#the mannequins got skinny again

[mumblesplash]

ok so this could just be a side effect of my own changing social media habits and i’m not even sure how to measure this but does anyone else feel like there was a more mainstream body positivity movement in the late 2010s that just sorta…quietly vanished in the past few years? like what exactly happened there

[lovebillyhargrove]

Billy opens his eyes in September 1985, in Hawkins hospital, and he's not happy to be alive. If you asked him, he would've preferred to stay dead or — unfortunately he never was dead — in a coma. Lying in bed like a withering away vegetable, blissfully unaware of his own existence or non-existence.

Gods have not been that merciful. Hargrove wakes up and doesn't even know his own body anymore. He needs to learn everything anew, starting with walking, or eating usual food — like an 18-year-old baby, for fuck's sake.

He's also bitter at everyone — yeah, for not fucking telling him !!

Except for Neil. Neil gets another kind of bitterness — quieter, darker, drowned in neverending pain.

Max gets a

"Fuck off, Maxine and shut the damn door." Said to the wall.

The gang of monster-hunters aren't even allowed to take a peek at her angry (and "that dude is so badass") brother.

Owens gets a

"Just leave me alone, Doc. I'm clean, and don't give a fuck about conquering the world anymore. Wasn't able to take a piss without a catheter until recently. I've got problems of a different level to deal with now."

When Steve opens the door to Billy's room, he actually gets talked to.

"Billy? .. Can I come in? .. Hey .. Hi."

Hargrove doesn't look like himself. He's too skinny, un-tanned, has some kind of a scanty beard, even longer hair, and looks like Jesus Christ.

Steve still can't believe it's happening. To come back to life after what Billy's been through? Impossible.

Maybe they put a dummy in the hospital bed.

The dummy opens its eyes, reluctantly turns its head towards Harrington, who is still hovering over the threshold, and doesn't say a word.

"How ..?" Steve's clearing his throat, cause sounds suddenly get stuck in it. "How are you .. feeling?"

The mannequin, who is probably Billy after all, blinks sadly and curls his lips

"Awesome, amigo."

Whew, damn, he's talking.

"Does .. does anything hurt?"

The guy looks at him like he's the dumbest idiot

"My ass hurts. I've been lying here for so long, I don't even know anymore if I have one or not."

Harrington wants to giggle, but that would sound extremely impolite.

He bites his lower lip.

"You look good."

Billy grins maliciously, and Steve is still shifting from foot to foot

"You're.." What's wrong with him?

"Listen, you're.."

"Get out."

"Uhm .. what?"

"You think you're so .. nice? Paying a visit to a poor sick guy? Why? To be a good fucking person? Get the fuck out of here."

"A good .. what?!" Steve tries to move closer to the bed but .. that's definitely stupid. He just feels like a ridiculous scarecrow in the field, with his ears burning

"That's not .. Hargrove. I actually .."

"Fuck you. I don't need you to come here."

"Okay, just .."

"Get lost!" Billy raises his voice

"Can I .."

"NURSE !!"

God.

"Alright! Get better!"

Asshole. Steve slams the door.

***

Three days later, he again tries to visit the boy who is definitely a nobody to him, and Billy again refuses to see him.

You know what, this is just too much ..! Silly games in the sandbox.

As if they weren't two reasonable adults. As if Steve hadn't watched Hargrove die horrifically, and as if he hadn't accompanied him to the hospital in the ambulance that night. Well, he himself was pretty beaten up, and needed a ride to the hospital, so it was kinda .. on the way, but still.

He sort of cared.

Was worried sick, to be honest.

And, listen, Steve generally doesn't take rejection well when he cares about something. Someone.

He's also sure of one thing — water wears the stone away.

So Steve shows up at the hospital again. Just to remind Billy of his existence, hang around the hallway, and when the door opens, give him a deliberately friendly smile and a wave of his hand.

Maybe he's here not to see Hargrove at all, he's got other stuff to do. Maybe he was just passing room number eight by accident.

Harrington is amused at Billy's face every time the guy catches a glimpse of Steve in his vicinity.

The patient either switches on complete indifference and sits there with a pompous ass face, as if they don't even know each other, or hisses like a pissed off cat.

Or he conspiratorially whispers something to the nurse when Harrington peers through the half-closed door — most likely asking her not to let Steve into the room under any circumstances.

But the former king didn't fall off the banana truck either. He has his own ways of influencing others — and begs nurse Miller, who seems to him more compassionate than nurse Fieldstone, to pass Hargrove a note

Dude, talk to me.

Steve turns to Max with a request — to collect some tapes from her brother's room, Metallica, Scorpions, Ratt, Mötley Crüe and his other favorite bands,

And asks Mrs. Miller to give them to the moody patient along with an expensive new Sony cassette player, which Harrington bought yesterday on Main Street.

The next day the player is waiting for Steve at the reception — Billy refused to accept the gift, but Harrington does not give in.

"Could you please put it in the drawer of the bedside table, preferably when he is asleep?"

The plan seems to have worked, at least the player is no longer returned. The guy must be climbing walls from hospital boredom.

One day Harrington gets lucky — he's going up to the second floor and bumps into Hargrove, who is being wheeled somewhere in a chair

"Oh, hi! Hello, Mrs. Miller!"

The nurse nods to him. Billy will not make a scene in front of all people, so he reluctantly grits out through his teeth

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Great."

Steve notices Billy's cheeks turning pink, and the boy is hiding his eyes — he's obviously not very happy that they met like that, when he is in such a helpless state, for Hargrove has always been the machiest macho, hated any manifestation of weakness. And here he is — in a wheelchair.

"Where are you going?"

The guy's patience snaps loose

"Fuck off, will you?"

Well, let's not tempt the fate too hard.

"Have a nice day, Billy!" Steve is impeccably polite, unlike the frowning patient. However, was that not a whole conversation?

Harrington definitely calls it progress.

..

One wonderful autumn day, Steve decides to take an ultimate risk. He is in great mood, and he wants to share it.

Harrington swerves through the streets, listening to the radio while driving, a soft smile playing on his lips. On the way to the hospital, he stops at the "Hawkins Bloom" flower shop and buys a bouquet. Whether it's chrysanthemums or dahlias, he doesn't know.

"What kind of flowers does your girlfriend prefer? Here's a beautiful autumn combination .."

"That's not for a girlfriend. It's uh .. for a friend .. he's in hospital? Something more modest, perhaps? But tasteful. Not cheap."

He feels like he's making excuses

Why the hell ..?

Jesus.

Billy definitely won't like this idea, but Steve's gonna do it anyways.

Cause he feels like it. That's valid enough.

So Steve buys the flowers and brings them to the room. He enters brazenly, without asking permission, puts them on the nightstand and moves it away from the bed — so that Billy cannot reach the bouquet and throw it at the visitor.

Oh, and let Hargrove puff, huff and even chuckle stupidly a couple of times as much as he wants — nothing escapes Steve's attentive eyes — blushing and demanding

"Take away these ugly fucking twigs! Are you out of your fucking mind, Harrington?"

Also, threatening him with physical violence

"I would so whip your ass with it, honestly."

Now that's an interesting offer, now we're talking

Harrington only winks at him, smiles

"Get well, okay?"

And rushes out of the room.

..

Like hardest ice under the persistent heat of the bright spring sun, Hargrove has no choice but to start thawing off, little by little.

One day, Steve arrives at the hospital during reception hours, pokes his head into room number eight

"So how are you? Maybe we should talk?"

Hargrove defiantly rolls his eyes and sighs as though he's so hopelessly tired

"You're such a fucking pain in the ass."

Steve shrugs.

"We are broken up anyway, even though we weren't even together for real, Harrington. Never. For the record. So don't get too carried away."

Billy keeps on grumbling

"You think you brought flowers, gifts, notes, so what? I'm not your chick, for fuck's sake!"

"Well, can we be friends?"

"Nah."

That's fine. He'll come around.

Oh, and did Steve forget to mention they did hook up before all the Mindflayer business went down? Must've slipped his mind in all the commotion.

[astrowaffles]

Y2K

General Audiences | Crack & Silliness | Gojo & Nobara bonding for the JJK gotcha for Gaza

Satoru examined the options carefully. He pulled at the waistbands and material, testing for stretch; he hand-measured Nobara’s height and tried to calculate how much higher she was planning to grow; he pulled a pair from the rack and announced, “These ones. 100%.”

Nobara looked scandalised. “Those look like they were made in the year 2000.”

“That was a good year!”

“Why are they so skinny? Who dresses like that??”

“I have been known to-“

“And oh my god, there aren’t even any pockets, what’s the point-“

“I think it looks very-“

“It’s so painfully millennial, I can’t even-“

“If you don’t like it, put it back,” Satoru sniffed, handing her the jeans. She immediately shoved them back onto the rack and turned on her heel.

“Let’s leave before you embarrass me any more.”

OR: gojo & nobara go shopping ft. gojo being criminally millennial & nobara being criminally longsuffering

“Are you sure?" Nobara asked, staring down at the black card.

"Totally!" Satoru nodded, grinning down at her. "Have at it," he added, gesturing to the mall in front of them.

"No way are we doing this again," Megumi complained. "We literally went shopping last week."

"Rather you than me," Yuji agreed, patting Satoru's shoulder. "My hands still hurt from last time."

"The bags wouldn't even touch Gojo's hands, he'd be fine," Megumi pointed out. 

"I am the best person to have around!"

"No-one asked you two to come anyway," Nobara snapped. "Go and do something else if you're just gonna complain."

Yuji stared longingly at the Human Earthworm 5 poster. 

Nobara curled her lip. "We'll be over there if you want us," she said, gesturing to the second floor of shops. "But try not to want us."

"Woah, woah, I don't want to watch that stupid-"

"Come onnnnn, Fushiguro," Yuji whined. "Just this once?"

"That's what you said last time," Megumi sighed, letting himself be dragged towards the cinema.

"He never means what he says," Satoru tutted, watching his students bicker as they gradually got further away. 

"That's goths for you," Nobara agreed, as Megumi whacked the back of Yuji's head just before they turned the corner. 

"Isn't he, like, emo or something?"

"....Is there a difference?"

"No idea. Ask Nanami when we get back," Satoru advised. "For now, let's hit the shops!"

".....That was cringe."

-

-

“So, what are we looking for, exactly?” Satoru asked, trailing after Nobara as she walked purposefully past several shops.

“Clothes,” said Nobara, like it should be obvious. And it was, as far as it went.

“Those stores were selling clothes,” Satoru said, looking back over his shoulder.

“Ugly clothes,” Nobara insisted, continuing to power walk. Satoru had no issue keeping up – Nobara probably took two steps for every one of his – but it was slightly unnerving to have to up his usual languid speed in order to keep pace with a highschool girl. Shopping was clearly serious business. He wouldn’t know, he’d always refused to go every time Shoko had asked him when they were younger.

“I didn’t think they were that bad…”

Nobara fixed him with a Look. “They were that bad. Keep walking.”

He obediently kept following her, probably looking like some oversized duckling lost in a comically small shopping centre – Nobara’s favourite one, she said, but with the way she was acting it was hard to believe that was true.

She stomped past another few stores before finally hitting on one she liked; the cropped hoodie on the mannequin in the window made Satoru wince a little – what’s the point of cropping something meant to be warm? – but he followed her in, card in hand, fully prepared to buy way too many things he personally wouldn’t be found dead in.

Not that he was going to say that out loud.

Nobara made a beeline for the pants, insisting it wasn’t ‘skirt weather’ anymore and she needed something different. Satoru shrugged and prepared himself to stare at the socks for half an hour so he didn’t look weird standing in a girls’ clothes store, but Nobara had grabbed his wrist (well, the Infinity around his wrist) and was doing her best to haul him where she wanted to go.

“Gay people have good fashion sense, right?” she said.

“I wouldn’t know,” said Satoru, allowing her to guide him between the racks of maxi skirts. “Not sure if I’ve ever met one.”

“One what?”

“A gay person.”

For the first time, Nobara actually stood still. She stared at Satoru with incredulous eyes, dropping his wrist and looking like she wanted to headbutt him or something. “Are you for real right now?”

“I’m so for real right now.”

“Like, truly, genuinely, deadass for real?”

“If all of those words mean I’m telling the truth, then yeah. Truly, genuinely, deadass for real. But my ass would never die, it’s too iconic. Even when I’m dead, my ass will not-”

“Alright, that’s enough about your ass,” Nobara interrupted.

“Hey! Have some respect for your teacher!” Satoru complained.

“I have so much respect for you. I’m made of respect for you. Just not for your ass.”

“I don’t know how to feel about that statement.”

“Let’s get back to the topic at hand, then. What do you mean you’ve never met anyone gay?”

“I mean ….I’ve never met anyone gay?”

“I thought you were gay!”

Satoru stared at her. He hoped his confusion was visible on his face. “I don’t think so.”

“I could’ve sworn there was something fruity about you.”

“Um. I don’t….think….so?”

“You sound unsure.”

“You’re making me unsure!”

“Did you or did you not have a homoerotic situationship with your best friend in highschool?”

“How did you know about that?!” Satoru demanded, before he could stop himself.

“Ah-ha! Gotcha! Now come on and help me pick some pants.”

Now he understood why the boys had been so anxious to avoid tagging along. Nobara dragged him further into the store, landing in front of the jeans section and said, “Which ones?”

Satoru examined the options carefully. He pulled at the waistbands and material, testing for stretch; he hand-measured Nobara’s height and tried to calculate how much higher she was planning to grow; he pulled a pair from the rack and announced, “These ones. 100%.”

Nobara looked scandalised. “Those look like they were made in the year 2000.”

“That was a good year!”

“Why are they so skinny? Who dresses like that??”

“I have been known to-“

“And oh my god, there aren’t even any pockets, what’s the point-“

“I think it looks very-“

“It’s so painfully millennial, I can’t even-“

“If you don’t like it, put it back,” Satoru sniffed, handing her the jeans. She immediately shoved them back onto the rack and turned on her heel.

“Let’s leave before you embarrass me any more.”

Satoru shrugged; he’d thought they were fairly on trend, but there you go. Young people were fickle creatures apparently.

“Shouldn’t have bothered asking,” Nobara was muttering as she inclined her head to the shop assistants and speedwalked out of the shop. “Anyone could tell he couldn’t pick one. I can’t see his socks, for god’s sake, I should have known-“

“What’s wrong with my socks?” Satoru asked, offended.

“I can see your ankles,” Nobara said, like that explained anything.

“That’s how they’re supposed to be,” Satoru argued.

“Very much not,” Nobara told him. “They went out with Carly Rae Jepson and Gangnam Style.”

“Carly Rae Jepson wrote Gangnam Style??”

“No. She probably wore those socks, though.”

“I still don’t understand what’s wrong with the socks!”

“Did you have an animal print phase?” Nobara asked, looking at him like she was trying to stare into his soul.

“Nope.”

“That’s one point in your favour, I guess. What about the colour coral?”

“What’s wrong with coral?”

“Did you leave your fashion sense in 2010?”

“No! I’m very hip! And new! And fashionable!”

“The way you said that makes me think you aren’t.”

“I am!! Ask anyone you like!!”

“What is your relationship with pencil skirts?”

“I can confidently say I have never worn one.”

“Damn,” Nobara cursed. “That must’ve been a woman-only one. What about chunky highlights?”

Satoru gestured to his hair.

“Foundation lips?”

“Please, you think this skin needs foundation?”

“There’s only one way to settle this,” Nobara decided, grabbing hold of his wrist again. She spun him to stare at the rows of stores. “Which one would you go in?”

Satoru pointed.

Nobara almost fell to her knees. “That is so millennial I want to kill myself.”

