#senior mailing lists

[seniorsourcelist]

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[madlori]

On being an older fangirl

I was probably 10 years old when I first conceived of what was, looking back, fanfiction. Me and my best friend would lie in bed together on sleepovers and I'd make up stories about what happened after the end of our favorite book, "The Westing Game." She'd ask me for more stories, and I'd tell her more, inventing them as I went along. "Then what?" she'd say.

I was 14 when I went to my first convention. I had discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was 1987, and my youth pastor was a huge Trekkie. He took me to a one-day crappy Creation con, but it was amazing to me. I met Nichelle Nichols. My dad showed me the Trek movies. He and I watched TNG together.

When I went to college in 1991, my dad used to videotape TNG episodes onto VHS tapes and mail them to me, so I could keep watching (I didn't have TV in my dorm room).

By the time I was a senior, we had Trek watching parties in the dorm lounge, where the TV had cable. Star Trek: Voyager had started up, and I wrote a column about it for the college newspaper. I joined a mailing list about it, with people in it that I still know today.

I got my first computer that could go online in 1995. I was on newsgroups. I discovered Doctor Who. I went to Trek conventions where we still passed around fanzines containing fic and art and smutty K/S fan creations.

Then it was Harry Potter. Then there were websites. Then there was Geocities, where we could all make our own little spots. We organized them into webrings. We talked on newsgroups and mailing lists. There were fanfic archives. Then there was fanfiction.net.

Then...there was LiveJournal. And we could interact in entirely new ways. We could form communities, and debate things, and fight over canon, and get into ship wars. On LiveJournal, I met my best friend of 22 years. I was in her wedding. She's my sister of the heart (which is what she calls me).

Then there was Tumblr. And Twitter. And now there's Discord. But it's all the same.

I am the same.

I am still that little girl who made up fanfiction in her head to entertain her best friend. I am still the one who was amazed to find communities on the internet - which was so new, so raw, so uncommodified - where others like me could meet. I found there people to meet in real life.

I am still that twentysomething going to her first major convention, being told that someone loved my fic, being asked about my writing process.

I am still that thirtysomething watching something I wrote blow up. Seeing friends from other fandoms find me in new ones, finding them there, too. Forgetting which fandom I know someone from, because I've known them for twenty years.

I still know some of the people who created those early websites, those mailing lists, those archives. I still meet people in new fandoms who say "Oh, I read your fic in [fandom] fifteen years ago!" There's no feeling quite like having someone remember something you wrote for that long. Or meeting someone whose fic meant a lot to YOU, or who you talked with on rec.arts.drwho.creative in 1997.

Aging in fandom is a gift. Being middle-aged in fandom is a joy. Having people who still read what I write and ask "Then what?" is a blessing.

It breaks my heart that so many people see it as something to be ashamed of, when it is one of my life's greatest gifts.

[jtownraindancer]

So one of my reps in D.C. sends out surveys every couple of weeks with a very distinctive conservative leaning, but this week he made the mistake of letting me add any other "concerns" I would like to have him address in the coming year so uh... I kind of went on a tangent:

strengthening our infrastructure

helping communities prepare for issues that have begun due to climate change

higher taxes on those making more than $1million/year

free health/dental/vision

easier access to disability benefits & social security for our most vulnerable

increasing the minimum wage to match current rates of inflation

increasing the base minimum distributions for medicare/ssi/disability/unemployment recipients based on current rates of inflation

capping housing costs

free (if not automatic) & understandable tax filing options for all taxpayers

tighter & healthier restrictions on food production companies (too many recalls, too many allergy risks, too much waste)

more food assistance options for lower-income households

significantly LESS military spending

focus on the separation of Church and State

hopefully he/his aids will finally stop spamming me with his garbage

[mayspicer]

Girl help I really need to do the test tasks for a new job or else my life is gonna get very bad real soon, but all I want to do is draw ttrpg characters.

[sp0o0kylights]

Give meee: an Eddie who went into a small little bookshop on an Indie trip and stumbled across an in person fandom meeting. 

It's mostly Star Trek, and also mostly women, but the stories they have are nothing like Eddie's ever read. 

He's barely a teenager, and already protective of himself and his real identity--but everything he's ever wanted is written down, right here, on a little zine with Kirk and Spock doodled on the cover. 

They’re not--it’s not obvious, that they’re what he is, but the story itself is blatant and Eddie ends up being so obviously close to tears, he accidentally outs himself without ever saying a word. 

(He also ends up on the mailing list, then being sent home with several hand printed copies of all kinds of zines.) 

Eddie would remain on this list well past his third senior year in high school. 

Past bats, and Vecna and Steve fucking Harrington. 

Flash forward to his first apartment.The tiny one he shares with Steve when they followed Nancy and Robin to college. 

Steve knows Eddie’s gay. 

Or rather, Steve has been told, but Eddie's still pretty clammed up about it. He's not yet where Robin is, ready to bemoan her loveless existence while draped over their crappy, thrifted couch.

He makes jokes and he flirts and he absolutely says things he shouldn't, but none of it is real. 

It's flash. Showmanship. 

It's the persona that yes, is him, but Eddie consciously built it. There’s nothing soft or gooey there, nothing anyone can use to hurt him. 

So when he comes home and sees that plain, padded envelope with the neatly printed label on the counter, torn wide open and flat without its contents?

 Eddie panics. 

His heart thunders in his chest, vision tunneling as adrenaline kicks through him. 

He wants to bolt-- should bolt--except ever since he almost died his brain no longer obeys him. 

Not when it comes to running, anyway. 

Instead it fights him to a standstill, freezing his feet right to the living room floor. 

The urge is still there. 

To run, and save face the cowards way. 

Vanish before Steve could get at a part of him that had once kept Eddie out of Wayne’s trailer for two days, until the old man had hunted him down and made him come home, huffing about how he’d love Eddie no matter what but he better never disappear like that again. 

(Which Eddie did anyway, and of everything that happened with Vecna, it’s that he regrets the most. The stories he heard of Wayne putting up posters. Squaring off with angry, too-righteous townies, and--)

A sniffle jerks him out of his thoughts. 

Eddie gasps, entirely unsure of when he stopped breathing. Stumbles back and turns, right in time for Steve to come out of his room and amble down their hallway. 

One hand rubs at his eyes, and the other is--the other has…

Eddie identifies the cheaply printed, stapled zine immediately. It's one he's wanted to read for a while now, solely because it features a story about Kirk and Spock being stuck in a cave together on a planet that has  bat-like, vicious animals on it. 

Kirk gets bitten after something goes wrong with the transporter and, look, it’s carthiatic okay!? Sue a guy for wanting to read a romance about a situation he identifies with! 

Steve looks up from the zine and startles. 

For a second his eyes go dark and flat, the same way Eddies and Robins and Nancy's and everyone's does when caught off guard. 

It's gone in a flash though, Steve visibly relaxing when he clocks that it's just Eddie. 

He keeps the zine pressed to his sweater clad chest,  and huffs out a laugh that's half forced and half pure relief.

“Fuck Eds, you scared me! I didn’t know you could be quiet.” 

“Uh huh.” Eddie manages, voice sounding totally and absolutely normal and not at all ten octaves higher than it usually is. 

They stare at each other for a second. Long enough that Steve's eyebrows crinkle in the middle, which is the first hint that he’s beginning to worry, and Eddie really cannot handle Steve being worried right now.  

“What's--” Eddie’s voice cracks and he coughs to recover. “what's that?” 

Steve frowns at him for a moment, until Eddie gestures at the zine in his hands. 

“Oh!”

Steve holds it up, as if to show it off. 

“It's a little book Robin got in the mail. It has a bunch of stories in it. They're normally boring as fuck but this one's from Star Trek.” 

Hearing the words ‘Star Trek’ out of Steve’s mouth shouldn’t be weird, not anymore, when Eddie and Dustin have been on a two man mission to nerdify Harrington as much as possible, but it still kicks like a mule to hear him say such things without any prompting. 

“You know what Star Trek is?”

“Eddie,” Steve tuts, tongue clicking in his mouth. “everyone knows what Star Trek is. It’s nerd shit, but like, old nerd shit. My grandparents used to watch it when I stayed over. This?” 

 He shakes the zine, so hard Eddie wants to snatch it away from him.

 “This isn't nerd shit. This is excellent.”

Steve gives the zine an appreciative glance and hell, maybe Eddie accidentally walked into another dimension. 

He’s been trying to get Steve to read more, rediscover the joys of books the public school system does its best to destroy, but until now Steve hasn’t really taken to it. 

Enjoys when Eddie reads aloud sometimes, and has started to bug Robin to do it for him too, but otherwise?

Eddie’s nerve seen him with anything that had the written word on it that wasn’t a cooking or car related magazine. 

“Honestly,” Steve’s saying, “I think Robs fucked up, this isn't her style at all. She’s gonna be pissed.” 

He eyes the thing appreciatively, like the gift it is. 

“I'm stealing it the second she figures that out.” He adds decisively. 

“You like it?” Eddie asks. 

“Mmm.” 

“Even though it's--it's got…Kirk…” 

Steve's frowning at him again. “What?” 

“It's queer man. It's really queer.” 

Steve peers at him, the crinkle back in his eyebrows. 

“I know. Wait, how do you--” 

And well. It’s now or never. 

“It's mine.” Eddie says in a rush.

“No it's not.” Steve scoffs, and okay, maybe this is a dream. Eddie pinched himself twice already, but perhaps a third time would wake him up?

(It does not.)

“it was even addressed to Robin. Well,” Steve has one hand on a hip now, his default position when arguing, “Robbie, but she goes by that sometimes.” 

Which Robin does, but not in the fucking mail.

Without a word, Eddie turns and goes for the envelope the zine came in. 

Steve follows, invading Eddie’s space to peer over his shoulder (and that’s Eddie’s fault too, that closeness, but he didn’t think it would be turned on him in a moment like this--) 

There's a sticker on the envelope’s label.

 It’s barely hanging on, half of it curled into the air.  Round and yellow, with little black lines, it becomes immediately obvious that one of Robin's smiley face stickers has migrated again. 

They're all over the apartment. Remnants of a phase she went through after she stole a roll of them from her and Steve’s job at a local toy store.

This one had clearly jumped ship from its original spot (likely on the ceiling somewhere), and was now firmly over the E in Eddie's name. 

‘Ddie’ still isn't exactly ‘Obbie’  but--

Steve leans around, snatching the envelope up and bringing it close to his face. 

Far too close, like he can't read it, eyes squinting as he examines the label--and suddenly Eddie knows exactly what happened. 

