#so this is what the construction workers are up to during the lunch hour

[hyunpic]

got a taste of his own medicine 💦🧍

[lesuccube]

➚ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐊 𝐃 : ᴀᴜ-ᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ , ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — a treat for you and your lover .

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — fluff infection

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd , constructive criticism is welcomed . reblogs and comments are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 0.5k

baker!steven who loves making you treats and sneaks them into your lunch bag without you knowing.

baker!steven who makes the most of his goodies gluten free but will occasionally (read: every time you ask for baked treats) indulge your request to make them sugary and sweet.

baker!steven who would spend sleepless nights in the kitchen concocting new recipes.

baker!steven who, with enough encouragement from you, opens up a shop after his sudden unemployment from the museum.

baker!steven who cried upon hearing that you had used up most of your lifesavings to get him a quaint spot downtown with a busy enough street that guarantees him a steady flow of customers.

baker!steven who promised to pay you back for your investment and won't take no for an answer which in the end resulted into agreeing to open a joint account so his 'debt' would be put to other uses like your shared responsibilities like rent, groceries and for emergencies.

baker!steven who absolutely adores his shop, making sure to keep his customers saitisfied with quality food (he has two menus, separating gluten free items for the vegan options).

baker!steven who makes friends with his regulars, chatting up with the old ladies that come in for afternoon tea and crumpets, helping college students to the best he can but absolutely enjoys it when they ask help for history subjects and entertains little children with ancient egyptian trivias and gives them tiny trinkets for free.

baker!steven who refused to serve donna when she came in for coffee after the horrible treatment she had given him when he used to work at the museum.

baker!steven who closed shop for a few hours to call you up looking for comfort because seeing donna so suddenly after finally recovering from what he had endured from her before shook him.

baker!steven who would most definitely close the bakery after lunch rush to personally visit you at work to hand you a basket full of extra baked goods to share with your co-workers.

baker!steven who loves when fall arrives because he gets to decorate the shop in fall amd halloween themes and gets to experiment baking with different pans and cookie cutters.

baker!steven who eventually experiments with learning how to make drinks so the equipment you had gotten him will be put to good use until he learns the hard way that brewing coffee is not good for his autistic brain.

baker!steven who would hire a barista instead to make the drinks and gets along with them, gives them free treats during lunch break and gives them leftovers from the day's batch.

baker!steven who eventually joins the farmers market after getting enough recognition from customers in his street and encouragement from aunties from the neighborhood.

baker!steven who had to close his stall after just a few hours because he had sold out all of his baked batches for the day.

baker!steven who 100% loves his new career path.

baker!steven who would drop by the street act he used to talk to after work hours from the museum to give him a goodie bag and a big tip just because.

baker!steven who waits for you before closing up for the day so he can dance with you between counters and tables, murmuring sweet, sweet love to your ears in between laughter and feeds you a small fresh batch of your favorite cookies before walking back to his place hand in hand with you.

[symbioticsimplicity]

This Idiot Has Seen Goncharov

So today marked the coalescence of the Goncharov Incident as I’ll be calling it, so I think it’s finally time to share.

For a bit of context, you need to know a little more about one of my co-workers. We’ll call him Zeke. First it’s important to note that despite being in his early thirties, Zeke doesn’t have any sort of social media accounts outside of a MySpace page. Dude has straight up been living like it’s still 2007. Zeke also has a fixation with my friend/roommate who also works with us. Zeke will hop onto whatever bandwagon this friend, who we’ll call Jesse, is on. But most importantly to this whole tableau, Zeke likes to tell tall tales, like no matter what you’re talking about, or what you’ve done, this guy has done it but bigger and crazier.

That alone would be annoying, but it wouldn’t be enough to push myself and Jesse to the level we’ve hit with him. For me, it’s the constant need to put other people down for ‘knowing less than he does’ despite the obviousness of his knowledge being a collection of poorly constructed lies. Like not only does he lie, but this dumbass doesn’t even bother to check into the things he lies about. Several times he’s tried to convince me of something in a subject I know everything about. He refuses to admit to being wrong and he won’t back down from anything he’s said, it’s infuriating.

For this, and quite a few other reasons transphobic cough cough augh, he’s been bothering Jesse and I for quite a while. Badly enough that the spite fueled wasp nest that lives in the back corner of my brain Morse coded a plan to me.

Goncharov.

What better way to trip up a ride or die compulsive liar than a piece of media well known for being entirely fictional?

The next day, when Zeke climbed into my car during our lunch hour, Jesse and I began talking about this old movie we’d recently watched. The two of us have known each other more than long enough to able to follow each other’s bullshit like second nature, we’ve played an assload of DND together. In ten minutes we’ve got the whole first arc talked out with a few of the “best scenes” highlighted. (Personal favorites being Andrey juggling guns “a la John Wick/Guns Akimbo” and Katya killing a man point blank after saying ‘Get Gonch’d bitch’ in a 1973 film.)

Zeke didn’t respond too much, just kind of nodded and ignored most of the convo since it wasn’t really about him. I didn’t really expect him to engage to start, he usually doesn’t, but we’d planned to keep this up for another couple days anyhow.

But like clockwork, the more Jesse talked about it, the more Zeke seemed to remember it. Enough that I jumped ahead a little and pulled up the faux movie poster to show him.

He squinted at it then nodded and said he’d definitely seen the movie before.

When I tell you I almost fucking screamed.

Of course he couldn’t remember many details because it had been so long since he’d seen it. To tell you the truth I’d checked out at that point, I was focused on not losing my shit, I have no fucking idea what he said.

While this was an entire meal served up on a silver platter, it would have been pretty easy to say he’d seen the poster somewhere despite not having socials. I want this man incinerated, not merely singed.

Which leads me to the events of the last couple days.

So Zeke came up to Jesse and I and told us he wanted to re-watch Goncharov and asked us if it’s on Netflix.

Jesse and I both said that it is, without hesitation.

Zeke went to look for it (at work, while we’re working no less, again I missed the rest of what he was saying here I was mentally biting him) and obviously found nothing. So he searched every other streaming platform he had, and Youtube, all once again coming up empty.

At this point, I was sure the jig is up. He was actually searching it now so obviously he’d find one of the search results letting him know Goncharov’s true nature. I’m fairly certain the first result for it on Google says that it’s fake.

Oh hoo hoo, no.

Zeke came to me to complain about not being able to find the movie and in a fit of clandestine fervor, I told him that we probably watched it on a pirating site.

It was beautiful, it was inspired, and it worked.

Zeke asked me for the site and I told him that I’d have to get it from our other roommate since she’s in charge of the tech in our house. Then I hauled ass to go find Jesse and spill the latest tea before Zeke could. 

Later on Jesse sent him the link to the site, and he told us he’d find it over the weekend.

Well today, friends, is Monday.

Most of today we spent too busy to go grill Zeke about whether or not he’s crossed over into the fucking Mandela timeline and managed to watch Goncharov. But ten minutes before close, while we’re waiting to go, suddenly Zeke perks up, and remembers that when he gets home, he has to finish watching the movie. He’d had trouble getting the site to work on his phone, but his Xbox had run it, and he’d started watching it, but had unfortunately fallen asleep before he’d finished.

Now. I am a calm man, I can keep a straight face if I need to. But hearing this fucking idiot tell me he’d started watching a fictitious movie made up by Tumblr.com of all places nearly sent me to the fucking Shadow Realm with the amount of effort it took not to crack.

He talked for a couple more minutes before fucking off to do something else, I have no idea again I wasn’t fucking listening, I was trying not to visibly cry from holding back laughter.

But then he left and like instinct, like the inevitable impact of atoms inside of the Hadron collider, Jesse and I turned to look at each other. I knew what Jesse would say, Jesse knew what I would say, and like fate, like destiny, like two people who had witnessed a man commit manslaughter against his own damn self, we spoke at once.

“This idiot has seen Goncharov.”

[saintnightshade]

13 October 19??

The Village of Ashwood

Estd. 1600s Puritan Era on the outskirts of New England

The Village of Ashwood was small and overgrown, taken over by the forest when it was stumbled upon in the early 1900s by a construction company. Future Ideals bought up the land in the area with the purpose of flattening the forest to begin building a cluster of condos. A few months into the work all contact had been lost with the workers on the land, only a handful of men had been present at the worksite during the estimated time of the incident. After hours of silence, superiors had been sent out to investigate the site and determine the cause of the lack of communication. When the men arrived at the site they could not locate any of the workers, all construction vehicles had been running as though the drivers had turned them on only to leave immediately after. There were opened lunch boxes set out with some of the food being partially eaten, it's as if everyone had completely disappeared mid-action.

Police were called, as those in charge of the project feared the workers were run off by violent "tree-hugging" environmentalists. The police ventured around the perimeter of the immediate area the workers had the majority of their vehicles settled before scouting further into the forest work area. They followed a path of freshly cut tree trunks before coming to a stop near a very faded stone marker, the name etched in it barely legible as "Ashwood". It seemed to the officers present that the workers had uncovered an old town of some kind and perhaps their curiosity simply got the better of them and they abandoned their work to explore the town. It was fairly deep into the woods, sunbeams barely managed to penetrate the thick forest canopy. The officers continued their search into the old town, looking over what seemed to be ancient homes made of logs and stone. Some of the hovels had caved into themselves after centuries of rot weighing them down, others were miraculously tethered together by thick green vines. Plush vibrant moss-covered nearly everything along with masses of small delicate flowers, the area smelled earthy and wet, but nestled beneath that sweet scent of flowers was the odor of decay and iron.

An hour or two into their investigation the officers had still yet to find any of the workers, a frantic call from the deepest part of the town called out to the other officers. One of their own had finally found something and it didn't bring them any hope of finding the missing workers. The officers all gathered at the far end of the town where a worn stone slab lay beneath a large tree that had been carved into, forming the crude silhouette of a woman. The area made their skin crawl and their hair stand on end; each officer later stating they struggled to fight off the desperate urge to run out of pure fear-induced instinct. From the trees hung the brittle bones of centuries-old humans, more bones surrounded the stone slab, and under the light of their lanterns the officers made out old brown stains. Strange effigies were strewn about that had somehow withstood the test of time, being tied together with twine and a wad of crusty brown fabric, it looked to be a crudely shaped person. All of this was not what the lone officer had called them to see so frantically. Looking over the eerie place of supposed worship closer brought in new details and had the officers calling in for backup.

Decorating the hanging ancient bones, dulled by time, were shreds of fresh meat dripping warm blood onto the forest floor. Amongst the old bones now hung new additions, freshly scraped of all viscera leaving them a mix of ivory and bright pink. A lunch box sat on the stone slab, now visible with a multitude of lanterns closing in on it and inside of it sat a lump of meat later identified as a human heart. It had belonged to one of the missing workers and had a single chunk torn from it by what seemed to be an animal of some kind, the teeth marks left behind were determined to not be human. Along the thick base of the tree were numerous handprints identified as those of grown men; left in blood. The handprints slowly managed to climb the tree to where the head of the carved woman was set, they caressed her face with single digits and left only a delicate gore-painted smile behind. The air was odorless when they first entered the small grove but after taking in the scene it suddenly reared up with an awful stench hitting the officers with a force that finally sent them all running and gagging all the way back to their vehicles.

The fresh remnants in the forest that day were found to have belonged to a single man and the rest of the workers were never found and have never been cleared of suspicion though the families all vehemently deny their loved ones' involvement in such a horrific affair. The area was deemed a crime scene and eventually, the publicity became too much for Future Ideals and they abandoned the area entirely, taking a huge loss. They eventually turned it into a show of goodwill and deep condolences to the families by allowing it to be fenced off to the public in the hopes that the events of that day would eventually be solved. It certainly earned them the brownie points they were going for and they continued their plans a mile or so off from the area with no objections not long after. Speculation ranged from a case of mass hysteria or some obscure bacteria being kicked up in the construction process and driving the workers insane were thrown around news stations, papers, articles and eventually internet forums. There were two things many people looking into the case could agree on; the area that was found was a Puritan village and no Puritan, during that time, would ever worship anyone outside of the Christian God. So who was the woman that was carved so lovingly into that tree?

As the decades dragged on, the village of Ashwood became a local legend that eventually made its way onto the internet. Locals told stories of strange lights flickering deep in the woods at night and eerie chanting that carried on the wind. Some claimed to have seen ghostly figures moving through the trees, while others spoke of a dark presence as tall as the trees that seemed to lurk just beyond the edge of the forest. Despite the rumors, the authorities refused to investigate the village any further and the area was left to decay and crumble even further in the darkness. The case of the missing workers grew colder as the years went by, finally being written off as a crazy hermit killing the worker and driving the others off. But some brave or foolish souls still ventured into the woods, seeking to uncover the truth behind the mystery of Ashwood or simply for the thrill of investigating an area drenched in murder and tall tales. With every handful of people that went into Ashwood rumors would spread that half of them never came back out or that no one who went in ever came out again. Leaving any further disappearances attributed to Ashwood unverified.

-LiliesForDinner Signing Off

 Lily had always been fascinated by the stories surrounding the village. She spent years researching the history of the area, reading old documents and accounts of the strange events that had taken place there over the centuries. Lily started a blog detailing the history and everything she learned during her research, she may have embellished a little but people like reading about the gory bits! Eventually, she decided to make the journey to Ashwood herself, armed with a flashlight, camcorder, polaroid and a sense of adventure. It was Hallow's Eve, she decided it was the perfect day for a spooky adventure and it would certainly amass her more attention from the paranormal board! Just wait until she gets all the photos developed and the video! She made a post on the forum announcing her plans and she couldn't wait to get back home and start editing. The night was perfect, not too cold, no rain and there was a gentle breeze that would hopefully add to the atmosphere. As she made her way deeper into the woods, the trees seemed to close in around her, their branches creaking and rustling in the wind. She felt like she was being watched, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was following her.

As she approached the village, the air grew thick and heavy, and she heard the sound of chanting echoing through the trees. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should turn back, but her curiosity got the better of her. It could be some others putting together a Halloween setup or... Satanists trying to summon the devil. Either way, it's good footage. As she stepped into the clearing where the village stood, she saw that the village still seemed to be in the same state of stagnant decay from all those decades ago as if stuck in that time. The buildings were still in the same state of collapse and still overgrown while the air was thick with the smell of decay. But there was something else, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Then she saw the tall figure in the shadows, watching her from the edge of the clearing. It was humanoid, but its skin was sickly white, its face framed by long black stringy hair that seemed to writhe behind it. As she stood there, frozen solid and stared, it began to move toward her, its steps slow and deliberate. She took note that it seemed to glide. Lily wanted to run, to get as far away from the creature as she could, but her feet were rooted to the spot. It stopped in front of her and she realized then that it appeared to be a woman dressed in a tattered old dress and as Lily looked up, up and up her breath caught in her throat as she met its face. There were no eyes, no nose, only a mouth that slowly began to split open into a smile to reveal rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth. It leaned down and she could feel its cold breath on her neck, it reeked of decay and the sound of its rasping breath filled her ears and turned her blood cold. Then it spoke, its voice was sickeningly sweet and melodic.

"Welcome to Ashwood," it said. "I've been waiting for you, you're just in time for dinner."

[strawwritesfic]

Clint Barton x Female!SHIELD Agent!Reader: Railroad

Summary: Normally these sorts of situations don’t end happily. Maybe yours will be the exception to the rule.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (fake relationship; spy work; heavy exposition; inaccurate portrayal of South America; inaccurate portrayal of railroads; public displays of affection)

Challenge: “120 Bits of Random” challenge by SugarLandBabyGirl on Lunaescence Archives.

Notes: I really do not know what convinced me when I wrote this that anywhere in South America would still be having railroads in need of construction?? That’s pretty dumb. My apologies to everyone who lives in and/or enjoys South America.

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Railroad

Every day the sun beat down on your head during your lunch-hour walk, and every day as it did, you thought the same thing: This assignment was really weird. 

It shouldn’t have felt that way. Your fluent Spanish and Portuguese allowed you to communicate with the people of the small South American country in which you now resided. You could blend into nearly any environment SHIELD asked you to here. That all added up. Hell, even your cover as a housewife made sense. 

No, what was throwing you off was your fake marriage.

Soon the sounds of rattling traffic and honking bicycles faded into the distance. The shouts of some man far ahead and the clanking of hammers against iron drifted in to replace them. As you rounded the last corner on your route, the familiar sight of the railroad met you, along with its legion of grimy workmen bustling about its tracks.

This was your fake husband’s cover: a former migrant-worker, newly-wed and moved to the area, desperate enough for constant work to take up setting down the country’s new railroad tracks. SHIELD had caught wind of an Inhuman uprising thought to center around the man that managed the railroad work. Two and a half years later, you could definitively say that no one at Clint’s company had the slightest intention of overthrowing anyone. So the mission had been a waste of time, but at least you knew you'd be headed back to America soon.

A few workers smiled and greeted you as you sauntered past carrying a basket of food. You had, over the course of time, become something of a mascot–or maybe just a mascot for Clint. Not every one of the men there had a wife willing to walk five miles just bring them lunch. 

