#rogersant

[braveclementine]

Chapter 15

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

"Y/N, please, can we talk?" Wanda asked.

You sighed. It was early in the morning so only you and the guys- minus Tony and Stephen- were wide awake and working around the farm. Even from where you stood feeding the chickens, you could see Steve, Bucky, and Sam with their shirts rolled up, showing off their muscles, and working in their jeans and leather boots with the cows.

"Yeah, Wanda, we can talk." You muttered, dropping more feed around your feet, before checking the water dishes.

"It's just, I know you're mad about us not coming back for Minerva, but Vis and I just couldn't. We had our twins and it was just going to be to much for us to handle by ourselves. And Jessie, Katherine, and Pietro weren't ready. We don't have a big family like you, Y/N, we can only take care of so many kids at once." Wanda said in a desperate voice. She really wanted you to believe her.

"I know, I know." You muttered and then sighed. "I just keep thinking about Minerva and how much. . . I mean she doesn't even know her brother Wanda."

You did feel a little better, seeing how guilty Wanda looked with that statement. You sighed again, "Are you guys taking her when you leave?"

"We all want to, but if she doesn't want to come with us, then we can't really force her." Wanda said, although the last bit was an obvious lie. They could force her to come with them, but they didn't want that kind of resentment from both her and us. It would probably hurt to much. It was unusual for a soulkid to reject their parent or a soulparent to reject their kid, but on the rare occasions that it did happen, it was extremely painful.

"It's almost been five years Wan." You sighed, but you were starting to feel bad now. "But I suppose if it's what she wants, then you. . . than she can go with you guys. I know it's what's best for her anyways."

"But you love her like your own?" Wanda said.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." You said softly. "And so does Tony, Stephen, and Loki."

"Yeah, I think I could tell." Wanda said with a small smile. "At least if she doesn't want to come back with us she'll have a good home. That gives me some comfort."

I couldn't imagine Minerva rejecting them. They just needed to put in a lot of effort to show that they really wanted her. That was the part that I was wondering if they could pull off.

They would have to reconnect with her. The last time they had seen her, she was around four or six months old. Minerva was going to be in a hard spot for a while.

"Do you want any help?" Wanda asked as you moved to start picking all of the raspberries that were ready on the plants.

"No, I've got this. You can go and see if Fury wants some help with breakfast though. It's his day today and he sometimes has some difficulty with the one eye. Don't tell him I told you that though, he'll never admit it."

"Got it." Wanda said, getting up from where she had been crouching beside you to go back into the farmhouse.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, startling you as you hadn't heard him approach.

"Yeah, I'm fine Buck." You said, plopping the raspberries into the basket. There were actually quite a few bushes and you were going to have to work fast to get them done quickly.

"You want some help?" Bucky asked.

"Thought you were helping out Steve and Sam with the cows?" You questioned, looking up at him.

"They've got it fine without my help." Bucky said with a shrug. "I was actually about to go back in. Where's Clint? I thought he was going to help with the berries today."

"He's milking the goats." You said with a shrug as well. "We're two hands short cause Tony and Stephen are still sleeping in, but that was to be expected."

Tony and Stephen rarely slept, usually staying up through the night. Tony stayed up to tinker in his lab while Stephen would stay up in the library and pour over books about magic. It was always a bit disconcerting when you got up in the middle of the night and they were just wide awake.

You always felt bad about their inability to sleep normal hours like normal people, but this was something they'd dealt with pretty much their entire life and didn't see anything wrong with it.

"If I really cared about having them helping around the farm though instead of sleeping, I would just go to bed with them." You said nonchalantly.

"Fair." Bucky said with a small grin. He sat down next to you and started to pick the berries.

"Bucky I already told Wanda that I don't need any help and if you start helping, she's going to think that I pushed her away because I'm still mad at her."

"Aren't you?"

"No, we sort've figured things out this morning."

"Well, I can be very persuasive." Bucky said, putting a handful of berries into the basket, before leaning over to kiss you passionately. "But you know that."

Giggling, you pushed Bucky away. "Sure thing C-3PO."

"Well that's a new one." Bucky said sardonically, rolling his eyes. "Did Tony come up with that?"

"No. He was going to call you BB-8." You said, lips twitching.

"Why? That thing is so tiny." Bucky grunted.

"Bucky Barnes. BB." You said with a tucked lip smile.

Bucky groaned. "Time to get everyone to start calling me James again."

"Oh? Is that truly what you want, James?" You smirked.

"Oh doll, stop talking. The things you do to me when you say my name like that. Shit and it's not even eight yet." Bucky groaned, fixing the crotch of his jeans, before moving farther down to start picking the blueberries.

You smiled to yourself before you picked up the raspberry basket to bring inside. You put the raspberries in a glass jar, putting it in the refrigerator so that they stayed fresh now that they were off the bush, labelling them with their date so that they were used in time.

Fury and Wanda were cooking in the kitchen together, talking about past missions and things like that.

"Is it weird to be retired?" Wanda was asking.

"A little bit. Especially when you take into account that I'm immortal. But it's not indefinite. We have long lifetimes ahead of us so we may go back to it. We're not going to leave Earth undefended, we've just taken a priority into which missions really need to be done and which ones our agents could handle." Fury said, scrambling up the eggs in one of the large frying pans.

"Yeah, that makes sense." Wanda said softly.

"Is everyone almost done outside?" Fury asked, looking at me.

"Steve and Sam are still taking care of the cows. And I think Clint is still milking the goats, but he ought to be done with that soon. Bucky insisted on gathering the blueberries and blackberries but I think that's it. Well, someone might have to wake Tony and Stephen up-"

"Yeah, I'm not doing that job." Fury said, turning the bacon over.

You laughed. "Yeah no, don't worry. It'll either be F.R.I.D.A.Y. or me. But they don't need to be awake quite yet. They probably had another late night."

You headed back outside to see if Bucky wanted you to help out with the rest of the berries.

Alpine was outside now, rubbing against Bucky's legs and you smiled.

"No." Bucky kept saying to her in sweet voices, lifting the berries up over his head. "you can't have these."

You giggled, coming over and taking the basket from Bucky's raised hands as Alpine climbed all over him.

"Come here Alpine." You said sweetly, scooping her up in your other arm, making sure your fingers brushed over his tented area. Bucky groaned, muttering a curse word under his breath. You headed into the house, meeting halfway with Clint who was carrying the glass jugs full off milk.

"Successful hunt?" He teased, nodding to the berries.

"Extremely successful. Especially for Alpine." You giggled, before lowering the white cat to the floor as you entered the house. She just stared up at you, asking for berries.

"Damn cats gonna get sick one day." Clint sighed. "She watches the bunnies eat the berries and automatically thinks she can too."

"Actually, they can have blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries." You admitted, finally dropping one blackberry for her to eat. "But these are ours."

Clint chuckled. "Can't blame her for wanting them. You grow the sweetest fruits."

You flushed, knowing it was a double innuendo. "Knock it off trouble." You muttered, quickly moving into the main part of the house. Clint laughed behind you.

You quickly filtered the berries into separate jars while Clint took the milk to one of the tanks so that it would churn and purify.

Fury and Wanda were just setting the table and putting out the food. Pietro, Jessie, and Katherine were coming down now.

Some of the kids were awake now, the older ones anyways. Stephen came downstairs, dark circles under his eyes, though he was dressed cleanly. Vera was in his arms and he set her down in her high chair.

"How'd you sleep?" You asked, running your hands up to his shoulders so that you could hug him.

"Hmm? Oh I didn't go to bed last night." Stephen yawned, kissing the top of your head and then moving back so that he could sit down in one of the chairs. "I just got so caught up reading one of the books that I forgot to go to bed."

You tsked. "Stephen. . . "

"I know, I know. I'll get some sleep tonight, I promise." He said, kissing the palms of both your hands and looking up at you with a tired smile.

"It's going to be a slow day today. How about you and Tones take a nap after breakfast." You said, running your fingers through his hair.

"How about you join us if it's so slow?" Stephen teased, pulling you closer to his body.

You giggled, "I would, but then you wouldn't get any sleep now, would you?"

Stephen smirked.

You laughed, kissing the top of his head, before moving away so that you could grab some applesauce for Vera.

"What are we doing today?" Lucy asked as she sat down at the table.

"We're going to show your Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins around the farm, then we're all going to go into town and join the festivities for the Memorial Day festivities. Then we're going to come home and have dinner." T'Challa said.

"Okay!" Lucy said with excitement.

Tony came down the stairs, looking just as tired as Stephen, coming over and sitting next to you and him.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" You asked softly, passing him the bacon platter.

"A couple hours. . . I think." Tony murmured.

Minerva came down the stairs at that moment, making a bee-line for Tony, climbing up into his lap.

"Morning sweetheart." Tony murmured, kissing the top of her head. You gave him a plate so that he could put some food on it for her. Minerva ate in his lap and you could tell that Wanda was looking at the rest of you. It took all of your power not to look over at her. You didn't want her to know that you were aware of her stares.