He laughs, an explosion of noise that's half hysterical and half disbelief. 

Steve looks at him. 

“What?” 

“Oh my God,” Eddie says, one finger jabbing in the air in the vague direction of Steve’s nose. “I told you you needed glasses!” 

“I do not!” Steve protests immediately, but his eyes are darting around the envelope. 

He’s scrambling to figure out what Eddie’s seeing, trying desperately to find a hole that can prove himself right. 

Eddie decides to help him, by plucking the smiley sticker off the envelope. 

“See?” He jeers, and shit okay, maybe his life isn’t over just yet. “It says Eddie, not Robbie!” 

“You guys have got to start using your government names for this shit.” Steve bitches, but it’s weak.

Eddie feels a grin coming on, and lets it overtake his face. 

“So...Kirk and Spock huh?” 

“They’re cute.” Steve defends instantly, before sighing his defeat and tossing the envelope on the table. 

The zine he keeps in his hands. 

Eddie crosses his arms and leans against their rickety table. “Even though they’re both guys?” 

“I thought we were past this!” Steve whines. “I went to a gay bar with Robin last weekend!” 

Which is news to Eddie. 

“You didn’t invite me?” He gasps, feigning hurt by putting a hand over his heart. 

Truthfully he still hasn’t fully recovered--is play acting himself, almost, but is rapidly coming around to the idea of Steve appreciating queer fanfiction. 

“We did!” Steve rolls his eyes so dramatically his whole head moves. “We absolutely did, You said,” 

Here Steve’s voice pitches into a mockery of Eddie’s  that he will not give him points for, even if it is a little hilarious, “Me? At some loser bar? Fuck no, I’ve got a campaign to write. Starbuck, don’t you have homework?” 

“I didn’t know that was a gay bar!” 

“You did! Robin told you!” 

“Okay well, I wasn’t listening!”  

“Clearly. I keep telling you we need a fucking--system or, I don’t know, a code word or something!”  

“Yeah well, when you wanna make us a safe word for conversations, big boy, you let me know.” 

They’re both laughing a little now, this argument veering into familiar territory, with Eddie not really listening and Steve mocking him for it later. (As well as vice versa, with startling regularity.) 

“You really like it though?”  Eddie says after the laughter winds down, gesturing to the zine still clutched in Steve’s hand. 

“Yeah.” Steve confirms, easy as he’s said anything else. Like this isn’t embarrassing, or almost worse than the time Wayne found Eddie’s porno mags and alphabetized them as a joke. 

“It's part of a mail tree. I’m supposed to send it on to the next person when I’m done with it. I make copies though,” Eddie rushes to add, because Steve is now clutching the little booklet to his chest in horror, as if Eddie was about to rip it out of his hands. “If you like I’ll show you my other ones?” 

Steve eases his grip, giving Eddie the little smile he makes that makes his stomach flip. 

“That’d be cool.” 

(Later, Steve pokes at Eddie’s thigh from where they’re both sprawled on Eddie’s bed, Steve having switched the new zine out for one of Eddie’s copies. “Are you going to laugh at me if I ask you to read some of these aloud?” 

“Only if you don’t laugh when I ask you to take me to that gay bar.” 

“Deal, but on the grounds you’re barred from making fun of my flirting attempts. Robin doing it was bad enough.” 

“Well you deserve it if you’re hitting on women at a gay bar, Stevie.” 

“I wasn't hitting on women you asshole.” Steve says and oh.

Oh.

Eddie feels the floor drop out from under him for the second time that day. 

At least this time it’s not fear that thunders through him, but possibility.) 

[russellsppttemplates]

I'm right here! (Oscar Piastri)

People seem to forget you're dating Oscar

Note: english is not my first language. Another Oscar piece 🫶

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: jealous themes

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"Do you think this will translate as well on the track though?", Phil, the head of the engineering department, asked as you showed him the latest set of data.

"Even with the interval we've set for changes, these numbers show it could improve performance, especially in race pace", you pointed to the calculations on the side.

"We would only have it for Miami, though", he reasoned, "we don't have enough time to get this done for Shanghai and I don't think it would be wise to test this in a track we haven't raced in five years", Amelia argued as you nodded in agreement, "but it looks promising - good job, Y/N", she patted your back.

"Would you feel comfortable talking about it in the meeting with Zak, Andrea and the mechanics? You have been the one working the most with this, makes sense for you to be the one taking point. Lando and Oscar should join you as well - I think they're doing something on the Sim", William mused.

"Absolutely! Yes, Oscar said he was driving a new set up and strategy Tom also wants to discuss in the meeting", you offered with a smile.

"Having insider information makes this easier - I don't have to check every single e-mail and wonder about things, especially Oscar's schedule", Amelia chuckled, rubbing your shoulder before she got up.

As everyone gathered in the meeting room, you set your laptop up so the latest data would be seen by everyone as you spoke about the changes, "we don't think nor expect this will be ready for China, but we're hoping to have the new package in Miami already - gives us enough time to work on it and the track there is ideal for us to have an idea of how this could play out for the rest of the season", you concluded.

"I agree - I think China will be damage control racing and we're accepting it as it goes", Andrea stated.

"We just need to get going with these then and also get the guys to try it out on the- Oh! Speaking of the devil", Zak chuckled as Oscar and Lando stepped inside the meeting room.

"So that's that, I think - thank you for all your work and let's hope we can bring some points next weekend", the British driver said before everyone scattered out.

Closing your laptop and getting your tablet, you held them against your torso so you could go and set them back to your station before lunch. You didn't make it very far as Oscar stood just outside the room, his hand snaking up your back carefully as he didn't want to startle you.

"Good morning, love", he smiled, kissing your cheek and walking with you.

"Morning, Osc", you kissed his cheek back, "how was training?", you wondered.

"Same old - went for a run this time, though, it was nice enough outside", your boyfriend offered as you reached your desk, tidying it a little bit before leaving to get some lunch, walking hand in hand.

You didn't expect to fall for a driver, especially after the relationship you had with Lando. You behaved like siblings, often pranking eachother, and it had helped you grow more confident around him and the senior staff when you felt you were all but a small intern. Over the years, you grew more comfortable as your ideas and pitches would get considered and tested, finally feeling like your place was well earned and that at the right time, the development would come to bring McLaren to the top where it belonged.

When Oscar joined the team, however, you didn't expect to feel the way you felt about the Australian driver. He was handsome, very shy and very kind and thoughtful as he sat all through the meetings as you explained the changes. Jeopardising your career was something you didn't want to do, but after some not so careful touches and glances, the team assured you it wouldn't be an issue in case you and Oscar were to pursue a relationship together.

"Here's my favourite team-mate! And she brought Oscar with her!", Lando joked as you sat at the same table as him.

Swatting his neck playfully, you sat down next to him so you could face Oscar as he put his tray down, "I will revoke new updates package from you and you'll be stuck in the midfield", you taunted before you started eating.

"Do you want to spend the night at my place? I need to sort a few things out still this afternoon, but I'm hoping I can leave on time today", you squinted your eyes.

"What do you mean on time?", Lando quirked an eyebrow.

"Yesterday, she got so caught up in the calculations, I barely got a text out of her when I asked her if she wanted to have dinner with me", Oscar chuckled as you held hands on top of the table, playing with his fingers, "what was it you texted me? 'I'm having a breakthrough' I think it was", your boyfriend offered.

"I did, though! Amelia checked it over and we might be onto something - I have to go to Race Base this afternoon so they can check them out", you shrugged your shoulders."We're spending the whole afternoon in the sim", Oscar checked with you, "when you get off, then we can leave together - how does that sound?".

Coming back to your place after you stopped by the supermarket, you set the bag on the counter and pulled out all of the ingredients you bought to make sure the dinner would be suitable and appropriate to Oscar's plan.

"I haven't had a proper cuddle today", Oscar pulled you to him, beggining to litter kisses on your forehead all the way to your cheeks and jaw, "I can't ever do this at the center", he mumbled against your neck, tickling you.

"We could, just where there are no other team members", you giggled before cupping his cheeks, "which happens to be nowhere most of the time", before you kissed his lips.

"I'm going to start working on the chicken", Oscar said after you stole a few kisses, "are you going to be in the Center for the race?".

"No, I'm travelling with the team", you smiled as you took the fresh pasta out of the bag, "which means we can spend more time together - and people will actually see us together", you mumbled the last part.

"People know we're together, love", he smiled, cutting up the last bit of garlic and tossing it in the pan.

"Sometimes it doesn't seem like it - they didn't see me in Jeddah and the rumours flew out of control", you wiped your hands on the kitchen towell before hugging Oscar's back, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

"You know how the media works - they see the smallest hint to something they want to see and then they're there", he offered, taking one of his hands to squeeze your hip, "you're the one here, aren't you?", he tsked.

.

"Where are you going?", Oscar asked as he saw you grab a tablet and push the chair back under the table, "I thought we could have some time together now".

"The stewards picked out eight cars at random to get checked over a few components - Mike and Barry are waiting for me", you offered, pecking his lips quickly, "hopefully they're just not messing around with our schedule because everything is supposed to be how it is!", you smiled before you started to walk out.

"I'll go with you, then", your boyfriend assured, "can't have you go to the wolves on your own when you can have company, beautiful".

Oscar walked up to the building with you, kissing your temple before you stepped inside, "I left some data from the sprint for you to look at, and tell Lando I also left a file for him with his tire deg - I told Will to do it, but he might forget!", you alerted before letting him go.

Knowing how long it would take, he went back to the McLaren garage, stopping whenever fans snapped a couple of pictures or autographs.

By the time you were back in the hotel room after the sprint and qualifying, Oscar went to the bathroom so he could have a shower, leaving you to lay on the bed and scroll through social media.

You looked at the photos the media team had posted, along with the stories where you could spot yourself in the background and spotted a few comments as you flicked through the carrousel of pictures, the comments under it weren't something you hadn't seen before.

Hear me out, Oscar and Elaine are the perfect match

I know, right? 😭 honestly, they need to get together! They would be so cute together

She's so polite and put together, but I get rhe vibe that she's really shy too, they would be perfect for eachother

Are we forgetting Y/N? aka Oscar's girlfriend

I still can't believe the people at the top have let their engineer date a driver

Y/N's way too out there, I call PR relationship

She couldn't even build a great car, I'm not sure why you would defend her

She was literally the reason the car and the turnaround last year and we started getting podiums?

These have been the best 12 months in terms of development, what are you on about? Just because she's with Oscar, you can't dig at her like that

The last few comments don't come up too often, but you had to admit it was nice when they did even if they did nothing to the way you felt.

