#the legs have more bands than most of the reference photos I found

[halffizzbin]

Two spider firsts today: a new Theridiid, and a recent molting.

My best guess for the ID on this one is the Enoplognatha ovata or candy-striped spider. The species has a few different color morphs; this cream-ish version is probably the most boring one but I will not hold that against her

EDIT: Western black widow (Latrodectus hesperus), juvenile

[capuletoo]

Footnotes - Eddie Rountree

–summary: the reader is interviewing the band “daisy jones & the six” and focuses their attention on the bassist, even knowing that they are in completely different worlds.

–eddie roundtree x fem!reader

–TW: implied sex

–words: 688

As you entered the hotel, the corridors buzzed with excitement, echoing the electrifying energy of music enthusiasts and the distant sound of guitars being tuned. 

During your journalism course, you came face to face with the opportunity to interview the band “Daisy Jones & the Six”. This interview could forever change your career, this was the opportunity to make your name known. You couldn't turn down this opportunity.

The band's manager and you agreed for it to take place in the hotel the band was staying at, since they were on tour. 

In a spacious suite, the band members awaited you. The band had attained rock 'n' roll stardom, their music resonating with the rebellious spirit of the times. Among them was Eddie, the enigmatic bassist, whose piercing gaze and effortless charm captivated you from the moment you laid eyes on him. You had only seen him in photos, never being aware of the intensity of his eyes until now.

As the interview commenced, you found yourself drawn to Eddie´s wit and raw talent, but there was some sort of tension between him and Billy. It seemed as if they were fighting over who was the most talented. Apart from some questionable comments, the conversation flowed effortlessly, blending playful banter and questions about their music and influences. Everyone's energy floated around the room, everyone connected by passions.

Your gaze landed on Eddie only to find out he was already staring at you. You could only think about how the question you had planned for each member didn't work anymore, that the embarrassing amount of time you had spent planning this interview was lost time. 

Especially when you referred to Eddie. 

Because you felt that every question you had for him, was sort of revolutionary and that his answers might feel fatigued. There would be nothing more profound that you could ask him, than the questions that had already been asked by fans after their shows. There would be no answer he could give you that could provide you with more hope, love, and empathy than what was already staring right at you. 

It felt that you were reading his diary in between the glances you shared with him, not saying any word to each other and it felt like you already knew him front to back. 

What could you ask a musician when you have already read his footnotes in music sheets?

When the interview already endend, you headed to your room in the hotel, as well as the other members, every single one of them throwing a smile at you as you leave.

In the hotel room, your mind buzzed with the lingering thoughts and the magnetic connection you had felt with Eddie. In solitude, you replayed the moments spent with Eddie in your mind. The unspoken glances, the shared understanding, and the unexplainable pull between you both had left a mark.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You opened it to find Eddie standing there, his presence filling the room with inexplicable energy. 

It was midnight.

“I couldnt let the night end without seeing you one more time” he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of vulnerability and longing.

After stolen kisses, your shirt long forgotten sitting on the edge of the bed. The only source of light was Eddies cigarette and the moon that shone though the open doors of the balcony. 

Eddie was standing behind you, tracing his finger along the strap of your bra. Kisses along your neck, as you looked outside, beyond the balcony.

“Eddie,” You finally spoke, breaking the silence. “What happens now?”

You turned around and reached out for his cigarette, taking a drag as you felt the wind in your naked back.

He gave you no answer until the sun was just about to make its presence. His hands all over your body, yours in his hair, legs intertwined underneath the sheets.

“Our worlds are too different, and the road we´re on…” His lips were so close to yours. You didnt needed him to finish the sentence.

 “We have our own lives, our own dreams to pursue…”

[tomorrowxtogether]

All TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s Taehyun Needs Are His Bandmates and MOA

"Nothing can compare to the happiness I feel on stage,” he says

If you’d asked Taehyun last year how he’d describe his relationship with his TOMORROW X TOGETHER bandmates, he probably would have referred to them as family. These days, though, he’s found a new way to categorize Soobin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, and Hueningkai.

“The phrase ‘team members’ is more precious to me right now,” he tells Consequence, seated for a one-on-one interview in Osaka, Japan. “It’s special itself.”

Considering the sheer amount of time the five members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER spend together, being as close as family would make sense — but to be a successful team requires a different kind of commitment.

Although Taehyun is the second-youngest member of TXT, there’s a singular air of maturity about him. When in the room with his bandmates for a group interview, he’s able to track who is ready to answer a question with just one glance out of the corner of his eye — and, if he gets the sense that no one else has the desire to do so, he’s able to jump in. Throughout the days spent with TXT’s camp, there’s not a moment where Taehyun isn’t engaged with the people around him, whether it’s rehearsing introductory and closing comments, navigating lighting cues at the arena, or making the most of the interviews.

TXT’s team dynamic is strong, but there’s still plenty of room for the members to explore and express their individuality. Quick-witted and thoughtful, Taehyun is also a superb performer, standing out with his athletic dancing and particular vocal gifts (look no further than the bridge of “Opening Sequence” for proof). When asked how he’d like to be described, Taehyun uses the phrase “never before seen character.” He wants to be unique; he wants to walk his own path — one he hopes will one day bring him to Switzerland to spend some downtime in the mountains.

He talks fondly about his close circle of friends, most of whom don’t work in entertainment, but who have been in his life long enough that he doesn’t need to explain the nuances of his unique job to them. He recalls showing them the poster for Lollapalooza (where TXT are headlining this upcoming July) and seeing his band’s name in the same size font as the artists they listen to while taking long drives.

“I don’t think there was a year that we performed as much as we did last year,” he says of 2022, which included TXT’s first appearance at the annual Chicago festival. “I learned that I really love performing, and that I’m really serious about performing — and the next thing I learned is that I’m loved by so many people.” MOA, TXT’s dedicated, global fanbase, have certainly underscored that latter point over the years.

“I think something joyful happens once a day,” Taehyun observes. Like his bandmates, Taehyun explains that he tries to soak up all the love they receive from their fans and reflect it back in the moments they’re together during concerts. “Since I’m in a very special line of work, nothing can compare to the happiness I feel on stage,” he says.

The group’s ongoing “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE” tour (tickets available here) is a longer show than many others out there; like most K-pop concerts, there is no opener on the bill, and the guys are onstage for nearly three hours, doing all the heavy lifting themselves. The work required to pull it off extends far beyond the time spent with the audience. “We have to do photo shoots, a lot of meetings, and things before and after the performances,” Taehyun shares. “But on stage, no one can tell me to do other things. It’s just me, the members, and MOA.”

The group got their sea legs last year during the “ACT: LOVE SICK” tour, their first trek outside of South Korea post-pandemic, and Taehyun thinks that this year sees the members having more fun onstage than ever. Yes, the stamina required to pull off a show like theirs is demanding, but as the guys have continued to hone their performance skills, they’ve also continued to grow that much more comfortable in front of crowds. Taehyun shouts out the group’s 2023 track “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock)” as one of his favorite parts of this latest outing, crediting the vibey new choreography as a highlight.

The nature of a creative is to always have one eye on the next project, and while MOAs wait to see what’s coming down the line from TXT, Taehyun offers some words of assurance: “We have nothing to fear as long as we have each other. As long as I have my four other members, I’m confident.”

[mysteryiousskin]

MORE HALLOWEEN INSPO SINCE IT DIDNT LET ME PUT ANY NEW PICS IN THE FIRST

Okay.. so hear me out- this costume seems super hard to recreate I’m gonna be honest, but between Amazon and Etsy the crown isn’t hard to find (you could also make it pretty easy with some cardboard, wire, hot glue and a dream.) I also so on Amazon a necklace that looked pretty similar it was just red but if you paint it you’d be good! I’d say go for some colored contacts too if you can, a black skirt, and her bracelet probably aren’t hard to find something similar too on Amazon tbh, her sleeves seem easy enough too, I don’t know the name of them to look them up on Amazon but if you wanted to recreate them I think the easiest and most accurate way would be to get one of those tie around cardigans with the lowly sleeves (or shirt) cute the sleeves off and attach them to some sort of elastic band with hot glue and if you really want it to be accurate if you can find some sort of bangle that’ll fit on your arm do itttt

PADME AND ANAKIN!!!

Now for padme there is so many costumes to choose from but I just chose this because it’s the most affordable while still being recognizable and it’s also relatively easy to recreate if you don’t just wanna buy the costume off of Amazon,(speaking of this tho if you want links for other padme costumes or reference photos for those etc. just lmk!) first off, a white long sleeved t-shirt, the metal part I was also conflicted on with the first but I think this is easier bc you could lowkey just iron on a vinyl part or go with that bangle option which may or may not work idk, the belt/holster should be pretty easy to find on Amazon since you really only need to look for a white one, for the pants some white leggings are literally it and if you wanna make it a lil extra a skirt and you could even look for a cropped top instead, for Anakin there is literally so many costumes you can find on Amazon for cheap along with sabers, though I can’t guarantee the quality, another option for Anakin that I saw two girls do was one of them had a black skirt, a black cape/cloak, a leather glove and a saber again Amazon you could find that very cheap or target tbh

I might’ve done this last year but this is great as a duo or a stand alone Helen also definitely has more options for good outfits (I would def put her options over Julie)

In this pic for Helen you need some glasses (you can find on Amazon or at target maybe tj max if you have one near you) a black skirt (Amazon is prob the best option) a sleeveless button up (again probably Amazon would be the easiest for this, if you can’t find one then cutting the sleeves off of a regular button up might b your only option 🤷🏻‍♀️) for Julie black overalls and a purple tank top (Amazon again is probably the cheapest) for the tank top I think lilac might be a harder color to find but literally any mall would prob have it but that’s prob more expensive than Amazon would be also the overalls are normally harder to find less expensive but if u can’t find cheap ones on Amazon mayb old navy? The necklace should be pretty easy to find on Amazon too but depending on how accurate you want it then it might be harder to find, the sunglasses same as Helen

Kesha! For tights and a good band tee I’d look on hot topic they’re normally pretty cheap and they always have a sale of some sort, the shades are easy to find on Amazon and I’d def put on a shit load of glitter, a fake nose piercing you don’t have one already is easy to find on Amazon but they normally come in packs, I’m gonna add more of what I’d do to accessorize this too which is some feather in the hair, some hair tinsel, kandi bracelets or just rubber bracelets, I’d def crimp the hair too, colorful hair extensions and again all of that I’ve found on Amazon usally for 11 dollars or under depending on how many

Another Natalie Portman costume :O the heels you could find on dolls kill and I’m pretty sure you can find the actual costume too, a pink bob wig you can find at spirit Halloween or Amazon although I would only get anything under 20 dollars the wig in the movie is a pretty cheap quality anyways so there’s no use in trying to find a better quality one tbh (I think spirit halloweens wigs are sometimes 20 and I wouldn’t pay for that if you can find something cheaper on Amazon when the spirit Halloween ones are such low quality)

This costume is so unbelievably easy and I love it you just need the dress, gloves, headphones, tiara, and the sunglasses most of which you can find at target/Walmart or Amazon for cheap👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

I already know this costume or costumes are going to be rlly big this year but I’m super in love with the idea of seeing so many peoples takes on it! Spirit Halloween I think has the cowgirl outfit or you could get some iron on stars from Amazon, a denim button up, flared jeans, cowgirl hat and a bandanna I don’t know how easy it’d be to find all of those in pink but I’m sure you could get them in white and dye them pink with some like rit dye (my idea for a Maddy Perez costume too if you don’t want to waste sm money on her actual set or try super hard to find something like it in colors that have a 20% chance of just oooking similarrr) but anyway if you wanna go less basic there’s just so many good Barbie looks for this and even ken ones too! I don’t know if spirit is selling a ken costume but I’d def check and if not it should be easy enough to find a black cowboy costume

Hear me out-

Okay so another difficult one I KNOW but you could def buy a replica of the trap (though that might be a little to expensive) or try to make it yourself (now hear me out I know that sounds like a lot) I know one girl on TikTok who made a prop one out of cardboard! I definitely think if your more crafty that could be a fun project now as much as I’m not sure how easy that’d be if your not super into getting all the detail to it I think you could easily make a passable one!

Now for coraline! I like what the girl in the costume is doing where instead of the raincoat it’s a normal jacket it’s probably cheaper and better quality since if you get a costume one I’m sure that’s not great quality, the bob looks super cheap and I’d more recommend getting a 20 dollar one from Amazon, it’s gonna be cheap too but not nearly as bad as that (not dissing the girl I just think the super cheap wigs are sooo inconvenient I’d rather spend 20+ on a wig that get one that might be almost that expensive but sheds like crazy and tangles) the clip you could probably find on Amazon or maybe hot topic! Another idea I have for this costume is getting a star shirt like she has in the movie, I’d also suggest wearing either a key or the one green planchette-like thing she has in the movie so your more recognizable and overall I think it’s just a cute touch (I also know I’ve def seen those in a matching coraline best friends necklace set on the hot topic website although they may no longer be selling them)

Alice! This is so simple and I love it bc once ppl realize who you are I think it’s super fun and like a clever idea

The beehive hair is super easy to do on your own if you don’t know how to do it already yt has some good tutorials! I haven’t ever used a “bump-it” either but those are supposed to help create on of those so if you don’t want to put in as much work or you can’t figure it out maybe buy one of those? I’m sure they have wife with it too but I’m not so sure those are good quality (or what I call “passable”) but you be your own judge on that! I think cider probably has some good dresses for this costume (if you’ve never used cider just know to size up atleast one size tho I’d say two if you can)

[sunjaesol]

♡ IT HAD TO BE YOU, WONDERFUL YOU ♡

canon compliant juke valentine’s day fic ♡ for all you sweethearts in the fandom

Before hopeless romantic Julie Molina fell in love with Luke Patterson, she always felt glum on Valentine’s Day. She tortured herself with romcoms leading up to the holiday, went into the “couples goals” tag on Pinterest, pouted when her crushes she never talked to dated other people (read: Nick) and felt all around envious of those having a lover to spend the day with. Her mother dying, she who held the biggest heart of all, also didn’t help her mood.   

But that was before Luke blasted himself into her life. Sure, their romance was a little unorthodox, but predictability was overrated anyway.

They got together last summer, when the band played an amazing gig at a tiki bar on the beach and they were drunk on the heat, pink lemonade and each other’s adoring gazes. Dancing on the beach with him and the boys, Luke had grabbed her in his embrace and whispered lyrics at her she’s never heard before. His fingers grazed her jaw when he said it was a love letter - “For you, Jules.” She didn’t have to go far to reach his lips, both eager and giddy to finally come home.

(Weeks later, the love letter was transposed to music and performed for an audience. It was full circle moment. He loved music and her and now it was all connected. Luke had been dazed, but Julie was quick to kiss the stupor away. They could do that now. It was insane.) 

All week, Julie had been working on a secret gift. She scoured her room was scraps and pictures and notes; reminders of Luke hidden in every corner without realising it. A purple pick was found under her bed, a song in her dream box they never got to finish, a seashell he plucked from the beach, a row of pictures from a photo booth, love notes. Julie would lie if she said she didn’t find it adorable how his only reference of romance were the 80s flicks, as it gave her a heartthrob of a boyfriend that didn’t back down from cute gestures like those notes. It left her heart racing and brought a blush on her cheekbones. the sun’s jealous of that smile jules

It was only natural she made him a collage. 

They had an unspoken agreement to never involve money. Though they were in a band together, all the money they made directly went to Julie. She invested it back in their life passion, obviously, but the fact remained that Luke couldn’t take her on typical dates or buy her the typical gifts. Until American Ghost Dollars got invented, they had to be creative. 

Going to the movies were movie nights in the studio with a projector and cookies they made together. A love song instead of dinner. Dancing in her bedroom with AirPods instead of partying.     

And it was enough. It was more than enough. She loved him so much that each second spend together was perfect as is. 

The collage was small enough that he could easily tuck it away. Pictures overlapped, a dozen Mini Luke’s and Mini Julie’s staring at the camera or each other, from before and after they started dating. 

A photo Flynn took of Luke peppering her temple with kisses backstage. A polaroid of when she snuck up on him and smacked a kiss on his cheek, his teeth flashing white from the beam on his face. A Snapchat of when she showed him the filters and he kissed her instead. Multiple pictures of them snuggling on the studio couch, supposed ‘blackmail’ for Alex, but Julie cherished them. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his arms wrap around her back as she’s sprawled on top of him.

The pretty shell didn’t fit on the collage, so she decided to make a bracelet as well. A thick band made from orange, red and yellow string, the shell as its penchant. 

That morning, she pulled on her most Valentine’s day inspired outfit and rushed to the studio. Her gifts were still in her room, out of sight and kept for later, now she just wanted to see her boyfriend. 

Her smile, painted in cherry lipgloss, stretched wider when she slid the doors open and saw that no one was inside. Just last night had he kissed her a little longer after rehearsal, wiggling his brows like he knew something she didn’t. Luke was terrible at keeping secrets. She wasn’t surprised to find it empty, unless…

Luke poofed in front of her with a warrior cry and hoisted her up in one fluid motion. Julie yelled in delight, gripping onto him as he spun them around. For the occasion, he swapped his regular orange beanie for a red one. (One day, her heart was going to explode from all the silly stuff he did.) Matching her expression, his hands steadied her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.    

An index finger flicked his chin playfully. ���How long did it take you to plan this?”

He gasped, faux-offended. “Julie! I’m spontaneous as shit.”

“Mh-hm,” she hummed, leaning in to kiss his lips. His frown melted away, the languid kiss flickering with the hint of passion it usually held. Slowly, he set her down, her staying locked between his arms. When she pulled back, he chased after her and pecked the side of her mouth - once, twice.    

“I’m gonna smother you with so much kisses that you’re gonna get sick of me,” he declared, as if the threat of loving her was scary. 

She pressed her forehead against his with a grin. “I look forward to it.”

Instantly keeping up his promise, he nuzzled against her cheek. “What’d you wanna do?”

“Well, we’re ending the day in the hammock.”

“Duh.”

“And,” she sneakily added, “we can be really cheesy and watch ‘Valentine’s Day’.”

He made a face, both remembering their divided opinion on the movie. “If we’re seeing it again, then I’m choosing all the snacks.”

“Deal.”

“Nice,” he breathed, raising his fist between their torsos so she could bump it with her own. Her cheeks were already aching from smiling so much, giddy to spend the entire day with her boyfriend undisturbed by the boys or family or school. 

Her fingers scratched into his plaid jacket. “You know what I’m also looking forward to?” His eyes narrowed at her lilting voice. “Giving you your present.”

His jaw fell slack. “Jules, now I’m gonna be thinking about it all day.” But then she saw the devilish glint in the green of his irises as he uttered: “Guess you’ll have to wait on your present too.”

“You-” That was unexpected. “You have a present?”

Luke bit down on his lip, watching her surprise. “I was waiting for that reaction. Sweet. Okay, I’m saying we dip everything in chocolate. Fruit, popcorn-”

“I’m willing to try one of those crazy combinations you love so much,” she proposed. The excited smooch she got afterwards was worth it.

The couple claimed the kitchen for an hour as they made their snacks, most of which being the typical chocolate covered strawberries both liked a lot, and then nestled themselves in her room. Curled into his warm body, they shared earphones as they watched ‘Valentine’s Day’. Though she asked to watch it, all her attention went to his hands continuously caressing her waist and thigh. It lulled her into a blissful trance. Sometimes he would make a joke (“We’re way cooler than Taylor and Taylor!”) and she’d chuckle and hum and rub his chest. By the time Jessica Biel was smashing the piñata, she was placing soft kisses on his neck and he had to pause the movie. 

