [A 72 hour paid Appointment]!!”

Spamton met Noelle before her arrival to Cyber World through her replying to his spam e-mails (implied to be about a supposedly “friend finder” website she tried to find her sister through). She was the only one to ever reply to one of his e-mails and, in return, he sent her a code that, when input into the Cat Petterz 2 game, produced a pipis reminiscent to the Bad Egg glitch from the Pokémon games.

The Pipis Spamton sent Noelle is implied to be the only gift he ever gave someone, since he seems unable to give people goods without trading them for money, even symbolically, either because of his corruption or as a trait of his species.

Spamton is aware people find him attractive and attributes it to his “MASSIVE [Ass]”.

Spamton doesn’t know what his Spamton EX form would have looked like.

Spamton claims that first three letters of the hidden, garbled lyrics hidden in BIG SHOT and as a voice line in the Spamton plush are “F I N”.

Spamton recognizes that his speech contains “[Brackets]“ and “[Random sp4m quotes]” to someone who’s looking at it in text form.

Spamton can repeat pieces of phrases he reads or is told, something he does in four different occasions between the Sweepstakes and the Q&A, which implies some of the things he says might be fully copied and pasted together from other sources.

Spamton claims his favorite food is Mexican food, but very specifically from the Pipis “The Original” restaurant, which is a reference present in the original game.

When answering this particular question, he answered it by repeating phrases taken directly from the restaurant’s Facebook page almost word for word.

Spamton considers himself handsome.

Spamton might know about Jockington and thinks he’d disapprove of his “Pipis Big Shot Fantasyship Ring” product, maybe because Pipis isn’t a real sport.

Spamton is in a certain amount of denial about his downfall.

Spamton made two separate references to being willing to be in a three-way relationship.

Spamton doesn’t like people that aren’t very well acquainted with them referring to his Pipis as eggs and calls them “[The boys]”. He considers the idea of them being used as a food source as pretty barbaric but admits it’d look “DELICIS” and “[Cheap]”.

Spamton knows a certain man is responsible for handing white eggs to people.

Spamton doesn’t seem to remember the Knight (or is pretending not to).

Spamton claims the Cungadero is the “[Nation’s Most Popular Car]”.

Spamton has always been shorter than the other Addisons.

Spamton seems to find non-digital painting an interesting concept and dubbed The Mona Spamton as “[History's First Fully Authentic] PAINTING”.

Spamton describes what happened to him as being made “INTO YOUR [living puppet] AND [enslave me] WITH [visions of glory]”.

Spamton implies that, at one point, he was pushed inside the Queen’s pool and given a swirlie in the mansion’s toilets.

Spamton seems to believe he has “died” in the past in some way.

When asked about his sexual orientation, Spamton claims to “LIKE [anyone and anything] THAT GIVE ME [Money]!!” and to be a “[Business Loving Businessman]”.

The little animated sprite of Spamton dancing borrows some moves from the famous Dancing Baby, a CGI animation from 1996 that’s widely considered to be the first meme.

Spamton finds Queen attractive. More specifically, that she has a “[smoking hot a$$]”, something he mentions in two separate occasions when referring to her.

Spamton appreciates his fans, calling them [Fellow Freaks].

Spamton considers Ralsei a “[scringley]”.

Spamton knows what memes are (he spells them as “m3m3”) and referenced around 11 different memes in both the Sweepstakes and the Q&A.

He specifically referenced the everyteenagers4free hot dog husband post when talking about Jevil, which could imply they’re exes.

Spamton considers Berdly’s statue as the best thing he has ever found in the trash.

Spamton seems to have frequent flashbacks about being evicted from Queen’s mansion.

Spamton thinks the Addisons were never his real friends and were embarrassed to be seen with him because he was “bad for business”.

Spamton knows what Neopets are.

Spamton stuck his nose inside a Cungadero’s auxiliary power outlet at least once.

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

I’m Listening (Between The Lines)

Title: I’m Listening (Between The Lines)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Selectively Mute!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Very mild language, mentions of being triggered, symptoms of PTSD and panic attacks

Summary: Y/N is in charge of reviewing the Avengers’ mission reports, and when Steve brings her coffee to apologize for all the paperwork, something more comes of it.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this fic! Please note that it is a work of fiction and people who are selectively mute may or may not communicate in the ways depicted in this story. Thank you for supporting my work by reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting! I couldn’t do this without you. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics​

You’re hard at work on a stack of paperwork from the Avengers’ last mission when Elijah comes by your office with his delivery cart. He gives you an apologetic smile as he slides the second large pile into the only open space on your desk, his face twisting in sympathy.