Although, she might've been able to read your mind.

"Go and take a nap. Both of you." You commanded as breakfast came to a close and the children had scampered outside with their cousins.

Tony and Stephen both shook their heads. "We're fine Y/N. Really."

"It wasn't a suggestions. Now go!" You said, pointing your finger towards the bedrooms.

"Love you gorgeous." Tony said, pecking you on the lips.

"See you in a few hours darling." Stephen said, kissing the top of your head.

They both went upstairs and then you went ahead and finished the rest of the chores that needed to get done.

***

You watched as Vision and Minerva played games together at the booths that had been set up at the carnival. You were chewing on your bottom lip as you watched them. She seemed to enjoy the robots presence. But it made sense that she would get closer to Vis and Pietro first as they were Elizabeth's literal soulmates while Wanda, Jessie, and Katherine were the soulmates of the soulmates.

"Hey!" Steve said, coming up from behind you with Bucky on his heels. Sam wasn't around at the moment.

"Hey." You smiled at them. "What have you been up to?"

"I was remembering the last carnival I was at." Steve said with a small smile.

"Yeah, it was the Stark Expo." Bucky grinned. "Howard Stark showed us one of his flying car inventions. Then Stevie here disappeared to sign up to go into the army. That's the night that changed all of our lives."

"But there were things I didn't get to do that night that I did want to do." Steve said.

"Oh?" You questioned.

"I didn't get to dance." He said. "Dance with me sweetheart?"

"Of course Stevie." You said sweetly. Bucky and Steve took either of your hands, leading you away from the games.

There was indeed a dance area, mostly older couples dancing, although there were a few young pairs, and also a couple of small kids.

Steve pulled you onto the floor, wrapping one arm around your waist, the other clutching your hand. You put your arm around his neck and the two of you danced slowly.

There was some sort of sadness in his eyes as he danced and you were sure that he was thinking about the past.

"Stevie." you said softly. "You don't have to worry about the past anymore. The past is quite literally the past. And we can't do anything to change it."

He was silent for a moment and then said, "You know, I could've. I could've changed so many things, using Starks' time machine."

"But you didn't. Because you know you can't." You said softly. You paused and then asked a question that had weighed on your heart a lot since you'd learned about it. "Do you regret it? Not going back for her?"

Steve's eyes flashed again with that sadness. "You know, Peggy was the only person I ever broke a promise to? I told her I'd dance with her and I never did. But no, Y/N. No. I have you. I have Bucky and Sam. I was stupid for ever even thinking about going back for Peggy. I could never really have what I wanted with her and that was a family. I have you. I have Bucky. I have Sam. I don't regret that I didn't go back. I just wish I could've kept my promise somehow."

You nodded, leaning against his chest. "I'm sorry you didn't get to keep it."

Steve held you a little closer. "I wouldn't say that."

As the dance came to a close, Steve kissed you sweetly, before saying, "You have no idea how much I love you cookie."

"I love you too. . . Captain." You whispered.

His eyes darkened. "Bucky was right. You're being a terrible tease today aren't you?"

You just smiled.

Then Bucky was there, asking if he could cut in for a dance. Steve gave him my hand and Bucky was soon twirling you on the dance floor.

"You alright doll?"

You looked at him. You wanted to talk to him about Peggy and how he had felt about all of that mess. But you had told Steve the past didn't matter. And it didn't. So you didn't ask.

"I'm alright Buck. It was just. . . well it's nothing really." You smiled, leaning into his embrace.

"You can tell me anything doll."

"I know. I just don't think I need to with this." You said with a smile. "I talked to Stevie about something, that's all."

"Well okay." Bucky said, leaning down to kiss you. "By the way, you're a fabulous dancer doll."

You giggled. "Yeah, well, you're leading."

"Don't you think for a second I forgot about this morning." Bucky growled in your ear. "You're gonna spend the night with us tonight."

You giggled. "I look forward to it. . . Sergeant."

You quickly drew from his arms. He made to catch you and you dashed through the carnival. Steve and Bucky were hot on your heels as you giggled and ran.

You saw Tony and Stephen up ahead and they looked over at you when they heard your giggles. Stephen swept you up into his arms, twirling you away as the two super soldiers made another grab for you.

"What are you doing darling?" He asked, turning his back to the super soldiers.

You giggled.

"She's being a bad girl. Come on, give her back." Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Are you being a bad girl?" Stephen asked, smirking.

You nodded, giving him an innocent look with round eyes. "Very bad doctor."

"Oh bloody hell." Stephen groaned.

"Told you." Steve smirked.

"Why are you being a bad girl?" Stephen growled lowly in your ear.

"Because I like to tease you." you said cheerfully.

Suddenly you spun out of his grip, taking off running again. You giggled when you looked behind you and saw that all four of them were chasing you.

You giggled when Bucky caught you around the waist, before tossing you over his shoulder.

"Oh sweetheart." Steve said, grinning down at you. He looked over at Tony and Stephen, "I think the three of us are going to head home early."

"I think the two of us are going to join you." Stephen smirked.

Steve looked surprised, but then he said, "Well, well, that does sound like fun. What do you think cookie?"

You gave them a thumbs up.

"Words." Tony and Steve demanded at the same time and you could already feel yourself growing wet with their demands.

"Yes Daddy, yes Captain." You teased again.

"That's it, home now." Steve growled.

Oh boy, were you in for a long night or what?

[chemsexholmes]

I do think it's interesting that the actors of the 60s and onwards were so resistant to being typecast, or at least there's an attitude among a certain caste of actor about that sort of thing, when for like, all of vaudeville into the film of the 30s entertainment was reliant on "types".

[fazcinatingblog]

dunno whether to cricket tonight and die in 38 degree heat or

[kingofthewilderwest]

My country music record collecting obsession contributing to Gravity Falls meta was not on my 2024 bingo card but here we go.

One of the earliest country musicians with some sway in the 1920s was Riley Puckett, though I highly, highly doubt that "Pluckin' Jim" Puckett references him.

They used an image of George Jones. Pretty dang famous and respected to this day. Nnnnot exactly some classic yodeler, but known for his Great Voice.

"Hillbilly" was the official name of the genre until the mid-1940s. Yodeling was big in the 1920s and 30s because everyone wanted to be Jimmie Rodgers, but it had a mainstay with the singing cowboy movies - the Gene Autries and Roy Rogerses. They stretched yodeling through the 40s, but by the 50s, yodeling wasn't Country Central. But rock-and-roll was breaking out of country at this time.

George got rolling in the mid-50s and broke out by the end of the decade, so we're not out of the ballpark for some of the joke references. And hey! I will take the George Jones Easter Egg!

George Jones's presence doesn't feel targeted - they tossed him on to make sure their "Cipher is Real" cover was distinct from The Real Deal. See, The Book of Bill is referencing a notorious album cover. Notorious. 75% of what you see is cut-and-paste from the real deal. I love the reference and it's inspired. But in "Cipher Is Real" being an imitation, it's almost a downgrade. "Haddock, what can be zanier than Bill the Over-Toasted Demon Nacho usurping a country album?" May I burn a fantastic new image in your mind.

Move over, "Cipher Is Real." Make way for "Satan Is Real."

This is not parodic. They did this cover. Please give it up for the (highly talented) Louvin Brothers with their 1959 album Satan Is Real.

Let me stress that this masterpiece is not edited. The brothers painted, crafted, and erected sixteen-foot-tall plywood!Satan themselves. Then they just. Set fire to kerosene-drenched tires in an old rock quarry behind their house and posed.

[azriona]

Chocolate Chip Shortbread cookies

(Marks & Sparks copycat recipe)

(for @paula-in-dreamland, because she asked)

So full disclosure: I found this recipe online around ten years ago, but no idea where because the link appears to be broken. Ah well. It's not an exact copycat, but it's good enough for me and I love these better than actual c.c. cookies, probably because of the obscene amounts of butter in each cookie. The originals might be British but I am American so deal with the measurements as is.

Ingredients:

8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temp

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/4 tsp salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 egg yolks

2-1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips (i sometimes add another quarter cup; you do you)

Instructions:

Cream butter and sugar together for 1-2 minutes. It will be fluffy-looking. Like a unicorn.

Add salt, vanilla, and egg yolks, and beat until smooth.

Add flour one scoop at a time and mix until incorporated. It'll be thick, like peanut butter.

Add chocolate chips. Maybe some more chocolate chips. A couple more? Yeah, that looks good.

Roll out the dough on a floured surface to at least 1/4" thick. (Thicker is fine, too, just adjust your bake time accordingly.) I like to aim for a rectangle the size of a regular piece of paper. (8-1/2 x 11, or slightly shorter than an A4 if you're European and still yelling about how much two sticks of butter weighs. It's 226 gram, btw.)

Cut the dough into even squares or rectangles. Or triangles. Or circles. Or hell, cut out tiny Bucky Barneses for all I care, go wild.