Satoru gasped. “Is it that bad?”

“Very,” Nobara said solemnly. “We have to fix this.”

“By….shopping?”

Nobara beamed. “How did you guess?”

-

-

“Woah, you guys have been busy,” Yuji greeted an hour later, meeting Satoru and Nobara outside of the mall.

Megumi inspected the bags. “Most of these are men’s stores. Trying something new, Kugisaki?”

“Nope!” Nobara leaned in conspiratorially. “Gojo is.”

“Did he finally realise he’s horrendously out of touch?” Megumi snorted.

“MEGUMI, YOU TRAITOR!” Satoru wailed. “See if I ever give you money again!”

“I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

A03

[dateamonster]

alright whatever im gonna be the change i wanna be and release my lesbian "hear me out"s.

and im including my childhood/teenage yrs crushes and you arent going to be weird abt it bc if straight women get to bring up max goof on every one of those cake videos i get to do what i want too.

lorna (over the garden wall). wirt could fix her, i could make her worse.

cactus girl (gregory horror show). based entirely on the smoldering embers of my childhood cowboy/cowgirl fixation. tip: this will become relevant later.

catherine (gregory horror show). self explanatory.

lina (the princess and curdie). google it.

snorkmaiden (moomin). a bad bitch with comphet is to me as the apple in the garden of eden.

breach (generator rex). nobody understands her beautiful mind like i do.

nikola orsinov (the magnus archives). this one is probably the most embarrassing to me, not because shes a mannequin covered in stolen skin, thats fine and hot. i just feel like shes got the vibes of a skinny #female manipulator poster and thats challenging for me.

actually lets just go ahead and say like any monstery woman from the magnus archives. whatever. is beaten 2 death.

mariska (lollipop chainsaw). again, self explanatory.

donna beneviento (resident evil: village). this might be controversial but i feel like the focus on lady d and her daughters (however deserved) has led many to sleep on the true show-stealing spooky baddie of village. we would bond over our love of dolls and have a beautiful spring wedding.

pollution (good omens). was nonbinary in the tv adaptation i didnt watch so they count. the gender situation of a character whos already more of a Concept than a person per se is dubious as it is anyway. also youre not allowed to get on me about them being too conventionally attractive because once again i did not watch the show and in my minds eye they defy all attempted visual representations they are a shimmering oilspill of an inhuman being waves of iridescent shifting color beyond categorization. also theyre probably smelly so.

applejack (my little pony). told you it would become relevant.

activates my single-use "he is a dyke to me" card

jonathan crane/scarecrow (batman). basically any version besides the cillian murphy one. im right.

ok now where is my cake.

[razzle-zazzle]

whaddya MEAN cole throws morro through the rift?!?!?!?!

Well, why not? I'm still divided on whether it happens because Cole mistook Morro for an enemy and flung him up so high he got sucked into the Rift, or if it happens after Yang's students go through and Cole did it as a thanks for the help. Either way, in the Divergent AU Morro goes through the Rift of Return.

His feelings on this are super mixed, btw. He was fully ready to go back to that stand in the museum and stop possessing the mannequin until Wu gave him that look. And now he's alive again, skinny and shaky and with no idea what to do with that fact. So he fucks off to try and readjust and make sense of it all, because, as he's going to angrily tell Cole when joining up with him and Pythor, he didn't exactly ask to be given life again. But he has it, so he might as well make use of it. It'll be a while before he's ready to talk to his old master once again, though.

[productsreviewings]

Right this moment's finest Sony A80K offersSony Bravia XR A80K: SpecsWorth: $1,499.99Display screen dimension: 55-inchMannequin: XR-55A80KDecision: 3,840x2,160HDR: HDR10, Dolby Imaginative and prescient, HLGRefresh Price: 120HzPorts: 2 HDMI 2.1, 2 HDMI 2.0, 2 USBAudio: 50WSensible TV Software program: Google TVDimension (with out stand): 48.38x28.13x2.13 inchesWeight (with out stand): 39.5 lbs.The Sony Bravia XR A80K OLED has the singular mission of delivering a scintillating leisure expertise in nearly each means. Fortunately, that’s a purpose it has little hassle attaining — and contemplating simply how good it appears to be like and sounds, it’s one thing of a minor miracle this TV doesn’t price greater than it does.To be clear, the A80K isn’t low-cost, however it’s effectively well worth the value. You’d count on that provided that that is one among Sony’s upper-level OLED TVs, loaded with the corporate’s full  array of picture- and audio-enhancement applied sciences. Though the A80K will not be the very best you will discover in each particular person space given its tight competitors, it’s simply one of many finest TVs you should buy.Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: Pricing and availabilityThe A80K line of TVs is the one one in Sony’s present vary of choices to supply a conventional OLED panel at quite a lot of medium and enormous sizes. The total group of units includes:Sony Bravia XR-55A80K: $1,499.99Sony Bravia XR-65A90K: $1,999.99Sony Bravia XR-77A80K: $2,999.99If you would like a smaller OLED TV, the Sony A90K OLED is available in 42- and 48-inch sizes; for one thing bigger, you've got the choice of the 83-inch A90J, a holdover from the earlier mannequin yr. For the present state-of-the-OLED-art in any other case, you’ll wish to stick to one of many A80K TVs, which all of us count on to carry out practically identically, no matter display screen dimension.Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: DesignLike most OLED units, the A80K has an extremely skinny display screen: about one-quarter inch entrance to again at its thinnest. That is surrounded on the left, proper, and high by a black bezel that’s even narrower and on the underside with a reflective bar that homes each a Sony brand on the decrease left and the Energy gentle within the heart. Instantly underneath the latter is an influence button and a swap for activating the TV’s built-in far-field microphone.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)All in all, the 55-inch set measures 48.38x28.13x2.13 inches and weighs 39.5 kilos, in each instances with out the stand. (Though the set is technically movable by one particular person, due to the set’s thinness, we don't advocate doing this when you can keep away from it.)(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)The TV’s additional depth comes from the management field on the rear panel, which is adorned in a area of squares reduce into the plastic. A skinny, detachable panel persevering with that design obscures the ports (see the subsequent part) from instant view, whereas nonetheless permitting cables to snake out the aspect.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)The one different main element of the design is the stand, which is a two-piece, flat-footed affair that requires no screws. The stand could also be put in in three positions: one vast, one slim, and one the place the display screen is elevated one other inch or so from the floor to mean you can place a soundbar simply beneath it. Must you desire to mount the TV on the wall, the 300x300mm VESA holes within the again panel present that chance.Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: PortsThe A80K’s energy cable plugs right into a socket on the correct aspect of the rear panel. All the different ports are on the left, going through instantly out the aspect in order to be simply accessible: two USB (one rated for 500mA, one for 900mA), S/PDIF optical audio out, the composite video and S-Heart speaker port, Ethernet, RS-232C and IR enter jacks, the coaxial cable connector, and 4 HDMI ports.

(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)Two of those make the most of the newer HDMI 2.1 specification, which provide a better bandwidth of 48Gbps and options equivalent to Variable Refresh Price (VRR) and Auto Low-Latency Mode (ALLM). (Certainly one of these ports additionally helps eARC.) The remaining two ports adhere as an alternative to the HDMI 2.0 customary. Because it’s not unusual to see TVs with all HDMI 2.0 ports, the restricted quantity on the A80K is disappointing, if not apt to negatively have an effect on too many customers.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: EfficiencyAll of Sony’s Bravia XR TVs are outfitted with what the corporate calls Cognitive Processor XR, a set of capabilities designed to enhance the units’ shade, distinction, readability, and movement dealing with, in order to higher “protect the creators’ intent”. Not being a thoughts reader to Hollywood cognoscenti, I can’t say for positive what most makers of film and TV reveals had in thoughts, however I can report that the A80K makes every thing I watched on it look terrific.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)The A80K highlights each nuance, in order that the black-cowled Caped Crusader appears to be like vividly detailed even in opposition to a midnight Gotham cityscape.This was instantly apparent with titles equivalent to Disney’s Encanto, the place the magical greens, blues, and violets of the wealthy Colombian setting explode off the display screen. And in Spider-Man: No Approach Residence, the comic-book colours and swirling magic fantastically coexist with the grittiness of a multiverse gone haywire.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)However not directly, the impact could also be much more profound the place it’s much less pronounced. Prime Gun: Maverick tends to decoration the dusty browns of its desert flight-range settings with occasional flashes of emerald timber and sapphire skies, all earlier than plunging indoors for extra intimate, warmly lit scenes, and the A80K renders it as all a single, wonderful piece.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)In the meantime, the tans and blacks which might be the order of the day in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune are exactly delineated, and also you’re conscious of every minute variation that provides the film’s bleak sandscapes a surprising quantity of surprising life.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)Equally, The Batman depends on the refined interaction of darkish colours punctuated by blinding gentle, and might simply seem like a muddled mess. However the A80K highlights each nuance, in order that the black-cowled Caped Crusader appears to be like vividly detailed even in opposition to a midnight Gotham cityscape.Add wonderful upscaling capabilities — the 1080p model of Mission: Inconceivable—Fallout appeared nearly pretty much as good because the 4K-native one — and the very good viewing angles you affiliate with OLED, the place there may be barely any shade degradation no matter viewing positions, and the A80K usually appears as if it may well do all of it.Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: Take a look at outcomesReasonably than merely belief our eyes, we complement our content material watching with a battery of technical exams designed to look at a TV’s efficiency at a deeper stage, which we carry out utilizing an X-Ceremony i1 Professional spectrophotometer, a SpectraCal VideoForge Professional sample generator, and Portrait Shows’ Calman calibration software program. For extra particulars, see how we take a look at TVs. The A80K excelled right here, too — however with very stiff competitors from different OLED fashions: the Samsung S95B and the category-leading (and virtually industry-leading) LG C2.Swipe to scroll horizontallyRow 0 - Cell 0 Sony A80KLG C2Samsung S95BSDR Brightness (10%, in nits)232228329Delta-E (decrease is healthier)3.16691.70093.0184Rec. 709 Gamut Protection108.82%99.98%100HDR Brightness (10%, in nits)6307941050UHDA-P3 Gamut Protection99.

33%99.16%99.76%Rec. 2020 Gamut Protection74.58%73.84%74.97%In our SDR exams, the Sony’s 232-nit brightness was proper on par with the LG’s 228 nits, however noticeably behind the Samsung’s 329 nits. And theLG surpassed each the Sony and Samsung in shade accuracy, with the trio’s lowest Delta-E worth (decrease outcomes are higher). And its SDR colours tended only a contact towards oversaturation, whereas the others had been principally spot-on.With HDR, the story was largely the identical. Within the units’ closest-to-calibrated modes, the Samsung was the champ all through, with the Sony’s brightness considerably decrease. Nonetheless, Sony’s protection of the UHDA-P3 and wider Rec. 2020 shade gamuts was forward of the LG C2 and barely behind Samsung.Contemplating the A80K prices barely much less at our examined 55-inch display screen dimension, that’s fairly spectacular — and it turns into much more so once you consider that the A80K really has a a lot better trying image because of some irregularities with the S95B’s display screen.Greenback for greenback and have for characteristic, the A80K is a suave performer — whether or not appraised by the meter or the attention.Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: AudioTV sound is hard and unforgiving. It’s an space that even the very best choices go away fairly a bit to be desired. This isn’t true of the A80K, nonetheless, which like Sony’s different high-end units makes use of what the corporate calls Acoustic Floor Audio+ to remodel the display screen into an integral a part of the speaker system.Every little thing you take heed to advantages. Motion films with complicated, layered sound, equivalent to Prime Gun: Maverick, are strong: loud, sure, however so clearly layered that there's by no means any mushiness when dialogue, music, and sound results are all unfolding without delay. (Although its 3D sound, courtesy of Sony’s XR Encompass, is extremely immersive; the A80K additionally helps Dolby Atmos.)Bass is a stumbling block for many TVs, the A80K has no hassle with it; it’s a important component of The Knife’s “Silent Shout,” however the A80K produced clarion tones and a particular, distortion-free thumping all through. A soprano solo observe we use to check the other finish of the frequency vary was each bit pretty much as good, with the climactic excessive B-flat on the finish ringing a pristine silver proper as much as the highest of the amount vary—solely on the uppermost excessive (95 or increased) might we detect even the tiniest misstep within the sound manufacturing, and that was minor at its worst.Though chances are you'll wish to increase your house setup with one among Tom’s Information’s finest soundbars, you’ll be lacking out on little or no when you simply let the built-in sound hardware and the display screen do their work.Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: GamingIf the present technology of Sony TVs has a weak level, it’s with enter lag. We measured the A80K with a Leo Bodnar 4K Lag Tester and obtained a results of 16.2ms. Though that quantity, which is according to what we’ve seen from different Sony TVs, isn’t unhealthy (we give passing grades to something underneath 20ms), it’s additionally not on par with the newest units from, say, LG and Samsung, which haven't any hassle smashing the 10ms barrier we designate because the boundary for nice gaming.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)There are many different gaming options on the A80K, nonetheless. Many begin with these HDMI 2.1 ports, which ship 4K decision at 120Hz, for supremely easy play in even essentially the most frantic conditions. And definitely, Murderer’s Creed Valhalla appeared and felt terrific, with its reflective, snow-choked mountains seemingly radiating with chilly and the coastal raids which might be vital to its gameplay each bit as easy, frantic, and thrilling as you’d hope.However the PS5 has a particular synergy with the A80K that unlocks extra performance. Auto HDR Tone Mapping optimizes the PS5’s settings to take full benefit of the TV’s capabilities.

And Auto Style Image Mode, a detailed cousin to ALLM, will additional make sure you’re at all times utilizing the correct image mode for no matter else chances are you'll be attempting to observe.Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: Sensible TV interfaceGoogle TV stays each Sony’s sensible TV interface of alternative and among the best choices in the marketplace. Integrating the ability and ubiquity of Google’s search system makes it simpler to seek out what you’re in search of, true, however it additionally permits you to incorporate your Google actions on different computer systems and telephones to effortlessly create a extra unified system.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)The A80K as a complete is simple to navigate, because the interface itself is clear and intuitive. A menu bar on the high of the house display screen offers you quick access to Search (additionally accessible by way of the distant or the TV’s microphone), Stay TV, Films, Exhibits, Apps, your private content material library, and a set of Sony’s personal curated studio, branded, and advertising supplies. Beneath this bar is a “Prime picks for you” part, which is populated with selections from the assorted content material sources you subscribe to; beneath that's the “Your apps” bar; then there’s “Proceed watching”; and at last numerous collections of releases which might be both in style or drawn from your personal private style. It’s by no means a problem to seek out one thing to observe, and, in contrast to many different corporations’ suggestions, Sony’s appear particularly related and even good (or no less than mine do).Free with the A80K is a 12-month subscription to Bravia Core, Sony’s high-quality, proprietary streaming service, together with 5 credit for buying any film or present you need. There’s no hurt in activating your subscription to gobble up these free of charge goodies, after all, however Bravia Core leaves a bit to be desired. Its library of titles is, as you may think, Sony-heavy, and never at all times particularly compelling. Except you’re actually into newer titles such because the documentary Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Someone; The Lady King; Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile; Bullet Practice; Uncharted; and Morbius, in addition to still-older titles, a extra diversified choice on our finest streaming companies record equivalent to Netflix, Amazon Prime, or HBO Max is prone to serve you higher.The A80K additionally helps Sony’s Bravia Cam, a set-top digital camera that expands the capabilities of the TV. Along with video chat, it additionally provides a sequence of easy gesture controls and permits a setting that can routinely regulate the image and sound based mostly on qualities within the room at any given second (equivalent to how many individuals are current and the place they’re sitting). The A95K and the Z9K come bundled with one, however so as to add a Bravia Cam to the A80K, you’ll have to shell out $199.99 — which in all probability isn’t value it for most individuals (although Sony guarantees firmware updates to permit it to do extra sooner or later).Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: Distant managementSony’s distant management has acquired a significant revamp for this present spherical of TVs, with the brand new one shorter (7 inches versus 9.3 inches) and narrower (1.5 inches versus 1.8 inches) than its predecessor, however with little substantive performance misplaced.Sony's previous distant (left) and new distant (proper) (Picture credit score: Tom's Information)Beneath the Energy button within the top-right nook are the TV, Settings, Inputs, Numbers, the directional pad, Again, Residence, Google Assistant, Quantity and Channel controls, Mute, Play, Pause, and Information. Beneath these are 4 devoted shortcut keys for YouTube, Netflix, Disney+, and Amazon Prime Video.(Picture credit score: Tom's Information)Gone are the 10-key pad and Coloration buttons and some specialised controls (equivalent to Leap, Subtitle, DVR, and File), and a few folks will undoubtedly miss this.