“Sorry,” he says when your shoulders slump forward. “It was apparently a big one.” You nod and then he’s off again, heading back towards his cart and then to your floor’s mail room for whatever he’s supposed to deliver next. 

The extra workload isn’t unexpected; you’ve known it was coming since your supervisor had mentioned off-hand that the team was going out again—something about a terrorist cell in Europe. It hasn’t been on the news, but you have a feeling that the whole thing is being kept on the down-low until all damages and casualties have been accounted for. Fury likes to know everything going into press conferences. In short, you have a long week ahead of you, with probably more late nights than not.

Elijah passes by the doorway a few minutes later with a full cart of parcels and papers, but you pay him no heed as you bury yourself back into your work. The blue light from the computer has most certainly contributed to your headache, and as you read through the mission reports from the mission in Latin America, you rub your temples with your free hand.

“I know that I’m probably the main cause of that headache,” you practically leap out of your seat when Captain Rogers appears in your office doorway, “so I figured I’d bring you a peace offering. Tony said it was your favorite.”

Captain Rogers holds up a brown paper takeout bag and sets it on the small table just inside the door. You give him a tight smile and a nod in thanks. He doesn’t leave, however, and you try not to look too uncomfortable with the situation as he leans against the doorframe. He’s still in his uniform. You’d dimmed the ceiling lights in favor of the lamp on your desk, but you can still see the thin coating of dirt, soot, and blood on his face. It covers the red, white, and blue of the suit, too.

“Hopefully we didn’t add too much work for you?” he prompts, and you reluctantly shake your head. It’s only the normal of work amount for an Avengers mission, which is a lot, but you’ve learned to manage it.

Slowly, you close the mission folder and set down your pen, then push away from your desk. Your muscles are tight but you refrain from stretching while he’s still standing there. 

“That’s good,” he says. He pauses, then continues, “Thank you for being so thorough with the mission reports. I know I write a lot, but it’s important to me that everything is recorded. You never know when those details will come in handy.”

You nod again and force another smile. You’re exhausted and starving. You silently will him out of your office, then feel bad for wishing that Captain America would leave. He means well and he’s never been anything other than a gentleman. It’s not even that you don’t like him, because you very much do. He just… lingers. You’re never quite sure if it’s because he’s just curious about you or if it’s something more. Maybe you could ask the other employees in your department for their tricks for getting him out of your office. He never seemed to want to be around them as much as he did you. 

Captain Rogers clears his throat and straightens when you approach to take the bag of food from where he’d set it down. When you turn your back to bring it back to your desk, he steps further into your office, following you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

You turn with eyebrows raised and with the food clutched against you, a little startled to find him this close when you’d purposely tried to create some distance. He’s now within arm’s reach.

“Sorry.” He raises his hands in apology and steps back into the doorway, watching you carefully. When you’ve relaxed a little and set the food down on the corner of your desk, he asks, “Would you want to grab a coffee some time? It can be in the shop in the lobby, if you’d rather not leave the building during your break.”

Confused, you frown at him. He wanted to buy you coffee? Why?

“Or you can tell me what you want and I can bring it to you,” he offers. “As a thank you for dealing with all our shit.”

Captain Rogers gestures to the teetering stacks of papers on your desk and you can’t help but smile a little. Hadn’t Tony mentioned that his teammate was a stickler for clean language?

The room fills with an uncomfortable silence and as the awkward pause seems to stretch on for too long, you reach for the tablet on your desk. He takes that as a sign to bow out while his dignity is still somewhat intact. Panicked, you race to find the button you want. You jab your index finger against the screen when the app finally loads the selection of neat little squares that represents your schedule.

“Tomorrow at 2:30pm Eastern Daylight Time,” FRIDAY reports through the overhead speakers.

You blink when the Captain turns around, visibly confused by FRIDAY’s sudden interruption into his escape. With the tablet still in hand, you press the button again, this time adding on the beginning you’d dropped in order to give him a quick answer.

“My break tomorrow is at 2:30pm Eastern Daylight Time,” FRIDAY says.