Hovering over her with a wolfish grin, he pecked her nose. “I thought you wanted to watch.”

“And I thought you were going to smother me with kisses,” she bounced back with a quirked brow. For a beat, they shared an amused look. 

Then Luke laughed, diving for her lips and doing just that. That rushing feeling coursed through her veins, a pure shot of adoration and attraction with each warm, open-mouthed kiss. He tasted like chocolate, skin sticky from fruit, and smelled in that perfectly boyish way. Julie sighed into the kiss. No cheesy movie or love song could compete with the sensation of slipping her fingers in his hair and having his arms tighten like he never wanted her to stop. Her bedroom was heaven on earth.   

(Perhaps that was silly. She was only seventeen after all. How much did she actually know about the world to accurately make that statement? But did it even matter if right now, right here, she felt like the luckiest girl in the universe? The cynics could bite her.) 

She didn’t know how long they let their lips and hands wander. It was hard to care about time when his mouth was on her ear and her nails drew shapes on his back. 

“I bet,” he whispered, “Taylor and Taylor never felt like this.”

She giggled. “You’re just jealous of the big teddy bear.”

His smile pressed on her cheek. “Maybe.”

When Luke and her first got together, they were scared to touch. Sure, they had their moment on the beach and previously, they found plenty of opportunities to be in contact. But after they made if official and there was nothing to hide behind anymore, it got scary. They yearned for affection, but what if Luke disappeared one day without meaning to and then they’d both ache for each other’s comfort? They got over it eventually and now it was only natural to feel his smile on her skin.

It was hard to imagine kissing anyone but Luke, unfathomable having a different boy hug her from behind at school and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Only Luke could write her love notes. Only she was allowed to write him ones as well, or leave cute post-it’s on his guitar to cheer him up when he had a bad day. It was just them.

Her mind going haywire over such a simple touch jolted her memory, Julie abruptly sitting up and bringing Luke with her. His brows raised in surprise. She pecked the pout away, brushing her nose against his. 

“Can I give you your present?”

A breathy smile tugged on his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m curious.”

Julie untangled herself from their embrace and reached inside her wardrobe for the gift. Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she gave him his present with barely-concealed anticipation. Hopefully he loved it as much as she loved making it! 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she sang, watching him pull the tissue paper out the small bag and unearthing the collage and bracelet. 

Speechless, he gawked at the collection of pictures. Eyes flitted past each quickly, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Crawling over to sit beside him, she placed her head on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He sniffled. Julie looked up and was shocked to note his eyes were shiny. “Aw, babe!”

His gaze caught hers, distraught. “You’re not supposed to make me horny and then emotional!”

She laughed and pressed a kiss on his cheek. His cute reaction made her heart lurch with fondness. “It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

Luke sighed, hand guiding her face to place a proper kiss on her lips. It was short, but just as electric as all the ones before. He kissed like he played guitar - always intentional and one hundred percent. 

“I love it,” he muttered. “Thank you. And I love the bracelet too.”

“I made sure it matches your others.”

He captured her lips again. “Yeah… Thanks, Jules.” His nose scrunched, arrogance dripping from his voice as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “My present is better though.”

Her arms crossed, challenged. “Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, it is. Gonna knock it out of the park.” With a snap of his finger, he conjured his songbook and stuck the collage between two fresh pages. He clicked his tongue with the typical bravado he exuded onstage. “Who knows, Jules, you might even get a crush on me.”

Just as she was about to retort with a tease of her own, her eyes caught a fluttering page with words she didn’t recognise. Pointing at it, she asked: “What’s that?”

Luke frowned, thumbing to the right side and rolling his eyes. “Some lyrics that got stuck in my head a few nights ago. It doesn’t work though.”

“Maybe not. I kind of like that part.” She tapped on the line ‘so deep, your DNA's being messed with my touch’ with a pensive wrinkle knitted in her forehead. Ideas began to brew, throwaway pieces from other discarded songs coming back to her and meshing well with what he’s already composed. “Yeah, this is good, Luke. Do you want to work on it?”

He hesitated for a beat, stare trailing from her to the half-eaten plate of snacks. “Do you want to?”

“Of course,” she smiled. They were Luke and Julie - did either of them really think they could go a day without music? Even if she hadn’t discovered this diamond in the rough, he’d inevitably spring upright to write down a riff or her fingers would tingle to try out a melody. Songwriting was perhaps the best date of all, showing that work and play could successfully be mixed together. 

He sighed in relief. “Good. Okay, so I was thinking…”

Hours went by tinkering on the song, the afternoon drifting by and them having moved to the hammock in the garden. It was a spot Luke rediscovered and she all too willingly found a place next to him. They cherished the quietude and warmth even before they were dating. The page was now littered with flowing, strung-together verses and a half-done chorus. Instrumentals were for tomorrow when they were all together. In the back of her head lingered the thought that he still hasn’t given his supposed homerun of a present, but Julie reminded herself then that it didn’t even matter. This was enough. He was enough. Who knew, maybe he was just talking smack! The doubts vanished as Luke drummed his fingers on her stomach, humming a beat.      

“And you thought it wouldn’t work!”, she teased. 

He puffed. “Cause it didn’t! It needed the Molina Touch!”

A brow quirked, amused. “The Molina Touch?”

“Yes,” he grinned and tapped her chest. “The Touch.”

“I don’t have the Force, Luke.” When his face fell flat, she decided to play along and mimicked his motion. Her fingers circled his sternum as she said: “Well, I look forward to the Patterson Energy bringing it alive onstage.”

The boy rolled on his side, she following suit. The hammock bended to the movement, pushing them closer together. The couple snickered, noses nudging and locked in the other’s arms. Above, the sky was coloured like Monet, purples and blues and pinks as the sun dropped below the trees. Julie stared at the way he craned his neck, green eyes blown wide while marvelling at the sweeping atmosphere. He was the most beautiful person she’s ever encountered. She was probably a little obsessed with him, never bored of looking at him, of finding new freckles, moles and spots. 

Her reverie snapped like a bubble as he said something. 

“What?”

He repeated himself. “Wanna get waffles?”

She blinked. “Waffles?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “V-Day waffles. I bet they have red velvet ones.” His face twisted, like he was in on an inside joke, and murmured against her lips: “Whipped cream, Jules. Can’t resist that.”

Damn. He knew her too well. “Reggie’s going to be mad we went without him.”

“Then he should get himself a ghost lover,” he joked. Slapping her hip, the exclaim was resolute. “Let’s go!”

The drive was short, an surprising amount of waffle places scattered around Los Feliz. The cityscape was painted red for the day. Heart-shaped wreaths adorned the doors of stores, bars promoted special cocktails with pink hues, boutiques displaying date night dresses on mannequins in the windows. At the end of a large strip of food joints, a waffle house joining in with a red banner hung across the frontage. RED VELVET WAFFLES! ONLY TODAY!

Julie shot him a suspicious look. “You knew?”

He shrugged, smirking. “A good guess.”

They were lucky. The parking lot was pretty much abandoned, no onlookers to see her joking around with air. He stayed in the car as she got the treats.

As she queued, her aimless thoughts found Luke as a focal point. It was hard not to. Maybe the best thing of all for a hopeless romantic like her, was that she found someone who was an even bigger dreamer than she was. If she jumped for the stars, he rocketed himself into space and hoped for the best. It made days like Valentine’s special, but it also felt like another regular Saturday. He didn’t kiss her differently, looked at her more intently - it was always like this. The red velvet waffles was just… extra. A cherry on an already perfect milkshake. Luke and Julie never needed fireworks to make the other feel remarkable. 

Dropping back in the driver’s seta with a sigh, she propped the waffles on the dashboard. “I’m not sure if it’s going to taste right, they look kind of mushy, but I’m sure the whipped cream-” The words died in her throat as she looked at Luke, a timid smile on his lips as his present laid flat in his hands. A mixtape. 

Her eyes tracked the CD for a beat (jules <3 written in sharpie with his infamous scrawl) and then flicked up to his face. That was most spectacular of all: the nervous twitch in his eye, the breathy smile. Luke was flustered.       

Gingerly, she took it from his grasp. “How did you make this?”, she whispered. 

The palpable energy didn’t waver. “Carlos. He lend me his computer and explained how to burn CD’s.” His chuckle was awkward. “Had to get you in the car somehow.”

A smile bloomed on her lips. Her heart was truly going to explode; the gesture so thoughtful and sweet. (Shit. He did knock it out of the park. How will his ego cope?!) Reaching over the middle console, she chastely kissed him. “I already love it.”

He shook his head with a grin, shoulders loosening a bit. “You haven’t listened to it yet. C’mon, play it.” He shot her a cocky nod. “You know how to use a CD-player?”

“Very funny,” she quipped. Cautiously, she took the CD out of its case and slipped it into the player. It whirred for a beat, her upping the volume, and just as she thought she’d hear some 90s rock band, something unexpected happened. 

hey jules

She froze, staring at Luke’s feverishly excited face, as his crackling voice came through the speakers.  

i finally learned about technology! you happy? anyway, you know i love you. i love everything about you, i think… i think that’s kinda why i’m here to begin with.

Tears lodged itself in her chest, ready to spill. Love was going to make her go mad one day. She loved this boy so much that it was insurmountable by anything else.

that’s not- it’s not what this cd is about. His tone brightened. what i love most about you, julie molina, is how fucking in love you are with music. so what better thing to give you, is more music? these are ten songs that remind me of you… happy valentine’s day, baby. 

It clicked off. Quietly, slowly, a melodious piano variation flowed in. Her breath hitched as she recognised it. Frank Sinatra’s ‘It Had To Be You’ reminded Luke of her? Her hands were shaking. His calloused ones grabbed them, pads of his fingers caressing the skin. A pout jutted from her lips, her eyes shimmering with emotion. It wasn’t fair. Boys weren’t supposed to be this romantic. 

His smile could light up the entire state, touch trailing across her arm up to her cheek, grazing the lone tear that she wasn’t even aware of. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “I can be the only sap.”

Shaking her head, she pushed herself over the console and placed herself on his lap. The divide of a stick shift was a plain crime. Circling her arms around his neck, Julie kissed him in the way she thought the song felt. Warm and languid and timeless and wholly, utterly loving. Depthless and infinite. The thrill of his bass voice melted them together, no space between them with his hands wrapped around her lower back. 

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

“I love you,” she sighed into his mouth. “It’s not enough. It’s not…”

He kissed the lament away. “I know. That’s why music works.” Sinatra sang a line and then he grinned. “Gotta express ourselves somehow.”

Though that was true, though they had music to shape their thoughts into the most beautiful declarations of love, all she wished to have was a word. A simple word that perfectly encapsulated what she felt. Love felt too small. Too simple. But until she found it, she’d keep saying it.

And so she did. “I love you, Luke.” 

His eyes shut in delight. “I love you too, Julie.”

They wouldn’t leave for a long time. Locked in each other’s loving embrace, they listened to every song on the mixtape. And when it ended, they looped it.

Time and space wasn’t really important to them anyway.     

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @ourstarscollided​​ @alexjulies​ @unsaid-emily​ @willexx​

[softkuna]

Sukuna || Concert || Fic

Part 2 (oc) Part 2 (reader)

Content   ║  Sukuna x Reader 

His vocals held that pompous cockiness he was renowned for. It dripped down with the sweat along his neck and chest. His bandmates followed yet were lost in their own worlds. They let the instruments take control of them. You would never admit that you liked the music, either. It was that 90’s punk-grunge Christian parents thought lead to devil worship. The screams weren’t for the devil, no. They worshipped The King of Curses. Now you understood why.

Count      ║ 1,664 words.

Consider ║ Cursing. Sukuna being kind of being a dick. Female reader. Grammar issues most likely ^^”

Creator   ║ So uh…. I saw a photo of Rockstar Sukuna and this happened. Enjoy my self indulgence. Also… Song for Reference.

Ryoumen Sukuna positioned himself on stage. The sea of people were glued to every motion he made. You were one of those people in the front. Dead center. Your editor paid a lot of money for that spot, too, but you still wanted nothing to do with it. Sure, you needed a big story to get out of that damn plateau but this was not what you had in mind. You focused on fashion, not punk boys with eyeliner.

  His face turned to the stage, knees rocking his body to the beginning of a simple, yet effective beat. Broad, muscled shoulder curled forward, securing his zone. But then the guitar came in. A near feral grin ricocheted onto his features as it did. In an explosive leap, his feet left the ground only for the scuffed Doc Martens to slam into the stage at the second beat. Right hand whipped the mic’s wire out of his way, left arm jostled as he started to sing.

  Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can rock

Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can rhyme

Bitches love me 'cause they know that I can fuck

  Docs crashed with every step, their synchronicity with the band behind. One hand kept on the mic, the other whipped its wire out of his way. It wasn’t that he was energetic, no. He was captivating, calculated in every step, yet casual. His control over his body and the crowd… immaculate. It was a precarious balancing act that he pulled off with little to no effort at all. Steps were to the beat, his entire torso being thrown into the movements.

  He wore a white tank top with a breast pocket. The branding of it was recognizable simply by the pristine floral embroidery along the bottom and hems. It hung past the hem of black leather pants. A custom-made silver necklace beat against his chest with each toss of his built physique. You snapped a photo.

  His prowess was obvious, even for someone like yourself who knew not a single lick of rock culture. Even with the vulgar and energetic lyrics, the whirling stop-start slow-fast tempo, Sukuna perfected the music as though he were at one with it. Embodied and embraced it. The sharp smile he threw to the collage of faces before him was the only thing you needed to know that he was in his element.

  His vocals held that pompous cockiness he was renowned for. It dripped down with the sweat along his neck and chest. His bandmates followed yet were lost in their own worlds. They let the instruments take control of them. You would never admit that you liked the music, either. It was that 90’s punk-grunge Christian parents thought lead to devil worship. The screams weren’t for the devil, no. They worshipped The King of Curses. Now you understood why.

The song was strong, heady even. It buzzed throughout your mind and swung at your heart like a right hook. Each punch of the drums was exhilarating. Every kick of the bass left you wanting more. As alive as Sukuna was on stage, you were there feeling it with him.

  The concert went on, moving through each piece like a surging smooth river. It was hard to tell when one song began and the other ended. Whenever you could, you’d snap a photo. There were some good shots in there. Some of his imposing form dangling at the edge of the stage, arms wide out displaying his designer bracelets. Others when he’d toss his entire spine back. The best, though, were when he’d come face to face with the guitarist, his brother, in a beck and call. In their wardrobe, they were a delicate balance of blacks, whites, and coral.

  A certain thrill came about you as you realized the wardrobe of each member reflected their position. They weren’t to outshine him, but they all had a theme. Everything must have been custom ordered and hand tailored. Their entire image was just as important to the show as music. Every photo was set up to illustrated the complementing lights and darks they had set up on stage, a living and breathing portrait of youth.

  You couldn’t help but notice how every time you’d point the camera at him, he’d lock those brilliant eyes onto yours. He recognized you before. How could he not? Out of everyone in the front row, you were the only one wearing some preppy knit dress. He never would have expected to see a face like yours in his crowd. Some rising reporter with a side blog. He never cared about press, but you’ve been making a name for yourself due to your precise analysis of social culture and clothes. He actually thought your last article on street fashion was interesting and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t gawk at your Instagram after. All in all, he kept his glances for your camera instead.

  The stage lighting shifted, illuminating the beads of sweat sparkling along his tatted skin like diamonds. The unnatural redness in his eyes blew an intense gaze across the still crowd. They came to a complete stop. Unease settled into your stomach. This was your cue to go. You knew what would happen next and you weren’t ready for when it did.

  His foot tapped. The guitar started. A mosh pit rioted.

  It was a concert tradition according to the fan page you looked at moments before walking through the door. ‘If you don’t leave with a black eye, did you even go to a Two Faced concert?’ they’d ask.

  Your frame was shoved against the rail, knocking the wind out of you. Bodies collided behind and you felt trapped. Your lungs squeezed and your hands scrambled for your bag. Inhaler. Inhaler. Tightness inflamed your chest as a particularly bulky man squeezed you into the rail. Your hands clasped to inhaler, but before you could press it to your lips, another body collided into you. It clattered a few feet over the rail, hitting the stage. Fuck.

  From the corner of his eyes, he saw it happen. Panic painted across your face as you hauled your torso over the rail. Your arm reached for what was dropped before it immediately covered a coughing fit. What idiot would come to his concert an, his domain, and expect to just come out unscathed? It was your own damn fault if you got the wind knocked out of you, but he had to give you credit for trying. Just as he was about to look away, someone grabbed the back collar of your dress.

  Sukuna wasn’t one of those artists who genuinely cared about their fanbase or paparazzi. That was for the other members to do. It was well known, too. He didn’t indulge in pictures if he didn’t want to or wasn’t on stage. He didn’t sign anything without a check. No one knew music like he did. No one performed like he did. No one mattered like he did. Whatever it was that overtook him then, he wasn’t sure, but he dropped the mic. A sharp blare washed over the P.E. system. All eyes turned to him. Bandmates faltered for only a moment.

  Two steps back. Sprint. The tips of his shoes left the edge of the stage. Ryoumen Sukuna took flight. Arm reached for him, stopping his prized body from colliding with the harsh concrete below. The hand on you left, desperate to make contact with The King of Curses. The band went on, the crowd’s scream piercing the air as they swayed the singers body this way and that. You clambered over to grab the inhaler, took a hit, and dove for an exit.

  That’s how you found yourself where you were now, in a backstage hallway, staring directly into the fierce gaze of the lead singer. He smelled of sweat and cedar. A brow rose, hands stuffed into unimaginably tight pockets. Confidence wasn’t lost through Sukuna’s stature; shoulders back, weight slightly on one leg more than the other. What was lost, however, was the excitement. In fact, you felt like studied specimen, eyes scanning your limbs and stopping on your ribs. The bruise forming under your dress seemed to flare in response. His tongue clicked disapprovingly.

  “What do you want? You’re not some rabid fan.” His voice was smooth as a sip of whiskey. He already knew the answer. For a moment you wondered why he didn’t just call for guards. He wondered the same thing. Just as he wondered why he leapt off the stage. Not that he regretted the act seeing as it got him trending for the umpteenth time.

  Sukuna had become accustomed to certain responses. Some offered him their bodies in exchange for a few moments of his time. Shit like that was beneath him. If he wanted a quick fuck and a column, he’d find it himself. His free time was his and that was non-negotiable. So, he almost always cut them down to size. It didn’t matter to him if he made them cry or threatened their careers, he’d always say no. Pictures? No. Signature? No. Coffee? Get the fuck out of his face. Attention and fame may have been his drug of choice, but desperation and disrespect were one in the same and you do not disrespect the King.

  “No. I didn’t even know who you were until 12 hours ago,” you admitted with a shallow breath. You stroked his ego like velvet rubbed the wrong way. He opened his mouth, ready to toss you out then and there. The look in your eyes was enough to shut him up. Hunger. And he was your dish of opportunity. “However, I do want an interview, maybe even film you for an expose,” Your hand reached for his.

  His mouth pulled into a beautiful predatory grin. This one had ambition.

  “I’ll allow it.”

