#rip betty II

[wileys-russo]

if got an idea for a blurb/fic from those new training pics and it’s for boyfriend lessi. reader keeps getting distracted by lessis arms during the training session and alessia catches on and every now and tenses them and after training less teases reader about it 🤭🫣

big flexer II a.russo

"-so then she makes you think that betty is just about these three random teenagers caught up in a love triangle. but really there is this entire theory that-" you completely zoned out of what viv was saying to you, eyes locked in on your girlfriend who'd finally arrived for training.

having gone for a bike ride with lotte beforehand you'd spent the morning away from one another, alessia having left not long before you even awoke for the day. so you of course hadn't seen her get ready and had no clue she'd chose to wear that.

that being the training vest, a tank top something alessia seldom chose to wear when she trained. in fact you could generally count on one hand how little she'd not opted for a tee or a long sleeve.

you knew she'd had insecurities about her arms in the past but you also knew she'd put an emphasis on building up her strength this year, determined to overcome her previous worries.

and jesus christ could you see the results.

"hey! are you even listening to me?" viv snapped her fingers as you ripped your eyes away from oggling at the taller blonde who caught your pining stare just moments beforehand, turning back to her conversation with katie with a small smirk.

last night you may or may not have wound her up by cutting her off right as your make out started to lead toward something more. abandoning the blonde high, dry, hot and bothered as you scurried off to your own room, leaving her with an ache in between her legs and the bitter taste of her longing for you in her mouth.

so when alessia noticed your obvious wandering eyes of surprise and knowing exactly what you were so clearly fixed on, she was more than ready to use them to her advantage.

~

"you're looking good out there babe." you looked up as your girlfriend now stood before you with her water bottle, your jaw almost hitting the floor as she raised it to her mouth, flexing her bicep as she did so.

"god i'm tired." alessia groaned, stretching her arms above her head and again tensing, the obvious muscles in her upper arms rippling. "you alright?" she smiled innocently, dropping them to her sides and looking down where you were sat on the ground.

"uh huh." you stammered out, wrenching your eyes away and glancing off in the other direction as the blondes smile widened. you were saved by the training staff and jonas calling for you all to return now your water break was over.

that was until alessia offered you a hand up, veins popping out of her sun kissed skin as she hauled you to your feet, an effortless task for the taller girl but she made sure to try harder than needed knowing exactly where your eyes would wander to.

"sure you're alright love?" the blonde smirked, tugging your body into hers as you nodded wordlessly, hurrying away from her, the thoughts of what you'd rather she be doing to you with those arms banished from your mind as you tried to zone in on training again.

though it seemed fate had it in for you as you and alessia were assigned to mark one another in the 7 on 7 game you were doing for your wind down. taking your position in front of her you tensed as her large hands grabbed at your hips.

"if i knew you liked the vest so much princess i'd have worn it sooner." the blonde whispered in your ear, pressing her body into yours as you pushed her away and play resumed.

"now be a good girl and let me score baby." she'd riled you up further just a few minutes later once again pressed in and marking you, hands slipping under your top before you'd shoved her harshly away, your face glowing bright red and not from the running.

"if you're lucky i might even throw you around later after we win." the blondes lips kissed sneakily behind your ear as she pressed into you for a corner, you elbowing her off with a grunt as her hands continued to shamelessly roam your body.

and unfortunately as hard as you tried to keep the thoughts and fixations on your girlfriends insanely toned arms banished, the combination of them plus her abs as she routinely hiked up her vest to wipe the sweat off her face, made you a goner.

you missed three easy goals, tripped over your own feet twice and accidentally slide tackled stina who was on your own team, the mistakes not going unnoticed by the coaching staff and your girlfriend as your team lost 4-2.

mistakes which earned you a concerned talking to as training was called to a finish, pulled aside and nodding in embarrassment at your performance review, assuring you were just having an off day and promising you'd do better.

"not your best performance today babe." an arm fell across your shoulders as alessia pulled you into her side, walking the two of you back toward the training centre for lunch as you shoved her off.

"now come on, don't be a sore loser." alessia tutted, appearing suddenly in front of you, your body barreling into hers as she puffed out her chest with a cocky grin. "it's so hot today." alessia sighed, her hands gripping the back of her neck as she stretched, veins once again throbbing out of her jacked biceps.

"i know what you're doing." you swallowed your want for her, remembering the embarrassment of the talking to you'd gotten that was her fault and pushing past her with scowl and a huff.

"who, me?" alessia smiled innocently with a small gasp as she caught up to you. "don't alessia, it's not cute." you warned seriously, only making her chuckle. "i love you." the striker sung out, placing a sloppy kiss to your cheek which you wiped off with a grimace.

her hand coming to rest on the small of your back she guided you into the cafeteria, the small action of dominance making your stomach flutter.

lunch passed without much more drama, alessia busied in tactical conversations with katie and lia, too pre-occupied to keep up her teasing as viv cornered you to continue on her taylor swift tangent from earlier today.

"oh fuck me." you mumbled to yourself as you all entered the gym after lunch and the staff announced today you'd all be focusing on weights, not missing the smirk sent your way by the tall cocky blonde across the room.

your girlfriend partnered with jen as her spotter while you were partnered with steph, you prayed that it meant your paths wouldn't cross much and you could get out of this afternoon unscathed.

though folding her arms over her chest when not hitting the weights herself alessia made sure to flex her muscles every time she noticed your eyes glance her way, jen eventually catching onto what was happening with a chuckle and a small shake of her head, noting it as something to rib you about at another time.

and look as hard as you possibly tried to ignore her, you were only human, and a needy one at that.

your gaze continued to drift alessia's way all afternoon, almost drooling at the way the ridges forming along her muscles somehow became even more tantalizing to look at as she upped the weight she was benching, jen cheering her on for a pb as your eyes widened.

"oh to be young and in loove." you were grounded back to reality as steph teased you, sat on the bench and grinning up at you. "shut up steffy, i've seen your heart eyes around dean for long enough." you quipped back, the defender shoving your head playfully to the side as the two of you swapped.

your arms aching with the strain of what was a rather grueling weights session, training was called to a finish and everyone began to group up and make their way out of the gym, viv calling out she was making everyone watch miss americana for movie night and attendance was mandatory.

grabbing your water bottle and finishing up your conversation with steph you waved her off and wandered over to your girlfriend who was straddling the bench, finishing up her own conversation with one of the training staff who patted her shoulder clearly affirming she'd done well before he left to chase after jen.

"enjoy the show baby?" the blonde noticed you nearing and smirked, widening her manspread legs as she leant backwards on her hands. flexing her arms with a small wiggle of her eyebrows, blonde hair tied back into a low bun as a few loose strands clung to her flushed face, upper brow beaded with sweat.

"new pb on the bench press, no big deal." the taller girl shrugged cockily, her own eyes dropping to trace your toned thighs that were on display where you'd rolled your shorts up.

"mm so i heard. but hey you know love...you look a little hot." alessia's fantasizing over your quads was rudely interrupted as you dumped your water bottle over her head, grinning as the blonde shot to her feet, spluttering and wiping the water from her face.

"oh you are so dead."

you took off running as alessia sprinted after you, your laugh echoing around as you burst through the gym doors and onto the pitch, startling viv and lotte who were doing a some extra shooting while the staff packed everything up.

"i was just trying to cool you off!" you yelled out teasingly, alessia huffing in frustration as she struggled to catch up to you, though as you glanced at her over your shoulder you missed a small stack of cones and stumbled.

the small missed step was all it took for your girlfriend to clear the widening gap between the two of you, hands grabbing you and tossing your smaller form effortlessly over her shoulder as you squealed.

"lessi put me down!" you demanded with a giggle as the italian marched the two of you back across the pitch, ignoring the teasing whistles sent your way from her best friend. "ow!" you laughed as her hand came up to smack at your behind.

with much whinging the blonde eventually dropped you to your feet as you both crossed the threshhold of the gym which was now empty. the running around in the summer heat had all but dried your girlfriends once damp hair, though you gasped a little as her arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you around a corner.

"hi." you smiled softly as the blondes biceps appeared either side of your head effectively trapping you, hands pressed flush against the wall as she lent in, lips teasingly ghosting yours.

though you pouted as you tried to connect them and she ducked away slightly. "you're welcome." the blonde stated simply and you frowned a little in confusion at her words. "for what, exactly?"

"free admission to the gun show." alessia smirked, pushing herself off the wall as she flexed her biceps in an array of positions, going so far as to kiss either one as you scoffed in disbelief.

"your turn baby." your girlfriend demanded cockily, flexing her arm and offering it toward you as you laughed sarcastically and shoved her away.

"go on and give em a little kiss tesoro, you know you want tooo!" the blonde teased pressing her hips into yours, pinning your body to the wall behind you as she continued to shove her toned and muscled arms in your face.

"oh would you grow up!" you rolled your eyes and bit back a smile, pushing at her chest. "you love it." alessia smirked, catching you off guard as she pressed her mouth to yours. tongue swiping at your bottom lip before her teeth nipped at it, the sight hitch in your breath all she needed to quickly take control of the kiss.

her hands grabbed at your hips as yours gripped her forearms, squeezing her biceps tightly and causing the blonde to let out a small moan in your mouth as you did so.

alessia suddenly pulled away, hand interlocking with yours as she pulled you off the wall almost dragging you out of the gym and away toward her room room in the other building, not uttering a word until she'd all but kicked the door shut, wasting no time slamming you against it.

"you just bought yourself a ticket to the private show, pretty girl."

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Two

Tom Bennett x Bess Vaughn (OFC)

[Masterlist]

Volume II Summary: Tom escapes occupied Europe to find home irreversibly changed. How will Tom and Bess cope when what was once familiar has changed forever?

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence (fairly mild), Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

A/N: Characters we haven’t seen for a while? Trauma from way back in volume one? You betcha. Posted in haste, will fix mistakes later.

Fucking war.

Tom ripped open the cardboard packet of his Marlboro’s just in case. Nothing. No Rita Hayworth. No Betty Grable. Not even Vera fucking Lynn. He lit a cigarette and sighed.

A pint of pale was put on the table before him. Through a haze of cigarette fog and beer-blurred eyes he looked at the barkeeper.

“We’ve had men in here trading their old cigarette cards. Anything for something new,” he scoffed and picked up Tom’s three empty glasses. “’Waste of resources’, ‘s’what they say on the wireless. You’d think a bit of leg would do everyone good. Keep morale high.”

Tom took a long gulp of the beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his jacket sleeve. “Well, if you ever run for office, you’ve got my vote. Bring back the tart card.” He raised the half-drunk glass but the man had already walked away. “To Winston fucking Churchill!”

From their position at the bar, a few patrons looked over their shoulders at him. None could have been younger than fifty. “What?” Tom said to them, his volume a touch too loud, eyes dark over the rim of the glass. They ignored him.

“Dunkierka!”

Tom screwed his eyes shut. It had been hours, but still Grzegroz’s voice rattled around his mind.

“Dunkierka!”

How strange, incredible really, that he could be transported so quickly to the battlefield once more. One moment he was playing football with Jan in Mrs Chase’s garden, the next he was watching the man with the terrified eyes screaming at him on the beach.

“Shoot me!”

“Fuck.” Tom downed the rest of the beer. Eight o’clock. The pub was busying now. He’d arrived not an hour before, having walked from Mrs Chase’s back into town. Now, the shift’s had changed at the dockyard and the factory, and the weekend was free for these men to take.

The table wobbled as Tom used all of his weight to stand. He blinked hard. A rush of blood drained from his head and he faltered. A lifetime’s worth of bad memories did not mix with four pints and an empty stomach.

Tom wasn’t drunk. Not by his standards at least. Instead, he was balanced on a precipice. A precipice that could turn the night into one of infinite wonder or have him fear the world by 8 o’clock next morning. Would it send him down the Palais with Bess? Hadn’t she said there was a dance on? Or would it be a night in the pub, taking on any Tom, Dick or Harry that dared, and sleeping under a bench? Tom found he didn’t care which. One drink more would do him right. Let Lady Luck decide.

Tom wasn’t drunk. However, he did not slide onto the bar stool with as much grace as he would’ve liked and a few men tittered. “Another pint please.”

“Right you are, Tom.” The barkeep gave him a wary look but poured the pint all the same. He’d seen enough soldiers and marines to know that if they weren’t drinking in his pub, they were out drinking and making a nuisance. God knows he remembered the last war well enough.

Another pint appeared before him, and Tom watched the foam settle. He leant forward, caressing the cool glass, and took a long, pleasured sip.

“How’s the navy treating you anyway, Tom?”

“The navy? The bloody navy? Can’t even steer a pedalo.”

Tom jolted and looked over his shoulder. It had happened the night before too, and that morning. Drifting off, he’d heard his father’s voice. “My brave, brave boy.” Only to wake up and have reality hit him hard, all air leaving his chest before he’d taken his first waking breath. His dad was gone.

A glass smashed in the corner of the pub and a roar of laughter rang up.

“Watch it! You lot break anymore, and you’ll be paying.” The barkeeper sighed. “Tom?”

“You what?”

The barkeeper watched him. “Ah, don’t worry about it, son.” He patted Tom’s arm and made his way to the end of the bar. Tom’s eyes followed as the man collected a sweeping brush and gathered the broken shards into a pile. One of the men in the party was gesturing wildly around, trying in vain to help. It was Fergal Vaughn.

“Sit down, man,” the barkeep said good-naturedly. “You’re a hindrance, not a help.” 

Fergal flopped into his seat, the beer he held spraying everywhere. The friends surrounding him laughed. Sweat gleamed on the old man’s brow, his face red and shining. When he spoke, flecks of spittle flew from his mouth, and he laughed so hard Tom feared he might keel over for lack of breath. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tom muttered into his pint. Well, at least the old bastard isn’t at home, bothering the girls.

There was a great commotion and Tom looked back to the party. Fergal had stood abruptly, his round belly pushing the table and knocking yet more glasses. He raised his near empty pint of Guinness in the air. “To my Cora, and to her Roger!”

The men cheered, raising their glasses and swigging their beers. “To her roger!” The two men nearest Tom cried and fell about laughing. Fergal swiped at them pathetically but giggled at their joke.

Tom should have laughed too. Should have joined in their merriment. But sat there, five pints deep, listening to Fergal Vaughn’s witterings while the ghost of his own father lingered just beyond reach, Tom felt his blood curdle. On the step of the stool, his leg began to bounce. The din of the pub’s patrons gave way to the swirling of blood and breath in his ears. 

 “Dunkierka!”

Tom slammed his fists into his eyes and tried to rub away the sound. Fergal guffawed behind him. 

“You don’t think I’m genuine?” 

“Are you, son?”

Bess’ voice joined the fray.

“You’ve never committed to anything or anyone. It’s not because you’re a womaniser, or because you don’t believe in the war. It’s because you’re a coward.”

“Just fuck off!” Tom shouted. He didn’t hear the way the pub stilled. Didn’t notice the way the man beside him got off his stool and shuffled away. Slowly, the noise around him picked up as everyone ignored the screwball at the bar. 

He tried to calm himself and, naturally, thought of Bess. Almost half-past eight. She’d be at the dance by now. Hair rollered for once, a brush of lipstick. Tom’s body hummed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Who would she dance with, without himself or Albie there? Roger? From Fergal’s exclamations, it sounded like a night for celebration. Would Lois be there, singing with Connie? He hadn’t thought to ask Lois about her shift on the ambulance. 

“You made his life hell when he was alive and now you can never make it up to him.”

The last words Lois hissed at him before he crumpled and made his way back to Bess. She’d spat them at him like a weapon. She’d meant to hurt him, and hurt him it did. The moment she’d uttered them Tom saw every disheartened, disapproving and disappointed look that had shadowed his father’s prematurely aged face. Each one, directed at him. 

Yet another glass was placed next to him. An amber tot of whisky. “From Fergal,” said the barkeeper. Tom glanced over his shoulder to where Fergal had another pint raised in his direction.

“To Tom,” he slurred. “No doubt he’ll be stealing another of my girls away from me.” Fergal smiled at him and the other men silently raised their glasses.

Tom pushed the whisky away. “No thanks.” 

“Right you are,” The barkeeper said after a moment, taking the glass away while eyeing something over Tom’s shoulder. With a hard smack, a meaty hand landed on Tom’s back and he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The heavy breath and stench of ale told him everything. 

“Rude to refuse a drink from your father-in-law-” 

“You’re not my father-in-law.” Tom continued to stare straight ahead at the optics behind the bar.  

“I’m as good as!” Fergal chortled. “And don’t you tell me I won’t be one day,” he tried to lean on the bar beside Tom but stumbled. Despite himself, Tom reached out a hand to steady him. “With Cora engaged, everyone will be looking to you and Bess.” 

“Let them look.” 

Fergal wobbled, leaning forward slightly to observe Tom. Fed up, Tom stared back at him, watching the man struggle to stand straight. 

“God, you look like your Dad.” Fergal said after an unnaturally long pause. Tom snorted. 

“You made his life hell when he was alive and now you can never make it up to him.”

“We all miss him terribly, me and Bess especially,” Fergal continued. Did Tom miss him? He supposed he did not. He hadn’t been given enough time to comprehend the fact he was dead, let alone miss him. “My favourite drinking partner.” Fergal finally found the bar and leant upon it. 

“You’re doing alright, to me.” Tom watched the men in the corner watching him.

“Ah, but none were like your Da-A drink!” Fergal cut himself off. “Another whisky for me and Tom.” They appeared before them in an instant. Seemingly, the barkeeper hadn’t thrown them away. Fucking rationing. 

“I don’t want it,” Tom pushed it back and Fergal made to sip his own. 

“To Douglas!” The Irishman roared. 