The green eyed monster took over more times that you'd like. You work with numbers, probabilities and direct correlations, so it was hard to miss the reason behind how you were feeling.

"Why are you looking at your phone like that? You promised you wouldn't work once we got back to the room", Oscar warned, using the towell to dry his hair before he looked at you again.

"I'm not working", you mumbled, locking the phone and setting it on your stomach, pondering whether or not you should talk to Oscar about this.

"That long silence tells me that there is something bothering you", Oscar began, "I'm not saying you have to talk about it right now - I won't force you to -, but I'm here for you when you want to do it", he offered earnestly.

"I'm jealous of you and Elaine", you stated, earning a quirked eyebrow from your boyfriend.

"Me and Elaine? The communications' intern?", he looked for some clarification.

"Yes!", you answered loudly.

"We don't - I don't even spend that much time with her, what do you mean?", Oscar asked.

"I know you don't, but people online seem to think you should! First, it was that actress that McLaren invited for Abu Dhabi - the weekend where Natalie and Naomi kept approaching us because they wanted to chat and there was actual visual proof we were together after all the rumours -, now they're saying how you should go out with Elaine!", you admitted, "they're all saying you really should have someone and that she should be the one to go, that she has all the qualities you should look for and I-", you took a big breath in, "I'm literally over there, every single day of the races - in the garage, sometimes in the pitwall!", you stated, "I barely do any races from the Center anymore, so it's not like people forgot that I exist!".

"Love, I'd never do that to you - you're the only person I care about like that", Oscar replied instantly.

"I know you don't, but it hurts to see", you admitted, "comments people make about my boyfriend and how he really should start dating someone when our relationship is public - I'm there, I see them, they see me!", you let a tear fall down your cheek, "there's only so much I can do to make it obvious, Osc!".

Oscar sat down next to you on the bed, throwing the towell on the floor for the moment so he could pull you to face him.

"Y/N, I didn't know it was bothering you so much, I don't even notice all of that", your boyfriend craddled your face in his hands, thumbs wiping the tears that continued to fall and looking into your eyes.

"I never told you and I know you don't read all of the comments", you reasoned, "I just thought it would stop at some point! Everyone keeps saying that you should have someone and I want them to think I'm that someone - because I am!", you said bitterly.

"Is there something you'd like me to do? That would make you feel better about it?", Oscar combed your bangs away and behind your ears.

"What can we do anyway? Have you walk around with a t-shirt that says "I have a girlfriend - Y/N, the engineer"?", you scoffed.

"I will do that if you think it will help - throw in a headband with "Y/N's boyfriend" too if it helps!", he tried to pry a smile out of you.

"Don't be silly", you playfully shoved his chest before holding his hands in yours, "I honestly have no idea what to do, but I know I want it to stop without putting our jobs on the line", you pouted.

"Maybe an Instagram post from us then? Something chilled but serious enough so anyone can get the hint - and I wouldn't mind arriving into the paddock with you in the morning", your boyfriend suggested.

"Oscar, I have to be there way earlier than you need to", you argued.

"Then I'll be there earlier, I'll have breakfast there with you and we'll spend more time together in front of everyone - as much as you feel comfortable with", Oscar offered you an assuring smile, "I don't want anyone else the way I want you, I don't love anyone the way I love you, Y/N".

Smiling at the honesty and safety he was transmitting you, you kissed his lips, starting with small pecks before one last long kiss, letting your foreheads touch as you pulled away, "thank you, Osc, I love you".

The next morning, reporters were surprised when they saw the McLaren driver show up in the paddock so early, his hand laced in yours as they asked a couple of questions.

"My girlfriend had to come in earlier, so I thought I'd join her and see a little bit of the preparations", Oscar replied before you continued to walk to the McLaren hospitality.

"Is it bring your boyfriend to work day?", Anna asked after her usual morning greeting.

"He's always with me at work though", you squinted before giggling, "but I really need people to know he's mine and that I'm here!", you half joked.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Sleep-deprived Leon's upstairs neighbor works late 'cause she's a singer on a deadline, and he's having none of it. He comes up with a wild solution to the problem in a moment of desperation, and he's surprised when you actually go along with it, but anything to get a full night's sleep, right? Then he finds himself wanting a bit more than camaraderie with you in the process.

f/m, romance, fluff, does this count as crack??? popstar reader w/ a twist, ID leon is USELESS w tech + lives under a ROCK, also you manic pixie dream girl a bit too close to the sun but it's ok bc ur cute LOL

word count: 2.6k // read this chapter on ao3

a/n: req fic + belated bday gift for my lovely 🍍 anon!! as usual i got carried away and butchered it. um. NOTHING makes sense just go w the vibes i beg you </3 pt. 2 coming out asap bc this fic will not leave me alone in the best way :)

chapter one

Rule of thumb: don’t bang on the first date. 

Leon’s wrapping his pillow around his head like a pair of goddamn Beefs (or is Beets? those tacky, overpriced- oh, forget it) while his upstairs neighbor gives her bed a run for its money on a Friday night, at a blessed 9 PM no less. 

Oh yeah. Her.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. 

R-rated suspicions aside, Leon tries hoping for the best. His new neighbor might just be an interior designer of the nocturnal sort. Sick of his previous rowdy, college kid-infested apartment building, he’d moved into this complex not too long ago thanks to a very politely-worded call to Hunnigan about open listings in quiet, senior citizen-friendly neighborhoods. Call him old, call him boring, but after a long day of running around saving humanity from the newest bioweapon to hit the market, all Leon ever wants to do these days is get a few winks of sleep. He’s pushing 30. Insomnia’s no fountain of youth, people. 

Thump, thump-thump-thump. 

New Girl upstairs seemed to have the same idea but with far more nefarious intent. She’d moved in at the same time as him, he’s sure – Leon saw a flash of her face a few days ago when she was lugging boxes of stuff into the elevator up to her floor. She’s the only sign of life from the 21st century he’s encountered since the day he came to sign his lease papers. Why? 

Because Hunnigan had fulfilled his request to a T. Leon’s new apartment building is long-term care home adjacent. 

Full of grandmas and grandpas who got about as loud as their record players, only leaving their homes to fetch the mail – telegrams by the wrinkles on some of them. It was perfect. Leon was positively thrilled when Eunice from Unit 202 very, very slowly, waved hello to him on his moving day.

THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP!

And then she happened.

Maybe he’s just a grumpy old man right where he belongs, in all his 29-and-a-half glory. But the pounding that girl is giving her bed with some frat boy right now is giving Leon the college dorm experience all over again. It takes him half an hour of tossing and turning in his sheets to throw on an old jacket, beeline to the elevator, punch the neon 3 button, and darken New Girl’s doorstep. 

His turn now. A quick knock, knock is enough for Unit 304’s door to open a crack.

“Hey, I’m from downst- oh my God, are you decent?”

And you, standing at the door in a dress that’s more sheer than his disbelief, only tilt your head to go, “Huh?” 

“Listen, I know tomorrow’s the weekend but I- shit,” his face burns, “could you keep it down, please? You guys are really loud and it’s late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You- you and whoever you’re with, could you not do this right now?” Leon croaks. 

Your hands flail wildly in dismissal. “Oh no, that was just me jumping on my bed! Helps with my creative process,” you say, smiling weakly. “I didn’t know the floors were that thin, I’m sorry.”

Bullshit. “They are.” Leon grimaces, “And um, it’s fine if you guys are loud, just save it for when everyone’s asleep next time.”

A frown interrupts your smile. “I just said it was me. There’s no one else here, seriously.”

“So what’s with the getup?”

“The-” your eyes drift down to the near see-through of your dress and Leon gestures vaguely, as if you need more explanation to why he’s avoiding eye contact with your chest. “Oh, this?”

He nods. 

“Creative process!” you chirp brightly.

“For what, pray tell?”

Curiously, that puts the wind out of your sails. Suddenly you having trouble meeting Leon’s eyes, lashes fluttering as you look up, down, anywhere that’s not his face. 

“For school,” you finally make out, fingers wrapping around the edge of your door. “I’m a music major.”

Pianos and prancing on beds don’t exactly mix. He can’t help but squint at you. “And the jumping helps with…?”

“Getting past writer’s block!” 

Back to bubbly with the ball in your court, you go so far as to open your door a little further to explain. Leon’s cheeks blaze as he tries his damndest to keep his eyes from drifting south. 

“I read online that moving around helps with ideas, and I’m supposed to have a whole album written by the end of the week. I probably shouldn’t have procrastinated…” you trail off with a half-hearted chuckle, “so now I’m throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks, y’know?”  

He hums. “You wanna be a singer?” 

“Mhm!” Your updone hair bobs with you, reminding him a little of a bobblehead. It’s almost cute enough to make his AMs worthwhile.

“Then you better start singing somewhere else, sweetheart. The walls are just as thin as the floors.” 

And Leon immediately turns his ass around to go back to sleep.

In hindsight, it might’ve been a little mean of him to leave like that. But his bed is just so heavenly, and with the sleep deprivation he’s been racking up lately, Leon’s half sure he just dreamed that entire exchange. There’s no way a girl like you in college – in her 20s, give or take – is seriously jumping on her bed on a Friday night for a homework assignment. That too in a dress fit for the club to add to the irony. Are all creatives this weird?

He pinches the bridge of his nose as the elevator descends, pushing aside his last glimpse of the glum expression he left you with in your doorway. So much for first impressions. But hey, you didn’t really make a great one either. He’ll call it even. Maybe get you a gift basket for chivalry’s sake.

He considers all this as he slips back under his blankets, finally, at 9:45 PM.

And then he hears a creeeaaak.

“Please,” Leon groans, jamming his pillow over his ears. 

Thump…thump?

Nix the gift basket.

6:00 AM on Saturday finds Leon with his eyes wide open and glazed insomniac red.

His alarm blares as if to say, you actually thought you’d need to get woken up, didn’t you?

It’s a little patronizing. He teaches it a lesson by throwing it off his nightstand.

Sometime between 11 and 12 at night, you’d gotten bored of your bed and taken to something with wheels. An office chair is Leon’s best guess. You’d rolled across your floor all night, and the resulting clatter of plastic grating on hardwood had kept him awake until the sunrise. Hangovers were more pleasant than the night of sleep (or lack thereof) he’d just gotten, and Leon’s no wimp. He’s a man, goddamnit. A decorated government agent!

So he handles the problem at its source. Whips out his flip phone like a man, and makes a very important call.

A disgruntled female voice crackles through at the first ring. “May I remind you that this line’s only for emergencies, Leon?”

