#this was also me playing Ella Fitzgerald on loop

[a-wondering-thought]

something something, i'll always be enchanted by people gathering through the blur of the crowd to watch that someone playing their music in the city as the music echos through the streets with the sound of their craft, whether its a young teen trying out on their guitar trying to share what they can do with the world, or older folk reliving the dreams of their youth through the flow of the instrument, they are under the tunnel in the dim flickering street lamps, the young creating memories of their first days as a musician playing for a crowd whose faces they cant recognise or the old coming back to the roots where they first began and made those very memories under the tunnel with the dim street lamp, it wasn't flickering back then, but the moonlight still shines down just past the entrance to the tunnel, and the older joins younger because one day the young will become the old playing the sweet tunes of their youth

[saucy-mesothelioma]

Meso's Mixtapes: Tabitha Scarlet

Jesus it's been a hot minute since I've done one of these.

I got into Scarlet Hollow one or two months ago when I got the game on sale then proceeded to play through it four separate times in one day, so it was only a matter of time before I wanted to contribute to the fanbase. And since it's been a while since I've done a playlist, I figured what better time than now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

9 to 5 by Dolly Parton

Gotta Get Up by Harry Nilsson (I think this song fits Tabitha for two reasons: one having to do with where I first heard this song, and the other being the actual lyrics. First: I was introduced to this song from the TV show Russian Doll, which deals with a woman trapped in a time loop of her 36th birthday [It's a good show, I highly suggest it]. This song plays at the beginning of every loop, and thanks to that I associate this song with having to get up for those monotonous days that feel like you're reliving the same day over and over again. Due to Tabitha's job and general demeanor, I highly doubt that she doesn't view her normal routine as being the exact same thing over and over again. Secondly, we have the actual lyrics for this song: "We used to carry on and drink and do the rock and roll | We never thought we'd get old, though | We never thought we'd grow cold, but now". When Tabitha was younger, she was able to prioritize her relationships rather than her work. She was able to hang out with her friends even with her mother constantly over her shoulder for the most part, but when she got older, she was forced to shift her focus to her work. She used to be able to go over to Stella's every day, but now she's got a mine to look after.)

Lucretia My Reflection by Sisters of Mercy

Barton Hollow by The Civil Wars

Alles im Griff (auf dem sinkenden Schiff) by Udo Jürgens (The primary theme of this song is saying that you're fine when everything is falling apart around you; the title basically translates to "Everything Under Control on the Sinking Ship". Despite all of the shit happening to Tabitha, her cousin, and her friends, her attitude always seems to be that of just bottling it up rather than really taking the time to completely process it, or at least that's how I see it. The ship of her life is slowly sinking, but she keeps going on as if things are more or less fine.)

Mrs. Bluebeard by They Might Be Giants

This Town by Jinkx Monsoon

Coal Miner's Daughter by Loretta Lyn (Ok yeah I couldn't help myself. The story of the song is so ironic when you compare it to that of the Scarlet family, but with the title is was too funny not to include in the list.)

Heroes by David Bowie

Dream a Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong

Get Out of My House by Kate Bush (Obvious secrets of Scarlet Estate aside, I think this song does a very good job of representing Tabitha's treatment of her relationships [both romantic and platonic]. The singer of this song is desperate to not only keep other's out of her life remove the "stains" of those she has previously let in. She's locked the door to her "house" and the mere suggestion of someone wanting to enter, no matter the reason, is cause for retaliation. One of the first things we really learn about Tabitha is that she's pretty much shut out those who were in her life, somewhat due to Pearlanne but also by her own means, and even with the player character she is still rather reluctant to fully let them in.)

Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now by The Smiths

Pressure by Billy Joel (It feels obvious to me that Tabitha was forced to grow up far quicker than she should have, primarily due to the expectations of her running the Scarlet Mines. She's had to deal with pressure her whole life: from her mother, from her job, and from the Scarlet legacy. She sees people like her cousin and Stella come in "with your faith and your Peter Pan advice", and especially in the case with her cousin she often laments that she is the one who must take on the pressures of the Scarlet name, primarily with the mine but also with the pain that their family has caused [such as with Charlie's payment of years].

Badlands by Bruce Springsteen

Poor Girl by X

Sans toi by Michel Legrand and Corinne Marchand (This is a song from the French new-wave film Cléo from 5 to 7, and it's a film that I personally think Tabitha would like because she can relate to parts of it)

My Silver Lining by First Aid Kit

I've No More Fucks to Give by Thomas Benjamin Wild Esq

Pretty Lavinia by American Murder Song

Kingdom Come by The Civil Wars (Despite feeling that the tone of this song fits her well, I also personally like the contrast it holds to Tabitha's view on her situation. Deep down, she wishes to run away like the subject of the song and have a peaceful, simple life of her own, but she feels unable and incapable of doing so. She can't fly away til kingdom come, because in her mind she has already fallen back into a fate she can't escape from.)