[dreamescapeswriting]

Your Side Of The Bed ~ MYG [Drabble]

↬↬↬Word Count: 1.5K

↬↬↬Genre: Angst? Fluff ending. Drabble

↬↬↬Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader

↬↬↬A/N: Loosely based on the Your side of the bed song. Also I wrote this with a headache and at 2 am because I couldn’t sleep so I’m sorry if it sucks but I wanted to get it out after listening to the song on repeat

You stared down at the space beside you in the bed which was normally occupied by Yoongi but instead there was someone else laying there, the covers covering him while you sat in one of Yoongi's shirts with your knees pulled into your chest. You couldn't sleep while he laid there, it wasn't his space to sleep it was Yoongis and it was always going to be Yoongi's place to sleep. Sliding your legs off the bed you tiptoed down the staircase and into the cupboard under the stairs where you found all the memories you and Yoongi shared together. Flicking through the album you found photographs of you and the boys together, one of the photos sticking out the most. 

"Yoongi! Jungkook I swear to god! Yoongi?!" You called out to your boyfriend for help while Jungkook rushed around the dorms with a cupcake in his mouth as well as six in his arms, 

"What did he do this time?" Yoongi asked grabbing you before you could grab a hold of Jungkook who was smirking as he added a full cupcake into his mouth, 

"Choke on it." You grumbled brushing off the apron and looking over your shoulder at your boyfriend of many months smiling brightly at him as he leant down to give you a kiss. It was Sunday at the dorms which meant while Jin worked on cooking a huge dinner for all eight of you you were working on baking cupcakes for all of you and Jungkook had run off with the prototypes that you were practising your decorating on.  

"You have flour on your head," He brushed it off with his fingers and bent down to kiss you, the moment being captured on film by Jimin who was taking photos for memories. 

You ran your hands over the photo of you and Yoongi and you sighed wondering what the boys were up to, it was 2 am so you knew at least four of them were awake. You debated grabbing your phone to call them but then you remembered that they probably hated you for what happened with Yoongi even though it wasn't huge. You just broke up because he had no time for you anymore, he decided that it was best to give you your freedom even though it wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to be with Yoongi forever but you could tell he meant it when he told you to stay away,

"You alright?" You flinched as you felt a cold hand touch the lower part of your back and you nodded closing the photo album, 

"Couldn't sleep." You whispered looking up at your current boyfriend, all you could see right now was that he wasn't Yoongi. It was all you could ever see at night when you were left alone with your thoughts, he was a great guy but you didn't see a future with him. 

"I'll make us some hot chocolate," You shook your head getting up from the floor of the cupboard, 

"I'm going to go for a walk. Alone. You stay here." You mumbled rushing off to find some leggings and a coat, it was 2 in the morning so you weren't about to go out in the cold in practically nothing. 

"I can come with you-" You slammed the front door before he could speak and headed out into the street, letting the morning air fill your lungs and try to relax you but it wasn't working.

Yoongi downed another shot as Namjoon sat down beside him staring as his friend drank away his feelings,  

"You have to forget about her," Yoongi gave his friend the side-eye and ordered another round of shots for himself, he didn't want to hear the usual speech from Namjoon. The same speech he'd heard six times this week and it wasn't even Friday yet, he'd heard the same speech the moment he broke up with you months ago but it wasn't easy to forget about you. You were everywhere he turned even at the studio, all the songs were about you, all the photographs were still sitting on his desk as if he could ever forget the love of his life.

"You did what you had to do for the sake of the band." Yoongi slammed the shot glass down and got up from the bar, Jungkook walked over ready to give him a pep talk but he didn't want to listen to them anymore. They all acted as though they weren't friends with you at one point and that they hated you but it was far from the truth he knew they loved you just as much as you loved them. 

You were walking past the local bar when someone stumbled out of the doors and right into your arms, you groaned as they put their whole weight on you. 

"Sorry, I'm just-" They stopped speaking and you looked up to see why when you came face to face with Yoongi, you didn't know what to do until he grabbed a hold of your hand and made a run for it you didn't even question it you just ran with him. 

You ran until he stopped in a park leaning down over his knees to catch his breath and at first you thought he was going to vomit and lead him over to a park bench where he stared up at you. 

"You look pretty...You're in my shirt." You nodded as he looked at you and then at the shirt then back up to you, he was sobering up minute by minute the longer he stared up at you. 

"You're plastered." You sighed looking around for a small shop to buy him some water from but he grabbed your face and made you stare back at him, 

"I love you. I will always love you." You heard Namjoon and Jungkook calling his name and you stared at him, 

"Yoongi you-"

"I know I broke things off but I didn't mean any of it." You stared at him and then at Namjoon who slowed down when he saw you sitting with Yoongi, your eyes filled with tears as you realised he was never going to remember anything he was saying to you or what you were going to say to him. 

"I love you too," You kissed his cheek and got up from the bench walking past Namjoon and Jungkook who were both staring at the floor not knowing what to do in this situation. 

"Where were you?" You stared at your boyfriend and then down at the floor where he had been sitting, he was sitting at the bottom of the stairs with the box full of Yoongi's things. 

"What do you think you're doing?!" You asked taking the box and going through it to make sure nothing was missing but the album was gone, 

"That's his, isn't it?!" He asked referring to the shirt you were standing in and you nodded taking the album out of his hand and putting back into the box where it belonged.

"You're not over him?" You stared at the items in the box and felt angered that he'd touched them, 

"Why do you care?" You mumbled taking it back to the cupboard under the stairs and storing it away,

"Because I was starting to fall for you." You scoffed at his comment, 

"You don't even know me, it's been four weeks." He stared at you as you insensitively said what you had just said, 

"You're evil, no wonder he left you." The front door slammed and you locked it going up the stairs to your bedroom to see the empty bed again, there was no way you were going to be able to sleep now so you stripped the sheets off the bed and began working on cleaning the house of the ex you had just gotten rid of if.

The doorbell rang later that morning and you expected it to be your ex but standing there was a sober Yoongi wearing a hoodie and sunglasses, you let him inside and he stared at you. 

"You haven't slept." 

"I don't sleep much without you here." You admitted not holding back this time, he clearly reminded the previous night if he was standing in front of you, he slipped off the shades. 

"I heard you had someone new?" You shook your head going on to explain what happened while making you and Yoongi some coffee it was as if nothing had happened between you. You were curled up next to him on the sofa, your head resting on his shoulder as you told him about life without him. 

"I don't sleep much without you either." He admitted once you'd finished and you stared at him, wanting nothing more than to go up to the bed and curl up next to him and sleep, 

"What if-" You couldn't finish because his lips were on yours, his hands tracing along your hips as he brought you onto his lap in a heated make-out session, 

"You're still in my shirt." He mumbled against your lips and you nodded pulling away and staring deep into your eyes, 

"I love you Yoongi."

"I love you too...Would you take me back?" You nodded, as if it was even a question and he kissed you once again.

Tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @snowy-meowl​ @lynnthevirgo​ @kpopfanfictionhoes​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @callingmyangel​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @rjsmochii​ @fan-ati--c​

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, Sarge), smut (f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, very very slight dom!Bucky, praise kink), angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

A/N | Likes and comments always appreciated. :)

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

1300 miles playlist

Tag | @mrs--barnes

_____

previous chapter

_____

Jo wakes the next morning to a text from Danny: Did you fuck the Winter Soldier?

She rolls her eyes and responds: Fuck off. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore.

Danny replies with a leaf emoji and the words: Come upstairs.

Jo slides her glasses on and climbs out of bed. She pads into the living room as quietly as she can to find Bucky snoring on her couch with Toulouse perched on his chest. She can’t stop herself from snapping a picture with her phone.

Upstairs, she lets herself into Danny’s apartment. She’s met at the door by Greta, Danny’s PTSD service dog, a medium-sized German Shepherd who waits patiently for Jo to kneel down and scratch her behind her ears.

“Morning, pup,” Jo whispers.

“I’m out here,” Danny calls from his third-floor balcony.

“Coffee?” Jo asks.

“Cold-brew in the fridge,” Danny responds.

She detours to the kitchen before joining Danny at the small table on his balcony.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Jo asks. Danny always smokes the morning after a nightmare.

“They’re called flashbacks, and yes,” he responds, taking a deep drag of the joint.

“But they’re getting better, right?”

"Since you came back, yeah, they're getting better."

“Give me that,” Jo says, reaching for the joint. She takes a drag then exhales slowly. “You can always wake me up when you have a flashback, you know.”

Danny snorts. “I was afraid I’d wander into your bedroom to find you getting dicked down by an Avenger.”

“Please stop,” Jo groans. "You get that you're my brother, right? And this is weird."

Danny laughs, "It's only weird if you make it weird." Then he says, “Seriously, though, what’s the deal with Mister Tall-Dark-and-Handsome? I mean, if Sam trusts him, then he must be a good guy, but he’s literally a hundred years old, Jo.”

“He’s…” she pauses, “really sweet and charming underneath the brooding exterior. I really like him, Danny.”

“But?”

“But he lives in New York,” she whines.

“Yeah,” Danny says, taking another drag on the joint.

“‘Yeah?’ That’s all you’re going to say?”

Danny shrugs. “Some things are worth working for.”

Jo laughs, “Okay, why don’t you get back to me when you’re not high. I’m heading back downstairs.”

“Love you, Josiebean,” Danny says, using the nickname he gave Jo when they were kids.

“Love you, too, Daniel-San,” Jo replies. Danny laughs at the Karate Kid reference like he always does, and Jo kisses his forehead and pats his shoulder before leaving.

_____

Bucky wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon, his stomach rumbling at the scent. There's a warm weight on his chest, and when he opens his eyes he's greeted with the yellow stare of Toulouse.

He looks at his watch. It's a little after eleven. He usually wakes earlier, but he also doesn't usually sleep as soundly as he did last night.

He wanders into the kitchen in his borrowed sweats to find Jo standing at the stove in an oversized t-shirt, shorts, and out-of-season Halloween socks, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her back is to him, and he takes the opportunity to study her naked legs. More ink peaks out from the hem of her shorts and covers most of her thighs. Bucky has the urge to drop to his knees before her and run his tongue over every intricate design.

Instead, he clears his throat, so he doesn't startle her, and she turns to face him. Her face is bare, and she’s wearing large, gold-rimmed glasses. Bucky can’t decide if she looks prettier like this or like she did last night, with her hair flowing down her back and her guitar in her hands.

"Morning," Jo says. “Sorry to shatter the illusion,” she continues, gesturing to her glasses and outfit.

Bucky smiles. He isn’t sure what the protocol is for greeting the woman you made out with and whose couch you slept on last night, but he decides he wants to kiss her again. He takes the few steps toward her and pulls her into his arms. This close, she has to crane her neck up to look him in the eyes.

“Morning,” he says. They’re so close and his voice is pitched so low that Jo can feel the word rumble in his chest. Butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Bucky leans down slowly and presses his lips against Jo’s. This kiss is softer and slower than the kisses they shared last night, and the heat that explodes in Jo’s lower stomach burns the butterflies away. Her fingers dig into his triceps, one arm yielding to her touch, the other firm against her digits. She sighs and opens her mouth to his tongue, letting him deepen the kiss.

He licks into her mouth, and Jo moans, her hands coming up to cup his stubble-covered cheeks. Bucky’s own hands slide down Jo’s back to her buttocks, pulling her hips flush against his so she can feel the effect she’s having on him. Jo gasps, and Bucky’s lips leave hers to trail wet kisses against her jaw.

When he pulls away, Bucky’s smile is almost smug. He likes all the sounds he’s able to pull from her, and he wants to hear more.

Jo turns back to the stove, catching her breath and trying to hide the flush she knows is rising from her chest to her cheeks.

“Breakfast — well," she looks at the clock on the oven, "brunch — is ready. Have a seat.”

Bucky places a final kiss against the back of Jo’s neck before sitting.

Toulouse rubs against Bucky's legs beneath the kitchen table. He reaches down to scratch Louie between the ears, and the cat lets out a contented chirp.

"He's usually not that nice to strangers," Jo says, watching the two of them from across the room.

"My sister had a cat growing up — big, fat orange thing that was missing half an ear. His name was Marmalade."

Jo smiles brightly and sets a plate of food in front of him. “Coffee?” she asks.

“Please,” Bucky says. “But I can get it.”

“No need,” she says, handing him a mug of fresh coffee. “You want oat milk? Sugar, maybe?”

“Black is good,” Bucky says, taking his first sip.

Jo sits across from him with her own plate and coffee cup. They spend breakfast talking quietly. Bucky likes the domesticity of it. He's gotten used to having breakfast at the Wilson's with Sarah, Sam, and the boys, but this meal with Jo feels more intimate. He has a brief flash of spending every morning like this, but he pushes it away as quickly as it comes. He's trying not to overthink whatever’s happening between himself and Jo. He’s not used to having good things in his life, but he wants to lean into this, take the risk.

"You said last night that you know who I am," Bucky says as they clear their plates from the table.

Jo is quiet for a moment, neatly stacking plates and coffee cups in the dishwasher.

“I may have seen a documentary or two featuring the Howling Commandos,” she says, closing the dishwasher and turning to Bucky. “And Sam and Steve may have crashed in Danny’s apartment for a couple of months when they were on the run following the Accords.”

Bucky is silent. He's staring at Jo with the same brooding intensity as last night, but there's something more in his eyes — a sadness she hadn't noticed earlier. She's seen that look before on Danny when he first came back from Afghanistan. It's the look of someone who's lost everything. But as quickly as it's there, it's gone.

Bucky clears his throat. “You knew Steve?” he asks.

“Yeah. I mean, briefly,” she whispers. “Let me show you something.”

He follows her into the living room where she pulls a box from one of the bookshelves. She empties the contents onto the coffee table; it's a handful of polaroids featuring varied combinations of Jo and Sam and Steve and Danny. Bucky sits on the couch and picks up one of the photos. It's of Steve with a German Shepherd; in the photo Steve is smiling brightly, and Bucky's heart aches at the sight.

"That's Greta," Jo says, sitting next to Bucky, "Danny's dog. She was just a puppy then. She adored Steve."

Bucky laughs through his nose and picks up another photo. This one features Sam and Jo sitting at a table in a kitchen that looks like Jo's but slightly different — Bucky assumes it's Danny's; Sam is clearly in the middle of a story, and Jo's head is thrown back in laughter. A stab of jealousy hits him in the chest — Bucky wants to make her laugh like that. He skims through the rest of the polaroids, finally landing on one of Jo and Steve sitting side by side at a piano, Steve's large frame dwarfing the woman next to him.

"He found out I can play a few '30s and '40s standards on piano," Jo says, smiling at the memory. "There wasn't a lot for him and Sam to do cooped up here for three months, so I taught him some basics."

Bucky stares at the photo for a while before he speaks. "You play piano?" he asks.

"I started on piano, took up guitar when I was ten, then bass when I was thirteen. I can also play drums, organ, banjo, mandolin, and a little violin," she says. "And I have a Bachelors of Music with a concentration in voice."

Bucky stares at her for a moment, then tosses the photo back onto the coffee table and reaches for Jo, pulling her onto his lap. She settles with her legs on either side of his hips and her hands on his shoulders.

"So, you have very talented fingers, then?" Bucky asks with a flirty grin.

Jo rolls her eyes and laughs, but she's secretly pleased with where this interaction seems to be headed. She was worried Bucky would feel like she had kept something from him by not telling him about Steve last night, but he seems to be taking it in stride.

"Thanks for showing me those photographs," Bucky says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "He gave up everything for me back then, so it's nice to see that maybe he had a little bit of happiness during that time."

"He wanted the same for you," she whispers, nudging her nose against Bucky's.

Bucky kisses her softly, then pulls away, staring into her green eyes. Jo slides her glasses off and sets them on the coffee table behind her.

She drags a finger down his vibranium arm and asks, “Can you feel that?”

Bucky licks his lips. “Yeah. It’s—it’s different from the real one, but yeah.”

Jo hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything else. Their lips meet again, and this time the kiss is longer, needier. Bucky sweeps his tongue into her mouth, and Jo is certain she's going to have beard burn across her face tomorrow. But she doesn't really care.

Jo slides her hands into Bucky's hair, and he sighs into her mouth when she angles her hips against his just right, pressing against him slowly. His grip on her waist tightens before he slips his vibranium hand down across her backside to gently guide her movements. His flesh hand covers her right breast, palming her through her shirt.

Jo's hands leave his hair to slide beneath Bucky's t-shirt. He pulls back from her slightly and puts his hand over hers.

“I have scars,” Bucky warns.

“Okay,” Jo mumbles against his lips, trying for another kiss.

Bucky pulls back again. “They’re not pretty.”

Jo looks at him. “Bucky, do you really think I care about that? Do I look like someone who’s worried about conventional beauty standards?” she jokes. She smiles softly and brings a hand up to cradle his jaw. “You don’t have to show me. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss him again.

He pulls away from her mouth to tug the shirt over his head before he can overthink it. He’s gorgeous like this, and Jo wants to touch every inch of him. She starts with his chest, and her fingers dance lightly across the scars on Bucky’s left shoulder before she presses a quick kiss to the spot where flesh meets metal. Bucky smiles at the gesture, then his lips are on Jo's neck. As he sucks a mark into the place where her neck meets her shoulder, Bucky slips his flesh hand beneath the fabric of Jo's shirt.

Bucky's thumb slides across her nipple, and he pauses, warm metal against his digit stopping him. Jo can feel Bucky's fingers against her breast, trying to work out what exactly he's touching. She leans back, her hands on Bucky's chest to keep him from following her and pulls her t-shirt over her head.

Bucky's fairly certain his heart stops at the sight before him. He’s not sure what to look at first: the small gold balls that adorn either side of Jo’s erect nipples or the intricate floral design inked on her sternum between and below her breasts, framing them perfectly.

“So…I have my nipples pierced,” Jo says, taking Bucky’s staring for hesitation or confusion.

Bucky licks his lips. “Fuck,” he mutters before running his thumb across her right nipple and taking the left one between his teeth.

Jo hisses and bucks her hips harder against his cock. He's hot and hard beneath her as she grinds against him. The feeling he had last night – of being on fire – has returned, but it's tenfold now. Every thought of taking things slow, every bit of doubt has evaporated in wake of his need to please Jo.

Bucky grips Jo's waist and flips her onto her back on the couch, coming to rest between her open legs.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pressing his bare chest against hers. His dog tags are cool against her skin.

“Very," she breathes.

Bucky's lips find Jo's again before trailing across her jaw, down her neck, and over her breasts. He lets his tongue explore one of her pierced nipples before taking the bud between his teeth and pulling slightly. Jo gasps, and her own hands slide from Bucky's shoulders down his chest and across his stomach, her blunt fingernails scratching against his abs as she goes. She palms his cock through his sweats, and Bucky's hips stutter. His eyes clench shut like he’s in pain, and he pulls away to catch his breath.

"Sorry," Jo says quickly, removing her hand. "We can slow down."

"No," Bucky all but growls, then takes another deep breath and opens his eyes. "No. It's just been," he pauses, "it's been a while since I've done this, and you're kind of driving me crazy, Jo." He lets out a breathy laugh, then seems to sober. "I just—I, uh, need to be in control of some things. If that's okay."

She smiles her understanding before kissing him, softer this time. Bucky leans into the kiss and sweeps his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. He props himself up with his vibranium hand, and his right hand moves back to Jo's breasts, teasing each nipple in turn.

"Tell me what you want," Jo says as Bucky's teeth bite gently at her pulse point.

Bucky presses his lips against Jo's ear and whispers, "Touch yourself. Please. I want to watch you fall apart."

Jo whimpers. She catches the look on Bucky's face as her hand travels down her body and into her shorts. His pupils are blown wide, barely a hint of blue visible around black. She knows her own eyes look much the same.