Bake on a lined* cookie sheet at 325F for 12-15 minutes. Cool on a wire rack. (*Lined with parchment paper or silicone mats. You can get cheap ones at IKEA, they're the bomb, and you will never have cookies stuck to your cookie tray again.)

Hide the cookies from your children and your husband, or you will not have any cookies and then you will be sad. Like Bucky Barnes. Probably should have made a second batch of Steve Rogerses or Clint Bartons. Ah well, next time.

[anewnewcrest]

A2, B12, C8 your choice, D3, F1

I'm finally getting to answer these! Yay!

A2: What has been your favorite storyline to write so far? Your least favorite?

Honestly it's hard to pick, because I'm usually much more excited about planning the storylines than I'm about actually doing all the work of writing them! And by now there's been so much...!

I really enjoy Priscilla Sawyer's storyline because Maxwell Sawyer is suffering. I also love doing Mark and Kathryn's relationship because they're at least normal-adjacent, Frank Rogers going to prison was a very lovely moment (for me), and generally everything where horrible people suffer through the consequences of their own actions in some way. Unfortunately I can't put too much of that, because fundies rarely do suffer the consequences of their actions.

Least favorite is probably the more outwardly abusive men (Henry King, Lincoln Evans, Ashton Miller, Michael Matthews, Mason Matthews, Maxwell Sawyer, just to name a few). There's a big difference between putting "This man is an abusive fuckward who abuses his family" into your notes, and actually trying to convey the reality of that abuse.

Also the Joneses, because I find them more boring than expected, and the Rogerses because they're so fucked that it's hard to stomach for me.

B12: When you're not playing Fundie Sims, what kind of sims do you play?

Uuuuh... more fundies? I've always enjoyed playing with big families, and if I try to play normal Sims I get bored, and start over-planning everything, and if I'm over-planning I might as well get some story done for the blog while I over-plan.

C8: Share a few random facts about Sims/families that may not come up in the story.

David Johnson is really, really, really into career women in suits who are intelligent, well-spoken, put together, and will disagree with him. So, the exact opposite of his wife.

The reason why my Fundie Sims generally don't have pets is because I don't want to see the pets mistreated. I'm apparently a-ok with virtual child abuse, but draw the line at cats and dogs.

If my Sims got therapy, 90% of my stories would not exist.

I had to ret-con some character ages because if I hadn't Gwen Bell and Alyssa Payne would've had their first kids when fourteen years old.

The Paynes originally were supposed to have triplets as their grand finale, and the reason why Alyssa poured those pills down the toilet is because I would've lost my tenuous grip on my sanity.

D3: What's your favorite character, storyline or moment from another Fundie Simblr?

This lives in my head rent-free. @shinyhappysims

Also, Miriam from @clarkes-and-god is literally out there stealing arrows from people's quivers and I'm here for it.

F1: When did you first start playing The Sims? Which game was it?

Back in 2004 when I was 14, I visited a friend in Germany, and she had Sims 2 on her computer and I was instantly, completely, insanely hooked. I bought Sims 2 and way too many expansions, then a few years later, World of Warcraft happened to me. I got back into playing Sims in 2016? 2017? Skipping Sims 3 completely, and here I am.

[abarbaricyalp]

Ooh okay, "listening to someone’s heartbeat" for SamBucky, please 👀

Laughs evilly

It had been a long time since Bucky had prayed a Rosary. He wasn't actually Catholic. The Rogerses were, not the Barneses. He wasn't really anything, to be honest. But the old set of prayers had come back to him unbidden when he'd seen Sam go down with the building. When he'd thrown himself onto the rubble and started to dig by hand, the rocks beneath his fingers had become prayer beads and each one was a Hail Mary that he'd find Sam in one piece and breathing.

It wasn't just that the building had come down. The entire ground beneath it had opened up and swallowed everything on top of it--righteous, glorious heroes included. And Bucky had had to watch it happen from dozens of meters back, too fucking far away to do anything about it.

Each rock-bead and prayer was accompanied by a litany of Sam's name. Bucky had definitely said Sam's name like a prayer before. And a curse. But more often a prayer. He wasn't sure he'd ever meant it as desperately as he did now.

The Hail Marys lost lines until Bucky's own pleas became nothing more than Sam come back to me Sam come back to me Sam come back to me Sam come back to me Sam come back--

He found, unbelievably, the star of Sam's suit first. He'd already scuffed his fingers raw, so he didn't really care about more damage as he began hauling rocks away almost faster than he could move. He kept losing his footing--his kneeling?--as he worked, but there was Sam, coming out of the cave, back into the world of the living. Bucky unshrouded his face, got a hand beneath his neck and lifted him out of the rest of the rubble.

The skidding and sliding down all of the rock Bucky had just displaced was not graceful and he was going to have bruises and gashes up and down his legs, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except the man in his arms who wasn't reacting to being out in the sunlight again.

"Sam," Bucky prayed again, familiar plea starting up in his heart and head once more. "Sam, it's okay. You're okay. Stay with me, alright? You came back. You came back. You're alright."

Upon flat ground, he laid Sam out and immediately put his ear down to Sam's chest, checked his pulse at his wrist, and then his neck. He could feel it. Knew Sam's heart must be beating, but he couldn't hear it.

"Hey!" he called without lifting his head from Sam's chest. "Hey! I need medical! I need everyone!"

He clung onto Sam's hand between both of his, folded together like that actually made prayer work, and kept praying to Sam to come back.

. . .

Bucky was very good at getting into places he shouldn't be, even when everyone in a hospital was aware he was going to attempt to get into that place. Usually people left him alone when it was Sam. They were supposed to know that he was family and Sam was his and there weren't arguments about this.

But they were far from their usual stomping grounds and Sam had needed immediate stabilization, so this wasn't a team he knew. Instead, he'd had to break the lock on the door and let himself in during the 35 second lull of the nurse going to investigate the vending machine that had not changed once again.

Sam was in a good bed. Of course he was. He was Captain America. They'd cleared half the floor for him, which Sam would hate when he woke up. There were machines doing important things. Bucky knew what they all were, but he was letting himself focus on the panic and dread taking up most of the space in his head right then.

He pushed the door shut again and drew down the privacy screen a little. It would not stop people from seeing him, but that wasn't really his problem at this point.

Beside Sam's bed, he carefully checked his pulse, the bandages around his head and the early casting on, like, everything. He checked through the bag of belongings set aside on a chair. Then he carefully let himself into the bed, because there was enough room, held himself very still and taut so he didn't put any weight on Sam whatsoever, and laid his ear over Sam's chest again.

This time, he heard his heartbeat, sure as a prayer.

. . .

Sam woke up to pain that was very far away, but also persistent and rude. It made the warm weight on his chest that much more concerning. He was pretty sure if the pain was that far away, everything else should be too. His hand, as he tried to raise it to feel out what was on his chest, certainly felt far away. Like his arm was long, long, long and trapped in a black hole.

"What?" he asked, when he gave up on raising his hand. There was supposed to be more to the sentence, but the pain in his throat was much closer than the rest of it. Tears sprung up to his eyes from the impossible sandpaper burn of speaking. The tears then burned the hell out of his eyes, which felt like he'd poured sand directly into them.

This was not ideal.

"I'm listening to your heartbeat," a familiar voice said. And it was like daylight at the end of a tunnel. Sam knew where he was now. Well, not fully, but Bucky was beside him, so could it really be that bad?

Sam nodded. Bandages scruffed along a pillow behind him. He wondered if talking was any better now. "Is it--" he started, but grimaced and tried to jerk away from the fresh onslaught of pain.

The warm weight on his chest was gone, but a straw was against his lips just a few seconds later, so that wasn't so bad. He swallowed cool water down carefully. It tasted like straight tap. He wondered if Bucky would sneak in a filter for him. Still, the relief was pretty instantaneous. They really needed to figure out a better form of intubation.

"Is it still there?" he finished. It still hurt his throat something fierce, but while that was hurting, he figured he'd try to open his eyes instead. A room swam into bleary view, but Bucky wasn't there.

The weight returned to his chest. Sam closed his eyes again.

Without Bucky laying on it now, Sam was able to lift his hand up to Bucky's hair and kind of pet through it. It got exhausting after half a second, so he just left his hand there instead.

"Yeah," Bucky whispered after a while. Sam almost forgot what he'd asked. "It's still there."

And between beats, Sam could hear Bucky whispering thank you thank you thank you.

[writing-by-night]

Seven Days to Christmas Countdown: Day 6

Pairing: PreSerum!Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Prompt:  Stucky Hallmark AU - Steve’s art career in the city has just started off, but now he’s home for New Years, only to run into his childhood friend Bucky, who’s now running the local bakery 

Word Count: 2.5k

New York’s a bustling, slushy mess three days after Christmas, unfortunately. No train tickets were available to get home for Christmas with his ma, so Steve’s had to settle for going home to his tiny, speck on the map town outside of Albany for New Years instead, the first year he’s been able to afford to do so since college.