“Stop!” Tom grabbed Fergal’s hand before the drink could reach his lips. “Stop.” 

“What’s gotten into you, boy? Used to love a drink with me and Albie and your Da-”

Tom stood from the bar and Fergal staggered backwards. “I’ll not share a drink with you, you fat old bastard. Not in my dad’s memory. Not when you’re like this.” 

“Now just a minu-”

“You’re a drunk!” Tom spat in Fergal’s face. He was towering over the man now, and for a flicker of time, Fergal looked like a scared child. “I’ll not drink to my dad’s memory, when it should have been you in his place.” 

Fergal looked like he had been struck. Tom didn’t care. A year’s worth of war, the immediacy of his grief, the way it awoke the longing he held for his mother, years of watching Fergal ruin his daughters. Tom felt every bruising blow life had dealt him, and was presented with the perfect outlet for his rage. The man before him. 

“My dad fought for what he believed in. Did I agree with him? No, but I damn well do now!” Tom was shouting and the barkeeper laid a hand on his arm. He wrenched it from his grip but lowered his voice to a menacing hiss. “He didn’t have much, but he did enough to make himself proud. To make me proud. Gave everyone the time of day. Grafted. Put up with me,” his voice wobbled. “And then there’s you. What have you ever done?”

Fergal opened his mouth but Tom cut him off. “Who do you think’s gonna look after you now Cora’s engaged? Do you know what?” He grabbed the whisky and raised it in the air. “Here’s to Roger. If it weren’t for him, Cora would be left to a life looking after you with not one bit of thanks.” He downed the drink with a wince. “And Dot! You’ve spoiled her beyond reason. Five minutes in the real world will ruin her, Fergal! Don’t you remember the last time!? All them battered men coming back, what they did to the women waiting for them at home? And Bess!” Tom’s voice cracked and he jabbed a finger into Fergal’s fleshy shoulder. “Do you know how many nights she’s spent crying because you said she wasn’t woman enough, like Cora and Dot? Or how you never stood up for her at school? It was Etta marching down there every day to set Frank Smith and Walter Watson right. Etta giving the teachers a bollocking because you didn’t have the guts. What did you do? Fucking nothing. Only thing you’re good for is fucking fertiliser-”

It happened quick as a flash. Fergal grabbed Tom by the scruff of his collar and hoisted him over the bar. Glasses clattered around them and the murmuring of the pub crescendoed to an excited clamour. The edge of the bar was rammed into Tom’s ribs as Fergal held him there, leaning over and growling in his face. Any trace of drunkenness was gone. 

“You’re one to talk, my boy.” He shoved Tom again, and Tom felt his head hit one of the pumps. “Fucking off to join the navy was the best thing you ever did. Brought nothing but shame to your father, and now you’re doing the same to my Bess.” At the mention of her name Tom struggled to get up. “You’re only courting my daughter because I see how happy you make her, God knows why, but when you get yourself blown up, well, it’ll be all the better.”

“ENOUGH!” The barkeeper bellowed, reaching between the two of them. Two of Fergal’s friends pulled him backwards off Tom, and he slid off the bar. “ENOUGH!” 

Tom straightened his jacket, stared down at Fergal and laughed bitterly. By some miracle, Fergal’s whiskey still sat unbothered amongst the debris of their argument. Tom downed it in one and, with his hands in his pockets, swaggered from the pub and into the night.

“-our Florence tailored her mam’s old dress. I suppose Bess could help you with that. And Roger will have a mourning suit, won’t he? Or will he get married in uniform? Oh, that would be best I think, that beautiful air force blue. It’ll look excellent in your wedding photograph-”

On discovering Cora Vaughn’s engagement to Roger, Queenie Warren had not drawn breath. Her curls bouncing animatedly as she spoke, Queenie quizzed Cora on everything from the colour of her bridesmaids’ dresses to whether the cake would be fruit or Victoria sponge.

Bess had tuned Queenie out ten minutes ago. Instead, she leant against the bar, glass in her hand, cigarette between her lips, and watched couples spin around the dancefloor. She wondered if the Palais would ever be as full as it was before the war.

The red lights of the room hid a multitude of sins. The floor was becoming sticky under foot, and wallpaper was starting to peel from the high ceiling. The darkness did well to hide the few couples, and the fewer men. Indeed, it was mostly full of women from the factories. There were some fellas that Bess recognised from about town, and other uniformed men she did not recognise, no doubt visiting women they had met on the front, or nurses from the infirmary.

Dancing at the centre of circle were Roberta and the teacher from the primary. With so many of the men off fighting, it was the first time Bobby had been able to step into the light with the woman, under the rouse of needing a dance partner. Hiding in plain sight, Bess had never seen her happier. Indeed, when they turned so that Bobby could look upon the bar, she caught Bess’ eye. Bess winked, and Bobby giggled. Tough, feisty Roberta actually giggled.

“-you’ll have your hands full soon I expect, Bess.”

“Pardon?”

Queenie was watching her eagerly. “A wedding dress and bridesmaids’ clothes for yourself and Dot. That’s an awful lot to be doing.”

“She’ll have to ask me first,” with a smile Bess nudged Cora, who looked up from gazing at the modest ring on her finger.

Her betrothed was not far away, sharing a drink with Frank Smith and a few other lads from the air force. He was bright and merry, and though the others congratulated him, Bess noticed the glances they cast the bride-to-be and her sisters. Namely, herself.

Bess knew what she was doing when she’d stepped out that night. Bedecked in a pinstriped suit, she wanted people to look at her. She felt deflated after Tom’s flit from Mrs Chase’s and his inability to confide in her. This did just the job to make her feel powerful again. She’d seen Marlene Dietrich where something similar in a copy of Vogue she’d read years ago at the atelier. It just so happened that they had a pattern there too.

A man cut across Bess’ vision of Bobby on the dancefloor. “Fucking dyke,” he muttered as he passed. Bess stood straight, prepared to defend her friend from the man, when she faltered. As he passed, the man looked over his shoulder at her, eyeing her suit from sharp collar to perfectly-ironed trouser.

“Don’t be jealous she’s a better dresser than you!” Dot piped up, just as Cora took her glass.

“That’s enough sherry, Dot.”

Before Dot could so much as take a breath to retort, the Palais’ double doors burst open. Even over the playing of the band, the noise caused the sisters to jump and cast their eyes towards the doors.

Bess knew that silhouette.

Against the streetlamps outside, the figure staggered sideways before moving forward towards the bar. With his hands in his pockets, he nearly fell over, and a few people rushed to help him. He brushed them off and, ascending the steps to the bar, smirked lopsidedly at the group.

“Bobby,”

“Tom.”

The enmity that lingered between Bobby and Tom had dwindled of late, and Bess tensed at the renewed hostility.

“How’s your friend?” Tom wobbled as he glanced around the old ballroom, his words dripping with intentional sarcasm. Roberta said nothing. “Suits you well, doesn’t it? No men about.” He swaggered towards her, his body a millisecond behind the movement of his feet. Bess prickled with mortification. All evening she’d been worried about him, what he was thinking, what he was doing, and it turned out he was the same as any other man; leaving their problems at the door of the first pub they came to.

He staggered a step towards Roger and Frank. Frank, having experienced Tom’s devastating right-hook in childhood, edged backwards.

“Watch yourselves, lads, she’ll be giving your girls ideas.”

He can embarrass himself all he likes, but leave Bobby out of it. In three high-heeled strides, Bess placed herself between Tom and the others. “Enough,” she said warningly. Tom eyed her. There was a hint of pride in the dark blue of his eyes. Then he glanced at her suit.

“If I didn’t know you better,” Bess could smell the beer on him. The stale cigarettes. “I’d say you were going the same way as your Roberta.” He looked her up and down, amusement evident on his features.

At this closeness, Bess’ worry returned. When he’d returned, the first thing she noticed about him was the hollowness of his cheeks. The way the skin clung his cheekbones like wax. In the red light of the Palais, his pale skin looked near translucent, and his eyes…

His brow bone jutted forward, casting them into shadow. Below, the soft skin beneath his lower lashes sagged, as though gravity was working harder to root him in one place. She’d seen this dogged look before. On her father. What a sinister concoction; grief and grain.

Gently, as though calming a wounded animal, Bess whispered in Tom’s ear. “Go home, my love-”

“I haven’t got one,” Tom slurred, blinking slowly, that ridiculous smile still plastered on his face.

“Albie’s bed is always made up, just sle-”

“In a dead man’s bed?” The sisters and their companions each took a sharp breath. “I’ll not be tempting fate, ‘my love’,” Tom tapped Bess on the nose. “Besides, I’m here for a dance.” He held out a hand, the other still firmly in his pocket as he swayed on the spot. “Come on,”

“No,”

There it was. That wrinkled brow and jutted jaw. He knew he was pushing it. Still, as he always did, he carried on.

“Why do you have to go around winding the rest of us up? That’s what you do.” Vic’s voice joined the chorus of ghosts in Tom’s mind. He shook his head.

“Come on,” he waggled the hand he held out to Bess. “Gotta dance with my best girl while I’m back.”

“I said no.”

With speed unexpected of a drunk, Tom made a beeline for Bess. Just as his arms made to grip her close to his body, someone blocked his path.

“Go away, Tom.”

His held jolted backwards before his body, and he stumbled. “Fuck,” he said. In this light, in this state, the Vaughn girls all looked the same. Steely, dark eyes were boring into his. It was only the smaller stature of the girl before him that gave it away.

“Dotty-”

“Go away-”

“Oh shut up, Dot. You’ll never get a fella with a mouth like that,” Roger and Cora straightened at the bar. Bess came to stand at her sister’s side. Frank gripped Queenie by the arm and steered her away. This was it. The showdown. The two cockiest kids in Longsight. Dot Vaughn and Tom Bennett.  “Shut up and use your mouth for something useful-”

SMACK

The force with which Dot walloped Tom near gave him whiplash. Like a felled tree, he hit the ground hard. No sooner was he looking up at the three red-headed furies, was someone dragging him along the ground. For the second time that night, someone had Tom by the scruff of his collar. His feet struggled to find footing as whoever had hold of him pulled him towards the door. He looked up.

“Fuck me. Didn’t think you had it in you Rog.”

The pilot said nothing, only continued to drag Tom from the Palais. The clacking of high heels followed the pair, and as Roger hurled Tom onto the damp road outside the dancehall, Cora came into view.

Tom lay there for a few seconds, looking up at the dark sky as drizzle speckled his face.

“Get up.”

“You gonna fight me, Rog?” He received no reply and, with great difficulty, stood up. His head was beginning to pound, as though his brain was fight to break free from his skull.

Roger’s arms were folded against his chest. Tom had never realised, despite Roger’s lanky height, how imposing he was. In his uniform, he looked like the perfect poster boy for the British military. Beside him, Cora glared.

“Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was quiet, challenging him to dare to fight back. Tom rolled his shoulders and squared his jaw.

“Pub.”

Cora tutted. “I might have guessed.”

“Saw your dad there,”

“I’m sure.” Cora’s eyes hadn’t left Tom’s. Her feet hadn’t faltered. All that distinguished her from a statue were the few strands of hair waving in the cold night air.

“Gave him a piece of my mind-”

“A very small piece then.”

Tom snorted. “Was there celebrating your happy news. Congratulations, by the way.” He added as an aside. “Never seen him at the pub so happy, usually there to forget his own fuck ups. Wouldn’t catch me in that state-”

“You’ve got a nerve.” Cora snapped. “Dadda’s got his faults but don’t think for a second that you don’t have your own, Thomas Bennett.”

Cora walked towards him, her steps so slow and purpose that for the first time in his life, Tom was scared of her. She folded her arms and looked at him with disgust.

“You’re not the only one that’s suffered-”

“Tell you about this afternoon, did she?” Tom shouted. Cora raised her eyebrows and he silenced like a petulant child.

“No, Bess didn’t,” Behind her, Roger watched on. He didn’t move, flanking her like a sentinel solider. “But I’ve known you long enough to know you’re a jumped-up little shit who never put much store by other people’s feelings, BE QUIET!” she shoutedwhen Tom opened his mouth to argue. “You’re not the only one that’s fighting. That’s lost someone. Roger flies over Germany every other night, looking at the destruction we’re wreaking. Coming home to discover who he lost along the way. You know Vernon was the last to go down? Disappeared over the Channel. I don’t suppose you’ve thought for one second that Lois lost her father and her fiancé?”

Tom shifted uncomfortably.

“That we loved your father too? That we lost our Albie?” Cora’s voiced wobbled and a few tears fell from her eyes. Her gaze, however, did not waver. “I can’t imagine what horrors you’ve seen, Tom, but it isn’t plain sailing here. The fear of getting bombed every night, worrying if we’ll ever see you all again? Pretending it’s all smiles when you come home in case you see the cracks and crumble. Because what’s the point of fighting for a world that doesn’t exist anymore?”

Finally, she brushed her tears from her eyes. With a shaky breath, as if to set herself right, Cora straightened.

“It’s not the world against Tom Bennett. I know it feels like it-”

“No you don’t.” Tom said bitterly. “You don’t have a fucking clue.” And with the little pride he had left, he turned on weak legs, stumbled down the nearest ginnel, and vanished from sight.

Next morning, Bess rose as the sun crept over the brick red houses of Longsight.

Beside her, Dot and Cora were sleeping soundly, their arms cast over each other’s waists. Slowly, so as not to wake them, Bess drew back the quilt and crept onto the landing. The floorboards creaked and she stilled. No-one stirred.

Tentatively, she opened the door to her father’s bedroom.

He was slumped, half sat against the cold wall, atop his bed. Albie’ remained empty, his folded jumper and photograph sat neatly on top of the covers.

A swell of dread rushed over Bess and she felt sick. So it had been dadda stumbling around the house, not Tom.

Fergal’s misuse of alcohol was no secret about the street, and every neighbour knew his routine. His daughters knew it better. Six o’clock. If Fergal wasn’t working as an air raid warden, he would arrive home from the dockyard, ready for his supper. After reading the newspaper and listening to the girls talk about their days, he would depart for the pub at approximately twenty past seven. If drinking at The Crown, he would be allowed room under one of the tables and arrive home next morning with the milk float or the postman. If The Red Lion took his fancy, Old Arthur, for that was what the girls had always called the publican, gave him board in the small flat he kept above the pub. Only if Fergal drank at The Swan did he stagger home, for Mrs Mallory always cast him out at eleven o’clock.

On tiptoe, Bess hurried down the stairs. The hammering of her heart doubled. Tom was not slumped on the piano stool, nor was he at the table or in Fergal’s armchair.

This was it. His years of aggravating, pestering, hiding, skiving and shirking had finally caught up with him. Or, someone had caught up with him.

Terrified, worried and entirely unsure of what to do, Bess busied her hands by rummaging through the Welsh dresser drawers. Flicking through dressmaker’s patterns, ones belonging to herself, her mother and her sisters too, she pulled out a set for women’s slacks.

For Kasia¸ she thought. Well, that was that job done.

Curled up in her father’s armchair, Bess watched the world beyond the window wake up. Mrs Mason collected the milk bottles from her front step. Dennis Warley, the miserable postman, began his rounds. A few men Fergal’s age cycled to work. She looked at the clock. Half past six. At seven, she would wake Cora, and together they would hunt from Tom. What good was it now, when most of the city was still sleeping? Who could help?

A sudden wailing caused Bess to startle. She jumped up from the armchair, clutching the trouser pattern to her chest. Dot looked lazily up from the table. Cora placed a plate of bacon and eggs upon it, and hurried to the window where baby Vera, in her Moses basket, continued to cry.  

“Got used to living alone and don’t want to share the bed?” Dot poured herself a cup of tea.

“Probably fed up of your snoring,” said Cora good-naturedly, the delight of Roger’s proposal radiating from her. “But Bess, love, why were you sleeping in the armchair?”

“I must have just drifted off,” Bess brushed the frizzy hair from her face. “Went to check in on dadda’s room. Tom didn’t stay last night, Cora.” Much to her surprise, Cora did not seem worried. Instead, she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Bess felt the temper she inherited from their mother spark into life. “Cora?”

“Connie said she saw him last night, on her way to her shift on the ambulance. Was with Frank and some other lads.” Dot said through a mouthful of food. Cora tutted.

“He-oh. Ok,” Bess deflated, relief Tom was alright and embarrassment at her assumptions fighting for pitiable dominance. “Connie was here?” She moved forward to take the now whinging Vera from Cora.

“Mhmm,”

“Dorothy Vaughn. Don’t eat with your mouthful.”

Dot swallowed pointedly at Cora and turned back to Bess. “She brought Vera over.”

“Why?”

Dot faced her sister fully and grasped her cup of tea eagerly in her hands. After new dresses, Dot’s favourite thing was gossip. “Lois had to go to the infirmary. Was helping a family out of a house that got hit in the raids last night over in Fallowfield, and the house came down around her. She’s fine,” Bess had gasped. “Cut her head but just fine. That’s why Connie brought Cora. Lois is resting.” Dot punctuated her news with a long slurp of tea.

Bess sat at the table beside her sister, Vera now settled back to sleep. “Tom won’t know, about Lois, he’ll have no idea-”

“Doubt she wants him to know.” Dot said matter-of-factly. Again, Cora tutted.

“Dot, stop being cryptic and-”

“Well,” Dot launched herself into hurried speech. “Connie told us that Lois told her that her and Tom had an argument the day he got back-something about Douglas dying and him not knowing-anyway he got all angry with Lois saying that if she’d been there then he-Douglas that is-might not have died-”

“Breathe, Dot.”

“-and of course Lois didn’t like that and gave him a piece of her mind about working on the ambulance and doing her bit for the war effort, and then Tom-get this Bess-Tom turned round and said her job was to look after Douglas and Vera!” She took a deep breath and another sip of tea.