Slowly, Captain Rogers resumes his place in the doorway. You can tell he’s still processing your strange way of answering, so you offer him a small, encouraging smile. He doesn’t seem angry that you haven’t spoken aloud, just a little confused.

“Do you want to meet there or do you want me to bring you coffee here?” he finally asks. 

You only have to glance at the tablet to input your response for FRIDAY to relay. “Please bring it here.”

“If I give you my number, can you tell me your coffee order?”

This time, you grab a sticky note from your desk and scribble down your order. You’re almost positive that the baristas will recognize it given the number of times you’ve frequented the cafe while working on Avenger mission reports. Captain Rogers steps into the office and takes the sticky note when you hold it out, his eyes crinkled at the corner as he smiles at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says, holding up the sticky note. He backs up towards the door and gives you a small, awkward salute, then heads back down the hall towards the bank of elevators. 

Grinning, you plop back down in your office chair and pull the bag of food into your lap. As soon as you’ve got it open, you can tell that it’s exactly what you like to order on long nights like these. The smell coming from the still-hot containers inside is warm and welcoming. Captain Rogers had definitely asked Tony about you. The thought shouldn’t make you giddy, but it does anyway. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you scarf down the food and hurry to finish up your last set of reports so that you can head home.

The next day, Captain Rogers knocks on your door just as the digital clock on your desk changes to 2:30. You look up and smile, then gesture for him to come in while you close the report folder and set the papers aside. He’s got coffee cups in both hands and a pastry bag hanging precariously between his left index and middle fingers.

You quickly get to your feet and take the cup and bag and he holds out to you, smiling in thanks. He makes sure not to crowd you as you inspect the contents of the bag and the order scrawled on the cup in black marker.

“Everything right?” he asks, and you look up and nod. “Good. That’s good.”

He pauses, clearly wanting to say something else, so you raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. Captain Rogers glances at your desk and then forces a polite smile.

“I guess I’ll see you around? You look like you have a lot of work to do, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your break if you just want to sit and relax.”

When he goes to leave, you reach out and touch the side of his arm before you thinking twice. The pastry bag bumps against his arm as Captain Rogers stops and looks back at you. Hesitantly, you smile a little and nod over at the couch and chairs situated against one wall of your office. The room is small enough to suit your position at the Tower, but it’s also big enough that Tony had outfitted it with a couch, two armchairs, and a coffee table in addition to your desk and office chair. He took good care of you, and for that you were thankful. You’d yet to find a workplace as welcoming as the Avengers Tower, and that was saying something, given all the danger that surrounded your work. It helped that Tony had known you long before he’d become Iron Man.

The smile on Captain Roger’s face returned, but this time it was genuine. He nods in agreement and follows you over to the sitting area. You don’t fail to notice that he trails behind and lets you pick where you want to sit before taking a seat himself.

There’s a tablet built into the wall off to the side of the couch. You set your coffee and pastry down, then twist in your seat so you can pull the device from the wall. It pops out and the screen lights up automatically, scanning your face before unlocking the app that connects you to FRIDAY.

“Thank you for the coffee,” the AI says as your fingers fly over the screen. “You got everything right.”

“Well, they seemed to know your order as soon as I started reading it. I think I got a few words in before they asked if it was for you,” he replies.

Your cheeks heat up and you smile, ducking your head back down to tap at the tablet. “I go there a lot at night.”

“Doesn’t the workday end at 5:00?”

Nodding, you gesture with one hand at the large stacks of Avenger mission reports piled on your desk. You grab your coffee from the table with the other as Steve’s face flushes. Even his ears turn a little pink. It’s adorable.

“Oh.” He fiddles with the cup of coffee in his hands. It seems so small and you glance between your cup and his, wondering if he got a smaller sized drink or if he’s really just that big. “Sorry about that. Like I said last night, I—”

You hold up a hand to stop him before he can apologize and rationalize his actions again, then shake your head, hoping he understands. Thankfully, he nods and takes a small sip of his coffee.

“What did you get to drink?” you ask via FRIDAY.

“I usually get black coffee with a little bit of sugar.”

Your face must’ve clearly betrayed your thoughts because Captain Rogers laughs. He gestures with his cup at the one in your hands.

“I’ve tried something similar to yours. It was okay. I haven’t seem to find anything I really like, but I will say that even the plain coffee nowadays is better than the stuff we had when I was growing up.”