His art career is finally stabilizing, regular commissions for artistic paintings of products for decently sized companies who aren’t the giant exploitive giants many people have to rely on, which he also did for years

In addition to that, he’s got a small career of posting his work and projects on social media, never showing his face but telling stories and the Irish folklore his ma handed down to him when she and his grandparents immigrated to an audience. Plus, there's a little bookstore back home that’s commissioned him to celebrate an official change of ownership, so that should be nice.

He gets home on December 28th, late at night, falling asleep as soon as he’s home and has greeted his Ma. The next day, he’s apt to explore with a sketchbook, soon finding himself outside the bookshop that hired him – Noble Barnes’ Bookshop. 

It’s cozy, classic, and by all means the perfect spot to paint. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he opens it – @noblebarnesbooks, the shop he’s actively outside of

| Noble Barnes Bookshop 

Hey! Just checking today at 2:15 is still good for you?

| Steve Rogers

Yep, that still works1

I’m actually outside rn, I’ll come in? 

| Noble Barnes Bookshop

Oh, I can see you! Come on in:))

Steve steps inside and it's equally quaint and cozy, a large central display full of queer books with a rainbow flag in it. The side wall has dozens of flags displayed – bisexual, lesbian, gay, trans, nonbinary, genderfluid, pansexual, demisexual, asexual, aromantic, agender, sapphic, demigirl and demiboy, just to name a few

And then he spots the man behind the counter who he was just texting

Bucky fucking Barnes.

His childhood best friend.

Son of his mother’s best friend. 

And. He’s fucking hot.

“H-hi-?”

“So it is you!” Bucky grins and Steve realizes he definitely recognizes him. He’s not exactly the scrawny kid he was, though still a bit skinny… but Bucky, he’s ripped, and gorgeous, and he’s got long hair

Long, silky hair Steve wants to run his hands through already

He’s well and truly fucked.

“Y-yeah, yep, its me – I don’t think there’s that many Steve Rogerses out there really-”

“Your Ma mentioned you were coming for the new year and then I thought it just had to be coincidence-”

They go back and forth for an hour, Steve still a blushing, stuttering mess and Bucky cool and indulgent, and Steve has never wanted anyone more. And he’s not even sure Bucky’s gay, at least until-

“Yeah, I had a shitty ex a while back. Brock Rumlow, remember him? Used to be a quarterback or something for that school we played against ages ago. Anyways that was horrible and I came back here and bought this shop to make a dream come true”

Bucky has an ex- and it’s a man? Okay, but Brock is like the opposite in appearance than he i- it’s a shitty breakup, maybe it’s fine? Shit, Steve should say something

“Oh, I’m so sorry- I haven’t really dated since highschool, I mean I go to stuff but it never really… clicks.” Not like this anyways. Honestly, sitting on Bucky’s couch above the shop is more intimate than anything he’s had in years, and since a few failed casual things he mostly gave up on all of it. But, he’s an artist, and definitely a romantic. Most people don’t seem to like the second, or find the first too unstable. Or both.

“Yeah, I get that… I mean it’s not always easy to find guys, who wanna deal with me,” Bucky sighs, taking a sip of the coffee they’ve made, spiked with bourbon because why not. At least they’re both legal now, unlike when Bucky was stealing beers from his dad in highschool. Ah, fond memories. His first hangover. They’d grown apart by then.

“Just guys for you?”

“Yeah, what about you?”

Steve shrugged. “Both. Don’t entirely have a preference, you know? Either way, I like people, I like different things, I don’t exactly have huge preferences. Though I can lean towards women sometimes”

Bucky nods understandingly, stoking the wood stove, because of course he has one.

“You got plans for New Years? I can’t imagine Sarah wants you staying in, she’ll worry you’re bored, and she turns in early right?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t know where I’d go.”

“The pub down the road does a  coffee house-open mic type thing, Leona started it up once she got back from college. And on New Years it goes all night, literally until dawn”

“That sounds amazing,” he smiles, moving a bit closer until their thighs are touching

“You should come, you’d like it,” Bucky smiles. Steve hands over the sketch he’s been halfheartedly working on as they chat, silently preening at the nod of approval he gets

“You sure I’d be welcome?”

“Yeah, I am,” Bucky smiles softly. “C’mon, don’t be shy Stevie, I’ll take you.” Stevie. Fuck. 

Steve’s mouth goes dry at the nickname. It never used to make his head spin before…

“Y-yeah, yeah sure. I’ll come”

On New Year’s Eve, Steve’s frantically pacing in his childhood bedroom, completely unsure what to wear. What. The. Fuck.

“Baby? You okay in there?” Sarah knocks on the door and Steve opens it, nodding. 

“Yeah, I’m fine Ma, uh. Just not quite sure what to wear y’know?”

“Mhm.. You’re seeing James tonight, right?”

“Uh- yeah, yeah I am”

She nods knowingly and Steve flushes with embarrassment. “Ma- look it’s not like that”

“Of course not.” she smiles angelically and he groans

“I don’t think it is at least- I mean-”

“Hold on.”

She disappears and he’s left to fidget until his mother returns with a package. “This was going to be for the holidays but I got the shipping info wrong,” she explains, setting it on his bed. “I think that might be luck.”

When he opens it, she’s not wrong. He’s never been luckier – it’s a beautiful, soft blue sweater. Not gay enough for his taste on its own…

Quickly, he grabs some skinny jeans and a patterned lavender button down to put under it… some jewelry, that always makes him feel a little gayer and prettier… ooo, makeup- he’s started learning a bit… why not? 

Perfect. 

He checks his watch, hurriedly finding a pair of comfortable shoes as he hurries down. Bucky’s gonna be here soon to drive him.

Actually, soon seems an understatement, given that as soon as he comes downstairs Bucky is standing there chatting with his Ma, dressed in a pair of paint-speckled jeans and a red flannel, chin-length hair combed neatly and the top half pulled into a ponytail. 

He’s hotter than he was the first time they reunited, somehow. And they’ve been spending just about every day together, too- because of the commission. Obviously. Clearly. The painting of Bucky leaning on the counter of the shop with a loving attention paid to making his expression just right and his arms toned perfectly…

Nope. Not the time- Steve can have his gay crisis later.

When Bucky turns Steve can spot a blush on his cheeks, and he must have a similar one

“Hey, Buck,” he smiles shyly, coming to give Bucky a hug

“Hey baby,” comes the reply, mumbled into his neck and somehow making Steve blush further. 

“Have fun!” Sarah chirps, and both of them snapping out of the near-trance to head out the door. 

Bucky opens the car’s door for Steve. 

He’s not going to survive this.

They get to the pub soon enough – not hard, it’s a small town so it’s not like it takes very long to get anywhere. It’s just as cozy as Steve remembers it, bustling with warm chatter as he slowly greets the people he went to highschool with or friends and Bucky’s relatives who knew him all through childhood.

Throughout all of it, Bucky keeps an arm around Steve, and Steve can’t stop thinking about it even once the open mic starts, the two of them perching on one available chair, Steve on the chair itself while Bucky leans on the back, chin occasionally brushing the top of Steve’s head and arms around his neck.

Steve thinks about this far too often.

He thinks Bucky does too based on how often he leans down as if to kiss his hair and then stops himself. 

Bucky plays the guitar.

An hour to midnight, this is Steve’s prime discovery. 

Yes, former friend Peggy Carter has kids now – always  a good friend, still happy to chat along with her. Nat, who he actually sees a lot at college given as they go to the same school, turns out to be with Wanda, and has brought her home. This is not surprising. Carol Danvers now owns the pub after inheriting it from her wife Maria’s uncle because Maria doesn’t want to own a pub but is fine with being married to the owner. She and Bucky are all but best friends and this is a blast to watch given as she seems to be the only one under the age of sixty who can beat Bucky at darts.

 Angie Martinelli is, as everyone expected, the mother of Peggy’s children, and works in the local diner. Maria Hill, valedictorian, is half of the local legal firm alongside the now significantly older Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson. Matt still interrogates Steve about all the activism he’s doing in the city and restates his standing offer to be Steve’s attorney if he gets arrested(again). Steve accepts this offer. 

But honestly, who cares about all of that? Look, it's nice and all but he could’ve guessed most of it.

What he could not have guessed is that James Buchanan fucking Barnes can play the guitar. This man.

And his voice.

Steve can’t keep his thoughts straight. It’s rich and he’s singing some love song. It’s not Auld Lang Syne like the six versions he's already heard tonight. 

His head is spinning – he needs fresh air.

Nope, he needs to hear this more-

Bucky sings two more, and Steve listens to each one. His pencil’s moving faster than usual – trying to capture it perfectly. He wishes he brought his watercolors but his colored pencils do it fine for now..

“You drew me?”

He looks up in surprise when Bucky makes it back, instantly slamming his sketchbook shut

“N-no-”

Bucky smirks playfully, ruffling Steve's hair. “You totally did.”

His head spins. 

“M-maybe I did,” he mumbles, leaning into the touch. “I’m getting a drink – you want anything?”