“It is! I need you to find me another apartment, Hunnigan, please,” Leon sits up, rubbing his eyes to plead his case to an unimpressed Ingrid Hunnigan. “My upstairs neighbor won’t let me sleep. The floors are thin as hell and she’s been moving around all night. It’s even worse than my last place.”

“Really? An old lady is giving you that hard of a time?” 

“She’s college age — a singer — and when she starts singing for her homework all the time, I’m really not going to get any sleep. I’m begging you, Hunnigan. Get me out of here.” 

“Strange.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Truly,” Hunnigan deadpans. “You know how hard of a time I had getting you into an apartment building only for people over 55, Leon?” 

He winces, holding the phone a little further from his ears just in case. 

“How many favors I had to cash in, strings I had to pull, all because you’re hopeless at navigating an apartment listing site, let alone anything on the Internet? Do you realize I had to do that in my personal time because your request would fall under illegal use of federal intelligence resources?”

Leon falters. “I didn’t-”

“So here’s what you’re going to do,” Hunnigan says shortly. “You are going right back to your neighbor and working out a solution like an adult.”

“But I already-”

“You’re solving this on your own, Leon. Figure something out because I know you can delegate. Got it?”

He really doesn’t. He’s only good at that outside of the US.

“Is that clear, Agent Kennedy?” Hunnigan repeats for semantic measure.

“Crystal,” Leon mopes, sapped of all hope when she ends the call with a ‘good luck’, just like back in Spain. A familiar routine.

He’s back in front of Unit 304 by 9:00 AM. 

You open your door with a half-chewed yawn, wrapped in a robe and looking deceptively angelic, that is, if it weren’t for the immediate pinch your pretty brows take on when you grace him with a decidedly sour look. 

“Up already?” Leon tries.

This time all he gets in response is a quick nod, a mouth parted in distaste. 

Forward march, Kennedy.

“You were up past midnight. I heard you, y’know, on your chair. Kinda loud.”

“I’m not annoying you on purpose,” you sigh, tucking your arms into a tight cross over the fluff of your robe. “I just really have to turn my album in on time and I’m having crazy writer’s block. They told me the people here are quiet and easygoing. I haven’t had a single noise complaint so far except for you, did you know that?” 

“That’s because everyone in this building either has hearing aids or doesn’t realize they need them yet,” Leon grits. “I don’t even know how you got in here, to be honest.”

“A sparkling letter of recommendation, thank you very much. And you?” You push up on your toes indignantly. “Are you just older than you look? ‘Cause you might need a pair of hearing aids yourself.”

Leon bites back a scoff. “Don’t need ‘em. I can hear you plain as day from below.”

Sirens are starting to blare in his head and it’s like he can feel Hunnigan glaring at him from her HQ in the sky. Aborting mission again isn’t an option. If Leon doesn’t fix things now, he’d be starting bad blood that might outlast the combined remaining lifespans of the building’s tenants. His salary could cover rent that long; his ego, not so much.

You’re about two seconds away from shutting your door in Leon’s face before he interrupts with a save pulled straight from his ass: “I’ll help you write your songs.”

So instead, you squawk, “What?”

He sticks the toe of his shoe in your doorjamb for insurance. Blurts, “I mean it. I’ll help you come up with ideas.”

“How on Earth would you do that?”

Great question. No better time than the present for the both of you to find out. 

“You said moving around helps?” Leon repeats for you to confirm with a quizzical nod, “I’ll take you anywhere you want. Anywhere in the city, you name it, I’ve got a motorcycle I’ll get you there on. It’ll be a change of scenery. Just whatever you do, enough with the gymnastics at midnight.”

It’s a desperate lifeline, a creepy one now that he’s had more than two seconds to think about it, but a lifeline nonetheless.

And to his horror, all you do is stare. 

The resulting silence feels like crystallizing amber. A clock ticks agonizingly from somewhere in your living room. Tick, tick, shit, he desponds. But thankfully, your laugh bubbles out not a moment too soon, sending a tsunami of relief down his shoulders. 

“Gymnastics, really?” you snort, covering your mouth with a well-manicured hand.

“I’m serious.” Leon shoots for a winning smile. “But I have to ask, is working late also part of your creative process?”

Your eyes crinkle maybe, but you shake your head no. 

“Then we’ll go whenever you’re free. Show you a few of my favorite spots, see if it speeds up your songwriting. Sound okay, sweetheart?” 

“How about now?” you pipe up.

Leon coughs his splutter into something more dignified. 

“You said whenever I was free! It’s a Saturday, you’re free,” you point a finger at his chest, “I’m free,” turn it back on yourself, “and I need to finish writing my album by, like, yesterday. This is perfect!” With a miniscule squeal, you disappear back into your apartment.

Leon’s left standing in your entryway wondering when his lifeline became a dynamite detonation cord.

“You haven’t even asked me my name,” he calls out to deaf ears. Cups his hands for effect because he can hear you flinging hangers onto the floor. “Don’t they teach you about stranger danger at school?” 

“I’ll find out eventually!” floats back your worrying response.

You’re an efficient dresser, Leon gives you that. A thankfully normal one too at the dress and heels you rush back up to the door with. A large pair of cat-eye sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose makes Leon do a double take at the cloudy sky outside, but then again, maybe it’s another part of your creative process. Beyond his pay grade.

You adjust your sunnies with gusto, grin up at him when he gives you a curious look. 

“Well, go on,” you say, pulling out your phone. 

Leon blinks at the glowing rectangle.

“Number, name?” You tilt it as if you’re trying to entice a toddler. “I can’t just keep calling you Mr. Noise Complaint.”

“Aw, you’ve been telling your friends about me?” Leon chuckles at last, pulling out his flip phone and handing it to you.  

And suddenly it’s your turn to stare at a piece of foreign technology.

You take your sweet time putting in your number. It’s very entertaining, the way the tip of your tongue sticks out the tiniest bit when you make a mistake and the sound of furious keypad backspacing follows right after. Leon’s no better, setting himself on your phone as “LOEN KEENAYD”, and with his pride bordering on hubris, he has no choice but to keep it that way.

“Really small backspace key,” he fibs when you peer at the gibberish in your contacts. 

Your lip bite makes for a piss-poor job of hiding how funny it is.  

“It’s Leon, by the way. Leon Kennedy. Apartment 204.” 

You fix his name in half the time it took him to put it in. He holds his hand out for a shake, timeless enough, and you give it three businesslike pumps.

“I have to grab a spare helmet from my place, I’ll meet you down at the garage,” Leon promises.

You point at him before stepping into the elevator. “Either your idea works or I’ll have to work past midnight to get this album done and then you’ll really owe me, Leon.” 

In another life, you could’ve been a CEO. You’ve certainly got the pointer finger for it. 

Leon tips his chin in acknowledgment. “Whatever it takes to get back into your good graces, ma’am,” he grins.

That gets a cackle out of you as the elevator doors slide shut.

And he takes the stairs this time, waves good morning to Eunice in 215 on his way to pick up that helmet for you. It must be a good day, Leon thinks, sounding out your name in his phone’s contacts. Eunice even has a post- Great Depression era vinyl playing on her record player. Maybe it’s a sign to not be so glum about his situation. He’s finally fixing it, isn’t he? 

So be it. A guy can dream. In Leon’s case, he’s hoping he gets eight hours by Monday.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/saradika-graphics <3

[kcinpa]

TL;DR Project 2025

Project 2025 has crossed my dash several times, so maybe tumblr is already informed about the hellish 900-page takeover plan if Trump wins office again. But even the articles covering Project 2025 can be a LOT of reading. So I'm trying to get it down to simple bulleted lists…

Navigator Research (a progressive polling outfit) found that 7 in 10 Americans are unfamiliar with Project 2025. But the more they learn about it, the more they don't like or want it. When asked about a series of policy plans taken directly from Project 2025, the bipartisan survey group responded most negatively to the following:

Allowing employers to stop paying hourly workers overtime

Allowing the government to monitor people’s pregnancies to potentially prosecute them if they miscarry

Removing health care protections for people with pre-existing conditions

Eliminating the National Weather Service, which is currently responsible for preparing for extreme weather events like heat waves, floods, and wildfires

Eliminating the Head Start program, ending preschool education for the children of low-income families

Putting a new tax on health insurance for millions of people who get insurance through their employer

Banning Medicare from negotiating for lower prescription drug costs and eliminating the $35 monthly cap on the price of insulin for seniors

Cutting Social Security benefits by raising the retirement age

Allowing employers to deny workers access to birth control

Laurie Garrett looked at the roughly 50 pages within Project 2025 that deal with Health and Human Services (HHS) and other health agencies, and summarized them on Twitter/X in a series of replies. I've shortened even more here:

HHS must "respect for the sacred rights of conscience" for Federal workers & healthcare providers and workers broadly who object to abortions, contraception, gender reassignment & other issues - ie. allow them to deny services based on religious beliefs

HHS should promote "stable and flourishing married families."

Require all welfare programs to "promote father involvement" – or terminate their funding for mothers and children.

Prioritize adoptions via faith-based organizations.

Redefine sex, eliminating all forms of gender "confusion" regarding identity and orientation.

Eliminate the Head Start program for children, entirely

Ban all funding of Planned Parenthood

Ban birth control services that are "egregious attacks on many Americans' religious & moral beliefs"

Deny pregnancy termination pills, "mail-order abortions."

Eliminate Office of Refugee Resettlement; move all refugee matters to the Department of Homeland Security

Healthcare should be "market-based"

Ban all mask and vaccine requirements.

Closely regulate the NIH w/citizen ethics panels, ensuring that no research involves fetal tissue, leads to development of new forms of Abortions or brings profits to the researchers.

Redirect the Office of Global Affairs to promoting "moral conscience" & full compliance w/the Mexico City policy

The CDC should have no role in medical policies.

"Because liberal states have now become sanctuaries for abortion tourism," HHS should use every available tool, including the cutting of funds, to ensure that every state reports exactly how many abortions take place within its borders, at what gestational age of the child, for what reason, the mother’s state of residence & by what method.

I'm still looking for a good short summary of the environmental horrors that Project 2025 would bring if it comes to fruition…

[sorchathered]

You’re still the one💙

Pairing- Robert “Bob” Floyd x reader

Warnings- language, a little bit smutty, angst with lots of pining and longing.

Summary- Bob’s come back to his small town in Georgia for his best friends wedding, will their plan to bring him back together with his high school sweetheart work out? Or will it end in more heartache?