The anger caused by Cora’s apathy was nothing compared to the flame roaring into life now. Bess’ cheeks reddened, her eyes darkened, and a rigidity settled in her bones that God himself could not have shaken.

“Oh he did, did he?”

Three miles away, in a terraced house that edged Cringle Park, Tom Bennett woke. The bedsprings beneath his back were hard, a few pressing into his bony side, and the frame wobbled as he struggled to get up.

Bile rose to his throat and he lay down again. Above him, the ceiling spun. At its centre, the ceiling light had been draped in a rose silk scarf. Turning his head slowly so that it lolled on the pillow, Tom looked over the vanity table. Make up covered its counter, and few dresses in reds, pinks and purples were crumpled on the stool.

Beside him, the clock read just after eight o’clock. Its ticking was so loud inside his head it sounded like machine gun fire, and he groaned. The knock that came at the door was thunderous and Tom thought the sound alone would make him vomit.

“Morning, pet,” A high voice said. “Brought you a cuppa. Poor thing,” a soft hand touched his forehead, as though testing his temperature, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Tom rubbed his bleary eyes and took the tea from the person above him. Perfectly manicured nails, ringlets, red lipstick and the overpowering smell of lavender.

“Cheers, Queenie.”

Notes: Cigarette cards (sometimes called tart cards, if they had women on) were banned in Britain at the start of 1940 because the government indeed declared them a “waste of raw material”. I don’t know about elsewhere, but in Britain “to roger” someone is to have sex, usually in a bit of a rough manner. In research, I also read a study about the increase in domestic violence post-WWI, in households with soldiers returning to civilian life. Fuck war and fuck the men that start them. 

Thank you to @arcielee, who helped me unfuck this chapter more than she realises! There’s a line direct for one of our chats in here. And thanks again to @theoneeyedprince for help with the Polish. Below is the inspo for Bess’ outfit. Saw it and knew she’d wear it.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey@multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234@babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandompromptsside @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol@beiigegalx@skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools@aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictore @shmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs @blairfox04

[dirtyvulture]

😎 R definitely needs someone to almost force their help and care onto her because there is no way in hell R is allowing that to happen other wise. She also needs it for receiving love and support and affection because she herself had long  convinced herself that she doesn’t deserve any of that was listed above. The world and life and people around her convinced her of this and the Hudson family line starting with Esther was like “ Lol 😂 no bicth we are going to love , support and take care of your ass . Whether you like it or not !” R is like “ 😤😤😤 Fine …….. Thank you 🥺🥺🥺”

I said before that R either named the truck Esther because the truck is Red and made a inside joke out of it but now I think it is a bit more than that ( don’t get me wrong She still laughs and it still amuses the hell out of her) Esther was so important to R and R loved ( still loves her , vultures can decide if that love is platonic or romantic) her with all her heart. R would have wanted something to have and to honor her Fiery WWI nurse , the one she shared a invention of lifetimes. So I think R would have chosen that one over the second choice I provided of R naming the truck Betty Carver which was just something to amuse her ( already wrote down the reason behind that in a different post) . Betty Carver doesn’t have or hold the same meaning and even if R doesn’t admit it she is sentimental and does keep sentimental items ( she only has her truck ) . But as always it is up to Vulture in choosing that ( plus it would be a great  reference like you said you wanted to make for Esther but again totally up to you) .

For the buzzfeed like show 100  percent got one of the little kids that R saved and tended to in WWII . Because you know for a fact R was HUNTING DOWN those camps and RIPPING APART EVERYFUCKINGTHING to save those people and those kids . There was scores of people who ended themselves because that was the better option to facing the Vengeful Spirit , Guardian Angel , Cryptid , Whatever they believed R to be. There are people and historians that believe it was to avoid facing their war crimes and justice but noooo it was to avoid facing THE WOLVERINE ( Evil German Mustache Man was one of them , that was the real reason for it because R was COMING FOR HIS ASS !!!!) . The person that BuzzFeed like show got was a little kid that R carried out of one of those Godforsaken camps after R liberated the people and later tended to that kid. There are also so many documentaries and other specials  dedicated to what R is and why R is the way she is but also to everything she did and everyone she saved .

There are still scars on the land and marks from WWI and II all over Europe. There are still places inhabited or non habitable because of all the gases still in the land from those wars , still equipment and LANDMINDS .  Explosives that never went off still there from WWI and II. We also established that R runs around marking up trees and screaming when she is on her period, well there was nothing but trees around her in both world wars . You can see were this is going and why people thought R was some kind of Cryptid .

People in WWI and WWII ( Plus Esther Hudson and WWII Nurse Hudson) : Hears UNHOLY SCREAMS and sees the trees all CRAVED with the mark of X “ What the ever loving FUCK 😨😨😨?!?!?!!!” R : Using the only outlet available to her on her period because any medication would never work on her as pain relief.

People in all the wars and Hudson line afterwards dealing with the same thing : 🤷‍♀️🤷 “ ✨Just Cryptid things ✨” R : Same thing as before.

This is the last few bits of the post . Maybe R saw people in the beginning of WWI thinking she was some kind of Spirt , Angel, Cryptid and took it one step further and really played into it while protecting her charges and while she was liberating people in Camps in WWII. She  purposely marked and craved trees. Used the explosions , dust kicking up , smoke and the chaos of war to her advantage. And Singing oh god did she used singing ( something that R used to calm and soothe was now used to unnerve and cause paranoia) to those she HUNTED on those battlefields in the name of protecting her charges. She also LET THEM see how she can take bullets , gas and anything else with out dying. R may not be a Angel, Spirit, Cryptid but she earned those titles and names , she made them BELIEVE IT . I also believe that Esther and WWII Nurse Hudson started a “ How to take care of your Wolverine” and the Hudson of whatever war at the time added to it. To teach each Hudson how to take care of the Family Wolverine . Plus Esther 1000 percent started with the Hudson family nick name for R being “ Wolvie” . I have a few more thoughts on this but will put it in a different post because I don’t want this to be too long. But when R does find that kid she once save that made it on the buzz feed like show and gives them the card , R puts an X at the end so the person knows it is from her .

If only R could find another person who would love and take care of her... 😉

Unfortunately, after the events of Darkest Knight Part 2, R lost the truck. :( And her motorcycle lmao. I'd like to think that both vehicles had names and were sentimental to her, but also at the end of the day, R knows the impermanence of things and not to hold on to them too tightly.

R's going to have a Wikipedia page for her feminine product inventions AND being a cryptid in 2 world wars. 😭

The "How to take care of your wolverine" book is such a cute idea lol. If the Hudson family had a crest, they would definitely be rocking a wolverine on it. :)

[carolmunson]

starting from zero, got nothing to lose (V)

part i part ii part iii part iv part v

two new bombshells have entered the villa. (jk, but we do get a brief appearance of dusty and steve and it’s cute.)

tony and eddie have a chat about the fight, dose makes eddie embarrassed, steve isn’t having luck with the ladies, and eddie and ron hash it out in a diner.

(i wanted to make eddie awkward but also he sort of ended up really hot in this?)

i don’t think there’s any CW’s here, it’s a pretty fluffy chapter all around. they do smoke cigarettes at one point, and there are some bodily threats that don’t go anywhere.

A few nights had gone by since Eddie's fight with Rhonda and he honestly could not stop thinking about it. He replayed it in his head over and over, heat and anger bubbling in his chest every time he recalled her saying ‘Betty ‘Apple Pie’ Cunningham’ with her stupid smug face. It helped whenever he’d practice with the punching bags at Gleason’s before or after his shifts, numbing that ache in his chest with every hit. Deep down, he knew leaving her there alone was bothering him the most – She deserved it , he would justify, she was being a bitch . 

She doesn’t know about Chrissy, she doesn’t know about Vecna, you have to cut her some slack – she just doesn’t know , the rational part of his brain would argue. The internal struggle of hating her but trying to see it from her point of view was frustrating. Eddie hated maturing, it made him less right all the time. 

He gathered up his stuff in the men’s locker room to leave after another tiring mid-day shift. His balled up his coverall fell haphazardly out of his leather satchel while closing it up. 

“Munson,” he heard a familiar gruff voice call to him, “Haven’t seen you in a few days, you been hidin’ out on me?” 

Eddie blew his bangs out of his eyes, “Hey Tone, long time no see.” 

“Where’ve you been, dude? Haven’t seen you here or at Skid since Saturday,” he said, “Ron scare you off?” 

“No, man,” Eddie said, fatigue tugging at his eyes, “Just two ships passing in the night, I guess.” 

“Look, Ron told me what happened, she’s been feelin’ real bad about it,” Tony said in a low, apologetic tone, “Don’t tell her I told you that, I’ll never hear the end of it. You told her, her music sucks, huh?” 

“Let me guess,” Eddie said, rubbing the back of his neck, “That’s the worst thing I could’ve done?” 

“Oh no, the worst thing you could’ve done was leave her in the bar by herself at night,” his face was smiling, but his eyes were dark. 

“Tony, things were getting heated, I would never do that–” 

“I don’t need to hear it man, I promise,” he said, “I’m not mad at you, I totally get it. Rhonda makes guys wanna rip their hair out all the time. But I’ll promise you this…” Tony got quiet and close to Eddie’s face, he could see a smattering of gray in his stubble and smell the Listerine on his breath. Tony’s dark blue eyes flashed a bit, keeping steady contact with Eddie so intently, he almost wanted to look away. 

“If I ever find out that you left Ron alone, or in a position where she could get hurt, I will kill you,” his voice was grisly, “Capiche?” 

Eddie nodded, a shiver ran up his chest into his throat, his brown eyes like saucers, “Yeah, c-capiche man. Won’t happen again.” 

Tony’s smile broke across his face again, showing off his straight white teeth, “Don’t mean to freak you out dude, but I told you – that’s my Ronnie.” 

“She told me you dated,” Eddie said, putting his bag on one of the benches and adjusting the buckles at the bottom. 

“So then you’ll believe me when I tell you that it’s like pullin’ teeth to get her to apologize for something,” Tone explained, “And she wants to.” 

Eddie looked up at him, surprised, “Wants to?” 

“I don’t know what magic you have trapped in that fuckin’ mullet of yours kid, but suddenly she’s feelin’ all bad. Waiting for you to come in the door like a kicked puppy so she can say sorry – I wish it were me! She’s still on my last nerve,” he was exasperated, almost annoyed. 

“So I’ll level with ya, make this easier for both of you. You work tomorrow? Got any plans?” he asked. Eddie shook his head no.

“That’s what I like to hear. She’s up at Roosevelt hospital on Thursdays, all morning into the afternoon. She gets out around three through the front lobby, you should go meet her when she gets out tomorrow,” Tony took a seat on the bench, unlacing his Doc Martins to switch into his sneakers. 

“What’s in it for you?” Eddie asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder again. 

“I don’t have to deal with that little sad sack moping around my bar,” he said, “You know she’s already got a bad attitude, imagine her when she’s a little bummed out? The worst. Again, please do not tell her I said this, I will not hear the end of it. She’s everywhere, she haunts me.”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie smiled, “Yeah, I can make it to Roosevelt tomorrow.” 

“Ugh, brother, you are saving my life,” Tony said, grabbing his ringed hand. 

Eddie laughed, shaking his hand free and clapping him on the shoulder the way Tony always did to him. As he got to the door of the locker room he heard Tony's soft singing to himself echo off the tiled walls.

“ Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match. Find me a find, catch me a catch…” 

— “I promise you Dose, it’s not a date.” 

“Even if it’s not Edward, you can not wear that you look so…you look like you don’t care about impressing her,” Dosia complained from the couch.

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, but couldn’t help but smile through his sigh at her, “I am never asking you if I look okay again, if this is how you’re gonna react.” 

“It’s just…can’t you wear a little less black? Something more cheery? It’s a date right? To impress her? You told me you hurt her feelings,” she asked. 

“Yes, I’m going to apologize to her, no it’s not a date,” he said, “I’m meeting her at a hospital.” 

“Well, the shoe fits then,” she said, gesturing towards his outfit, “You look like you’re going to a funeral, anyway.” 

Eddie laughed, “You’re still so sharp, you know that?” 

Dosia crossed her legs and huffed, smoothing the muted pink velvet blanket over her. Her frosty white nails skated over the green and white striped couch, “Do not ask for my advice if you’re not going to take it, kochanie . Oh by the way, your friend, the little one, he called.” 

“Dustin?” Eddie asked, his chest bubbling with excitement. 

“You should call him back, he said it was important,” Dosia held her hand to her forehead dramatically, “Go, go, I cannot bear to look at you anymore, it’s making me depressed.” 

Eddie shook his head at her, walking into his room to pick up the landline on his bedside table. He looked at the clock while he dialed the number and thought it was weird that he’d call while he was at school.

“Eddie?” he heard on the other end of the line. 

“Hey Henderson,” Eddie said, a smile plastered onto his face at the sound of his friend’s voice, “How’s it going, shouldn’t you be in like, fourth period right now?” 

“I skipped,” Dustin said, matter of factly. 

“Ooooh, not cool man, c’mon, don’t be like me,” Eddie said, untangling the coiled cord on the phone so he could give himself a once over in the mirror. 

“It’s just one day, I’m trying to get my character sheet ready for tomorrow,” he said, “I wanted your help.” 

“Erica’s on your ass, huh?” Eddie chuckled, “That’s my girl. Knew I left Hellfire in the right hands. I wish I could help you more dude, but I kind of have to get going. Dose said it was important, is everything okay?” 

“I always say it’s important so you’ll call me back,” he said. 

“It doesn’t have to be important for me to call back, Henderson, just call,” Eddie told him. He held up the orange sweater Dosia got him for Christmas to his chest, balancing the receiver between his cheek and his shoulder. 

“Where do you have to be? Hot date or something?” Dustin teased, a chuckle reverberating through the earphone. 

“Uhhh, sorta,” Eddie responded, a little distracted, tossing the sweater on his bed.

“Wait, really?” he asked, his interest perking up, “You have a date tonight? Steve hasn’t even talked to a girl since last year. ” 

“Last year was a week ago, man.” Eddie could hear Dustin laughing on the other end of the phone, talking to someone else in the room, “Eddie’s already getting more action than you .” 

“Henderson, are you kidding me right now? Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson has a date tonight and I’m here with you twerps?” Eddie could clock that bored, annoyed voice anywhere. 

“Is that Harrington?” Eddie asked, he heard the clatter of another line picking up. 

“Yeah, it’s me, don’t lose your shit,” Steve’s voice was much clearer now. Eddie could still hear Dustin laughing behind him. 

“Having some trouble finding love in the ‘90s, Steve-o?” Eddie asked, checking himself out at every angle in the mirror, still, “Need some advice?” 

“Yeah, ha, ha, I get it, it’s very funny – look, I don’t need dating advice from someone who still plays Dungeons and Dragons, but I do have a favor to ask,” Steve said shortly. 

“Ask away, big boy.” 

“Are you gonna be around, we uh,” Steve’s voice hushed a little, “We gotta get Robin the hell outta dodge.” 

“Oh shit,” he said, grabbing the phone with his hand and switching ears, “Is everything good?” “As good as it can be, but I think her folks are starting to catch on man,” Steve said, “I was gonna drive with her over to you. We were gonna see if we could find her a place. You gonna be free at all, soon?” 

“I mean yeah, but – my roommate–” 

“The old Polish lady? Yeah, Dustin told me about that, that’s weird man–” 

“Sh-shut up, Harrington. Dosia’s going to visit her son in Jersey for a week really soon, you can come around then. Do you have that much time?” 

There was a brief silence, “Uh yeah, yeah. Just keep me posted so we can ask for some time off work.” 

“Make him go to class, dude,” Eddie pleaded, “I gotta go.” He hung up and took a deep breath. He missed his friends, even if they were stupid kids.

He checked his watch and cursed a little, heart thumping in his chest. He had to go before he’d miss her leaving the hospital. He shrugged on his leather jacket, expertly sliding his vest over it, and double checked his pockets for his wallet and keys. Both were secure on the chain dangling down his thigh. 

“Good luck, przystojny!” Dosia called out while the door shut behind him, "Go fetch me another daughter-in-law!"

— Right on time. 

From the base of the steps, he saw her struggle to push open the door, he tried not to laugh at her. 

“Hey!” he called out, waving her over to him. She stopped in her tracks, peering down at him from the door. 

“Munson?!” she called back. 

“Yeah! It’s me! I came to say sorry!” Oh my God, Munson, why did you just yell that?  She pattered down the steps, making quick work of getting over to him. 

“Hi,” she said, hoisting her back pack high on her shoulder. 

“Oh,” he said, looking her over, “You look different.” Her hair was up in a claw clip, just her permed bangs and some fallen hair framing her cheeks fell out of it. Eyeshadow replaced by a swipe of mascara, the bite of the cold as her blush. The only thing that he recognized was the scent of chapstick on her lips. He could see a smattering of freckles across her face. She looked younger, but more lived in. 

“I mean I don’t wear makeup to the hospital, it’s not that kind of gig,” she confessed, looking down at her winter boots. She rubbed her knees together nervously, the light wash denim swishing together.

“I don’t mean that you look bad!” Eddie backtracked, “You just look different. You still look, you know, you still look like you. You still look pretty.” He felt his stomach turn, hoping desperately that the next thing out of his mouth sounded cool. 

“Thanks,” Rhonda said, not meeting his eyes, focused on a loose string on her jacket. 

“Um, uh, have you eaten? Can I get you some lunch or coffee or something?” he asked, “There’s a diner like, a block away.” 