She hisses when her fingers meet the bundle of nerves between her legs, then slide lower. Bucky can't decide if he wants to watch her hand beneath her shorts or her face. He settles for moving his eyes between her face and breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath she takes. Finally, he lowers his head back between her breasts and traces the outline of the tattoo there with his tongue. Jo moans and bucks her hips.

Bucky presses his own hips against the couch, trying to find the smallest bit of relief. He's not going to last. It's been too long since he's been with someone this way, and his body feels like a live wire. He reaches up to push the fabric of her shorts aside, moaning when he realizes she's not wearing anything beneath them.

He feels Jo's fingers pull away, and he growls, "Keep touching yourself." She does, her fingers rubbing hard circles into her clit. "Good girl," Bucky praises, and Jo keens, Bucky's name falling from her lips.

He slips his own fingers inside of her. She's so wet and warm, Bucky is afraid he'll finish just from this. Or maybe it will be the sound of her moans that do me in, he thinks. Because she sounds lovely, better than she did on stage last night. And she feels perfect wrapped around his two digits. He adds a third, and Jo's whole body tenses. Bucky can feel her warm heat tighten around his fingers as her legs bend and draw in closer to her body. The sight of Jo coming pushes him over the edge. He's spilling into his sweatpants like a teenager, and he doesn't even care. All he can think of is the sound of Jo, the feel of Jo, the look on Jo's face.

Bucky collapses onto Jo's body, his full weight resting on her for a second before he props himself up again and looks at her. She's smiling sleepily, a slightly dazed look in her eyes, and he can't help but admit that it makes his ego swell to know he can make her smile like that.

"That was..." he starts.

Jo hesitates, then runs her fingers through his hair softly. "Good? Great? Amazing?" she says.

Bucky breathes out a laugh and rests his head on her chest for a moment. "All of the above," he replies. Jo hums, and Bucky continues, lifting his head again to look at her, "You're fucking perfect, doll."

Jo laughs, and replies, "You probably say that to all the girls, Sarge."

Bucky sobers. "No, Jo, I don't. Really." He brushes a strand of hair from her face. "When I said I haven't done this in a while, that was an understatement," he says. Dr. Raynor told him he needed to open up, nurture friendships (or whatever this is turning into), so here he goes. "I wasn't really planning on this happening — not that I'm not glad that it did..." He pauses.

"But you live in New York, and I live here. And we just met,” Jo finishes.

"I don't know how things like this work these days," he says. He's looking at her with such sincerity that Jo thinks her heart might burst. "I told you I wanted to do this right. Dinner, flowers, the whole nine yards.”

Jo cocks her head to the side and smiles. "Let's start with dinner."

_____

They lay in silence for a while, Bucky's head resting on Jo's naked breasts, her fingers running through his hair. Jo's starting to think he's fallen asleep when Bucky speaks again.

“I should probably go,” Bucky says reluctantly. "Sam was expecting my help with the boat today."

"I'll drive you," Jo says. "Just let me get dressed."

"You don't have to do that. I can call a cab."

"Delacroix's, like, an hour outside the city. It'll cost a fortune. Let me drive you."

Bucky hesitates, but Jo nudges at his right shoulder gently until he agrees. He presses a soft kiss to her lips before he stands and offers her a hand. While Bucky moves into the bathroom to change back into his own boxers and jeans, Jo slips into her room. She comes back out wearing jeans and a vintage Lilith Fair t-shirt; she's traded her glasses for contacts. Jo shoves her feet into her combat boots at the door and turns back to kiss Bucky quickly before they leave the apartment.

_____

The drive to Delacroix is quiet except for Jo's Paul Simon playlist thrumming from the car speakers. Bucky thinks he might actually like the music. Or maybe he just likes listening to Jo sing every word.

When Jo pulls up outside Sarah's house, Bucky turns to her from the passenger seat. “I don’t have your number,” he says.

“Give me your phone," she responds, smiling and holding her hand out.

Bucky unlocks his phone and hands it over. Jo saves her number before texting herself so she has his, as well. She deletes the text conversation and hands his phone back.

"There you go, Sarge," she says with a wink.

Bucky leans across the car's console and wraps his vibranium hand around the back of Jo's neck. He pulls her close and presses his lips against hers gently. Jo responds by running her fingers across the stubble on Bucky's jaw and sweeping her tongue into his mouth. A moan rumbles through Bucky's chest, and he tries to move closer to Jo's body, but he knocks his knees roughly against the center divider.

"Shit," he curses, pulling away. "It was easier to kiss a dame in the front seat of a car in the '40s," Bucky complains.

Jo laughs. "Kissing a lot of dames in cars, were you?"

"I got around," Bucky says, a grin on his face.

He feels like himself around Jo – not exactly the person he was before the war, but close. He almost feels like he could be a better version of that man; he wants to be that for Jo. For now, though, it's easy to flirt and laugh with her, watch her eyes light up and her smile brighten.

"I believe it, Sarge," Jo teases. Over Bucky's shoulder, she notices Sam standing on the front porch of the house. "I think I've stolen you away from Sam long enough," she says.

"Please, doll, steal me away anytime," Bucky flirts. He kisses her once more. "I'll see you Tuesday," he whispers, his hand lingering on her cheek before he climbs out of the car.

“Looks like someone had a good night,” Sam laughs as Bucky ascends the front porch steps.

“We are not talking about this,” Bucky grumbles.

“Oh, we’re definitely talking about this,” Sam says, clapping Bucky on the back.

______

next chapter

[everydayanth]

Academic Elitism: an institutional issue

Sorry for being so rant-y lately, but the elitism of university has been a problem for me from the exact moment I accepted my scholarship with a signature and a handshake in high school. (The scholarship was later revoked due to state up-fuckery, but that’s another story, and I was already in too deep by the time they told me).

My parent’s house was only an hour north, my younger sister had already claimed my room, but I was excited. I was in the furthest dorm building, because that’s where the scholarship kids went, it was like a poor kid diversity hall, every few doors was someone from a completely different background, but we were all poor except our Swedish RA, and there was an odd pride in that. We all had various scholarships: robotics, dance team, nerds like me, etc. (not the football or hockey athletes though, they had their own dorm next to the library for... reasons, lol).

But being the last hall, it wasn’t actually full, most of us had entire rooms to ourselves, often whole suites; our hall was co-ed, but rooms were only occupied at every-other, staggered down the corridor. Only the front two halls were used, the back two closed off for construction or codes or something. We had to hike up the hill for dining halls, which was fine until snowdays that shut the whole campus down (and I mean west Michigan ones, with 4+ feet of powder and ice underneath). I had an old computer my dad got me for graduation and I didn’t know it was old until my peers started calling it a dinosaur. I had to use the library computers to write and print papers, and most places I went, I ran into the other scholarship kids. We didn’t talk much, just a head bob here and there, awareness at our similarities and an annoyed spite at being thrown together this way. It was lonely for everyone.

I had a purple flip phone I’d gotten only that calendar year (2009) and was still learning to text with (abbreviations? instant messaging? what?). My roommate had come down from Alaska to live near her dad, we’d talked in the summer, but I never saw her. I moved my things in and her stuff was on her side, I texted her about going to turn in paperwork and when I came back, there was a note on my bed and all her things were gone, she couldn’t do it, had never been away from home for even a night. She left a few mismatched socks and a bag of junk pens that I resented for years. 

Social media was mostly a way to talk to people across campus and exchange homework and party times/locations. We posted over-edited photos of our food and still jogged with our mp3 players and ipods. But within two years, I had to trade in my computer three times and upgrade to a smartphone to keep up with the expectations of communication. Professors would cancel classes by emails an hour out, and if I was on campus, I simply didn’t get the message, running between classes with 19 credit hours and three jobs. Work would call in or cancel my appointments (tutoring) and I needed to be able to communicate at the rate of my peers, so though it wasn’t something we could easily afford, my parents let me get the smartphone and my dad helped me find computers that could keep up with writing papers and researching without having to go to the lab, which saved so much time. 

There was little understanding for my suffering. I didn’t have a car, I had to call my parents and organize a time to get home or take the train which was more expensive than waiting around on an empty campus. They were often things that even the wealthiest students had to deal with, but there were so much more of them for us, more stress, more problems, more solutions, more consequences, and in some ways, more determination.

I spent plenty of breaks holed up in my room, but when the swine flu/H1N1 outbreak happened, guess where they quarantined students?

In our hall. 

Not the back one that was closed. In the room attached to my suite. 

After half a semester alone, suddenly strangers shared my bathroom. I never saw them, I would just hear the formidable click of the bathroom lock followed by the shower. A week later I got a blue half-sheet note in my mailbox about quarantines. The other kids were as pissed off, as we watched kids escorted in with blue masks and were told to just get cleaning wipes from the front desk –they ran out in a week. 

We were the recyclable students, brought in to trade scholarships for university grade averages. Many of my friends were struggling with scholarship qualifications and gpas (which only encouraged my continual obsessive perfectionism and involvement). 

We were expendable. 

I didn’t understand the elitism then, or I did, but I’d twisted it in my head from years tossed between private and public schools. I was an invader, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to be. I understood that I didn’t deserve it, that I had to work harder to stay. I completed Master’s coursework for my Bachelor’s degree, finishing two BA programs (anthropology and English: creative writing) and 2 minor programs in philosophy and world lit, lead several campus groups and volunteered with honor’s societies. I spent hours on campus every day, running home just to go to one job or the other. I slept about four hours a night and I still romanticize it because I loved it. And I was good at it. It was a closed system, easy to infiltrate, easy to watch and observe and follow, to feel protected from the world, but there were always ways that I came up short. 

I didn’t have leggings or Northface fleeces or Ugg boots or name brand anything (except a pair of converse I got in 8th grade from my Babcia). I had old high school sweats and soccer shirts, hand-me-down clothes from sisters and cousins that mix-matched a style I thought was unique but I now understand screamed I don’t really belong here. Example: I went to propose an independent study to a professor I really admired and I panicked about what to wear. I still cringe at the memory, gahhhhhh, but I pulled on what I thought was a decent dress because it had no rips or stains or tears and though I’d picked it up from a clearance rack, it was the newest thing and therefore the best. But in retrospect, it was definitely a “party” dress, I grabbed a sweater, hoop earrings that had always been beautiful in my neighborhood, and heels I never wore otherwise, and presented my idea. This old professor was just like “um...did you dress up for me?” Clearly spooked by red flags and I realized my mistake. Saved by quick thinking I clarified “no, I have a presentation later,” and being a familiar face in the social sciences department, I let him assume I was dressed up as something. I just went in my sweats and t-shirts after that, got a haircut that tamed the wavy frizz and learned the importance of muted tones, cardigans, and flats.

I made a lot of interesting friends in the process, people who also stuck out from the American Academic culture: exchange students, older (non-traditional) students, rebels, and other poor kids. But that also meant that we all evolved during our time there, so friendship was quick and fleeting as we adapted or dropped out or remained oblivious, lost in our studies and dreams of changing the world or our lives. 

I had no idea how to approach the dining halls because I could only afford the bronze plan that was included with my room+board scholarship. I could enter the hall ten times per week, with four included passes to the after-hours carry-out (this was an upgrade from the free high school lunch I was coming from). I met other kids on this plan and their dorm rooms had fridges and microwaves and shelves of ramen and mac’n’cheese. Mine was sparse, my fridge had jugs of water from the filtered tap in the common room, and though it had a shared kitchenette, it always smelled bad or was being used and the nearest grocery store was Meijers which was a 15-20 minute drive from campus. I used so much energy dividing up my meals and figuring out how to sneak food from the hall for later or just learn to not eat, which is another story involving malnutrition, broken bones, and the American Healthcare System.

We like to summarize the college experience with fond struggles. I went back to my old high school to watch my younger sisters’ marching band competition that first year (it’s MI, and they were good). My old art teacher (not much older than we were but she felt so much older at the time, also her maiden name was Erickson and so was her fiance’s so she didn’t “change” her name and that blows my mind to this day), anyway, she stopped me to ask how school was going, and I was not prepared to be recognized in anyway and stammered out something like “oh, yeah, stressful. Fun, cool, yeah,” like the eloquent well-educated student I was. And she said, “oh, I loved it, don’t you love it? Everything’s so charming, and being poor? Oh man, it’s hard for a while, but it’s so good to go through.” 

I was dumbfounded at her reference to poverty as a thing to go through when you’re a student. I again had to remember that I was infiltrating places where people weren’t just marginally more well-off than I was, but far beyond, in a place where they couldn’t comprehend an alternative, couldn’t conceive of surviving poverty, of not having a reliable place to fall if you mess up, parents who couldn’t support you if things went wrong, who couldn’t save you from having to drop out if scholarships were canceled because the money just wasn’t there.

Talking with my parents never worked, and I recently found this video by The Financial Diet about Boomer shame in being poor, where many Millennials were united by it and it was #relatable. But all this is to say that there are so many layers and ways we develop in higher education that are often overlooked by the romantic nostalgia of the elite expectation. What we demand from education vs. what it offers us in return is rarely equal for students coming from poverty, and it starts with that first sacrifice of looking at money and deciding it has to be worth it to do something bigger, and that education is a necessary piece of that goal.

Now I live near Brown University, I’ve been to Harvard when we lived in Boston and recently took a trip to Yale with bold expectations. I am friends with several people who work at these places and I hear the same things: so many students are in a place where their obsessions are considered more important than the larger world, an argument that Shakespeare is a woman is more important to prove than the greater issues of sexism in society as a whole, while others are trained to look at data and the world as a pocketable fact-book, going to conferences and  week-long summits and then off to D.C. to make important decisions about places they’ve never been to, for people they’ve never met, about problems they’ve never experienced.  

It’s not new. It’s not romantic. It’s not nostalgic. It’s just sick. 

I was horrified at New Haven. I have read so many social science reports and papers and experiments and academic bullshit that has come from professors at Yale with a big badge of ivy-league validation. So much of this research was focused on homelessness and culture clash and socio-economics in America, as that was my “dissertation” that got me discounted master’s classes for my BA in Anthropology. Anyway, my point was that I thought this noble, proud university that put out so much research was going to be situated in something of a utopia, where their research is put into practice. Obviously, I was wrong, but I didn’t expect how wrong. (I had also started reading Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House, so... there’s another thing).

My observations were validated by employees of ivy-league schools, who have watched over the past 2 decades as they grow more and more reclusive, hiding away from the public except through a few, probably well-intentioned, outstretched hands that do little to contribute to the world outside the university itself. These ivory towers are built by poaching: environments, observations, resources, research, and yeah, even students.

I love academia. I will sit in a library for hours just pulling down tomes (and putting them back in their proper locations like a dork) and drawing connections just for fun. But right now, I’m a bit bitter and spiteful and angry. 

When something like Coronavirus sneaks up on us, we have a tendency to throw the most expendable people under the bus as quickly as we can, and all I can think about is my shadow of a suite-mate sneezing and coughing with swine flu for two weeks, at how I refused to use my own bathroom and listened to my hall-mates’ advice about showering at the rec center a mile away as we all collectively locked our bathroom doors and were left there by the university to get sick without insurance to help with any foreseeable costs.

It’s not the same now, they’ve rebuilt the entire section of the campus, it’s odd to see it, I wonder where they put the expendable kids. Or maybe they don’t accept them anymore. I’ve worked in college admissions since then, and it is a scary industry of politics and preference and hidden quotas and image-agendas. Not all schools are industry monsters, but when you’re expendable, they sure do feel like it, whether you graduate summa cum laude with two degrees, six awards, and five tasseled ropes around your neck or not. 

I wish I had a positive message. I wish I was in a place to help people who feel expendable or like they can’t keep up with communications because of technology or language or network or environment. But I don’t have much right now. For all its posturing and linear progression, academia needs to create profit. All I can do is yell about this existing.

If you are feeling expandable in university, I can tell you you’re not alone. I can let you rant about all the small ways your peers don’t get it, whether its an accent they shit on or ceremonies you don’t have the right clothes for or textbooks you share with a friend to cut costs but then they hoard them. I can relate to you about guilt and that sneaking panic that fills you with anxiety at night as you question yourself and wonder if it’s worth it at all, if it’s necessary, if it’s okay to be expendable to follow something that feels bigger. I can validate your doubt and tell you that you’re not actually expendable, you’re a bridge. 

I’m sorry it still works like this. I wish we figured out how to change it by now, I wish I had secret shortcuts to tell you about, that there was more accountability or hope, but I’m not seeing it lately. I hope you do. <3

[iam93percentstardust]

AU-gust Day 13: Rock Band

Requested by @justsomeoneunordinary for a Winterironhawk AU!

Also on ao3 here

~

Bucky checks his phone as he staggers down the hallway, Clint’s arm wrapped around his waist. Performing always takes a lot out of him and tonight’s show in New York was particularly hard since he and Steve are homeboys and Clint always likes to play that up.

“You doing okay?” Clint asks and then nearly walks right into a trashcan.

Bucky rolls his eyes. For all of Clint’s grace on the stage, he’s far more clumsy off of it. “Maybe I should be asking you that.”

“Hey, that trashcan jumped right out in front of me,” Clint snarks.

“Oh sure and I’ll bet a big green monster even pushed it, right?”

“Boys, boys, settle down,” Nat says idly, twirling her drumsticks like she’s going to hit one of them with it. Bucky wouldn’t put it past her; she’s done so before.

Clint maturely sticks his tongue out at her, eliciting a sigh from Steve, walking a few steps behind them, and a laugh from Sam. Nat just whacks Clint over the head with one of the drumsticks.

Bucky rolls his eyes again and goes back to his phone. Children, he works with children. He’s got one notification, a text from Tony. He grins, unable to resist smiling at the notification. Tony always sends them something during the show. He calls it his good luck selfie. Bucky calls it incentive to hurry back to the hotel room. He opens the text, expecting to see Tony in whatever god-awful city-themed lingerie he’s picked up for this leg of the tour, and instead sees a brief reminder that he and Clint have that interview with Everhart before they’re done for the night.

“Did Tony text us?” Clint asks, hooking his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky tilts his phone so he can read the message and Clint frowns. “That’s not his usual message.”

“More of those lingerie photos?” Sam asks. Bucky scowls at him. It’s bad enough that Sam accidentally saw one of Tony’s pictures but now he teases them about it after every show like Tony isn’t still the hottest thing they ever saw even when he’s wearing Big Ben panties.

“No,” Clint pouts. “Just some dumb message about that interview we’ve got.”

Sam catches up to them and glances over the message. “Hmm maybe he’s finally wised up and dumped your sorry asses so he can go out with me instead.”

Bucky growls, thrusts his phone into Clint’s chest, and takes off after a cackling Sam all the way down the hall to the room the venue set aside for the interview where he finally catches up to him. He’s giving Sam a noogie when the rest of the band joins them.

“Buck, let Sam go,” Steve orders. The bassist shouldn’t be allowed to give him directions, he laments in his mind but everyone knows that you don’t disobey a Steve order so he drops his arms, holding his hands up in surrender. Sam scrambles away from him to duck behind Nat, who takes one step to the side so she’s no longer hiding him.

“So we’ll see you back at the green room?” Nat asks him and Clint.

“Sure you don’t want to do this interview with us?” Clint asks.

She laughs. “Not on your life.” Fair enough. Everhart always gives them hardball questions so most of the band doesn’t do interviews with her if she doesn’t specifically ask for them and this time she’d only asked for him and Clint.

He passes his guitar off to Steve and then shoulders through the door, Clint right on his heels. Everhart is waiting for them just inside, looking as perfectly polished as ever for someone who just came from a rock concert.

“Ma’am,” he says politely because his ma raised a nice boy and also because it irritates the hell out of Everhart to be referred to like an old lady.