However every thing else has been organized in a tidier, extra compact means, that helps cement this distant as among the best there may be. (The Premium mannequin, which is included with the A95K and the A90K, provides button backlighting and a characteristic for locating the distant when you lose it; these do take this distant design to the subsequent stage, however the usual model continues to be good with out them.)Sony Bravia XR A80K TV evaluate: VerdictThe Sony Bravia XR A80K is an impressive TV, however it’s not good. You will get a brighter image and (marginally) richer colours with the Samsung S95B, for instance. And each it and the LG C2 have extra HDMI 2.1 ports and richer gaming capabilities, if that’s what you care about. It’s not even the very best Sony set there may be (that may be the Sony A95K OLED, which prices much more), and it’s nearly the identical as its instant predecessor, the Sony Bravia XR A80J.However, when you’re purchasing for a brand new TV, the Sony Bravia XR A80K is an impressive general bundle you’ll stay up for unwrapping each time you flip it on.

[kouros-herc]

Yeah Hercules had never loved shopping. When he was a kid he'd just worn whatever - sometimes he knew he didn't have trainers like the cool kids, or the best clothes, but he also knew that his parents didn't have the money to spare on pointless things like that. So obviously he would settle for whatever, and try not to glance at what the mannequins were wearing.

Then he'd been a teenager, short and skinny for his age and always having to buy clothes that were aimed at younger kids, or have them falling off him, only making him look more swamped. And then all of a sudden he'd been tall and gangling and everything was too short or too baggy or somehow both. Then he'd got muscular and people stared at him for other reasons, and he felt like they were constantly watching and he missed the baggy clothes, but felt he was constantly too big for everything, and he'd been skint again so always just had to make do.

Clothes shops made him feel like all of those people at once.

"Ok, well thats good-" to both. "Because I probably won't know where to start, but I am putting myself in your hands." He trusted Ken. Like, maybe he wouldn't like how something fitted or looked, but he knew with Ken that it came from a place of trying to make it work, not make him look like an idiot.

He held open the door for his friend. "So, where do we start... like. Starting with tops and working down, or going for whole looks at a time?"

@kenneth-carson

@kouros-herc

Ah, Ken loved going shopping. It was probably one of his favorite past times, though these days sewing had been catching up pretty fast. Along with video games. Seriously, the new Legend of Zelda game had been-! Not the point, actually, staying on topic.

Going shopping for other people was just as fun for Ken. It had been a really great part about learning he had a whole trio of younger siblings. Getting to cart them around the store while they complained were some of his favorite memories with them.

He was smiling, ready to just head on into the store, but stopped when Hercules started to ask his question. Ken turned on his heel, stepping in between the store's doors and Hercules so he was facing him. It was a bit confusing at first but he started to catch on.

"The vibes will be whatever you want it to be. Except for bad because you're with me and even if we don't get anything we're still hanging out," he assured Hercules. "But, full disclosure, I will probably be pulling things for you. And you don't have to try them on if you don't want to but it will be highly recommended."

[jebbifurzz]

I just watched Encanto; it was nice enough, but it really struck me as a family friendly version of Umbrella Academy. The same themes are there, just not as horrendous or traumatic in scale.

Like, big house full of people with superpowers.

The pa/matriarch puts too much pressure on the family to be heroes instead of just loving and appreciating them (though Alma is worlds better than Reginald, and she owns up to her wrongs in the end; she is cast in a similar role to Reggie, but I am in no way equating them, 'cause Reggie is just... really bad).

Sentient non-living construct (Grace, Casita) loves them unconditionally and helps them around the house

One family member is "ordinary", and is made to feel extremely bad about it (Vanya, Mirabel)

One family member learns, with their power, that there will be a destructive event in the future, but does not share that information with the family until much later (Five time travels to the post-apocalyptic future, and at first runs off on his own to prevent it; Bruno sees the future destruction of Casita, but fears how the vision will affect his niece, so he smashes the vision and buries the pieces).

Family member in the know about destructive event is isolated from the world in some way for several years, and exhibits some oddities as a result (Five spent years alone in the post-apocalyptic future, and is in love with a shop mannequin he named Dolores; Bruno lived in the walls of the family house, and put on rat telenovelas, made up different characters/personalities for himself i.e. Hernando).

It starts looking like "ordinary" family member is gonna cause destructive event, so there is a big confrontation with them (Hargreeves family v. Vanya at theatre, Alma v. Mirabel in main room).

Confrontation tips things over the edge into destruction, but the root cause was the dysfunctionality sown by the pa/matriarch from the beginning.

Golden Child who seems at first like a dick is shown to also be a victim of the dysfunction, and is also hurting, has never been able to do what they actually want (Luther goes as far as the moon for Reggie, keeps going on missions long after rest of family is gone, Isabela is willing to marry a man she doesn't want just to please her abuela).

Also super strong one is running themselves ragged trying to meet the demands placed on them (Luther again, Luisa's complaints about pressure).

Everyone (except normal one) has awesome powers that they use to help others as well as themselves, except for one soft boy with dark curly hair whose power just makes their life suck more (Klaus sees the dead, and Bruno sees the future).

Soft boy with terrible power is way too skinny, living like a hobo away from family (I think Klaus is literally homeless, while Bruno just lives in the walls with rats).

Terrible power made soft boy's life suck so much that they consciously cut off their powers for several years (Klaus kept himself drugged up since like age 15 to keep himself from seeing the dead, the magic of Bruno's room got cut off from Casita somehow, and wasn't lit up again until he went back to his power.

And it's obvious by this point that the soft boy with terrible power is my favourite either way (Klaus, Bruno) 😆

[terrence-silver]

How would old man Terry react to finding out one day after coming home from work early, that his usually sweet and gentle Beloved secretly tries to do his style of karate? Beloved isn’t the best but keeps trying none the less.

He returns home to find you kicking into a dummy.

Instantaneously, fifty years of baggage come flooding back unbidden.

-"You're gonna come back here every day, 0600, until you get it right!"- Captain Turner’s rigid, resounding voice is in his mind, with words as fresh as if spoken yesterday or five minutes ago as he stands there, mutely, in the lobby entrance, watching you attempt, for lack of a better word, to affix your stance and assault the training mannequin like you understood what you were doing right there and then --- he appreciates the effort, at least. You’re clumsy, though. Shaky. Lacking balance. You aren’t the athletic type. Never were. Did you ever warm up? Stretch? No? He follows the way your feet attempt to find an equilibrium. You fail. -"And it makes you knuckles bleed and your nails fall off of your fingers, then it'll fall off your fucking fingers! The enemy won’t have as much mercy!"- The memory of his commanding officer is there, right there, vivid and in full color and Terry remembers to close his mouth standing agape as he recalls that particular day at training. How he couldn’t get it right, for months and months. His skill level almost on par with yours, back then. Five decades ago, give or take. Captain Turner made due of that promise. Terry’s nails did fall off, blackened with blood. His knuckles were torn. He was in pain. He got sores and bruises like galaxies etched into his skin. -"Is that understood, private!?"- Something in Terry’s brain roars. -"Aye, aye, sir!"- Terry roars back with the voice of a skinny seventeen year old in uniform. Green fatigues.

He proceeds watching you attempt a circular kick.

It flops entirely, naturally and you nearly fall flat on your face.

He nearly lunges forward on instinct, wanting to grab you lest you break a limb.

His feet move, but you catch yourself so he keeps staring intently.

He enjoys you struggling with the art a bit too much.

He enjoys the nostalgia it digs up a bit less.

-"Again!"- Captain Turner’s barking orders are ringing out in soul. The heavy thud of the bamboo dummy is something he couldn’t erase with cocaine. Medication. Therapy. Alcohol. Repression. It was always there. Heavy. Scraping. -"Again, Silver! Put those scrawny pansy arms into it!"-  A command falls and he, in equal measure always remembered those early sessions while his fists were still getting accustomed to hand to hand combat and the violence of the contact on his hands. How it nearly peeled his meat off of his flesh, flaying him. When he failed to deliver a perfect blew, Captain Turner would grab his aching, bleeding, raw fist, forcibly pushing it into a vat of kitchen salt from the canteens as punishment. So he’d learn his lesson and keep up with the program. He’d sleep like that. Spend an upward of twelve hours like that. No washing it off. Just endurance. Discipline. Terry watches you produce a small fist and attempt to strike at the dummy in front of you and at that point, his legs move on their own accord. No, no, no. He grabs your wrist. Cutting you off mid-attack. -"Stop."- Is all he musters saying. He sounds grim. Even to his own ears. You appear startled. Surprised. You don’t realize how long he’s been watching you. -"Terry! I didn't see you there!"- You gasp up, perspired, wiping the sweat from your brow. -"What are you doing?"- He asks, impassive, never separating his gaze from you. He knew what you were doing. He was wanted to hear you say it. Try to explain it back to him. -"Oh, I..."-

You stutter, trailing off --- just as he figured you would.

You couldn’t put into words what you were doing.

You didn’t know the names for half of the things you attempted just now.

-”Your style is beautiful. I wanted to try! I saw you train and I figured ---”- You manage, fluttering your lashes, immediately anxious. He wordlessly re-assures you, hand coming up to your cheek, stroking, taking off his blazer jacket, wrapping you into it like you just came in from the chill of arctic cold weather and not still high off of the exertion of exercise. He’s the one shaking, he finds. You’re not. -”Don’t ever do that again.”- Terry’s request is simple. Straight to the point. No bullshit. He knew you were trying to replicate his signature, in an exceedingly amateurish fashion no less, zero experience or expertise behind you --- you couldn’t even do a basic split where flexibility was concerned, least of all something more complicated, but that wasn’t the issue. The issue was what it fucking reminded him of. -”Why not?”- You blink, crestfallen for a second and his heart jolts. It’s not for you. I love you. I love you. I love. Karate’s not for you. There are better ways to suffer. Better ways to toil. I want to devour you. But, Karate’s not for you. Karate, the way I know it, is martyrdom. Instead, he comes up with a lame, commonplace excuse quick. The first that comes to mind. -”You might sprain an ankle.”- Terry lies with no effort, pulling you into a hug. A white lie. You could indeed sprain an ankle, unaccustomed as you were. He stares at the training dummy. It didn’t draw a single droplet of blood from you today.

If it did, he would’ve broken it with his bare hands.

[siremasterlawrence]

Same Universe As The New Management -

#1 Building A Bro

Part 1 - 3

Jack Tristan is got a jock circling me again and again till I finally gave into him let Jim serve me.

He so about a decade younger then I am but so hot, I can imagine how much more fun I can have with him.

He stood in front of the mirror checking out his well sculpted mountain of muscles all mine for the taking.

I sneak in behind him dimming the lights in the room, my body pressing on his back hard.

I smirk when he giggles embracing my hard cock and my hands on his shoulders.

I pat his face staring in the mirror he met my eyes connecting with mine and we are in sync.

He knows I am ready, that I mean business lifting my arm over his head and let it hit the light.

I toggle his hair grabbing it upward to the sky with the pocket watch floating over him.

Letting swing naturally in the air his eyes are in shock following it one side to another side

I laugh blowing in his airs guiding him down the path to his deep fall into chaos.

“There you go buddy, focus on the beauty lay before you swinging in the light of it all.”

“The flow is so natural to you as your eye are unable to do anything but move with it”

“Your mind enjoys the emptiness of total self reflection and relaxation”

“Your body is a husk frozen in time to except to the voice of its god.”

“Trust in me, let me be your ruler and let go in to my body. 1. 2. 3”

Part 4 - 6

The trust exercise works like charm over his body, automatically he sighs falling back onto me.

I open my arms catching him even with all

is muscles feeling so heavy on my skinny frame.

Propelling him back then commanding him to stand still as a mannequin.

On my orders I instruct him to walking into my bedroom and stand in the middle of the room.

I close the door behind him enjoying his eyes grow dull and lifeless like a doll.

“Remove your clothes, take you time and smile.”

“Yyyyyeeeesssss”

“Every article of clothing will release you of free will, power, control and all.”

“Mmmmmm, ffffuuuuccckkkk”

“What boi?”

“I feel…free…sooo ggggooooodddd”

“Who am I? Tell me”

“Look at me right now and see me”

“You are my slave and I am your Master”

“Oooooohhhhh, I understand”

Part 7 - 9

“Undress me with your eyes and now for real.”

“One button, zipper at a time”

“Yesssss”

“Explore every fiber of my being “

“Blend with me as we become mine”

“Kneel at my feet, undo my pants”

“Pull my pants down to my ankles”

“Reach for my cock”

“Place it in your mouth”

“Suck nice and slow”

“Sir Yes Sir”

“Suck me harder”

“My God”

“You are famous to me”

“My Sire”

The end

[darter-blue]

Congratulations again on the milestone, that's so awesome! Can I ask for "velvet" and because I loved the last Sam story you wrote for me, can he be a guest in the ticket? Maybe he's trying to help Steve pick out a gift for Bucky? Or something holiday cheery like that? Thank you and lots of love to you! 💕

Dearest Cate. Sorry for the wait gorgeous, but it's finally done. A little shopping adventure for Sam and Steve, and an unsuspecting Bucky.

For @indyluckycharlie - Velvet

Sam Wilson is great at a lot of things, and shopping is one of them. Fashion is not something Sam necessarily pays that much attention to, but he knows what he likes, he knows what looks good.

And he knows that Steve does not.

So here he is, at the fucking mall of America, with Captain America, in the men's department at Nordstrom.

And bless this man, but he is a goddamn disaster.

'This one?' Steve says, holding up a brown plaid jacket with leather elbow patches and fucking lambs wool lining and just… Sam can only shake his head.

'You wanna take someone out to a nice dinner and that's what you're gonna wear?'

'Ummm…'

'Is the vibe you're going for, lumberjack?' Sam says, shaking his head.

'You said nothing too formal!' Steve huffs, hanging the jacket back on its rack and shoving his hands into his pockets.

'I meant not a suit, not to wear your old man slippers as a jacket.'

'Hey,' Steve's brow furrows and he ducks his head. 'Leave my slippers out of this.'

'Can I help you gentlemen?' a voice interrupts, its owner standing carefully back from where Sam and Steve are arguing.

Sam looks up at the sound to find a sales assistant - fashionable, black skinny jeans and a button down white shirt with a sweet dark blue velvet vest - and nods his head.

'Yes,' he says before Steve can object. 'Please. This man needs all the help he can get.'

The sales assistant, James - so says his name tag - looks over at Steve and up and up to his face and then swallows.

Sam has to fight back his laugh, but the guy seems to recover quickly, lets the smile widen on his face and steps forwards to join them.