“Kind of late for lunch, don’t you think?” she asked, finally looking up at him. She put her hands in her pockets, rocking on her heels.

He shrugged, “Late lunch, then?” 

“I guess,” she smiled at him. Eddie's heart jumped to his throat as he walked with her away from Roosevelt.

‘Every SINGLE time she comes in from that clinic she spends the first hour of her shift going “I’m hungry, I’m hungry.” And I tell her every time, eat some fuckin’ LUNCH, Rhonda. You never even eat breakfast, no wonder she’s always in a bad mood. She lives off spite and Marlboros, I swear t'God.’ A rant of Tony’s from a week ago played back in Eddie’s mind. Tony owed him, now she’d be fed and feel better about their fight. It’ll be the best shift of his life. 

They slid into a booth, Eddie nervously drumming his fingers on the table and smiling up at the waitress who poured them each a cup of coffee, “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it,” she drawled. He watched Rhonda reach for the little creamers and three packs of sugar. She slapped the packs on her hand, ripping off the top of two, pouring them into the cup, and then only adding a quarter of the other in. 

“Two and a quarter?” he asked. 

She smiled while pouring one of the mini creamers in, “I’m sure it doesn’t make a difference but I’ve always done it like that. My dad was the same. Medium, hot, cream, two-ish sugars, whatever ‘ish’ means. He’d have me go in the morning and get it for him–” 

“Y’know, until I started stealing the change,” she tapped the spoon off the edge of the mug after stirring and put it on the napkin next to her. Rhonda held her coffee with both hands, resting her elbows on the table and looking at Eddie through the steam. 

“Tony told you to come here, didn’t he?” she asked. He choked on his own coffee. 

“Uh, no, no,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Don’t lie, Munson, how else would you know when I got off?” she asked. 

“So he might’ve told me to come meet you, is that a crime?” he asked. 

“Not in the same way that Motörhead shirt is,” she said, smirking into a sip from her mug.

“You know,” he said, leaning on his forearm and elbow, gesturing to her, “In fifth grade, my teacher used to tell me that if girls were mean to me it meant they had a crush on me.” 

“Oh honey,” she cooed, putting her hand down on the table, “He was lying. They were mean to you because you’re weird.” 

Honey. Honey. Honey. He wanted to reach down and grab her hand, feel how warm it was, see what it would be like to lace her fingers with his — ‘Betty ‘Apple Pie’ Cunningham’. His nostrils flared.

“So, I came here to apologize to you for leaving you at Skid,” Eddie started, a small jolt of anger flashing in his chest, “But I feel like you need to apologize to me first. You said some really awful shit.” 

She was quiet for a minute and put her coffee down on the table, skating her hand back to rest on her forearms.

“I did,” she said, “And I felt really bad about it after, but I also was mad that you left me at the bar, that wasn’t cool. I thought you’d at least come by and fix the gate Saturday so we could talk about it.” 

“I’m sorry I left you at Skid,” he said sincerely, “I’m really sorry. I was just feeling like — I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t made up that name.” 

“What name?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Oh!” she remembered, surprised at that being the reason, “The Betty Cunningham thing?” 

He sighed, quickly trying to come up with a watered down version of the truth, “So, like you so poignantly pointed out, I did have a crush on the head cheerleader in high school. I liked her for like…ever, since I was in middle school.” 

“And one day during my uh, my third , senior year, she asked if she could buy some weed off me which like, wow, y’know. Hawkins’s little princess asking me, Eddie The Freak Munson who she hasn’t spoken to since like, 8th grade, for drugs was pretty wild. So we met up in the woods and like, she was just so nice? We had such a good time talking to each other and I gave her a ride to my place to sell her some shit. And I thought for a little you know, ‘Hey, maybe this could be something,’”  his voice fell to something a sullen, “‘Cause I was feeling some kind of connection…I don’t know, maybe I made it up. But it didn’t really matter cause um…”

Eddie bit his lip, his chest still getting tight at the memory. He laced his fingers at the center of the table. 

“She passed away,” he said looking down at the table. He heard Rhonda let out a soft gasp, “Her name was Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham. So, yeah…now you know.”

“Ed I’m — I’m so sorry,” she said, placing her hand over his fingers, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” 

“I know you didn’t, and it’s okay, I just wanted you to know why I left. It doesn’t excuse anything or whatever, it just really hurt my feelings,” he confessed, his cheeks burning at the feeling of her hand on his. Her dark red manicured nails were shining in the harsh light of the diner, her thumb slid back and forth on the back of his hand. Eddie's heart thrummed in his chest again.

“What can I get you folks?” The waitress asked while walking up to the table, order pad in hand.

“Can I just get the house burger and fries, please? Medium rare.” Ed asked, “And a coke.” 

“And you, sweetheart?” she asked.

“Uh, I think I’m good—“

“Order some fuckin’ lunch, Rhonda,” Eddie muttered, his cadence sounding a lot like—

“Oh, I didn’t know Tony was here,” she murmured sarcastically, turning her attention to the waitress, “I’ll have the same.” 

“How do you think I know you never eat lunch after a stint at the hospital, and then complain for your whole entire shift about how hungry you are?” Ed asked while the waitress walked away scribbling down their orders. 

She held her mouth open in fake shock, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, “Stop, he didn’t say that.” 

“All he does at Gleason’s is complain about you, can’t imagine why. You’re not stubborn, or mean, or impatient, or scathing at all,” he said, unlacing his fingers to lace her hand into his own, “Don’t know where he gets those ideas.” 

She blushed, “Shut up, Munson.” She gently pulled her hand away, her fingertips lingered on his for a moment before grabbing her coffee again. His hands felt clumsy and empty when he wasn't holding hers anymore.

“Oh, I talked to Spike,” she said, quickly swallowing a sip, “About your weird game. Dragons and Draping, or whatever.” 

“Dungeons and Dragons, Ron,” he said, “It’s Dungeons. And. Dragons. D, and, D.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, one of their guys just got put in Rikers so, they are looking for someone to do the um..the…story! To tell the story? I don’t know what the fuck it is,” she said.

“He needs a new DM for their campaign?” he asked.

“YES! That,” she pointed at him, “That, whatever that means. He’ll be at Skid tonight cause Deb’s working and he has a big fat crush on her, you should come by.” 

“I was gonna offer to take you to work anyway, I took my car up here,” he said, drumming his fingers again, “If you want.” 

“Oh, I’m not supposed to get in the car with strangers, sorry,” she said, “Better luck next time.” 

“If I leave you up here to take the train when Tone knows I could’ve driven you, he’s gonna kick my ass.” 

“Yeah, that’s—that’s funny to me. That’s the point.” 

“Ron, I’m not asking. I’m telling you I’m driving you to Skid,” he said, “I’ll forgive you quicker if you let me ride you—um—I mean, drive you–Jesus. Christ.” He hid his face in his hands, his face red with embarrassment. 

“I mean you got something right, Munson. A lot of people have forgiven me quicker after I let them ride me,” she laughed. 

“Oh god,” he said, rubbing his eyes, laughing too, “Pretend you didn’t hear that.” 

They had to eat quickly, her shift at Skid was at 5 and she had to put her face on in the diner. With traffic, Eddie didn’t know how long it would be to get back downtown. When the check came, they stared at each other, daring the other to try and reach for it. 

“I’m paying, Munson, it’s my apology lunch,” she argued while pulling her wallet out of her backpack. 

“Rhonda Jean Riccio, if you don’t put that wallet away–” he warned, tossing a twenty on the table from a wad of bills in his hand. He slid the roll of twenties back in his pocket as discreetly as possible. 

“My full name?” she ‘tsk’d, “Are you and Tony giggling about me at sleepovers or somethin’?”

“Oh no, just complaining about you,” he said, sliding out of the booth. He straightened out his jacket while Rhonda put her coat back on. Red lipped and pretty, like the day he first met her. They walked outside in the cold air, the wind sending their hair spiraling. Eddie hunched into his leather jacket. 

“Wait inside, I have to go grab the van from a little down the street. I’ll swing around and get you,” he said, jamming his hands in his pockets. 

“You need a winter coat, Ed,” she said, adjusting her scarf. 

“M’alright,” he said, “Just wait inside while I get the car.” 

“You’re gonna freeze to death,” she laughed, stepping closer to him, “On second thought, don’t get a winter coat. You should freeze to death.” 

He nudged her with his shoulder and she nudged him back. Back and forth until they were both giggling.

"I have to get the car, Ron, c'mon," Eddie pleaded.

“Thanks for um, getting me lunch,” she said a little breathily. The tips of their feet were touching. He looked down at her, her eyes glinted in the light of the setting sun. Her lips were pouty and parted – he went numb. Eddie's bangs brushed her forehead while their eyes locked, noses brushing. Rhonda blushed while she looked up at him, his eyes serious but caring. Eddie swallowed hard, his heart hammered in his chest. He ran his tongue over his lips to wet them, cursing himself for not putting on chapstick. For eating something with onions on it. Rhonda could feel his breath on her cheek while he leaned in, sme–

“Oh! Shit, I forgot my lipstick in the booth. Let me go get it and I’ll meet you in the car,” she squeaked, “I’ll be right out.” He watched her spin and hop back into the diner, scurrying over to the booth. Eddie took a deep breath, watching the exhale smoke around him. 

“Get it together, Munson,” he muttered to himself, “It’s not a fuckin’ date.” 

He hustled to the van, feeling lucky he got it detailed just last week so she wouldn’t be sitting on cigarette ash and the back wouldn’t be filled with empty beer cans. He turned the ignition and cranked the heat so she wouldn’t be too shivery when she got in – uh – wait, no, it was so the van would be warm for him, it’s not about Rhonda. It wasn't a date.

He drove around the block to pull back up to the diner, seeing her in the doorway. Eddie beeped twice, tapping two cigarettes out and putting one in his mouth, lighting it with his zippo that made it out of the Upside Down with him. Rhonda hopped in, bouncing a bit on the seat. 

“Here,” he offered, passing her the cigarette between his fingers. 

“Oh thanks, um,” she put it in her mouth, “I don’t have a light on me, I left it at Skid.” 

He beckoned her forward, “I got it.” 

She leaned in while he put the tip of his cigarette to hers, blowing while she inhaled enough to light her own. She took a long drag, rolled the window down a crack, and let the smoke drift out of her mouth. 

“Whew!” she said, “Something about that lunch really made me crave a cigarette. Probably those fries, they were like, better than sex, right?” 

He changed gears, pulling out from in front of the diner and turning onto the road. He smirked, the cigarette still dangling out of his mouth as he did. Confidence swelled in his chest while putting one arm out behind her headrest and letting the other one lazily man the wheel. Metallica blared through the speakers, covering up the thrumming of his heart against his ribcage. 

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Better than sex, Ron.” 

‘I promise you, Dose, it’s not a date.‘  

[brothertonyvolturi22]

Remembering the honor of the ones that passed in 2022 Sonya eddy Barbara walters

Pope Benedict XVI Pele

Kirstie alley Stephen ' twitch' boss

Georgia holt grant Wahl

Queen Elizabeth II takeoff

Bob Saget Angela Lansbury

Sidney Poitier Olivia Newton - John

Robbie Coltrane Thierry Mugler

Andre` Leon Talley ray Liotta

Aaron Carter Leslie Jordan

Anne Heche Fred ward

Coolio Mike hodges

Jamie Lopez Dan reeves

Jay weaver grichka and Igor bogdanoff

Joan Copeland Kim mi-soo

Michael Lang Peter bogdanovich

Calvin Simon Marilyn Bergman

Ross browner Dwayne Hickman

James mtnme or mtwme. Maria Ewing

Chris Dickerson Melanie ham

Fred parris Deon lendore

Meat loaf. Steve schapiro

Charles Mcgee Yvette mimieux

Lusia Harris Gaspard Ulliel

Hardy Kruger Louie Anderson

Elza soares Clark gillies

Don Wilson Kathryn Kates

Thich nhat hanh bobbe long 'beegie ' Adair

Jean ramirez Ronnie spector

Dallas Frazier wavy navy pooh

Jon Lind adalia rose Williams

Clint arlis Jordan cashmyer

Rosa Lee Hawkins Breck Denny Jr.

Morgan Stevens Diego verdaguer

Peter Robbins rachik vachik mangassarian

Paul Carter Harrison dick Halligan

Betty Davis Emilio Delgado

Lee MacMillan Sam Bruce

Loretta Lynn Naomi Judd

Andy fletcher Bob Lanier

Kevin Samuels kailia posey

Niece waidhofer jaylon Ferguson

Gleycy correia James Caan

Tony Dow Ryan fellows

Luke Bell. Robert lupone

Don Anthony st. Claire Jesse Powell

Gavin Escobar PnB Rock

Robert Cormier Mikaben

And more rip

[ravagedarkness]

Spider-Man: Home Rebuilt, Chapter 40: The Bar

The two of us dozed off sometime later. I guess exhaustion kicked in. We didn’t get that much sleep on the plane, between me being mad at her, us working on a new suit, and her venting about a couple of major issues. So, in hindsight, I didn’t have much to complain about.

I was taken out of my sleep when I heard knocking on the door. In my ear, I heard MJ groan.

“Hey Michelangelo,” Craig hollered from behind the door. “Mr. La Roux wants to talk with us in his room.”

“I’ll be there in a minute!” I hollered back.

“Aight!”

I sighed. Michelle placed her forearm on her chest before she propped herself up.

“Duty calls, I’m guessing,” MJ said, voice raspy from slumber.

“Life as a superhero,” I replied.

A couple of minutes later, we were in Scott’s room. While I was still dressed in my t-shirt and grey sweatpants, MJ put on one of my pairs of jeans and a long sleeved shirt under my blue plaid button up.

“I hope all of you were able to rest well,” Scott said as he looked around at all of us.

“Surprisingly, yeah,” Craig replied. He then smirked devilishly. “How did you and Joanna rest?”

“Very well,” Joanna replied. She leaned her shoulder into Scott’s. “He’s quite good with his hands.” All of the American Idiots, myself included, looked straight at Scott with wide eyes. Scott, himself, looked like he would have turned bright red had it not been for his dark skin. Joanna chuckled. “Relax, everyone. He just gave me a backrub – one I really needed.”

“You should feel special,” Kitty commented. “Scott doesn’t give backrubs to any lady.”

At that, Scott cleared his throat. “Can we please get down to business?” he asked as Ned and Betty smothered a laugh behind their hands. “Anyway, we have a lead. Joanna, if you will.”

“I shall, sweetie,” she stated, prompting Scott to give her a glare. She chuckled a bit before a serious expression came over her face. “In all seriousness, though, I reached out to some of my contacts still within the area. There is a bar slash night club outside of Palm Springs, not too far away from here. A lot of people – especially Spring Breakers – flock to this place since they’re not really strict on checking the ID of their patrons. One of the regulars there is Doug Johnson III.”

“Is he a friend of yours?” I asked. At that, Joanna scoffed.

“Hardly an acquaintance, if that. He was recruited as part of Hammer Industries’ security team along with me. Like me, he has a military background – U.S. Army, in his case. Allegedly, serving runs in his family. He’d brag about how his grandfather was a part of the U.S. Air Force back when it was The Army Air Corps and that said grandfather even ran some missions with Captain America back in World War II. Doug The Third and I worked together for a little bit before he was reassigned. I didn’t think anything of it. He was rather forward about wanting to get into my pants, and I was this close to literally ripping his junk off, so I was glad he was gone.” At that, every guy in the room shifted in their spot uncomfortably. “But, unless he’s a jetsetter, he probably lives in this area. And, according to my contacts, he’s still employed with Hammer Industries.”

“Interesting,” Scott commented. He looked up towards the ceiling in thought for a moment. He then nodded. “Well, we can play it two ways. Plan number one, we go to this bar, we wait around until he shows up, and we get him to let his guard down. Plan number two, we try to find his address and do a stakeout. Either way, we’ll have to capture him and get some answers out of him.”

“The bar is the safer bet, I think,” Kitty spoke. “We can go to the bar and blend in. But depending on what neighborhood he lives in, driving through could put some unwanted attention on us.”

“So I’m guessing we’re using quick change outfits tonight?” Craig asked.

“I believe that would be best,” Scott confirmed.

“So what do we do?” Betty asked.

Scott stared at Betty for some seconds. He took in a breath. “…I’m tempted to tell you guys to stay here. But we’re on a trip together, and it’d be rather contradictory to our cover story if you three stay behind.”

Ned smiled. “Does that mean…?”

“That means you’re on a short leash,” Craig interjected. “And it also means if anything goes left, you guys haul.”

“We got it,” MJ replied.

“I do have my laptop with me,” Ned added. “I can stay in the SUV and be The Guy In The Chair, as per usual.”

“I’ll have Edith sync up with your laptop, in that case,” I stated. “Between your VPN and Edith, you should be able to help from outside.”

“Okay, we have one hour to get ready,” Scott declared. “I expect you all at the vehicle at that time. Understood?”

“Crystal,” Craig replied.

“Good.”

An hour later, we were in the SUV heading for the bar. We had to make a short stop, though – we were in need of gas. So, when we pulled into the gas station, everyone but Joanna and I filed out. With my glasses on, I had Edith shutdown the station’s surveillance system. After that, I quietly sat in the second row. Joanna was in the front passenger seat. After a couple of minutes of quiet, Joanna turned in her seat and looked at me.

“You can talk, you know?” she said with a smile.

I chuckled nervously. “Sorry,” I apologized. “I guess I’m just focused on the mission.”

“No worries. Um…” She tilted her head. “I have to ask, though. Are you a mutant?”

I shook my head. “I’m not.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Interesting. So how did you end up as an X-Man?”

“…It’s a long story.” I went quiet for a bit. Joanna looked at me. She then raised her hands.