When Bob had gotten the wedding invite in the mail he’d been so thrilled, truly. His best friend Sam had done the impossible, made the long distance work through college and grad school and now finally he was marrying his high school sweetheart Millie. He was happy for them, really he was. The only thing that could’ve been better is if he was sharing this with you. This was supposed to be the two of you, conquering your goals and then winding up together, but it hadn’t worked out the way either of you planned and it had been longer than Bob knew since he’d seen your face.

Millie had asked if your old band from high school would reunite for the wedding music and you’d been over the moon, a few of you had continued to play together and occasionally doing a gig or two just for old times sake, knowing that she wanted you involved in her special day made your heart swell.

The closer the date got the more dread seemed to settle in your bones, you’d stalked Bob’s socials and sneakily asked if he was bringing a date, but the look Sam had given you when he said Bob was coming alone let you know he knew exactly what you were hoping. Maybe he didn’t have someone waiting for him in California, maybe he had even asked about you, and for the first time in almost 6 years you let yourself hope.

In his lonely little apartment in Coronado Robert Floyd was doing about as well as you. He’d thought of nothing but you since that invitation showed up in his mail, hell that was a lie; he spent most nights thinking of you if he was truly honest with himself. He was sure Sam and Millie were already plotting some elaborate scheme to push the two of you together over the wedding celebration and he had to laugh at their dedication. He still wasn’t sure how things had gotten so screwed up. Long distance had been hard, deployments, work schedules and midterms seemed to keep the two of you from ever being able to make concrete plans and eventually it felt like you two had just grown apart too much for repair.

He should’ve fought harder, any attempts to move on over the years had been a complete disaster because how was he supposed to find someone new when he was still hung up on you? Natasha always loved to pick on him about it, that one day he’d have to move on or would have to have his “rom com moment” as she called it and sweep you back off your feet but Bob figured you’d long forgotten about him by now. If he only knew that you’d been just as hung up as he was, but neither of you had been brave enough to reach out.

The wedding festivities were in full swing this week, Millie had sent you the final list of songs she wanted for the wedding and you had added a few crowd favorites as well. You missed the days of jamming with your friends, being a music teacher was so rewarding and it had been everything you’d dreamed it would be, but you couldn’t deny that you were looking forward to getting to let loose with old friends.

You were in full nostalgia mode by the time the weekend of the wedding, thinking of all the things you’d had planned for yourself way back when. You’d had your whole wedding planned out, you knew it had been silly but you’d dreamed of a party with all your friends and at the center of it the boy you’d loved since you were a little girl. Deep in the recesses of your parents attic was a hot pink sparkly notebook from senior year with a list of songs you wanted for your own wedding day, gel pen rainbow font with little cursive scribbles of Mrs. Robert Floyd and hearts doodled all over the page. But that had been another lifetime ago, and just the thought of how much time had changed you both brought tears to your eyes.

Bob was so glad to be back home, it had been ages, his mother was already fussing about how he needed to eat more and catching him up on all the town gossip. He wanted to ask about you, but she beat him to the punch; gushing about the musical the middle school was putting on and how hard you were working to make it a success. It looked like all your dreams had come true, you were doing what you loved, but his mama could see the far off look in his eyes as she spoke, she knew all too well what he was feeling.

“You should call her you know, I have her number if you want it.” She’d said softly as she touched his hand but he couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Oh Mama, too much time has passed, I’m sure she’s got someone who could treat her way better than me.” She patted his hand lovingly and shook her head, “Sweet boy, there were never two people better suited for one another than the two of you. I don’t think she ever moved on, I know you didn’t. You know…she lives in the old Macon house on Water Road, not too far if you wanted to take a walk.”

“Mama! “ he said harshly but his features didn’t match his tone at all, he was trying his best not to laugh at her persistence.

She put her hands up and laughed, “I’m just saying, the night air might do you some good. After all life is too short sweetheart.” He thought of his father, taken from them too soon and how his mother had never found anyone else. He’s been her everything, Bob had always thought that would be the same with the two of you.

She heads up for the evening and he’s left alone with his thoughts again. Her house isn’t that far, maybe 5 minutes, and it’s only 8 pm on a Friday she would probably still be awake…

Before he can really mull it over he’s slipping on his shoes and heading out the door, feet carrying him down the sidewalks and past the quaint antebellum style houses illuminated in the orange glow of the street lights until he finds himself at your door. He’s warring with himself about knocking, what the hell was he doing? He’d barely spoken to you in almost 6 years, this was stupid he should’ve never done this. As he turns away to walk down the porch steps he hears the lock click and turning of the door handle, light illuminating the porch as you poke your head out into the night.

“Robby? Is that you?” You say quietly, a small smile on your lips as you look him over with eager eyes. Time had been good to you, he’d always thought you were the most beautiful girl on earth and that certainly hadn’t changed. You weren’t a young girl anymore, your figure was all curves, he couldn’t help but tighten his fists thinking about running his hands over your voluptuous body. Snap out of it Floyd, get your shit together, he thought as you looked at him with confusion evident on your face.

“Well? You gonna come in? Your mama told me you were coming by, I’ve just been sitting by the window listening out for you.” You said as you opened the door a little wider for him to step through. “Of course she did” he muttered, shaking his head with a dark chuckle, leave it to Susan Floyd to take things into her own hands.

You raised an eyebrow at him as he continued to stand awkwardly in the doorway, “I can’t really read your faces anymore Floyd, do you want to come in or are we gonna let all the bugs into my house tonight?” Hands on your hips, sassy remark, yep you were still every bit the spitfire he remembered, that take no shit attitude clearly hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Yeah, yeah y/n I was coming by, sorry I just…I had an idea in my head of what I was gonna say and now here I am and I’ve got nothing.” He said sheepishly as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. You reached for the hand at his side and pulled him through the doorway, closing the door and scooting him in the direction of the couch. Bossy. As always.

“How about I get you a glass of sweet tea and we get all the awkward small talk out of the way, or we could just skip it if you want? I’ve been keeping up with your life through your mom but if you’ve got questions I’m happy to answer them.” You said as you shuffled down the hall to the little kitchen, Bob plopping himself down on your ridiculously comfy velvet couch. “You keep up with me?” He said in shock, he never would’ve thought you’d give him a second thought after he let everything crash and burn, maybe his mama had been right to push him this way.

“Of course I do, it’s not every day you get to be in the top 1% in your field, especially with a job like yours. I’ve always cheered you on, just didn’t think you’d ever show up here, kinda figured you’d forgotten all about me.” You said as you placed down a Mason jar of sweet tea and a tin of shortbread cookies, you’d said it so nonchalantly but he could see in your eyes the hurt was still there.

“I’ve kept up with you too, I- uh I’ve looked at your instagram, and Millie of course updates me when I ask, even if she is still pissed at me about how things ended. You uh- you look like you got everything you wanted in your career too. Mama said the school play is gonna be a big success. I know you’ve gotta be thrilled.”

You nodded, just bringing up your students brought the light back into your eyes. “They are the best, I thought it’d be weird teaching at our old school but truly it is such a joy. These kids love music, it’s so much fun watching them show off their creativity. And as for Millie…Well I’m pretty sure she and Sam have some elaborate plan to “accidentally” trap us in a closet together tomorrow until we work everything out. They’ve been oddly sneaky lately.” You laugh out, and Bob can’t help but join in, they definitely weren’t subtle but you could both agree they were damn good friends.

You both laughed and talked for hours, going through the whole tin of cookies as you caught up on each other’s lives, somewhere in the early morning hours you had fallen asleep with your head on his shoulder and Bob felt his heart stutter in his chest as he looked down at you. He’d missed this, just being with you.

You had been his favorite person for his entire childhood, how did he let things get so out of hand? It couldn’t be comfortable being propped up like that, so Bob carefully pulled you into his arms and carried you to your room. It was nearly 4 am, he would just crash on your couch like a gentleman should and make an excuse to bail when he woke up. Laying you on the bed he made to step away but you curled your fist into his shirt, murmuring “stay with me” as you pulled him closer, and how could he possibly tell you no? He toed off his shoes and slid in next to you, falling asleep to the sounds of your breathing and warm body pressed to his.

He couldn’t place where he was when he woke up, just that it smelled like coffee and pancakes and somehow he’d slept in. Upon opening his eyes it all came back to him, how you’d asked him to stay and he’d fallen asleep in your arms, he felt hot all over just thinking about it, anxiety filling his chest as he worried about how to navigate the sure to be awkward morning after conversation. Again he wondered how they’d gotten so far from where they’d begun; but one thing hadn’t changed, holding you had simply brought it all back. The feelings he had never wavered, and he was fairly sure he was even more smitten with you now after catching up than he had been before.

You were dancing around in the kitchen as you cooked, spatula acting as a microphone while Fleetwood Mac played from your phone. Clad in a tattered t-shirt and pajama shorts from the night before with your hair messily piled on your head. There was that feeling again, the heat blooming in his chest and the butterflies he’d never felt for anyone but you. It nearly knocked the wind out of him. You couldn’t be more beautiful to him than you were in this moment, he wished he could burn it into his brain forever.

You spun around to the beat but jumped almost a foot in the air when you noticed him, clutching your chest as giggles erupted from you both. “Oh! Oh my god Robby you scared the hell out of me! Did’ya sleep ok? Want breakfast?” You said gesturing behind you to the steaming pile of pancakes and bacon, he wanted breakfast for sure but he knew one thing he wanted more than that.

He crowded you up against the stove, leaning behind you to cut the burner off as he looked down at you with a small smile. “Breakfast sounds good, sweet girl, but we need to talk first.”

“Uh huh” you said and he could tell he had the same dizzying effect on you, that was good, he was hoping this wasn’t one sided.

“I had more fun with you last night than I’ve had in years, and I can’t think of why we ever stopped doing this in the first place. Well a reason that actually counts anyways. I know it’s sudden, hell you probably have a line out the door hoping for a date but-“

“Yes!” You blurted out, nodding your head as you abandoned the spatula and gripped the back of his neck to pull his lips to yours.

You’d meant it to be sweet, just a peck to let him know you wanted the same things he did, but it had been so long, and no one had ever made you feel like he did. It got heated fast, muscular arms wrapped around your waist pulling you in so tight that nothing to get between you, hands in his hair as his kisses became more urgent, opening his mouth to you as you moaned softly into his, and the noise seemed to flip a switch as he hoisted you up in his arms and carried you back down the hall to your bedroom.

It was as sweet and smooth as molasses, he unwrapped you like a present as you tugged at his clothes, you wanted him as bare as you were. He eagerly obliged, tossing his shirt and jeans somewhere across your room as he climbed back into bed and pressed you into the mattress.