Then again, not every one of the men had wives that would have gone crazy if they had to stay inside cooking and cleaning all day. You didn’t know how real housewives did it. Keeping a home was far more difficult than anything you had to do for your job.

Five minutes later, you found Clint, even though he looked nearly identical to all the other workers. You stood a few feet away until one of the men around him looked up to see you, grinned, and elbowed him in the ribs. Clint glanced up himself and practically beamed when he spotted you.

“How’s it going, darlin’?” he asked in Portuguese, sauntering right up. You held up your basket wordlessly, and Clint took it as he kissed you on the cheek. “What did I do to deserve a girl like you? Hey, Duarte! I’m taking my lunch break!”

The man standing on a platform overlooking the tracks nodded.

Seeing this, Clint took your hand and led you off towards a group of makeshift wooden tables. You settled yourself on top of one, next to the basket. Clint sat down on the bench and started to eat. Your hand still tingled where he had touched you, and you hated yourself for it. Clint wasn’t really your husband. The handholding was for the benefit of everyone watching, not you.

Hell if it didn’t make your heart beat a little faster anyway.

“You seem down today,” Clint remarked around a large mouthful of a sandwich. 

If you hadn’t been so well trained, you might have blushed. As it was, you simply smiled at him .“I guess I just miss my family.”

It was not as though you could tell him the truth. Even back at the house, you had to stick to your covers in case anyone was listening. Maybe that was why things had got so far out of hand. Spend over two years making dinners and love to a man, and eventually your brain would decide that it might not have been entirely for show. 

But even if there was a point in time where you could flat out say you weren’t really Clint’s wife, you still couldn’t tell him that you wanted to be.

“Well, shouldn’t be too much longer.” His eyes remained fixed on your face. 

You reached out one hand and twiddled with a bit of his filthy hair. 

Clint smiled. “Dear old Dad says we’ll need to move back by the end of the month.”

“You told your boss yet?”

He shrugged. “Figured I’d pull it out last minute. I don’t really want to give these guys extra warning.”

“Extra warning? For what?”

“Come on, [Name]. You haven’t noticed? You’re pretty popular around here.”

“Meaning?”

Before he spoke again, Clint took your wrist and pulled you into his lap so that he could kiss you on the forehead. You giggled, though it made you more sad than happy. 

Stick to the part, you reminded yourself. Fury isn’t paying you to fall in love.

“Meaning I don’t want anyone doing anything to keep you here,” he said. “I intend to take you with me.”

“How romantic.”

“And,” Clint lifted up your hand, stared at the ring there, and then looked you in the eyes, “I intend to make this happen, too. If, of course, you're amenable.”

He knew? And he was okay with it? Again, you found yourself speechless. 

Clint clearly understood, because his smile twisted into a smirk as he stood and sat you on your feet. Before you could choke out anything resembling an intelligent response, he slapped your butt and strutted back to work.

[spiderman-withgreatpower]

Battle of New York from the eyes of kids

@nessiesbarnes

Miles away the battle started. The battle that would change the world forever...that would change the world`s understanding of whats impossible and not. This day would also change the destiny of a small boy and girl.

Peter was 10 years old when the Battle of New York happened. He was in 5th grade attending Midtown Elementary. The children were doing their silent reading for the day as the teacher, Ms. Gomez, graded their recent tests from the week. The kids around him typically used reading time to text their friends behind a book or whisper secrets to one another. Peter didn't have any friends in his class, so he spent the time reading, A Brief History of Time.

After about 20 minutes of reading Peter felt his cell phone buzz, he looked up to see if the teacher was looking his way, which she wasnt, then he checked to see who messaged him. It was his aunt, which he found weird she should be at work and she knew he was in school. She never texted him during school hours. On the other hand, his uncle was supposed to have called him today and didnt. 

Uncle Ben had a job in New York City at Stark Tower. His uncle worked for a construction company and that company was hired to help build the tower. They had been working on it for months now and Peter had so proud of his uncle. Today was their last day, and the workers were doing there final minor touch ups. His uncle had promised Peter that he would send Peter photos of the finished tower and he would call him at lunch to tell him what it was like to be there. He hadn't heard from him all day. In that movement he felt in his gut that something was wrong. The text conversation went back and forth:

Aunt May: I`m coming to pick you up early. Tell your teacher i`ll be there in 20 minute. Go get Nessa and tell her her dad is coming too. I`m giving him a ride to the school since his license is still expired.

Peter: its only 11:40, why are you coming so early?

Aunt May: We will talk about it later.

Peter:  Did something bad happen?

Aunt May: We will talk about it later, Peter.

Peter: Is everyone okay?

Aunt May: Please stop worrying. I just want you home.

Peter: Did I do something wrong? am I in trouble?

Aunt May: Stop worrying. I love you, see you soon.

Peter raised his hand and told his teacher that he was going to be leaving early today. He showed the text message to his teacher as proof. He also told her that he had to go tell his neighbor cause she was going to be picked up too.

He ran down the hall to the classroom at the end of the hall. His best friend was his neighbor, a girl named Vanessa Barnes. She had moved onto his block six years ago and they had been inseparable ever since. The two of them were like family to each other and their families looked out for one another.

He looked into the classroom and saw Nessa in the front row as usual, her teacher was in the middle of a math lesson. Peter stepped into the classroom.

“Hey ummm....sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Rosen. I need to talk to Nessa Barnes!” He shouted and speaking a bit faster than he intended to. “Its important!”

He hadn't meant to shout out it, but he was nervous that something bad had happened. The last time his aunt had picked him up early from school was when his parents had died.

The teacher could see the boy was upset. She nodded and motioned for him to come in.

He ran over to Nessa and sat in the empty seat next to her.

“Ness, my aunt is coming to pick us up. Your dad is coming with her. I dont know what's going on, Aunt May wouldn't tell me anything.”

[thegracelessfaceless]

For the ask game, maybe 30 for Jeff the Killer if you do him? If not, that's fine, you can do whatever character you like. But thank you

You got it, love! I had a little bit off trouble getting into the Jeff mindset, at first. Then I swear his spirit must have taken over, because, shit this gets dark 😅

30. "Ugh, my head... What happened?"

(From Whump Prompts by @whumpster-dumpster )

🔪Drunk and In Love (Jeff the Killer x Reader)🔪

Tw: This is a Jeff the Killer ficlet. More so, it's a David Near Jeff the Killer ficlet. There will be talk of murder, wounds, gore, and sexual themes. If you get triggered by that, maybe Jeff isn't the character for you (just saying). Because of this, the fic will begin under the cut. Enjoy! 🧡

New Journal

🔪Entry #1

It's been a few years since I escaped from that nuthouse in Forest Lawn and killed that crackpot doctor. I've tried to put as much distance between that place and me as possible. I can't help but feel like I'm being followed sometimes, but I try to ignore it as best I can.

Truthfully, I'm getting tired. What I did in Forest Lawn made it onto the national news. Police managed to generate a pretty accurate image of me with CGI, so it's likely I could be recognized at any moment. I travel at night and don't sleep well during the day. I stick to the shadows, only coming out for food, water, or to kill.

After Forest Lawn, I tried to stop, but the anger always comes boiling up, drowning me. I wake up the next night, covered in blood, clutching my knife, Matilda, to my chest like Liu used to hold his dolls.

I miss Liu. In a fucked up way, I even miss Mom and Dad. I don't think I actually miss my parents though. I think I'm just lonely. I miss having someone to talk to, the comfort of human touch. And I never have time to really enjoy myself. For once I would like to take my time, like with Christy.

🔪Entry #2

After a few days thought, I've decided to go back to Forest Lawn. I know it's risky, but... I remember back at school, before everything started getting out of control, there was one person I could halfway call a friend besides Liu. They were always in the library during lunch, their light haired head buried in a book. I would sit at the same table as them and watch them as they read. Their name was Reader. After a few days of sitting with them, Reader started small talk with me and I enjoyed their company. I know I won't be able to keep them. It's too dangerous, I could be caught, plus I don't need to worry about keeping up with another person, I'm barely living myself. But I can keep them around for a little while, at least until morning.

🔪Entry #3

I estimate that I'll be in Forest Lawn by morning. I'm tired, but I feel driven. I think the anger is building again. I hope I don't black out during my time with Reader. Then it would all be for nothing. Today, I dreamed about my time with Reader when I get to Forest Lawn. It was the best dream I've had in a long time. I was surprised that I got enough sleep to dream, but I guess all of my traveling has tired me out. I'll recover for a couple of nights before I track Reader down. That way I'll be fresh.

🔪Entry #4

I found them. I found Reader. There's a construction site across from the post office and I sat up post there, watching during daytime hours. They came after my second day here. Luckily it's a weekend, or I would've been found by the workers. I was antsy and a headache was starting. Then a car drove up and Reader got out and went in. They dropped some junk mail in the trash on the way out. Careless of them, but it's good luck for me. I waited until the lot and street was empty, the post office closed for lunch, and dug one of the flyers out of the mail. It had been forwarded from their home address to their box. Even luckier. I'll go there tonight and see if there's a place I can stay nearby. I'm too anxious to sleep and my head is pounding.

🔪Entry #5

I've found an empty house that sits diagonally from Reader's house. I can see into their bedroom window from the upstairs bedroom. I'd take the time to enjoy their lovely form like I used to with Christy but my head is still hurting and my skin feels like it's going to crawl off of my body. I'm so frustrated that I feel like I'm going to explode. I'm going to have to find something to numb this anger out if I want to remember my special night with Reader.

🔪Entry #6

I broke into the liquor store where I stole that bottle of whisky that that biker motherfucker used to set me on fire. The scars aren't as bad now, fading with time. I'll never be mistaken for a beauty queen, but I'm happy with the result. I'm just as monstrous on the outside as I am on the inside. I filled up my duffle bag with bottles and left before the police could respond to the alarms. The vodka I'm drinking puts a fire in my gut, but numbs out that stifling anger, so, it serves me well. It's been really... Nice out the past few days. Maybe Reader will come out to enjoy the good weather tomorrow. Another added benefit of the booze is that it helps me sleep. It's working even now.

🔪Entry #7

I can't wait any longer, it has to be tonight. I don't feel great about being drunk tonight with Reader, but I can't let myself lose control. I refuse to miss this. Why does it have to be tonight? Because I watched Reader doing lawn upkeep for 3 hours today. They came out dressed for the warm temperature, their tee shirt and shorts showing off all that lovely pale skin. Not as pale as mine, but then, no one's paler than an albino. I watched them mow their small front yard, and mess around with their flower garden. I guess the Homeowners Association is still strict as hell. The longer I watched, the more I felt that part of me that has a bloodlust. It can't wait. Reader will be dead by morning.

🔪Entry #8

The sun just set. I woke up to prepare. I hated waking up because I dreamed of Reader again. About tonight. About rubbing Readers hot, slick blood over my skin until I'm covered in it. About cutting them open and wrapping myself in their entrails. Of cutting out their heart and holding it in my hands. It felt great to feel their body struggling under mine, and then my alarm woke me, pissing me off. I'm going to have a few drinks and wait for them to turn the lights out. Then, it's time.

🔪Entry #9

I'm in a state of shock. I think I felt fear for the first time, I think, like actual fear. It was intoxicating. I made it over to Reader's house and tried the front door. It actually opened. Once again, stupid of them, but lucky for me. Or so I thought. I made my way into the house and was about to start up the stairs when I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I turned just enough to see the flash of a wooden bat. The world seemed to slide to the left and then everything was black. The whisky I drank must have slowed my reflexes.

When I woke up, I was in a room that looked like a basement. My hands were bound behind my back with more of the zip ties that held my ankles together. I heard a small sound, like a shifting of cloth and looked in that direction. Reader was sitting a few feet away from me, legs crossed on the floor in front of them, with a patient look on their face.

"Jeffery Mason" they said, "never thought I'd see you again." They got up from the floor and walked over to me, coming down to my level in a squat. They pulled a switchblade from their back pocket and held the hilt to my chest, thumb on the button. My insides felt like they liquified and I gulped as I turned my head to see them better. The world did its sliding thing again and I closed my eyes.

I tried to answer, but had to clear my throat first.

"Ugh, my head... What happened?"

Then I remembered seeing the bat before everything went black.

"You knocked me out with a bat."

Reader nodded once, still holding the switchblade to the stretch of hoodie under my breastbone.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you watching me from the house across the street. Do you think I'm stupid, Jeff?"

I shook my head, my skin going cold. I'd thought they hadn't seen me. The alcohol made me more careless than I thought. I was already starting to feel it again through the shock.

"Yes, you did. And you were wrong, weren't you?"

I nodded, "Now I know better."

They pulled the knife away from my abdomen and moved it to my ankles, cutting the zip ties there, then then ones on my wrists. Feeling that I didn't know I had lost came flooding back and I rubbed at my hands, trying to get the tingling to stop.

"Get up," they demanded, "and come on. You were just leaving, right?"

I got up slowly, stamping my feet a little to wake them up, "Right."

I followed them back up the basement stairs and through the house to the front door. I saw the remnants of the bat, shattered and laying on the floor in a small puddle of blood. As soon as I saw it, the side of my head started aching. How the fuck did I even survive that?!

Reader held the door for me and I passed through it and they spoke after I went down the three steps of their porch.

"And Jeff," they said and I looked back to see them walk up to me quickly. They grabbed a handful of my hoodie and pulled me close, "Stay the fuck away from me and out of Forest Lawn, or next time, I'll fucking kill you."

They can try.

But I won't stay away.

🔪Entry #10

I fell asleep almost immediately when I got back to the house I was camping out in, after writing my last entry. When I woke up, I had a splitting headache, but not the same kind as when the anger starts taking over. I guess Reader scared it away for now. I'll deal with it when it comes. I grabbed a bottle to numb both my emotions and the ache in the side of my head.

Thinking now, I realize I felt another new emotion: love. I love Reader. They're not the same as Christy, or any of my victims. Reader is strong. Reader is unafraid. Reader is cunning. Reader is... Perfect. So now here I am, drunk and in love. I know Reader will try to kill me if I see them again, but I can't not see them. Being with Reader was like being on a drug, a terrifying, but amazing drug. And now I can't get enough. I will have them, fuck the consequences. Reader, don't let your guard down, I'm coming for you.

🔪Entry #11

I'm moving locations so Reader won't get suspicious. I just got back from leaving a love note for Reader on their front door. I'll have to steal a new knife from somewhere, because I used Matilda to pin the note to their door. It's a gift for them, a token of my love. I hope they like it.

Also, all creeps are open for requests. If I'm not familiar with them, it may take me a little longer to write because I'll have to get to know them, but I'm always willing to expand 🧡

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hello Mimzy! Two questions. I have a blind character with magical abilities: He can tell if someone is lying or using illusions (he won't see the illusion, just know it's there.) He needs that skill because he is a judge. Am I good here, or is this a dangerous chliche? Since he is an important official, he has aides who also act as his sighted guides (he has a staff, too). In some scenes, the MCs will act as his guides, so I was wondering what do's and don't's exist for writing sighted guides?

On the topic of his magical ability: sounds great

Tips for sighted guides:

1. Always ask and confirm the blind person’s consent. 

When approaching a blind person you’ve just met, say, “Would you like me to act as your sighted guide? Can I help you in any way?” If they say no, then politely step back and accept that they’ve got it from here. If they have trouble and they want your help, they will ask.

With a friend or co-worker, it’s more like this: “If you ever need a sighted guide, I’m available.”

Because sure in an environment you’re comfortable with you won’t need a sighted guide, but if you and a co-worker are going out for lunch, or to some new venue for a work thing, then knowing they are open to acting as a sighted guide makes it a lot easier to ask for help.

“Could you guide me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

2. How to begin guiding and proper form.

The sighted person will offer their elbow to the blind person. Some people have a preference to which hand they use to hold onto someone’s elbow. I personally to hold on with my left hand to their right elbow, because fifty percent of the time I’m using my cane in my right hand too. If someone has a strong preference for which hand they’d like to hold onto with, they will hold out that hand.

Example when I’m with friends:

I hold out my left hand in their direction. “K, could you guide me?”

He walks up to my left side and it’s easy for me to slip my fingers around the crook of his elbow.

Some blind people prefer to hold onto the back of the elbow and walk a step behind their guide. Personally I prefer to walk side by side, and not because it’s better or easier but because that’s what I got used to when I first started experiencing severe day blindness and before I started watching Molly Burke’s videos. She instructs people to follow the method of letting the blind person hold onto the back of your elbow and walk a step behind.

There are some benefits to doing it her way. If you are a step behind, you know when there is a step up or down because the elbow you’re holding onto is moving a few inches up or down as the guide steps down.

I never learned to do this, I am terrible at change, and this benefit rarely applies because my guides always tell me when we’re approaching a step.

3. Things I like my sighted guides to do

-tell me when we’re about to step up or down and allow me to take the stairs at my own pace. This sometimes means letting go of them and holding onto the rail while I feel my way up with my feet and shoes.

-tell me when we’re stopping to cross the street and when it’s clear and we will cross

-when standing at a cross walk, I like to place the tip of my cane a step ahead of my guide because drivers will see it and realize one person in this duo is blind and to exercise caution.