He all but crashes into the single open spot at the bar, groaning as Natasha makes her way over.

“So. He’s still hot?”

“He is so hot,” Steve groans. “Nat, I’m supposed to be over this”

“You don’t do ‘over this,’ when you were all but in love,” Natash rolls her eyes, chatting with Carol as they get their drinks

“I- what- was not!” He sputters as the redhead laughs. 

“You were, completely and utterly – and he’s the same, moron”

“He- what?!” This whole thing is overwhelming him but he also doesn’t really want to end the conversation right now

“Oh Stevie,” she faux-soothes. “It’s not like he sang three love songs making full eye contact with you, or like he hasn’t taken his hands off you all night or anything – of course, it’s just so hard to guess”

He freezes.

All those lingering touches… hanging around his neck… tucking him close, Bucky fixing his hair… the way his hand lingers, tracing down Bucky’s arm when he would step away…

Fuck. He’s like a deer in the headlights.

Maybe Bucky is into him.

“So- what do I do?”

“Well, he’s single?”

“And?”

“Turns down every person who asks him out.” Carol appears, smirking, with another round of drinks. “Steve, he’s been talking about some old friend who he can’t get out of his head for years. He barely touches anyone, and he’s all over you”

“So?”

“Kiss him,” she responds, as if its obvious. “It’s new year’s. Everyone’s gonna be kissing – kiss him at midnight and flirt until then”

“I can’t flirt”

“You can when you’re drunk,” Natasha snorts, passing him a drink. “But not too drunk. Then you just wax rhapsodic art or random shit.” She takes her own shot, disappearing. “Good luck, punk.”

Bucky chooses that moment to appear, snaking an arm around Steve’s waist. “Hey, Romanov! Only I get to call this one a punk.”

That’s… kinda possessive.

And that’s kinda hot.

“Just you,” Steve confirms, leaning into the touch. “Promise you”

“You promise?” Bucky confirms. “On your Ma?”

“On my Ma”

Five minutes to midnight. Somehow, Steve’s found himself on Bucky’s lap as the last group finishes up a medley.

There’s a strong arm around his waist protectively, and he can feel the brunette’s breath on his neck.

They’ve been physically closer and closer since his chat with Nat.

He really wants to kiss him.

“Hey Bucky?”

Five!

“Yeah?”

Four!

“I- uh-”

Three!

“I lo-”

Two!

“I really, really like-”

One!

Steve crashes their lips together before he can overthink it. He’s half expecting to be rejected, but Bucky reciprocates it instantly, a hand tangling into Steve’s hair and manhandling the smaller man to straddle his lap.

There’s confetti and shouting and cheering and lots of people kissing.

He doesn’t notice anything but how Bucky’s got him close.

“Fuck”

“I love you,” Bucky gasps out, hugging him closer. “Fuck, Stevie. I really love you- I’ve loved you since highschool” 

“I-I love you too.” He’s never felt more sure of anything before. He’s so sure about Bucky. He doesn’t think about it, but its so natural to say. And the words contextualize so much of highschool, really.

They’re stumbling into some sort of a hallway, somewhere somewhat guarded from people, and Steve is being pushed against a wall, moaning as Bucky all but attacks his neck, lifting his legs to around his waist. “Fuck… should’ve told you soon as you came home, doll”

“You- you should’ve- ‘won’t hold it against you,” Steve pants, capturing his lips in another kiss.  

“Be my boyfriend, Stevie. Stay,” Bucky gasps softly. “D-do what you love… don’t have to leave the city. Come home weekends or I’ll come- just- I can’t let you go”

“I will- I’ll stay” he promises hurriedly. “Fuck- just- kiss me!”

“I love you, Stevie”

“I love you too”

-

A week later, it’s time to return. Steve wishes he didn’t have to.

Bucky’s been insistent about him not giving up his life in the city to come home or for his sake, but he still wants to.

Soon, maybe after college.

He’s been waking up with Bucky every single day, loved beyond measure. Sarah’s so proud, and definitely called it. He can’t imagine any other way this could have gone. 

Well, he can.

They just aren’t nearly as happy

[dwellordream]

I’ve been rereading All of Us Honorable and I’m struck by how wonderful, as always, your characterization is. I love watching the Rogerses grow and develop as people, while still acting consistently in line with their very distinct personalities. I especially appreciate how your fics aren’t Everybody Lives AUs, your characters face canon-realistic tragedies and hardships that I feel fleshes them out more.

I was wondering, how did you come up with the initial premise of the AU? Were you looking at the Stark family tree and intrigued by Branda Stark marrying a random Stormlander, and went from there? AoUH has an incredibly unique premise. I greatly look forward to seeing you continue with the sequel, With Their Bones. Cheers.

I think the premise emerged from me wanting to explore the idea of a minor house who aren’t super wealthy or powerful but who are ‘in the shadow of’ larger houses and also the idea of an extended Stark family with cousins and roots in different places.

[marmiteprinter]

🌞Year 20 - Summer 2 - Rogers (P2)🌞

That night, the Rogers family were the second on the island to be visited by burglar Velma. Makes sense since they won the lottery, I guess, although they didn't spend any of it on themselves!

She got to work stealing their couches, of all things. Mason heard her blatantly banging around and ran downstairs to call the police while she was occupied. He was told to stay out of her way, so he quickly rushed out of the room while her back was turned.

A new police officer, who must be Imran's colleague, arrived promptly and got into a scuffle with the burglar.

Luckily for the Rogerses, Velma lost the fight and was arrested. Hopefully we won't see her around the island for a while. Take her back to the mainland, officer!

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 6

<- Prev | Next ->

for the Can Only Move Your Eyes or Can Only Hear square on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

The pounding on your front door commenced moments after you had broken your fast. You and Mrs Rogers exchanged a look before you tidied up your place at the table and turned to watch the parlour door. Stomach full and mind fresh, you were not even annoyed that Sherlock was about to drag you somewhere at an improperly early hour; indeed, you were quite excited to know where.

Rogers stepped through the door with an ever-suffering expression. “Master Oliver Johnson with an urgent message for you, my lady.”

You furrowed your brow but followed your butler to the foyer. Your questions—well, some of them—were answered when you spotted a dust-covered, dirt-smudged young boy rocking on his heels.

“Good morning, Master Oliver,” you greeted him with a smile. “Has Mr Holmes sent you?”

“Yessum,” he said, brandishing a piece of paper from his pocket. Halfway through handing it to you, he widened his eyes and dropped into a deep bow, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the mixed-up formality.

“There is no need for that,” you assured the child as you unfolded the note. Looking up at Rogers and his wife, you said, “I have been summoned to Cable Street.” Apparently, the detective had finally tracked down Miss Algar’s residence.

Your butler’s mouth downturned tightly. “I dislike Mr Holmes dragging you all over the city, ma’am. You have not been made to walk so much in years.”

“Walk? To Cable Street?” interjected Mrs Rogers. “No, indeed! Why not hail a hansom for her ladyship, dear?”

A small smile leapt to Rogers’s face as he nodded and did as bidden, though it fell once more when he eyed the urchin in passing. You forbore a chuckle.

“Your husband is quite protective of his domain, is he not?” you mused.

“Of his domain?” she echoed. “I suppose. I for one am pleased you have found a friend and are getting out of the house, ma’am.”

“I for two,” you quipped, though you were already looking back to the young boy fidgeting with the uneven end of his shirt. “Mrs Rogers, would you please fix Master Oliver a plate? I do not think Lucy shall have finished clearing the breakfast parlour by now, so he may have whatever he likes from there. Should it not be enough for a warm meal, have him see Cook.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Oh, thank ye, m’lady!”

“I thank you, Master Oliver.” You patted him on the shoulder as he hurried to your housekeeper’s side, and his haste gave you pause.

“Mrs Rogers?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Please also prepare some food for me to bring along. I cannot imagine Sherlock has managed to break his fast if he has been investigating this early.”

She smiled. “Certainly, ma’am.”

You left to change for an outing and found the Rogerses conversing in the hall when you returned. The missus handed you a container as her husband said, “A hansom is at the kerb, ma’am. It was quite brisk outside, so I took the liberty of retrieving your cane.”

You accepted it as he handed it to you. “I thank you, Rogers.”

It was Mrs Rogers’s turn to look worried. “Your hands are quite full now. I do wish we had a footman to accompany you, my lady, though I understand why we do not.”

“Fret not, I shall have your aid to the kerb, the driver’s aid to Cable Street, then Sherlock’s aid onwards.”

“Well then,” she said with a sigh and a smile. “Your detective awaits!”

You flushed at such an epithet but did not dare mention it, lest you protest too much. Indeed, Sherlock was awaiting, the tracks that he had worn into the sidewalk nearly visible by the time you arrived at Cable Street.

“You are pacing, sir,” you couldn’t resist stabbing at him as you alighted from the hansom.

“You are late!” he retorted, glaring at you while you paid the driver.

“You must be hungry!”

When surprise and confusion overtook his sullenness, you decided you had won that battle.