He glances at the jacket that Steve has hastily hung back at an angle, and then back at Steve and Sam in turn. 'Is there something in particular you're looking for?'

And Steve has looked the guy up and down, seems a little fixated on the bun at the top of his head, and blushes. Has to clear his throat.

Sam can't tell if it's the bun, or the outfit, or the guy that has Steve in a state.

Might be all three.

But Steve is now shaking his head at the question, but Sam is having none of it. The man needs to learn to ask for help.

'He's looking for a dinner jacket. Something to show off his assets.'

'Ah,' James looks from one of Steve's shoulders to the other, down to his waist and back up to his chest. 'Gotcha,' he says, turning away and doing a quick sweep of the racks, 'is this for a special occasion?'

Steve looks at the guy, James, as he ushers them over to the more expensive jackets, and then at Sam as if he wants to flee.

'Dinner at Fiola Mare,' Sam says when Steve remains mute.

'A date,' Steve says, with zero enthusiasm.

'Oh,' James turns back to them with an eyebrow raised. 'You don't sound excited.' He looks between Sam and Steve as if he's trying to ascertain their relationship dynamic.

'It's a blind date.' Steve rocks back and forth on his feet and then looks up at James from under his lashes. 'I haven't yet been able to get myself out of it.'

James smiles at that and then looks away, pulls the jacket he's brought them to off the rack and holds it in front of himself.

'This one's got a nice slim fit, I'll have to bring the waist in a bit, we're never gonna find a size off the rack that will fit those shoulders and that waist.'

Sam can see the blush bloom into James' cheeks at what he's said, and has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling.

This is getting interesting.

'Umm..' Steve looks at the Jacket, classic black with a darker black leather trim. 'It's a bit… edgy.'

'You want something more old fashioned?' James asks, 'I have some nice pinstripes just over here.'

'I was thinking, well… I like your waistcoat.'

Sam has to put his hand over his mouth to hide his laugh at Steve's word vomit.

At least the fluster seems like awkward flirting.

'Oh, I…' James looks down and smooths a hand over the velvet material and Sam watches Steve's eyes track the movement. 'Actually I do have a jacket in this.' He turns them around and heads to a different display, where a mannequin is wearing a jacket in the same material as James' vest.

'This could work,' Sam says, taking the Jacket and holding it up to Steve's chest. It's a good colour for him, navy, and it's cut well. The velvet is much showier than Steve would normally accept. Sam needs to grab the opportunity to get him out of his shell. 'This is the one.'

'I mean… do you think so?' Steve looks at Sam and then over at James, eyebrows comically high and eyes wide. For someone usually so imposing, he definitely has the confused puppy look down pat.

'Absolutely,' James agrees, standing back and crossing his arms as he looks Steve and the jacket over.

Sam claps Steve on the back when he seems to have gotten stuck staring at James forearms in his rolled up sleeves.

'Great! We'll take it.'

'Okay, let me ring it up and then I'll take some measurements, when do you need it by?'

'Next Saturday,' Steve mumbles un-enthusiastically.

'I can do that.' James walks them to the register and grabs the plaid jacket on his way past, puts them both on the counter. 'You can never have too many jackets,' he says looking at Steve, 'and some people really go for the lumberjack look.' James winks and then turns away to ring up the jackets.

Sam has to lean over and snap Steve's mouth shut.

He lets James lead Steve into the back to take the measurements and waits for them to be out of earshot before dialling Nat’s number.

'S'up,' Nat says lazily into the phone as it connects.

'Hey so, I know you had your heart set on that girl from accounting, but I think I've found a better candidate for the blind date next Saturday. '

There's a pause and Sam can hear Nat shuffling around, probably getting into a more comfortable position on the couch. 'Okay,' she finally says, wide smile evident in the tone of her voice, 'tell me everything.'

[tempestsreach-blog]

Fuck Diet Culture

This is going to be long.  It’s going to be rambly.  It’s going to be sad.  It’s going to be angry.  There’s going to be language some people don’t like. I can’t NOT talk about it though. 

Fuck diet culture.  Let me say that again.  Fuck. Diet. Culture. It has taken such a huge chunk out of my life.  I have lost pieces of myself I’m not sure I’ll ever get back.  The only way to heal is to go through.  I can’t go back.  I have to move forward.  But I can’t do it quietly.  I can’t hide.  I can’t live in the same shame I’ve spent the last 40 years in.  Literally.  40 years of my life wasted to this.  I can’t bear to live the back half of my life in the same way.  What the hell is the point? I’m not going to write this in any particular order because all of the thoughts and feelings swimming around are snapshots of things in my life that diet culture has broken in me or stolen from me. A lot of you aren’t going to agree with me.  That’s okay.  Truly.  This is about ME.  This is to help ME heal.  You can talk to me about your struggles, your diets, your ups and downs, your successes and whatnot.  I am here for you in all of it. But I won’t diet with you anymore.  Never again.

Currently I am having severe knee pain.  One knee is worse than the other, but both are bad.  I should go to the doctor.  I should have gone to the doctor years ago for it.  Want to know why I didn’t?  My weight.  I have injuries from overuse and over exercise and I am terrified that I am going to go to the doctor and the first words they’re going to say are “Well, if you lost 20, 30, 40, 50 pounds, it probably wouldn’t hurt so much.” instead of listening to me, examining me, scanning my knees and HELPING me.  I don’t feel this way irrationally.  This shit happens.  I am in pain.  I don’t know how to get help without being told to go on another diet that will not work.

Because diets don’t work.  Not long term.  I am excellent at losing weight!  I’ve done it over and over and over.  Then I stop restricting, counting, starving, and pushing myself.  Then my body says “What the fuck were you doing?” and puts it back. I lost the ability years ago to know whether I’m actually hungry or not.  I eat too fast when I do eat because if I snarf it down super fast I can get it in before my brain says “You’ve had too much.  Did you count those calories?  How many miles on a treadmill will you do to make up for that?  Did you actually earn this meal?”

Every time.  Every meal.  Every morsel.

I have never been officially diagnosed with an eating disorder.  Only been told by therapists and psychiatrists that I definitely engage in disordered eating.

No shit.

Every diet under the sun.  Cabbage soup.  Phen Fen.  Weight watchers (MULTIPLE TIMES), TOPS, Noom, My Fitness Pal calorie counting, intermittent fasting,  and every whacky bullshit thing in between promising results.  I’ve purchased fancy scales.  I’ve even tried one that wouldn’t show you your weight, but the color of your progress in the app.  Here’s a hint… if you gain, your color is black like death.  I’ve failed a million times and I’ve blamed myself.  I am the failure.  So I hate my body a little more every day and I stress about how I’m going to NOT pass my disordered eating and my food issues onto my kids.  My stress levels are through the roof and 98% of it is diet culture related. What the fuck is that about? Every time I start a program I hit it hard.  Last time I tried anything involving tracking or counting I was so starving by the time I got home from work that I almost ripped a child’s head off (not literally OBVIOUSLY) but I screamed at her at the top of my lungs because she hurt my feelings.  It wasn’t until after finally allowing myself to eat another morsel of food that I realized I was hangry.

Why is living in a larger body not acceptable?  We all talk about diversity and equality as though we believe it with our whole hearts, but that doesn’t cross over to fat.  Or skinny if we’re really being honest.  How many times have you heard or seen online “Oh my god, she’s so skinny.  Feed her a damn cheeseburger!  She looks anorexic.”  I know I have.  I know I’ve said those words.  I will punch myself in the gut if I ever say them again.  

Every body is different.  We are supposed to be.  Let’s not BLAME genetics like it’s a bad thing.  Let’s realize that it’s what nature has intended.  My father is over 6 feet tall and a large man.  He’s just a big man.  He went on Nutri System when I was young, lost a ton of weight, and put a bunch back on over the years because he is a big man.  My mother was not tall, but was always large.  I hated her body because HER PARENTS told her all the time she was fat and unworthy and cautioned me not to grow up to be like her in any way.  Even when she was poor and homeless she was still large.  That was the way her body was.  I wonder how different her life might have been if the size of her body hadn’t been a factor in the way she was raised or treated.  How might that have made my life different?

I know a lot of you are probably rolling your eyes at me right now about being vocal about another health plan or saying to yourself “just because you have trouble with diets doesn’t mean they don’t work”  I know there are people close to me thinking “She just always gets excited when she discovers a new diet, that’s probably what this is.”  NO.  

This is me finally realizing that I can heal and healing doesn’t mean I need to weigh 157 pounds. (That’s the weight limit for women my height to enter the air force when I did in 1992) This is me finally realizing that I’ve been lying about the weight on my drivers license for 30 years because gods forbid anyone saw my real weight on that document. This is me realizing that I’ve spent my life trying to live up to other people’s ideals of what I should look like because I assumed they wouldn’t like me otherwise. This is me realizing how much unintentional harm I could have been doing when sharing another diet, another idea, another bout of “well this is working really well for me!” with people I care about. This is me realizing how much damage I’ve been doing to myself living with this level of shame for 40 years. Hiding what I’m doing.  Suffering in silence.  Hiding food. Restricting.  Binging.  Over exercising to compensate.  Spending money on one last diet.  Spending emotional energy on one last hope. We were in Las Vegas for what was supposed to be a fun vacation last week and I was so hot and miserable and so steeped in hating my body because my painful knees were betraying me that my internal monologue was a never ending loop of “I’ll hit weight watchers REALLY HARD when we get home and get rid of this weight, then I’ll figure out my knees and work on maintenance” Let me say that again, clearly.  I struggled to enjoy my vacation because I was obsessing about restricting food AFTER my vacation. One last time.  One last meal.

BULLSHIT.

We walked by shops with weird and pretty fashion dresses. (I freely admit I don’t understand fashion) the husband and I would both point out ones we thought were pretty.  My brain would get stuck on “Yeah, but they don’t make them in my size” or “Yeah, that would NOT look good on me.  It looks fine on that size 0 mannequin”  Pretty on other people.  Other people are pretty.  Not me. Diet culture is pervasive and all consuming.  In big ways and little ways.  I’m 5 ft 9.  I’m not a tiny person at any weight.  I’ve always been told I’m too big.  Even when I sit, I slouch a little and/or tuck my legs and feet up under me to try to make myself appear smaller and less invasive.  This is subconscious.  I don’t always realize I’m doing it until my knees remind me. Most of my life has been things that get in the way of my diets.  “I should start the diet today, but it’ll have to wait until next week because so and so’s birthday is this week and I want to be able to enjoy that.”  or “It’s late fall, I should just start now but first there’s my birthday, and then Thanksgiving, and December happens and there’s all kinds of treats then.  Better wait until January, but not the first because that’s new year’s...maybe the following Monday.” or the ever popular “I already had a bad eating day today, I’m a failure.  Why bother?  Fuck it.  I’ll try again tomorrow.”  That one was always followed by binging because of the last supper mentality.  If I’m starting a diet tomorrow I better eat EVERYTHING NOW. This is how I’ve lived my whole life.  The time not spent dieting was just the time in between diets where I was planning my next diet.  So much life wasted.  The only time I was not actively dieting or planning the next diet or suffering from “I’m just too exhausting to put effort into food right now” was during my 4 pregnancies.  I let myself eat whatever and whenever because I was nauseous all the time anyway and something in my brain made me fuel my body for the babies. When the youngest was born and the on call doctor who delivered her told me I was too fat to have my tubes tied I definitely started planning diets again in that moment.  I believe now, years later, that my diet and diet culture ruined mind and body is part of what kept me from being as successful at nursing the kids as I wished I had been.  I assumed my body was broken and not good enough for my babies.  The last time I lost a LOT of weight it was because I didn’t want to ruin someone’s wedding pictures.  True story.  This was nothing that person felt or anything they told me.  IT’s what my brain said to me.  It’s how I de-valued myself.  There are very few current pictures of me now because I’ve been stuck in a place where I feel shame when I see them. When I’m dead, memories and pictures are all my kids and grandkids will have, and I hate myself too much to let anyone take them. That’s not okay.

I dream about food.  I daydream about food.  Food I “shouldn’t” eat.  Food I “should” eat.  When to eat.  When not to eat.  Every spare ounce of energy is spent thinking about food or hating myself which leads to more thinking about food. I am not in a place where I can prepare dinner for my family right now because it’s too hard to put that much energy into food.  I force myself to pick the recipes from the app and get the shopping done via instacart so all anyone else has to do is pull up the recipe and make the food.  If I’m looking at the ingredients or trying to prep anything I stare at every individual thing debating whether or not I “should” eat it.  This is going to take me a long time to break free from.  Today I finally feel like I CAN break free. There is nothing wrong with being in a large body or a small body.  Food is not good or bad.  Food is food.  I have to say these things.  I have to repeat them to myself or I fall down the rabbit hole again.  None of this is work anyone can do for me.  I have to live it.  I have to work through it.  I have to figure it out. If you read this far, my statement stands.  If you’re on a diet, I will listen to your woes and hold your hand and I will not judge you for it.  This was very hard to write because I am certain some of you who believe in diets, ways of life, and wellness eating may block me now because I spoke my mind.  I’ve clung so tight to the people I love and refrained from being honest and speaking my mind for fear of abandonment.  I’ll have to live with it if that’s the case here, because people sometimes need to do what’s best for them.  Airing this out is one of those things for me.  It’s a scary thing for sure. I also want to say that I’m happy for this to lead to discussion.  I’m not going to shut anyone down for wanting to talk to me about this.  I am always open to learn new information and see different perspectives.  Just know that if I’m emotional and feeling a lot of strong things about how my life has been up to this point, and I am entitled to believe what I believe just as you all are.  I’m happy to share sources and books I’ve been reading on the subject.  They are not diet books.

Here’s to doing better from here on out.

Here’s to finally being free.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, nephilimeq!

For @nephilimeq :)

When Stiles can’t decide what to get for Derek’s Secret Santa present, he decides to give Derek himself. It doesn’t go quite like he thought it would.

Or, the one where Stiles expected sex, but got to help Derek with his computer virus instead (but still somehow ended up with a boyfriend for Christmas).

*****

A Gift to Unwrap

“I’m so glad we’re doing Secret Santa this year, I can’t afford to buy you all shit again,” Stiles said, lounging on Derek’s couch with his head off the side and his feet in the hair.

Lydia smacked his ankle when it got too close to her. “It’s not like you gave us all great gifts last year. You gave me pens.”

“What was wrong with pens? You like pens.”

“They were from the dollar store, Stiles.”

“Whatever,” Stiles flipped over, sitting properly. “I hope I get Derek, he appreciates my gifts.”

“Derek?” Allison looked over at him from her armchair, “he’s the worst to buy for, he isn’t happy with anything.”

“Hey, Derek loved the birthday present I got him!”

Allison and Lydia shared a confused look. It was just the three of them here, planning out secret santa as everyone else on the pack went for midnight wolf patrol. Stiles didn’t mind, he liked when team humans got to hang.

“Derek doesn’t celebrate his birthday…” Lydia finally said, turning back to him.

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles shrugged, “I just got him a photo album and filled it with all the family pictures of the Hales I could find. I dropped it off in the morning, we had some coffee, and I left. Derek didn’t have to celebrate, and I only had to spend like 5 bucks.”

They were both frowning now though. “How long did that take you?” Allison asked.

“Uh…” Stiles scratched his head, “a month or so?”

“A month or so?” Allison shook her head. “This year you gave me gum for my birthday!”

“Hey, you like gum!’

Lydia smirked, “don’t take it personally, Ally, Stiles only buys good presents for people he loves.”

“Woah- what? Who said - I don’t love anyone!”

Lydia laughed, “Stiles, you once bought me a TV! This year I got more dollar store pens. But Derek gets a whole photo album that you spent a month on? You’ve moved on from me and right on to him,” she grinned, “did you add little notes in it too?”