Sure enough she purses her lips and he bites back a grin. He sits down in the seat she waves him into, Clint sitting beside him so he can throw his legs over Bucky’s lap, and asks, “So what did you want to ask us?”

As they expected, Everhart starts them out with small questions and twenty minutes later, they’ve covered just about everything under the sun, from their upcoming album to this tour to their fanbase on Twitter and Bucky’s starting to think that maybe they’re going to get out of this easily when she asks, “So rumors are building again that your relationship is in trouble. What do you have to say to those allegations?”

Bucky scowls and Clint tenses beside him. The problem is, after an entire childhood spent in the spotlight, Tony denounced his claim to his father’s empire, disappeared into the shadows, and declared to his friends that he never wanted to be famous again. Bucky and Clint had never had a problem with it but that had been before the band took off. Afterwards, things had gotten a little more tricky. They still didn’t really have a problem with it and they certainly weren’t going to push Tony to do something he didn’t want to do but it was difficult having to pretend to the world that Bucky and Clint were the couple and Tony was just a friend who tagged along on tour sometimes but otherwise spent most of his time at a Montessori school in Manhattan teaching small children how to read.

They don’t want to push—they don’t—but the distance means that it’s hard sometimes to keep their hands off their other boyfriend in public.

And sometimes they forget that they’re not nobodies anymore and somebody takes a picture of Bucky’s hand lingering on the small of Tony’s back and posts it to Twitter because heaven forbid celebrities have any sort of private life.

“They’re just rumors,” Clint says easily. “We’re touchy feely kind of people.”

“Maybe you’re touchy feely,” Bucky says with a laugh that he doesn’t feel. “I’ve been told I exude fuck off vibes.”

Everhart smiles thinly. “So that’s all it is. Just three friends having a good time?”

“Ma’am, you’ve seen the way Clint and I interact on stage. You really think we could hide another relationship for so long?” Bucky deadpans, challenging her to say something.

She frowns again but doesn’t dispute his claim. Instead she packs up and says, “As always, a pleasure getting to interview you.” As she’s leaving, she pauses in the door to tell them, “You’re not nearly as slick as you think you are. One of you is going to mess up and then your whole faked-for-the-cameras relationship will be over.”

Bucky snarls and lunges at the door, stopped only by Clint grabbing onto him. He hates it when people insinuate that somehow, because he and Clint are happy, they’re faking their relationship for publicity. He and Clint spent enough of their childhoods unhappy because of Bucky’s dad and Clint’s brother; why would they want to spent their adulthood just as miserable?

“It doesn’t matter,” Clint soothes though he has to be irritated as Bucky is. “Come on, we’re going to go back to the rest of the band. We’re going to get drunk on whatever shitty vodka Nat’s brought this time and then we’re going to go back to the hotel and fuck Tony through the mattress.”

It startles a laugh out of Bucky but he’s still not in a great mood by the time they reach the green room. “I just don’t see why she has to say things like that,” he complains as he pushes open the door. “It’s—”

He stops as his gaze falls on the person draped over Nat’s lap. Clint runs into him with an “Oof” and a “Bucky, what the fuck?”

“Tony, doll?” Bucky asks.

Clint exclaims, “Tony?”

Tony launches himself out of Nat’s chair and at Bucky, who immediately catches him up in a kiss. “Hey, my turn, my turn,” Clint protests, pawing at the two of them. “I haven’t seen Tony in six hours either.”

He thinks he hears Nat say, “Disgustingly cute,” but he’s too busy watching Clint and Tony kiss to really care.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pressing another kiss to Tony’s earlobe. Tony doesn’t usually come to their shows. He tried once not long after their first album came out but he’d been kidnapped one (or twenty) too many times at a big event to really feel comfortable. He had left less than half an hour in and when Bucky and Clint had come back to the hotel that night, they’d found Tony in one of the worst anxiety attacks they’d ever seen him in. They never asked him to come to another show.

“Wanted to support you two since I know how much you hate Everhart,” Tony replies.

“He got here only a few minutes before the show ended,” Steve says. “Sharon drove him.”

Bucky gives a quick nod to Steve’s girlfriend, silently thanking her. “You didn’t have to do that, doll,” he murmurs.

“Hmm missed you too much,” Tony replies. “This tour is too long.”

“Alright, come on, we’re blocking the door,” Clint tells the two of them, walking them backward to one of the couches. He trips over his own feet and practically falls onto the couch, catching Tony before he can fall too. Bucky lands next to them, curling up into Clint’s side.

He catches Nat taking a picture of the three of them and frowns at her. She should know better than to post it. A moment later, his phone chimes with a text from her. Don’t worry, I’m not that stupid, her text reads and he flashes her an apologetic grin. Maybe he’s just little on edge from Everhart.

It chimes again, this time with the picture she’d taken of them. He smiles down at it and makes it his phone’s home screen. It’s a cute picture of them and no one can get into his phone anyway so he’s not worried about someone seeing that.

“You should be paying attention to me,” Tony pouts. “What are you doing?”

He leans over and shows him the picture, brushing a kiss over Tony’s cheek as he does. Tony takes the phone and stares at it before saying, “We’re cute in that. Send it to me.”

“Okay, doll,” he agrees, relaxing into the couch and letting Tony’s warmth bleed into him, relaxing him from the stress of the show and interview.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x OC) Chapter 1

Summary: After an informal interview, Hotch is surprised to find himself inviting his son’s potential nanny - a complete stranger - over to his home for a visit.

AN: Thank you for the love on the prologue! My niche lil series is thriving because of it <3

The instrument Sebastian has in his bag is a venu. It is a flute made of bamboo, used in Indian music.

Sebastian is half Indian on his mother's side - his father's ethnicity isn't disclosed in this story. While I have researched and included parts of his heritage in his character and the story, I'm not going to write about being a POC or being raised a Muslim because that's not my story to tell.

If you are a POC or a Muslim, and you have any advice for me on including his ethnicity as part of the story without speaking over POC voices or perpetuating harmful stereotypes, I would greatly appreciate it.

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad

Prologue // Masterlist // AO3 Link // Chapter 2

“I still think I should have been there for a second opinion.”

“It was just meeting up for a discussion about what this job might entail,” Hotch sighed as Rossi pressed the button on the elevator. The doors slid closed and a jolt hit Hotch’s stomach as they began rising towards their floor.

Rossi tapped his side twice before making the leap, “So, what was he like?”

“He seemed the most genuine, if a little…” He paused, his eyebrows moving a fraction of an inch closer before settling on - “Nonchalant for an interview. But his references check out. He looked after a set of twins for seven years, and the parents were more than pleased with him.”

“He started early. Must have been like a big brother to them.”

“It was clear they mean a lot to him; he’s still buying them birthday presents.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sebastian was dressed on the edge of smart casual to parallel Hotch’s suit: a bright patterned short-sleeved shirt plus chinos against the well-matched simple button-up and tie respectively. But it was the thick Mancunian accent that nearly tripped Hotch up when Sebastian called his name.

“Aaron Hotchner, right?”

“Yes, and you must be Sebastian. Good to meet you,” Hotch gave a polite smile and offered his hand once Sebastian had dropped his satchel and two boxes from Build-A-Bear onto his side of the booth. He gave a firm shake twice. Out of nowhere, a thought popped into Hotch’s head that his hand had gotten sweaty in the ten second interval that he had seen his interviewee.

Sebastian didn’t seem phased, smiling back as he dropped his hand, “You too.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m alright, thank you.”

Both sat down in the booth of the quiet cafe Hotch had chosen to meet Sebastian at. Across the next fifteen minutes, Hotch mentally noted everything he could about the man he was interviewing behind Sebastian’s resume and references which had printed off earlier in the day.

Sebastian would always take a few seconds to process the questions. When he answered, he used his hands a lot when he spoke. Not out of nerves though. He held Aaron’s eye contact too well, alternating between both eyes and a spot in the centre of his forehead, to be anxious. As Hotch offered to show him some photos of Jack, Sebastian stood then moved next to sit beside him without hesitation. A subtle woody scent accompanied him.

“Aw yeah, little bruiser,” Sebastian said as Jack ran around the field doing the Spiderman webshooter gesture at a teammate who did the same back at him, “And good taste in superheroes too.”

And from that moment on, Sebastian talked about what Hotch wanted for Jack. He listened with constant attention as Hotch spoke. Those smiles he shared with hi,, they had no force behind them, and Hotch found himself gesturing with his hands like Sebastian – albeit on a smaller scale.

They were just getting to talk about the logistics of wages when Hotch’s phone rang out.

“Excuse me,” Hotch stood up to take a moment of privacy, “Hotchner.”

Midway through the call, he spared a glance Sebastian’s way. The man was checking in his bag for something-

Oh. A wooden flute.

It disappeared back into the bag as quickly as it had been pulled out. Hotch turned his attention back to his phone call. That too was over rather fast and he was back to the booth.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve been called back to work.” He shook Sebastian’s hand again once he had stood up, “I’ll be in touch. Thank you for meeting me at such short notice.”

“Not a problem. Part of this job too, isn’t it?”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“I think Jack would get on with him,” Hotch concluded.

“When do you find out if that’s true?”

“He’s coming to meet Jack this afternoon. If all goes well, then he can have a trial day. If that goes well, I’ll consider hiring him.”

“Thorough,” Rossi said just in time for the elevator doors to open.

Another good day followed – meaning it was mostly paperwork – but even with his time in his office mostly undisturbed, Hotch found himself packing several case files into his briefcase. At least he would have something to do instead of pressing his ear up against the wall to Jack’s room for the evening.

Jack charged out of the school gates, crashing into Hotch and flinging his arms around him. Hotch grunted as Jack’s P.E. kit smacked into back but it didn’t stop him from lifting his son off his feet. Those feet didn’t stop kicking, not even when Hotch lowered the volume of the Beatles’ tracks en route home. He listened dutifully while his father explained about the visitor that would be coming over that night.

“He might be around to help your Aunt Jessica look after you while I’m working.” Hotch said as they pulled into the garage, “But, if you don’t like him, we can find someone else, OK? He doesn’t have to stay.”

“OK,” Jack unclipped his seatbelt. Then he carried on talking about how his lunch break game of soccer had gone, all the way up to their apartment.

While Hotch checked on the slow cooker, Jack did his homework. He would occasionally pipe up to ask a question. Not because he didn’t know the answer, Hotch knew that, but because he enjoyed the conversations that would spawn from the homework. One such conversation was cut short at the sound of the doorbell. Jack carried on with his work, his head receiving a tussle from Hotch as he passed to get to the front door.

Waiting patiently in the hallway was Sebastian and Hotch greeted him, “Hello. Did you find us alright?”

“All good, got the third degree from your doorman about my ID though,” and Sebastian flashed the small card before pocketing it. The patterned shirt had been swapped for a muted red number but Sebastian had kept his satchel as part of his outfit. And it was then that Hotch noticed the various patches sewn onto it. Flags and symbols, likely from something Sebastian enjoyed but Hotch didn’t personally recognise any of them. It did, however, remind him a little of Penelope Garcia.

He had already taken one of his shoes off before Hotch could tell him that this was a shoes-on house, so Hotch decided to continue the small talk instead, “He’s very meticulous with his job.”

“Good,” and Sebastian spied Jack appearing around the corner, “Hey, you must be Jack. I’m Sebastian. Is it cool if we hang out for a bit while your dad works?”

Jack looked to between Hotch and Sebastian several times before he nodded.

“Jack, why don’t you show Sebastian your Lego?”

Hotch watched Jack lead Sebastian into his bedroom before he returned to his office, leaving the door ajar. Sebastian would have to walk past to make it out of the flat. Just a precaution.

Discarding his suit jacket on the back of his chair, Hotch lost himself in the slope of paperwork. His mind only strayed once when the toilet down the hall flushed. The conversation, too muffled by the walls to make out any words, became a comforting white noise.

The slowest and simultaneously fastest hour passed.

Hotch had just made a dent in his workload when he heard a shriek of laughter from Jack’s room. Clicking his pen, he abandoned his desk and crept around to the source of the noise. He could smell that the casserole was nearly done. As he peeked around the door frame to see, part of him wished he could blend into the background, just to catch more than a glimpse of what was happening.

Sebastian was lying on his back with his legs tucked into his chest and Jack astride his shins. Thankfully, Sebastian’s hands were around Jack’s middle as he pushed his legs up, and Jack’s arms were stretched up. Both were making sound effects that were fitting to the spacecraft Jack had constructed from random bricks and was currently flying over his head.

Hotch could watch Jack playing for so much longer. But he knew that he had to interrupt if he wanted him off to bed on time.

“And just what are you two doing?”

Both of their heads whipped around to see Hotch, now stood fully in view in the doorway. While Sebastian looked genuinely guilty, Jack just beamed at Hotch and waved his Lego model at him.

“Seb’s helping the spacecraft take off!”

“I see,” Hotch said, just as sternly but a smile creeping onto his lips betrayed him, “How about you go wash your hands, Jack? Dinner will be ready soon.”

Nodding eagerly, Jack dismounted his steed and a dishevelled Sebastian got to his feet.

“I’ll catch you later then, Jack. How do you prefer to say goodbye? High five?”

Jack opted to slap his palm against Sebastian’s then ran off to the bathroom. Both Hotch and Sebastian watched him go. When the door was safely closed, Hotch turned back to his interviewee.

“He’s crackin’,” Sebastian said, letting out an awkward laugh as he finished adjusting his hair.

He looked as pleasantly surprised as Hotch was when he offered a trial day with Jack. Trusting his gut, that’s what Hotch was doing. His gut was seldom wrong, and his gut told him that Jack getting along with Sebastian more in an hour than he had with his grandfather for years meant something was going right for them.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 76: Coincide

Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter 7. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Prescription medication and the reasons for it, smoking, honeymooning type behavior.

“...[H]ow complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.” -- Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle

_______________________

For the next few days, ‘Choly and Sticks formed a routine. They'd have breakfast, search and research, and then play tourist when their constructive efforts petered out. All kinds of strange things found themselves on the shelves of Ant Lane’s shops, from deteriorated phone books to crystal butter dishes.

Angel sanctioned a temporary renewal of ‘Choly’s Mentats habit, as treatment for the persisting migraine that wouldn’t let up, even after he got his neck and shoulder back in place. Pain on its own could’ve laid him out, but the sensory dysregulation ruined him. If not for the Mentats, he couldn’t have possibly accompanied Sticks and Angel to comb the mall. But he refused to sit out on their mission. Between his aggravated photophobia and their failure to produce any concrete results, he’d become most snippety and cantankerous.

At least they’d put their hands on some toothpastes and mouthwashes. Not that it mattered much without the core ingredient.

Turning in close to closing, they returned downtrodden to the Anchor Inn. Orqueida had not been at the Concierge desk since that first night, but there she was. Sticks steadied ‘Choly while he dismounted from Angel. The trio approached the desk at the ghoul’s suggestion.

“Good evening, milady.” Sticks produced his sack of pulls from his apron. “I believe we should go ahead and pay on our rent for another week.”

She eyed some papers on her desk with detachment.

“One-ten, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What!” ‘Choly nearly slapped off his own glasses in animation, and stewed rubbing at his nose. “--We’re not sticking around past our rent. They’re not here.”

Orqueida complied with the request and set to counting out another week’s pay. Looking between the two men, her curiosity ran amok of her entrepreneurial temperament. The makings of drama brightened her misaligned eyes.

“Just ‘cause you don’t feel well doesn’t mean things are grim on all fronts. I can keep looking even if you’ve got to stay in bed all day. We haven’t even bothered with the Flea Market yet.”

“He’s right, you know,” Angel seconded. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, Sir. Please trust that your best interests are ours as well. We know how much these devices stand to improve your quality of life. Have some faith, Sir--in us, as well as in our task.”

“Angel’s right, too. We threw in the towel today without having a little fun. Why don’t you find something in the Gift Shop, Mindy? My treat.”

“The Gift Shop?” Orqueida repeated, squaring her shoulders when their attention remembered she was there. She smiled, eager to attend them. “You’re in luck. I went out scavenging the Nashua ruins this week. I just restocked this morning.”

‘Choly rolled his eyes, but none of them saw it as he resigned.

“Why not?”

Orqueida walked them down a center hall to a space with installed shelves. Stools provided a few small table arrangements of objects. Odd metal and ceramic objects populated the stall. Divorced from their origin, ‘Choly struggled to recognize much of what these things once decorated, but identifying a few things helped his understanding a majority of the Gift Shop’s merchandise was salvaged architectural hardware and ornamentation. One of the three walls displayed metal bas relief faces and scenes, reminiscent of a taxidermy wall. Remnants of large scale bronze sculptures also littered the collection, ranging from broken arms still toting Revolutionary War weapons to a tricorner cap upturned still containing the top half of some man’s head.

“Fascinating.” Angel marveled at everything from a distance. Chuckling to himself, Sticks flapped a large door hinge at the Mister Handy. “Sir... I’m not sure that’s what those are for.”

“You said you’d been to town.” ‘Choly picked up an intricate brass doorknob and inspected it for no other reason but weariness. “You didn’t happen to find any medical gear, did you?”

“I wasn’t going to ask, but...” Orqueida wrung her hands in front of her. “What could you possibly be so desperate to find, that you couldn’t find it here? That you’d stay at Anchor an entire extra week, without looking into leasing?”

Sticks produced the Walden catalogue from his apron pocket and turned it to the page. ‘Choly grabbed it and rolled the booklet back, to hold it out to point. Orqueida eyed the page. Their demeanor invited unease, but she seemed to gain something from regarding the product photos.

“...So that’s what that thing was,” she murmured, holding her chin.

“Wait, what’s what thing!” ‘Choly grabbed her arms with both hands and looked up at her in snapping desperation. “What did you have!”

Orqueida convinced him to let go, but he didn’t apologize. She pulled the catalogue from him, but hesitated to point at the neck brace.

“I had... that part. Brought it back because it’s got good leather. Junk doesn’t sell in the gift shop, though, so I gave it to my boyfriend. He seemed to know what it was, but he didn’t explain and I didn’t ask. It’s medical equipment? You’re more ill than you let on--”

The unlikely breakthrough sheared any civility ‘Choly could’ve mustered.

“Your boyfriend! Who’s your boyfriend? Where did you find it? Please tell me it was in tact.”

“Geez, Mindy.” Sticks put a hand to his lower back, hoping to cool him down. “Let her get a word in, would you?”

The group fell silent while they tried to figure out whose turn it was to speak. Orqueida shook her head slowly.

“There weren’t any other pieces like that where I found it. My beau’s Liam Bledsoe. He runs the Gate City Clinic. You can’t miss it. It’s at the Lantern Intersection between See’s and The Hall. Lower Level.”

‘Choly removed his glasses to massage his nose bridge.

“The Clinic. I asked you the night we got here, if we needed to go there. It could’ve been our first stop.”

“I didn’t find it until yesterday.” Orqueida’s features skewed at him. “Liam wouldn’t have had it. I’m surprised you haven’t found any of the other parts yet. I’ve seen stuff like this before. It’s been a while, but I can confirm it’s been here.”

“So we are on the right track.” Sticks smiled and tapped ‘Choly’s back. “You really are wonderful, Orqueida.”

“Well, hopefully he’s still got it. Don’t praise me just yet.” She sighed, her face long but invested. She walked them back to the lobby. “I’d escort you there, but I need to be here for the last wave of check-ins. You’ve got about half an hour before curfew. Don’t worry if you run over. I can walk you back. See’s will understand.”