“Okay, I get it. I’m still the outsider here.”

“It’s not that. It’s just…” I paused for a moment. “…When they found me, I was in a very, VERY bad place.”

“Did it have to do with Mysterio?” Joanna inquired.

I nodded. “It had a lot to do with Mysterio. Because what of he did, I was in a situation that I handled very badly. I… I was trying my very best to pick up the pieces and stupid me thought that it would be best for everyone, myself included, if I just cut ties with everyone and self-isolate and… the X-Men helped showed me that it was the opposite of best, you know?” I paused again. “…Everyone you see here with me? They basically saved my life – figuratively and probably literally, too.”

“A good support system is usually good for that,” Joanna stated. “I know I don’t know you that well, but I don’t think someone has to be mad close to you to know that a New York without Spider-Man is a worse place.” She gave me a smile, which I returned. “So, on a different note, what’s Scott’s deal? I feel like Craig’s been pushing me towards him hard. Now that I’m complaining, but…”

“Scott hasn’t dated anybody since he and his wife broke up,” I replied. “I don’t want to go into any details since it’s not my place to say, and I just got the SparkNotes version of what happened. But I can say they split on very good terms.”

“I see.” Joanna nodded as she slowly looked off to the side in thought. “Good to know.”

I smirked. “Do you like Scott? Like, you know, like-like.”

She looked back at me and returned the smirk. “MAAAAYBE.”

As she said that, the others returned. As Scott started pumping the gas, the rest of the American Idiots filed into the vehicle. MJ moved into the seat next to me. She then dumped a lot of protein bars into my lap, along with three bottles of Gatorade Fit and three cans of Celsius. I looked down at the stash, then at her.

“Eat, nerd,” she ordered.

After the short stop at the gas station, we made our way to the bar. The place… it looked rather shady. It was a decently sized brick and mortar building with tinted windows. It was two stories. There was a balcony, where two scantily clad women danced suggestively to the rhythm of the song that was blaring from inside. The only sign I saw was a neon sign that portrayed a martini glass and a music note.

“What is this place called, anyway?” Scott asked.

“It’s just called The Bar,” Joanna replied. “Not exactly the most brilliant name, I know.”

We pulled into the parking lot. There were people on the outside in the line to get in. All of us X-Men were in quick change outfits with our masks tucked away. Joanna, for her part, was dressed in pair of tight fitting jeans, a black halter top, and a pair of black flats. Betty wore a navy blue evening gown. MJ wore the same clothes she was wearing during the meeting in Scott’s motel room.

As Scott cut the ignition to the SUV, Ned had his laptop ready. Craig handed small communicators to everyone, and I used Edith to synch them all as we put the communicators in our respective ears. Ned passed around his laptop once he had Doug Johnson’s picture up. He had blond hair and blue eyes. He had quite the lantern jaw. In this picture, he had a smirk on his face. Honestly, he reminded me of B.J. Blazkowicz, minus the scar.

“That’s him,” Joanna confirmed. “I already made arrangements for us to have a table. It’s not VIP, but it’ll get us inside quickly.”

“Can’t ask for much more,” Scott replied. “Once we’re inside, we’ll keep our eyes open for Doug. Then we’ll work from there. Preferably, I’d like to isolate him and get him to talk.”

Joanna tapped her chin with her index finger as she pondered. “Um, isolating him won’t be too hard, I don’t think.” She looked at us. “Doug’s been fiending to get in my pants. Let’s make him think he’ll get his fix. When I see him, I can charm him. And when I get him alone, we can corner him.”

“…Okay, where are we going to corner him at?” I asked. Everyone else looked at me with a slight glare. I glared at them back. “I’m sorry, do I look like someone who goes to a bar or nightclub?”

Kitty sighed as she shook her head. “The bathroom, sweetie. We’ll be cornering him in the bathroom.”

I blushed as I looked down at my lap. MJ patted my shoulder consolingly.

“It’s not your fault Peter,” she cooed gently. “Not everybody is willing to have sex in public places like Ned and Betty.”

“Dude!” Ned exclaimed as Betty gave MJ a glare. Craig covered his mouth with his hand as he tried to hold back his laughter.

“Are you sure you want to go that route, Joanna?” Scott asked. “I don’t mind going with that plan, but I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

Joanna looked at Scott and gave him an earnest smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t down.” She then leaned over and whispered into Scott’s ear and whispered. “Besides, it takes a lot to get on this ride, and you’re the only one with the ticket.” I don’t think anyone else could hear it, but I heard it clearly. She pulled away and winked at Scott, leaving him with a blank expression. He then cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, it’s settled. Let’s go inside. Cover identities from here on out, okay?”

“Got it,” I replied. I then patted Ned on the shoulder. “Don’t get too bored.”

“I won’t,” he assured. “Let’s just get this guy.”

We made our way out of the car. Following Joanna, we made our way to the front of the bar. After a small chat with the bouncer, we were let in. We were met by a hostess up front, who led us to our table. As I had Edith scrub footage of us, I looked around and scoped the place out. It was dimly lit by lamps hanging from the ceiling. The air smelled like alcohol and tobacco. As we moved through the crowd, I noticed a lot of people giving us looks of interest. I didn’t know how to feel about that – I was still amazed that I managed to have MJ as my girlfriend. I still wasn’t used to being desired.

On the walls were random murals. I came to a stop when I saw a mural of myself – Spider-Man – with the word “Murderer” branded on my chest. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be here. I felt someone nudge me in the shoulder. I turned my head to see MJ smiling at me.

“Whoever painted that is definitely not earning an art scholarship,” she commented.

I raised my eyebrows briefly. “Yeah, but he definitely feels some type of way about Spider-Man.”

At that, MJ scoffed. “Fuck ‘em.”

I chuckled as we walked to catch up with the others. We ended up at a round table. As we took our seats, I used Edith to search through the surveillance system to find anyone that looked like Doug. But, there was no luck.

“How long are we going to be here for?” I asked.

“Probably one or two o’clock in the morning,” Scott replied. “It could be a while.” He looked at Joanna. “Are you sure he’ll be here?”

“My contacts are rarely wrong, Erik,” Joanna assured. “And even when they are, they’re only slightly off. He’ll be here.”

“So what do we until then?” Betty asked.

Joanna smirked. “Well… when in Rome…” She waved down a passing waitress. “Sweetheart, would you kindly get us a round Coke and Hennessy.” The waitress nodded before she walked away.

“Tempo, sweetie,” Scott whispered. “Need I remind you that – ”

“We’re blending in, aren’t we?” Joanna leaned in and rubbed her shoulder against Scott’s. “It’s going to look a bit suspicious if we’re at this table all night. Let’s all have drinks and have some fun as we keep our eyes open.”

“She kind of has a point,” Ned added, his voice sounding only slight distorted from over our communication devices. “Even with me and Edith, spreading out and having more eyes covering the ground couldn’t hurt.”

Scott paused for a moment. He then nodded. “Fine,” he conceded. As the waitress returned with our drinks, he held up his index finger. “But only one drink, you hear me?”

Joanna gave him a grimace. “You’re going to be that guy?”

“Yes I am.”

“Okay, Bloodsport,” Craig snarked. The waitress placed our drinks in front of us. After we gave her our thanks, Craig grabbed his glass and raised it. “To the safe rescue of Carmilla.”

“To the hell we’ll probably have to both go through and unleash for that to happen,” Joanna added as she raised her glass.

Betty raised hers. “To the extra cramming for finals I’ll have to do after this adventure,” she stated.

“To the X-Men kicking Scorpion and Hammer’s asses next time we get our hands on them,” Kitty chimed in, raising her glass well.

“To the aneurysm Jonah’s going to have when that happens,” Ned chuckled over through our communication devices.

“To being the girlfriend to both the dorkiest and most wonderful guy I know,” MJ said, raising her glass as she smiled at me.

Finally, I raised my glass. “…To finally feeling like I have all of the pieces picked up off of the ground.”

We brought our glasses together as we all muttered a nigh-collective “Cheers”. I then took a sip. I grimaced a bit. MJ laughed as she leaned against me. All of the others drank their respective drinks with no problems. Deciding to suck it up, I downed the rest of the drink before I placed the glass down.

“Alright, let’s split up,” Scott said. “Tempo you’re with me – shut the hell up Clayton – Michel, stick with Mary. And Reine and Clayton, you two stick with Elizabeth. I’m pretty sure Roderick would appreciate it.”

“Got it, Mr. Le Roux,” Craig replied as he pulled out a few bills and dropped them on the table. “Let’s make moves.” At this point, a song started to play. Craig smiled as he stood up. “Ah man, they’re playing a song from ho-, er, I mean… South Florida.” It took me a moment to realize that Craig forgot that we’re supposed to be from Houston. I gave him a pointed look, but listened to the song anyway.

“What is this?” I asked.

He smiled at me. “I’m So High by Grind Mode.”

“Dance with me nerd,” MJ demanded as she stood up and grabbed my hand. She pulled me up to my feet and dragged me to a spot on the floor that wasn’t occupied by people that were already dancing. She moved to the beat, and I soon followed suit. Using Edith, I kept tabs on the others by way of the security system, having her scrub the footage when I felt the need to. Joanna and Scott were off to the side, speaking with each other and looking like they were having a good time in each other’s company. Craig, Kitty, and Betty were dancing off to the side, just enjoying the music. This left me to multitask – to both have a good time with MJ and try to stay on the lookout. This was hard considering that MJ had her back against the front of my body as she grinded against me. I froze for a moment. MJ grabbed my hands and placed them on my hips.

“Move with me, will you?” she encouraged. I took in a breath.

“Edith, please alert me if anyone matching Doug’s description is seen on surveillance,” I ordered.

“Will do, Michelangelo,” Edith replied. “While I have you here, do I have to be concerned about your rising heartrate?”

I cleared my throat. “No, I’m good, Edith.”

I focused on dancing with MJ. As the songs continued to play – from 90’s/2000’s R&B hits like Say My Name and Jumpin’ Jumpin’ by Destiny’s Child, to more modern EDM songs like Revolution by Diplo, and even Afrobeats tunes like Peru by Fireboy DML – MJ and I continued to dance with no space between us. I couldn’t help but think of how quickly we’d get reprimanded, if not kicked out, for dancing the way we were if this was a Midtown High function. But, for the most part, I didn’t care. I was enjoying my time with MJ. The more we dance, the bolder I got as I my hands roamed her body, though I made sure not to get TOO brave with my exploration. At one point, I started kissing the side of her neck as she gently held my head against her shoulder.

We eventually took a break, sitting back at our table. She leaned against me and had her head on my shoulder.

“So, was it the alcohol that got you all touchy-feely, or do I bring that side out of you?” MJ asked in a mischievous tone.

I gave it a bit of thought. I then tilted my head briefly. “You know what?” I replied. “I think it may be both. But considering how quickly my body can metabolize alcohol, I’d say it’s more of the latter.”

“So you can’t get drunk?”

“Not even if I wanted. I know this because I tried once.”

MJ raised her head and looked at me. “…When?”

“It was two weeks or so after the You-Know-What.” Of course, I was referring to The Spell. “I had a particularly bad night of patrolling. I had to deal with this one idiot who think 5G towers are part of some worldwide conspiracy. So, of course he drove up to this tower in a truck fitted with enough C4 to make Fiona from Burn Notice rethink her life decisions. I couldn’t disarm it in time, so I had to drive this truck through the streets of New York and send it off a harbor. I dived out of the car before it went over, but it exploded before it could hit the water.”

“I remember that,” MJ stated. “There wasn’t any footage, but the witnesses were surprised you weren’t dead.”

“So was I,” I replied. I frowned. “I remember hiding out until I could heal enough to swing home. Once I did, I had to stitch myself up. It was painful. All I could think of was how I missed everyone and how’d they help me if they were there. So, I grabbed the cup of moonshine I was using as disinfectant – I ‘confiscated’ it from a mafia-ran hideout – and I downed the whole thing, trying to drown my sorrows. All that happened was me wondering if my urine would be flammable.”

MJ raised her eyebrows. “Um, full disclosure, you didn’t…?”

I scoffed. “No, MJ, I did not try to pee over an open flame.”

“That’d be one interesting way to improvise a flamethrower, though.”

“If by interesting, you mean painful, then I agree.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt everyone,” Edith spoke up. I turned my head off to the right. “There are a group of seven men who just entered. They’re making their way to the bar. One of them matches the picture shown on Ned’s laptop. I do believe it is Doug Johnson III.” I looked towards the bar. Sure enough, a group of six muscular men were making their way to the bar, dressed in jeans and white t-shirts.

“Oh would you look at that,” Craig commented. “If ‘Vitamins and Prayers’ was people.”

“Wouldn’t that be Hulk Hogan?” Ned pointed out.

“There is a list of Hulks and and list of Hogans I acknowledge. Hulk Hogan is not on either one of them.”

“Looks like it’s time for me to do my thing,” Joanna stated. There was a pause for a moment. “Erik, don’t look at me like that. I’ll be fine. Just, stick to the plan, okay?”

“Okay Tempo,” Scott said quietly. “Just… be careful.”

“You know I will. Anyway, let’s see if I can get this guy to charm me.”

I felt MJ’s hand wrap around my own. I looked at her and gave her a reassuring smile. I then looked forward and watched the surveillance footage. Joanna walked up to the bar and took a seat. It didn’t take long for her to get their attention.

“Hey guys, look at what we got here!” one of them stated with absolutely no tact.

“Looks like we got ourselves a tall drink of water!” another one replied.

“Men,” Kitty commented with a sigh.

“Well, excuse us!” Ned replied.

I didn’t say anything. I just continued to focus on the footage. Finally, Doug spoke up.

“Hey, why don’t you let me buy you a drink?” he offered.

“Tempting,” Joanna stated. “But I only drink with those who can go on this ride with no issues.”

“Oh, I’m more than fit for that ride. Problem is, once I go on it, I’ll make sure it’s closed down for a while.”

“…This guy’s game is almost worse than Flash’s,” Betty commented. At that, I had to smother a snicker.

“Is that right?” Joanna responded to Doug. “Well let’s skip the pleasantries. If you can break me off something proper, then I’ll buy you and your whole crew a round. And then we can leave and really go on a rollercoaster.” At that, I blushed, because Good Lord!

“You’re on!” Doug grunted out. “You want to take it to the parking lot or…”

“If you’re as good as you say you are, then I shouldn’t be able to walk too far.”

At that, Doug chuckled. “Alright, bathroom it is.”

I watched as Doug and Joanna stood up from the bar and made their way to the bathroom. Edith, without asking, changed cameras, switching to a feed that showed the bathroom area. Joanna and Doug slipped into the men’s bathroom. About thirty seconds later, two of Doug’s entourage was standing outside of the door, keeping watch.

“Alright, baby, I’m going to show you what Big Doug is working with!” Doug boasted.

“You know, as appealing as that sounds, I’m more interested in why Big Doug is working for Hammer all the way out here,” Joanna replied.

“…Um, what?” Doug muttered out.

I heard a crash over the audio, followed by the sound of something being dunked in some water. After some seconds, there was a sound of something being slammed, followed by some gurgling.

“I know who you work for Doug,” Jade muttered threateningly. “The people I’m currently working for have some questions. You’re going to answer them.”

“I don’t know shit!” Doug replied with a strained breath.

“…Well, you never were that smart.”

I heard the sound of a slap followed by some moments of silence. After that, Joanna spoke up. “So, Doug is out cold. How’s it looking out there?”

“There are two men outside the door, and I’m sure his friends that are still at the bar are ready to move in.” I sighed. “How do you want to play this, Erik?”

There was a brief silence. Then there was a sigh. “…Reine, I need you to get Temp and Doug out of there,” Erik ordered. “Clayton, Reine will need a distraction.”

“Got it,” Craig replied.

I watched from the security footage as Craig approached the bathroom. As expected, he was stopped by one of the men.

“Sorry, bathroom is occupied,” the man said.

“Look man, I’m just trying to deliver some of Granny’s peach tea,” Craig responded in protest.

“And I’m telling you, kid, this bathroom is occupied.”

“I ain’t got time for this, bro. You either let me through, or I’m pissing right here.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the other man said. “Get out of here before you get folded.” And then, for good measure, he stepped forward and shoved Craig. Craig was forced to take a step back. He then chuckled as he nodded. Before the larger man could react, Craig sent a kick in between his legs. As the man buckled, the other guy tried to grab Craig. Craig was quicker though, turning before he cracked the larger man in the face with a rather nasty looking forearm, knocking him to the ground. Craig huffed out a breath before he looked over his shoulder. He then casually stepped aside. From off screen, I saw other bodies slide into a heap as if they all slipped on ice.

“Guys, I got Tempo and Doug out of there,” Kitty spoke over the frequency. “We need to move now.”

“I’ll meet you guys out front,” Craig muttered. “I need to dip.” He ran off. I looked towards the bar to see him hop over the counter and run into the back. During this, Betty quickly walked up to me and MJ.

“You guys ready to go?” Betty asked.

“Let’s go,” I stated.

We all made our exits, meeting Scott at the front door as I ordered Edith to delete any recorded footage the bar has and to shut down the whole surveillance system until we were gone. By the time we made our way to the SUV and entered it, Craig was already in the driver’s seat, Kitty was right behind him next to Ned, and Joanna was in the back. MJ and I took the seats in Joanna’s row. Scott took shotgun as Betty took the seat next to Ned. I looked over my shoulder to see Doug’s prone body. Not wanting to take any chances, I turned my body until I was on my knees. I brought my right hand out and shot a burst of webbing towards Doug, webbing him down. I then sat back down. During this, Craig started the SUV before he sped out the parking lot. Once we hit the open road, Joanna spoke up.

“So, whereto?” she asked.