Smiling softly, you nod in understanding and set your cup down, then reach for the pastry he’d picked up for you. You pull it from the bag and tear it in half, holding one of the parts out for him to take.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, but you push it towards him insistently. Sharing is the least you can do.

Captain Rogers takes it after your push it a second time. You watch as he takes a bite, raising your eyebrows when he looks back up at you.

“This is amazing!”

You nod excitedly and pull up the keyboard on your tablet, typing as quickly as you can with only one hand.

“It’s my favorite. My mom used to get it for me on special occasions when I was little. I was happy when they added it to the menu here at the Tower.”

He’s smiling as he finishes his half of the pastry. You eat your own and you’re leaning forward to set the tablet on the coffee table when FRIDAY chimes through the speakers.

“Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Stark is on the phone for you. Shall I tell him you’re otherwise occupied? Your break is not scheduled to end for another three minutes.”

You tap the “yes” button on the tablet as you set it down and turn your body back towards Captain Rogers. He glances at the tablet, then at you.

“You can answer that if you want,” he says. “It’s probably important if Stark is calling you.”

Knowing it’s not, you shake your head with a small smile. You don’t talk on the phone and Tony knows that. If he’s calling you, it means that he’s somehow heard Captain Rogers is with you and he wants to interrupt. He likes to scare people away if he thinks they’ll be bad for you, and though you appreciate his protectiveness, you can take care of yourself. Captain Rogers is a good man. Logically, he should make you anxious. He’s a large man and he has abilities that would surely allow him to overpower you in an instant, but instead of fear, you feel safe. He would never hurt you and it’s easy to relax in his company.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and you nod again. 

FRIDAY interrupts him before he can say anything more. “I’m sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but Mr. Stark is overriding my systems. Apparently it’s urgent.”

You roll your eyes as Captain Rogers raises an eyebrow. Instead of paying close attention to whatever Tony’s rambling about as his voice floods the speakers in your office, you sip your coffee and open up the notes app on your tablet so you can scrawl out a message with the attached stylus.

Captain Rogers is standing to leave when you tilt the screen for him to see. He pauses to read your message and then glances up at the ceiling where the speakers are inlaid. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Don’t you need to go help him with OGRE?”

You frown and tilt your head a little, then tune into the sound of Tony’s voice. It’s not hard to track what he’s saying, but you’ve also gotten good at tuning him out over the years.

“—need you ASAP. Dum-E’s mostly just getting in the way today—this is your own fault, you know better than that—and Pepper’s out of the office on some good relations press tour, so you’re really the only person who can come help me sort out this OGRE business. Worry about all those reports later, we’ve got—”

As far as you know, Tony isn’t working on any new projects, secret or otherwise. You can usually tell when he’s keeping something under wraps, though he’s quick to clue you in about any developments in the “secret” projects. OGRE isn’t real. He’s making things up to get you away from Captain Rogers, and that irks you.

You clap twice, as loud as possible, and Tony stops speaking. It’s your surefire way of getting his attention and telling him to shut up.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” he asks.

Huffing, you switch back to your communication app and tap the “yes” so that FRIDAY will relay your annoyance. For good measure, you add the “asshole” button as an afterthought.

Tony chuckles on the other end of the line. Your words are being communicated directly to him through FRIDAY, but they’re not coming through the speakers, and you catch the Captain watching you and the screen out of the corner of your eye. 

“Your break ended a minute ago, Y/N,” Tony says, and you can hear the teasing in his voice. “Why don’t you come up and help me? I’m sure Steve has more important things to be working on.”

“I don’t,” Captain Rogers flatly replies. “And we were enjoying ourselves until you interrupted. Why do you need Y/N’s help anyway? She doesn’t work in the science division.”

You try not to seem insulted at his answer. Of course he doesn’t know about your longstanding friendship with Tony, and there’s no way for him to know that you’d been working on a graduate degree at MIT before you’d had to drop out your senior year after everything that had happened. Tony and Fury buried that deep within SHIELD records at your request. You don’t want to be dragged into anything that could possibly trigger you, though you’ve gotten better at it over the years. Tony is careful not to invite you up while he’s working on anything that could be a possible trigger.

As subtly as possible, you tap a few buttons on the tablet screen, letting Tony know you’ll be up in a few minutes. He’s quiet for a moment before FRIDAY informs you that he’s ended the call.

Captain Rogers is frowning when you glance over at him. You reach over with one hand and tap his, giving him a worried look.