“Thank you, madam. Wish us luck!”

Angel warmed her demeanor, and she smiled and nodded.

“Maybe another day, you can consider buying a piece of Nashua history to take with you. But we’ll revisit that. You should get going.”

“See you in a bit,” ‘Choly appreciated, sheepish.

‘Choly didn’t bother mounting Angel to walk the short way to the Lantern Intersection. With how miserable he felt, he would’ve had more trouble getting back down. Across and diagonal from Grey & Gould, the Clinic occupied a large corner store space. When they entered, two older Laners were just leaving. A dozen beds and mismatched patterns and sizes of standing curtains lined up one side of the establishment, while a small seating area and some desks occupied the other. The bite of tobacco smoke and iodine chafed them.

Off to the window side of the Clinic sat an impassive gangling thirtisome man with a slicked pale rattail. He had on a half-unbuttoned banded collar seersucker shirt with rolled sleeves. When he glanced up over his beaklike nose from the folder he’d scrutinized, the cigarette in his mouth went limp.

“You had better need medical attention, to be bothering me so late.”

“...Sort of,” ‘Choly replied. “It’s complicated.”

“We need medical supplies,” Sticks added. “We’ve been referred to you.”

He sucked at his smoke, then held it in one hand to exhale, still skimming the file in his lap.

“Unless you’re looking to unload some, you’re out of luck. I can’t spare anything directly related to patient care.”

Sticks produced the catalogue, and showed their acquisition goal.

“Orqueida said you had a piece of this stuff. ‘Choly here needs it.”

The wood chair clacked to the polished concrete, to rest on all four legs, as Liam stood to approach. His deep-set eyes squinted at the page.

“I just today got that. I’m not interested in selling it.”

‘Choly feared their grasp slipped, and he squirmed. Everything felt hyper-real, too crisp and clear, too sharp for his senses.

“If you need chems,” he blurted out, “I’ve got a few Med-X, Rad-X, and Addictol. I’d even fork up some Mentats, if it’s convincing.”

Liam just kept staring at the catalogue.

“A trade is more my tune.”

“He can practically be a roaming pharmacy.”

“Well, if you know a drugstore or clinic that hasn’t been cleaned out within twenty miles, be my guest to scav. Though I imagine if you’re here, you’ve either already tried, or chems aren’t your fix.”

‘Choly hemmed, weighing the emotional toll and feasibility of what spilled out of him next. The consequences of normal, common drugstore chems were predictable, marginal, compared to what concerned him.

“It’s a shame the Walden Drugs warehouse is leveled. We didn’t just come to Nashua seeking medical equipment. We were hoping its chem lab survived. You haven’t got a chemistry setup, have you? I could help replenish some of your pharmacy stock. I’m a chemist. Was a chemist. Am? ...It’s complicated...”

Liam soured with a sneer and flattened brow.

“You really are a chemist? You’re not yanking me around?”

“Certified and seasoned.”

“I’m the only experienced medic left. It’s been over a decade since we had a chemist. It would be fantastic if you could provide that kind of labor, even if it’s just for a day or two. We could use just about anything you can cook up. For example, without Med-X, I’ve been forced to offer patients Hub petals for pain care lately. One step above chewing bullets, depending on the need.” The medic made eye contact with him. He puffed again at his smoke, careless of the ashes. “You must have expected a large setup from a warehouse. You didn’t intend to set up shop in the Satellites, now, did you?“

“The property’s location would have been its only consequence,” Sticks assuaged. “I’ve always preferred doing business with Ant Lane.”

“It is a shame,” he nodded, quiet. “Lab equipment’s mostly glass. If the building’s leveled, all that’s got to have shattered. ...Would’ve been a hell of a windfall.”

“You didn’t say whether you’ve got a lab here.” ‘Choly doubted the appropriateness of pressing Liam on it, but he had to get traction any way he could.

“A small one, yes.” He sighed, impatient. “You didn’t say why you’d need a surgical brace like that. It’s for post-op recovery. Heavy duty stuff. Are you expecting some kind of major surgery in your future?”

“It’s a gross oversimplification, but I’ve been exposed to lots of untested chemicals. I would demonstrate my joint laxity, but this cervical migraine has me too far gone to even think about loosing something, let alone resetting it. I’m at my limit right now. Please just tell me you’ve got any of the surgical orthotics. And please tell me Orqueida correctly said it was the cervical brace in particular. If I have to go one more day with an otherwise preventable vertebral subluxation, I will no longer be accountable for my behavior.”

“He’s been nigh insufferable,” Sticks whispered to Liam.

Liam took it all in, his understanding building into more agreeable nods. He walked off to a door in the back. He returned with a foot-wide length of canvas, lined and edged in leather, its ends eyelet-laced together. He sat at a stool halfway between the door and where the two men stood, and beckoned that they meet him. Sticks helped ‘Choly sit on the edge of the bed there, a small mattress atop a desk.

“I see a lot of visitors who don’t adjust to the rad-eaters’ glass so well. Migraines are somewhat common. I suppose I may as well examine you.”

‘Choly let Liam place a palm on his forehead, check his blood pressure by the wrist, and grip a few joints without manipulating anything out of place.

“I’ve been taking Mentats for the migraine these past few days,” ‘Choly admitted. “I’ve got awful photophobia on account of the cataracts, and I can’t imagine that the weird gold light helps with that, either.”

Liam motioned in encouragement that ‘Choly list off his symptoms. ‘Choly did so, and tried to show him the vitals page of his Pip-Boy. The medic largely disregarded anything not said aloud, snubbing digital diagnostics.

“I haven’t heard of anything like this before. I do think you’re right to take Mentats. When I have them, that’s what I recommend for migraines caused by the lighting here. But the light sounds like it’s only exacerbating existing issues.”

“I’m hoping we can locate a full set of that style of orthotics. I intend to wear it long-term. At least, until I can determine if my condition’s permanent.”

“If you open your shirt, I’ll help you into it. They’re a bit fussy. Promise it’s been properly sanitized.”

‘Choly’s heart fluttered.

“I already have a lesser orthotic corset on. I don’t need to remove it, right?”

“And it’s not too different from putting that on, is it?” Sticks squeezed over to watch. “I need to watch. Er, ‘cause I’m going to be the one helping.”

“As long as I can get at your shoulders and collarbone for the fitting, that’s all I need. And I’m not the best teacher, but you can watch. Whatever.”

‘Choly complied with the best posture he could, stunned. He tried to observe without being able to watch.

“You weren’t kidding.” Liam identified 'Choly’s errant vertebrae with intuitive, firm presses all along his neck and spine. ‘Choly couldn’t possibly sit still enough, hearing Liam’s detached dislike of the task. “Wicked unprecedented hypermobility. It would take next to nothing for me to manipulate your spine with just my hands. Eh. Hopefully, I helped with the alignment that the collar will hold.”

The medic latched the busks on the side and lined it up, hands feeling either side of ‘Choly’s jawline. He adjusted the lacing accordingly as he tightened it into place. As the collar fit his contours, ‘Choly felt drawn into place, comforted by its rigidity and pressure.

“Not too tight, is it?”

“It’s... perfect.” ‘Choly ran a hand over the boning seams, at a loss for words how much better he already felt. Restricting the amount he could turn his head would do wonders for it staying put. “Thank you.”

“Don’t think me crass, but I’ve got to ask.” Liam bent down a bit to meet ‘Choly’s seated eye level. “I can’t tell your gender.”

‘Choly’s eyes widened as he assessed the best answer. The fact a reflexive response didn’t come, he couldn’t tell if stress tripped him up, or if he suddenly didn’t quite know. He hated that Sticks didn’t chime in, but at the same time, he appreciated it.

“Most people in my life have called me a guy. That’s fine.”

The answer interested Liam. It interested ‘Choly more.

“Hey.” Sticks wagged a finger at Liam. “You didn’t state your price.”

Liam sat back down. He pulled a drawer of the desk, and extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray in it. He then fished his pack of cigarettes from inside his sleeve. Only once he’d lit a fresh one did he glance to Sticks. Leaning forward, he fidgeted with his lighter and the pack.

“I’ll accept the Med-X and Addictol. You guys can keep the Mentats. It’s for his migraine.” He glanced to ‘Choly. “And I’ll accept your agreement to help me turn around my inventory. I’ll pay you for anything you can cook up or otherwise bring me.”

“You don’t want the Rad-X?”

Considering Sticks’s selfish interests in outfitting him with these leather-and-canvas pieces, ‘Choly couldn’t help but regard the medication as prophylactic in their own way. He wondered whether other ghouls in the mall needed such a thing.

“No need for it mostly. We’ve got a stand of maple nearby, sound shelter, and clean water. Rad remedy’s one of the only things we have in surplus.”

“I... I’ll sleep on it.” ‘Choly remembered to button back up. His breath snagged as he turned all this over in his mind. “I don’t see why not, as long as I’ve got the accommodations and the materials. I’ve got to pull together the funds to afford the rest of a full set as we find it, right?”

“I can keep an eye out for those, as well, as long as you’ll recompense me for the trouble. You might certainly do well to consider more contemporary clothing choices, too, if you’re going to wear the collar daily. It doesn’t really look to get along with a prewar dress shirt.”

When ‘Choly got to the top two buttons, he couldn’t help but agree, and forfeit completing the task. Liam leaned in to get a handshake, firm but jerking.

“I wasn’t expecting to take on a new patient tonight, and I definitely wasn’t expecting to find a prospective business partner. How are you feeling about things?”

‘Choly warmed to smile, nodding.

“I’m confident. You wouldn’t believe how much more confident.”

“Good. Hm. Where all have you looked so far? They’re not so rare.”

“We’ve focused on clothing and armory,” Sticks said. “We haven’t managed to look through the entire mall just yet.”

Liam shook his head and sucked at his cigarette, eyes shut. He gestured with a dismissive assertiveness.

“You’re on the wrong track. You need to try junk vendors. Ask people for their scrap leather. Sure, it’ll turn up baseball mitts and wrecked leather jackets and shit, but you’ll eventually turn up other pieces of this set without a doubt. I will tell you a secret about this place: Just about nobody here knows what they’ve actually got, and even fewer know what other people are actually selling.”

“You’ve been a tremendous help,” ‘Choly appreciated. “You and your girl both.”

“It’s less trouble than you think.”

“I do want to make it clear that ‘Choly and I work together.” Sticks imposed his own handshake to cement things. “Sticks and Melancholy. I take care of things for him. Consider me a... an acquisition expert.” He grinned, standing broadly. “I’m even better finding homes for things.”

“I can see what kind of invoices I can draft in the morning, for the two of you to work on filling. In the mean time--”

Liam stood with a big, bright grin. Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, he waved his open arms to Orqueida, who’d arrived with an armful of food. She motioned for Angel to come inside, so she pulled the rolling door shut and locked it. Then she set down the oiled fabric bag of food to embrace her boyfriend.

“You got ribs tonight,” Liam reveled, his aquiline nose deep in the sack. “Fantastic celebratory meal.”

“Oh, so something to celebrate, then! I didn’t get dinner for you two,” she apologized. “Figured you’d already eaten. You can have a handpie if you want.”

“We have,” ‘Choly waived. “Don’t worry about us. We should get back, so you can enjoy it hot.”

“Speak for yourself. I’d like a handpie.” Orqueida gladly gave Sticks one.

“Angel. Angel, come here. I need your storage.”

“Oh, that thing’s yours. I should’ve known. Orqueida can’t stop talking about it.”

“I’m something of a hot topic, it seems.” Angel let him inside. “I’m glad we could provide you some medically necessary goods, Mister Bledsoe.”

‘Choly set out the requested medication on the exam bed, and Liam flipped cartons open on them to guarantee complete packages.

“Hopefully much more than that,” Liam grinned through this smoke.

“Were you done?” Orqueida asked, brightening. “I don’t want to run you off.”

“Speak for yourself,” Liam chuckled. “The sooner they can scram, the sooner I can sit down to Radstag and Blight. It’s past curfew anyway. You know how much I hate See’s getting nosy, love.”

“I’m starving, really,” she admitted. “Let’s get you gone, then.”

“Come see me sometime before lunch. Say, eleven or so. That’ll give me time for my morning appointments and such.”

“Enjoy your dinner.”

The Concourse became another place altogether, once the visitors emptied out. ‘Choly expected the halls to fall quiet, with people winding down to sleep after long days, but the opposite seemed true: Laners could socialize and unwind after closing shop for the day. During the day, the mall felt like a mall for the most part, but at night, its community ties wove it to life.

“I’m glad Liam was able to help you,” she told them, at a hush. “It sounds like you’re a help to him as well.”

“Don’t praise me just yet,” ‘Choly grinned.

To circumvent the Anchor Inn’s rolling doors, she let them in through the employee access, and led them through the office hall to the lobby inside.

“I’ll praise you all I like, Melancholy. Good night.”

“Good night,” the trio all whispered.

Once they heard the door shut, Sticks pulled ‘Choly in, with a firm grip on the collar’s lacing. He grinned heatedly at him, eyes inviting a passionate kiss. His other hand wandered to the small of ‘Choly’s back. ‘Choly wrapped his arms around him, to draw it out.

“Words fail me,” ‘Choly finally murmured, smiling into Sticks’s chest. “The first step to feeling normal again.”

Sticks swept him up bridal style without warning, spurring laughter in the two which bystanders, had they had any, might easily have mistaken for drunken tomfoolery. The ghoul pecked away at him delightedly, intent do do far more behind closed doors. Angel chuckled a bit once it was certain ‘Choly was okay carried back to the room in this way.

It hoped to itself, “Maybe a bit better than normal.”

Go to Next »»»

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 1, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

In honor of this year's Kentucky Derby (won today by Medina Spirit), I'm posting a piece my friend Michael S. Green and I wrote together a number of years ago on Ten Famous American Horses. It has no deep meaning... it's just fun. It remains one of my favorite things I had a hand in writing, and I'm pleased to have an excuse to share it.

I'll be back on the usual beat tomorrow.

1) Traveller

General Robert E. Lee rode Traveller (spelled with two Ls, in the British style) from February 1862 until the general’s death in 1870. Traveller was a grey American Saddlebred of 16 hands. He had great endurance for long marches, and was generally unflappable in battle, although he once broke both of General Lee’s hands when he shied at enemy movements. Lee brought Traveller with him when he assumed the presidency of Washington and Lee University. Traveller died of tetanus in 1871. He is buried on campus, where the safe ride program still uses his name.

2) Comanche

Comanche was attached to General Custer’s detachment of the 7th Cavalry when it engaged the Lakota in 1876 at the Battle of Little Bighorn. The troops in the detachment were all killed in the engagement, but soldiers found Comanche, badly wounded, two days later. They nursed him back to health, and he became the 7th Cavalry’s mascot. The commanding officer decreed that the horse would never again be ridden, and that he would always be paraded, draped in black, in all military ceremonies involving the 7th Cavalry. When Comanche died of colic in 1891, he was given a full military funeral (the only other horse so honored was Black Jack, who served in more than a thousand military funerals in the 1950s and 1960s). Comanche’s taxidermied body is preserved in the Natural History Museum at the University Of Kansas.

3) Beautiful Jim Key

Beautiful Jim Key was a performing horse trained by formerly enslaved veterinarian Dr. William Key. Key demonstrated how Beautiful Jim could read, write, do math, tell time, spell, sort mail, and recite the Bible. Beautiful Jim performed from 1897 to 1906 and became a legend. An estimated ten million Americans saw him perform, and others collected his memorabilia – buttons, photos, and postcards – or danced the Beautiful Jim Key two-step. Dr. Key insisted that he had taught Beautiful Jim using only kindness, and Beautiful Jim Key’s popularity was important in preventing cruelty to animals in America, with more than 2 million children signing the Jim Key Band of Mercy, in which they pledged: “I promise always to be kind to animals.”

4) Man o’ War

Named for his owner, August Belmont, Jr., who was overseas in WWI, Man o’ War is widely regarded as the top Thoroughbred racehorse of all time. He won 20 of his 21 races and almost a quarter of a million dollars in the early twentieth century. His one loss – to “Upset” – came after a bad start. Man o’ War sired many of America’s famous racehorses, including Hard Tack, which in turn sired Seabiscuit, the small horse that came to symbolize hope during the Great Depression.

5) Trigger

Entertainer Roy Rogers chose the palomino Trigger from five rented horses to be his mount in a Western film in the 1930s, changing his name from Golden Cloud to Trigger because of his quick mind and feet. Rogers rode Trigger in his 1950s television series, making the horse a household name. When Trigger died, Rogers had his skin draped over a Styrofoam mold and displayed it in the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Museum in California. He also had a 24-foot statue of Trigger made from steel and fiberglass. One other copy of that mold was also made: it is “Bucky the Bronco,” which rears above the Denver Broncos stadium south scoreboard.

6) Sergeant Reckless

American Marines in Korea bought a mare in October 1952 from a Korean stable boy who needed the money to buy an artificial leg for his sister, who had stepped on a land mine. The marines named her Reckless after their unit’s nickname, the Reckless Rifles. They made a pet of her, and trained her to carry supplies and to evacuate wounded. She learned to travel supply routes without a guide: on one notable day she made 51 solo trips. Wounded twice, she was given a battlefield rank of corporal in 1953 and promoted to sergeant after the war, when she was also awarded two Purple Hearts and a Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal.

7) Mr. Ed

Mr. Ed was a talking palomino in a 1960s television show by the same name. At a time when Westerns dominated American television, Mr. Ed was the anti-Western, with the main human character a klutzy architect and the hero a horse that was fond of his meals and his comfortable life, and spoke with the voice of Allan “Rocky” Lane, who made dozens of “B” westerns. But the show was a five-year hit as it married the past to the future. Mr. Ed offered a gentle homely wisdom that enabled him to straighten out the troubles of the humans around him. The startling special effects that made it appear that the horse was talking melded modern technology with the comforting traditional community depicted in the show.

8) Black Jack

Black Jack, named for John J. “Black Jack” Pershing, was the riderless black horse in the funerals of John F. Kennedy, Herbert Hoover, Lyndon Johnson, and Douglas MacArthur, as well as more than a thousand other funerals with full military honors. A riderless horse, with boots reversed in the stirrups, symbolized a fallen leader, while Black Jack’s brands – a US brand and an army serial number – recalled the army’s history. Black Jack himself was buried with full military honors; the only other horse honored with a military funeral was Comanche.

9) Khartoum

Khartoum was the prize stud horse of Jack Woltz, the fictional Hollywood mogul in Mario Puzo’s The Godfather. In one of the film version’s most famous scenes, after Woltz refuses requests from Don Vito Corleone to cast singer Johnny Fontane in a movie, Woltz wakes up to find Khartoum’s head in bed with him… and agrees to use Fontane in the film. In the novel, Fontane wins the Academy Award for his performance. According to old Hollywood rumor, the story referred to real events. The rumor was that mobsters persuaded Columbia Pictures executive Harry Cohn to cast Frank Sinatra in From Here to Eternity. As Maggio, Sinatra revived his sagging film career and won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

10) Secretariat

Secretariat was an American Thoroughbred that in 1973 became the first U.S. Triple Crown winner in 25 years. His records in the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness Stakes, and the Belmont Stakes still stand. After Secretariat was stricken with a painful infection and euthanized in 1989, an autopsy revealed that he had an unusually big heart. Sportswriter Red Smith once asked his trainer how Secretariat had run one morning; Charlie Hatton replied, “The trees swayed.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[sanderssides-springfling]

The Frogman

For @space-mothman 

Synopsis- Analogical cryptid-hunting AU in which they search for the mysterious Frogman for a college documentary project.