“I think I saw an abandoned gas station on our way here,” Betty spoke up. “I think it is… or was… a Vons.”

“Is that right?” Scott replied. He then nodded. “Let’s take him there.”

[emletish-fish]

Betty II

I’ve got a lot of different thoughts happening, so I thought I’d organise them all here.

1 - British imperialism is a horror-show and the queen was a symbol of that for many colonised countries. People have the right to express their emotions in whatever way they see fit.

2 - The Queen was also a symbol of stability for many.  Over seven decades of tumultous change and the queen was always there, unchanging and dignified and calm. She choose to be as apolitical and neutral as possible. Given how polarised the world has become, there is something to be said for even trying to maintain the illusion decorum and even-handedness.

3 -  the UK is in an extremely fragile and chaotic time right now, and they are led by truly despicable opportunistic facists who will use this distraction to force even more of their awful agenda through. The people of the UK do not deserve what is about to happen to them, or to have to sit through the spectacle of a truly obscene amount of money being spent on funeral/coronation while a large percentage of them cannot afford to heat their homes this winter.

Also - it is a truly iconic final act that the Queen met Liz Truss one time and then proceeded to die immediately! What a way to cast a gloomy shadow over that complete Tory Cave-Troll’s entire Prime - Ministership.

4 - Scotland be free! There will never be a better time!

5 -  I am no monarchist, but then I saw Scott Morrison (the Australian knock-off version of Trump with less fake tan and more evangelicalism for my non-aussie followers)  pay tribute to Betty. He talked about his wife, his girls, his wife’s opinions (we got them alot - he needed his wife to explain to him why rape was bad), his favourite football team, his favourite football team isn’t doing that great and lastly how it was a bit sad for charles.

For Fuck’s Sake -  For a moment my soul left my body and I became a staunch monarchist, like scomo would it kill you to show some respect?

And it’s so weird because I will defend the right of the irish/scottish/carribean/african/ - (jeez, like 87% of the globe at one point) -  to express however they feel about this situation. I am loving the jokes and the memes -

but scomo can shut the fuck up and stop making it about himself and the cronulla sharks!

Like, I’m not a monarchist, but even I’m like ‘Dude, a woman just died. Maybe now is not the time to talk about your footy team?’

6 - after living in England for a while I can say that they imbue their public symbols with such a different energy (like it guess it would be comparable to the whole ‘in god we trust’ christian thing going on in america. All that piety and nationalism is channeled towards the queen in England) .  The loss of such a symbol will be a huge blow to England. (Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland not so much). But in England people legit loved her and will be legit in mourning now.

So I also have patience for the ‘be respectful’ side of the debate.

7 - I feel kinda lucky to follow such diverse people that I am getting all sides of The Queen drama

8 - I lowkey assumed she was dead since she had covid in april and they were propping her up weekend-at-bernie’s style until after the jubilee (because they had spent a fuckton of money on it).

I stand corrected.

9 - Australia should be a republic. Let the monarchy die with her.

[hypoallergenicpunx]

i thought tumblr might like to see this

[darling-im-the-queen-of-hell]

Overheard in my Astronomy class:

Person A: “we lost Betty White; they can lose the queen.”

Teacher: “they’re basically the same thing anyways.”

Person B: “Yeah but Betty White was older so America comes out on top!”

Like what even is this you guys?😂😂

[ladyvesuvia]

That Old Feeling

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x 40s!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Even decades later, where his eyes go, your face follows. (That Old Feeling by Doris Day)

WORDS: 5.3k

REMINDER(S): cursing. death. angst. fluff. piggyback rides. mentions of reader’s hair and pigtails. reader is born 1919. usage of she/her pronouns. sometimes switches to third person. intentional grammatical errors in letters. graves.

FIC PLAYLIST (yes this has a playlist cos each part has a song because i am very extra deal with it)

A/N: this is my first time writing for the mcu szmdS i’m only at the second ep of tfatws rn sorry if this doesn’t line up with it well ALSO SPECIAL THANKS AND LOVE TO @pogueslandia FOR GIVING ME IDEAS FOR THE ENDING mwa

I. PRELUDE:  Dinosaurs in Love - Brooklyn 1928

It’s almost time for the sun to set yet the streets remained abuzz with people, but the two young children both of which were a decade old paid no mind at all, preoccupied with their typical routine: eating chocolate, knowing they’d regret it later on when their throats will begin to hurt.

Well, maybe it might be too early to call it a routine given that both had just met each other two days earlier but you’d gotten used to it already that the thought of doing it for more days to follow wasn’t so bad.

You rip open your third Butterfinger of the hour, continuing your conversation with your new friend. “I want to be famous someday, James. What about you?”

“Bucky’s alright.”

You stopped chewing on your Butterfinger. “What’s a bucky?”

“Oh, it’s my name,” he says with a smile, taking another Butterfinger from your tiny bag. You resist the urge to berate him, scared to lose a friend so quickly. “You can call me ‘Bucky.’”

“It is a cute one, I guess. But what does that have to do with anything?” 

“What does what you said have to do with anything?” 

You took a while to process it all. “What?”

“What?” he said, mocking you as he continued on eating. 

Scoffing, you took note of his banter. “You know, my Aunt Betty said that when a boy pulls a girl’s pigtails it means that he likes her.” 

“Your Aunt Betty is stupid,” Bucky snorted. 

It was hard not to laugh, so you just took the opportunity to close your bag, hiding it behind your back. “She bought me these Butterfingers. You should stop eating ‘em, then. On top of that, you should quit pulling my pigtails.”

“I’m not pulling your pigtails,” he said, shrugging. Bucky took one bite of the last of his chocolate.

You turned away. “Maybe you should.”

“But I don’t like you.”

“Good,” you said, arms crossed. “Because I don’t like you, either.”

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II. Time Moves Slow - 2023

Even outdoors with no four walls suffocating him, James Buchanan Barnes could not help but feel his throat constricting and the world itself collapsing upon him at the sight of that face.

He hated the world for depriving him of the days he could’ve spent being woken up with a kiss on his forehead.

The world was and still remains to be cruel up to this day.

He could see you.

One billboard picture equated to lifetimes of you remaining somewhere and everywhere in his mind. It didn’t help that the best he could do to dismiss it all was to walk ahead as straight as he could.

The world knew your face so well, having recognized you as a revolutionary actress of your time — [Y/N] [Y/L/N], a timeless icon. 

You had achieved your dream, compared to James who hadn’t. Both dreams could not co-exist in the same time and place, not when his dream is to accompany you along the way.

“Watch it!” hissed a man he’d just bumped into. Bucky muttered a hushed apology.

He halts, trying to catch his breath. 

It does him no good to find that he had stopped in front of a jewelry store, the glass window the only thing separating him from the luxurious rings that rested upon its own cushion.

He had bought a ring twice: Once when he played pretend with you when you were younger and once when he thought to bring the fake stories you’d acted out together into reality only to have that very moment snatched before it could even happen.

“Where are you now, [Y/N]?” he says to himself, and yet he could not bring himself to look you up on the net properly. 

It had been too much lately: the next channel of the television, the advertisement on a cheap game he’d just installed which he uninstalled right after. . .

He hated that it was as if the world was trying to convince him you were some sort of punishment to him for dying.

As if he were to blame for something of which he had no control over.

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III. First Day of My Life - 1928

June 12, 1928

Dear Bucky,

Hello this is my first time writing a letter i like you i kind of like you. do you want cookies i am making cookies. write back and slip it under my door :) 

P.S. specify if yes or no 

Yours truelly,

[Y/N]

——

Rereading it over and over, you groaned. It’s way more pathetic than you had imagined it to be.

Common sense would tell you to throw it away but . . . 

Deciding against yourself, you stashed it into an envelope and hid it in between your notebook. 

You grabbed another piece of paper from your pack and began writing again, this time leaving out the liking him part.

——

June 12, 1928

Bucky,

Hi. do you want cookies pls write back with yes or no then slip it under my door so i can prepare much thanks.

Sincerely,

[Y/N]

——

A knock on your door.

You rushed to open it while carrying a bowl of undone dough.

Bucky walked in, carrying his own empty plate. “You got cookies?”

“I told you to slip a note!” 

“Why?” whined Bucky. “What’s the point?”

You put the bowl down to set his plate on the counter. “It’s practice for when we’re actually apart.”

He couldn’t imagine such a time. “Like when?”

“Like when we’re grownups! We’re not always going to be living next door, you know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am going to be a famous actress and it will be hard for you to reach me. This is your fan-mail practice.” You grabbed the bowl again, jogging to the tray with parchment paper you had prepared moments ago. “Now stop asking questions and help me out over here.”

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IV. It’s Up To You - 1942

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!” 

Shit, that’s my cue, you thought to yourself. With a gulp, you flourished your hands, posing as rehearsed with one hand on your hand and one hand gesturing to Howard Stark. With a hesitant and not so subtle glance, you skimmed the tons of crowds before you, searching for that one familiar face.

You told yourself to focus, realizing that Stark and your leader had kissed already, giving you the cue to follow and walk until you reached your spot at the back.

Soon you’d be taking one of the wheels off.

Alright, that’s not so hard, you note.

Just before your next task, you caught sight of Bucky in his uniform. He made it. He’s there. 

He tips his hat off to you with a cheeky grin. You subtly roll your eyes but immediately smile afterwards.

This, you thought, is what friends do.

It was just a crush, you had told yourself when you finally considered yourself all grown up, insisting that those feelings were long gone and only effects of having only him over most of the time growing up.

Sure, there were several pathetic confessions on your part while growing up with Bucky and several letters you decided not to send whenever you were apart but. . .

It’s all silly. Just stupid. Childish, that’s the word.

But there’s no denying that his mere ability to be present in little moments of your life brings this indescribable joy within yourself, like something you yearn for in—

“[Y/N]!” one of the girls hissed through a gritted smile, reminding you to grab the wheel.

You mouthed an apology before complying, putting on a picture-perfect smile before the audience. You kept your eyes trained on a spot just above his visor, but there were a couple of times when you’d slip up and just stare at him and he’d be looking back.

Took you a while to notice that he wasn’t alone.

Oh.

He brought a date.

That’s fine.

In a spot backstage, you caught your coach gesturing for you to straighten your posture. You do. Or at least, you try to.

The red car started to levitate and exclamations of awe from the amused audience helped you keep your feet on the ground. Your gaze kept going back to the girl right beside him, leaning a bit too close to his chest as he watched the car.

One more second of thinking about all the sweet things he told her on their way to the Stark Expo and you’d be higher up in the air than the demo car itself.

You were far too frozen that it caught you off guard when one of the front wheels sparked in error, causing the car to crash back down. You jumped and as you did so, you saw the girl he was with laugh and move a bit back closer to him.

“I did say a few years, didn’t I?” Howard Stark pointed out with a grin. Applauses and laughter scattered among the crowd, and you could tell they were still awed by what they’d just watched — a flying car!

For the rest of the presentation, the smile you have been practicing until this very moment takes its toll on your face muscles.

You tried not to look his way the entire time.

——

You’re left alone in the dressing room later on, finally getting to take off the tall black heels and black blazer. 

The tables are cluttered with opened makeup and all of the lights of nearby makeup tables are turned off aside from yours. 

You watched your reflection hesitantly, picturing what it would’ve been like to be in her place.

Nope.

No way in hell you’re doing that. 

To distract yourself for a while, you began to braid a tiny section of your hair at the side.

After realizing you’d been wasting time, you turned off the lights on your makeup table before carrying your black heels with you as you walked in the sandals you’d outgrown a while back. 

On your way out, you take a seat on one of the stairs just beside the now empty stage, pulling out a Band-Aid from your bag to put one at the back of each heel. 

“How’s the aspiring glitterati holding up?” said an approaching familiar voice. You looked up from your seat to find Bucky.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Sergeant Barnes. I’m fine, thank you.”

“You need help with that?”

“No, no, I got it,” you said with a dismissive hand. You finally finished putting the last Band-Aid and Bucky sat down right next to you. 

“Familiar?” he asks, referring to the uncanny resemblance of the present to the past; how the two of you had sat in front of your apartment stairs, waiting for the day to turn into night. It’s a lovely parallel, truly. 

And the urge to excessively comment on how much you missed those times was hard to resist, yet you did.

He rested his elbows on his knees, looking at nothing in particular just like he always did when you were kids.

“D’you want to switch hats, Sarge?” you say with your arm stretched out, the top hat you’d worn moments ago at the other end. “It must be the booze I had a year ago talking, but I think you’d look quite dashing in a top hat.”

He took your hat from your hands right before taking off his own visor. He dusts it on his uniform. “How can you be certain a rabbit won’t come out of it?”

“The same reason why I’m certain a war won’t come out of yours,” you reasoned, snatching his hat from his hand. “You know, common sense. Most of us have it.”

Bucky laughs, and that smile’s enough to forget you had limbs in the first place. 

The moment lingers, and it’s easy to pretend you hadn’t just almost messed up the whole Stark Expo upon seeing him with some other girl. 

“So, where’s . . . you know,” you said, immediately regretting it as soon as you said it. “Your date, I mean. Where is she? She was pretty.”

Bucky laughed, slapping you in the back repeatedly in the process just like he does with Steve. Just like he does with his buddies.

“Is it just me or is Miss Hollywood jealous?”

“How very arrogant of you!” you said with mock amusement, shaking him off your back with a laugh. “I’m just saying that she deserves better than a guy whose name is ‘Bucky.’ I mean, come on, that has to be the stupidest name ever to be invented.”

Bucky rubbed his chin, feigning to be in thought. “If I recall correctly, you once said it was cute.”

“You recall incorrectly,” you spat back, giggling.

“I beg to differ.”

“Well, things change.”

A pause. 

Bucky shifts in his seat. You remain frozen, and it’s a mystery whether it’s because of your aching feet or his very presence.

It’s now as if the world refuses to move.

You clear your throat. “Don’t you have anywhere you have to be?”

“Oh, right,” he starts. He clears his throat. “There’s that dancing thing.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again. There’s hesitation in there.

Definitely must be the exhaustion of consistent rehearsals and the lack of sleep but you could’ve sworn his gaze lingered on your face.

No, you weren’t imagining it. He really is looking at you back.

This close. So near. 

Right before you almost did the worst thing you could’ve ever done (look down at his lips), he pulled the minimal braid you’d given for yourself down hard.

“Ow! What was that for?” 

“That’s me asking you to come with me to go dancing.”

“What? Why?”

He looked anywhere but you. “Your Aunt Betty.”

Snorting, you kept your eyes on him. “Right, what does my Aunt Betty have to do with any of this?” 

He went rigid. “You know what? Forget about it. How about I walk you home instead?”

You looked at him with narrowed eyes, suspicious. “What do you want?”

“What do you mean, ‘What do I want’?”

You set the black heels you’d been holding on the stairs to cross your arms. “Why are you being nice all of a sudden? Do I have to loan you or—”

He stood up in disagreement. Bucky shook his head. “What? No! Of course not! I just . . . you know.”

To your surprise, he turned around and squatted, patting his back, gesturing for you to get on. 

“What, you don’t want a ride?” he grins. “I’m actually pretty comfy, I think.”

You laughed, remembering the time he’d carried you that way several times when you were both younger: he had said him being older meant he was practically the hero, which you said made no sense at all. 

You didn’t mind though, because the dreams that followed for the next few weeks after that were immaculate.

“James, we’re not kids anymore.”

“I can see that. Get on, doll.” He patted his back again.

This time, you obliged, albeit hesitantly. He hauled you up, and as soon as he stood up, he let the back of your knees rest on his hands. You tried hard not to flinch.

“Wouldn’t your girl, uh, get jealous, though? Or something like that?”

“You mean you?”

“What?” you blurt out in response.

He started walking now and for once, you’re just a bit glad he couldn’t see you. 

“Okay, put me down.”

“No way.”

“I’m gonna make you.” Grinning, you started flailing your arms about, making as much movement as you can until he was forced to set you down. 

Bucky raised a brow, looking at you with feigned annoyance just like he always does. “Now what?”

“What’s with you lately? Are you drunk or something?”

He shakes his head, laughing. “Nothing! However, ‘or something’ would be a reasonable category.”

“Be honest,” you say, pointing a finger at him.

“Always am.”

“Do you,” you started, trying hard not to laugh, “James Buchanan Barnes, have a thing for my Aunt Betty?”

“What?” snorted Bucky. He adjusted your top hat on his head. You almost forgot that you were wearing his hat.

“You know, when you mentioned her out of the blue, I was worried you were going to ask me if you could take her dancing. I must admit, you two would make quite a grotesque and questionable pair.”

“That was not out of the blue,” he says with a grin.

“Oh, really? How come? Explain yourself.”

“I only wanted to say that your Aunt Betty might not be as stupid as I thought she was,” he admitted. Bucky rubbed his hands together. He didn’t dare look at you, but you couldn’t blame him for refusing to do so. In fact, you were doing just the same thing. He finally talked again. “Just — alright, just get on my back.”

You hesitantly obliged, not saying a word aside from the awkward ‘Okay’ you’d just managed to say out loud.

“Hey, [Y/N]?”

“Hm?”

“I like your Aunt Betty’s niece,” said Bucky. You were glad he couldn’t see you. “Specifically the one who wants to become famous. I’d like to ask her to dance with me, too.”

“She’d like that.”

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V. The Brooklyn Bridge - November 1944

The two of you are leaning on the railings of the street, the view of the Brooklyn Bridge standing tall not so far away. He handed you the paper bag he had been holding since he picked you up, telling you to get some of the Butterfingers he bought.

You turned away from him a bit, spotting the trash bin from afar. You put your attention back on the paper bag, putting your hand in but . . . you felt something else. 