“I’m fine,” he replies, shaking his head. “Does Tony always demand things like that during your break? It’s no wonder you’re here so late all the time?”

You pause, wondering how to approach the topic, especially since he’s clearly noted that you often leave late. Has he been keeping tabs on you? 

FRIDAY relays your message after you finish pressing all the buttons you want. “Tony and I are friends. We met when I was working on my doctorate at MIT. He’s just trying to get a reaction out of both of us, but he probably also wants my help with something that he doesn’t really need help with. I’m a good sounding board, apparently.”

You offer the Captain a small smile when FRIDAY finishes speaking, and he relaxes a little. Carefully, you set the tablet down aside. He stands as you do and you both tidy up the coffee and pasty trash. 

“Thank you for humoring me during your break,” Captain Rogers says as you put the tablet back into the built-in dock on the wall. 

Smiling, you glance over your shoulder at him, then click the tablet into place. “I had fun, Captain Rogers. Thank you,” you tap out before stepping away from the device. You grab your coffee from where you’d set it on the edge of the desk, if only to have something to hold so you’re not standing awkwardly in front of him.

“Please call me Steve. Maybe we can do this again sometime?” he asks. After a moment, you nod in response. Steve smiles wide. “Have a good day, Y/N.”

You wave a little and watch in silence as he leaves. The butterflies in your stomach are back, launched into flight by the sight of his smile. It makes you wonder if he had such a winning smile before the serum. If he had, maybe he would’ve eventually been scooped up by some pretty girl who didn’t mind him being on the small side. You definitely wouldn’t have.

Coffee breaks with Steve become a regular occurrence, and it’s one of the best parts of your day. He’s being sent on more missions than usual lately, so after your third break together, he offers his phone number so that the two of you can text. You graciously hand over your phone and hope that he can’t hear your heart as it tries to beat out of your chest in excitement.

It’s on one of the days that Steve is out on a mission with the rest of his team, Tony included, that something triggers you. You woke up feeling a little queasy, but you’d pushed it aside and gone to the office anyway. Now you regretted that decision.

Something one of your co-workers had put in the break room microwave triggered something in your brain. The smell is somehow wafting across the entire floor of offices and cubicles, and you’d seen a few peoples’ disgusted faces before the scent had made it to you. All bets were off as soon as you’d smelt it. Instantly, you were back in the lab at MIT, staring down the man you’d once considered a mentor.

You blink away the memory and curl up on the floor with your back against your desk drawers. The handles dig painfully against your spine but it doesn’t really register as you fumble with your tablet, pressing the button that turns the clear glass wall of your office into an opaque one so that your co-workers couldn’t see you melting down. You manage to press the button to turn on the fans in your office too, hoping that will force the smell away from you quicker. You’re fading fast, and you react on instinct, grabbing your phone and pressing the call button.

“Hey, Y/N.”

When Steve’s voice comes over the speaker on your phone, you’re frantic. Why was he answering? Had something happened to Tony? He sounded too casual for something to be wrong.

“Y/N, are you there?” Steve asks.

You’re frozen in place even though your heart and mind are racing inside of you. How you’d managed to call him instead of Tony, you’re not sure, but you can’t speak over the phone, especially not with him, and you don’t know what to do. If you just hang up, Steve could call back, and you don’t think you have the mental capacity to text right now.

There’s a loud rumbling in the background of the call, but you can hear faint voices as well. Struggling to focus, you shudder and close your eyes, listening carefully to try and decipher what they’re saying.

The first person you can pick out is Tony. His voice sounds tinny and far away, but it’s definitely him. “Is that Y/N? Did she call you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, pulling slightly away from the phone before lifting it back to his ear. “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“FRIDAY’s sensing something’s wrong. Her heart rate and blood pressure are high and she’s breathing abnormally,” Tony says, and you grimace. Of course the AI noticed your vitals were off. You try to take a deep breath to calm yourself down, but your skin is crawling and your muscles all feel too tense.

Steve brings you back to the present when he speaks again. His voice is a little bit softer this time. “You don’t have to talk, it’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s going to be okay. FRIDAY would’ve told us if something was really wrong in the building, so I know it’s not that. I just need to know if you’re safe or not, Y/N. Can you let me know somehow if you’re safe?”

You don’t know how to tell him that it’s all in your head and that you don’t necessarily trust yourself right now, so you stay silent and motionless, curled up in a ball behind your desk.