“Y/n I-“

“I know baby, I feel it too. Make love to me Robby.”

And so he did, again and again until the two of you felt boneless, breakfast long forgotten and morning seeping into early afternoon.

You’d fallen asleep in his arms around one, and he knew he’d have to wake you up soon to get ready for the wedding and go home to get his suit. He just wanted to stay wrapped up in this a little longer, as much as he needed this to be real again he also knew there was so much red tape. You lived on the opposite coast from him, your career was thriving and you’d never moved away from home. He couldn’t ask you to pack away your life and move every 3-4 years with him. Distance had been what broke you apart last time, he didn’t know if he could bear losing you a second time.

When you finally stirred around 2 you popped up in a panic, you were alone in bed and it was clearly later in the day than you had expected it to be. A sick feeling washed over you, had you interpreted everything wrong? Where was he? Did he regret it and bail?

The sound of a door opening broke you from your thoughts, heavy footfalls down the hallway let you know he hadn’t actually left. He caught your watery eyes looking at him from the doorway and rushed forward to cradle you in his arms, swiping at the tears before they could fall.

“What’s going on it that head of yours? You ok?” He said as he rubbed soothing hands against your back.

“It’s stupid, I woke up alone and I thought..” you stopped and then looked up at him sheepishly. “I thought you’d left” you said with a whisper, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

“Oh. Aw Shit. I mean I did leave, but for just a minute to grab us some lunch and my suit for tonight, I’m sorry baby I should’ve left a note.” He looked a little embarrassed as well, he was very clearly out of practice when it came to having a partner.

“Ugh, we’re a mess aren’t we?” You chuckled out as you buried your head in his neck, he just nodded as he continued to hold you, he still didn’t know what this was but god he didn’t want to lose it.

“We probably need to figure all of this out y/n, I don’t want to pop the bubble but I can’t shut my brain off. I want this, all of it with you. I’m scared I’m gonna ruin it again.” He was grateful that you couldn’t see his face, he didn’t know if he could keep himself from falling apart if you could.

“We’ll do whatever it takes.” You pulled back to cup his cheeks so he was looking in your eyes. “We were young and stupid back then, but we can do this now. I know we can. If I have to pack up and head to California I will, I’m not saying it won’t be hard but it’s worth it.”

He fucked you slow and steady under the hot spray of the shower after that, worshipping every bit of you and definitely making you both late.

The two of you scrambled to get to the venue, making it right on time, Sam giving Bob a knowing look at his disheveled appearance when he burst into the groom's suite. When you stopped into the bridal suite to check on Millie, she made sure to pick on you for the hickey you’d tried to hide under your ear. Clearly the plan had worked, maybe not how they’d thought but the result was what they were after. You’d have to send his Mama flowers on Monday for her meddling, she’d known what was best even when the two of you didn’t.

The ceremony was beautiful, full of tears and love and Bob couldn’t help but let his eyes drift over to you, he already had plans swirling in his head of wedding rings and a future he’d thought was long lost. After you sang for the reception the band took over and Bob twirled you around the dance floor for much of the evening, he would hold these moments close until he could get you back in his arms again. It had been the perfect weekend.

A few months later you both were carrying moving boxes into his little townhouse, a new job all lined up at the local middle school and the entire summer to spend by the beach with your boyfriend. Everything had fallen into place, and if the little ring box in Bob’s back pocket had anything to do with it, he’d soon be calling you Mrs. Floyd.

🏷️ Tagging- @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @attapullman @bobgasm @sailor-aviator @roosterforme @sebsxphia @floydsglasses @sarahsmi13s @bradshawssugarbaby @hangmansgbaby

[seniorsourcelist]

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[theculturedmarxist]

The Grayzone’s publication of an embarrassing phone call with a National Endowment for Democracy VP triggered an institution-wide meltdown at the US government’s regime change laboratory. Following the call, the group’s founding president privately admitted the “fiasco” exposed major “problems beneath the polished surface.”

Now, leaked emails obtained by The Grayzone reveal the organization has since descended into chaos, with two senior officials fired due to the fiasco, and remaining staff engaged in civil war between the neocon old guard and the “woke” new generation hired to replace them.

– Senior NED management is currently in complete disarray, with two high-ranking staffers fired due to their handling of The Grayzone’s phone call, and founding president Carl Gershman isolated and marginalized by those who took his place.

– What began as a bitter dispute over the decision to engage with The Grayzone ultimately devolved into a full-fledged culture war that pitted the group’s neoconservative founders against its more liberal recent hires, derided by the neocon old guard as “woke flakes” obsessed with “microaggressions” and compulsory DEI trainings.

– One of the fired NED staffers, neocon Michael Allen, accused his progressive boss of a “clear campaign of harassment, marginalization and victimization,” and fretted over her allowing NED staff to attend pro-Palestine rallies. He was so incensed by his dismissal that he threatened to reveal the details of his firing to the “many mailing lists of key decision-makers and opinion-formers that I have built and retained over the years” if he did not receive a substantial settlement.

[sanskari-kanya]

Guess who got 30/30 on her finals’ viva 😭💃

It was the biggest adventure of my goddamn life.

The viva was scheduled at 3 pm today so I was pretty chill. I was like okay I’ll do the hardest ones till late night, grab some good sleep and wake up a little early to revise the rest.

But my university sent a mail at 10:30 pm, saying ✨surprise motherfuckers, the time is changed to 9:30 am, all the best insufferable freshers✨

Post this mail, I had made peace in accepting that I aint gonna get any sleep tonight and I had to revise 4 subjects till 8 am (minus 30 minutes to get my boogie ass ready because I will never enter the uni looking like crap and 30 more minutes to reach the university)

I started studying around 12 am because all we did was cuss the fuck out of the university and exam managers for a bloody 1.5 hours.

Considering my attention span, my study session lasted for approximately 15 minutes before I opened Pinterest and keep scrolling mindlessly until it was suddenly 2 am 🤩. Then I went for a mindless walk around the hostel, disturbed my bf for a good 15 minutes, and realised he wasn’t giving me any attention because he actually studies and uski fati padi thi so I came back in my room and re-started studying. It continued till 5 am (paired with stress eating, gossiping, watching a documentary)

THEN, I ACCIDENTALLY FELL ASLEEP AT 5 AM AND WOKE UP AT 8 AM!?!? I had to leave at 9 am so there was no bloody chance of revising Histology and Radiology that I very confidently left for the morning 🤗 I left the house at 9 and kept a ppt of histological slides open on my phone so I could at least revise SOMETHING.

If this drama was not enough, here is more :

Me and my friend had decided to pair up for the viva but some dude mishandled the list and jumbled the numbers and I had to beg my classmate to go with a random dude so me and bestie could go tgt.

As I was about to enter the viva room, a physical fight broke pit between two students and my examiner walked out to stop the fight and never returned.

I confidently wrong answered a sub question and made the doctor believe that I was right cus I answered everything else too. 10 in Anatomy ✅

Manually picked the harder examiner for Histology because bestie shat in anatomy so I wanted her to score in Histology with the easier examiner. My reactions to the first two questions- ✨ma’am I don’t know✨ and she was glaring me so bad I cannot explain y’all but then by god’s grace, she asked me more questions (redemption arc) that I answered but she gave me 7.5 so I was like okay, I did shit in the beginning so-

Next was physiology and if y’all weren’t aware of my bad reputation with the professor (George), well now you are 🤗 But then I again had a choice to choose my examiner and I chose my favourite teacher from last semester and George was like ✨why are you not sitting with me huh✨ in the most sarcastic tone ever like i would ever voluntarily chose you , kind sir.

End result, I scored full in physiology too which just proves that my physiology wasn’t a problem, George was the problem!

Last was Radiology. I was scared for my life since I slept and didn’t revise radiology AT ALL. But the examiner was impressed by my marks and gave me 2.5 🙂‍↕️

Now if that still wasn’t enough adventure for you, let me introduce you to my bad math skills. 7.5 in Histology + 2.5 in radiology makes 10 which meant I had scored 30/30 but my dumbass forgot math and thought I scored only 27.5 and went out a little sad.

Then a senior dude asked me how was it and I was like ‘Accha tha bas muje ek baat bata histology ke liye maximum kitna hota hai?’ And he was 7.5 and then it hit me ‘Oh bhaiii fir toh muje full mile hai’ 😭😭😭

I’m never forgetting this day. I narrated this entire thing to my mom twice, once to bf, a 30 min voice note to @hum-suffer and now on tumblr.

[dreamwatch]

Computer Love

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #22 - Prompt: Alternate Universe | Word Count: 995 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Steve | Pairing: pre-Steddie| Tags: IT Crowd AU, banter, my attempt at humour,

Ok, I wasn't going to write for today, but I was sitting on a work call and it made me think of the IT Crowd and that made me think of our beloved idiots. And honestly, I've been writing so much angst I thought I should try and redress the balance!

Steve wasn’t exactly over the moon about working for his dad, but one failed retail job after another and a few unpaid bills is all it took to have him crawling back to Harrington Senior. He didn’t want to be an office gopher, or work in the mail room, not at his age, but he’d suck it up.

Head of IT. His dad was making him Head of IT.

So far he’s told two friends. Robin, who stared at him like he had two heads before saying “Is he joking? Is it— is it like an April Fools thing?” And Dustin who was even less polite:

“What the fuck do you know about information technology?”

“Is that what it stands for?”

“Jesus Christ, Steve.”

He heads to the bank of elevators looking for his department. Harrington Industries is spread over twenty floors. He wonders if he’ll get a corner office. God the views… 

Steve runs his fingers down the list until he finds IT. Basement. No view then. Shit.

He exits the elevator into a dingy hallway, discarded PCs and printers stacked everywhere, and trips over a cable almost immediately.

Finally he finds his department. And… well…

Fuck.

Yeah. It’s all making sense now.

It looks like a frat house. There are two guys on a ratty couch playing video games, and another two at desks; one mop top making cat memes, and an admittedly cute guy with long hair with his feet up on his desk. There are phones ringing and no one seems bothered by them, until eventually Long Hair lets out an exasperated sigh and picks up.

“IT Support, have you tried turning it off and on again? Uh huh. Yeah it’s the button on the front of the… yup, big grey button… can’t miss it… you know what, let me send someone up. What’s your floor? Uh huh, and name? Melanie. Melanie in Marketing. Well, I’m going to be sending my best guy up—“

And, finally someone has noticed he’s there.

“Uh, he’s on his way, bye.” Long Hair drops the phone. “Guys, we have company.”

“Hi, I’m Steve,” he says, smiling at the four faces now firmly fixed on him. “I’m your new boss.”