Stiles blushed, “no!… not that many! Shut up!”

“Relax, Derek likes you too,” she said. All nonchalant, like this wasn’t brand new information.

“What- what do you mean? Not that it - I don’t love him, or anything, but like what do you mean by that.”

“Okay,” Allison said, leaning back, “I can see it now.”

“Um, no? There’s nothing to see?”

“I guess we’ll find out next week,” Lydia said with a wink, “when you both get each other for Secret Santa.”

“You can’t just… cheat like that. Can you? Oh my God, what do you think he’ll get me?” They both laughed. Stiles was starting to see their point. “… not that it matters, what he gets me.”

“He’ll get you something sweet, I’m sure,” Lydia said. “You’ve kind of already outdone yourself with the photo album, but I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Aw, this is so sweet!” Allison said, smiling at Stiles blush. “Aw at New Years you two can kiss!”

Stiles didn’t even try to deny he liked that idea. And now that he was thinking about it, it was definitely not the first time he liked the idea of Derek kissing him.

Shit.

“Guys, I might like Derek…”

They looked at each other and laughed.

–

That weekend, when they pulled their Secret Santa names out of the hat, Stiles wasn’t surprised he pulled Derek’s name out. Lydia was a witch, she could do anything.

He watched carefully as Derek read his. He made no reaction, but Stiles noticed him glance towards him a minute later. Did you get Stiles’ name too? Was Lydia really doing this?

Was it normal to be this excited for Secret Santa?

Stiles wasn’t sure - but he didn’t care. He couldn’t wait for Christmas.

–

He realized as soon as he stepped into the mall, Lydia was right. He should have fucking waited to do the photo album for Christmas.

No one cared about their 26th birthday. It was a stupid age. Why did he go so big? Stiles had turned 22 this year, and Derek had just taken him out for dinner. He should have done that.

What the hell was he going to do now?

He had $20 he could spend and that was it. He walked past the dollar store but shook his head. Looked into H&M and scoffed. Derek would hate everything in this mall. Stiles wasn’t sure where he bought his ridiculously soft shirts, but it wasn’t here.

And they were probably more than $20s.

Cursing, Stiles back tracked. What could he do? He did the sentimental thing already, but maybe he could.. Add to that? Get… What, video recordings of his family?

No, that would just be creepy. He wasn’t fucking stalking the dead.

He could… draw him a picture? He was shit at art. He could… take him on a trip? At some point.. When neither of them were working.. And it was super cheap?

God he was doomed.

Stiles walked past La Senza and paused. The mannequin was dressed in a skimpy bra, but that wasn’t what he was looking at. It was also covered in bows, like the mannequin itself was the present.

Could… Stiles… be the present?

No, that was ridiculous.

Unless…?

No. Derek deserved a real present.

But maybe..?

Stiles bit his lip in thought. It would be better than dollar store pens at least.

He turned and made his way to the craft store. Time to spend his $20 on high end ribbon.

–

Stiles had on his tightest skinny jeans, the ones that Jackson said made his ass pop. He wore the shirt Lydia had given him, the one he thought had been a size too small but she insisted fit him better than anything else he owned.

Now, for the important layer. He pulled out the red ribbon.

He tied a loop around his chest, making a bow on his front. He tied another around his leg and made a bow on his thigh. He looped a ribbon down his left arm, starting from his shoulder and ending with a bow on his wrist.

He looked at himself in the mirror, a bit worried he had over done it.

“Well, my dad didn’t believe I was gay before, he should see me now.”

Although he and his dad had already had that talk. More than once, actually, after he caught Danny in his room in senior year. That had been awkward.

But they were good now. And Derek wouldn’t be such a surprise to him, he didn’t think…

You know, if Derek… actually liked him back. And wanted to date him. And be introduced to Stiles father as his boyfriend-

He was getting ahead of himself.

He took a deep breath. “Even if he doesn’t like me, the present is he has me for a full day. He can make me clean his windows if he wants.”

WIth that, Stiles pulled on his dad’s trench coat.

It was show time.

–

Stiles usually barged into Derek’s loft like he owned the place, but it felt weird to do that now, so he knocked.

It took a minute before Derek opened the door. He already looked confused, and his eyebrow rose up at the sight of him.

“Stiles.”

“Evening, Derek.”

“Why did you knock…. Why are you dressed like you’re going to flash me?”

Stiles felt his cheeks warm, “it’s, uh, for Secret Santa!”

“You’re going to flash me for Secret Santa?”

“No! I am,” he gestured at himself, “fully clothed underhere, I will have you know. But it is part of the present.”

Derek raised a brow, “the gift exchange is tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but… mine starts today.”

Derek shrugged, then stepped back to wave Stiles inside.

Palms sweating, Stiles stepped in and only hesitated a moment before he opened his coat. “Ta da!” He said, dropping the coat dramatically to the floor, “I am your present!”

Derek looked him up and down, eyes lingering on the bows, “okay.”

Stiles swallowed. He shouldn’t have worn his tightest clothes, could Derek see his sweat through his shirt already?

Fuck, could he smell it?

“And, uh, you can do whatever you want with me. For the next 24 hours.” Derek nodded, his eyes still on the bow on Stiles chest. Shit, maybe this was stupid. “Sorry, I thought… I’m kind of broke, and I - this was dumb-”

“No, it’s good,” Derek stepped toward him. Stiles’ heart started to race, he clenched his fists so they wouldn’t shake. This was the plan, right? This was the fucking point of the gift - make a big decleration and give himself to Derek, for a whole day, to do whatever.

But fuck, what if Derek was into weird shit? Stiles wasn’t a virgin, but he’d only been with two people before, and did that guy from college really count if all they did was handjobs? Stiles didn’t even remember his name. And fuck, what if this made Derek think all he wanted was sex? What if he was ruining a potentially amazing relationship because of one stupid -

All Derek did was reach behind him and close the door.

Of course.

Stiles cleared his throat.

“So, uh…”

“Come with me.”

Stiles obeyed, following Derek to the couch. Was Derek going to throw him on it? Ravish him?

He passed Stiles a laptop.

“You’re good at this stuff, right? I think I have a virus or something.”

“… what?”

“I have you for 24 hours, tonight you can help me with my laptop.”

“Oh, oh, okay, sure.” Stiles sat down, glancing down at the screen. He felt stupid for being relieved.

“After you figure out the virus thing, you can also help me get a netflix. And figure out how to get it on the TV? Lydia is refusing to set up pack movie nights anymore if we’re all going to complain about watching The Notebook everytime.”

“Alright,” Stiles leaned back on the couch, diving right in. By the state of Derek’s desktop, he had a feeling this might actually take him 24 hours.

–

Stiles slept over at Derek’s house that night, though it went very differently than he had imagined. He borrowed Derek’s sweats and a baggy T. He slept on the couch. He worked on his laptop until 2 am, and woke up to Derek making breakfast. Stiles joined him in the kitchen, making coffee beside him as he cracked eggs into a pan.

It was nice. Domestic.

Derek smiled at him as he passed over a mug of coffee, and Stiles smiled back.

This was way better than his original plan.

“So, your computer’s up and running, and can connect to the TV. What else do you need help with?”

“Cleaning.”

“… cleaning what?”

“The loft. The pack is coming over tonight for the Secret Santa exchange. Clean up, and when you’re done, help me make the Christmas cookies.”

Stiles shrugged, “okay.”

–

Cleaning wasn’t hard. Derek kept his place pretty impeccable anyway, so all Stiles had to do was some dusting and sweeping. Then he joined Derek in the kitchen, where he had already started baking.

The rest of the day went by so fast, Stiles ran out of time to go home. He changed back into the clothes he was wearing last night, minus the bows, and came back to find the pack already arriving.

He smiled at Derek as they passed out the food together. He imagined what it would be like if he really did live here, really did help Derek with every pack night. He thought they would make a good pair.

And when their shoulders brushed when they sat down together, Stiles didn’t feel nervous. In fact, he leaned into the touch a bit. And he didn’t miss the soft smile Derek sent his way when he did.

Yeah… he thought they would be great together.

The night went by in a blur, Stiles too focused on Derek’s warmth beside him to really pay attention to any of the presents everyone was opening.

He didn’t even notice people had started leaving until it was only him, Lydia and Allison left.

And Lydia and Allison were getting ready to go.

“Oh. I guess I should get ready to go too.”

“Aw, but you two look so cozy,” Allison said with a smirk.

Stiles flushed. Derek, thankfully, either didn’t notice her comment or ignored it. “I haven’t given you your gift yet,” he said. “You can’t leave.”

“Have fun getting your gift, Stiles,” Lydia said, winking, before she shut the door.

Stiles felt his face grow even hotter, but Derek still didn’t comment on it as he got up to get his present. Bless this man. Bless him and his new social tact.

Derek came back out with a present so big, Stiles felt a pang of regret for going with his stupid idea. He could have at least given him… socks, or something.

“Derek, you didn’t have to-”

“I did. After the photo album, I did.” He cleared his throat, “it’s not that big of a deal, I just didn’t know how to wrap it.”

Stiles didn’t believe him. The way Derek was carefully holding it, he didn’t think Derek fully believed it either.

When he ripped open the wrapping paper, he gasped, “Derek…”

It was a painting. A painting of him in his grad cap and gown, from his university graduation last summer. Beside him was his dad, in his suit, just like in their pictures, and on the other side…

“I tried to make her look a bit older, without changing her too much… your dad gave me a picture.”

“She’s beautiful,” Stiles whispered. His mother looked just like he remembered, he even knew the dress, but… there were wrinkles that he never got to see her have. A few gray hairs she never got to grow. His eyes started to burn, so he put the picture down on the table, taking a deep breath. “Derek, you really didn’t have to…”

“You didn’t have to give me the photo album.”

Stiles licked his lips. Derek leaned forward.

“I knew what you were doing. With your gift, I mean, I knew what you were trying to do.”

“You don’t - I shouldn’t have, I don’t want to force anything. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid, it was cute. I was just surprised. And you smelled really nervous, sweaty,” Stiles cursed himself, he knew Derek had smelled the sweat. “I didn’t want our first anything together to be with you under pressure. I want us to both want it.”

Stiles looked at Derek, how beautiful and sincere he was. He thought maybe he was already in love with this man.

“Do I smell nervous now?”

“No.”

They leaned forward at the same time, the kiss was soft. Perfect. Derek’s beard was smooth under his fingers.

When they pulled back, Derek grinned. “Can I unwrap my present now?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The End <3  

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Thirty One

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Roman was literally shaking as he sat in the car with Damien and the Queen, with Virgil in shotgun and the Queen driving. “Roman, are you okay?” Damien asked softly.

“Yeah,” Roman said, continuing to shake. “I’ve just dreamed of this day for years now. I get short hair again.”

“Any plans?” Damien asked. “In terms of haircut?”

“Probably a quiff,” Roman said. “Not very original, I know, but if it works it works.”

“Very true,” Damien said. “You’d look rather dashing with it.”

“Shut up,” Roman said, blushing.

Damien kissed Roman’s knuckles and said, “Never, my love.”

Roman took as deep a breath as he could in his new binder and sighed. He had insisted on wearing it when he tried on clothes, purely so that he could ride the euphoria of gender-affirming clothes and body at the same time. But all the happiness and nervousness building up in his system meant he was shaking rather violently, and couldn’t see any signs of stopping soon. “You know, between your comments and the plans of the day, it’s not unlikely for me to just faint.”

“I’ll catch you before you hit the ground, my love,” Damien said with a soft laugh. “But I’ll also try to go easy on you for a little while, just until you calm down.”

Roman nodded. Part of his shaking was out of sheer nervousness. What if his mother was right? What if this wasn’t what he wanted? What if the haircut turned out poorly? There were so many ways that this could go wrong, and Roman knew it wasn’t healthy to focus on them, but they were difficult to push from his mind.

As they pulled into the parking lot in the shopping center, Damien growled and Roman swallowed. There were people pointing at their car and pulling out phones, presumably to take pictures. “The drawbacks of being royalty,” Virgil snarled. “The fucking papparazzi.”

“I don’t want to deal with questions,” Roman said faintly. “If I have to hear one more word about my mother today, I’m going to burst into tears.”

“I’ve got you, my love,” Damien said, grabbing Roman’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “It’s a ten-foot walk to the door. And no one will bother you once you’re inside. If anyone so much as think s about interrogating you, they’ll have me to answer to.”

Roman looked at Damien, noticed the sincerity in his eyes, and smiled softly with a small nod. Damien would be there for him, he didn’t doubt that.

They let go of each other’s hands to step out of the car, and Roman gave the obligatory polite wave to the people before walking past the car to Damien, linking hands with him as they walked into the barber shop.

“Prince Damien!” one man who was cutting another’s hair exclaimed, hastily bowing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m afraid my fiancé is in need of a good haircut, Vince,” Damien said with a grin. “My mother and Virgil are right outside, so no funny business, understood?”

“Of course! I never shave the heads of newcomers unless they ask for it!” Vince laughed. “Have a seat, Your Highnesses, anywhere you like, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Damien practically dragged Roman to a chair in the back, while two barbers puttered around the shop, and Vince finished the haircut. “I only trust Vince to deal with the bird’s nest that is my hair,” Damien explained to Roman. “Not that the other barbers here aren’t excellent, but Vince was the only one I trusted as a child to not yank on my hair when there were tangles, and since then he’s always gotten top priority on my haircuts.”

Roman nodded, not letting go of Damien’s hand for a moment. “Good to know he’s experienced,” he said.

Vince finished brushing hair off the other client, who quickly left, and Vince turned the sign on the door to “Closed.” “For just a bit of privacy, Prince Roman. I know that you must be going through a lot right now.”

Roman smiled nervously as Vince came over. “I appreciate it, thank you,” he said.

Vince draped a sheet over Roman’s shoulders and tied it in the back, pulling his loose ponytail out from under the knot. “Your hair is very healthy,” he complimented. “How short do you want it?”

“Chop it all off,” Roman said. “Much as it’s healthy, it’s entirely too long for my tastes.”

“Oh, I understand that,” Vince said. “Any style or length you want?”

“Quiff please, no longer than four inches. Three would be ideal,” Roman said.

“You’ve got it, Your Highness,” Vince said, taking a pair of scissors out of a drawer and straightening Roman’s ponytail.

Roman clutched Damien’s hand tightly as the scissors went to the base of his skull, and with two high-pitched and expertly placed snips, his ponytail fell to the floor, hair coming to rest above his shoulders in a bob. Roman looked at the mirror and laughed. “I look like a bisexual,” he joked.

“Not for long,” Damien laughed back.

“Taper fade on the bottom?” Vince asked.

“Please,” Roman said.

“Hang on one moment,” Damien said, pulling out his phone and pressing a few buttons. “Hey, Remus?” Damien asked into his phone.

“Yeah, you’ve got me!” Remus’ voice came over the phone, and Roman’s face broke into a relieved grin. “What’s up?”

“I think there’s a moment Roman would like to share with you,” Damien said.

When the flash on Damien’s phone came on, Roman waved to the camera. “Guess who’s finally getting his hair cut!” he crowed.

“Hell yes, my man!” Remus exclaimed. “I want to see them shave your head!”

Roman laughed as Vince grabbed a razor and began to get rid of all the long hair on the back of Roman’s head. With Remus on the phone he felt so much more relaxed, and more self-assured. He knew he was trans, and so did Remus. Remus never questioned him for a second. This was what Roman needed, and it was nice to be reminded that this was normal, this was healthy, this was good.