“Do you want me to send someone to check on you?” Steve asks.

A panicked grunt escapes from the depths of your chest before you think twice, and you grip the phone harder.

“Okay, I won’t send anyone. Can you… Do you think you could clap? Or click for me?” Steve demonstrates, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth one time. The ridiculous idea of him making that noise in an airplane full of Avengers loosens the knot in your chest. After a moment, you mimic the sound.

“Good, that’s good,” he soothes. “Once for yes, twice for no, okay? Are you safe?”

It takes you a second, but you click once. Steve’s sigh of relief on the other end of the call is audible.

“Good. Are you injured?”

You click twice.

“Do you want me to distract you from whatever’s going on?”

One click.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, and then Steve is launching into some story about Clint and Tony arguing over the food that they brought with them on the mission. Apparently, they had a rotating cycle of who was in charge, and Tony had somehow found a way to rig it so that he was the person who chose the food for the last three missions. That sounded exactly like something he would do, and by the time Steve has finished the story and moved onto a new one, you’re more yourself.

The noise in the background of the call lessens over time, and the voices of the other Avengers disappear after Steve’s fourth story. You’re enraptured by the smooth, low sound of his voice over the phone speaker. Slowly but surely, you relax enough that your muscles can finally unclench and you move from being tightly curled against the desk to having your legs sprawled out in front of you a little. Your body still feels heavy, though, and you carefully move to lay on the floor on your side. The plush rug you added to your office is suddenly a godsend and you’re mobile enough now to reach up and grab the pillow from your desk chair. It’s normally just a back support pillow, something you’d deemed a necessity after sitting for hours on end, but now it’s a source of comfort as you tuck it underneath your head.

“You still with me, Y/N?” Steve finally asks.

You’re drowsy now that the panic has washed away and the adrenaline is leaving your system, but you cluck your tongue once. You swallow and try to rid your mouth of the dryness. It takes a great effort, but you manage to force out a weak “thank you” in the quiet.

Steve doesn’t hesitate or seem surprised by your response. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N.”

That makes you smile. You put the phone on speaker and set it beside you on the floor, then close your eyes again.

“We’re back at the tower now. I’ll come check on you as soon as I’m cleared by medical. Are you in your office?” You click once in response. “Okay. Tony’s already been cleared so I think he’s coming to find you. I’ll stay on the line and talk when I can, but even if you can’t hear me, know that I’m here on the phone. Alright, sweetheart?”

You click again and listen as Steve goes back to telling his stories. After a while, he stops talking and you can hear someone else, presumably one of the medical team members, talking to him. 

While Steve is occupied by one of the Tower doctors, your office door opens and someone enters the room. You don’t need to sit up or open your eyes to know that it’s Tony because he’s muttering about the overpowering smell. Apparently, it’s not just your floor that’s feeling the effects of your co-worker’s horrible meal choices. A wave of the smell enters with him and you have to brace yourself as your mind screams at you, your old mentor’s words banging around in your skull. For a moment, you doubt if it’s really you that’s sitting in your office. Maybe you’re still at MIT and this is all just another experiment being done on you.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

Slowly, you blink open your eyes and stare up at Tony. He’s crouched beside you, one hand braced on the corner of the desk so he doesn’t lose his balance.

“It’s pretty bad out there. I’m sending everyone home early and I turned on the fans in every room on the floor. You hurt?” he asks, though you’re positive he already knows the answer because of Steve.

You shake your head and move into a sitting position. It takes you longer than it should but he doesn’t rush you or seem impatient. Tony understands what it’s like after being triggered.

“I think Steve is probably on the way up. Do you want me to help you back to your apartment after he’s checked on you, or do you want him to help?” Tony asks.

After thinking it over, you hold up two fingers—option two, have Steve help you. Tony smiles a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he shifts to sit on the floor instead of crouch.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

You’re very aware that Steve is still on the phone and you glance down at the device, then up at Tony. It’s clear that the genius knew exactly what he was doing and that he already knew that Steve was still present in some capacity. Your cheeks feel hot as you nod.

“Steve and I don’t always get along. My therapist would say that we should find middle ground and work out our issues since we’re both grown adults” Tony begins, waving a hand dismissively. “I trust your judgement, Y/N. You’re smart. You don’t need my permission or approval if you want to date him, but as your friend, I want you to know that if he makes you happy, then I’ll be happy about it. He always seems to be on your best behavior around you, which is good. You’re a lot more relaxed around him than anybody else on the team, besides me, of course..”