(It took my mum years to realize I did this on purpose and finally ask me about it, and I always do it at cross walks, even when she’s not my guide)

-Inform me of upcoming obstacles in my path and move so that I have enough room to walk around that obstacle

-Drop casual details of things in the environment that I can’t see, like a building with cool architecture, or pride flags, or an animal on the sidewalk, or if a garden is nice, or if someone on the street is doing performing. These are all things that interest me personally. If your character doesn’t care about architecture, there’s little point in their guides mentioning it. So consider your characters interests and if something might pop up in their environment

4. Never ever do this when acting as a sighted guide

-Never touch their cane! Ever. Don’t kick it, don’t nudge it. Even if you think, “fuck it’s going to hit something and get damaged.” I don’t care. You might as well have kicked me in the face. I want my cane to find everything dangerous for me, that’s why I have it, and any disruption to what it’s doing is annoying and distracting. And canes are durable and we know how to take care of them.

If you must prevent our cane from touching something dangerous or fragile, then inform us verbally.

-Do not jerk them in some direction without a verbal explanation. It undermines the very precious trust we are putting in your hands to safely guide us and respect us as people.

-Do not speak for them. Unless they express to you that they have anxiety that stops them from advocating for themselves sometimes and they want you to step in if it’s obvious their rights are being violated or they’re being harassed and too afraid or stunned to say anything. And if they give you that permission and then later revoke it, you must respect it. If they give you that permission but are clearly going to advocate for themselves this time, then do not speak over them.

-Do not just leave them somewhere and walk away. If you must walk away, tell them where you’re going, regardless of whether it is to the bathroom, to throw something away in the trashcan across the room, or if you need to leave the even. Do not just leave them with someone else and assume that’s okay for all parties involved. You’ve just told the blind person you can’t be trusted to stick around if they need you.

What being a sighted guide means and What I am telling you when I ask you to be a guide:

I am in a position where my safety depends on having a sighted guide with me. Please stay with me. I am showing you a lot of trust by asking for this in the first place. Treat me like a person capable of making my own decisions, I am not helpless, this environment just did not consider blind people during its construction and planning and is inaccessible to me. If this place or event was accessible then I would not need a guide, but here we are. I am not helpless.

That is all I can think of at this hour, but anon, I greatly appreciate you asking how to write a good sighted guide because this is something I rarely touch on but a post that benefits both writers and any person interacting with a blind person in real life.

[i-ntrmission]

Nine (Van McCann)

Just a silly little fic where Van is sporadic regular at a coffee shop. 

Part 1 (4.3k)

They say bad things happen in threes.

Your phone hadn’t charged overnight, leaving you with 15% battery.

A car ran through a puddle during your walk to work, soaking your legs.

An elderly man held the door of the coffee shop open for you, gesturing with a newspaper for you to go ahead, and a smile that you couldn’t help but reciprocate, until a busy mum storms out from the shop knocking into you and spilling fresh coffee down your jacket.

“Tough morning, eh?” Your co-worker, and resident barista genius, Toby comments with a chuckle while you stomped around the counter. Having seen what just happened, and taking in your soaked tights.

Julia, resident window art and slogan genius, glancing around from the till with a sympathetic pout while you roll your eyes at Toby, pushing on the staff door.

“Oh, leave off Tobes - leave her be. That was tragic, babe. Spare tights in my bag, help yourself.” She says before turning back to the line of customers.

“Cheers, Julia.” You sigh in relief while heading into the back, Toby’s dry chuckles and singsong of ‘Happy Friday!’ following you.

Once you have on dry tights, cleaned what you can from your jacket (thankfully it was leather), and hunted down a spare charger for your phone, you grab your apron and head back out.

By some grace of god, you had a later shift for today, meaning you missed the usual breakfast run full of impatient office employees, half asleep students, pass remarkable construction workers - thankful, with the way your morning had went you wouldn’t have been fit for dealing with that kind of stress this morning. Now in the clear for the easy hours before lunch.

“There she is,” Toby, a lazy grin when you re-emerge, Julia leaning on the counter beside him sipping from a mug, basking in the post breakfast rush comedown. “Here ya go, looks like you need it.” He slides a takeaway cup over to you, and you all too eagerly take a sip. Caffeine can nearly always fix anything, especially a bad morning.

Cinnamon caramel macchiato, a hum of appreciation and a drawn out ‘thank you.” He only chuckles out a ‘no bother’, picking up his tea. You had always found it ironic that someone who despised the taste and smell of coffee worked in a coffee shop, and on top of that made really fucking good coffee.

“So what’s happened you? Apparent from the coffee incident obvs, looked like you wanted to throttle all us when you came in,” Julia asks, brown eyes glancing over you as she takes another sip from her mug.

“Nah, she just always looks like that,” Toby says, a teasing grin. You just roll your eyes, it was true that your resting bitch face was Medusa level.

A sigh, taking another mouthful of your coffee and picking up a basin to start clearing the tables with while you shrug and launch into the story of your morning.

“Happens in threes, doesn’t it.” Julia comments when you catch them up.

"Well, that's my three strikes done for the day, thank fuck,” you shrug. She frowns at that.

"Touch wood."

"What?"

"You jinxed it saying that, need to touch wood for good luck!" Appalled that you never heard of the superstition at question.

Rolling your eyes, a huff as you walk away to start cleaning up. “Think I’ll be alright, Jules.” You weren’t superstitious. “Want some salt instead? Throw it over your shoulder!” Toby chuckles.

Julia only elbows him in the side, telling you both to piss off, mumbling something about having to spill salt first before you could do that.

But, maybe there was some truth in her superstitions because no less than ten minutes later, a cup slipped through your fingers smashing on the floor. Cursing yourself and then glancing meekly in her direction, she watched with a raised brow.

“Reckon it’s too late to touch wood?”

After the cup, you break a plate.

After the plate, you stand back to let a toddler and mum pass by you to get to the bathrooms, standing back with a smile - until you knock over a stand of artisan coffee bags.

“Another three down,” Julia mutters with a smirk while stacking clean cups.

“Sure you don’t want that salt?” Toby quips while walking by you as you sweep up spilt coffee beans. You give him the finger behind the dustpan you held, he reaches up as if to scratch at his beard - sliding his middle finger along his cheek, right back at you.

Your bad luck continues. During the lunch rush you manage to burn a granddad’s toasted sandwich, shortchange a regular who worked in the bookies across the street, and upend a student’s iced latte over your top.

You’re hopelessly scrubbing at the stain on your top when Julia walks into the back, grabbing her pack of fags.

“Jesus,” she mumbles, a dumbfounded look at how much you had managed to fuck up today. Completely out of character for you, a perfectionist by nature. “Did ya break a mirror or sommat lately?”

You only sigh and shake your head, “Any significance in the number 9?”

She thinks for a second, then smiles as she pulls a lighter from her jacket pocket. “9 is supposed to be good luck, actually. New beginnings,” she tilts her head, looking at you, “maybe buy a scratch card, or come to the pub quiz tonight!”

You laugh but before you can reply your manager walks in, a empathic glint in her eye. Everyone who worked here adored Carly, the ultimate mother figure. A caring but also a take no shit kind of person.

Your name - as she walks in, “what’s going on, pet? You’re a one man wrecking machine today!”

She tells you to take an early lunch, go home and get changed, clear your head and the come back. You sigh in relief of not having to wear a soggy blouse for the rest of the day. Half way home when you realize you’ve left your phone charging under the counter.

Finding Julia’s cat, Kurt, sitting on the steps to your and Julia’s shared basement flat. He purrs, pushing his head into your hand when you reach down to pick him up. You spend the next half hour sprawled on your bed with Kurt, eating rice crackers and watching “Best of Dean Winchester” complications on YouTube. Self care.

An hour later, when you walk back into the cafè Julia does a double take, stretching her arms wide and tilting her head in a ‘what the fuck!’ manner.

“Yeah? What’s up?” You ask, walking around the counter to pick back up your apron.

“Where’s your phone?! I’ve been texting you! Guess who’s bloody back?” A rush, and she’s all but bouncing on the spot, eyes gleaming with excitement.

You reach under the counter to pick up your phone, holding it up to her. It was still turned off but charged now. Telling her you forgot about it before you left. Not really bothered about her sudden elation, probably just one of her newest little crushes that changed every month. You entertain her, nonetheless.

“Who? Your man from the butchers?” Asking, while tying your apron, she shakes her head, eyes alight.

“Hm, weird uni Tolstoy wannabe?” You guess again, she shakes her head, then adds that he’s not weird just a bit eccentric and there’s nothing wrong with that. You still think the fact that he’s read War and Peace four times, and brags about, is a red flag.

You’re about to suggest the blonde and blue haired girl from the library when she cuts you off. “Anyway it’s nowt to do with me, cmon you know who it is!”

You only stare at her, blinking and out of guesses. She sighs your name is exasperation.

“Christ, you’re hopeless today. It’s only Van fuckin’ McCann, isn’t it!”

Your eyes widen, heart kicking around your ribs and blood pounds a bit harder at mention of his name. A reaction that surprises you.

“Fuck off!” It comes out as an alarmed whisper.

Van McCann had been coming to the coffee shop for three years now. Often showing up for a few days at a time and then seemingly disappearing off the face of the earth.

He had an obsession with the loyalty cards you dished out with the paper cups, nine stamps got a free drink. He never filled one.

He first showed up three summers ago, middle of a heatwave. He was wearing all black, ripped jeans, and a holy jumper. The holes and rips didn’t seem to be a fashion statement, more like he had just worn the clothes to death. He was pale, too pale. Shoulder length hair that definitely hadn’t seen a shower in a couple days, bags under his eyes. Towing along a smaller guy with long hair and a bandana. They looked out of place. A cloud of cigarette smoke lingering around them, underlying weed.

You and Julia had exchanged a glance. “Homeless? Junkies?” She mouthed at you, after they had sat down with their teas and cinnamon buns you had freshly made that morning. You had rolled your eyes, told her to stop being a judgmental prick.

He came back the next morning, on his own. Same jeans but a black T-shirt, and fluffy hair. You had been cleaning tables, observing while Toby served him. He wanted another cinnamon bun, Toby told him he was out of luck, you hadn’t made them that morning. Glancing over his shoulder with interest when Toby had pointed you out as the resident baker.

The third morning he was back again, a Glasvegas T-shirt. Julia told him you loved that band while he was waiting on his coffee. You were putting out fresh cherry and chocolate scones, when he caught your eye.

“Ey, they’re class aren’t they? What’s ya favourite song?”

You always struggled to hold his gaze when he looked at you, that didn’t change with time. Insanely blue eyes framed with lashes that were wasted on him. You shrugged, “probably Lots Sometimes.” And he had broke out into a wide grin, giving you the first glimpse of his slightly crooked bunny teeth.

You had given him the first of many loyalty cards that day, seeing as he had come in for three mornings straight, he pocketed it with a little huff of laughter, novelty.

He didn’t come back for months after that.

You and Julia spent the next few days speculating who he was and where he had gone, passing slow shifts. Toby rolled his eyes at the theories, saying that he most likely found the new Starbucks across town. Julia sighed in disappointment while muttering something about how conglomerate multi nationals were the root of all evil.

However, he turned up again a month or two later. A busy morning, frantic. You hadn’t even had a chance to look up at the next person in line when you heard his voice, “well ‘ello again, Glasvegas.”

And that’s how it went on, the cycle of Van appearing for a little bit then vanishing for longer. Each time he easily became the best part of the long days - banter, shameless flirting, footie talk with Toby, taste testing any and everything you had baked as a trial run, swapping stories, endless loyalty cards.

He always had a strange little smile when you added an fresh coffee cup stamp to the grid, something the general customer didn’t really care about and it was often a surprise when they filled the card up.

He never gave a heads up when he would be leaving again, he simply just disappeared. And you tried to pretend it wasn’t weird that you got a plummeting feeling in your stomach when it came to the day he didn’t show up. Blue eyes, freckles, a contagious laugh. It was all lingering stares, fingers brushing longer than necessary, throwaway salacious comments.

“C’mon babe, you know he’ll be back, quit sulking,” Julia would playfully elbow you when the day came, and you shook your head with snort, “Shut up, M’not sulking.”

You eventually found out he was in a band, and sometime last year he had asked you if you wanted to come to one of his gigs. Well, he had asked the three of you - but Julia was going on holidays that weekend, Toby had a wedding, and when his eyes met yours you had instinctively crafted a lie about going to visit your sister in London. Something Julia gave you shit for for weeks afterward. You didn’t have a sister, and you hated London.

A few weeks after that incident - by then Van was long gone, Julia stormed into the café with an NME magazine in hand, slamming down on the counter, Van’s face filled the cover.

“Fucking hell!” You and Toby had exhaled in near unison.

“So turns out he’s actually proper famous then, eh?” Julia laughed.

“Am I the bad boy of rock, then? Oh mate..” Toby read from the cover, laughing. “And you turned down the chance to be his bands groupie!” He joked, turning to you.

“Here, I thought he wanted us to go watch his shite Arctic Monkeys rip off band play sweaty Whelans okay?!” You defended.

“Do you think we can start a wall of famous regulars now?” Julia changed the subject, taking a fresh scone you were laying out, flicking to the pages of his interview.

“Yeah, Rock’s bad boy Van McCann and Barry from Eastenders. What a lineup...” Toby snorted, going back to stacking coffee beans.

“I mean, Van kind of looks like Hugh Grant... If you squint.” You shrugged.

You and Julia went home and watched countless Catfish and the Bottlemen interviews and live sets, you liked seeing how Van never changed. No matter who he was talking to. Treating everyone like they were an old friend, not someone he had just met 5 minutes ago.

The band seemed to really take off that year, he came back less and less. But he was still the same old Van when he did, success didn’t change him. Then their second album dropped a year ago, and you hadn’t seen him since. You were happy for him, it was obvious that he was living his dream. Eventually, you stopped thinking about him all that much, life moved on.

Now you were looking at a smug Julia, instinctively glancing around the shop while she laughs and tells you he’s long gone.

“Came in literally 5 minutes after you went out, this day is honestly like some weird fever dream.” She tells you, while Toby comes out from the back.

“And she told him you didn’t work here anymore, should have seen the poor lad’s face!” Toby chuckles.

The two of them look at at each other with a groan when you ask why he’d be upset about you not being here anymore.

“I swear to god, if I have to watch the eye fucking over coffee cups for the next few days...” she sighs, an eye roll. “He’s made it obvious he’s fancied you since the first day he walked in, yeah? Give him a chance!”

“Fucking hell, that’s pure bollocks,” exasperated. Met with a disbelieving look, which only brings you further into defensive mode. “Look, you even gave him my number on one of the stupid loyalty cards last time, never even heard from him. Obviously isn’t interested one bit.”

Julia had asked you if she could write your number on his loyalty card last spring. You had only half said yes, half said no. Noncommittal, all she needed to run with it. She handed it back to him without saying anything, only a smug smirk. You pretended you hadn’t sprung for your phone at every notification for the next two weeks in hope of hearing from him, you never did.

Julia - another eye roll, hands in the air, “Dunno, maybe he just lost the card! You just need to stop writing people off before you get to proper know them!”

The rest of the day dragged, but no more bad luck. As if the universe realigned around Van, which probably wasn’t too far from the truth.

By closing time, it’s just you and Toby left to do the clean up and lockup. It’s nearly 9 when you hear him drawl your name, walking into the kitchen and leaning against the doorway.

“Hey, Kiddo...”

“Toby, my love, what have I told you about patronizing me before you ask me for a favour?” Humming while you put cling filmed dough into the fridge for the pecan pie you were planning on making tomorrow morning.

He laughs and walks in, leaning against the counter. “Alright, sorry - princess.”

Shutting the fridge as you turn to face him with an eye roll, wordlessly telling him to go on. He launches into the how he kind of maybe forgot that his anniversary with his fiancée is tomorrow, their usual Italian restaurant they go to every year is fully booked but he knows the chef. Who, as of this morning, promised to do a private dinner for them, if he meets him at half nine and buys him a couple of drinks.

You listen while you clean off the counter tops, shaking your head with a laugh. “Dunno, mate. What’s in it for me? I mean apart from the joy of mopping floors and taking out the bins?”

Playful - a long sigh. “Isn’t the selfless act of helping out a friend in need reward enough?”

“Yeah, but we’d have to be friends first for that wouldn’t we?” You tilt your head.

“God, you’re such a little bitch sometimes, y’know that?” He chuckles, you shrug. “Right, how about I take the bins out and mop the floors all of next week, and I’ll treat ya to a Sunday roast down the pub after we finish Sunday, deal?”

He holds out his hand, eyes narrowing. Pretending to mull it over for a few seconds, you wouldn’t have made a fuss about him asking you to finish up tonight anyway, but he was always too easy to wind up. Eventually you sigh out a “suppose so” and take his hand.

Pulling you into a hug, dragging out a noise that resembles, ‘legend’ while kissing your head.

Once he’s gone, along with the rubbish, locking you in and halfway pulling the shutter down outside, you put on a Richard Ashcroft album and start on the floor.