[bradshawsbaby]

Save the Last Dance

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: Based on this Anon request, and inspired by Miles Teller’s fabulous dance moves. Also, I mention Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight” in this one, and I was definitely listening to it on a loop as I was working on this.

Warnings: I’m not responsible for what happens when you imagine dancing with Lieutenant Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw.

(Disclaimer: Yes, I know this gif is of Miles in Footloose and not TGM, but I just thought it was too adorable not to use.)

- One thing you learned very quickly about Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw is that he loves to dance.

- Even more than that, he loves to dance with you.

- It doesn’t matter the time or place. It doesn’t even matter if there’s music playing. He just loves holding you close and seeing the way your smile lights up the room when he’s twirling you around.

- Bradley remembers moments from his childhood when his parents would dance around the kitchen. They always looked their happiest when they were in each other’s arms. He feels the same way whenever he’s with you.

- The first time you ever slow danced with Bradley was on your third date. He took you out to dinner at a fancy restaurant in San Diego, the kind with a bar that only serves top-shelf liquor and a band that croons only the most romantic of classic hits.

- Bradley noticed the way you were smiling at some of the other couples out on the small dance floor and, before you knew it, he was suddenly up and holding out a hand to you. “Care to dance?” he asked with a playful wink.

- You blushed, hesitating for only a moment before taking his hand. Normally, you would have been too shy to accept, but Bradley always seemed to pull you outside your comfort zone. He’d taken you to a karaoke bar on your first date, after all.

- You danced to Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight,” your arms wrapped around Bradley’s neck as his hands rested on the small of your back, holding you close to his chest. He rested his cheek against the top of your head as the two of you swayed to the music, completely lost in the feeling of each other’s arms.

- “That boy is in love with you,” an older woman had whispered to you with a wink when the two of you finally made your way back to your table.

- Since that night, Bradley takes any opportunity he can to dance with you.

- No matter what song is playing at The Hard Deck, he pulls you into his arms and spins you around the bar. When your cheeks turn that rosy shade of red, it only makes him love you more.

- When the two of you are alone together at home, Bradley is always finding the most random moments to pull you away from whatever you’re doing so that you can dance with him.

- “Come on, dance with me, baby,” he’ll say, turning the music up on the speakers as you’re folding clothes or cleaning the kitchen counters or vacuuming the carpet.

- “You’re crazy,” is usually your response as you laugh and teasingly duck out of his arms. It doesn’t take long, however, before he’s got you wrapped in his embrace, his hands hugging your waist as he sings softly in your ear.

- Being in his arms is your favorite place in the world.

- Bradley knows how much you love classic love songs from the 1940s and 50s, so he’ll often put on some Ella Fitzgerald or Frank Sinatra while you’re cooking and grab your hand, dancing you around the kitchen until you’re both laughing and singing along.

- At weddings, parties, and banquets, Bradley makes sure that you two are out on the dance floor all night. Even though Hangman, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, and Bob will sometimes cut in to dance with you (Bob does it very respectfully), you always make sure to save the last dance for your husband.

- One time, walking back to your car after a Navy banquet, you and Bradley got caught in a torrential downpour. Though you were a bit upset about your hair and dress getting soaked, Bradley just laughed and stopped in the middle of the road, looking completely unbothered by the rain.

- “Dance with me,” he insisted, holding out a hand to you.

- “You’re really crazy now, babe!” you told him, futilely attempting to cover your head with your purse.

- “We’re already soaked, might as well enjoy ourselves,” he shot back with a grin.

- You couldn’t really argue with him there. So instead of trying, you rolled your eyes with a laugh and let him hold you close as the rain fell around you and you swayed to imaginary music.

- Though you tease him all the time, the truth is that you love how carefree and happy your husband is when he’s dancing and having fun. You feel safest and happiest when you’re in his arms, and there’s no one else you’d rather be dancing through life with.

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fiancé: Chapter Six

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, apartment sharing, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The title has been taken from the Ella Fitzgerald song of the same name.

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

It’s Only A Paper Moon

WEDNESDAY

“I am in heaven.”

“Doll’, this is Y/N’s wedding, not yours.”

“We have the whole place to ourselves, I can try on one thing, right?” 

Well, the first part of that is true. Sitting on a couch not designed for sitting on, you play with your hands in your lap as your gaze travels the room. Nat had, she’d told you before you’d left that morning, bought the whole place out, for the sake of sensationalism, security and it just seemed like something a very famous person would do.