Tony has bad timing for heart-to-heart conversations and though you still feel a little bit like you’re in the wrong body and itching to get out, you appreciate that he’s telling you what’s on his mind. He doesn’t often do that, not when other people—like Steve—could overhear. It’s forcing you to stay present with him. 

You nod a little and then Tony is producing a water bottle from somewhere and asking if you’d like to have some. He mothers you until there’s a soft knock at the door.

“That’s Steve,” Tony tells you. “You’re good if I let him and head up to see Pep? She’s got an early flight out in the morning and I want to make sure we’ve got time together tonight.”

You nod again and he gets up. He leaves you behind the desk and you reach out to tap the red button on your phone to end the call now that Steve’s here with you. A few moments later, Steve is occupying the spot where Tony had just been sitting. He’s clearly worried, but he’s trying to act casual about the whole thing, and he’s practically doing a whole song and dance to make sure you’re comfortable after what’s happened, even though he doesn’t even really know what happened.

“Steve,” you murmur, smiling a little. Your throat is tight and it feels like someone’s scraping sandpaper over the tissue and muscles there as you speak.

He pauses and meets your eyes. “Yes?”

You reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing once. He squeezes back and you keep hold of his hand as you look up at the tablet on your desk. It’s just out of your reach, but Steve grabs it easily and sets it on the floor between the two of you.

With your free hand, you open the app and tap a few buttons.

“Will you take me to my apartment?” FRIDAY asks.

The AI’s voice comes through all the speakers in the room and you flinch at the volume. You’re not as wound up as before, however, so you’re able to switch the settings on the tablet so that it’s no longer connected to FRIDAY and instead just coming through the tiny speakers on the device.

“Yeah, I can,” Steve answers. He rubs his thumb over your hand in small, soothing strokes. “What’s your address?”

“I live on floor 23,” you tap out. “Unit 46.”

He huffs a little, smiling. “No kidding. We’re almost neighbors. How did I miss that?”

You shrug at him and lock the tablet, then gather up your phone and the pillow from your lap. Steve stands first. He offers to help you to your feet and you nod in consent. His hands are gentle as he guides you until you’re standing upright, and though you’re a little dizzy from not eating most of the day, you’re mostly stable.

“Do you think you’re okay to walk?” he asks.

Slowly, you nod. You drop the pillow back onto your desk chair where it belongs and tuck your phone into your pocket, then adjust the tablet so you can tap on it again.

“The smell is the problem,” the tiny speakers announce for you. “I don’t know what will happen when we leave my office.”

Steve nods in understanding and places a gentle hand on the small of your back. “I’m right here,” he reassures you. “I can carry you or find a place for you to sit if we need to take a break.”

The two of you leave your office and make it to your apartment with little difficulty. You leave the tablet behind on your desk. Like he promised, Steve supports you when you need it, and he slows down after you get off the elevator on your floor so that you can steady yourself.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks as you arrive outside the door of your apartment. The hall is empty of other agents and employees, though it’s close to dinner time, so you imagine that most of them are either out or making their way towards one of the cafes and cafeterias inside the Tower.

You nod and pull out your phone, typing quickly and then showing him the screen.

“You want me to stay? Are you sure?” Steve goes to shove his hands in his jacket pockets. He’s still dressed in his suit from the mission, so there’s no pockets, and his entire face flushes when his hands jab at nothing. He drops them back down to his sides as a giggle escapes you. Though he’s still pink, he grins wide at the sound.

Typing furiously, you tell him that of course you want him to stay. It’s helpful for you to have company to keep you present, and you trust him.

“I’m not exactly good company after missions,” he tells you. “I need to shower.”

You smile in understanding and type out another message. He watches over your shoulder, reading as you go. He seems a little relieved when you reassure him that he doesn’t need to talk if he just wants to relax after his mission.

“Watching movies sounds good. There’s so many I haven’t seen yet. Do you want to pick one of your favorites while I shower? I can come back with snacks.”

The promise of snacks makes you smile, and Steve smiles back. When you nod, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. Your face is warm when he pulls away, and your smile turns shy as Steve backs away from you with a little wave.

“I’ll be back soon, Y/N,” he says, and you nod at him before heading into your room to set up the movie night.