Crazy world - you’re half singing along to the chorus, and finishing the floor, when you hear a faint noise behind the music. Insistent tapping. Confusion clouding - knowing you were here alone, glancing behind you, your grip tightening on the mop. And you almost jump out of your skin, a shadow in the entrance to the shop.

It’s Van.

He had clearly ducked under the shutter, now outside the door silhouetted by buzz of streetlamps, tapping on the glass. He laughs at your startled expression, holding up his hands and mouthing ‘sorry, sorry!”

Heart - thumping even harder now, lightheaded. Grabbing your keys to unlock the door, and when you’re face to face with him your mouth goes dry.

“Thought you’d gone and left on us, Glasvegas,”

Gaze flickering over you, a smile tugging on his lips. You can tell he’s been drinking, the all too familiar scent of hours spent in the pub lingers, mixed with fresh cigarettes, shrunken pupils and glassy eyes. A wave of trepidation prickles along your arms, drunk men made you nervous.

But - it’s Van, all messy hair, drunk eyes, and a lazy tired kind of grin. Relaxed and happy.

“Nope, still here like always,” releasing a breath you didn’t realise that you had been holding. Focusing on his necklace, sliver glinting under opened shirt buttons. “Heard Julia was messin’ with you earlier, eh?”

“Too good at fuckin’ with us that one,” he laughs, licking his lips. “Had me dead convinced you’d gone.”

Creased blue shirt - sleeves rolled up, the colour only makes his eyes look even more blue, and even more pretty. Finding yourself being increasingly self conscious despite his equally disheveled appearance. Knowing that your foundation was separating, concealer caking, mascara flaking and lipstick long gone. Coffee stains and flour marking your clothes.

“Did you want to come in for a sec?” You manage to ask.

“Can I? Won’t get ya in trouble or anything? Cause yous are closed.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes while beckoning him in. “C’mon, didn’t have you down as someone who follows the rules, McCann. Careful though, floor is still wet.”

“Oh, no, you’re dead right ‘bout that, love. Just I had you down as someone who always follows the rules.” Winking at you as he walks in, commenting how different the place feels at night.

“Anyways,” he turns back to you with a hum of your name, “Sorry that I scared you, don’t want ya to think I’m being weird coming here this late or anything, I was on me way home see, passing by and I found these on the ground outside..”

He holds up a hand, key chain around his finger and a Harley Davidson key ring you immediately recognize as Toby’s.

You cut him off, telling him they’re Toby’s, that he must have dropped them after locking you in earlier, and that he’s a fucking idiot. An entertained smile curving his lips at your mini rant.

“Sorry, been a long day.”

“Yeah, Julia mentioned you’d been having bad luck or sommat, tell me about it?” A hopeful glint in his eye, and you wondered if he had ever been denied anything in his life.

Ending up making him coffee and giving him leftover banana bread while you ran him through the dramatics of your day. He, like Julia, was shocked that you had never heard of the touch wood superstition.

“Sounds like you’ve been through it, love... then I show up and make it worse, eh?” Finishing his cake and his eyes find yours again.

“Yeah, something like that,” a teasing sort of lithe, the more you talked to him the more at ease you felt around him. It’s familiar.

“Alright, alright! See how it is!” His voice raising to a squeak, you laughed.

You wouldn’t let him pay for the coffee and banana bread, saying it was on the house for saving the shop from being robbed. He only shrugs and leans against the counter beside you. “Just means I’m gonna have to buy you one back, doesn’t it.”

“Thanks for the gesture, but I do get free coffee working here, y’know,” you tell him, already hearing Julia’s words about writing people off, but he was only being nice, wasn’t he?

“Fairs, I’ll buy ya one from a different place then, good to try out the competition innit?” Arms crossing while he looks at you, and you shake your head. Your cheeks aching from the permanent smile you had since he walked in, and you knew you’d cringe about that later tonight when you replayed the scene over in your head in bed.

“Only competition round here is Starbucks, and I don’t think Julia would let you step foot in here again if you buy anything from there.”

He laughs at that, telling you he was more thinking of crappy petrol station coffee. Something you scrunch your nose in disgust at, asking him if that’s all your worth to him. Drawing another laugh.

“C’mere I’d rather take you out for a pint, but m’sparing myself from the inevitable rejection and heartbreak,” he laughs, shaking his head. Your teeth sink into your lip, picking at loose skin on your thumb nail, practically hearing Julia screaming at you in your head.

“How long are you back for?” Finding yourself asking, though you never had before. Not something you ever talked about, questioned. He gives you a look, a smirk.

“Never talk about that do we, love?” He echoes your thoughts while digging in his pocket, ridiculously tight skinny jeans, until his pulls out the green little loyalty card. 8 empty stamp grids, his first one filled by Julia today. “But I’m gonna fill one of these eventually! Toby’s bet me a fiver that I won’t until I’m 30.”

You’re half tempted to ask him why he never called, or texted, or did anything with your number on the last card. Instead your mouth curls around telling him that you’d best lock up and get home. You’re knackered. He asks how you’re getting home, telling him you’re walking, that you only live 15 minutes away while he glances outside. Orange glow of streetlamps. It’s nearing 10, autumn weather starting to creep in.

“It’s dark out.” He states the obvious.

“And?”

“Love, I ain’t letting you walk home in the dark alone! Let me walk ya,” Exclaiming, typical Van fashion. Shaking your head, knowing his intentions were good but you were stubborn.

“Who are you, me dad? I’m more than capable of getting myself home, Van.” Teasing but firm, arching a brow at him. He tells you he’ll get you an Uber then, you repeat that it’s only 15 minutes home, that you’re walking. He only stares at you for a second or two, and you can’t hold it. Thankful that he’s obviously drunk and tired, because he gives in.

“Then at least text me when ya get home, yeah?” Curling his fingers for you to give him your phone, something you’re tempted to deny. But finding it endearing that he cares so much. Handing your phone over. He messes up his number twice.

Unexpectedly, he pulls you in for a hug before he leaves. All warm skin, and you realise you wish you could stay here talking shite with him for longer. All night even.

You watch him walk over to the door. “Right, night.. you’ll be here in the morning, yeah?” He glances back.

“Bright and early.” You confirm.

“Any cinnamon buns going?”

“Maybe, if you get in early enough.”

He laughs. “Right, night then. See ya tomorrow, Glasvegas. Text me, don’t forget!” He calls while he walks out and you grab your stuff to follow him out once you set the alarm.

Watching - he pretends to walk down stairs on the other side of the window before ducking under the shutter.

Leaving you to shake your head with an amused laugh. What a fucking day.

[gingrrfrog]

the most beautiful thing

“have I told you lately that I’m grateful you’re mine?”

summary: the story of the beginning of forever 

word count: 7.5k

pairing: jaehyun x jihyun (oc) 

warnings: fluff, smut 

a/n: u guys know the drill hehe, original story here :] 

After being together for more than ten years, surprising a partner for their birthday doesn’t come without difficulty. Jaehyun remembered having headaches the days leading up to Jihyun’s birthday from trying to plan something special. Meanwhile, Jihyun lost sleep over what to perform for Jaehyun’s birthday.

It should be said that it wasn’t fair to her that Jaehyun didn’t expect anything for his birthday. He always told Jihyun not to waste her time considering they were both too busy to participate in anything usually, and while it was true, that didn’t mean Jihyun didn’t want to prepare any less. The truth was, the restaurant was always packed with customers on Valentine’s day even months before starting this past December. The only difference this Valentine’s day was that this was the year she was going to prove Jaehyun wrong and use this opportunity to prepare a surprise for her hardworking boyfriend.

The goal of the surprise was not only to spoil Jaehyun, but to also prove that she was good at being other things-- other things that included a title that rhymed with entree.

On the morning of Valentine’s day, Jihyun woke up early to sneak her way downstairs to prepare the cake she had bought the night before. Today was the only day she was going to spoil him with sweets before breakfast.

She shoved a candle through the pastry and made her way back up the stairs to their bedroom where Jaehyun was sleeping peacefully, squished in between two pillows. Jihyun gently pressed into him and snorted when he groaned, pushing her back into what would be on her side of the bed.

“Happy birthday to you,” she started quietly, “happy birthday to you.”

Jaehyun clenched his eyes and used his palms to rub at his eyelids before opening them to make eye contact with a slice of cake, “happy birthday dear Jaehyunnie.”

“Happy birthday to you,” Jihyun smiled, kissing his forehead and smoothing hair behind his ears as he struggled to sit up. “Make a wish, baby.”

Jaehyun gave a sleepy laugh before closing his eyes once more, thinking thoroughly about his wish before opening them again to blow out his candle, “Cake for breakfast?”

“Once a year can’t hurt.”

Jaehyun shared his cake slice with Jihyun to save room for actual breakfast, which actually consisted of traditional seaweed soup. If Jaehyun looked forward towards anything for his birthday, it would always be the soup Jihyun would make for him every year.

Like every year. Jihyun apologized for not being able to celebrate Jaehyun’s birthday properly the same way they did for hers. He reassured her over and over again that it wasn’t an issue and that he would most likely go out for dinner with his brothers anyway.

Except he won’t.

Because Jihyun already made plans.

After breakfast, the couple washed dishes while they took turns showering. Jihyun was the first to leave that morning, kissing her boyfriend on the cheek while he hastily toweled his hair. She reassured him that she would call him later during her short breaks if he wasn’t busy, to which Jaehyun replied with a hum and a sweet kiss before she left.

Jaehyun peaked out of the bathroom before he ran back into their bedroom, lifting the mattress topper and removing a small white box from the inside, sighing in relief when he saw the engagement ring still in place, safe from Jihyun’s curious eye.

Was it cliche to propose on Valentine’s day of all days? Of course it was, but if Jaehyun knew anything about Jihyun, it was that she was weak for cliches. That reason alone is why he constructed his own surprise dinner for when she came back home after work. He would have to leave work early himself to get the necessary groceries for what he had planned, but Jihyun surely wouldn’t come home until late tonight considering the date.

He snickered to himself at the idea of his plan and placed the ring in his front pocket, patting it gently to make sure it was safe before he left for work himself.

Later on in the day, after about four hours of strenuous work without a break, Jihyun finally managed to fight through the dreaded lunch rush, locking the front door and switching the sign to closed for lunch as her workers piled around for their lunch break.

Taeyong was the first to collapse in the nearest booth, huffing and propping his leg on a nearby chair while two other waitresses sat in the same booth, one putting her head on the table.

“If I see one more engagement proposal I’m going to jump off the roof,” one cried, her voice muffled against the table.

Jihyun laughed in response, hanging her apron up as she packed her things nicely in her bag.

“You’re not eating with us today, Chef? Another waitress asked, watching as Jihyun slung her purse over her shoulder.

Jihyun smiled and shook her head, “Not today.”

Taeyong grinned and nudged the waitress next to him with his elbow, “don’t you know? It’s Yuno’s birthday today.”

The waitress sighed and squished her face in between her hands, “oh yeah, I guess we should expect an announcement tonight too.”

“You need at least two weeks for a pregnancy announcement,” Taeyong snorted, dodging Jihyun’s pen as she cursed at him.

“I’m not getting pregnant!”

“So you’re not practicing?”

Jihyun narrowed her eyes and dashed over to choke her best friend until a line cook came around and spun her towards the door, a smile wide on his face as he patted her shoulder, “have fun, Chef Jihyun! We’ll be here waiting for either announcement and we’ll be happy to hear both!”

“I’m not--!”

“Have a good day!”

“But--!” Jihyun huffed as the line cook locked the door behind her again, waving with a dopey grin on his face before he walked off, leading Jihyun to roll her eyes a dn give a small laugh, waving to her workers in the window as she walked to her car, enjoying her newfound freedom. It had been a while since she last left work before the sun was down so she took the time to relish in the sunlight despite the bleary clouds it hid under.

There were a few spots she wanted to hit before she went home to cook Jaehyun his birthday dinner. The first spot would be near where her boyfriend worked, an underdeveloped area that was mostly construction and abandoned buildings, parking at a near garage before locking her car next to the only few expensive cars in the lot, ones that she recognized as Yuta’s black Portofino Ferrari and Mark’s stark white Range Rover.

Huh, she thought to herself. It wasn’t unusual to see them around town knowing that this was their main workplace, but to see both of them in broad daylight was a little surprising to her. She shook her head and continued to walk out of the parking garage with the same confidence as one of her boyfriend’s members would have, knowing that no one would dare pull her to the side or try anything suspicious--not anyone who knew who she was at least.

She was lucky enough to find people who didn’t know who she was today, however, as she passed by measly looking workers sitting outside on worn out lawn chairs, staring at Jihyun up and down with a sly look to her face.

Jihyun almost wished they said something. If there was something her restaurant employees didn’t know is that she loved power of any kind, so if there was someone that needed a lesson to be taught, she would happily be the cause of said reason. Jaehyun admitted that it scared it sometimes, but that it also undeniably turned him on. Jihyun grinned when she heard the whistle come behind her.

“Goodmorning, Miss!”

Jihyun kept walking, luring them closer to Mark’s looming figure in the background. She felt a hand on her shoulder as she removed her sunglasses, her face calm as she stared at the hand before looking at the person in front of her.

“Are you lost, Miss?”

“I don’t believe so,” she replied, gently shaking the hand off her shoulder and pressing her sunglasses back on her face. “Have a good day.”

“Are you looking for someone? I bet I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help. Thank you.” Jihyun smiled, continuing to walk towards her destination until she felt a hand on her again, this time on her forearm.

“Are you coming to see your boyfriend or something?”

“No, I’m here to see a friend.”

“You’ve got friends around these parts?”

“Don’t you think you’re asking too many questions?” Jihyun continued, looking the worker up and down.

“I’m just surprised to see a pretty, little--”

“Jihyun noona!” Mark called out, jogging towards her with a bright smile before he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “What are you doing here?!”

Mark paused when he saw her forearm being held, his eyebrows furrowing before he shoved the man in front of him, “do you have any idea who you’re grabbing right now?”

“Mark. it’s okay--” Jihyun almost wanted to pout. She didn’t get to play much longer.

“No it’s not,” Mark growled. “Just wait til I tell Jaehyun hyung about this-”

She clicked her tongue. No more fun if Jaehyun was finding out. “I promise it’s fine! Please don’t tell him, I’m here for a surprise anyway. It’ll ruin it if you tell him.”

“I didn’t mean anything! I’m sorry! I just thought she was lost--!”

“Shut up,” Mark rolled his eyes. “Do you think you can just call out for the boss' girlfriend like that?”

Jihyun scrunched her nose, “I’m more than that.”

“Right, sorry. Kim Jinho’s only daughter.”

Still belittling her to a man’s relative but at least he was trying. Jihyun patted his shoulder and leaned against it, “take care of it however you would like, Minhyung. I’m going inside to see Hera, but don’t tell Jaehyun. Tell him tomorrow.”

Jihyun thanked him quietly before waving towards the man in front of her with a smile, his eyes wide in fear. Surely nothing would happen to him, Mark was much kinder than her boyfriend when it came to occurrences like these. Jihyun could imagine the endless possibilities if it was Jaehyun, but Mark would surely only smack him a few times as a warning just to scare him.

Unless he was in a bad mood, then, Jihyun assumed, it would be a lot worse.

Jihyun entered a building without another peep from another gangster, all of them averting their gaze as the two at the door held the door open for her. She smiled a greeting before stepping inside and towards the elevator, watching the numbers on the screen rise as she reached the seventh level, stepping outside and walking down the hallway and stopping at the store front.

Sex shops were not unheard of in Seoul, but God forbid you were seen stepping inside one, or worse, working at one.

Hera, despite her degree in business administration, worked at one of these said sex shops. Even worse than that, she owned the place, becoming one of the biggest, best kept secrets of her own. From dildos, fuck machines to actual prostitutes for hire, Hera quickly became enraveled in the world of illegitemacy thanks to her quick affair with one Nakamoto Yuta who jump started her career.

Despite their relationship being cut short, it didn’t stop the other man from visiting to quickly relieve pent up stress, which appeared to be the case today considering a part-timer was at the register instead of her friend. Yuta’s car being in the garage suddenly made sense to her now.

“May I see your ID?” The girl at the register said.

Jihyun snorted as her ego inflated. It was good to know she still looked young despite her twenty-seventh birthday being around the corner.

As the presumed college student checked her ID, Jihyun looked around for her friend, receiving her ID with a smile and placing it back in her wallet.

“Is Hera around?”

“Um, I think she’s at the motel a floor above us.”

“Working or working it?” Jihyun grinned. She laughed upon watching the cashier blush. It was endearing, blushing about sex while you work in a shop chock full of it everywhere.

“She was with Mr. Yuta if that means anything.”

Jihyun clicked her tongue, her manicured fingernails tapping against the desk, “that could mean either one.”

“They left about an hour ago. Miss Hera said she wouldn’t be gone more than that.”

Finally, Jihyun smiled and nodded, quickly glancing at her name tag, “thank you either way, Hyoju. I’m going to look around! Let her know that I’m here when she comes back.”

Hyoju nodded and went back to looking at her phone, presumably to send said message to her boss.