“Have you eaten at all today?” you demanded, though you didn’t wait for a response before shoving into his chest the food Mrs Rogers had wrapped. “Break your fast; I shall see if anyone shall receive us at this hour.”

Luckily, someone would: the landlord was rather eager to welcome the great Sherlock Holmes and his titled companion, in fact. The “Lady” before your name might only be a courtesy, but courtesy had its perks.

Unfortunately, the woman who opened the door on which the landlord knocked was not as eager. While he launched into a whispered argument with her, Sherlock tapped on the back of your left hand, which rested upon the handle of your cane.

“Is this a fashion statement, then?” he murmured.

You chuckled and shook your head. “I suppose most people assume so. Rogers customised it after I had complained it was too fashionable and therefore too impractical to actually support me when my knee is particularly troublesome. Anyone who notices that it looks not quite like the typical lady’s walking stick would sooner accuse me of eccentric taste than of a hidden injury.”

“Mm… Clever.” He did not lift his hand off of yours, and you swallowed hard.

Before you could make sense of either his compliment or his ongoing contact, the woman threw her hands in the air, drawing your attention back to the flat.

“All right!” she bit out. “I shan’t be getting any peace anyhow if you’re so insistent!”

The landlord grinned. “You shan’t be regretting it, Lydia.” Turning back to you, he bowed and said, “My lady, Mr Holmes, may I introduce Mrs Kinley to you? She is the live-in nurse and maid of the lady you seek, Miss Algar.”

Mrs Kinley’s face was pinched as she scanned you two. “Well, come in, would you? The sooner you start your business, the sooner you get through it.”

You followed her inside, sharing a look with Sherlock.

“What in Christendom could you possibly want with the miss? She is not much for talking these days, you know.”

“That is quite all right,” said Sherlock. “We only have a few questions for Miss Algar, and then we shall be on our way.”

Mrs Kinley gave him a strange look but did not reply. To your shock, she barged into a bedroom without knocking or announcing herself.

“Mrs Kinley—” you began to admonish her, but you pulled up short upon seeing Miss Algar. Pillows propped her up in the bed, quilts tucked neatly around her. Her arms, pale and frail, lay at her sides, and her head would have lolled just as lifelessly if not for the brace supporting her neck.

You felt Sherlock freeze behind you, too. “Er,” he coughed, “is Miss Algar…? Perhaps I ought to wait outside while she gets dressed.”

Mrs Kinley snorted. “I am paid to feed her, to wash her, and to move her every few hours so that she does not develop bed sores. I am not paid to change her clothes merely for gentleman callers. What impropriety can she get up to in her condition, anyhow?”

“Her condition?” you echoed weakly. The lift and fall of Miss Algar’s chest was barely visible beneath her covers, but you watched for it obsessively.

Shaking her head, Mrs Kinley stepped aside and ushered you both into the room. “I see now that you are only poor fools who came here uninformed,” she muttered. “The miss was paralysed in some incident several years ago. Now, her mind is lost to us. She cannot twitch a finger or wiggle a toe.”

You inhaled sharply.

“A strike on the back of the head that requires a physician’s house calls twelve years after the fact,” murmured Sherlock, drifting towards Miss Algar. “Of course. How did I not foresee this?”

You frowned at how Sherlock scanned Miss Algar, his critical eye all the keener for not having the possibility of offended sensibilities to avoid, and turned to the woman’s nurse. “There is no need to take that tone, madam,” you told her as you pulled yourself to your full height. Limited as the improvement may be, you continued, “Miss Algar is still human and still deserving of respect. You are here to care for her, do you realise? You ought to neither deride what she cannot do nor disdain what she can. Knocking on her door and refraining from calling her ‘the miss’ could not go wrong, for instance.”

Red in the face by the time you were done, Mrs Kinley sneered and moved towards the door. “I shall keep that in mind, your ladyship, for the next hour you have to poke around Miss Algar’s belongings.”

You waited until she had shut the door soundly behind her before pinching the bridge of your nose and turning back to Sherlock. “I suppose I have grievously overstepped—”

“And what a treat it was to witness,” he mused.

Your eyes shot open, startled by the awe in his voice, but you quickly forgot that when your gaze met Miss Algar’s across the room.

She blinked rapidly at you a few times—or were you imagining that? Surely, if she were as insensible as Mrs Kinley described, she could not be…aware? Awake?

“My lady? Are you quite all right?”

You straightened and snapped your jaw shut, only then realising it had been gaping at all. “I… I have a hypothesis.”

Sherlock raised his brow, and after a moment, you realised he was waiting for you to do something about it.

You turned towards the other occupant of the room. “Good morning, Miss Algar.” Pointing to yourself, you gave your name and added lightheartedly, “You may know who I am, and I certainly know who you are, but worry not. There was no love lost between Mr Sulyard and me, so there need not be any lost between us.”

Seeing her blink rapidly a few more times, you confidently ignored Sherlock’s sceptical expression as you pointed towards him.

“This is Mr Sherlock Holmes, Her Majesty’s brightest consulting detective and Scotland Yard’s greatest investigative asset. I would not be surprised if your nurse has failed to keep you abreast of the goings-on of London these past several years, so you may not have heard of Mr Holmes, though I assure you that he shall seek justice for you above aught else. Would it be all right for him…for us to ask you some questions, to that end?” You kicked yourself after a breath’s pause. “Um, blink twice for yes and thrice for no, I, uh, I suppose. Would it be all right?”

Slowly, deliberately, Miss Algar blinked twice.

In spite of yourself, you looked to Sherlock for his reaction. Which, happily, was to grin like a madman.

“You, my lady, are a wonder.”

You hid your blush by focusing back on Miss Algar. “Well, madam, we best arrive at the same page. Sherlock and I are investigating the death of Mr Sulyard, which we believe you witnessed. Are we correct?”

Miss Algar glanced down briefly before meeting your eyes again and blinking twice.

“On a scale of two blinks to six blinks, how well do you remember what happened twelve years ago?” asked Sherlock.

At her six blinks, you covered your wince with as sympathetic a smile as possible.

“In that case,” he said, “I should like to set the scene with as much detail as we can. Were you and Mr Sulyard together on purpose? Two for yes, three for no, as her ladyship suggested. Yes it is. Did you two meet at that particular hour regularly? Yes? At that particular location? Excellent, I thank you. The first letter of the street on which one would find this establishment, was it A? B? C? D? E? E, then—Edward Street? Hmm, would it happen to be the Younges’ lodgings? They have a certain reputation about the clientele they accept, see…”

Once Sherlock had, painstakingly, received a description of that evening before and during the attack, including one of the shadowy assailant and the weapon he’d wielded—with help from your interjections of “Is that all the detail you have, or is there more Mr Holmes should ask you?” and similar—you laid a hand on his arm to hold him back from another question.

“Miss Algar,” you said softly, “would you like to take a break now? To rest your eyes, perhaps?”

Blinking so much could not be very comfortable…and neither could reliving what must have been the worst night of one’s life.

However, her gaze hardened, and she blinked three times.

Sherlock reached up to squeeze the hand of yours on his arm. “We thank you for your dedication, madam,” he told her.

“In that case, I have a question to add,” you said. “Do you know why this man you have described attacked you and my husband? Without a shadow of a doubt?”

It was disconcerting to see her answer no while her face remained slack, devoid of any confusion or disappointment or frustration, as you had come to consider natural when having to tell someone that one did not know the response to their question.

“Do you…” You dared a fleeting glance towards Sherlock. “Do you believe only one of you was the true target?”

Hesitation was clear in her eyes, but her two blinks were as steady as ever.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Sherlock squeezed your hand again.

In your stead, he inquired, “Do you believe Mr Sulyard was the primary target and you were merely a witness to be taken care of?”

Two blinks.

The primary target the primary target the primary target…

A witness to be taken care of… A witness to be taken— Oh, goodness—

You exhaled shakily.

What if— What if—

Sherlock’s hand tightened around yours once more, though this time, it was not a quick gesture: the pressure, calm and grounding, remained steady on you.

“Again I thank you, Miss Algar, for your willingness to answer all of these questions,” he said. “You have given us much to work—”

A knock on the bedroom door cut him off.

“That’d be an hour, then,” said Mrs Kinley as she re-entered the room. Miss Algar’s eyes had glazed over and dropped back to her counterpane before the first syllable was out of the nurse’s mouth. “You two best be on your ways now, I think.”

Sherlock nodded. “Very well, Mrs Kinley. We thank you, Miss Algar, and wish you well.”

Mrs Kinley gave him another strange look but, again, did not speak as she led you two back to the flat door. Really, though, Sherlock was the one leading you out, the warmth of his gloved hand still blanketing yours.

“Good day,” you managed to get past the lump in your throat.

“Yes,” said Sherlock. “Much obliged for your hospitality, Mrs Kinley.”

The woman looked as startled as you felt, but she did not get a chance to respond as he swept you out the door and onto the street. Safely amid the anonymity of the East End, your shock melted away in a fit of giggles.