“Not for long,” snarks one of the guys on the couch.

“Matty, be nice!” says Long Hair, and god he has beautiful eyes. Shit, fuck, no, don’t go there. “I’m Eddie, that’s Matt, who is just about to head up to Melanie on four—“

“Oh for fu—“

“—That’s Jeff sitting next to him,” Jeff raises a hand, “and this is Gareth.” Gareth just scowls at him.

Steve finally gets a good look at them all. Ratty band shirts and sneakers, ripped jeans, totally unprofessional, they look like they’re in a band not an office. He’s going to be making some serious changes around here.

“Well it’s good to meet you all,” he says and finally catches sight of a small office. He points at it, “Take it this is mine.”

“Sure is,” says Eddie. “We didn’t know exactly when you were coming so you’re not set up yet, but Jeff will get that done this afternoon for you.”

“Why this afternoon?”

Jeff stares at him like he has two heads. “It’s Minecraft Monday.”

“Yeah, I have no idea what that is.”

Eddie laughs. “It’s fine, I’ll come in a few minutes get you hooked up. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable. Boss.” 

His office is small and cluttered with more junk, and definitely no window. God, this sucks. 

There’s a knock at the door and he turns to find Eddie leaning against the door frame, arms crossed against his chest. 

“How d’ya like the place?”

Steve runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face.

“Uh, yeah, it’s, you know…”

“A shit hole?”

“Yeah, a shit hole.”

“I take it Donny didn’t exactly fill you in on the details.”

Steve drops into the torn office chair. “Not really,” he sighs. “He has a habit of that.”

Eddie straightens up. “You’ve worked with him before?”

He laughs. “Better than that. He’s my dad.”

“Oh shit.”

Gareth barges in. “Wait, Donny the Dick is your Dad?”

“Donny the— hey, that’s—he’s the guy that pays your salary, a little respect.”

“Pretty sure that’s Karen in finance.”

“What…? You know, never mind. Point is, this department is a mess and there’s going to be some changes around here. Starting with the way you answer the phones, you can’t just tell people to turn the computers on and off—“

“—off and on,” Jeff cuts in.

“Whatever, you can’t do it. You need to ask what’s wrong.”

Eddie laughs. “I mean, we could, but the answer would still be to turn your PC off and on again so…”

Jeff and Gareth nod along like those stupid plastic toys. God, is it too late to go back to Family Video?

“Well, that’s as maybe, but for now you’re… ah, dismissed.”

He doesn’t miss Eddie’s amused smirk, as he gestures for his troops to leave. But then he’s perching himself on the edge of the desk, leaning into Steve’s space, those big brown eyes pinning him in his seat.

“So, just between us, you don’t actually know anything about IT, do you?”

“I mean… I know… uh, like mice, you know and uh… oh!” Steve snaps his fingers and points, triumphantly. “HTNL!”

Eddie’s biting his lip, god he has beautiful lips. “It’s HTML, but you were close. Do you do a lot of coding, Steve?”

He flops back in the chair, defeated. “Up until last week I was working in Family Video.”

“In their IT department?”

“No, in their ‘this is due back in two days department.’” He groans. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

Eddie laughs. “Don’t sweat it, you’ve got a lot more going for you than the last guy.”

“I have?”

“Oh yeah. At least you’re pretty,” he says with a wink.

Yeah, Steve’s totally screwed.

[abalonetea]

Hi, I’m Katie! I’m a chronically ill, self-published indie author, the primary source of income for my family, a former horse trainer, forever a werewolf enthusiast, and a senior editor for Wandering Words Media!

You can also check me out on Patreon under the same name, Abalonetea, or check out my published books at the links below!

Youth Sunken: a horror novel about the fountain of youth and things that lurk in the deep!

Howl: a werewolf YA that follows three brothers in a small, southern town! 

I Drowned In The Summer of 85: a tragic romance turned ghost story, set at a summer camp.

Coaltown: a creature feature horror set in the Alaskan wilds, at Sweetwater mines. the first in a trilogy.

God Is Dead series: a three-book series with a bonus novella about possessions spreading like an infection and the potential end of the world.

Consider swinging by my KOFI for a quick bit of support, check out my KOFI SHOP, or you can check out this WISHLIST if you prefer! 

My current primary projects include...

Devil Mine

SHED

Rule Breaker

...and getting prepped for next years @writeblrsummerfest!

Interested in knowing more about upcoming K. E. Koontz projects? Sign up for my mailing list HERE!

[the-ace-with-spades]

An AU where Jake didn't go to USNA but got a scholarship for football at the same uni Bradley got a scholarship for baseball.

They're both part of NROTC but Bradley is a second-year midshipman and he's one of the very few midshipmen who are not mentoring anyone in the program dunno how nrotc works I'm guessing similar to our military youth programs, bear with me

He's instantly intrigued — Bradley seems to be the most unavailable person in the whole program, never really engaging for after-training outings or parties, never making small talk and never trying to even make connections that would help with networking once they were commissioned.

So Jake kind of observes from afar for the first few months and he realizes Bradley is exactly the same outside of NROTC too.

Despite the lack of engagement, every single instructor and coordinator from the program seems to know him. More so, most of them don't even comment on his lack of extracurricular engagement or mentorship, but even send him off for extra trainings that are typically only awarded for being exceptional.

They live in the same student building but on different floors. Bradley is an RA for his floor and the female-only floor above, something Jake only discovers when his own RA is kicked out and his heating problem is delegated to Bradley.

Bradley is also a TA (which is very unusual for a sophomore) for one of the physics professors — Jake is studying mechanical engineering and Bradley is doing aerospace engineering and he sometimes sees Bradley assisting, even if it's mostly for different majors.

Jake's fascination grows even more because he doesn't get it — Bradley is unavailable to anyone but he's also so nice. Most of the students in the dorm he's coordinating like him, which is not really something that happens with RAs, he's respected both by the midshipmen and their instructors and seniors, many of which keep on friendly jabs with him or extend invitations to outings despite Bradley's repeated refusals. He is incredibly nice to the actual few students who come for help from him as a TA, from what Jake heard, and he's got a good few girls crushing on him, some of which are pretty popular in the uni circles.

Despite that, he doesn't seem to have any friends. Jake doesn't see him at parties, or going outs, or study groups, or even of some midshipmen-organized extra trainings. It's like he's keeping everyone at arm's length.

Finally, he has an occasion to start something with Bradley when he goes downstairs to the mail room. Technically sorting the mail and putting it in the right boxes outside of the mail room is the porter's room but the porter seems to be there maybe four hours a week so usually they just break into the room and look for their own shit in the mess.

He goes downstairs and Bradley is sitting on the floor with a list of the students in the building and a stamp with red RETURN TO SENDER, sorting through piles and piles of mail.

"I didn't think it was part of your job."

"It's not," Bradley answers. "Someone has to do it, might as well be me. Seresin, right?"

Jake doesn't squeal but oh god, Bradley knows his name. "Yeah."

"Your parcel is in the ready pile," he says, pointing his thumb parcels near the door.

"You want some help?"

"You've got nothing better to do on a Friday night?"

He could've asked the same question. "I have three assignments I need to procrastinate on."

Bradley gives him a long look but finally says, "Fair enough."

They stay in silence and Jake doesn't know how to start a conversation. Bradley seems focused and aloof and just, once again, so unavailable.

The opportunity arises when he is going over the stack of parcels in the corner of the mail room.

"Your name is Bradshaw, right?"

"Yeah."

"Those are for you."

"They're not."

"I mean, there's no room number but it does say Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley is quiet for a minute but gets up from where he's been sitting on the floor and slowly walks to stand next to where the boxes are stacked on itself.

Without hesitation, he stamps both of them with RETURN TO SENDER.

"You aren't even going to check what's inside?"

He gets quiet again, looking at the stamp on top of the parcel far longer than needed, before he says, "I don't have any family left, whoever sent it isn't anyone I'd like to get anything from."

Jake bites down apologies — Bradley doesn't seem to be the type to need pity.

"It can't be returned to the post," Jake points out. "No return address."

Bradley sighs and takes out a pen from his pocket, leaning over the boxes.

He doesn't mean to snoop but he catches Bradley writing P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky in the addressee line and San Diego a couple lines lower. So obviously Bradley knew who it was from.

Some things change after that evening — Bradley answers his hi when they see each other at training or waves back when Jake sees him in the lecture hall or brings his mail straight to Jake's room and chats with him for a few minutes at his door.

But most things don't change — he still refuses to join any going outs, even if it's Jake asking him, still doesn't talk much to anyone, still refuses simple invitations to grab lunch together in the cafeteria or go to a movie later that week. Still seems to be using a Don't have time or If you don't need me, I'm going as frequent excuses. Still seems to be entirely unavailable to anyone who wants to catch him outside of his strictly obligatory settings.

He's talking about this with his mom, using the phone booth outside of their dorms, because he's never had trouble making friends with anyone (even if he admits he could make more than friends, with Bradley, eventually, maybe, wishful thinking aside) and his mom tells him, "He sounds really busy, baby, he probably doesn't have time for friends."

"How can you have no time for friends? It's college."

"Jakey, he isn't like you, he doesn't have any support from his family, he's probably struggling to stay afloat with the scholarships requirements and the college job and studying and military training on top of it."

"So what? There's no way to—be friends with him?"

"I think you'll have to fit into the free time in his schedule, baby. because that's the only kind he has."

It takes some time but he does realize that Bradley's time is truly limited. His days are packed tight, on top of what Jake already knew — the TA job, the RA job, the baseball scholarship and the NROTC training — he also works in the local garage one day a week. He literally has a few hours he can actually spend with someone during the day and Jake slowly tries to use them up.

Brings him coffee for the early morning walk-in tutoring he hosts at college, eats lunch with him when they have a training break, even as Bradley does his assigned reading and only half-pays attention to him, comes downstairs to the mail room every evening Bradley sorts through it, brings him cupcakes from the cafeteria on the lunch break between lectures, even though Bradley spends it alone in the professor's office, making lesson plans or marking papers. Visits him in the garage he works at and keeps on constant chatter as Bradley gets covered in black oil and stinks like fuel.

Slowly, he can see Bradley smiling when he sees Jake. Can see Bradley sharing his homemade divine lasagna and chicken soup made from scratch with Jake. Can see Bradley joining him in the gym, not just staying on the outside of the group. Can see Bradley chatting back as he continues to do what he's doing, no longer just letting Jake run his mouth.