Jihyun took her time looking around for her items. Nothing too terrifying save for the shibari rope and a few different balms she was curious about using. Jihyun shuddered at the thought, a small grin playing on her face.

“Do I want to know?” A familiar voice said behind her.

Jihyun turned her head around to give a knowing look to her friend, whose appearance is slightly more messy than usually. Jihyun rolled her eyes and embraced her friend with a small side hug, “Yuta oppa treating you well?”

“Best oral giver in all of Seoul,” she grinned.

“I’d like to argue,” Jihyun smiled, pushing Hera’s shoulder with her own.

“You and I both know I have no way of testing that,” Hera snickered. “What brings you here? Looking for something new?”

“Kind of. I was looking up some different things. Jaehyun liked tying me up a while ago, so I might just do that. I feel like it’s kind of boring.”

“You know he would bust just looking at you, right?”

Jihyun snorted, “I guess. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to try something fun.”

“Have you ever thought of tying him up?”

The thought has crossed her mind, but there was no way he would let her, not without telling him beforehand at least. Jihyun grimaced and tilted her head to the side pensively, “I don’t know...Yuno doesn’t seem like the type.”

“Are you kidding? Guys love having their hands tied up, just take a step further once you’ve done that, he won’t even get the chance to say anything.” Hera glanced inside of her basket and grinned, “those nipple balms by the way? I heard they work magic on the balls.”

Jihyun bit her lip and shifted her weight on her left leg, hating that she twitched at the thought. Hera noticed that she still wasn’t convinced, pulling her towards the vibrator section and picking out a small pill, winking at her friend as she placed it in her basket.

“It’s cliche, I know, but it’s remote powered. You’d be the one in control.”

“What if he doesn’t like it?”

Hera shook her head, “he’ll love it because he’s doing it with you, Gigi. You might want to draw the curtains in though.”

“Can’t imagine Jaehyun wanting people to see him a point of vulnerability,” Hera said after dropping her voice a few decibels to a small whisper. “But, he can be vulnerable, for you.”

Fuck Hera and her salemanship, who knows what would’ve became of her had she chosen an office salesmen job. Jihyun narrowed her eyes regardless, holding her basket close to her chest, “why do I get the feeling that you’re just trying to make buy things?”

“Because I am, duh. I’m a store owner,” Hera smiled. “But, I also want my best friend to have fun.”

Jihyun rolled her eyes, “fine. I’ll take it.”

“Nice!” Hera cheered, pulling her towards the register, “I’ll ring you out myself!”

With discreet bags, Jihyun left Hera’s store with a pep talk and a slap to her butt, causing her to yelp and rub her backside as she entered the elevator. She passed by the lowly gangster on her way back, a black eye and a busted lip with his eyes downcast when he saw her walking past. She smiled a greeting before she continued to pass by him, noticing that both Mark and Yuta’s cars were gone from beside her own.

When she arrived home, she quickly walked up the stairs and shoved the bags under their bed. Once she finished, she looked at the clock and panicked when she realized Jaehyun would be home in four more hours, running into the bathroom and yanking off her work clothes as quickly as she could in order to shower.

After shaving and hastily drying her hair, she prepared her skin for makeup, opting for a soft brown look as she pulled on the lingerie set she bought earlier this week. Pulling on her pink slip dress right after, she worked on her hair, rolling it into loose waves before she cursed at the time.

Now she only had two hours til Jaehyun came home.

Cooking dinner shouldn’t take that long considering Jihyun had prepared her mise en place earlier this morning, but she would’ve felt more comfortable having more time to prepare his other presents that were upstairs. Regardless of her nerves, she found her rhythm in the kitchen, effortlessly chopping, slicing, and cooking their meal until she finished an hour and a half later, giving her at least thirty minutes to set the mood with candle lighting and a few records Jaehyun kept in their living room. Just as she was going upstairs to prepare a few last minute things, she heard the front door open and close, a yawn resonating through the room while Jihyun smiled at his humming.

“What the fuck?” She heard him say to himself, confused to smell food until he walked into the kitchen with his eyes widened as soon as he made eye contact with Jihyun.

“Surprise,” she said quietly, raising her hands in the air as Jaehyun gave a shocked laugh. “Happy birthday again.”

Jaehyun shook his head, “I thought you were at work!”

“I left after lunch. I wanted to spend your birthday together because it’s been too long since we last did.”

Jaehyun gave a dopey smile, his dimples in full display as he pulled her in for an embrace, pecking her sweetly as Jihyun wiped lipgloss off his lips, “thank you.”

“Of course, baby.”

“This isn’t fair though,” Jaehyun pouted, “I was going to surprise you for Valentine’s day.”

“Oh? With what?”

“Dinner,” he snorted. “Maybe a bath.”

“Well,” Jihyun’s arms snaked around his neck, “maybe we can take a bath after I give you my present.”

Jaehyun grinned, his hands moving down her waist and resting on the small of her back, “something tells me that dinner isn’t my present.”

“You would be correct,” she beamed, pulling him in for another kiss before taking his hand and leading him towards the dining room table.

Dinner was eaten in a relatively quiet manner, though comfortable as the couple’s hands were clasped together--Jaehyun’s thumb running over her knuckles every so often as Jihyun kissed his. They let dishes soak for the night after they finished eating, opting to join each other for a dance in the living room.

Jihyun rested her head against his chest as they swayed back and forth, smiling to herself at Jaehyun’s gentle humming. His hand was holding her own on his heart, as if to give a silent reminder that it belonged to her, and that it always will. She couldn’t think of a more perfect moment, forgetting all about the other gift she had planned as all she wanted to do was be closer and closer to the man she loved, the love of her life.

Jihyun pulled away just slightly to kiss her boyfriend gingerly, the latter leaning in to receive the kiss with a small smile.

“I love you,” he said against her lips. Jaehyun pulled away momentarily just to say it again, “I love you, Kim Jihyun.”

“I love you, Jung Jaehyun,” she returned, her fingers resting on his cheek.

“Thank you for today. It means the world to me.”

Jihyun giggled, “it was just dinner, baby. We always have dinner together.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less grateful. I bet you were swamped at work today, but you still came home and did all of this for me for my birthday.”

“I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, that’s all.”

Jihyun closed the gap in between their faces as they shared another sweet kiss. Jaehyun sighed and pulled her close, almost feeling frustrated that they couldn’t be any closer as he fell back on the couch. Jihyun smiled and settled herself on his lap, their sweet, gentle kiss turning into one with more passion as the seconds passed.

Jaehyun groaned and pulled away, confusing Jihyun as he dug in his pockets, “--I can’t.”

“Huh?”

“I was going to wait for a better setting than our couch, but I really can’t hold it in.”

Jihyun furrowed her eyebrows as she watched the man in front of her retrieve a small box from his pocket, her eyes widening instantly, “Yuno?”

Her breathing caught in her throat as he opened it to reveal a large diamond ring that sparkled in the dim candle lighting.

“I love you, I really love you, Gigi. I can’t wait another day, another hour, minute, second without telling you that I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Jaehyun swallowed and began to feel his ears heat up, Jihyun caressing them as he continued. “I love you. I love you more everyday and I’ll love you more every day after that.”

“Marry me, Jihyun,” he said gently. “Won’t you marry me, baby?”

“Of course, I want nothing more,” she smiled, pressing her lips against his, “yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”

Jaehyun beamed, a smile so bright that it lit up the dark room as he slid the ring down her finger before kissing the ring, “perfect. Just like you.”

The couple reconnect their embrace quickly, kissing the other feverishly before Jihyun pulled away first, caressing the sides of his face as she kissed the very tip of his nose.

“Come upstairs with me.”

Jaehyun swallowed and felt his heart pound in his chest. After all these years, she still made him undeniably nervous. “Is it time for my second present?”

Jihyun nodded and bit her lip to contain her smile, failing as she giggled while they stumbled up the stairs, unable to keep their hands off the other as Jihyun squealed when Jaehyun ultimately picked her up in the end, throwing her over his shoulder before throwing her on top the bed.

Jihyun was breathless with laughter, her smile wide as she pulled Jaehyun on top of her, her legs fastening around his hips as she kissed him. Jaehyun pecked her lips before he began to undo his tie, throwing the spare fabric to the side before Jihyun picked it up again.

She pulled away for a moment, just to push Jaehyun on his back as she nervously began to start her plan, “I...I have this...plan…”

“A plan?”

Jihyun burned upon Jaehyun scrutiny, her now fiance staring at her curiously as she moved the tie over his eyes, “is this okay?”

“Am I allowed to know the plan?”

Jihyun shook her head, cursing to herself when she realized he couldn’t see her, “um, no. But, just trust me. Promise me to keep it on and that you won’t look?”

“I...promise.” Jaehyun sounded just as apprehensive as she did, but otherwise supportive as Jihyun continued with her plan.

She supposed it wasn’t too late for her to remove it and tell him to tie her up instead of him, but she wanted to do this. She wanted to do something different. Jihyun swallowed harshly and set the rope to the side for later use, instead opting to kiss Jaehyun again, warming him up as she began to peel his clothes off layer by layer,

For the time being, Jaehyun didn’t mind the makeshift blindfold. It heightened his senses everytime Jihyun kissed him everywhere that wasn’t his mouth. He tried to keep his sounds contained for the most part, but once Jihyun grazed his length, it was impossible for him not to let out a small gasp. It was embarrassing but not as embarrassing as his dick twitching when Jihyun kissed his forehead.

God, he thought to himself. What is wrong with me?

“Do you trust me?” Jihyun asked in his ear, her breath leaving goosebumps on the skin surrounding. She punctuated her question with a small squeeze to his length, a groan passing his lips.

“Yes,” he said quickly. He would’ve said fuck yes, but he didn’t want to sound any more desperate than he already was.

“I kind of...want to try something, but I’m only going to do it if you’re okay with it,” she explained with kisses to his chest. “Tell me your colors, please baby?”

Jaehyun burned under the blindfold, his ears surely a violent pink as he opened his mouth, “um, green is keep going...red is stop?”

“Perfect,” she cooed, kissing his collarbone. “I’m going to add one more, okay?”

Jaehyun nodded, groaning when he felt her hands on his bare length this time, pumping him earnestly. He took shaky breaths as he felt Jihyun’s lips next to his ear again, kissing the tip of said ear before she said her next instructions, “whenever you’re about to cum, can you say pink for me, Jaehyunnie?”

Jaehyun tilted his head back, breathlessly saying, “pink.”  

Jaehyun felt himself being pulled up and a weight on his lap, Jihyun kissing him sweetly as she hugged him tightly. Jaehyun felt that she was still clothed under him, slightly pouting as he bundled up her dress in his hands so as to remove it.

“You’re so cute,” she hummed against his lips. “You’re so good for me, baby, I love you so so much.”

Jaehyun didn’t know what was going on for him to deserve this much praise, but he had no idea up until now how much he loved it. He wanted to hear more, moving his hands to her pert bottom, taking handfuls as he moved the dress up to grab handfuls of it.

“Hold on,” she kissed him quickly, pulling away despite his groan.

“Where are you going?” He whined, moving his hands towards the blindfold in attempts to remove it before he felt his hands being held by her.

“You said you would keep it on,” she whined next. Jaehyun wanted to roll his eyes, he could see her pout.

“Fine fine,” he sighed. Her hands left his own as he felt something soft being bound around his wrists, his eyes widening behind the blindfold as he realized what was going on. His dick only got harder upon realizing that she was tying him up, but that it wasn’t stopping there.

Jihyun tried her best to make sure she hid her shaky hands, cursing silently to herself when the knot wouldn’t tighten the way she wanted. It took a few tries, but she managed to tie his hands together so that they were resting behind his back.

“Are you okay?” She asked timidly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“More than okay,” he smiled. “A little...embarrassing.”

“Now you know how I felt,” she teased, kissing his Adam’s apple.

“Maybe I’ll be a little more considerate next time.”

Jihyun scoffed, “maybe?”

She took just the smallest bit of balm on her finger, taking Jaehyun’s length in her hands again and pressing the balm just slightly on the underside of his balls, watching him jolt with a smile on her face.

“Fuck!” Jaehyun groaned, his exclamations cut off by another moan as the balm sent a warm tingle throughout his length.

Lastly, before Jihyun decided to remove the blindfold, came the ties around his member. Jihyun used a softer rope for this, watching Jaehyun squirm as she wrapped the rope around the underside before tying it off. She admired the color of it before she continued, her fingers just barely dipping into the tip.

“This isn’t fair,” he pouted, wriggling against his restraints. “I want to see you, I need to see you, baby.”

“Be patient, Yuno,” she cooed, pushing the straps of her dress down her shoulders and kicking it to the side of the chair. She began to open the vibrator in her hands, already having the app downloaded in advance before she quickly calibrated it.

Jihyun slowly inserted the vibrator inside of her, sighing quietly as she turned it on to a slight hum, just barely against her g spot before she moved over to Jaehyun again to remove his blindfold.

Jaehyun blinked at the sudden light and swallowed upon seeing her pale pink set, Jihyun showcasing the lingerie as his dick twitched again in it’s restraints, “oh my god.”

“Am I pretty?” She asked, a smile playing on her lips.

“Pretty is an understatement...a severe one.”

Jaehyun’s eyes wander down to the sound of a small buzzing, blinking as Jihyun sat in front of him, moving her underwear on the side to reveal the vibrator inside of her, buzzing gently on the command from her phone.

“What’s…?”

“I went to go see Hera, and she told me to get this cute little vibrator, apparently I can control it with an app…” Jihyun opened the said app, raising the intensity slightly and gasping. “I’d let you control it but...you don’t have any free hands.”

Jaehyun narrowed his eyes, “you’re evil. A demon.”

Jihyun laughed as she peeled off her underwear to give him a clear view, the intensity on the tiny pill getting higher as her finger slipped. She moaned out, her toes curling as she quickly turned it down, catching her breath as she watched Jaehyun all but drool.

“Untie me,” he ordered. Jihyun grinned and shook her head.

“No.”

“I think you should untie me.”

“I think,” Jihyun moved towards the head of his length, taking the tip in between her lips to give it a wet kiss, “you’re talking too much.”

Jaehyun was just beginning to feel the implications of the bondage on his member as Jihyun passed her lips past the tip of his length and inching towards the end, moaning loudly as the vibrations from her mouth sent shivers down his spine. He groaned and cursed without remorse, his hips thrusting into her mouth as she pressed him down, pulling away with a wet pop and she clicked her tongue.

“I hope you’re not forgetting your colors, baby,” she patronized, pressing wet kisses to his taut balls.

“Fuck you,” he groaned. Jihyun grinned and took his cock in her mouth in one fell swoop, gagging slightly as her throat tightened around his length, Jaehyun’s head thrown back as he swore. “Fuck, Jihyun, baby--”

“Am I doing good?”

“So good, so fucking good--” He frowned when she pulled away, watching her face constrict before he realized the vibrator was at it’s highest setting again. Jihyun sat up and on his lap, her hands resting on his stomach as she rubbed herself against his thigh, leaving a small wet spot as she clawed at the skin.

“Fuck, Jaehyun, holy shit--”

Jaehyun flexed his thigh and watched her rub against him with a sly smirk, Jihyun falling against his chest as she finally orgasmed, breathing heavily as the toy continued to hum inside of her. Jaehyun’s eyes fixated on her phone that was just in perfect reach of his foot, taking advantage of his fiancee taking a breather to use his free appendage to set the vibrator on it’s highest level again, watching Jihyun gasp as she again grabbed his waist.

“What are you--?!” Jihyun reached for the phone but jumped when Jaehyun kicked it nearly across the room, ready to release an indignant reaction before he trapped her in between his legs, another violent orgasm on it’s way as she was being overstimulated.

“Get off!” She begged, her hands clawing at his legs as her oversensitivity spiked. “Jaehyun, I can’t--I can’t--”

Jihyun whimpered and cried, sniveling against his stomach as she came again, her toes curling as Jaehyun finally released his hold on her, a grin on his lips as Jihyun glared at the man in front of her. She pulled the vibrator out from inside of her, whimpering slightly.

“Sorry,” he smiled.

Jihyun ignored him as she searched for the tie again, silently fuming as she searched far and wide. Jaehyun pouted and nudged her with his knee, “I said I was sorry.”

“Shut up.”

Jaehyun pressed his lips together and he followed his orders, pouting again when he was embraced by darkness once again, the tie being wrapped around his eyes. He felt her hover over him again, his upper teeth meeting his bottom lip.

“Gigi--”

Jihyun held his jaw closed, her lips ghosting over his lips once more, “what part of shut the fuck up don’t you understand?”

Jaehyun swallowed. If he wasn’t hard before he definitely was now.

“I try and do something nice,” she started, her hand trailing from his jaw down to his neck before it reached behind her to grab his cock. “And yet, you always find a way to make it about yourself.”

“But--”

“Stop,” she ordered. “You don’t get to say anything, okay, baby? All you get to say are your three colors, do you understand?”

Jaehyun nodded.

“What’s your color now, Yuno?”

“Green.” The brightest green. The loudest green, whatever green will make her touch him somehow.