He levelled you with a dour look. “I am quite glad you are finding humour in this, my lady.”

“It is just— It is just— Sherlock,” you wheezed through your laughter, “I do not think I have ever heard you be obliged for anything, and certainly not much obliged!”

A sliver of a smile cracked through his bemusement. “Not even for nonexistent hospitality?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to not violate the laws of propriety so egregiously as to cackle in public. Gracious—you had not whispered and snickered about someone like this since you had chased off your last governess with your mud-covered hems and Sherlock had cheered you up from Lord Coltidge’s rant by reminding you of all Mrs Tattershall’s follies. How many years ago was that? Twenty? One and twenty? Certainly, you both had continued teasing your individual brothers for their individual foibles, but there was nothing quite the mark of intimate friendship as making a new ridiculous acquaintance at one another’s sides and then rolling your eyes at each other about the person.

Warm and bright, his eyes burned through you, and with another swoop of your heart, you found yourself breathless for an entirely different reason than uncontrollable giggles.

“Sincerely,” he sighed, “I am glad you find humour in it. I felt the need to speak such niceties since you did not seem up to filling your typical role of softening my unsociable edges for people.”

You arched your eyebrow. “Is that what I am, Sherlock?”

“Yes,” he said, rising to your challenge with his own raised brow. “As well as much more. You fill many roles, my lady.” Thankfully, you did not have to think of a suitable reply to that, as he went on, “You seemed rather…distraught, after Miss Algar confirmed she was likely just in the wrong place at the wrong time. What troubles you?”

You looked down and stared at how his hand was still clasped atop yours. You had both his arm and your cane supporting you now, which must have made you seem quite absurd, yet you felt all the more secure for the absurdity.

“Could I have been killed, too?” you whispered.

You felt his step falter beside you. “I— Pardon me?”

“If this man who apparently wished my husband dead so strongly that he would track him down to Edward Street and hit him with a hammer only attacked Miss Algar because she had the misfortune of having a tryst with Mr Sulyard on that day, could I not have been the one to end up in that bed just as easily?”

Sherlock’s jaw worked for a moment.

“Further, am I selfish and despicable for thinking such a thing?” you rushed out. “It is not that I am glad she was hurt in my place. It is only that I am…unsettled to think that I too brushed against the possibility, without even realising until years after the fact, of…of…”

He shook his head, relieving you of the struggle to find the right words. “You are the least selfish and least despicable person of my acquaintance,” he began, “which is, considering my occupation, extensive, you understand. I cannot assuage your other concerns as readily, for it is not my custom to go down rabbit holes such as these; indeed, I must recommend that you do not go down them, either.”

“That is more easily said than done,” you huffed.

Glancing around and seeing a largely deserted street, as was expected on a workday morning, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to turn and face you. “You were not harmed twelve years ago: you were safe at home. You have not been harmed in the intervening years: in fact, you have led a contented life. You shall not be harmed from now on: I shall not let aught happen to you.”

You blinked up at him. A foot of empty air separated you two, but just standing close enough to be dwarfed by his height, just staring into his eyes and drowning because he was staring back, made you feel hidden from all that was dangerous in the world—watched over by all that was good—ultimately, safe.

Safe, and terribly disconcerted.

“My, Sherlock,” you chuckled nervously. “That is not a very logical promise to make, is it?”

He flushed. “No…no, it is not. Forgive me,” he mumbled, turning back forward and continuing down the street. “Shall we go to my flat to work on the case?”

Mutely, you nodded. Although you would not have been able to explain the hypocrisy, you had not wanted him to withdraw that promise, as illogical, as incredible, as it may have been.

Well, I tried to fit in some comfort/protectiveness/height tropes to apologise for the delay in updating haha. Please tell me your thoughts on this fic! What do you want/expect to happen next? How do you feel about the story vibes so far? Or just come talk to me about Sherlock/Enola Holmes because I really want a friend! (Or friendS?? Potential group chat??? How obvious is my desperation for companionship right now,,) Thank you for reading!

[janeyjuice]

Meet the Rogers Family

The Rogerses are a close-knit family of 7. Not thriving, but comfortable and happy, supported by their farm and the family carpentry business. The parents, William and Mary, were always deeply religious protestants, but leaned hard into the extremism after the traumatic birth of their 4th child. The family is now firmly rooted into the Calvinist faith, as Puritans.

William (1558 - Present)

Practice Makes Perfect

Maker

Generous

Mary (1564 - Present)

Cheerful

Loyal

Family-Oriented

Elizabeth (1588 - Present)

Cat Lover

Edward (1590 - Present)

Glutton

John (1594 - Present)

Loner

Truelove (1596 - Present)

Independent

Temperance (1600 - Present)

Calm

[xkcd-bracket]

Ginger Rogers - Actress known for dancing with Fred Astaire

Mister/Fred Astaire/Rogers - Confusing reference to Fred Rogers (host of children's show, popularly known as "Mister Rogers") and to Fred Astaire (Dancer, actor, and singer)

[sztupy]

A végén a Mister Rogerses rész elég hülyeségnek hangzik

The short answer is... a tilt-shift lens.

The slightly more complicated answer is... Mister Rogers.

Depth of field is the area in front and behind your chosen focus point that remains in focus and then slowly gets blurry as you get farther away.

Shallow depth of field only has a narrow slice of the image in focus and gets blurry super quick. This is caused by a large lens aperture and being close to the subject.

Deep depth of field can extend through the entire picture if your aperture is small and you are super far away.

Usually the depth of field lines up with the image sensor of your camera. So if it is tilted forward, the plane of focus matches.

The stuff outside the green area would be blurry. The edges of the green would be slightly blurry. And the dashed green line would be the sharpest area of the photo.

But the tilt-shift lens allows you to create chaos with your plane of focus. In most cases, you would use this to flatten the depth of field so you can get a 2D plane entirely in focus.

If you were to use a normal lens, the bottom left and top right would be blurry.

But with a tilt-shift lens you can do this.

The green area is taking a little nap on the floor.

However, there is an unintended side effect created by this lens. (The "Scheimpflug intersection" if you want to go down the rabbit hole.) You can choose absolutely wacky planes of focus that create a very narrow depth of field over a geographically large area.

Believe it or not, this is when psychology comes into play.

And possibly Mister Rogers.

Our only reference for such a large area having a shallow depth of field is our memories of miniatures on TV. So Mister Rogers and Thomas the Tank Engine trained our brains to see this effect as... small.

Depth of field shrinks the closer you are to something. And when filming miniatures, you are placing the lens close to the scene. But the scene represents something big in our minds. We buy the effect, but not 100%. That blurriness wouldn't be there at a regular scale. So our subconscious remembers we are watching small things pretending to be big. It just files that away in the back of our mind.

And then when we see something like this...

Our brain is all, "Look at all that tiny shit!"

Without Mister Rogers, our brains may have never made these connections and tilt-shift photography may just make us wonder why everything is all blurry. That connection to past experience is vital for this effect to be convincing.

Brains are neat.

[marvelousmysteries]

@ofcrimsonenchantresses liked for a starter for Peggy’s birthday

"Why do I get the feeling, Wanda? You're distracting me?" Since Wanda and her husband had moved in a few doors down, the Maximoffs and the Rogerses had gotten on famously.

Peggy found kinship with Wanda being from a foreign country, and the two were good friends, as were Vision and Steve.

She'd popped over to Wanda's for a chat, but now the redhead was acting cagey and delaying her return home.

"Steve told you today is my birthday, didn't he?"

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, May 22, 2024

Tornado kills multiple people in Iowa as powerful storms again tear through Midwest (AP) Multiple people were killed when a tornado tore through Greenfield and left a wide swath of obliterated homes, crumpled cars and splintered trees, while outside the small town, massive wind turbines were buckled and twisted to the ground by the howling winds. After devastating the town of 2,000 residents, the storms moved eastward to pummel parts of Illinois and Wisconsin, knocking out power to more than 130,000 customers in the two states.

Renting Forever (NYT) Moving back and forth from Tennessee to Alaska, Michael Rogers and his wife Christy have twice been stuck simultaneously paying a mortgage and rent. Once, in 2006, the situation dragged on for eight months, finally ending when they sold their house in Tennessee for $20,000 below what they’d paid for it. Other adventures in homeownership ended well—the couple doubled their money after selling a fixer-upper. Then later, with another property, they had to pay out $30,000 to fix a mudslide around their home, a mistake caused by the builder. Two years ago, the Rogerses moved to Kingsport, in northeastern Tennessee, where they signed a lease on an apartment they thought would be a yearlong stopgap before buying again. The couple just renewed their lease for a third year, and have decided to remain renters for good. Mr. Rogers, a construction manager, likes the convenience of being able to move when a job calls. Either by choice or by being priced out of the market, many people have decided that renting forever is their best—or only—option. Housing costs and interest rates have risen in the last few years, and it can make financial sense to rent. In the 1960s, the median house price was a little over twice as much as the average income. It’s now nearly six times as much.