Remus was giving running commentary in the form of compliments, and Damien just sat back in his chair with a pleased grin. When the fade was complete, Vince took a pair of scissors to the hair that was left on the top of Roman’s head, combing it so the short strands left were pointed towards the front, rather than to the sides. Roman watched this process in the mirror in awe, finally looking at his reflection and seeing someone resembling himself. When Vince took off the sheet after brushing the last of Roman’s hair off his neck and shoulders, Roman stood slowly, observing his new look in the mirror.

“How do you feel, Roman?” Damien asked.

Roman broke into a wide grin. “Gone are the days of Veronica Sarah Ayer!” he crowed. “You are looking at none other than His Highness Roman Augustus Ayer, prince and soon-to-be-husband of Damien Byron!”

Damien whooped and high-fived Roman, and Roman felt tears coming to his eyes as Remus cheered and clapped over the phone. “You did an amazing job as always, Vince,” Damien said. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Vince said with a bow. “I hope the two of you have a great rest of your day.”

“You too,” Roman said as Damien paid Vince and the two walked out.

The Queen gasped as she saw Roman and exclaimed, “Oh, dear, your haircut is perfect!”

“Thank you!” Roman said, grinning. “It feels amazing to look like myself.”

“Are you ready for an updated wardrobe?” the Queen asked.

Roman nodded, blinking back tears. “So ready to figure out what styles I like in men’s clothing,” he said, voice watery.

Damien kissed Roman’s cheek and Roman squeaked, whacking him lightly.

“Damien Janus Byron, if you do not behave with your fiancé, you will not get to help him pick out clothes, and that’s a promise,” the Queen warned.

Damien turned away and swore under his breath, and Roman blinked in shock. “That is...quite the middle name,” he said mildly.

“It was his father’s choice of name for him. I told him simply that if he didn’t want his son to be bullied for a majority of his childhood, we would give him a more common first name. Damien was what we agreed on. But Janus is a family name,” the Queen explained.

“I see,” Roman said. “Sort of, at least.”

The Queen smiled. “Are we ready to keep shopping?”

“Yeah,” Roman said, smiling. “I think I could even brave a couple reporters if I had to. Still hoping I don’t have to, though.”

“We’ll try and avoid it,” Damien assured him.

They walked to the stores just a couple buildings away, and Damien swept Roman into the most upscale of them all. Damien looked around, waving off the associates who tried to walk up to the three of them. “He’s fine,” Damien said. “Just give him a moment to soak it all in.”

Roman looked around, feeling all the air leave his lungs. There were mannequins with suits in the windows, button-up shirts on the shelves, nice pants, both of the dress variety and ones more appropriate for a relaxed dress code. And not a dress or skirt in sight.

“The women’s equivalent is across the street,” Damien said. “But I figured you’d much rather be in a men’s store, at least to start.”

“Thanks,” Roman said faintly.

Damien nodded with a smile. “Go wherever your heart tells you,” he said. “I won’t judge...too much.”

Roman laughed, but dutifully walked further into the store. There was a pastel green button-up that he picked up, looking around. He grinned when he saw T-shirts, knowing that territory much better. He grabbed a shirt with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album art on the front because rainbows, duh, and then went for a pair of dark skinny jeans, and called, “Damien, I’m gonna try on a look, I want your opinion when I walk out of the changing room!”

“Copy that,” Damien called into the racks. “I’ll meet you on the far right where the changing rooms are!”

Roman sprinted through the aisles, grin splitting his face. He was a fashion disaster sometimes, bue he had a good feeling about this. He tore off his shirt and caught his breath for a moment inside the changing room. He shouldn’t make a habit out of running in his binder, he saw now why Remy was so strict in his instructions.

When he had his breath back, he took off his pants and put on the shirts first. The green was a stark contrast to the gray, so he had a feeling he was on the right track. He pulled on the skinny jeans, up over both of the shirt’s ends and made sure they were tucked properly. Roman did the bottom two buttons of the green shirt and looked in the mirror, giving himself some nervous finger guns. The shoes on the other side of the door were undoubtedly Damien’s. Roman took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and unlocked the changing room door, walking out with his hands in his pockets. “Thoughts? I need something more iconic than that time Remus went out on Halloween dressed as a stripper—complete with rippable tuxedo. This do it?” he asked Damien.

Damien said nothing, looking Roman up and down for a moment, before he said, “Fuck, I’m gay. If we weren’t in public I would jump your bones.”

Roman squeaked. “So you’re a fan, got it,” he said with a laugh. “This is going to be my ‘ultimate boy mode’ look.”

Damien managed a strangled laugh. “Yeah. Mother is grabbing you some dress shirts and pants for special occasions. But as for style...looks like you’ve got at least one look. Now go on and take it off, we’re getting that and anything else you might want.”

“I have good stuff in terms of T-shirts already, aside from a disparaging lack of rainbows. I might buy a flannel and some pants, but let’s be real, I’ll be stealing your shirts most days.”

“At least you’re honest,” Damien huffed as Roman retreated back into the stall.

Roman changed back into his regular clothes and walked out, new outfit in hand. “I’m wearing that combo to Pride first chance I get, I hope you realize,” he informed Damien.

“Fine by me, so long as I get to scare off any pretty boys who try to make a pass at you,” Damien said, just a hint of huskiness still in his voice.

“You’re not as discreet as you like to think you are,” Roman said, glancing down and then up meaningfully at Damien.

“Hey, be careful who you tease,” Damien warned. “I’m most likely going to be the one teaching you how to position when you get a packer, and if you keep this up I’ll make tasteless jokes every time your packer shifts.”

Roman sighed. “Okay, I see your point,” he allowed.

The two of them got a few more pants for Roman, and Roman picked up a yellow and red flannel, and then went to the front of the store, where the Queen was waiting for them. Once everything had been rung up and they were walking out of the store, Roman laughed. “God, this doesn’t feel real,” he breathed. “I’m free. I’m genuinely... free.”

“Glad to hear you feel that way,” Damien said, kissing Roman’s temple.

Roman turned to Damien and smiled. “Am I free to kiss you?”

“Ah...” Damien glanced away, turning red. “I don’t know how to feel about that. It’s not a no...”

“If it’s not a yes, then it’s a no,” Roman said. “It’s okay. Hopefully you’ll be okay with it by the wedding.”

“I do as well, I do not want to disappoint the people waiting for us to kiss,” Damien laughed nervously.

“Even if you aren’t, I know ways to fake it,” Roman said with a shrug. “Besides, we don’t even have to use tongue. That’s not a requirement for a kiss at the altar.”

“I would be slightly concerned if it was,” Damien laughed. “I do not need all my relatives to watch me kiss using tongue.”

Roman snickered. “Remus would make disgusting gag noises every time I kissed a boyfriend when I was younger. It was never appreciated at the time, but looking back on it, it’s a little endearing. I mean, he’s still a little shit, but...”

Damien laughed genuinely and a few people turned their way, before one brought a camera out of her bag. “Oh, no, the paparazzi are after us!” Roman hissed.

“To the car?” Damien offered.

“To the car!” Roman agreed, and the three of them rushed to the car and order Virgil to drive, narrowly dodging the woman as she tried to cross the street and get a good picture of them.

“Are we going to continue to risk the commonwealth tearing us apart or are we heading back to the castle?” Virgil asked.

“Back home, please,” the Queen said. “I need to make some calls before the wedding rehearsal tomorrow, see if we can change plans that involve Roman’s parents, and ensure that Remus leaving the country won’t endanger his security to the throne.”

“What, no dance practice?” Damien questioned.

“Oh, you two will get plenty of dance practice in,” the Queen assured. “I just won’t be there to oversee it. I trust Logan to keep you two from killing each other.”

“Hey!” Damien squawked indignantly, while Roman just tittered next to him.

[anika-ann]

Lessons in Rule-breaking - Pt.1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 4100

Warnings: ...nothing major? Swearing, fluff, mention of death.

Summary: Working part-time at Smithsonian for a while now, you knew you could get in trouble when breaking the no-newcomers-after-30-minutes-before-the-closing-time rule, but you sure didn’t expect the trouble to look like this.

Story Masterlist

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 You were bored. Enormously. The clock was telling you there was still twenty minutes until the closing time and that time was always filled with boredom – half an hour ago, impressive crowds were still flooding the Captain America’s exhibition as if it was The Independence Day aka Cap’s birthday. Now, with the well-known rule of not letting any newcomers in less than 30 minutes before the closing time, the counter desk was painfully empty. Hence the boredom and the idle hands.

As far as you heard, idle hands were the devil’s tools and maybe it was the truth – but here in Smithsonian, there weren’t many things for the devil operate with. Sure, you could go to another level for a different exhibition and mix up some captions to artefacts, but that seemed like too much work and with how crowded the space was, it was next to impossible. Another option was to pull the fire alarm, but you weren’t that much of a punk.

So, most of the time, you settled with watching people around you – unlike when the insane number of people was flowing in and if you hadn’t had an ID shoved into your face allowing a children discount you wouldn’t have known if a kid was coming or an adult, a man, a woman, a farmer, the freaking president or Captain America himself – finally having the time to relax. You weren’t proud of barely paying attention during the busy hours, but… well. You made up for that in the free time in the evening.

There was a kid with a backpack with Captain America’s shield on it, watching what could be his brother in his father’s arms as he was holding the kid up right next to the panel showing Captain’s transformation from the skinny boy to a walking rock. Very cute rock. Anyway, in the corner, an incredibly bored-looking girl was pulling her mother’s sleeve, impatient to get out, perhaps looking forward to seeing a cartoon instead of a war museum exhibit. There was a guy rolling his eyes at his girlfriend, who was standing by the display of authentic outfits (and mannequins, the source of the man’s annoyance, if you could take a guess), making heart eyes at the Captain’s figure; you couldn’t hold back a giggle and looked away.

Which was exactly when you noticed the pair on the different side of the gate, outside of the space of exhibition. It was a woman with a boy who couldn’t be older than six years old. He would have been cute, a ginger with several freckles on his nose and cheeks, looking like he would have dimples when smiling, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood for smiling. In fact, he seemed wrecked. Glassy tears were rolling down his cheeks, welled up in huge eyes and he sniffed from time to time. The woman whom you assumed was his mother was trying to comfort him, herself wearing a helpless expression.

Alright, you were leaving your post right now. Perhaps it was the devil’s handiwork indeed, maybe it was none of your business, whatever the kid was crying for. But it was breaking your heart. You approached them rapidly, and being just few steps from them, you could see the mum pointing at a sign – the sign that was telling them that they could no longer enter the exhibition.

Ah, damn.

“Can I help you?” you asked politely, the woman’s gaze immediately snapping your direction, startled a bit. She eyed your nametag.

“No, no thank you,” she brushed you off, an apologetic smile on her lips. The kid sniffed again.

“Alright. If you’re sure…”

You backed off quickly, spinning on your heels and mentally slapping yourself. Why had you come to them again?

“But mommy-“

“No, Jamie, sweetheart. We’re late, we spent too much time in the park. We’ll have to come here another time-“ the woman explained patiently, her voice gentle but firm.

You bit your lip but started walking. Rules. There were rules.

“But you said we’re coming home in the morning! I’ll never see Captain America,” he sobbed and your heart sank. They must have been tourists.

But nope. No exceptions. You would do it once and then it would become a standard. Not to mention you could also get freaking fired for it— well, probably not fired, just punished, but still. Rules.

“We do, honey. We’ll have to come-“

“But you promised!”

Yeah, that was enough. You turned to them again and squatted to the kid. He frowned at you, his lower lip trembling. Oh boy, now you were lost to him.

“There are rules that need to be followed,” you said quietly and the kid sobbed again. The mother looked at you, caught between apologetic and angry about you moralizing her kid. You quickly continued. “But, we have one more rule here that not many people know. Can you keep a secret?”

The boy seemed intrigued enough, which was good. You eyed the woman; she was watching you in anticipation, probably ready to report you for harassment, but curious about what your play was.

The kid nodded.

“Good. I’ll tell you, but I’m gonna ask you a question first, okay?” Another nod. “Who’s Captain America?”

“A hero!” the kid replied immediately, his eyes lighting up with a spark of excitement. You couldn’t help but smile.

“And why is he a hero?”

“Because he’s strong! And he has the shield! I have a Frisbee like him! He’s the best superhero!”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the idea of what the big hero would think about his shield being compared to a Frisbee – it certainly wasn’t the first time you heard this, but it never failed to amuse you.

“Really? That’s great. But do you know why he’s a real hero?”

The boy seemed thoughtful for a second before he measured you with wide eyes, clueless.

“Because,” you whispered, leaning closer to him conspiratorially, “he has a good heart and he’s helping people.”

The kid was in awe. The mother stared at you, still unsure of what you would do.

“Now the secret – we have one more rule here. If someone has enough strength to open the ticket barrier, he can come in even if there is only 20 minutes left.” Jamie’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open. “But, he can’t only open it for himself. He needs to be of a good heart and let someone else in. Do you think you can do that? Are you good?”

The kid immediately nodded in agreement, taking his mum’s hand. You smiled at him and looked at the woman hesitantly. Did you just screw up?

“Can you really let us in?” she asked you lowly when you levelled yourself with her. You just nodded wordlessly. You would have to put in someone’s year pass, but it would work.

The boy practically pulled his mum to the ticket barrier, impatient. He tried to push before you even took your place by the computer. The barrier didn’t move, of course. You mentally grinned at his confused expression and quickly entered a pass. He tried again, an amazed smile on his lips as he went through. Being on the other side, he pulled so his mum could get in too. He had an extremely focused expression on his face and he was too cute for his own good. The way he lighted up when the woman got in was simply priceless.

“Mom! I’m strong and good like Captain America!” he exclaimed enthusiastically and the woman patted his head lovingly.

“Yes, sweetheart. Now, let’s thank the nice lady-“

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Now go to see your hero,” you whispered encouragingly, anxious to get them moving. You were suddenly worried that your interaction might attract someone’s curious eye. You prayed it hadn’t.

The mother shot you one more grateful look and let her son to drag her away. You went to throw the tickets away to destroy the evidence, picking few more on your way – why did people throw these on the floor when the trashcan was like three meters away?

"That was really nice of you."

"Crap!” you cursed, nearly jumping out of your skin at the fright. Someone had seen you let the kid in. Definitely. Oh shit. You quickly spun to the male voice. “I— please don't report me. I’m-“

You froze when you saw the man who had witnessed your offence to the regulations, recognizing him immediately despite his baseball cap and casual stance.

“OH CRAP."

"You seem to swear a lot though," he noted, the smile on his lips amused, cheeky even.

Captain America was a cheeky man. Who would have guessed? Not you, that was for sure. You slowly let the impossible fact of Steve Rogers being here sink in. It was not an easy task, your mind kept screaming ‘holy shit, Captain America is here and talking to me’, but that was not the main problem – the rule-breaking was. Captain America caught you breaking a rule. You were so fired.

"Well, someone who is not just anyone, caught me breaking a rule that is written in huge-a-“ you closed you mouth before another curse could leave you mouth, remembering his… teasing? “-huge letters for everyone to see. The American symbol of righteousness did, actually. I count myself entitled."

You were honestly proud of yourself for saying so many sentences without a stutter despite freaking out.

His smile turned a bit bashful, the amused spark remaining in his eyes only. Really? He was self-conscious? And now? Wow. Did he notice his face was all over the walls? The entire exposition was about him for god’s sake.

"I won't report you. I told you – I think it was really nice of you."

You hesitantly smiled back, still unsure. "Uhm... okay."

And then you did something you excelled at. You spun on your heels and returned behind the counter, pretending you didn’t exist. You didn’t even say goodbye; yet, you would swear that when was Steven Grant Rogers disappearing behind a corner, he glanced at you over his shoulder with a smile.