“You like this, don’t you?” He heard her say, “you like showing everyone you’re in charge, that you’re in control...but you like being ordered just as much as the next man.”

“I guess it helps that you’re mine,” she breathed, kissing him sweetly, “and that I have you wrapped around my finger.”

Jaehyun wouldn’t argue that. He wouldn’t be in this situation if it were false.

“You belong to me,” she reminded, taking the length in her hand and gently running her hand up and down. “Right, baby?”

Jaehyun opened his mouth to reply, but quickly closed it in turn to nod instead. He could hear her smile.

“Good boy, good Jaehyunnie,” Jihyun cooed. “Do you want me to fuck me, honey?”

Jaehyun nodded again, his cock painfully hard and pulsating in Jihyun’s hands as she squeezed it.

“Do you think you deserve it though?” She asked carefully, snatching her hand away from him as she completely removed herself from him. Jaehyun groaned, his hips lifting from the bed as he tried to search for her desperately. Suddenly, he heard a familiar humming, but before he could pin the noise, it was being pressed against the underside of his balls.

“Fuck, Jihyun!”  

“Shh, Jaehyun. What did I say?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he moaned, his hips lifting off the bed again. “Pink, fuck, pink!”

Jihyun removed the toy from his length at the very last minute. Jaehyun took shaky deep breaths as she caressed his thighs with the toy, watching Jaehyun twitch anytime the vibrator came in close contact to his cock.

“You never answered my question, Jaehyun,” Jihyun hummed, lowering the intensity before pressing it to the tip of his cock, just barely humming against skin but enough to make the man under her writhe. “Do you think you deserve my pussy, baby?”

Jaehyun nodded fervently. Please please please, he begged internally.

“Sit up.”

He did as he was told, sitting up against the headboard as he felt something wet on his length again, presumably her mouth judging by the way it closed and the way her humming made him moan.

“I’m still thinking about it,” she said, pressing kisses into the hot skin. “I’m so wet, no thanks to you, I swear to God I thought I would squirt if you left the vibrator on any longer. Good thing you didn’t.”

Goddammit, Jaehyun thought to himself.

“But,” Jihyun caressed his cheeks as she once again, removed the blindfold from his face. What met her were blown out pupils, watching her own with wonder, with anticipation, and the most notably love, absolute, head spinning, foolish love. Jaehyun was smitten with the woman above him and there was nothing he could do about it.

Jihyun sighed, “but...I guess I can be a little forgiving.”

Jaehyun smiled widely, still not allowed to speak as he pressed his lips against her wrist, a small gesture of gratitude.

Jihyun leaned in to press her lips against his for what felt like the upteenth time, reaching behind her once again to press his length into her expectant folds, Jaehyun pulled away to moan loudly, his eyes tightened as he tilted his head back. Jihyun started slowly, her hips barely moving against his but breathing quite heavily, their lips connecting every so often for quick pecks as Jihyun gradually picked up the pace.

Jaehyun nudged his head against the bra that was barely on her anymore, using his teeth to signal for her to take it off before Jihyun got the message, a smile on her face as she reached behind her to play with the clasp, removing it and tossing it to the side before holding her fiance’s face close to her chest. Jaehyun took it as a sign to do what he wished then, biting and sucking anywhere he could reach before he took a nipple in between his lips, looking up at Jihyun who mewled at the touch.

Jaehyun wouldn’t last any longer like this, but he wanted to keep going, he didn’t want to dream about pulling away but once his orgasm loomed dangerously over his head, he pulled away from Jihyun’s breast to kiss her sternum.

“Pink,” he breathed, shuddering as Jihyun continued to move her hips against his. Jaehyun moaned loudly, “pink, pink, pink--”

“Oh!” She quickly realized, pulling out and watching Jaehyun writhe under her, groaning loudly as he huffed in response, his head spinning.

“Are you okay?” Jihyun asked quietly, a small sign of tenderness and a dash of regret as she watched him in concern. Jaehyun smiled weakly, nodding with a kiss to her shoulder.

“Green,” he replied, welcoming Jihyun’s kiss as he felt his cock press against her pussy once more, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt Jihyun follow the rhythm once more.

Again, Jaehyun would chant out pink until Jihyun pulled away, watching him squirm for a few minutes until she would ride him again and again.

Around the forth time of edging him, Jihyun switched the position slightly so that she was facing away from him, giving him a clear view of her back as she started with an aggressive speed this time, her hips working to send him over the edge as he chanted out his color again. He had little regard for these rules this time as he realized Jihyun did too, chanting out her name and praises as she continued to slam her hips against his.

“Fuck Gigi,” he gasped, his hips meeting hers with his own thrust, “Jihyun, baby, I’m going to cum--fuck, oh baby, baby, baby--”

Jihyun pulled away but it seemed it would be far too late as Jaehyun came with a flash of white, his moans and curses falling from his lips like prayer as Jihyun was the Goddess he prayed to. With a dry orgasm ruining his high, all he could do was whimper and thrash against his restraints.

“So pretty,” Jihyun praised, kissing his chest. “Dry orgasm, honey?”

Jaehyun’s face felt hot in both embarrassment and need, nodding his head dumbly as Jihyun moved to remove the restraints around his cock. He wanted to cry when he finally felt the rope off of his length, and he thinks he might’ve, considering the space around the corner of his eyes was slightly damp.

“I love you,” he mumbled, still feeling stupid from his orgasm as his head tilted around, “I love you, please let me touch you.”

Jihyun snorted, “turn around.”

Jaehyun did as he was told, feeling something cold against his skin that he recognized as scissors cutting at the rope. Jihyun saved his hands for last, tossing the scissors to the side as she rubbed the rope marks on his wrists before kissing them gently.

“Are you okay, Yuno?” She asked softly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes after Jaehyun pulled her in for an embrace, holding her tightly against his chest.

“More than okay,” he reassured, “you’re amazing.”

Jihyun smiled and wrapped her legs around his waist as it was his turn to hover over her this time. She watched him expectantly, a smile wide on her face as he took his time to caress every square inch of her body, every mole and freckle.

“My turn?” He asked carefully, watching her reaction through his lashes.

Jihyun smiled and nodded, “your turn, baby. All yours.”

The rest of the night was spent with Jaehyun’s great attention to detail, making sure to press kiss to every inch of Jihyun’s body with his hand trailing over it not too long after it. She felt dizzy from the attention and the love, eventually pulling Jaehyun in for a kiss as they spent it in close proximity. Even if their lips weren’t connected, they were always trailing over the other, sweet breath fanning in the other’s face as smiles and quiet laughter was shared.

Even at the end of the night and into the early morning, Jaehyun refused to remove himself from her, opting to fall exhausted in her chest with a sigh, his eyes fluttering closed upon feeling her fingers carting through his thick hair, a small smile on his lips upon feeling the engagement ring just slightly brush against his scalp. He could die here, and he wouldn’t have any complaints.

Despite how tired the two were, neither of them seemed to be falling asleep. Although Jaehyun’s eyes were closed, he remained awake as he opened his eyes every so often to make idle chit chat with his now fiancee, who seemed just as restless as him.

Just as the sky was beginning to lighten, Jihyun offered to wash up quickly, causing Jaehyun to frown at the suggestion but following close by anyway, realizing that he didn’t like being as sticky as he felt and falling into the tub with Jihyun. It wasn’t until he was submerged under the hot water that he realized how sleepy he was, struggling to keep his eyes open as Jihyun mumbled musings pressed against his chest. It was only worse when she shampooed his hair, dozing off completely. He remembered hearing Jihyun snort but he didn’t hear anything else until he woke up again, already wrapped in a towel as she tugged at him from outside the bathtub.

“C’mon,” she smiled, offering him a towel. “Unless you want to sleep with the tub instead of your fiancee.”

Jaehyun couldn’t help but to smile back, the word sending his heart into hysterics as he took her hand. It seemed that the sheets were also changed while he was asleep, the fitted sheets thrown over the corners haphazardly as they fell into the bed. Jaehyun almost instantly curled into her, causing her to laugh as she kissed the crown of his head.

“You’re so clingy,” she giggled as Jaehyun threw his leg over her waist. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

“Because you’re perfect,” he muttered, more asleep than awake. He heard Jihyun say something else before he fell asleep but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He assumed it was a declaration of love but before he could tell her back, he fell asleep, not a single dream to be had.

The next morning the couple washed dishes next to each other, chatting about their plans for the day before Jihyun excused herself to get ready for work, drying her hands on the nearest towel before reaching for her ring. Jaehyun watched her with a smile as she slipped it on her finger. She noticed the attention and laughed, pinching his cheek.

“What?”

“I just think it’s pretty,” Jaehyun gushed, taking her hand and kissing her ring finger. “Are you going to wear it to work?”

“I’ll wear it to work, but I’m not allowed to keep it on while I’m in the kitchen.”

Jaehyun frowned, “but you’re the boss. You can make up rules.”

Jihyun laughed, “they aren’t rules, they’re food safety regulations. What if my diamond falls in someone’s food?”

“Then I’ll buy you another one.”

Jihyun rolled her eyes, “how about this? If you’re so keen on showing me off, we’ll go out this weekend? Then you can show me off all you want.”

“Sounds like a date,” Jaehyun beamed, kissing her forehead. “We should also probably tell your dad.”

Jihyun snorted, wrapping her arms around his neck, “did you not give him a warning?”

Jaehyun smiled sheepishly, answering Jihyun’s question without another word.

“You’re a brave man, Jung Jaehyun. I’d hate to become a widow before I’d ever get married.”

“I was going to wait but...it was the heat of the moment.”

Jihyun laughed and rolled her eyes before giving her fiance a kiss, “you’re so corny.”

[anari3l]

Far Away pt 3

words: 1387 /// pairing: cullen bohannon x reader /// summary: you wake in the morning after spending a night with cullen and find you don’t really want to leave. /// notes: got a comment on ao3 asking if i was gonna continue this, so ...

You were content. 

Content, comfy, and utterly happy. 

It had been too long since you had felt this way. The loss of your daughter and husband had almost killed you. 

Cullen had lost his wife, son, his home to the war, and had waged a revenge plot that had sent him searching across the country before dropping him in the middle of a railroad camp. 

Two sad souls had gravitated towards one another. 

Laying in his arms, the morning sun warming the side of your canvas housing, you felt content. As if the hardships the two of you had faced over the years could be healed from. Both of you knew this relationship was maybe not the best idea. Cullen had too much on his plate now, running the railroad. His work kept him out on long days at the cut, or had him spending hours in his office, pouring over the paperwork Durant was once in charge of and oh so good at. 

Cullen belonged out there. With the workers. Risking his own life alongside them. 

Which, admittedly, you felt very scared off. Your husband had died during construction of that damned trellis bridge over the river. You couldn’t bear the thought of Cullen dying out there too. 

But laying in his arms, you could forget about all that for a little while. You could press your ear against his chest, listen to the steady heartbeat beneath, and just be there with him, even if the moment would be lost in a few moments when duties called.

Cullen hummed, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he lay beneath you, arm curled around your shoulders and hand brushing along your hair. “What are you thinkin’?” he asked.

You shrugged, adjusting as you lay beside him on the small bed. “You. Us. This railroad.”

“Hmm.” He paused, hand raising to run through his own hair before falling back to your shoulder. “Anything in particular?”

“You and the General,” you hummed, relaxing into his embrace. “How you’re gonna fight Durant this time …” 

“He’s gonna try to pull everythin’ out to get his railroad back,” Cullen sighed. “We gotta fight for it.”

“We will,” you smiled, pushing up onto your elbow. “You, me, Elam, even the General … we’re with you, Mister Bohannon.” 

Cullen laughed, eyes closing as you spoke his name in a forced accent reminiscent of Durant’s. 

You smiled down to him, watching as he laughed at your mimicry. 

He was content. 

Content, comfy, and utterly happy. 

It had been too long since you had seen Cullen smile a genuine smile, or laugh a hearty laugh. 

“Alright, Mister,” you sighed, shoving his chest playfully before leaning in and kissing him. “Up you get. You’ll be late for work.”

Cullen stepped out of your tent a bit later, fully dressed, hat in hand, and stood for a moment on your small stoop. The morning fog blanketed the prairie, casting an eerie gloom over the town as the sun rose over the distant hills. As you stepped outside beside him, tying the apron around your waist, he turned to you, fidgeting with his hat as if he was a child, too nervous to ask a question. 

“Why … we should …” he started, dropping his gaze to his hat. “We should have a picnic,” he finally managed after a few moments of silence. “Today. For lunch.”

“A picnic?” you prodded, folding your hands in front of you. 

“A picnic.” He placed his hat on his head with a nod, his smile returning. “After my meeting with Grant,” he started once more. “A picnic. You and me, and all the daisy chains you can make.”

You smiled brightly. “I would like that very much, Mister Bohannon.”

“I would too,” he smiled. 

***

You didn’t know how he managed it, but you couldn’t put it past him. He was Cullen after all. Hell on Wheels loved him. 

Mickey and Sean had pulled together two bottles of alcohol, Ruth and Eva had pitched in food, and Cullen had packed it all into a sideboard and rolled up to the infirmary tent with a very smitten look on his face. 

“Well,” you smiled as you watched Cullen jump from the wagon bench. “This is a surprise. I had thought you meant a lunch date on the steps of your train car as a picnic.”

“Now,” he smiled, “I did promise you daisy chains,” he joked. “We’ll disappear for a while. Get away from camp.”

“Then,” you sighed, untying your apron and draping it over the wooden chair on the stoop of the infirmary tent. “It would be a pleasure.”

You couldn’t help but feel like a young girl again as you rode beside Cullen on the wagon bench. He stayed mostly quiet, but you could tell whatever tension he had been carrying since the Board arrived had lessened a bit. He seemed at ease, and calm. Able to forget about his duties for a moment and get away. 

Not too far from Hell on Wheels, still close enough to hear the echoing of pick axes and hammers on the line, Cullen stopped the wagon at a small grouping of trees. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say Mister Bohannon has done this before,” you smiled, taking his hand as he helped you from the wagon. “Your wife must have been the luckiest woman.”

He nodded, a bit shyly as you brought up the mention of his wife, but the two of you knew each other well enough to not find the topic awkward. 

“She didn’t enjoy daisy chains quite as much as you do,” he smirked. 

The day was nice. A perfect day for a picnic under a tree. You let Cullen lay his head on your lap as you threaded daisies together, smiling as he watched you.

“What is it?” you asked, focused on the tiny flower stem you were braiding into the chain. 

Below you, Cullen just watched you, his blue eyes affectionate as he laid against your lap. “When I met you all in Omaha … Were you planning on coming back? Before I asked?”

 You stayed silent for a moment before lowering your hands, draping the daisy chain over Cullen’s head to drape around his neck as he sat up, leaning against his arm. 

“No,” you answered. “Before I … Before you found me, I was … I was planning on going back to Savannah. Find my family. Start anew.” You sighed, looking down to your hands. “After the war, James came home to me. He came home, and we promised we would make a new life together, he’d find a job, and we’d be well off. After losing him … I … i couldn’t stand the thought of this railroad anymore, and when I heard there were talks of shutting down … I … thought about it.”

Cullen nodded, meeting your gaze with his intense, but somehow, saddened look. Bowing his head, looking down to the daisy chain you had draped over his neck, he nodded. “I’m glad you came back.”

“I’m glad you came back,” you repeated, emphasizing your words as you poked him on the shoulder. “When I saw you had survived the winter, were meeting with the Board in NEw York … when I learned you were trying so hard to keep the railroad going, I was … so happy.” 

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he started, voice low as he sat up, resting his arm against his raised knee. 

“Yes I do,” you smiled, sitting forward. 

“You don’t,” he pressed. “This is Hell. Literally. I … I would hate to lose you to it.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, running a hand through his hair as you brushed it from his face. “You’re gonna have to find someone else to put up with your crap if I leave, and honestly, not many people can,” you smiled. 

He turned to face you with a broad smile on his face. “True.”

“I … I love you, Cullen.”

His gaze shot back up to yours at the words, his eyes wide at the confession. “I …. “

“I thought you should know,” you mumbled, turning away. 

“I love you too,” he responded, hand on your cheek as he leaned in, kissing you.

[petroltogo]

Survived the first week of lockdown. Here’s a couple of lessons I’ve learned about this whole being stuck at home for the foreseeable future thing:

It’s important to have your own space when you’re stuck with family. If possible we stay in different rooms to work during the day and don’t get in each other’s way as much as we can.

Coffee is a lifesaver and I’m not sure what I’d do without our machine. 

Calling people is important.

Listen, I hate calling people. Just don’t like it. But. Yes, chatting is good. Emailing is good. But it’s not the same. To create that feeling of actual social interaction, of connecting with others, calling is incredibly important. Video-chatting is even better. [Finally got my SO to try it cause they’re even more reluctant about these things than I am. But it really helps to give you that feeling of closeness and make you feel less isolated and cut-off.]

Reaching out to people right now is important. This whole being stuck in isolation thing is really hard on mental health, particularly for people who were already struggling before.