‘Sensationalism’ is so far so successful; there is a crowd of people similar in size to the one at the cake shop outside, trying to look through the French windows, though you’re located at the back of the shop. As for security, it means Nat doesn’t have to plant people inside and you won’t get crowded and overwhelmed by people coming up to you, and for seeming like something a famous person would do? Yeah, probably, you don’t know.

“Just have some fun,” Nat had said as you’d gone down in the elevator. “It’s just trying on some dresses and having a fun time with your friends.”

Fun.

You’d nearly laughed. But, you’d just smiled and nodded, because that’s what you do now, smile and nod and go along with things. If you don’t, that leads to conversations, and conversations lead to you having to admit to things, like the panic attack you’d had that morning as you’d dressed or the fact you have feelings for your best friend and every moment of this week is both wonderful and torturous. 

Speaking of... you haven’t seen Steve today.

Last night, after you’d woken up from your nap, you’d showered, masturbated while in there, ‘cause, hey, things had only gotten more stressful, and changed and wandered downstairs, but Steve was nowhere to be seen. Then you’d heard sounds of machines in the gym room and realised he was working out. He’d left a note for you on the island, though, saying there were leftovers in the oven of what he’d cooked. You’d eaten alone, watching TV.

You did that for about two hours, and Steve didn’t emerge once, still working out. You hadn’t thought anything of it, though, he is super-human. So, you’d gone to bed, leaving him a note in return saying thank you, you hadn’t wanted to disturb him and that you were going to bed, with a little drawn smiley face.

There’d been no note when you’d come down after calming yourself and pulling your shoes on, not wanting to be caught out like yesterday morning, just Nat.

But space is good for you two.

Even if you never usually go this long without at least messaging each other.

But this isn’t a ‘usually’ time.

“Y/N?”

The Christmas jazz music filters back into your hearing as your head snaps up to look at Dolly, sat on a gorgeous pale pink shell chair, her big eyes wider than usual.

“Yeah, sorry?”

Her smile is wide and her eyes seem to be only getting wider. “I can try on one thing, right?”

You nod as you smile. “Uh, yeah. As bridesmaids, you probably actually should try something.”

She releases a sound akin to a squeal and claps her hands together. “Great! What colour do you want for us?”

“Uh...” Oh, you know this, you talked about it with Nat in the car... “... Red.”

Bridget looks at you, then exhales a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, I thought you were gonna carry on and say ‘white and blue’.”

Your lips twitch as you tilt your head. “Come on, we’re not gonna be that on the nose.”

Bridget raises their eyebrows but before they can retort a woman, Sally, appears with an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne inside, and three glasses. All three of you give some kind of very grateful sound before thanking her as she sets them down on the glass table before you. You also all cheer as she pops the champagne, (God, who are we... desperate for free alcohol, that’s who), and thank her again as she fills the glasses and hands one to you each.

Beaming, she stands back, her hands clasped together. “Can I get anything else for y’all?”

You hum as you quickly swallow your mouthful. “Mmh. Yes, please. Do you have any dresses in red, for these two?”

She glances at them, her gaze sweeping over them and you realise she’s expertly measuring them, and nods. “Absolutely. What style would you like?”

“Uh, any, we’ve got time.”

Her beam grows as she nods. “Wonderful, I’ll be five minutes.”

You take another sip as she trots off to the back room. Much like at the cake shop, you’d said to the shop attendants assisting you, all five of them now having nothing to do but assist you, that you will try everything and anything. Like Damilola, they’d looked delighted, probably used to, as you’d seen on reality shows, people coming in with very specific requests.

And, boy, do you all have the time to try every damn thing on. Dolly and Bridget have the day off, Yvette being very understanding at the short notice, officially, though unofficially she probably isn’t too pleased to not have her best receptionist and the Head of IT on the same day.

Who am I kidding, she never breaks a sweat. Probably a good time to get those interns trained up, too.

You also have the time as you were meant to be visiting two places today, though the first hadn’t exactly gone to plan. In other words, you’d walked out.

“Oh, our, uhm, our plus-size section isn’t very large.”

You fold your arms as Bridget raises their eyebrows and Dolly narrows her eyes.

“Oh? And why not?”

The woman, Candace, looks between you, her cheeks pink. “Oh, because we, uhm...”

You raise your eyebrows, placing your hands on the counter. “I’m about to blow your mind, Candace, but bigger people get married, too. And you’ve just lost my custom.”

You’d walked out seconds after, a smug smile hinting on your lips as Candace had called after you, practically begging for you to return, that they could order whatever you wanted in, but you’d just kept walking, Bridget telling Candace to save it as Dolly looped her arm through yours.