There's a bit of a hiccup when Jake offers Bradley to join him on Christmas break in Texas — tells him they can drive if Bradley doesn't want to pay for plane tickets they can make a road trip of the thing and all. Only another call to his mom makes him aware that Bradley probably can't afford either and, as his mom doesn't hold back and points out Bradley won't react well if he offers to pay for it.

So instead, Jake stays for most of the Christmas break in the halls. Apparently, Bradley is organizing a small Chrismas dinner for anyone from the halls who is staying over (a total of seven people), so things get a bit busy — the spare time Bradley has is, well, spare. When he finally has the time, he is working in the garage or finishing his assignments — Jake sometimes forgets, with all the things Bradley does to stay afloat, that he's actually still a student — so he mostly trails behind him and chatters when he thinks it won't annoy Bradley too much.

Bradley offers to drive him to the airport. It's the first time he's offered to take a good chunk of his time and make it free by rescheduling things, just for Jake.

He even parks at the airport and walks him all the way to the security check line, not just leaves Jake in the drop-and-go area.

Jake gives him a small Christmas gift — a key chain with A4 Skyhawk he bought when he visited the aviation museum in Horsham with some of the other midshipmen. They both want to go into the aviation pipeline once graduated so it seems like something Bradley could like, even if it's a bit silly.

He wasn't sure, if Bradley would actually take it — he's been reluctant to take many things, every single lunch or coffee Jake got him had to be either repaid or covered by Bradley the next day.

But Bradley hugs him. Puts the key chain on his car keys ring.

When Jake comes back, he's expecting progress because, you know, Bradley's been warming up to him. Instead, Bradley seems to be dead on his feet, getting annoyed quicker than usually, going as far as telling Jake to 'keep quiet for a goddamn minute'. It all kind of becomes clear when he is car pooling with the guys for the NORTC training and sees Bradley, honest to god jogging the three miles from the halls to the training site, military backpack with his uniform and gear towering over his shoulder — it's five in the morning.

"You doing a new training regime or something? Running everywhere instead of driving like a normal human being?"

He doesn't look at Jake as he says, "The Bronco broke down."

"I mean, that car is older than you," Jake points out, trying to tiptoe around the issue and get Bradley to admit what the exact problem is — he never does, if you ask directly, Jake knows by now. It's like asking for help isn't in his nature.

"It's not safe to drive," he explains. "I can't brake in time anymore, the brakes are about to give out completely."

"Can't you fix it?"

"I need a new drum brake master cylinder," he says. When Jake stares at him, he adds, "It's gonna cost around two hundred bucks, which I don't have."

"I could lend you the money," he offers.

"I don't want your money," Bradley says, just like he thought he'd — taking any offered help from anyone isn't in his nature either.

So Jake tries to work around it — asks his dad and his uncles if there's anyone they know who could maybe give him the right master cylinder for free or at a very discounted price. When they finally find a guy who has a collection of spare parts for the early Broncos but no Broncos anymore and is willing to send the cylinder as long as someone pays for the postage, he writes down his number and promises his friend Bradley is going to call soon about that.

And thank the fucking god, Bradley accepts this kind of backhanded help.

Bradley fixes the Bronco on the hall's parking lot. He jogs from the garage with a borrowed jack lift strapped to his back, pops the car on it and the other one he already has in the trunk so the wheels are up, pops the tires off and pops the front mask up and gets his white tank and plaid shirt covered in grime. It's already dark by the time he takes the jacks away and sits behind the wheel.

Jake's spent the whole time uselessly chattering to him as he always does — he has absolutely no idea about cars — but he lets himself be waved into the passenger seat.

Bradley drives out of the parking lot, down the empty road to the campus and brakes so hard Jake has to hold himself up against the dashboard.

"Better than new," Bradley says and Jake's never seen him grinding as widely and as honestly as he is now.

He is sweaty and covered in oil and stinking a bit, but his curls are flopping on his forehead and the ratty mustache he's been growing lately is out of order and he's looking at Jake with those big brown cow eyes — he just can't not kiss him.

So he leans over the console and kisses the smile on his face.

The leap of faith pays of because Bradley keeps on kissing him — he pulls the hand brake on and lets both his hands settle on Jake's waist and things continue until Jake is being guided onto the backseat over the console and being kisses again and again, and Bradley's hands go lower and lower.

They get each other off and then go back to the halls. They don't talk about it but now any time they're alone — in the lecture hall, in the mail room, in Jake's or Bradley's room — he can just lean in and kiss him as much as he wants to and still get the brightest of smiles as a reward.

They're back in the mail room and maybe Jake's just spent twenty minutes trying to crawl up Bradley's lap (to no avail) when he notices — Bradley got another package, this time PLEASE AT LEAST LOOK THROUGH THE THINGS BEFORE SENDING IT BACK written in bold marker on top.

Bradley curtly tells him to just stamp it with RETURN TO SENDER. But he can't help himself — he gets his keys out and cuts through the tape on top, opening the giant box.

"Jake—"

He takes out the first thing that's on top of the pile inside — a stuffed goose the size of over half of Jake's torso. It's a bit grayed up and smells like dust but it's also so cute.

"That yours?"

Bradley gets up from where he's sitting so quick — a second and he's next to Jake, taking the plushie out of his hands. "Ducky—"

"Ducky? That's a goose, isn't it?"

Bradley is honest to god red in the face but doesn't let go of the goose, bringing it closer to his chest and it's freaking adorable. "I was two, I couldn't tell the difference."

"So," Jake says, feeling like he's defusing a bomb. "You still wanna send it back?"

"I—I don't know."

"Maybe—Maybe I could help with that," he offers. "If I know the details, or at least some of them."

It takes him a minute but when Bradley finally starts talking, everything just spills out of him. He tells Jake about his dad, and about his mom, and then about his other dad and pops. He doesn't get too into details but they come around back to his last year in high school and how his dad pilled his papers and they haven't talked since Bradley found out and left the house with a bag and his car and nothing else.

Jake says, "That's just stupid."

The second it leaves his mouth, he knows he's said the wrong thing even if it was honest — he can see in real-time as Bradley rolls back into himself, closing off in less than a minute and suddenly there's so much distance between them.

He angrily writes down the same P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky and San Diego address on top and chucks the goose plushie back inside.

"I guess I'm stupid then," he says quietly and a blink and he's out of the mail room. He's not answering when Jake knocks on his room door.

Jake doesn't have the heart to actually let that package go back to P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky, or Bradley's dad and pops. So he brings it into his room upstairs.

He doesn't mean to go over the things inside, not too much, but he thought he could at least grab the goose — Ducky — and give it a wash. When he reaches inside, there's a goddamn plushie of a Spitfire in there, its tag saying RAF Museum, London, and Jake can't help looking for more.

There are photos and polaroids, three people commonly on all of them with a baby Bradley. Old Hawaiian shirts, a leather jacket, knots of seashell jewelry, a few rolled-up posters, a whole notebook with handwritten recipes, birthday cards.

He doesn't look any further but instead takes the return address from the box and writes up a postcard to P.Mitchell & T. Kazansky saying he'll force Bradley to keep it all.

Problem is, Bradley isn't talking to him, no matter how hard he tries. He thought he'd be like that for a few weeks at the most and then forget but he's worse than he was before he and Jake met in the mail room for the first time — doesn't even say a word to him when Jake tries to start a conversation, he's gone so far as to change his complicated schedule completely so Jake can't see him outside of NROTC and his TA role.

He calls his mom again.

"Jakey, honey," his mom says, with a tone that suggests he's an idiot. "That boy bared his soul to you and you said his feelings were stupid."

[irisbleufic]

Of all the bullshit I never expected to be back on with the same intensity of October through December of 2000, Beetlejuice was not it. But I finally got to see the musical yesterday, and the part of me that has adored all 94 episodes of the animated series from the moment I started watching them on ABC Saturday mornings in 1989 just fucking flared—this fond, awful tightness in my chest. It’s the first TV show I ever imprinted on; it’s been with me since childhood. Surreal.

About 4 years into watching the cartoon, I finally saw the live-action movie that the cartoon was based on. I hated it, because it was so malevolent and empty compared to the incredible world-building characters in the animated series. Serious shout-outs to Stephen Ouimette and Alyson Court for all that stunning, hilarious, and often moving voicework.

Now, okay, I need to go back to 2000 again to make this all make sense. I’d watched the show from 1989 until whenever the 4th season ended. It wasn’t until I was in my first semester of college, newly transplanted to New England, that I found a couple folks within my program who had loved the show growing up, too. I ordered all of the episodes on VHS. It was difficult to track them all down in 2000, and it was expensive. But I pulled it off, and we had Friday night watch parties for weeks over the month of October. But that is not where this ends.

I was in the process of winding down the writing I’d been doing on Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow for the entirety of my senior year of high school. Suddenly, I’m in college and watching this fucking cartoon and thinking, there is so much heart in this. How the fuck is there so much heart. I haven’t seen two characters this wholesome codependent in, well, ever. I went looking for forums and mailing lists devoted to the cartoon. I found a mailing list. There were a handful of artists drawing amazing fancomics on there, and they were like, what do you do? Oh. I write. And they were like: do you understand how desperately some of us have wanted fic, but just can’t find it?

That is the wrong thing to say to me when I’m on a downward spiral of realizing I’m not going to escape a fandom without getting myself into a project so long that it’s all I’ll be doing for fucking months on end. If you’re one of the people who knew me back then, you know what I did for those four months in the fall/winter of 2000. I wrote a novel. Sure, I came close to failing a couple of classes, but it was the first time I understood exactly what I was capable of building as a fanwriter. Maybe even as a real writer.

“Time Will Tell” was hosted on a friend’s Angelfire site for a handful of years. People found it via LiveJournal, too, because I linked it there. I put it on AO3 somewhere circa 2012 and took it down again in 2017 because I didn’t feel there was enough interest in it, and also, my 19-year-old editorial foibles and typos were aspects I wanted to amend in it.

The musical took more inspiration from the cartoon than the film. I’m stunned and grateful for that. I found the “Time Will Tell” file buried pretty deep in my Gmail folders. I’ve been reading it since the drive home last night. I just can’t believe there’s now enough of a fandom for me to consider finally polishing it and getting it back online. It’s one of my two oldest surviving pieces of writing.

Anyway, sorry for the Gotham fic delays that I’d been trying to get a handle on. Now that the semester’s over, I feel that getting this thing I wrote twenty-three years ago back to the light of day is the best use of my time for a couple weeks.

If you’re one of the people who read “Time Will Tell” back in the day, thank you. I don’t know how many people out there still remember it beyond maybe ten or so friends I’m still in contact with all these years later. I’m sorry it disappeared for a while.