Sticking to your routine as much as possible is also very important. Get up in the morning. Shower. Put on some make-up. Dress nicely. [Casual unless you like hanging out at home all day in fancy clothes, it’s totally cool if you do. I admire you, but I’m sticking to comfortable pants.]

Have regular meals. If you’re not alone like me, we eat lunch and dinner together at our usual times and breakfast on the weekends. That regularly “timed” interaction also helps because then you can avoid each other again for the next few hours so you’re feeling close but you’re also not constantly stepping on each other

Talk about the situation. Not like anyone seems to talk about anything else, but the people who are stuck with you have to deal with the exact same situation. They understand you. More importantly, if you are stressed, things are bothering you and you’re bottling it all up, these people are gonna notice anyways, cause they’re constantly around you. Communication helps keep friction down.

Play a board game. I’m constantly sitting in front of a screen, this change of scenery feels nice.

If you have a dog, pet the dog.

If you have a cat, feed the cat. [They’ll demand attention and petting anyways, as is their just payment for gracing you with their presence.]

Indulge in virtual coffee breaks, virtual aperitifs, virtual gaming nights, whatever. Keep those contacts going. Humans are social beings, whether we’re more introverted or more extroverted.

Limit your news intake. At the start, while waiting for official lockdown announcement [which hasn’t actually happened yet, but all non-essential businesses, schools etc. are shut down and gatherings with more than five people are forbidden, so we’re steadily getting closer] I kept refreshing the news constantly. But there’s staying informed and then there’s getting sucked into that depressing doomsday-everythings-over mindset. So now I stick to informing myself once a day and otherwise avoiding the subject as much as I can and focusing on other things.

[When outside for the shortest period of time possible, be friendly and understanding and kind. To everyone, but particularly to grocery store workers. They deal with enough.] 

Do the best you can and if that doesn’t work, read fanfiction. And no, I will not be taking constructive criticism on my coping mechanisms at this point.

[heliads]

Secret Identity Chapter 1: Dear Stars,

Y/N L/N had three constants in her life: her best friend she met through email, a constant dislike of a boy from her school named Peter Parker, and her life as the hero Phasma, fighting crime with Spider-Man. However, her constants may have more in common than she realized…

series masterlist / next

Y/N is sick of waiting for the notification. She sent her last email only a few hours ago, and, she admits, she had grown a little spoiled from the constant back-and-forth emailing that she was used to during the night. Emails slowed down during the day, she knew that, but she couldn’t help but check every few minutes. Just in case.

When the message finally comes, she can’t help a smile spreading across her face. Sender: science_tech03@gmail.com

Dear Stars,

Sorry it took me so long to respond. I guess I was too tired- I fell asleep the second I closed my eyes for longer than a second. Not that it means you’re boring, just that I need to stop procrastinating and get to bed. 

Speaking of sleep, you won’t believe what happened in class the other day. Our teacher fell asleep while he was grading our tests- can you imagine? I thought only students were allowed to do that. Crazy.

Your friend,

Sci

Y/N reads the email happily. She had met Sci online a few months earlier. They both had the same interests- science, Iron Man, bonding over the dorkiest things you could imagine. He never failed to make her laugh. Quickly, she leaned over her computer, hoping to send him a quick message before heading off to school.

Sender: starry-sky@gmail.com

Dear Sci,

Your teacher sounds fun. Does he fall asleep while teaching or just while grading? One of my teachers is no better, I don’t think he can teach without drinking half a pot of coffee. 

Also, go to bed! You need your sleep. Actually, I don’t mean that- who would I talk to at 3am? I’m no better than you at healthy sleep schedules. But seriously, get some rest. 

Anyways, I’m about to lose my mind studying. Have you taken physics? I’m assuming you have. I despise it. When am I going to need to calculate the trajectory of anything? Who uses the word trajectory outside of physics? AAAAAA.

Bored as always,

Stars

Y/N reads her email over once more before hitting send. Sometimes, she wishes she could meet Sci face to face, wishes she could talk to him in person about anything and everything. Email was fun, but it wasn’t the same. Regardless, she was still grateful to have him there. A friend waiting on the other side of her battered laptop screen.

The streets of New York are bustling as always, and Y/N weaves past stores and construction workers to finally reach her high school. Midtown, with its high brick walls and clusters of talkative students, was home. In a way. Y/N walks up until she sees her best friend, Megan. They talk as they head in, stopping at their lockers to grab their books before walking over to their respective classes. 

At lunch, they sit with some other friends and talk about their weekends. Megan, always the socialite, had found some party on the opposite side of town and excitedly shared the details of her latest outing. While listening to the details of her outfit (woo-hoo, red miniskirt!), Y/N let her eyes drift across the cafeteria. With distaste, she notes that Peter Parker and his best friend, Ned, are staring at their table again.

“Oh come on, Y/N. Stop glaring at Parker.” Megan nudges her, causing Y/N to snap her focus back to the lunch table. 

“Look, he doesn’t have to keep staring at us! It’s weird!” 

Megan laughed. “He’s got a crush on one of us, so what? It’ll fade in a week or two.” 

Y/N sighed exasperatedly. “I just don’t like him! He broke Liz’s heart, remember? I don’t know why he wants to do it again with one of us.” 

Megan turned back to her lunch. “Oh, come on. Liz moved a while ago. Can’t you just let him pine in peace?” She starts giggling, and Y/N can’t help but join in. 

“Noooo! This is a pining-free zone!” With that, they both start laughing.

When school is over, Y/N can’t help but run. Her feet pound on the sidewalk as she makes her way back to her apartment. The sooner she finishes her homework, the sooner she can put on the suit that’s calling her name. Physics goes slower than she had hoped, but it’s over before too long, and she races over to the closet and pulls back the bag hidden in the very back. Inside is her suit- the durable but lightweight armor, the firebolt logo on the chest, the hooded mask. She puts it on quickly, then climbs out the window. Now, she is Phasma.

She makes her way up to the rooftop with the help of her powers. The first time she used her powers, the energy bolts that shot from her hands had scared her, but now, they were just another tool in her repertoire. 

She just makes it to the top of the building when she hears a familiar voice. “It took you long enough to get up here. I was almost thinking you weren’t coming.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. You know I’ll be here. It’s not my fault homework takes forever.” She turns to face her partner, the one and only Spider-Man. 

“Have you considered just doing it faster?” Spider-Man is laughing, and so Y/N shoots a small energy bolt at him. 

“Hey! Phasma!” He shoots a web at her in return, but she dodges it just in time. 

“You’re wasting your webs, you know that? I don’t have to make the bolts.”

Spider-Man waves a dismissive hand at her. “You deserved it.” 

They laugh, then turn to the city. “I’m bored. Where’s some good crime when you need it?” Y/N complains, kicking at the loose rubble on top of the building. 

Spider-Man shoves her, laughing. “Are you really hoping for crime? You’re supposed to stop it, not cause it!” 

“I’m just bored!” She melodramatically clasps her hands in front of her heart. “I am a hero forever, no matter what!” They both laugh.

When Y/N crawls in through the window of her apartment later that night, she immediately collapses in a chair. Her wish came true- she and Spider-Man helped stop a few muggings and some general misdoings. Her exhaustion is interrupted only by the quick ding of her email, which causes her to immediately sit back up.

Sender: science_tech03@gmail.com

Dear Stars,

Ha! You can’t tell me to go to bed if you don’t get any sleep yourself! This is hypocrisy at its finest. And besides, I do go to sleep. Is it when I should? No, but it is sleep.

Sorry about your homework. Physics is, well, physics. Just stumble through it as best you can. That’s what I did.

Also, I realized this is our three month email-iversary. Can you believe I’ve known you for a quarter of a year? Feels like forever.

Miss you,

Sci

Y/N’s eyes hover on the ‘Miss you’ for a few seconds longer than necessary, and a glowing smile settles across her face.

Sender: starry-sky@gmail.com

Dear Sci,

It’s yet another night that she’ll fall asleep to the click of her keyboard.

[joseluisbenavides]

Two Men Holding Hands

Gallery Talk and Reading 

July 21, 2018, Art Institute of Chicago

Davis, Keith F, Jane L. Aspinwall, and Marc F. Wilson. The Origins of American Photography: From Daguerreotype to Dry-Plate, 1839-1885. Kansas City (Mo.: Hall Family Foundation, 2007. Print.

(Meet guests at entrance of Never a Lovely So Real: Photography and Film in Chicago, 1950–1980)

First off I’d like to say thank you for coming. I’d also like to explain how honored I am to be standing here with you all. We’ll be examining one part of this exhibit, Never a Lovely So Real, which some of you may know takes its name from a line written by the great Chicago writer Nelson Algren. 

The title for this gallery talk and reading, “Two Men Holding Hands” is taken from the accompanying caption for a 19th century daguerreotype1 I first saw at the Art Institute of Chicago in 2003. As a teen I often ditched school to wander around the Art Institute. Searching for inspiration, I walked through the halls, spending hours examining the secrets of composition from the great masters, certainly all dead white men. 

However, back then I was a poet with dreams of being a novelist, not the visual artist I am today. Back then I looked for revelation in the romanticism of painters and sculptors who in all actually were not speaking to me and had no intention of communicating very much of anything to a queer Latinx kid from the city.

I grew up in Logan Square in the same house my grandparents bought in the early 1980s. I grew up in a multigenerational home with my grandparents (a factory worker and cleaning lady), my aunt and uncle (lunch lady and laborer) and my mom (a security guard). My mother, a single parent, raised me with the watchful support of her family as she often had to work the graveyard shift, leaving me alone in our basement unit of the house. And here we find ourselves in the basement of AIC. Please, follow me.

(Walk inside Never a Lovely So Real exhibition to the photographs by Luis Medina)

Logan Square in the 1980s-1990’s was much like Lincoln Park in the 1960’s-1970’s . These predominantly Latinx, Puerto Rican and Mexican neighborhoods would quickly see the erasure of their communities as the Kartemquin Films on view in that room, “Now We Live on Clifton (made in 1974) testifies, “a regular old family can’t afford some of the houses they’re remodeling,” says a young boy to camera. On the same block I was raised I witnessed the construction of single family McMansions taking up two plots in the place of where two homes used to stand. I’ve also seen the erection of million dollar condos and skyscrapers in a residential neighborhood with maximum height two story houses. 

When looking at the photographs of Wrigleyville, in Luis Medina’s exhibited works (behind me), documenting the “territorial gang graffiti” in Lincoln Park and Wrigleyville then, I’m simultaneously moved to joy and melancholy.

Gang member, Chicago, 1979, Luis Medina

       What do we see in these images? What do the smiles of young, macho, braggadocious men, or a young lady laying in her coffin say about the struggles of this Latinx community then and our community today? What’s ever present and missing in these young men’s posturing, the temporal scratches and claims to streets they would soon be pushed out of? What were the effects of gentrification on these communities, the closing off of and tightening of gang territories as boutiques and coffee shops replace bodegas and barbershops? Can you feel, as I do, the sense of being trapped, or a sense of oblivious defiance against being further boxed in and cornered by society, poverty and the economic power plays of a city?

         And what of the Young Lords, the Puerto Rican street gang that formed in Lincoln Park during the 1970s which mobilized for community activism in much the same vein as the Black Panthers? Where is the AIC archive and collection of photographs documenting their history? Why are the graffiti and tags of the Latin Kings, a gang that my mother and her sisters undoubtable dodged and on occasion cavorted with, documented in these photographs? 

How are the traces of these gangs etched into the minds of a young me and a future you viewing these images today? In what ways have we exhausted or not paid enough attention to the concerns and statements of these young Latinx figures, ghosts and stereotypes?  

I recall the caption of the daguerreotype I saw in this same gallery, “Two men holding hands” and think of the homosociality of these young men, their fraternal bonding, their comradery and kinship. What do you see of the boldness in “HOME OF THE GANGSTER MIGHTY GRAND” scrawled across a wall possibly doomed for demolition?

I wonder if anyone here can see themselves in these young men? Do I have to state, until this exhibit I can’t recall ever seeing myself on the walls of the Art Institute or why forms and quality and nuance of representation matters? How would my poetry and fiction have changed, what would it be now, who would I be now, had I seen myself on these walls then? What’s missing from the caption or titling that can never be regained in the branding of an image, “untitled, 1980” or “gang member, Chicago 1979”? And even still, I wonder at the irony of being tricked by art yet again, seduced toward the page by these inspirational images, the mirage of these young men, calling to me from behind gelatin silver prints. 

(Move outside gallery to Nelson Algren photograph)

But it’s no longer 1990 in Logan Square or 1980 in Wrigleyville. It’s 2018. I am a visual artist with an archival practice, a filmmaker-documentarian, an educator and a librarian who works with teens across the City of Chicago. Much like those gang members of the past, I searched the streets for meanings, for purpose, for place and a sense of belonging. I found my gang, my peoples, my community, by some miracle, not in the corner street gangs that populated Logan Square when I was young, not in the neighborhood gang from whom I would cut corners and take the long walk home to avoid, but in the community arts program, the local non-profit arts organization Young Chicago Authors (Y.C.A.) on the edge between Wicker Park and Humboldt Park. 

Nelson Algren, by his Favorite Division St. Bar, Chicago, 1949, Art Shay

As a teen I walked up and down Division Street much like the characters of a Nelson Algren novel, a wayward and misanthropic youth guarding a deep and terrible secret. I was a gay kid and didn’t have a single ally in the world. My only friend was poetry and prose, confidant and companion, my journal who saw me through it all. That journal became my lover and guide, and he steered me to the second floor apartment headquarters of Y.C.A., a local non-profit which provided free writing workshops for teens, photography classes, an open mic series and a youth run literary publication. Needless to say, I signed up for EVERYTHING. 

At Young Chicago Authors, I would soon publish, as part of our senior projects, a chapbook of poetry which would include the poem “Daguerreotype” (which I’ll read shortly) inspired by an image of two men holding hands in the exhibit, Unknown Maker: The Art of the American Daguerreotype, on view at the the Art Institute of Chicago from Jun 21–Sep 28, 2003.

(Show the guests photocopy of daguerreotype “Two Men Holding Hands”)

The poem written partially in that very room reflects this gallery talk today, playing between temporalities, the then and the now. The haunting of an image and the eyes of the poet bestowing all of himself onto the nostalgia and mythos of a faded photograph. In these men holding hands I caught a glimpse of safety and the possibility that my queerness was not quite as terrible a threat as I’d been taught. And though, I could only dream of gaining Algren’s stature as the “prose poet of Chicago’s slums”, the world renown writer of the alleys and drunks, the street brawls and drug addicts, the derelicts and deviants, might have been a good teacher to me had I ever listened to anyone’s recommendations to read his writing. 

Young Chicago Authors which then stood on the very same Division Street, so close to the corner of Damen and Division where Algren penned and set so many of his stories, is now unrecognizable to me. “The Devil” definitely “Came Down Division Street” to paraphrase, one of Algren’s titles, he just doesn’t quite look the way we expected. The devil to me is certainly not a junky or a gang member that we might have feared, instead being the realtors and landlords, the aldermen who pimp out their neighborhoods to the highest bidder and quickly expel the residents who’ve lived there for decades without batting a lash.

(Move to photographs by Dawoud Bey)

And, here we finish: in front of this stunning portrait of two young men who grew up on the Westside of Chicago. Let us marvel at this work by Dawoud Bey. Let us ponder at this, in the photographer’s own words, “unabashedly lush and romantic render of people who seldom receive that kind of attention.” Let us wonder at the hopes and dreams of these two young men. Do you see yourself reflected on the glass frame encasing them? Who is that person? How will they change? Who will they become? 

Matt and Joaquin, 1995, Dawoud Bey

(Read the poem “Daguerreotype”)

__

2019 “The Road to the Block Party Is Wide Open”, Matt Ford, Art Institute of Chicago, Feb. 15

[19mrs-barnes17]

As Long As I Can Get - Chapter Three: Welcome to Brightbarrow

Summary: Welcome to the town of Brightbarrow, its small and quaint aesthetic draws in many to settle into the comfort it provides. Home to a select group of kind souls.

Part: 3/5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (AU)

Warnings: mentions of abandonment, some sad themes, a little drinking

Word count: 3,198

A/N: Thanks again to @wxntersoldiers​ for beta reading! Hope you all enjoy the new chapter!

~

The first place to open in the mornings is the Diner, the Barnes family waking before most of the town to set up and ready for the early rising crowd. A few shop owners, medical staff, and construction crew filter in gradually as the town begins to wake.

Slowly but surely shops begin flipping their signs, a yawn escaping as they stretch out their sluggish and sleepy limbs. Hours pass by and the town comes alive with a steady flow of people off to work or wandering about the shops, the occasional tourist stopping in for directions or a trinket. Everyone had a routine.

It was late afternoon when Y/N finally got time to begin looking into a project for her apartment, stopping by the shop where Steve worked after her shift let off early. 

She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight before her, Denise and Hilda sat on the wooden bench outside the tool and craft shop gazing in the big display window and gabbing about the men inside. She shook her head at the women before approaching.

“What are you two mischief makers up to?” Both women stayed exactly as they were, unaffected by being caught by an onlooker.