The moment you couldn’t see him anymore, you let your elbows hit the counter desk and your head fell into your palms with a whine.

You had talked to Captain America. He had been ridiculously nice despite – or because – of what he had seen you doing. And you ran away. You were such an idiot.

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To say that you forgot about the incident before it was time to kick people out would be a big fat lie – mainly because it had been only tens of minutes. It was time to close the exposition for visitors. The guards always took care of people, reminding them that it was time to go and by eight o’clock, the last individuals were leaving so you could close the gate. Today was your turn to check on the space once more as the guards were switching shifts and so you rose to your feet to perform your duty as your sort-of-friend Mia waved you goodbye.

Usually, there were no ‘left-overs’ as you called people who somehow managed to escape the security and stayed in. But naturally, with your turn being today, there had to be an exception.

You slowly approached the man standing by Sergeant Barnes’ panel, realizing who he was within several feet distance. You stopped dead in your tracks, unsure what do to.

What would anyone else do when finding Captain America standing by his dead best friend’s panel after clock? ‘Cause you sure as hell had no clue how you should proceed. You nervously bit your lip, continuing your way with no plan.

You stopped two steps from him, opening your mouth and-- no words came out. You closed it again, clearing your throat.

“Captain Rogers, uhm…“

He glanced at you, seemingly surprised, as if he only acknowledged you now, when you were standing at arm’s length – well, his anyway. His blue eyes measured you, a bit confused until he looked around only to see no one else was here. How the hell did the guard miss him? Or had he left him here? Should you do the same?

"Sorry, I'm leaving," he whispered with a forced smile, sparing one more glance at the board. You did the same, your eyes landing on the date of birth of the soldier. Your heart sank. Oh. It was suddenly very clear whether you should leave Captain alone here or not; it was the anniversary of his best friend’s birthday.

"You don't... you don't have to,” you blurted out hastily, waving it off in a wannabe casual gesture. He tilted his head, confused. “I need to do some… administrative stuff anyway. Have your moment."

"Really? Bending the rules again?" he asked, the teasing coming out much less challenging than he probably intended. You shrugged.

"Only if it's okay with the Star-Spangled Man."

He lowered his gaze to the floor, but a tiny grateful smile played on his lips. "It is. Thank you."

"It's nothing."

"It's a lot. And... my name is Steve."

He peeked at you from under his unnaturally long eyelashes, his eyes saying more than his words or tone. You felt your heart jump nervously, blood rushing to your cheeks. He actually extended his hand for you to shake. His hand was freaking huge – yet, it closed around yours rather gently despite being able to crush your bones to dust or something.

"Nice to meet you… Steve. It's an honour." One corner of his lips rose higher at the note and you just wished to disappear into thin air before you would turn into a puddle of lovesick jelly with rapidly beating heart. You took your leave hastily, whispering over your shoulder. “Take your time.”

It was only few minutes later when you were dully staring at the computer screen on the counter that you realized you hadn’t even introduced yourself to the man you apparently had a crush on – you were fucking working at his exhibition, how had you missed that? You whimpered silently and resisted urge to bang your forehead against the desk.

Almost thirty minutes later, you really needed to leave and kick Capt— Steve out. You really, really didn’t want to do that. You had secretly hoped he would pass your desk during ‘administrative stuff’ time, but he hadn’t.

Approaching him by the very same board you had left him at, you felt like a monster.

“Lots of memories?” you tried out, minding to whisper so you wouldn’t startled him like the last time.

“Yeah, more than I can count. Mostly the good ones though. He saved me from getting beat to a pulp multiple times. Often dragged me out to dance, because he met a new girl and she was generous enough to bring a friend – not that she was interested in a guy who was barely reaching her shoulders,” he hummed, remembering his pre-serum times probably. There was nothing malicious or envious in his words. He seemed melancholic. “Bucky was a true ladies’ man.”

You couldn’t help but grin – sure, with Bucky’s looks and him being excellent at about everything, you could imagine. But it was a little different, hearing it from Captain America himself.

“Was he now?”

“Oh yes. The first time a beautiful woman looked at me rather than at him, he said he was living a nightmare becoming me.”

“He didn’t,” you whispered incredulously, silencing the giggle that wanted to escape your lips. Damn, some best friend he was; you were sure Bucky only had been teasing and it felt so casual, so normal, just two friends making fun of each other. It wasn’t exactly easy to imagine that when all you had ever heard were legends of their bravery.

Steve glanced at you with a corner of his eye. “He did.”

“That’s mean. What did you say?”

His smile grew wider. “Not to be sore about it, because she sure had a friend.”

You burst out laughing, feeling like Mr. Righteous suddenly stepped into a column of light which made him someone completely else. Cheeky. Mischievous. Friendly in the most common way. Human. Just a guy. Just a kid from Brooklyn.

“I take it I really need to leave now,” he noted, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans as if he truly was a regular guy walking down the street. Unbelievable.

“Depends,” you hummed, not sure where that came from. “You have more fun facts like this to share? Or not funny ones, just interesting?”

He tilted his head curiously, examining you, trying to figure out whether you were serious.

“You won’t get into trouble?”

You shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“In that case, I actually do. Follow me, madam.”

An hour later, your cheeks hurt, your tear ducts were probably dried up completely and your head was full of so many new information it should hurt, but instead, it was just buzzing pleasantly. Also, you were sure you had a heart condition, because that constant flutter could not be healthy. You were tired, yet, you found yourself being disappointed that the special tour was ending.

"Okay, now I feel really sorry we don't do guided tours. I would be so popular..." you exclaimed, rewarded by a grin from Steve.

"It's a thing to consider. You should offer it to your boss."

You let out probably very unattractive snort. "Sure. And why would we wanna do that, miss? Because Captain America took me on a tour and told me very interesting details. He would probably want to run blood tests to check for drugs or something.... Thank you, Capt— Steve. I imagine it couldn't have been all easy."

"It's memories. It still... still feels more like home," he admitted and after so many rather light facts, you were reminded of just how heavy his destiny was.

"I can't imagine that. Waking up after seventy years. It's..."

"Insane?" he offered, eyebrow raised.

"I was gonna say ‘lonely’, but sure, ‘insane’ works. Everything has to be so different."

"It is. The progress of technology... I mean... just phones and computers. It's… a lot."

"Yeah... I wonder how much the world would change if I fell asleep for 70 years now. Theories? More like flying cars or a huge garbage bin like in Wall-E?"

"Wall-E?" he questioned, looking a bit confused. Only then it hit you – he probably hadn’t seen it.

"Oh, right. It's an animated film set in the future. A robot named Wall-E is on Earth, searching for a sign of life, fauna, flora, anything, while the rest of humanity is on a huge spaceship. Not your typical Pixar movie. I remember seeing it as a kid and being bored out of my mind when the first twenty minutes was just the robot moving between trash and occasionally saying ‘Wall-E’. It gets better though. Still, it's pretty far from movies like Finding Nemo."

"…I don't know what that is either.”

"Dude! You gotta check out Finding Nemo!" you called out, half outraged, half excited. Then you froze. "I mean— sorry. Jesus, I just called you a dude-"

What was wrong with you? You had had troubles to switch from Captain to Steve, and now he was a dude? Talk about respect, young lady…

But Steve just laughed at you, a full-belly laugh with his head thrown backwards and it was so normal and relaxed that you found yourself starring incredulously and possibly a little bit in love.

"That's okay, really. You got very excited."

"It's an amazing movie! Do you... do you catch up with pop culture?" you asked, honestly curious.

Seventy years’ worth of books, movies, TV series, music, theatre… wow. You couldn’t imagine that.

"I'm trying," he admitted, pulling out a small notebook and a pen. For a split second, you thought he was gonna give you his phone number, which was ridiculous of course. He wrote something down, smiling. "Now I have other tips.” Now that made more sense. “Do they still play that?"

"Yeeeah... no. Not by a long shot. You can always downlo— how does Captain America feel about downloading stuff from the internet? I mean..."

"That's like... putting it into your computer without paying a single dollar, right?" he asked, just to be sure. It was cute.

"Yep. Which I don't do. At all."

His laugh was more subtle this time, but his eyes were locked with yours, causing you butterflies, so there was that. "Well, Captain America is very disappointed in you. Steve understands."

"Thanks, Steve. Is it offensive to say that it somehow matters to me more?"

"Not really."

His eyes shined and his smile was wrapping you in a soft warm blanket and you knew that if there was something you definitely didn’t want it was saying goodbye and never seeing this man again. In flesh, that was, the exhibition didn’t count. Your mind raced.

"...I just got the craziest idea."

"If at first, the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it,” he quoted god knew who. You assumed it was a quote, not that you wanted to underestimate this wonderful man. “Hit me with it."

You gulped nervously. This was as terrible idea as it was an amazing one.

"There are old slide projectors in here, sure... but there are digital projectors too. If you... if you wanted to... have a cinema-like atmosphere, I can download the movie for you to watch it here,” you offered reluctantly, carefully observing his reaction. “Hell, we have a microwave in personal’s, I can even make popcorn!”

He blinked at you, the shiny baby-blues baffled.

“Or not. It's a silly idea-"

"No!” he protested quickly, smiling reassuringly at you. “It's... it sounds really nice. Do you think the guards would be... okay with that? You did mean after closing time, right?"

Did he just say yes?

"Yeah, of course! And yes, I mean... it would be for Captain America. How could they say no?"

His cheeks seemed to flush – but that must have been the lighting only, right? Captain America was not freaking blushing. Though he did look a bit timid. "You would really do that?"

"Sure. I mean... I can try."

"Alright — but only if it's not too much trouble. I wouldn't want you to have problems with your employer," he said sincerely, his eyes locked with yours again and your heart honest to god stopped.

Christ, was he trying to give you a heart attack?

“ ’kay,” you breathed, completely lost, mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze.

What was your name again?

“If I give you my phone number, will you text me when you would have time?”

It was official; you had died and went to heaven. An incredibly attractive man was standing in front of you practically shoving you his phone number and it might have been purely friendly, but still. Oh. My. God.

“Yep.”

Really? ‘Yep’?

He pulled out the notebook again, tearing one page and writing down the digits. You forgot how to breathe. This was really happening. He handed you the paper with a shy smile and whispered ‘here you go.’ When he added your name, you were about to swoon.

He wrote down not only the number, but his name too. You found it adorable, chuckling at that.

“You think I’m carrying lots of phone numbers in my pockets, Steve?” you teased him about it a little and he seemed confused at first, until something that was not a flirtatious smile for sure settled on his lips.

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, some inner voice screaming at you not to interpret it in a wrong way. Steve was a very nice person, that was a fact. He probably didn’t even realize how that sounded. Yeah, that was it.

You laughed it off. “Sure. Thanks, Steve, I’ll let you know. Hopefully, you won’t be busy.” Alright, backpedal, backpedal. “Thank you for the special tour, Captain.”

“You’re very welcome, ma’am,” he saluted and you chuckled silently. Who was this guy? Did you imagine this? Were you high? Maybe you really needed the blood tests… “Have a good night-- you need a ride?”

You almost choked on your own spit. BACKPEDAL.

Oh yes, you could use a ride. Whatever that meant.

You smiled awkwardly. “Uhm… no thank you. Goodnight, Steve.”

He returned the goodbye with a tiny smile.

You held the delighted shriek inside until five minutes passed since the door closed behind him.

You were in so much trouble.

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Part 2 (final)

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​

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Awww, this one is an oldie of mine. Even more fluff than usual and that’s saying something...

[galadrieljones]

As You Were (Chapter 8)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in what feels like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret, filled with painful reminders of the past. But they aren’t alone. When they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, things change. For those with little hope to spare, family is what you make it.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second.

*cw: canon-typical violence, blood

Chapter 8: La Crosse (Pt. 2) / The Lapp Farm (Pt. 2)

"Jury's still out. But, man. You can't deny that view."

As Joel and Noah worked their way through the city, nothing much changed, at first. The buildings were empty. Many were boarded up, but not all of them. Little streams and creeks seemed to have broken through the bluffs, coming in off the La Crosse River and now flowed in skinny little ribbons in the empty lots and fields. Looking upon them was paradoxical, for the water was enticing in its visual clarity, but both Joel and Noah knew the truth. There was not much wildlife, and this brought into the world a worrisome quiet beyond the sound of the wind in the trees. The sun came down even still and brought color to the parking lots, all of them overgrown with tall grasses and ponds. The cordyceps in the water did not seem to affect the flora. It was a pretty place, Joel thought, despite its indifference toward human life.

As they crossed the city, Joel could tell they were getting closer to pure, raw nature, as the greenery thickened, and the buildings and houses became increasingly sunken by floods and overtaken by trees and their massive root systems. He knew from the map that the campus was more or less nestled within a great many bluffs, which rose up like grassy table tops, and the Mississippi was less than two miles to the west. Little purple flowers grew everywhere, and they started seeing mushrooms, too, growing on some of the blackened moldy walls of fallen structures, and so Joel and Noah did not get too close.

They just kept following the signs for the Circle of the Holy Signal, and headed straight toward Centennial Hall at the central campus. At times, Joel thought that perhaps he was being watched, through the windows in the residential neighborhoods, but this was hard to put his finger on. Even in the natural wreckage, there were so many houses, small and intact, lined up in rows across many blocks, that he consistently found himself wondering what could be inside. They found a German Shepherd recently dead by what appeared to be a gunshot wound, lying by the side of the road near a middle school. While they had been crouched low, trying to determine exactly how long ago it had been killed, another dog came up with its tail wagging. This one was some sort of lab mix, and it looked lost and starving as it sniffed at their hands excitedly. Joel scrubbed it behind the ears once and then reluctantly bid it to flee. They had nothing for it. This was a sad and desolate place.

After they had walked more than two miles, they started to see actual signs of the campus, which was promising as well as foreboding. School flags that had survived, still flapping off the street lights, and crimson banners for the football team. There were take-out restaurants and bars with their windows bashed in, some of them still advertising discounts for students as well as a UW Credit Union. They walked down Main Street for a while, passing many Lutheran churches, sometimes more than one on a single block. Some of the churches had been co-opted and hung with banners that read Worship Circle, another tell of their mystery cult. Those churches in particular were so overgrown with the mushroom, they looked like beautiful death flowers, and Joel bid them to put on their gas masks just for the time being, as he was worried about spore levels, even in the open air.

At some point, they came upon a school store. It still had mannequins in the window and the doors were locked up with a heavy chain. Joel stopped to look around and Noah leaned against a stop sign to drink some water.

“What’s your take on this place?” he said eventually. "Do you have any like, feelings about it?"

Joel was examining the chain around the door handles. “My take is, this might be a fool’s errand.” He had a small screwdriver and lock pick, given to him by Bill back in Lincoln. “But I have been known to make my fair share of foolish decisions over the years. Anyway, this town seems fairly dead.”

“We can go back,” said Noah. He was holding the water bottle, soaked in sweat from his dark hair to his red Converse. “We saw the church. Maybe there’s nothing else to see. Maybe it’s too dangerous.” He had a kicked look about him, like a puppy. Joel saw him for his age then—old enough to know a lot, but still too young to know much better. He had a lot of confidence and sometimes this could make him seem older, but he was still only seventeen.

“What do you wanna do?” said Joel. He popped the lock on the chain with considerable ingenuity. He was a little proud of himself. "I'm here to help you."

“I wanna keep going,” said Noah. “I wanna know what’s going on.”

“All right then,” said Joel. “Let’s get to Centennial Hall and see what we can find.”

“Okay,” said Noah, like he had been reenergized. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going inside,” said Joel, loosening the chain and letting it drop. It made a loud noise and he then used a piece of rebar to pry open the doors.