Warning- Swearing + Minor wound

Note- Hiya!! I’ve had a lot of fun working with the wishes you asked for and I’m super excited to see what you think of it! I hope you’re doing well :D

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Virgil held up the two near-identical hoodies in front of the mirror, deciding which to wear when a familiar head poked through the doorway. 

“Ooh, are you getting ready for your little date?” 

Virgil walked over to kick him out when Janus joined in. 

“Leave our darling little brother alone Remus, his boyfriend will be here soon. We have to find the baby pictures before he arrives.”

“He’s not my boyfriend! The teacher paired us up. I had no say in it.” Virgil said as he tried and failed to push the pair out. “And if either of you shows him any embarrassing pictures of me, you’re both dead.”

“Wow, how scary,” mocked Remus as Janus mimed a face of fear. He then added, “If I were you I’d go for the one on the left, it makes you look less…intimidating and murdery.”

Virgil swatted at him with the hoodie before putting it on reluctantly, huffing about how he was planning to choose it anyway because it was ‘warmer’.

Just then the doorbell rang. Virgil’s eyes opened wide as he ran down the stairs to get to the door first but he was no match for Remus. He shoved Virgil out of the way and opened the door wide. 

“You must be Logan. We’ve heard so much about you. Why don’t you come in?” He invited with a wild grin on his face.

Virgil stared daggers at Remus as Logan walked in, politely telling Remus he has a lovely home. He was wearing a jean jacket over an unbuttoned plaid shirt and a graphic t-shirt depicting Mothman. His soft-looking hair fell over the rim of his glasses, the eyes behind them taking in his new surroundings.

Before Virgil could tell Logan they should leave, Janus began his, rehearsed, warnings. “You better take good care of my brother, young man. I’m expecting you to bring him home with at least three remaining limbs and having gone through a maximum of one demon possession, preferably none, or else there will be hell to pay. I’m also expecting you to keep criminal activity to a minimum along with the use of venomous vipers, they’re nasty creatures.” 

To Virgil’s surprise, Logan had taken out a notepad and started to make notes, taking his speech seriously. Janus clearly wasn’t expecting this either as his expression softened towards Logan. “It’s obvious you’ll take good care of him. I’ll let you two go because I’m sure you have plenty of ‘work’ to do.” He winked at Virgil. “Just be careful.”

“But-”

“The baby photos and home videos can wait for their second date Rem, let’s give Virge a chance to embarrass himself without our help first.”

Virgil glared at his brothers as he dragged Logan outside, only mildly thankful Janus let him off that easy. What had he done to deserve being stuck with those two morons?

“Have fun!” Remus called out as the door slammed closed. 

“Come on, I parked down the road. It’s not far.” Logan set off walking away, Virgil joining him a moment later.

“I’m super sorry about them,” Virgil said. “Ignore everything they said, they’re not worth wasting energy on.”

“It’s quite alright Virgil, it’s clear they care for you. I have always admired the dynamic between siblings.”

“You’re an only child? Lucky.” He thought back to how embarrassing his brothers were. They took every opportunity available to tease Virgil, regardless of whether they were alone or with any of his few friends. In moments like that, it was hard to remember why he loved them. He reminded himself, trying to calm down.

On his worst nights, Remus would tell him a gruesome ‘bedtime story’ while Deceit badgered him to add a happy end. They would also take him to concerts of bands he liked and try to fit into the scene even though they hated the music and fashion. Seeing Janus in a My Chemical Romance shirt trying not to curse after jabbing himself in the eye with Virgil’s eyeliner was still one of his fondest memories.

“Although,” Virgil added, “It does have its advantages.”

Logan stopped in front of an old pickup truck. Despite the carefully polished hubcaps and fresh paint job, it had visibly been through a lot.

“Here we are, our ride for the evening.” Logan took hold of the passenger door handle. “The door can be a little tricky sometimes.” He rattled the handle, banging at a spot a few inches below it. The door sprang open. “Like to most things, there’s a trick.”

He pulled the door open fully, holding it for Virgil as he clambered up. “Uh…thanks.”

Logan proceeded to join him from the driver’s side. “It may not look it but it’s a strong and reliable vehicle, I spent all last summer fixing it up.” He said proudly.

“No, no, it’s nice!” Virgil reassured him. “Does it have a name?” 

“Why would my truck have a name?” Logan asked, appearing puzzled. He put his key in the ignition. The vehicle whirred to life.

“Nevermind. Are you excited to film our project?” 

“Incredibly so! When Mr Picani said we had to make a documentary on any subject I got super excited about the idea of cryptid hunting! Thank you for going along with it!”

“Whatever gets me to pass the class dude. Plus this seems like a better way to spend time than filming ladybugs walking on leaves and doing some boring commentary.” What Virgil didn’t add was that after seeing the excitement of Logan’s face when he proposed the idea, Virgil couldn’t find it in his heart to say no. 

He shuffled in his seat. “I’m also really happy I got partnered with you. I know we haven’t talked much but you seem a lot easier to get along with than the other people in our class.” Virgil smiled in Logan’s direction and despite the dim lighting, he could have sworn he saw Logan blush.

“Oh, thank you, Virgil. You too have ‘good vibes’ if I’m using the term correctly.” Virgil grinned, telling Logan he did. 