When you pulled it out, you were more than just surprised to find a velvet box. 

Turning around, the sight of Bucky down on one knee greeted you. 

“Yeah, I should’ve thought this through,” he laughed. “I mean, I did think it through, it’s been what’s on my mind for a long time and — right, sorry, I’m talking too much — I’m aware I’m not holding the ring, that’s on me.”

Stunned, you opened the box to find the ring you had told him you wanted from years back. 

You opened your mouth to speak, about to thank him. “Bucky, I—”

“Do?”

“You idiot, of course!”

And so you pulled his hand, forcing him to stand up for you to pull him into the warmest hug he’d never forget. It’s the only thing that matters now. No honking of cars or ships would have the right to interrupt, no pigeon, nothing.

“I didn’t even get to ask the question,” he pouted after pulling away.

“Do you want to?”

“Will your answer still be the same?”

You chuckle. “Find out.”

“That’s scary.”

“Then yes, I assure you it’s the same.”

“Then will you marry me?”

“You idiot, of course.” You press a kiss on his cheek, the weight of all your fears melting away into the noise of the cars passing by in the distance. 

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

VI. Soldier Boy - December 1944

Under the dark night sky, Bucky had prepared a blanket on top of the grass for the two of you to lie down on. He’s holding your hand, playing with your fingers and you’re looking up at the stars, waiting for one to shoot past.

“I’ll marry you when I get back,” he says, kissing your hand. “Then I’ll make you cookies afterward.”

“Can you?” you tease.

“[Y/N], I’m willing to do anything for you. If baking cookies is what it takes to make you happy, then baking cookies it is.”

“Maybe this time, they won’t get burnt.”

“It won’t. Because we’ll have James junior guarding it.”

You snort. “Oh, there’s a James junior now?”

“Of course there is! Who’d be guarding the cookies, then?”

“Well, what if it’s a girl?”

Bucky scoffed. “Pfft, who cares? We’ll do both!”

“Wow, you are so in love with me,” you joke, squeezing his hand. 

“Glad you noticed, doll.”

“I’ll miss you, you know.”

“I know,” he nods. 

Bucky sat up a bit, enough for him to turn your way and rest his head on the palm of his hand.

“It’ll be quick, I promise. I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll get to wear your pretty dream dress and we’ll even have your Aunt Betty in the front row and give her a specialized thank you card. She’d be so confused.”

“I like that,” you reply with a grin. “Yeah, maybe even have her as my maid-of-honor.”

He kisses your hand. “You better not stop loving me while I’m away, alright?”

“Bold of you to assume that’s even possible.”

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

VII. INTERLUDE: Last Night on Earth - January 1945

It’s true that your life flashing before your eyes in death is a predictable cliche, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.

Take this man falling to his death, for example. 

See, when you fall, there’s no time to think for yourself, so your head does it for you. Your fragile, little mind filled with stories one always assumes they’d tell in years to come. 

He doesn’t see the wintry landscape unfurling before his eyes, no.

What he does see, however, is a burnt cookie on his plate and he could hear a mumbled apology somewhere. 

He sees a striped vest. Black heels on a tiny staircase.

His hat on someone else’s head; that someone else’s hat on his.

The Brooklyn Bridge.

The wars he’d fought so hard to survive in to come back home and see that someone instead of writing letters that constantly fail to represent himself.

He’s still falling.

The best he could do is to wish she knew. 

Knew that his love is more than just the ring he’d bought her, more than the Butterfingers they’d once shared; more than the hat they’d exchanged; more than the burnt cookies he accepted nonetheless; more than the fake telephone they made together with tin cans they got from canned goods they’d collected and thread from her mother’s sewing kit; more than everything.

The last thing he saw was not the snow on the rocky ridges of the mountain. Instead, he saw that face. Yours.

And it all went dark.

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VIII. Lonesome Town - 1945

It has been a total of twenty-three days since Steve broke the news to you. Twenty-three days of madness. 

You had opened your box of unsent letters, mixes of both rejected drafts and complete ones.

You had lost him once already. 

If I had sent all of these, would we have had more time to spare?

——

November 13, 1937

Dear Bucky,

This is just a brief note to apologize for my lack of responsiveness for the past month. I hardly know what to say! It sure does cost a sweat to bump guns, doesn’t it? 

See, it has been quite a busy few days. Now, don’t blow your wig just yet but I have tried auditioning for a play. I would be lying if I said it was even remotely close to bearable; ten more busted auditions and I am more than certain you’d call me a crumb.

In response to you writing, ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ worry not because I’ll try very hard not to. 

You must be missing my voice enough to write to me twice in a week. Might I suggest the telephone? Kidding, Buck.

I hope this letter finds you before the month ends. Hoping to run into you sometime.

Your friend,

[Y/N]

——

You hadn’t responded at all to those two letters he’d sent back then. 

And drifted apart you did.

Around the first time in a long time you met, you had blamed it on your hectic schedule.

The next time you met again, you had blamed it on the post.

But now you only have yourself to blame. At least, that’s what’s been running in your head for some time now. Your friends tell you otherwise but it’s just . . . difficult to not hold it against yourself, not when you had made up excuses for your cowardice.

It’s the multitudes of good possibilities that could’ve turned out that makes the loss even greater. 

The ring on your finger is now but a mere false promise to paradise. There will be no furniture to arrange. At least, nobody to arrange it with. There will be no walls to paint. There will be no such thing as growing old together. 

But you wouldn’t deprive yourself of hope. Your friends would call it denial but the tiniest possibility of him still being out there . . . you did not mind.

There is a fine line between hope and denial, you just happened to be in between.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

IX. Museum of Flight - 2023

The sheer curiosity finally allowed him to want to find out about what has become of you. It’s been, what, seventy-eight years since he last saw you?

Must be the shows he’d been playing in the background but a part of him he considers the pathetic part is still hoping.

Maybe, just maybe, you were more than just a grave or scattered ashes.

Bucky had found a museum dedicated to you in the process of his hesitant research, a discovery he found nerve-wracking. 

The [Y/N] [Y/L/N] Museum. 

He knew you’d have laughed at the irony of it, maybe even teased him how your nine year old self would have lost her shit.

Which brings us to this moment, with Bucky standing before another exhibit. Just like he did with Steve’s.

How many more exhibits of people who are gone  does he have to attend?

He barely notices there’s other people in the room. Once again, he mumbles an apology before proceeding to one particular figure in the room.

There you stood, holding a withering bridal bouquet. 

You’re wearing a wedding dress with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves. The dress is soiled with mud at the bottom but he found you as beautiful as the day he lost you.

“[Y/N]?” he manages to say out loud, waiting for you to speak. 

You didn’t blink, much less look back at him.

He’s convinced he’s dreaming until he looks down to find a plaque indicating a quote.

“With the misery of grief, I am glad I had the luxury of being a bride after being deprived of being one,” the plaque reads, and under it, in much smaller text, was your name and 1950 right beside it.

Another plaque right beside it states something else — Bride in Ruins.

He returns his gaze back to you.

A wax figure. All of you reduced to that of sculpted wax. 

It’s hard not to hate those who’ve created this imposter, but he couldn’t help but be grateful to see you. 

His throat constricts, his eyes redden.

Apparently, the role you played became your biggest break, and this outfit and pose in particular had been a classic since then.

Posters of movies you’ve starred in lined the walls along with . . . what?

Bucky stepped out of his daze to approach the numbers of yellowed papers attached to the wall inside the glasses.

He stood before it, starting with the one right in front of him.

——

March 10, 1940

Dear Bucky,

One half of the folks would regard this letter cowardly and the other romantic, but I’ll let you decide. 

Firstly, Happy Birthday, Buck. It’s unfortunate that we are apart. I haven’t got a clue on what I want to say and I’m trying to save my new fountain pen’s ink so here goes. 

Night by night, I am conflicted by the fear I could never seem to shake that whatever might come after I reveal myself to you you would leave and frankly, I have no intentions of losing a friend.

The thing is, James, adoration and other words would never be able to express how I feel. how much I lo

——

The rest is illegible what with the several crossed out sentences.

Beside it, several papers are attached, and his eyes skimmed over each and every one.

There’s no book or tutorial written for how one should react on the instance that you find unsent letters of your fiancée from the past when she thought you were long gone.

——

June 15, 1928

Buck,

Come over bring tuna the one in can 

Sinserely,

[Y/N]

——

He could remember that day. You hadn’t sent any letter at all. You did, however, come over with a brand new looking sewing kit and one empty can of tuna. You had pulled one of the chairs in his dining room to the kitchen counter to help yourself reach another can of tuna from the upper cabinets.

The large screen at the other part of his room drew his attention, and so Bucky made his way towards it.

A plaque under it read, “Interview 1951.”

Your face once more. “. . .Oh, I’ve had my fair share of romance six years prior and the years before that.”

“Is it true that you were engaged?” asked the host.

You stiffened in the screen, yet kept your smile on nonetheless. “Why, I see no reason to deny an epic romance I once had — Yes, I was. On the Brooklyn Bridge, might I add.”

Bucky turned away. 

Clothes you wore once surrounded him along with pictures of you from movies you starred in. 

You made it.

And he knew it would only be fair if he did, too.

No matter the circumstances.

Bucky spent a good half hour roaming around, studying the posters. He would have attended each and every single play in the start and watched every movie of yours on the first day of it at the theatres. Though it pains him a great deal to miss out on every milestone you’ve achieved, he’s proud.

If it makes it any better, he’d have bragged about you to his friends and colleagues. 

My wife is a star.

All those pretend stories you’ve acted out together was and still remains up to this day worth it, to say the very least.

1919-2000, the writings read.

He had kept a picture of you in his chest pocket and one stuck right on the walls near his bunk bed and in his barrack’s closets and here he now stands in an exhibit dedicated to remembering you.

Bucky pays one last glance at the wax figure that represented you before leaving with a fair closure before leaving the exhibit.

A beautiful bride, indeed.

Maybe one day, he’d be able to bring himself to watch all those movies you’ve made but right now. . .

He could only wish for everything to stop haunting him first, you included.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

X. POSTLUDE: Old Times - 2023

He went a long way to see you, just like he’s always done countless times before.

Here he stands now, with no wax figure or a face. Instead, a tall stone cross marked where you lay. Aside from the rough foundation, flowers surrounded the remaining grass.

Untucking his hands from his pockets, he pulls out a paper bag. 

This time, it wasn’t a ring. 

Bucky pulled out one piece of cookie he’d made and pulled another one for himself. He sets the other one just tucked in the abundance of the flowers and takes a bite from the piece he saved for himself.

Weirdly enough, he found that an engraved marking of your name gave him a lot more solace than a wax figure. 

He crouches down to re-adjust how he’d placed the cookie. “An unburnt cookie as promised for you, doll.”

As soon as he got on a bus, Bucky finally crossed out your name on his list, the weight in his chest being crossed out along with it.

A/N: yes i put a how to train your dragon reference and what about it???

click here to be added to my MCU taglist.

MARVEL TAGLIST:

[onesingulartheaterkid]

In Defense of Audrey

I don't know how much of a hot take this is, but Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors is so insanely overlooked. So here's an analysis of her that no one asked for because I can.

This will go by each song in the stage musical soundtrack (specifically the 2003 revival because Kerry Butler slaps). I'll try not to put too many things from the movie and just stick to the musical the movie is based on, since the movie cut a few things (and the endings of the movie and stage show are extremely different).

Quick content warning: This analysis will include mentions of abuse (physical, verbal, and emotional) since it appears in the musical. I encourage you to skip this if that is something that is triggering for you.

I will try to keep each section of the analysis as brief as I can, but just in case, I will highlight any key parts. Sorry if this is all incoherent or weird, I’ve never really written many character analysis. I also put a ”keep reading” thing because this bad boi is LONG and i didn’t want people to have to scroll forever and hate me (/lh)

There will also be spoilers for the musical, so if you haven't seen/listened to it and plan on doing so (which I highly recommend) you may want to skip this. Unless you don’t care for spoilers (i still recommend you watch or listen to the show or the movie.

Skid Row (Downtown)

Audrey's introduction to the musical, although small, gives a small window into mostly what Skid Row is like, but also a little about her life. She sings:

Where the guys are drips Where they rip your slips Where relationships are no go Down on skid row

Audrey calls the guys in Skid Row "drips", which could mean that she finds them boring and not all that interesting. The next line references her abusive relationship with Orin, her dentist boyfriend, and how Orin acts forceful toward Audrey. Based on the next two verses, it's very possible that Audrey knows that being in a relationship isn't the greatest idea, either because she's poor or because she knows how terrible Orin is.

The ending of the song (when Audrey and Seymour are singing in unison) shows that Audrey doesn't want the life she has and wants to leave it. This idea links into the next song she's in, her big "I Want" song, in which she perpetuates that idea that she wants a different life.

Ya Never Know

Audrey doesn't show up in this song, but she is talked about briefly by Mr. Mushnik and Seymour.

After Seymour's first (?) interview about Audrey II (the plant Seymour takes care of), Seymour asks Mr. Mushnik where Audrey is, and says, "she was s'posed to be here." Mr. Mushnik simply says "Forget about Audrey!"

Clearly, Audrey means a lot to Seymour. But she isn't too much of an importance to Mr. Mushnik because Audrey hasn't given Mushnik any success to the florist shop, unlike Seymour.

Somewhere That's Green

I used to absolutely despise this song because I always thought "All it's about is her wanting a husband. And it's heteronormative."

But the song isn't just about Audrey wanting a husband. It's about the life she wants based off the media she sees. Most of those things being around the time period the show takes place (around the 1960s).

Audrey bases her dream life off of idealized versions of life. She references several mid-1900s sitcoms, that are (by nature of the genre) idealizations of the white, suburban life. She also expresses wanting to be like Betty Crocker and Donna Reed, who are part of the housewife stereotype: being able to cook any meal (Betty Crocker) and beautiful (Donna Reed. but can you blame Audrey? Donna Reed was beautiful and awesome). She even references two magazines (Better Homes and Gardens) that were idealizations of the suburban home as a whole.

Audrey wants a life made from idealized media because they're simple. Unlike her daydreams, Audrey’s life is far from simple. Audrey lives in the economically poor Skid Row with an extremely abusive boyfriend, referenced in the beginning of the song.

But I'm dating a semi-sadist So I got a black eye and my arm's in a cast.

It's safe to assume Audrey probably knows that Orin is not good for her health, but is understandably afraid to break things off because he could do something to her. As she stays with Orin, she justifies staying with him. Right before "Somewhere That's Green", Audrey explains to Ronette, Chiffon, and Crystal why she stays with Orin. She says something along the lines of "if this is how he treats me when he likes me (referring to her broken arm and black eye), imagine how he'll treat me when he doesn't like me!". Having her little daydream might give her some freedom from Orin, even if it is for a short while.

Audrey's daydream acts as a way to escape from her current situation and imagine a happier life for herself.

When she talks about a "he" in the song, Audrey isn't necessarily talking about Seymour, even though she does talk about him at the beginning

Just me and the toaster and a sweet little guy--like Seymour!

It certainly sounds like she is thinking about Seymour since she talks about him in the beginning, and the lyrics "He rakes and trims the grass/ He loves to mow and weed" definitely seem like Seymour (considering Seymour knows everything about plants). But going back to the whole theme of idealization in the song, having a husband and being married would definitely be a staple of the middle class, suburban household, and something Audrey would want to complete for the ideal life.

That isn't to say Audrey doesn't care about Seymour, because she does! It’s just that at this point of the show, Audrey just wants the life she sees depicted around her, and part of that idealized life is having a husband.

(I hope I don't have to explain this, but just in case: obviously the idea that people have to be married and the heteronormative view of marriage is outdated. No one needs to have either of these to live a fulfilling life or have a meaningful relationship.)

Closed for Renovation

This song is more for exposition, but there's a few things to say about Audrey. Audrey expresses concern for Seymour because he's been getting hurt for reasons unknown to anyone except Seymour and the audience. So Audrey obviously cares about Seymour's well-being and him in general.

Audrey: You've been getting hurt so much lately!

There's also a use of flower symbolism within Seymour and Audrey's dialogue in the song. The flowers used for Audrey are fitting for her personality. Audrey talks about daisies and fleur-de-lis ("flower of the lily" in French) which both represent purity and innocence, and Audrey maintains her pureness throughout the show. She also mentions the forget-me-not flowers, which represent true and undying love, which could be Audrey hinting at Seymour that she actually loves him.

Feed Me (Git It)

This song introduces Orin and Audrey's dynamic and relationship. Orin repeatedly verbally and emotionally abuses Audrey. He tells her she's stupid for forgetting a sweater at the florist shop, and the whole situation seems to be overwhelming for Audrey.

She tries to act as if she's got it all under control, when in reality, Audrey doesn’t have any control over the situation and is under pressure from Orin’s irrational anger. At least in how it sounds in the soundtrack, Audrey sounds panicked and stressed as she says the lines:

Audrey: Hi, Seymour. I left my sweater here before...

We also see her stand up for herself when Orin hits her, to which Orin shows no remorse. Clearly, Orin doesn't care for Audrey at all, both for her well-being and what she wants, which is in direct juxtaposition to Audrey's care for other people.

It makes sense why, in Somewhere That's Green, Audrey would talk about wanting a life that's more simple (especially around a family life): she doesn't have a happy relationship with Orin at all.

Something else I noticed (I don't know if this is intentional or not) was that in Somewhere That's Green, Audrey says "he's father he knows best", saying that her Daydream Husband would be the head of the house. It would make sense, historically speaking, why she would say that. But Audrey could also be saying that because she believes that she is supposed to be the submissive housewife. Audrey is expected to be submissive toward Orin in their relationship, with him insisting on her calling him "doctor" (yikes), so she might have just assumed that's how all relationships are.