Haiti’s main international airport reopens nearly three months after gang violence forced it closed (AP) Haiti’s main international airport reopened Monday for the first time in nearly three months after relentless gang violence forced authorities to close it to all traffic in early March. The reopening of the Toussaint-Louverture airport in the capital of Port-au-Prince is expected to help ease a critical shortage of medications and other basic supplies since the country’s main seaport remains paralyzed. However, only Sunrise Airways, a local carrier, is flying in and out of Port-au-Prince for now. US-based airlines are not expected to start doing so until late May or early June. Before Monday’s reopening, the sole airport operating in Haiti was the one located in the north coastal city of Cap-Haitien. However, it was out of reach for many seeking to flee the country since the roads leading from Port-au-Prince to Cap-Haitien are controlled by gangs that have opened fire on cars and buses passing through.

France Issues Scratch-and-Sniff Baguette Postage Stamps (NYT) Joining the ranks of the screen goddess Brigitte Bardot and the Eiffel Tower, another French treasure is being celebrated with its own postage stamp: the baguette. And this one is scratch-and-sniff. The latest showcasing of French cultural heritage as Paris prepares to host millions of visitors for the Summer Olympics and Paralympics, the new stamp features a cartoon image of a baguette wrapped in a tricolor ribbon. It was unveiled by France’s postal service on Thursday—May 16, the feast day of Saint Honoré, the patron saint of bakers. Thanks to scratch-and-sniff technology, it will also transport “bakery fragrances” to those lucky enough to receive a letter from France.

Tourism a boon for Spain’s economy but a bane for some locals (Reuters) Fresh from a tour of Real Madrid’s glittering Santiago Bernabeu stadium in the Spanish capital, Guadalupe Rebollo says a holiday in Spain with her 15-year-old daughter is a better deal than one on the beach in her native Mexico. The Rebollos are part of a record surge in foreign visitors to Spain that is helping its economy outperform European peers and create jobs at a rapid rate. However, it is also straining services such as housing and transport and stirring resentment among locals. The tourism surge has helped put Spain, long the laggard among Europe’s big economies, into the lead, now outperforming the wider 20-country euro zone, which grew a scant 0.3% in the first quarter of 2024 compared to Spain’s 0.7%. Tourism accounted for 71% of real growth in the Spanish economy last year, according to tourism lobby group Exceltur. Consumption by non-residents accounted for nearly a third of Spain’s 2.5% growth in 2023, according to BBVA. But many Spaniards feel they are not reaping the benefits, and the driver of Spain’s success is increasingly being met with protests.

Russia presses forward with its offensive in northeastern Ukraine (AP) At least 11 people were reported killed in attacks in Ukraine’s war-ravaged northeast on Sunday as Russia pushed ahead with its renewed offensive. In the Kharkiv region, the focus of the offensive, the Kharkiv Regional Prosecutor’s Office said six people were killed and 27 wounded in a Russian strike on the outskirts of the regional capital, also called Kharkiv. Regional Gov. Oleh Syniehubov said that five more people were killed and nine wounded in an attack on the region’s Kupiansk district, southeast of the regional capital. Russia’s Ministry of Defense said Sunday that its forces in the area were “continuing to advance into the depths of the enemy’s defense.” Ukraine’s General Staff said Russia had stepped up its attacks around Kharkiv and that the situation was “dynamic.”

Weather forecasters warn Pakistanis to stay indoors ahead of new heat wave (AP) Authorities in Pakistan on Tuesday urged people to stay indoors as the country is hit by an extreme heat wave that threatens to bring dangerously high temperatures and yet another round of glacial-driven floods. Pakistan’s most populous province, Punjab, is shutting all schools for a week because of the heat, affecting an estimated 18 million students. “The sweltering heat will continue this month,” said Zaheer Ahmed Babar, a senior official at the Pakistan Meteorological Department. He added that temperatures could reach up to 6 degrees Celsius (10.8 Fahrenheit) above the monthly average. This week could rise above 40 degrees Celsius (104 Fahrenheit) in many parts of the country, Babar said. It’s the latest climate-related disaster to hit the country in recent years. Melting glaciers and growing monsoons have caused devastating floods, at one point submerging a third of the country.

Global Tensions and a Hostile Neighbor Await Taiwan’s New Leader (NYT) Taiwan’s president, Lai Ching-te, was sworn into office on Monday, vowing to keep the island democracy safe in the face of Chinese pressure and wars raging abroad that have fed uncertainty over Western staying power. In his inaugural address, Mr. Lai was by turns conciliatory and unyielding on how the island should preserve its brittle peace with China, which claims Taiwan as its territory. He said he hoped to hold talks with Beijing. But he set out broad conditions that China’s leaders were unlikely to accept and vowed that Taiwan would keep building ties with fellow democracies as it fortified against China’s military buildup. Many Taiwanese people want stable relations with Beijing, and want Mr. Lai’s government to focus on fixing Taiwan’s economic and social ills. But even with strong bipartisan support from Washington, Taiwan faces a more perilous world, and a more powerful China, than when Mr. Lai’s predecessor, Tsai Ing-wen, took office in 2016.

Extreme turbulence (WSJ) One person died and at least 30 others were injured aboard a Singapore Airlines flight that encountered “sudden extreme turbulence” while en route from London to Singapore. The Boeing 777-300ER with 211 passengers and 18 crew on board was diverted to Bangkok, the airline said. The deceased was a 73-year-old Brit who had a history of heart problems and likely died from cardiac arrest, and seven of the injured were in critical condition, according to a Bangkok airport official. The airline said 18 people had been hospitalized. The turbulence occurred at 37,000 feet over the Irrawaddy Basin, an area largely located in Myanmar, according to Singapore Airlines.

Australia and New Zealand begin evacuating nationals from unrest in New Caledonia (AP) Australia and New Zealand sent airplanes to New Caledonia on Tuesday to begin bringing home stranded citizens from the violence-wracked French South Pacific territory. Australian Foreign Minister Penny Wong said Australia had received clearance from French authorities for two flights to evacuate citizens from the archipelago, where indigenous people have long sought independence from France. New Zealand’s government also announced that it had sent a plane to New Caledonia to begin evacuating about 50 of its citizens. At least six people have died and hundreds more have been injured since violence erupted last week in New Caledonia following controversial electoral reforms passed in Paris.

Gazans ‘shackled and blindfolded’—claims (BBC) Medical workers in Israel have told our Middle East correspondent Lucy Williamson that ill and injured detainees from Gaza are routinely shackled to hospital beds, blindfolded, sometimes naked, and forced to wear nappies. These concerns centre on a military field hospital, at the Sde Teiman base in southern Israel. Since the October 7 Hamas attacks, Israeli forces have rounded up large numbers of Gazans and taken them to bases like Sde Teiman for interrogation. Suspected fighters are sent to Israeli detention centres, while many others are released back to Gaza without charge. One whistle-blower, who asked to remain anonymous, detailed how medical procedures were “routinely” carried out without painkillers, causing “an unacceptable amount of pain”. The Israeli army does not publish details of detainees but said those at the facility were treated “appropriately and carefully” and that violence against detainees was “absolutely prohibited”.

ANC’s unemployment challenge (BBC) The African National Congress (ANC) is facing its toughest ballot test since winning South Africa’s first democratic elections in 1994. Opinion polls indicate support may fall below 50% for the first time, and unemployment is one of the biggest issues. South Africa’s latest jobless figures ticked up slightly to 33%—ranked by the World Bank as the worst of any nation. Among young people, it is even higher at 46%. Aged 37, Mondli Magwaza says he has never been employed and is looking for any job “because I’m desperate”. He is among those who have decided they will not vote for the ANC this time. Zara, 44, has no kind words for the ANC, a party she has always voted for after it led the campaign against white-minority rule: “Empty, empty promises.”

Giant Hail Is the Weather Threat Keeping Insurers Up at Night (Bloomberg) On May 9, hailstones the size of baseballs pummeled San Marcos and Johnson City, Texas, taking down power lines and cracking car windscreens. Only weeks before, hail pounded a solar farm in the state, damaging many panels. And in mid-March, grapefruit-sized hail pelted down from the skies over Kansas, Oklahoma and Missouri, leading to damages on the ground exceeding $4 billion. For insurers, the first half of 2024 has underscored the growing threat posed by hail, which accounts for more and more of the industry’s losses in the US and Europe. In 2023, a year that set all sorts of weather records, not only were there 19 storms in the US that topped $1 billion in damage, there was an uptick in storms globally. Damages topped $64 billion, according to Swiss Re, the international reinsurance giant. And that’s insured damages only—not all damage is insured. High winds and heavy rains both play their parts in severe storm damage, but hail is the biggest single component, accounting for 50% to 80% of the total annually, Swiss Re says. Hail wrought so much destruction in 2023 that it’s led to a rethink in the insurance industry, said Karen Collins, a vice president at the American Property Casualty Insurance Association (APCIA).