“How about some music?” Logan asked before turning on the radio. Pop music crackled out of it, gently playing for the rest of their journey.

~~~~

A cold wind blew through the dense, gloomy woods. In the clearing before it, stood a teenager speaking to a camera, visible in the dying light of the sun.

“There are many legends about the Sanders Wilds, however, most revolve around the same being. A creature said to lurk in the depths of these woods, waiting for unsuspecting victims. 

He has been described as a slimy beast with incredible jumping abilities, his hind muscular legs able to propel him forward metres at a time. He most often appears by the many bodies of water found in this forest.

Although no-one has ever disappeared in the woods, most locals swear they’ve met one of the unfortunate souls chased by the being whose very existence is in question.

He goes by many names. The Shadow, the Beast of the Sanders Wilds and recently he’s been referred to as ‘Scary Todd’ by a youngster from a neighbouring Elementary school.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows from behind the camera when he heard ‘youngster’ but Logan brushed it off and continued.

“The most common name of the cryptid we will be investigating today, inspired by its many characteristics, is” Logan stopped for dramatic effect. “The Frogman.“

“That’s quite the speech you prepared there” Virgil called out as he put down the video camera and rubbed his forearm. His arms had begun to stiffen during Logan’s monologue 

“Are you ready to go in?” Logan asked.

Virgil froze. There was only one problem, something he hadn’t told Logan- He was scared. 

Virgil knew that technically there wasn’t anything to be scared of. The frogman was nothing more than an urban legend, mere shadows and reflections mistaken for something, however, it was the what if’s that plagued Virgil’s mind. What if the frogman was real? What if he appeared? Worst of all… what if he caught them? Virgil wasn’t sure if he was willing to risk his life to pass a college class he didn’t even like that much.

“Virgil?” Logan looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

Great, Virgil scolded himself. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to tell Logan in the first place. More than anything he didn’t want Logan to think he was a nervous wreck, scared of a fake monster. Now he’d have to tell his handsome partner he was a chicken and he would totally think less of Virgil. Oh why does Logan have to be so handsome, Virgil thought to himself as he looked towards his cryptid hunting companion. 

He was tall, with a sturdy frame that was perfect for giving supportive hugs and his hair was unruly in all the right ways, looking good for running your fingers through. It was very difficult to focus on anything else, Virgil had to admit. Good looking people never failed to make things more difficult.

“I- I’m just… a little scared.” Virgil mumbled reluctantly. “As controversial as it is, I’m not too keen on the whole getting captured by a forest monster thing.”

“Oh.” Logan looked disappointed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not too late to change the project. I can drive us to the library and we can get started in something different. All that matters is that you feel comfortable.”

Virgil felt touched. Logan was willing to give up something he wanted to do for his well being? It wasn’t often that happened. That’s why he was determined to go in anyway. “No way. We’re going in there and finding that frogman. Just… promise to protect me from any monsters?” Virgil managed a smile as he held out his pinky, holding the camcorder in his other hand.

“Pinky promise,” Logan answered solemnly, hooking his finger around Virgil’s. Then, he smiled wide. “Now, let’s go say hi to The Beast. And…” He paused apprehensively as if he was trying to pick out the right words. “If you’re alright carrying the camcorder with one hand, maybe I could hold your hand? So you feel safe?”

Virgil laughed, slipping his hand into Logan’s. It felt warm compared to the cool evening. “As long as you’re okay with shaky footage.” He joked.

Logan led them into the forest, pulling out a flashlight from his pocket while Virgil switched the camera back on. There was an eerie quiet only broken by the crackling of leaves and snapping of branches under their feet. 

“Hey, Logan, you know you can talk, right? We can edit everything out of the footage later.” There was still no response. 

Virgil glanced towards Logan, seeing him staring intensely at a spot in the direction they were walking. “Make sure you get this.” He murmured before rushing up, tugging Virgil with him. He crouched down next to an animal print in the muddy ground. Virgil let go of his hand so he could step back and get a better angle. 

“This right here is an animal footprint however it belongs to no regular being. While it seems to belong to an amphibian creature as is indicated by the pattern and the indentation from webbing, it is bigger than any regular amphibians could produce.” Logan splayed his hand above the mark to demonstrate. They were around the same size. “This must be the footprint of the Frogman.”

Yay, Virgil thought to himself. Evidence of a creature that might kill them. How wonderful. 

He walked to Logan and helped him up, keeping hold of Logan’s hand afterwards because there was no way he was going to risk getting separated from him now. He also enjoyed the feeling of Logan’s hand in his, it made him a feeling of joy that he couldn’t quite place.

They continued when there was a sudden rustling a few metres in front of them. Instinctively Virgil squeezed Logan’s hand harder, holding onto him for safety. They both froze. Logan’s torch turned to the source of the sound, a bush. A moment later a squirrel scampered out of the said bush, disappearing into the darkness as quickly as it appeared. Both Logan and Virgil sighed in relief.

“That sure was one terrifying squirrel,” Virgil said as they continued to walk deeper into the woods. 

Virgil attempted to strike up small talk again, not wanting things to become awkward. “I like your Mothman shirt.”

“Oh, thank you, Virgil.” Logan beamed, the way he only did when he was speaking about something he was passionate about. “I had a really big cryptid phase as a child, so big my parents decided to take us to Point Pleasant for the summer break one year. That’s the hometown of Mothman, they have a statue of him and everything. It was incredible. That’s when I got the shirt! It’s been a good luck charm. Not that I believe in luck but it never hurts something else on your side”

“You got it as a kid and it still fits? You must’ve been a tall kid.”

“It was the middle of their tourist season so they were sold out of all the youth sizes. According to my mother, it made a very fashionable dress.”

Virgil held back giggles as the thought of a smaller Logan wearing that shirt going down to his knees with a pair of fashionable red heels crossed his mind. For whatever reason, if Logan were to wear a dress, Virgil believed he’d wear it with stunning red heels. He seemed the type.

“Did you spot The Mothman?” he asked, only half kidding.

“Unfortunately not, although it was probably for the best as I was going to ask him for an autograph. I doubt that would have gone down well with Him.“

The idea of a smaller Logan wearing an oversized Mothman merchandise shirt going down to his knees and a pair of fashionable red heels walking up to the Lord of the Shadows himself, at least double his height, and asking him to sign his autograph book was so funny to Virgil that he stopped in his tracks wheezing, his eyes brimming with tears. 

Seeing Logan’s bewildered expression, he tried to calm himself. After a few moments catching his breath trying to keep a straight he was able to regain his composure. “Sorry Lo, I’m fine now.”

“Can I ask-”

“No” Virgil interrupted him. “It’s really for the best you don’t.”

“Alright Virgil, I’ll trust you on this one.” He hummed a song Virgil wasn’t familiar with for a few moments. Then, he said, “I had an idea for while we’re either walking towards the Frogman or further into the depth of woods we might get lost in.” Virgil wasn’t sure if Logan was kidding and frankly he didn’t want to know. 

“Yeah L, what is it?” Virgil’s mind started to race when he realized he had called Logan a nickname. While only a shortening of his name, it still seemed very personal and friendly. What if it bothers him? What if he thinks it’s weird? 

“Well Vee,” Logan paused to see Virgil’s reaction, looking smug. Virgil stuck his tongue out at him. He wouldn’t admit it but his heart would flutter whenever he got that self-righteous expression on his face, seen often when he corrected the teacher or had got full marks on a test. It was cute. Very annoying, but cute.

“We could directly target your fear of the Frogman. You would have to trust me though.”

“I trust you,” Virgil answered with no hesitation. He squeezed Logan’s hand in his.

“Oh…um…” Logan appeared flustered. “This is going to seem scary but there’s a very low possibility of a negative outcome. Now…repeat after me.”

Logan took a deep breath before yelling “Fuck you Frogman!”

Virgil startled, not expected Logan to be so brazen. Yelling was a common occurrence for Logan however such vulgarities? Directed at a possibly supernatural creature who was reported as dangerous? He shook his head in disbelief.

Logan looked at him pointedly. “Oh no Logan, there is no way-” He stopped realizing there would be no convincing Logan. “Fine.” He grumbled.

“Frick you Frogman.” The words sounded uncertain. 

“That was a good first attempt, Virgil. If you want to try again, you should really try to metaphorically shake off any inhibitions and really go for it. I did promise to protect you, the Frogman won’t hurt you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

They had come to a stop next to a running stream of water. Virgil slipped his camcorder into his hoodie pocket and let go of Logan’s hand, freeing both his arms. After running his fingers through his hair trying to build up enough confidence and jumping where he stood for a moment getting into an energetic mood, he felt ready. Or as ready as he could be. 

Angling his head to the sky he screamed at the top of his lungs “Fuck you Frogman!”

He laughed in exhilaration, adrenaline running through his veins. Virgil felt invincible. “And fuck your Frogmother too!” He raised his hand for a high five.

“Yes!” Logan exclaimed. As he stepped towards Virgil, he must have been too excited to look where he walked because his foot caught on a tree branch. 

Instinctively Virgil went to grab Logan’s hand to keep him up, however, Virgil started hurtling towards the creek as well, knocked off balance. He gasped as he hit the cold water, a moment later crashing into Logan.

The stream had been quite shallow, a foot deep at most. Virgil, quite luckily, didn’t experience the brute of the fall, having fallen on top of Logan. He rolled off and tried to stand. He would definitely have a couple nasty bruises later, he thought to himself. 

“Hey Lo, are you okay?” Virgil looked for the torch that fell out of Logan’s hand during his fall. It wasn’t far and within seconds he was shining it directly at Logan’s face. Logan didn’t appreciate it.

“I’m fine, I assure you but please get that out of my face. The light is blinding.” Virgil muttered a few apologies while helping Logan to his feet. Overall, whilst cold and mildly pained, Logan appeared to be okay overall.

The two were both standing up in the middle of the creek. Although their feet were still submerged in the freezing cold water neither seemed to notice nor care. Instead, they were both looking directly at each other. 

They inched closer and Logan began softly “Virgil, I’ve been meaning to tell you-” however he didn’t get to finish that sentence.

There was a raucous splashing sound from further upstream. Then there was another, this time louder. Whatever was making the noise was approaching. 

Virgil shared a look of terror with Logan. He grabbed the camera and started recording as a shadowy figure started to form. Its form was unclear, however, it moved forward the way a frog might, leaping up and forward. Virgil was sure, it was The Frogman. 

“What are you waiting for, Vee? Run.” Logan urged him to come however Virgil was frozen in fear. This was the end for him. He’d never see Janus and Remus again. He’d never tell Logan how he feels. 

Logan snatched the torch from Virgil and took his now-free hand into his. Glancing back to the shadowy figure a final time, he muttered a few profanities, irked, then started to run, dragging Virgil with him. This was enough to snap Virgil out of his state, as he started running alongside Logan as fast as he could. The sound of the Frogman thudding behind them, hot on their trail, motivated them to keep going.

Virgil would never consider himself particularly athletic, which paired with the fact his legs were quite short created a challenge as he attempted to keep up with Logan, however, Adrenaline paired with the fact Logan wouldn’t have let him fall behind if he wanted to keep him as far from the Frogman as possible.

The journey out the forest was a blur. Virgil remembered stumbling however he got back up immediately. Logan shined the torch in front of them so they didn’t run into any trees. As a few minutes passed the sound of the Frogman following them faded away but neither would risk stopping. They continued forward and by some miracle, they had returned to the clearing where they had started, Logan’s pickup truck only a few yards away.

Logan slowed down to a stop outside it. “It’s alright, he won’t follow us out here.”

“That’s… really… great… Lo.” Virgil panted. He could feel his heart pounding in his head as he breathed so heavily he thought he might cough his lungs out. “How…are you…back to normal…so fast?”

“Oh, I did track in high school. Now you stay there while I get something.”

Virgil leaned against the truck as Logan rummaged around in his glove compartment. He pulled out an emergency foil blanket. He wrapped it over Virgil’s shoulders. “I only have one so you better keep that on. That water was freezing and I don’t want you getting hypothermic. You’re still soaking wet after all. Are you injured anywhere?” 

Unsure, Virgil checked. Sure enough, he had a cut on his shin. Damn, it must’ve happened when I tripped, he thought to himself. Only as the energy from the run wore off, he started to feel it sting.

“Is it okay if I clean that cut for you? I have a first aid kit in the truck’s cargo bed.” 

“Thanks, dude, I would really appreciate that. You better get under this blanket right after though, you’re not allowed to get hypothermic either.”

Logan smiled then pulled out a first aid kit from the back of the truck. “You can have a seat on the grass.” Once Virgil did, Logan joined him. “How are you feeling?”

“Still in shock and denial. It’ll probably only sink in later tonight that we got chased by the actual Frogman. How about you?” 

“Honestly…I feel incredible. We saw the Frogman! The Frogman is real” Logan grinned. “Also, this might hurt a bit” he warned Virgil as he disinfected the cut. He was right. Virgil’s eyes pricked with tears.

“It’s a good thing my jeans were already so ripped, that way people won’t even question this one.” he joked. 

“Did your camera survive that? I hope it’s not water damaged.”

“Nah don’t worry, it’s been through a lot. A little fall and water aren’t going to be the thing to break it.” He inspected the camera. “Unfortunately…I can’t say the same for the footage. The memory card looks completely fried.”

Logan’s smile fell. “That’s a shame, although maybe it’s for the best. The Frogman can continue living his best life in the forest with no scientists looking for him since there’s still no evidence.”

“Really?” Virgil asked incredulously. “You. The smartest person I know. Is against scientists?”

“Well… I’m not against scientists but having watched E.T. as a kid, I wouldn’t trust them with any rare or unusual beings.” He put a plaster on the cleaned injury then looked at his handiwork proudly.

Virgil was bemused by this. “You do know that’s a fictional movie, right?” After Logan did not answer he decided it was best to change tact. 

“C’mon, join me under this blanket so you can warm up before we drive away. I’m thinking we go to mine? I can make us some hot chocolate and we can decide what to do with the assignment. I can also lend you some dry clothes if you don’t mind being dressed Emo.” 

Logan moved so he was sat next to Virgil, their shoulders touching as the blanket covered them. “Sounds great Vee.”

“It’s a shame we wasted the evening though.” Virgil moped, but then Logan turned to face him. Their faces were mere inches away.

“Actually, I wouldn’t call it a wasted evening. I had a lot of fun spending the evening with you. “ 

Virgil was more taken aback by that than he was by him cursing at the Frogman. “I enjoyed spending the evening with you too. You’re really kind and surprisingly easy to talk to. I hope we could maybe spend some time together after this assignment is over if that’s something you’d like?” 

Virgil felt the tips of his ears burning as his face flushed completely. He knew he was being obvious now but it seemed worth it. Putting himself out there didn’t seem as scary with Logan.

Logan spoke as gently as he had when they were standing in the creek together.

“About that. I wanted to tell you something before we were rudely interrupted earlier.”

“Mhm?” Virgil murmured, not trusting himself to say any proper words.

“I believe I have romantic feelings for you, Virgil. I highly enjoy speaking with you and when you’re around my heart begins to beat faster. If you were to feel the same way I would love to take you on a date perhaps? With fewer cryptids, I assure you. If not-”

“Me too,” Virgil said, in disbelief, cutting him off. He didn’t want to hear the ’If not’ because he liked Logan back. A lot. He took hold of Logan’s hand. 

“If it’s okay with you Logan, can I kiss you?” He was surprised by his own confidence, but it felt right. Everything felt right.

Logan answered not with words but by closing the gap between the two of them. It was short and sweet. According to Virgil, it was perfect. Perhaps the evening wasn’t a waste after all.

[emybain]

Love Conquers Hate

I have come to the conclusion that I can only write fluff. also, yes ive been wanting to write the parade from nova’s pov since reading the epilogue (despite how much I love magpie). no shame. 

SUPERNOVA SPOILERS 

SUPERNOVA SPOILERS

SUPERNOVA SPOILERS

    The sunlight warmed Nova’s face as she laid back on the star float, legs hovering over the edge. She had been sitting, waiting for Adrian as he left to find them something to eat or drink. Oscar had accompanied him, and they had been gone for twenty minutes so far. As each minute grew longer, her patience grew shorter, so Nova resulted to a few minutes of sunbathing. Beside her, Ruby was chatting with Danna and Narcissa, who were going to be on the float as well. Ahead of them, probably two or three floats, Nova could hear a marching band warming up as well as the whooshing and whipping sounds of the color guard's flags. 

    They had been called to the parade set up three hours ago so that everyone could be accounted for and put in order. Before, Nova had been curious as to why they needed three hours to set up for an hour and a half parade, but after witnessing the amount of stress the organizers and performers went through beforehand, she now had a deeper respect for parades. 

    Now they were waiting for the parade to begin, awkwardly standing around on a random residential street. Someone had mentioned a while ago that they still had thirty minutes, and that was when Adrian and Oscar left for food. 

    An elbow nudged Nova’s side gently. She opened one eye, raising her eyebrow at Ruby, who pulled her up. “There’s someone here to see you,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. She gestured in front of them. 

    Nova ran a hand through her hair, blinking at the young mom and the little girl behind her legs who was no more than five or six. She shared a knowing look with Ruby before hopping down from the float and kneeling to peek around the mom’s legs at the girl. 

    “Hey there.” Nova smiled sweetly. “What’s your name?” 

    “Go on, Camden.” Her mother stepped to the side and pushed her daughter forward encouragingly when she didn’t immediately answer. “It’s okay.”

    Camden peeked up at Nova, and for that brief moment, Nova saw the awe in her eyes. Then she tore her gaze away, cheeks red. “My name’s Camden,” she said in a tiny voice. “I...I was wondering...can I have your autograph?”

    Nova opened her mouth, gasping dramatically. She clasped her hands together. “Of course!” She rummaged for a marker in her pockets, knowing she put one in there specifically for today. Already, multiple people, not just children, had come up to her and her friends asking for autographs. “Where do you want it?”

    Camden’s shy exterior began to drop just a little as she handed over a superhero cape. Nova asked her what her superpower was as she wrote out a short message. She learned that Camden had perfect balance, which pushed her into doing gymnastics. 

    Nova handed back the cape, freshly signed. Camden grinned down at it with sparkling eyes. Then she looked back up at Nova. 

    “Miss Artino,” she began, “how do you be brave? See, I want to be just like you when I grow up, but I’m always afraid.”

    Nova tilted her head to the side, not all that surprised at the child’s honest question, as most children were honest, but surprised at the subject. She thought about it for a moment. Behind her, the three other girls stopped talking, and she could feel their gazes on the back of her head. “Well, Camden, bravery and fear go hand in hand. It’s impossible to be brave if you aren’t at least a little scared.”

    Camden’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward. “Really? Does that mean you get scared?”

    Nova nodded solemnly. “All the time, but I’m still brave.” She paused. “Some of the bravest people in the world are scared of many things, did you know that?”

    She shook her head quickly, and Nova pressed on. “It’s true. Because those people are afraid to lose what they love, so they choose to be brave to protect those things. Do you understand that?” 

    Camden swayed from side to side, contemplating, before smiling a toothy grin and nodding. “Thank you, Miss Artino. I think I get it now.” 

    Nova matched her smile and stretched her arms out, offering a hug that the child accepted. The mother thanked Nova, and then they were gone, back to the small neighborhood crowd watching the parade from their homes. 

    Meeting kids like Camden was nothing new for Nova these days; they always stopped her on the streets asking for photos or autographs or screaming how much they loved her. At first, Nova was weirded out and not sure how to even approach children. While it still made her uncomfortable to think that people idolized her for the very same reasons Nova used to despise the Renegades, she had become a pro at talking to children, and found a tiny bit of joy in brightening their day. 

    “Water?” Nova turned to find a water bottle pushed in her face, the owner of the voice belonging to her boyfriend. She smiled up at him and accepted the water. Oscar showed up beside him and they passed out water to everyone. 

    “You were gone that long and water was all you could find?” She hopped back up on the black parade float, designed to be like a night sky with a thousand shining stars. It was Adrian’s idea, as well as his creation. 

    “Tell me about it,” Oscar groaned. Ruby scooched over and he sat beside her, arm snaking around her waist. The movement was almost natural, and Nova couldn’t help but think back to a year ago when Oscar could barely hold it together if Ruby so much as brushed hands with him. “Not a food truck in sight. They must all be in the big ticket areas.”

    “We’ll get nachos after the parade,” Ruby assured him, patting his thigh. “Any word on how much longer until we start? Mom said Jade and Sterling are growing restless.”

    “At least they have food,” Oscar grumbled. 

    Adrian took a seat beside Nova, and they laced their fingers together immediately. “It’ll probably be another five or so minutes.”

    Narcissa rested her head on Danna’s shoulder, who pressed a kiss to her hair. “I should have brought a book. It’s been three hours!” She sighed dramatically. “This parade is great and all, don’t get me wrong, but it should not be this long.” 

    Nova agreed, although she kept her mouth shut. It was ironic, really, when she thought of where she was a year ago. Who she was a year ago. She had been so filled with hatred and loneliness, craving a revenge that was aimed at the wrong people. So much time and energy and so many resources poured into one goal that ate away at Nova’s humanity for ten years, preventing her from seeing the truth. And now, she recognized that revenge was an illness; it weakens someone and plagues them of any real happiness, convincing them that it is the cure when in fact it is the parasite. Now, she knew that, and was grateful that she was rescued from it’s cage before it was too late. Now, she was here, with the people she loved doing the last thing on the planet she would have ever thought she would do. A year ago, she was at the parade, yes, but with a completely different motive. 

    One of the parade organizers, a middle aged man whose name Nova didn’t bother to remember, came by and told them to get to their positions. Nova took a quick sip of her water and accepted the hand that Adrian offered. Together, they got on the topmost point of the large star in the center of the float. Ruby and Oscar went to a point to their right, and Danna and Narcissa to their left. After a moment, the float lurched forward and began its slow trek down the street. The neighborhood watchers began clapping and cheering, the children jumping up and down and waving at the group of six people on the star. 

    Nova waved back, putting on what she referred to as her “camera smile”, the one she reserved for the media and for events like this. 

    The parade route was supposed to take them along the most known streets of Gatlon and end at Headquarters, something that would take between an hour and an hour and a half to complete. Like every year, it would be televised around the world, and similar celebrations would take place. However, what made this year different was that everyone was now a prodigy. Because of this, it seemed almost silly to solely celebrate the Renegades and their success. No, the Renegades had learned from examples like Nova and the Anarchists and the Rejects that one’s abilities didn’t determine how heroic they were. So, on the Day of Triumph, the Renegades parade was now meant to celebrate all prodigies of all shapes and sizes and abilities. Nova felt as though it was a small victory in the direction of a future she desired, a future where everyone could be equal. It brought tears to her eyes when she was told that the villain floats were being tossed, as well as the Council’s float. In their places would be floats honoring the gifts of prodigies and honoring the warriors lost in the fight for freedom and equality. It moved her to see a float for Honey, despite what the woman had done to Nova prior to her death. It made her grin to see a float for Callum Treadwell, a prodigy who quite possibly had the greatest gift of all, yet was never on a task force like other Renegades. Nova could only fathom what he would think if he were here today. 

    “Are you okay?”

    Nova glanced beside her at Adrian, who was still smiling and waving at the cheering crowds. But she noticed the concern in his eyes. 

    “Yeah.” She wiped at her eyes, which had gotten a little misty, and reached for his hand. He clutched her tightly, a promise. “Just a little overwhelmed is all.” 

    The float turned a corner, and the roaring of the crowd somehow went up two dynamics. They were on what many of the organizers referred to as “TV Street”, where most of the excitement took place for the celebration, as well as where every news station would be covering the parade. It was the street with the best seats for the parade, and the most media. It was also the street where…

    Nova nudged Adrian lightly, making him look down at her curiously. “This is where we met.” She nodded to a familiar spot in front of a vendor selling merchandise. “Right there.” 

    Adrian’s smile grew genuine, and he pulled her closer. “I love you, Nova Artino.”

    “And I you, Adrian Everhart. Every day, I will love you.” Sweet rot, she was letting Danna and Ruby suck her into their shared love of rom-coms and romance movies. She didn’t much care, though. Her heart was full, the fullest it had ever been. 

    When she tilted her head up to kiss Adrian, the crowd went wild. Nova tuned them out, her attention fully on the boy standing beside her. She savored this moment, the way he tasted of the donuts Oscar brought earlier that morning, the feeling of a hand in her hair and another clutching her hip. Too soon did he pull back, but Nova knew from the secretive glint in his eyes that there would be many, many more kisses later in the day when they were alone and away from the eyes of the media. She couldn’t wait. 

    But for now, she let herself be wrapped up in his arms as they both waved to the many cameras pointed at them and smiled at the crowd. A sign held by a kid caught Nova’s eye; when the child saw Nova watching him, he grinned and raised the sign higher, shouting something Nova couldn’t hear. But the sign was enough explanation: Love Conquers Hate.

    She couldn’t agree more. 

[irndad]

lessons in love- b.b.

a/n: unofficial entry for @sgtjbuccky and @jaamesbbarnes follower celebration! i wasn’t able to snag a prompt in time, but i love you guys so much!!

summary: the things bucky barnes has learned while being in love, and the woman who taught him them. (it’s really sweet ur gonna finish w cavities)

wc: ~2k

In the mornings, she glows like starlight.

His mornings are different than they used to be. There was a time, not long ago (especially in the reference of his life), where time wasn’t an object, where days and nights would pass, and he would stay the same, stay in pain, stay chained or frozen or doing nothing he wanted but everything he was told.

It’s a strange kind of lovely, to wake up when he pleases, with sunlight falling all over his body, in the warmth of his own home. Stranger to have this woman, this tiny piece of heaven wrapped up in his arms. It’s golden all over, warm light and sweet vanilla lotion, the memories of laughter and knowledge that more is to come when she wakes.

She wakes as he thinks of it, and turns to look up at him, and he is as in awe of her as he always is. She smiles at him, her hands neatly folded over on her chest, propped up just a little bit. Her little sleepy grin- it’s the prettiest thing he’s damn never seen. Her smile is always so lovely, the first thing he noticed about her. The starburst of her eyes when she laughed, how she did it with her whole body, how she let the joy pull her in like a tide she couldn’t resist.

“Hey there, you,” she says, her finger tracing over his flesh arm. She’s on her back, next to him, and his metal one is on her back.

“Hey,” he says back, dragging her closer. She’s smiling still, warm fingers running up and down the length of the metal, a certain sort of warmth written across her features. SHe’s always been open with him, see, letting her thoughts paint her face like those green lights in the sky.

“What do you want to do today?” her voice is light, soft and sweet like warm butterscotch, and this is a thing she teaches him.

From the moment they met, she offered him the world. Let him decide things, small things, the type of tea they’d drink, which restaurant they’d go to. He’d never had sushi before, and on their third date, when she laughed at him drinking his nose because wasabi is spicy, okay, he felt like-

He felt like it was 1940, like he was the kind of man who knew how to love a girl right, how to be the kind of man who could be what she deserved.

She picks too, all the time, but the luxury of choice, of taking a beautiful girl on a date, in places like a sushi restaurant or a dive bar or a show-

She taught him normalcy isn’t out of the question, in fact- it’s in reach. Healing his happening, before he could even see it coming.

“I don’t think I really want to do anything, today,” he says, “I think you’re all the plans I need.”

____________________________

There is a certain kind of joy that is buried so far within the Winter Soldier, wrapped up in Bucky Barnes, so far from the man anyone could see.

He remembers things, sometimes, in dreams. The way his ma used to laugh, how she’d look at his father like a miracle, how she’d hum and dance while she cooked, and this simple, kind, forgiving love was something he’d known, something even then, had cherished.

And he’d forgotten.

More had it stolen, really. Time’s hard to grasp, and more often than not, he’s not sure if he’s ready to do any of what he does. Not ready to be an Avenger, not ready to be what everyone needs.

And he’d fallen in love, and on a summer day, heat wrapping around their home like a vice, the woman he loves is there.  She is humming, mixing something over the stove, wearing shorts and a tank top, humming something light, along to the radio. They have a little tabletop one, something she found in a vintage shop (which is honestly insulting because he’s pretty sure the thing is younger than him so fuck that). And she’s dancing to some song, and she spins around, dancing slightly to her own music.

She’s really- she’s the stuff stars are made out of, and, everyone is, really.

He knows, cognitively, that she is not so special. She is not the result of some omnipotent being blessing his life with something incredible. He knows she curses too much and burns her mouth on coffee and gets carried away easily.

She’s not perfect. God knows 70 years have taught him nothing is.

But she’s his girl, his girl who laughs too loud and loves too much and dances like no one’s watching even though he’s everything to her.

When he kisses her, he realizes something he maybe already knew. No one feels like enough, no one feels ready or worthy.

But she pulls away, and looks at him like a miracle, and he knows. He knows what’s truly possible.

___________________________

The fact of the matter is, she’s not the kind of woman who sits til, who’s only job is to look pretty and attained galas and be on his arm.

No, she is much more than that, strong and brilliant. She is more than the man she loves, more than her beauty, more than what people see.

But she is only human.

So on the days when she comes home and every over breath is a sigh, a heave of a weight too heavy to carry, he knows this. There are days like this one, where she is tired, and her bright eyes are dampened by stress and a clear sadness. She’s his whole heart, a piece of him, and he wants to gather her up in his arms, love her whole.

She couldn’t do that for him, no one could. He can’t for her.

So instead, he walks closer to her, brushes his left thumb over her cheek, standing between her parted legs, looking down at her with the ghost of a smile crossing his face. She’s sitting, on her desk chair, and he swears he sees tears welling up in her eyes

“Hey, you,” he says, as tender as he can muster. All he can think is give me a smile, please. As if a simple upward curve of lips could fix everything. Fix anything.”

“Hey sergeant,” she says, and there’s the teary voice. It’s his girl though, the one he loves so much, still flirting with him, a bit silly, when she’s the one who should be romanced, swept off her feet.

Because he’s a super soldier, he pulls her up, in a swift motion, and god it’s worth it to hear her quick giggle, and for her to be eye to eye with him.

“I look like a mess,” she says, wiping her eyes quickly, a stray tear or two escaping, rid of like they’re poison.

“You look beautiful.” He says it like an oath. She gives him another smile. “You always do.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re legally required to say that.”

“Didn’t you hear? No governments have control over my brain or anything anymore. I can decide what I want to say,” and he places his hand on the small of her back, pulls her in closer, “And I think you look gorgeous.”

She grins, the littlest thing, and leans her forehead against his.

She trusts him, when he wraps his arms around her middle, and she reciprocates. She trusts him, when he kisses her temple, lets her decide what she’ll tell him and when she does it.

“I love you for so many reasons, though.” He says, because he wants to, and he can. “You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever known.”

And he taps her chest, with his metal finger, and it’s all so silly, so dreadfully sentimental, his girl crying in his arms and him tapping her heart and telling her what she’s worth to him.

But when she kisses the tip of his nose, and hugs him back, it’s the kind of sentimental, the kind of richness you can excuse having, because it’s worth the sweetness.

Maybe 100 years ago he wouldn’t have known how to do this. He was young and stupid, and even then, he didn’t know how to love right, didn’t know how to be the other half of someone’s heart, how to be what someone like her needs.

It’s an ability he holds close to his heart, and just like so many things, he wants her to have the best of it, best of him, and with any luck, she will.

_________________________

One morning, it occurs to him, slow as the sunrise and warm as the sun. They’re watching something on TV, her head on his chest, her fingers distractedly brushing up and down the length of his arm. She smells like vanilla and gold, and her messy hair is a halo across his chest.

It’s not particularly interesting, the show they’re watching. It’s some random show on Netflix, and she’s focused on the screen, her eyes trained on the characters, and he swells with fondness.

It hits him, her so close to him, wrapped up safe in his hold, that she is the best thing that ever happened to him. He can imagine what the shrill cynic in him would say that he doesn’t have the best of experiences to compare it to.

But she’s a work of art, from the way she laughs, to how she fumbles with her phone to take a photo of him, how they text in post mission meetings, how she calls him Sergeant, how if he ever nicks himself on anything, she puts a band-aid on it even though they both know he will heal within hours.

It’s care and kindness that fills his life, with her in it and the warmth she provides. There’s lessons to be learned about healing and changing and how to love when being whole seems like an incorrect concept. Maybe it is.

“You’re staring,” she says, and it’s a testament to how welcome her presence is that the sudden appearance of her voice is soft like waves upon the sand. Never anything but welcome.

She’s baiting him to do the thing they always do, easy conversation of love and dosmeticity and-

It’s not the right moment. He’s got the ring, and he really should take her to some fancy place, do something that matches the amount of joy she brings to him every second of every day. This is a moment on the couch, watching shitty TV. It’s not the right moment. The ring’s in a different room.

“Marry me,” he says, like it’s the most sacred thing he will ever say.

Her eyes are wide, bright and gorgeous like she’s surprised, but he’s not sure if she’s happy-

“Are you- are you serious?”

“I have a ring- I know I should’ve taken you somewhere, I actually have a reservation and I had this whole speech,” and he’s losing it, what he hoped this would sound like, smooth like vinyl and romantic and what she deserves,  “I just- I want to be next to you. Like this. Forever.”

It’s not enough. Not like the stories she reads. He’s not telling her her smile is the best thing in his world, how the way her hand feels his is the closest thing to peace. He hasn’t told her how she makes him a better man, how he loves her for everything she is, for all the things she’s taught him about life and love.

But when she gives him a watery smile, he has more to be grateful for, because she knows. She’s like that. She knows him.

“I’d be honored to, Sergeant.”

She kisses him then, laughter and tears and messy, hardly picture perfect, but perfect.

Perfect in all the ways a thing can be. In all the ways he’s learned to love.

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