“Why?” said Noah.

“Because,” said Joel, letting the rebar clank to the concrete sidewalk. He wiped the sweat from his face and his beard. “There might be something in here I want.”

They went inside. It was surprisingly maintained. It even looked defended, as if somebody had taken up shop in there many years before. There were makeshift blockades in the front of the store and what looked to be a sizable nest in the employee’s lounge. From the looks of the posters on the wall, he guessed it had been college kids.

“It’s just paraphernalia, for the college,” said Noah. He was going through the aisles, looking at the clothes on the racks, the mugs and water bottles. “What would you want in here.”

“A souvenir,” said Joel. He went over to the women’s section. A huge piece of particle board had fallen from the ceiling. He hauled it away.

“For yourself?”

“No,” said Joel.

“For Ellie?”

Joel was scouring a rack of hooded sweatshirts. “She asked me to bring her something, as a trade-in for not letting her come along. Hey, does this look like her size?” He held one of them up, a faded crimson with the words UW - LA CROSSE stamped on front, in a sort of vintage font. He thought it seemed like something she'd wear.

“What size is it?” said Noah.

“Uh, a woman’s extra small.”

“Well, she’s pretty extra small. So, I’d say that’s a good bet.”

Joel gave him a look. “Come here,” he said. “Put this in your backpack.”

“What?” said Noah. “No. You put it in yours.”

“I don’t have room in mine. Your mom packed it with one too many bomb parts and radio frequency enhancement mumbo jumbo, and it’s already digging in my spine.”

“Fine,” said Noah, swiping the sweatshirt. He rolled it up tightly and shoved it in the front pocket. “For Ellie.” Then he zipped it shut and they looked around. He saw something funny, one gray tee-shirt folded neatly in a disorderly stack. He held it up and showed it to Joel. “What about this one, for you?”

It said: UW - La Crosse Dad.

Joel said, “Yeah, that’s real funny.”

“I thought so.”

They were alarmed then, by a loud and inhuman screech, some banging on the walls coming from a locked back room.

“Jesus,” said Joel, picking up his shotgun. Whatever it was, it was angry, but it was trapped. He thought it might have been one of the college kids who'd made a nest here, which saddened him.

“That’s the first one,” said Noah. “In the whole town. What does that mean?”

“It means we’re getting closer to the epicenter of whatever the hell is going on here,” said Joel. “We should keep moving.”

They left the store, left the infected to rot. It was blistering now in the high noon sun as they continued their journey. “What was that thing in the store, do you know?" said Noah, earnest. He had his shotgun in his hands, a heavy pistol stuffed in the back of his jeans. He had killed plenty of Infected in his life, but it was mostly runners.

“Sounded like a clicker,” said Joel. "Based on the looks of things around here, that is most likely what we'll be running into. Whatever happened, it’s been years.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Noah. It was a common sentiment for him, but now, something had changed in his demeanor. He seemed desperate.

“What now."

“We lived for so long, on our farm,” said Noah. “It felt safe, growing up there, barely encountering any of this insane bullshit, until just this past year or so. But these people here, in the city, it looks like they went through something horrible, for such a long time. How can that be? How can they all be dead?”

“If I remember properly,” said Joel, “it took the cordyceps some months to take root in the midwest. Once they isolated the big cities, it was a slow trickle to the end, and smaller cities like this, once they got it, there wasn’t much support. They got it bad. Local militias rose up in their various…forms. I ain’t surprised you all managed to survive on your land for as long as you did, given how isolated you are, but I suppose that it was only a matter of time before it got to you, too, one way or another.”

“This is so sad,” said Noah as they looked around at their desolate surroundings. He was shaking his head over and over again like he could not believe it. “My mom was born in La Crosse. Her ancestors came here from Norway in like the 1890s. Look at it now.”

“What about your dad?”

“My dad was born in Madison,” he said. “His grandparents were Spanish immigrants.”

“Was his family farmers, too?”

"Yeah,” said Noah. They were walking along, kicking around in the middle of the road, all cracked up with weeds, listening to the wind. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re from Texas,” he said. “What about your parents?”

“My parents were also from Texas,” said Joel. “My grandparents, too.”

“Where in Texas?”

“A town called Odessa.”

“Have you ever been married?” said Noah.

Joel was looking up at the sky now. There were some carrion birds up there, circling. A bad omen. “What?” he said.

“I asked if you’ve ever been married.”

“Why would you wanna know that?”

“I’m just curious,” said Noah.

Joel sighed and gave in. “Yes, I have been married.”

“When?”

“A long time ago.”

“What happened?” said Noah.

“It didn’t work out.”

“I see,” said Noah, sensing his unease. “What’s your last name?”

“My last name?” said Joel.

“Yeah,” said Noah, innocent. But then he also noticed the birds. Their conversation dropped off a cliff. “Holy shit,” he said. “You see that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Those are turkey vultures.” He was chewing on a stick, something he’d picked up off the ground. “They nest all over these bluffs.”

“Yeah, well,” said Joel. “Looks like they found something. Come on.”

Meanwhile, at the Lapp farmhouse, Ellie had wandered over to the bottom of the stairs. They were heavy and a dark wood. Everything about the house seemed really sturdy, but it also seemed really old. Things creaked and there were occasional dips in the flooring. “I think she’s upstairs,” she said. She thought she’d heard movement now from the floor above. But she wouldn’t call out Becky’s name, because it seemed like it might not be her place. She was a stranger here.

“Becky?” said Danielle.

"Hang on,” said Cici from the living room. She had redone her pony tail. It was high on her head now and twisted into a bun. “Looks like somebody’s coming to the backdoor.”

“What?” said Danielle. "Who?"

Concerned, Ellie came back into the kitchen space and placed her hand on the loom. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything after all. She glanced toward the stairs and then back to the door. There was a little window in the door, the shape of a semi-circle, and now a girl rushing up the steps, wearing a white dress and a little white kapp. She tried to get in, but it the door locked. She knocked several times, with urgency.

“Danielle?” said the girl. “Danielle, are you here?”

“Hey, is that Becky?” said Ellie.

“Becky,” said Danielle.

She went to the door, opened it quickly. Becky came inside, her small, pink hands on the slope of her pregnant belly. Her hair was very orange, almost striking. When she looked around and Saw Cici, then Ellie, she became alarmed. “Cici?” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Everything’s okay,” said Danielle. “Where’d you go?”

“I woke up, and you were gone. I went outside. I looked everywhere.”

“I found one of the sick in the barn,” said Danielle. She helped Becky to the kitchen table, where the two of them sat down. Becky seemed out of breath. “I went to find Cici and Noah to help.”

“Oh,” she said, relieved. “Goodness. I was so worried.”

“I’m gonna take care of the runner in the barn,” said Cici.

“Runner?” said Becky.

“She means the sick,” said Danielle.

“Oh,” said Becky. “Right. Cici, how is Noah? It has been a long time since I last saw you.”

“Noah’s doing just fine,” said Cici. “Congratulations, by the way. On your blessing.”

“Oh,” said Becky, re-situating in the chair. “Thank you. We are so grateful.”

“This is Ellie,” said Danielle. She came over from the table and held Ellie’s hand. It was unexpected, but Ellie just went with it. Her hand was warm and clammy. The floor creaked where she stood. “What was your last name again, Ellie?”

“My last name?” said Ellie. She hadn’t spoke it in such a long time. She looked down at her hand, inside Danielle's hand. “It’s Williams, I guess. Ellie Williams.”

“Ellie is new to the farm.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Becky, fanning herself with her hand. “But you’re so young. Are you one of the ones from town?”

“No,” said Ellie, growing increasingly unsure of what she should say. “No. I’m here with—well, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You needn’t worry,” said Becky, so sweet, but strange. Her hair was like a pyre. Her cheeks, nose, and forehead were violently freckled and her eyes were very blue and misty. Like planets.

“What was that?” said Danielle. She had dropped Ellie’s hand and was now staring up at the ceiling. They all heard it then, the sounds upstairs. It was a loud thud, then some skittering like a giant rodent, and then a door slammed shut. Ellie felt a chill in her bones.

“Holy shit,” she said. She rushed back to the stairs, held onto the railing like a baseball bat, got up on her tip-toes to to see. “I knew I heard something.”

“I got it,” said Cici. “Ellie, stay here.”

“You can’t go by yourself. It’s one of them.”

Cici had drawn her pistol. Danielle was backing away, toward Becky, who sat very straight. They both looked pale, almost shocked, as birds. “It’s inside?” said Danielle. “How’d it get inside? I locked it in the barn. I used the chains.”

“I’m guessing it’s not the same one,” Cici said. “Just stay here, be very quiet. And Ellie, if you insist on coming, you keep behind me. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Lead the way,” said Ellie.

Ellie didn’t have a gun. She’d left it in the truck. Still, she wasn’t scared. She had been through this now, so many times, with Joel. She knew what to do, and each of those fucking things she killed, since Tess, since Henry and Sam—since fucking Riley—she had recently decided: It was going to be vengeance. She wasn’t gonna take it anymore. On their way in from Pittsburg, she and Joel had stopped at a rest stop oasis in Ohio, foraged some food from a huge gas station there on the side of the freeway. She fell asleep, leaning against one of the shelves while Joel gassed up the truck, and she had a nightmare in which she saw Joel just standing in the hotel back in Pittsburg, water up to his knees, a bite mark in his hand. He told her he was going to take his own life and then instructed her calmly upon how to get to Wyoming. Take the I-80, he had said. He said it over and over again. She woke up unnerved. She had been clenching her jaw so that her teeth felt jagged. She never told him about the dream, but it, along with so much else, had changed her.

When she and Cici got upstairs, it was just a simple hallway with three bedrooms. One at the end, and two on each side. Only the door at the end of the hallway was closed. Based on the sounds they were hearing, it was a runner in there, hiding, probably terrified. They went slowly. Ellie could tell that Cici was gonna try to keep things quiet. The walls were painted white and very clean. Ellie gazed upon the quilts which hung there, just like the ones she had seen downstairs. There was something special about them. The colors were plain. Red, white, and blue, and the purity of such reminded her of the American flag. As she stared at the quilt, she got lost as she so often did and failed to realize that, as they were focused on the room at the end of the hall and approaching it in silence, there was another runner, vibrating real quiet in the bedroom to their right.

“Oh my god,” said Ellie.

The thing rushed them. It happened so fast, like a straight line wind, and when it went for Cici, Ellie didn’t think. It was a girl runner and not so big so she whipped it back by the hair and stuck her knife in its throat, five or six times till it died. The blood was everywhere. It was on Ellie’s face, her shirt, her hands. The sound of its death was loud, and as she dropped it to the floor, the other one came through the door, gnashing and alive. Its screams were horrifying. Even as she no longer feared them outright, the Infected were fucking demons. Ellie tripped over the dead one trying to get away, and just as she did, Cici raised her gun and shot the thing in the head, twice, point blank. It went down like a fucking sack of bricks. Ellie was on her ass and out of breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she said, shaking her head out like a dog. “Is that all of them?”

“Are you okay?” said Cici. She saw the blood. She hauled Ellie up and started searching her for marks.

“I’m fine,” said Ellie. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” said Cici, though she seemed unsettled. “We need to get the hell out of here.”    

“What about Becky and Danielle?”

“They’re coming with us.”

“Cici?” said Danielle from the bottom of the stairs. “Ellie? Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Cici shouted down the stairs. “Just—just don’t come up here yet. It’s nothing you wanna see.”

Danielle said a prayer. She said, “Praise god that you came.”

Ellie tried wiping some of the blood off her face. It had gotten on her clothes, and she felt momentarily embarrassed. “What the fuck are we gonna do with these things?” she said. “We can’t just leave them here.” She looked at the quilt on the wall. It was a bloodied. Ellie was pissed off about this. She hoped they could just make another.

“Go downstairs,” said Cici. “I’ll wrap them in sheets and drag them outside.”

“I’m covered in fucking blood,” said Ellie. “I don’t want to freak them out.”

"They’ll understand,” said Cici. “We’ve been through this sort of thing before. Though the fuckers have never gotten in the house like this.”

“What do we do with the bodies?” said Ellie. “Burn them?”

“Yes,” said Cici. “There’s plenty of fuel. It won’t be too much work.”

She dragged the bodies out one by one. She then went over to the barn by herself while Ellie, Danielle, and Becky stood outside, by the truck, and waited. Cici lured the thing out and blew it to shreds with a pipe bomb. They doused the bodies with gasoline from a canister in the shed by the garden and set them on fire in the pit at the back of the property. Then, they all drove back to the scrapyard, and though they didn’t go inside, Ellie did see rows and rows of school busses, exactly like Noah had said. Cici got out, used a rubber hose to syphon several gas cans full of fuel for the generator, and then together they all drove back to the farm on the other side of the hill where they would be safe behind the electric fence.

Back in La Crosse, Noah and Joel had found the detritus that had been drawing the turkey vultures from the bluffs. It was a clicker, facedown with parts of its neck ripped out. Could've been dogs, or maybe its own kind.

"Centennial Hall," said Noah, once they got there.

"There it is," said Joel.

The building was straight ahead of them. It was tall, red brick, stately in its prime with massive pillars and a clocktower. Of late, it had been devoured whole by vines robust as ankle tendons. The clocktower was plagued by black scorch marks, too, and the grass surrounding was probably waist-high. There were no more signs, no banners or flags. The building seemed deeply haunted, with the wind whistling through its veins. The clouds were big on the horizon. Joel feared a storm.

He was getting that feeling again, too, like they were being watched. "Noah," he said.

But Noah was already headed to the clicker, the dead one, splayed out in the middle of the road. He threw a rock at one of the vultures, which had been picking at its clothes unscrupulously, and the thing hissed back to the skies. Noah crouched down to get a better look. He hadn't seen an actual clicker since the last time he was here, since his dad.

"Noah," said Joel, surveying the quaint and rural atmosphere. Something was not right.

"It's okay," said Noah.

But it wasn't okay. Joel had seen it first, the thing that was set to change them. The clicker wasn't dead. It flopped over onto its back, surprising Noah and sending him off-balance. He stumbled as it screeched its terrible song, and its face, up close, was like a demon. Joel was there before he had the space to react. He pulled the trigger on his shotgun, close enough so that its head seemed to explode off its shoulders. It went down. Joel grabbed Noah by the collar and looked him over good. He said, "Noah. Noah. You okay?"

Noah thought about losing his guts, keeling over in the street. It had been some kind of event, and he had never been that close before. "I'm fine," he said, exhilarated. "I'm okay."

"Thank Jesus."

They decided to ascend the clocktower after that. It was the highest point they could see, and it seemed a safe place for to find their respite, for now. They climbed a bunch of narrow, spiral stairs and then a ladder, and a lot of it was rotted or rusted, but they made it okay. When they got to the top, it was a small space with a window and a circuit breaker, an old empty bottle of booze but that was all. They looked out over the burnt-out college campus, how it had gone to seed and lost its innocence. They saw the clouds, too, gathering in the north, looking like a definite storm now, moving south with some speed, straight for them and for Viroqua thereafter. Leaning heavily with their backs against the wall, they caught their breath, and then Joel took the two-way radio out of his back-pack. He hooked up the repeater, something Noah's dad had rigged up a long time ago to help them extend the range of the frequency.

"We should radio your mom," he said, "before we head inside the hall. I don't know if it'll work. But on the off chance it does, we should let her and Ellie know we're okay."

Noah was in agreement, even as he spoke little. Joel found the channel and commenced his talking in the radio. Sylvia Plath, he said, loud and clear. Sylvia Plath, do you copy? This is Ryan Adams. We are okay. Sylvia Plath. Do you copy?  Do you copy?