As an afterthought, you pull out your phone and text him a few of your favorite snacks. Steve is quick to reply. He already knows what you like, apparently, and the sweet texts he sends you are enough to make your horrible afternoon feel like almost nothing.

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[astriiformes]

I cannot emphasize enough, museums/zoos/aquariums and the like are at an incredibly dangerous point right now, and it’s breaking my heart that not only is it happening, but it’s happening so much more quietly than it deserves. The main people I have seen sharing information about the crisis museums are in right now are others in the field, and while I know it’s not out of malicious ignorance, because people love these places and don’t want to see them gone, it’s scary that these places are dying with so much less fanfare than some of the other institutions threatened by the current situation in the US.

I came across an article from NPR the other day suggesting that unless something changes, ONE-THIRD of museums in the entire country (a loose term that includes certain places like aquariums as well) could be dead before the end of the year (source). A third! Can you even imagine the incalculable loss? And it goes so far beyond the services museums generally provide to the public, like field trips or a place to go on the weekends -- not that those aren’t important. But museums do so much more than that. If these places die, where do their collections go? Often there’s no one else who can take them in, and as someone who has spent a significant amount of time in the bellies of museum collections, most people have no idea how many specimens or artifacts would become homeless and in danger of being lost forever. In the case of zoos and aquariums, what happens to their animals? Another friend of mine mentioned on Facebook the other day that the Aquarium of the Pacific is not only in dire need right now, but that a person they know who works with them has said that if they close, they’ll have to euthanize a significant number of their animals. And for the places that do survive, they won’t be unchanged. The science museum I used to work for isn’t in danger of permanently closing -- yet -- but still had make the incredibly difficult call to do a 39% reduction in staff positions, meaning that even when they reopen, the jobs that I and over a hundred and fifty people held before the pandemic -- educating, running programs, engaging with visitors on an extra personal level -- won’t exist anymore. Another friend of mine doing a museum studies degree has said that even the Smithsonian (the SMITHSONIAN) had to make a similar call and many of her friends doing work there are now jobless.

Your local museum isn’t getting help from the government. Museums, zoos, and aquariums have had to beg desperately for stimulus money that hasn’t manifested. These are non-profits, that rely on revenue from visitors and memberships for the most part, and as they are responsibly staying closed for everyone’s safety, they aren’t getting visitors. Without some form of help, they are going to drop off the face of the planet, or appear at the other end of this as gutted shells of their former selves. 

If you want to help, you have two options: get money into the hands of these places directly, or put pressure on your representatives to offer museums and other institutions like them some kind of federal stimulus money. If you can afford it, this is a great time to get a membership to a place you love -- many of them are even offering special online programming for members, so it’s more than just a donation. Or you could make a donation, if that’s a more practical amount for you to spend, because at this point anything helps. And if you can’t do that (or even if you can), yell at your senators and representatives to do something. Many places even are offering guidelines for the sorts of things to talk about, like this script from the Monterey Bay Aquarium (although repetitive scripts are less likely to have an impact than individual e-mails, something is still better than nothing, and you could even read over it to figure out how to formulate your own message).

I’m not usually one to beg people to signal boost something, but it’s breaking my heart that this issue is being ignored. Every day it feels like I have to explain these places are struggling to someone else who didn’t know it was a problem, and while I don’t blame them for not knowing, I want people to know. I want people to be aware that we are at risk of losing some of our most valuable cultural and educational institutions, not find out after all this is over that they’re gone. Please talk with people you know about what’s going on. We need our museums. And right now, they need us too.

UPDATE AS OF 8/10/20 -- This is not so much an update on the situation as a whole, but I wanted to share it all the same, since accuracy of information is important! The Aquarium of the Pacific reached out to me in order to address their current situation. Despite major cutbacks, it’s currently looking like they are in a stable enough situation that they will be able to maintain the level of care necessary for their animals, ensuring their safety. Obviously that’s incredibly relieving news, and I’ll graciously accept the edit.

That said, while they are one of a few organizations I’ve come across encouraging information about in the last week or two, the fact that there is still no new legislation protecting museums, zoos, and aquariums in crisis stands. That lack of a safety net remains a serious concern, and these places absolutely still need help in the form of memberships, donations, or pushing your representatives to include them in any future COVID-19 relief stimulus legislation. Successes are successes but this is a far-reaching issue, with no one easy solution in sight. That’s why continuing to stay informed and active in sharing information and taking action is so important.