“Come sit with us Y/N dear, there are two very fine gentlemen waltzing about the shop.” Y/N reluctantly accepted the invitation, eyes drifted inside the building where Steve and Bucky stood comparing items and having a passive discussion. Neither seemed aware of the three women watching their every move through the front window.

“How often are you two out here?”

“Oh every day love.” Hilda smiled softly at her before sending a wink and returning her attention back to the guys. “Lately we’ve been getting double the beef and muscle.”

“That Barnes boy has grown into such a handsome young gentleman, very blessed in the genetics department.” Denise giggled, Hilda swatting her playfully as they turned their gazes to Y/N and arched a brow expectantly.

“What?” 

“Please tell me you’re making the most of his being back home? You two always have been the cutest thing.” If Y/N had been taking a drink this moment would be the perfect moment for a spit take.

“We’re not a couple.”

“And what a terrible shame that has always been. He’s a lovely specimen.” Denise winked at her before glancing back inside and smiling. 

“I don’t know, I’d say that poor Steven is quite the eye candy. Though it is nice to see a new, but familiar, face around here.”

“You two are shameless.” Hilda and Denis burst out laughing, clutching one another as their smiles stretched across their faces.

“Best way to be sweetheart.” Hilda paused for a moment, glancing over Y/N before getting that mischievous sparkle in her eyes once more. “”Give it a go.”

Y/N shook her head but the two women kept insisting. Gazing through the glass her mind fumbled for something to say that wouldn’t be too much.

“He does have nice eyes.”

“Which one dear?”

“James. I mean Bucky.” Her heart skipped a beat as those very crystal blue irises turned her way, eyes locking onto hers. 

“Ah, that he does. And they’re looking right at you dear, in a very flirtatious manner.” Hilda and Denise sent little waves at Bucky before nudging her.

Y/N mumbled in response her mind elsewhere as she watched Bucky through the window, a smile tugging at his lips. He sent a small wave, which she slowly reciprocated, before turning back to Steve. She stood from the bench and tore her gaze away from the window.

“Oh, god I still need to go inside.”

“Ooh, how unfortunate. Let us know how that goes.” 

“You two are pure chaos.”

“Guilty.” In sync they speak and smirk up at her before turning back to the window.

Entering the store she did her best to keep her gaze away from the two men, focusing on finding the paint color she wanted. Her eyes scanned the swatches for a light purple for her bedroom, eventually a project she wanted to get to when she had an open weekend. Her mind was unable to focus as she overheard the discussion an aisle or two over.

Shaking her head she pulled her focus to the colors in front of her, forcing herself to make a decision. In line she was behind Bucky who leaned against the counter waiting for Steve to return from the back, his arms crossed and eyes closed.

“Long day?” She couldn’t stand there silently waiting for Steve to return, his eyes would have opened and been startled by her lurking form. He was startled nonetheless, but she felt compelled to be polite and not ignore him. Even despite his past mistakes.

“Always is.” 

“Tell me about it. What are you building?” She pointed to the drill set on the counter as his eyes took note of the paint swatches in her hand.

“Bed frame.” Her brow furrowed and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Haven’t gotten around to actually setting it up yet, easier to move when we are painting. Speaking of which…”

“My room. Paint is chipping and my landlord gave me the greenlight to paint over it.” 

“Purple.” She simply nodded in response, eyes trailing to locate Steve in the back. “Well, if you need any help you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, but I have no idea when I’m going to actually have time to get to it.” He nods solemnly and she feels a prick of guilt in her heart.  “But I’ll give you a call when I know.”

“We can order Toni’s like we used to.” His sweet smile had her nodding along in agreement and entirely missing Steve’s emergence from the back office. “Guess I’ll see you around Fairfield.”

“Keep out of trouble Barnes.” He chuckled and shook his head muttering something about no promises before walking out the door. 

“I swear if you two waltz around the topic you will forever be in the obnoxiously polite conversation stage.” Steve shook his head, marking down her order and writing up a receipt. “And I’m not sure how much of that I can take.”

~

Bucky lay upon his stomach, arms buried beneath the pillow he smushed to his face as he slept. His body sore from the previous week's worth of labor, taking advantage of his day off by sleeping in past breakfast time. Somehow he had actually gotten a decent night’s rest, whether that was from the exhaustion or his reconciliation with Y/N was anybody’s guess. 

He had missed how close they used to be, hating how he had listened to the fear and completely cut her from his life. She was his raft and without her he had been sinking, deeper and deeper until he hit the bottom. He knew full well they could never be anything more, but he hated himself for not allowing a friendship at least. It would have helped him through so much.

In the past few weeks he continuously ran into her at the diner, sharing more meals with her than he ever had before and getting to know her again. The reconnection quelled some of the worries that usually kept his mind awake. His mind was more at ease.

Unfortunately, a knock at his door disturbed his late morning rest and had him shuffling to the door in only sweats. As he opened the door he was hit by a yawn, the chuckle from the otherside of the threshold snapping him out of his daze. Y/N stood awkwardly shifted weight on the balls of her feet, eyes refusing to meet his which made him take notice of her flushed cheeks. He smiled softly down at her.

“Good morning.” She cleared her throat and shook her head as if his voice had shaken her from her discomfort and held an envelope out to him. “What’s this?”

“Your pay, I think. Becca said Thomas dropped it off at the Diner cause he had a busy day out of town and didn’t have time to stop by. She’s working a double today and asked if I could deliver it. So, there you go. Sorry to wake you on your day off.” She spoke fast and he was barely awake enough to keep up, running a hand through his hair and nodding along.

“Thank you. But Becca could have given it to me at dinner tonight.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his, her features painted with shock. 

“Oh.” Her voice was small as she remained frozen in place, unsure how to make a polite exit without just walking away. “Well, um, you’re welcome I guess. I’m gonna go now… see you around…” 

Bucky didn’t even formulate a response before she had already made her way down the sidewalk with one final glance back at him from over her shoulder. Something about their relationship was different, and not just because he had cut her out of his life. It was more about the way she tiptoed around looking at him, and how she avoided eye contact if he was in a tank or less. This hadn’t been the first time she had blushed at the sight of him.

A few days ago Becca had brought Y/N, on her day off, to bring the workers some lunch that his mother had made. When she approached he wasn’t paying much attention and had gone to wipe some of the sweat from his face onto his tank top, exposing his midriff which resulted in a blushing Y/N holding out his portion of the food at a distance. 

Ever since Y/N had been awkward during the first couple of minutes of conversation they had whenever they ran into one another in town. He was baffled, Steve was not.

“Oh, come on you cannot seriously be that thick.” 

“How kind of you to notice. Mind explaining what I’m missing?” Steve sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Listen, you are not an ugly guy alright?”

“Gee thanks buddy, care to elaborate?” Steve was beginning to look as though he wanted to smack Bucky upside the head and be done with it all. 

“She all flustered because you’re an attractive guy constantly showing off your body in front of her.”

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.” Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “And we both know why that can’t happen.”

“Buck, I don’t want to have that old argument again so can we slow the roll on the girl problems and get to what you need for the house?”

“Alright, alright.”

He paced the floor of his bedroom deep in thought, adrenaline jump starting his anxiety and sending him into panic. The few nights of dreamless sleep had ended in an intense nightmare in which he relived the death of his best friend. They had served together for so long, becoming brothers somewhere in the process. Both moving to New York and sharing an apartment for a while before he was killed in a hit and run. 

Will had pushed him out of the way before the car struck, he was killed on impact. Bucky could still see his lifeless body lying on the asphalt. 

The images flashed in his mind even after waking in a cold sweat, his heart still pounding as he struggled to calm himself. He was panicking and losing all rationality. His fingers dialed the number before his mind could stop him and he saw her racing across the street at a record speed. 

After opening the door he pulled her in and shoved the door shut, his arms wrapping around her torso tightly as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She was in shock for a few moments before she lowered her arms to rest on his bare shoulders and ran a hand up into his hair. Her fingers gently ran through his hair as she whispered comfort in his ear. 

“Hey.” She pulled away from him, hands on the sides of his face and eyes gazing into his fearlessly. “Let’s get you to the couch, yeah?”

Slowly she moved him to where his head lay in her lap, her finger still running through his hair and putting him at ease. When his breathing began to regulate she had him drink a glass of water and watched him nervously. He could tell she was on edge about this, scared for him. And he already regretted bringing her into it.

But she had been the one to comfort his nightmares the first month after his dad died, staying at his house every night. She had been his greatest comfort, and he had repaid her kindness with a knife in the back. It was his greatest regret.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She spoke softly, tone hesitant as she scooted closer to him on the couch. “I think it will help.”

He desperately wanted to avoid the conversation, but he knew it would come up later whether she meant to bring it up or not. Because it was the very reason that New York had lost its charm and he had packed for home. And he wanted her to trust him, to feel like she could call him should she ever need comfort or help. If he didn’t show her that rebuilding was possible she would never trust that they could.

“When I was overseas…” Once he started he couldn’t stop, it had been months of silence and pushing down his pain. Bucky had been hiding his loss from any who didn’t know about Will, even Steve didn’t know the exact context of why he returned.

Though he only spoke one of the secrets he had been keeping, the release of the words felt cathartic. She pulled him into a hug and he immediately knew he had made the right decision. It had been so long since they had talked about anything deeper than small talk or light catch up, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. Missed her.

“I’m sorry. I never should have pushed you away.”

“Buck-”

“I know I said it before, but I need you to know I meant it. I have missed you so much, almost gone to call you a billion times before realizing I didn’t have your number.” A tear slid down her cheek and she was quick to wipe it away, sniffling.

“I always thought you just left me behind because I wasn’t good enough.” His chest tightened, heart hurting at the thought of her believing that.

“No.” He shook his head, eyes tearing away from her because if he kept looking he would tell the full truth and she would never want to see him again. “I let the fear and pain I was drowning in sweep me away. I never should have closed off from you, the one person who could have helped me.”

“I’m here now.” She placed a hand over his heart, sincerity in her eyes before she recoiled with crimson in her cheeks. “Now would you please put on a shirt before answering the door you heathen.” 

He smiled before picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder and spinning around. She squealed, hand smacking his back lightly as she began to laugh like a mad woman. 

“Who’s a heathen now?”

“Still you, ya brute.” He dropped her onto the couch and the two fell into a fit of laughter, eyes sharing a look of nostalgia. “But a brute I will invite to my birthday party.”

“Party, eh? They still throwing you big parties in that old barn?” She nodded, rolling her eyes with a small shrug.

“I’m turning 27, I don’t think I need a big party full of people. Not really my scene.” 

“How ‘bout this then. We go to that party, say hello to everyone, do at least one dance after cake, and afterwards we can do something just the two of us. Something more laid back.” She held out her hand and they shook on it, smiles bright.

“Wanna go paint my room?” Y/N stood with her hands on her hips and a brow arched, smiling mischievously. 

Bucky stood and began to make his way to the door when Y/N stopped him in his tracks and gestured to his bare chest.

“Right, shirt. Give me a second.” She shook her head, waiting at the front step for him to catch up. He crossed the street in a few swift steps and followed her up to her apartment.

“You’re gonna want your hair out the way, sit.” He complied, rolling his eyes as she pulled strands of his hair back into a small feather duster of a ponytail. A few shorter strands fell down and framed his face. She shrugged and muttered a good enough.

They moved her mattress and bed frame from the room, emptying all the contents into the small living room. Covering the floor, taping over the trim, and getting the paint and brushes out they were ready to begin.

Hours later they had paint splatters on their jeans and Bucky’s white tank top now had a purple print painted on. Purple covered the walls and a few drops made their way onto their faces, a stripe across the bridge of her nose and a smudge along his cheek. Y/N refused to let him wash up before getting a photo on her camera. The two looked like a hot mess, her piggy backing and resting her cheek against his. 

“Why does this look so familiar?” She held the camera in her hands and her brow furrowed. “Oh my god.”

Y/N ran into the living room without another word and Bucky followed, perplexed by her behavior. She began searching through her things until finally producing a shoe box with his name on it. 

“Um. What’s that.” She pulled him over to her breakfast bar and sat on one of the stools before opening up the box. His eyes scanned the photos inside, saddened that there were so few but comforted by the fact that she still had the pictures at all.

“This is our box, Becca and I have one. And that other one is for our trio.” He chuckled softly as she began to sift through the  pictures until she found what she was looking for. The very photo that he had seen in his mother’s house, the one hanging amongst the photos of his family. “We did an accidental recreation.”

The two photos side by side were uncanny, apart from the ridiculous amount of purple paint in one of them. The same pose, and he was looking at her instead of the camera again. 

“I gotta get this printed, for here and your mom’s.” Bucky stood behind her, eyes flickering between the two photos.

“She’d like that.” Y/N glanced over her shoulder at him and he was suddenly acutely aware of how close their faces were and how fast his heart was racing. 

And he was terrified.

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @cantnkrusshedevil​ @gstran18​ @just-trying-to-survive-marvel

[a-story-teller]

I’ve been on “administrative leave” (i.e. suspension) from my job since Monday and I have no idea if I’ll even be payed for my time away. This is all happening because a major change happened with the food we serve to the kids. Since I haven’t been in that classroom for *over a month* and the other teachers told me literally nothing to update me on the situation, and I have 0 reason to assume a consistently proven safe food item would suddenly be allergy-restricted, I ended up serving bread cooked in butter to a lactose-intolerant child.

Now, if we’re being honest, it’s extremely mild. Oh no, the chronically constipated 2-year-old will finally poop. But my job treats it as an allergy, and is coming down on me with the severity of if I’d sent a child with a peanut allergy into anaphylactic shock.

Not counting the Breadstick Incident, I’ve been at this job just three months this week and: - I had to report to the state on suspicion of an 18 month old being sexually assaulted (which my manager tried to talk me out of, and then I told her I was a rape victim and she should take me seriously, and then the next day she fucking used that on me and said I shouldn’t let my ~emotions~ get in the way of my judgement... I wanted to strangle her) (also in hindsight I am super glad I didn’t cave to her manipulation and gaslighting bc I know what a normal toddler’s genitalia looks like and I was absolutely right to be worried...) - I’ve been “excluded” for “health reasons” (a stuffed up nose) until I could schedule a Covid test - a full week later because it was peak rush time and I don’t have a car - and then NOT get paid for that time because the test was NEGATIVE - I’ve been chewed out and yelled at by my coworkers not even because I did something wrong but just because they’re stressed and take it out on me - I did Not get an actual trainer ever and learned everything via osmosis in a constantly shifting environment and then get written up every time I make a mistake, which, again, I was never trained how not to make - I’ve gotten written up on two separate occasions for actions that are never condemned in written policy... I would be reprimanded and told to review the paper and then come into the office and say that nowhere on the paper does it tell me not to do what I did and they just shrug and write me up anyway - I got written up for my coworker’s mistake because “we were both responsible” even though it happened when she was a) by herself and b) in a separate room - the parking lot in front of our door became a construction site without warning, forcing me to double my walk time to the bus stop each way in the worst of the winter weather - speaking of the bus, I wake up around 7 to work at 10... and most nights I get home at 8 pm. That’s a minimum of 12 hours of my day used up by my job, but sometimes it gets up to 14. - the 20-year-old with a year and a half of childcare experience got the position of lead teacher that I was literally hired for... because she’s been at this center longer and they like her. - also the room that I was hired to be lead teacher for isn’t even open and I’ve been given the “next month” card two months in a row - during that two months I haven’t even been working childcare I’ve been doing laundry and dishes and making lunch for the classrooms and like. Doing the cleaning lady’s job. I am a professional childcare worker and I spend my day wiping down windows and laminating papers for admin - my coworker has gotten pregnant... twice (and my other coworker said she hoped she didn’t keep it, y’know, for the kid’s sake... about a childcare worker. I am not confident that this is the field for her) - my manager keeps playing the victim and being like “oh, it’s a pandemic, everything’s up in the air and that’s why you don’t have the job you were hired for” when, uh. I got hired during the pandemic. If you could advertise that job during the pandemic then you can provide that job during the pandemic - my hours are so unpredictable that I am supposedly full-time 40 hrs etc. and I bring home 350$ a week instead of the gross estimate of 500$ - I can’t take morning shifts until I have a car but unless I work morning shifts I can’t afford a car. love living the life of an impossible cube

Not to mention the almost 2-month-long limbo of a pre-hire process that put me 250$ down the financial shitter before I even started the job.

And during the questioning that I received about the Breadstick Incident I was asked questions about my CLEANING ROUTINE, something *completely* separate, with my manager saying that apparently other teachers don’t believe I’m doing my cleanings. WHAT? Let me break that down: first, in an HR meeting about an allergy incident, why are my cleaning habits being discussed? Second, in what world do we conduct these inquiries based on clique-y rumors? Thirdly, obviously they’d say that, they don’t like me. I’m baffled, frankly.

And yes, they did tell me to expect to be back to work Wednesday morning.

It’s Thursday am and I’m sat at home. :)

If they rule that the allergy thing was my fault and not the company’s, I won’t get paid for the time I was off. If they don’t rule in my favor I’m going to look for another job because it’ll be incredibly obvious that they’re there to protect their own backs and not actually care for either their employees or the kids :(