(((PS: has anyone noticed both the beginning of Feed Me (Git It) and Somewhere That's Green are the exact same music-wise?)))

Call Back in the Morning

This song is similar to Closed for Renovation in that not a lot is shown about the characters. It brings up some more flower symbolism, though. Audrey asks if someone would like carnations or yellow roses, which are both about romantic feelings. Carnations represent affection and love, feelings Audrey has towards Seymour. Yellow roses represent loss of love, which could be feelings Audrey either feels or thinks she needs to feel about Orin's recent death (occurs in ‘Now (It's Just the Gas)’).

Suddenly, Seymour

Okay, this might sound really bad, but hear me out: the beginning isn't actually horrible. In fact, Seymour singing

Lift up your head, wash off your mascara Here, take my Kleenex, wipe that lipstick away Show me your face clean as the mornin' I know things were bad but now they're okay

It actually serves a purpose.

The makeup in the song is more symbolic of Audrey hiding what she went through with Orin—as she has previously throughout the show. By telling her to take off her makeup, Audrey can finally admit (instead of hiding like she has before) that she went through abuse and confront that it existed, so she can begin to heal from it. It's not "Oh YoU dOn'T nEeD mAkEuP tO lOoK bEaUtIfUl To Me", but rather a "Hey, you went through a really messed up and harmful experience. We're going to face it together and begin healing." This post and this post both explain my thoughts on these lyrics excellently.

This song also gives us a closer look into Audrey's life before the events of the musical. Audrey's history with men was never good to begin with as her father abandoned her mother and Audrey. Then, Audrey fell into relationships where she became more submissive.

I'd meet a man and I'd follow him blindly He'd snap his fingers, me, I'd say, 'Sure'

At this point in the show (and song), Audrey is able to explain how much Seymour has affected her life. Seymour’s nothing like the other boys she's had in her life, and it's implied that she actually wants to be with him. This isn’t the first time Audrey has expressed wanting to be with Seymour either, because it's been stated before in the show.

“Still, that Seymour's a cutie  Well, if not, he's got inner beauty  And I dream of a place  Where we could be together at last” (Somewhere That’s Green)

Even knowing that Seymour isn't like the other boys she's met, Audrey is nervous about being with him because it's "still strange and frightening". In comparison to all the other relationships she's been in, being with Seymour would be different and strange.

Sominex/ Suppertime II

In her core, Audrey is a compassionate person and cares for other people. She is worried for Seymour and goes to check on him, only to be met by Audrey II.

While she is innocent and a bit naive, Audrey most certainly isn't ignorant. As Audrey II tries to get Audrey to "help" him, Audrey is initially cautious ("I don't know if I should!"). She wants to help the plant, but isn't sure it's a good idea, especially since she just found out Audrey II can talk. And I don't know about you, but if I witnessed a plant talking to me, I'd definitely be cautious about helping it.

Audrey isn't ignorant. She knows that there's something weird about Audrey II. It’s Audrey's innocence and drive to help people that leads her to override her initial concern about the plant. Audrey II also aides in this by taking advantage of Audrey's compassion and naivety. Both of these end in Audrey being hurt by the plant.

Somewhere That's Green (Reprise)

In "The Meek Shall Inherit", Seymour is afraid of Audrey not liking him anymore if he becomes poor. Which turns out to be very untrue because in this song, Audrey shows she cares about Seymour and doesn't care that Seymour murdered Mushnik and Orin to get famous (to each their own, I guess???).

In this song, Audrey is able to have her own autonomy within a relationship. Audrey tells Seymour to feed her to Audrey II as her "one gift" to Seymour, so he can become more famous and get all the things she believes Seymour deserves. Seymour respects Audrey's wish, and gives her to the plant.

This scene is important because it's the second time that Audrey expresses that she is in pain as a result of something happening to her— the first time being when Orin hit her. The way that both people involved react to her pain is different and shows their character.

Audrey: Orin, that hurt! Orin: Move it! (Feed Me (Git It))

In "Feed Me (Git It)", Audrey is the one to say she is hurt, only to have Orin not acknowledge that she has been hurt by him or that he cares. At least how Kerry Butler portrays Audrey in the scene, Audrey seems nervous to tell Orin he hurt her. Based on that, I'd assume this sort of behavior from Orin wasn't a one-time event, and it would explain why Audrey would be a bit more nervous to tell Orin.

Seymour: Audrey, are you alright? Audrey: Yes! No... (Somewhere That's Green (Reprise))

What makes this scene different from the one in "Feed Me (Git It)" is that Seymour is the one to ask if Audrey is alright. He is showing that 1) he cares for Audrey's well-being and 2) she is safe to tell him how she feels. Audrey understands that sentiment and tells Seymour how she honestly feels.

Ending Note

Hopefully, I was able to maybe get you to like Audrey more or at least notice maybe one new thing??? I've been putting off posting this because I want it to be as clear as possible what I'm trying to say, but I can't wait around forever. If you've noticed anything that I didn't mention, I'd love to hear it! If I said anything extremely wrong, please don't hesitate to tell me. I don't mean to hurt anyone. I might do some more characters, so if you have any you’d like me to analyze too much, I’d love to hear it! Or I might just do more that no one asks for cuz I had a lot of fun doing this!

[alex-the-hot-mess]

Yknow the people on this app and people in just in general that are creating controversy over the Queen's death piss me off. Idc what political affiliations a person has. Idc what you think about the Queen's rule or newly crowned King Charles as a person. She just died today. He had to be crowned on the same day as his mother's passing. And you people are going to sit there and say it was a ploy for the crown, theres sone conspiracy theory, Charles is going to be a bad ruler, it should be William, etc. like??

A person died today. A well-know and beloved person. The Queen of England for the last what? 75 years? died today. And the ironic part is that a lot of the slander I see is coming from people that were not her subjects. And even then due to England's political system the royal family really does not have as much say in their government as yall probably think.

A lot of people have compared Betty White and Queen Elizabeth II over the last few years. But when Betty passed she was revered. Called badass. Celebrated for her accomplishments. Why can't we do the same for the Queen? And this is coming from an American.

I wasn't even going to say much more than a "RIP Queen Elizabeth II" but then many of the people that I associate with started saying some pretty nasty things about her and it's so disrespectful.

So to the person on my feed that said "about fucking time" I hope people treat you the same way when you die. Honestly I wish that on anyone that talks ill on a person like the Queen.

[arotechno]

Jughead (2015), Issues 1-6: Discussion and Commentary

"I am like unto a god, Archie Andrews. Respect me as such."

Recently re-typed and ready to go, here is a broad discussion of the first volume of the Jughead reboot comic series. I was originally going to review each issue individually, but given that the first six comprise one story arc, I decided to do the whole volume in one go. That means this is a bit crunched for time and therefore not quite as in-depth as I wanted to go! But I encourage you to read the comics for yourself, if you are able.

This will not be spoiler-free, for the record! The images here are taken from my own copy using my phone, so they're not the best quality! But they also aren't especially crucial to this commentary, so you'll have to bear with me.

I just really like the inside cover art for this volume, alright (it's also the cover of issue 5)? I can't help it, I'm aro, I see heart imagery and something in my brain goes haywire.

When we first meet Jughead at the beginning of Volume 1, he comes off as lazy and apathetic, at least on the surface. After an all-nighter of playing video games, Jughead is dragged to school by Archie. There, they find that Betty has started a new campaign to save Fox Forest, a beloved local greenspace that is being threatened by Veronica’s wealthy father, Mr. Lodge. Jughead is… not very interested in Betty’s cause, to put it politely. It’s not that he doesn’t care about Fox Forest, but he does not believe that Mr. Lodge would be convinced to change his mind by a petition. He tells Betty as such, and she remarks that he lives a very hollow life.

“Man, you’re so cynical,” Archie tells him. “Is there anything you’d actually fight for?”

The answer is yes. What ultimately gets Jughead to fight for something? Food—well, kind of, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

When Archie and Jughead get to class, they learn that the principal of Riverdale High, Mr. Weatherbee, is being replaced out of the blue by a new guy called Stanger. Stanger is a stiff, serious type, and he immediately starts making changes: new uptight teachers, a strict dress code, new bootcamp-esque curriculum, and most importantly, supposedly nutritious slop to replace the food in the cafeteria.

This sends Jughead down a bit of a rebellious path—he’s not a rule-breaker, but he’s perfectly comfortable with bending the rules in his favor while narrowly skirting around getting into trouble. He starts selling burgers in the cafeteria, with the proceeds benefitting Betty’s fundraiser for Fox Forest.

(Hell yeah, Jughead, unionize that student body! Sell those burgers! You have nothing to lose but your chains!)

This stunt gets Jughead on Stanger’s bad side immediately, and a slowly simmering feud between them ultimately boils over when Stanger plants a knife in Jughead’s backpack to get him expelled. Thankfully, his dad is able to talk his sentence down to a week’s suspension, but that doesn’t stop his friends (and his mother) from worrying about him.

As an aside, I’d like to take a moment to appreciate Mr. Jones.

“Something’s off here and I’m not sure what it is, but I am sure Jughead didn’t bring a knife to school. My boy’s weird, but he’s not a criminal.”

I really like this line from him to Betty. He clearly knows his son and is willing to stand up for him, and it’s comforting to me, especially viewing the story through the lens of Jughead being aroace, that Mr. Jones is not at all bothered by his son being a bit on the strange side, as long as he’s still a good kid. Nothing but respect for Forsythe Jones II in this house.

Something fun and unique about this volume in particular is that in every issue, Jughead either falls asleep or passes out, and has an elaborate imaginative dream about the events of the story. In one he’s a pirate, for example, and in another he’s visited by a descendant of Archie’s from the future, who belongs to the time police. But towards the end of the volume, the line between these daydreams and reality seem to blur for Jughead. He comes to the conclusion in one particular nightmare that Stanger is trying to brainwash them all into becoming mindless agents for his evil organization—and then he realizes he may not be that far off from the truth.

Jughead brings this realization—that Stanger is using the school as a sort of training ground for secret agents—up to his friends, and understandably, they aren’t convinced. They worry that the compounded exhaustion of multiple all-nighters playing games and the stress of being suspended has started to get to Jughead, but he vows to prove it to them.

I mean, damn, Betty, that kind of hurts. (Don’t worry, Betty is actually a good friend, as I’m sure we’ll get into later in the series.)

To make a long story short (and to avoid spoiling the entire plot for those who haven’t read it!), Jughead does find proof, and once he does, his friends are immediately on board. They are ultimately able to save the day, and once it’s revealed that Stanger and the new teachers are ex-CIA trying to brainwash the students (no, seriously), Mr. Weatherbee is re-instated as principal and things return to normal.

I’m leaving out a lot of nuanced details, mostly for the sake of time, but there are a lot of surprisingly weighty moments to this first arc, and Zdarsky’s character writing is incredibly endearing and funny, while still hitting the serious moments when it needs to. There’s an interesting underlying commentary in this arc about military recruitment and U.S. propaganda; Stanger says that he specifically chose Riverdale because the students are so average. There’s something to be said here about the way the military industrial complex preys on average or underprivileged teenagers to convince them to serve when they feel they have no better path to take. It’s an almost funnily serious commentary for Zdarsky to make with a seemingly silly and off-beat comic series, and I respect him for that.

(If you recognize this panel, it’s because it appears on the page where Jughead’s asexuality is canonized. What a good page. So good that nobody ever points out this panel.)

By the end of Volume 1, we see that Jughead maybe isn’t as apathetic and careless as he seemed to be. Sure, he got up in arms about food of all things in the beginning, but it stopped being about food very quickly, once he realized that something truly messed up was going on. And it bothers him, deeply—at one point, the gravity of the situation begins to weigh on him so heavily that he nearly gives up entirely, convinced that there is nothing they can do and that they ought to just lie low until they make it out. But he does end up making things right, with the help of his friends, and in the end, he does decide to help Betty out after all. It’s the least he can do, really. You do get the impression that although Jughead’s friends often don’t take him seriously, they’ll always have his back when it counts—and he’ll do the same for them, even if he’ll insist on being a bit snarky about it.

(That slightly cynical attitude is still there, though, and truthfully, Jughead wouldn’t be the same without it.)

To close out, I am just going to share some of my favorite panels/quotes that didn’t fit elsewhere, including some choice Aro Moods. I hope this (admittedly brief) discussion of Volume 1 convinces you to read the comics, and to join me again when I cover the next arc. Until then, cheers to Chip and Erica.

Jughead’s attitude towards Archie’s romantic problems will never not be funny to me. He’s just like “RIP to you but I’m different.”

Kevin. :/ Kevin come on, man. Mr. Zdarsky, sir, this is character assassination. (Jughead’s face in the corner is a reasonable reaction.)

This one’s gone around so many times before (as have a bunch of other aro moments that I don’t think I need to bother re-posting here), but I just think it’s neat. Don’t worry, Betty lets go.

Aaand lastly, I just really like this line from Jughead. “The world is out of our hands, pal. You just gotta make your own weird way in it.” That we do, Jughead. That we do.

[who-locked-stark-in-the-closet]

RIP Elizabeth II

She lasted longer than Stan Lee, but didn't quite make it to Betty White. Still~ She did pretty gods dang well, going at 96~! Beloved by multitudes, hated by few, Rest In Peace Liz. I'm sure no one will ever match the deeds in your monarchy.

[vallygirl285]

Screw you 2022, I knew you were going to suck when Betty White died on New Year Eve. Then we lost Sidney Poitier, Bob Saget, Ronnie Spector and this morning I saw we lost Meatloaf!!

I saw Meatloaf in concert when he released Bat Out of Hell II and it was one of the top 5 concerts I’ve ever been to!

RIP Meatloaf!!!

[still-single]

Some radio for ya

Listen to these radio shows, will you? Put them on to soundtrack whatever it is you get up to on here. Your GIFs will thank you.

Heathen Disco #281 (happy V-Day ya fucks)

https://www.mixcloud.com/mosurock/heathen-disco-show-281-13-february-2022/

HOUR 1

Gabor Szabo – Somewhere I Belong

Atlantis – Mr. Bigshot (You Get the Credit)

Margo Guryan – Someone I Know

Air – Baby I Don’t Know Where Love

Betty Davis – Anti Love Song

Modern Nature – Masque

DJ Python – Angel

Bardo Pond – Tommy Gun Angel

Moose – Boy

My Dad is Dead – In Your Mind

The Reds, Pinks and Purples – Tell Me What’s Real

Cate Le Bon – Cry Me Old Trouble

Patrice Rushen – Haven’t You Heard

Pete Yellin – It’s the Right Thing

Print Head – Dying the Way You Want

HOUR 2

Mdou Moctar – Tala Tannam

The Mountain Movers – I Watch the Sea

Levande Död – Unter Rotvältan

The Jesus and Mary Chain – Upside Down

The Chamber Strings – Telegram

Honey Radar – Sunrise Alphabet

J.R. Bohannon – Plum Village

The Main Ingredient – Work to Do

Dalibor Cruz – 02

Norma Tanega – You’re Dead

Vulcan – Lightning

Atomic Rooster – Lost in Space

Jake Xerxes Fussell – Washington

Banchee – “38”

HOUR 3

Konono No. 1 – Masikulu

Alleged Witches – Dukun

Sheila E. – The Glamorous Life

A;GRUMh… – nGUU (Petite Fugue)

Front 242 – Don’t Crash

Ava Mendoza – Apart From

Self Improvement – Firestarter

Link Wray – Beans and Fatback / I’m So Glad

Heavenly Bodies – Universal Resurrection

Cafe Racer – Pretty Trash

Heathen Disco #280 (Tribute to the late Jerry Weber / Jerry's Records in Pittsburgh, an important place in my history)

https://www.mixcloud.com/mosurock/heathen-disco-show-280-30-january-2022-rip-jerry-weber/

HOUR 1

The Dream Syndicate – The Days of Wine and Roses

Trees – Tom of Bedlam (live)

Jimmie Rodgers – Jimmie’s Texas Blues

Ronnie Lane and Slim Chance – Bye and Bye (Gonna See the King)

Wire – Blessed State

Matt Jencik – Yes Pussyfooting

T. Rex – Metal Guru

The Rolling Stones – Rocks Off

The Comsat Angels – Independence Day

The Soundcarriers – At the Time

Little Sister – You’re the One (Part II)

Ava Mendoza – Sun Gun

Marsha Hunt – (Oh No! Not) The Beast Day

HOUR 2

Cardboards – Electrical Generator

John Cale & Terry Riley – Church of Anthrax

Cabaret Voltaire – Protection

The Embarrassment – Celebrity Art Party

Bad Brains – Joshua’s Song / Banned in D.C.

My Bloody Valentine – I Can See It (But I Can’t Feel It)

John Dwyer, Ryan Sawyer, Greg Coates, Wilder Zoby and Andres Rentaria – Yuggoth Travel Agency

BÖRN - Þú Hvíslar

The Pheromoans – S.B.’s / Greece Theme

The Fall – Gramme Friday

Balaclavas – Roman Holiday

Master’s Apprentices – Easy to Lie

DJ Harrison – City Lights

The Poppy Family – Happy Island

HOUR 3

Darryl Way’s Wolf – Game of X

Butthole Surfers – Jimi

Spacemen 3 – Lord, Can You Hear Me

Hollow Frames – The Forest Reveals Itself

Sly & the Revolutionaries – Sensi Dub

Public Image Limited – Solitaire

Hard Corps – Desolation Land

David Bowie – She Shook Me Cold

Sic Alps – Message from the Law

Mathematiques Modernes – Disco Rough (Long Version)

The Impossible Dreamers – Spin

Talk Talk – New Grass