Nat had apologised profusely once you’d gotten into the SUV she was going to spend the day ferrying you three around in, saying it hadn’t occurred to her to check, as Dolly and Bridget had stared at her, still unused to being in her presence.

Of course it hadn’t occurred to her.

This place, though, The Pearl... It’s gorgeous. Despite not having felt offended at the last place, just angry and exasperated, you couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. What if this was going to be your whole day? Going from place to place just because they were dumb and exclusionary? You’d felt welcomed the moment you walked in, though, all five assistants and Sally smiling as they greeted each of you in turn, and all Sally, obviously the senior member from how she led the conversation, had done was ask you your usual dress size and that had been it.

You look at the interior again, taking in the pale pink and white walls, framed photos on them of dresses or models in them, or real people on their wedding days in them, the plush cream carpet, the crystal chandeliers, the gorgeously decorated Christmas trees in each corner, the fairy lights adorning the counter by the front door.

Yeah... I can have fun here. And why the fuck not? Trying on dresses is always fun, no matter what, and there’s free champagne and I’m here with Dolly and Bridge’.

Sitting back on the pale pink couch, the tightening in your chest easing, you sip your champagne with a smile.

Am I a champagne person now? This week’s telling me yes.

Bridget stretches their legs out as they sigh contentedly. Looking at you, they smile softly. “How are you feeling about the interview?”

You pull a face as you hold the glass between both hands. “You know about that?”

“Uh, it’s been trending on Twitter for the last two days is all anyone’s talking about.”

You groan as you take another, longer sip.

“So how do you feel?” Dolly gently repeats the question.

You smile lightly, looking between them with raised brows. “How do you think?”

She smiles softly, endearing assurance in her tone. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N.”

 You open your mouth, then close it. Then again... you can talk about it freely with these two, they’ll understand without feeling guilty or worrying too much or treating you like a breakable vase.

You exhale a breath, one you feel like you’ve been holding for days. “I don’t know, it’s live and we haven’t been able to get an idea of what they’re gonna ask yet and... I just don’t want to think about it too much, really.”

Bridget rests their arm on the back of the couch, turning their body to you. “That’s not like you. I’ve watched you spend months preparing for one meeting.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.” They point a finger at you. “This is a meeting, and you’re pitching your marriage.”

You have no idea how close to the truth that is.

You take a breath. “Can I practise on you two, then?”

Both of them perk up, smiles wide.

“Absolutely!” Dolly enthuses. “We’ve been dying for you to tell us all the details, we’ve been so patient.”

“And a little bit offended,” Bridget adds good-naturedly with an arched brow.

“I know, I know,” you smile, even as your chest twinges.

“It’s fine, two birds, one stone, you can make up for it now and practise,” Bridget says, holding their glass on their knee and fixing you with an expectant gaze and adopting a stereotypical news reader voice. “So, how did this happen, when was the first kiss, the first fondle, the engagement, I want every dirty detail, and the romantic details, too.”

“Okay,” you say through your laughter as Dolly giggles. “All right, all right... God, I’m gonna need more champagne.”

—

He could see the headline now; Cap Goes To Seek Former Flame’s Approval!

At least it would be better than the one’s that had been written when he’d gone on two dates with Sharon. Had that been why they’d both ended it? The media pressure, the questions, the constant hounding? No, but maybe that had been a factor in it. Sharon is great, but... He hadn’t felt a real connection, and neither had she.

He’d only felt that connection a few times in his life, so he knew when something was worth fighting for.

"Engaged, hm?” Peggy Carter fixes him with her gaze, an eyebrow arched, and, God, nothing ever passes her by, not even now.

A smile pulling at his lips, he raises his own eyebrows a little. “Peg—”

She exhales a laugh. “You can’t tell me, I understand.” Lacing her fingers together on her stomach, she smiles. “I do like her.”

“You’ve never met her,” he reminds her gently.

“I know,” she adjusts her head on her pillow, “but the way you talk about her makes me like her. How is she doing with all of this?”

He nods, his own hands clasped together. “Okay, I think. She’s tough.”

Peggy looks at him, her jaw moving minutely. “Hm.”

“What?”

Her lips lift a little, her features soft. “People called me tough. Said I handled things okay. But I can’t tell you how many times I cried in my office, then pulled myself together. I don’t mind crying, it’s very therapeutic, but I would have hated them to see me do it, hated what they would have twisted it into. Or even some of my friends, how they might have gently told me to maybe cut back my hours or something like that, to take on less. But just because I cried it didn’t mean I couldn’t handle matters.”

Steve opens his mouth when she continues, “Did you know that after you went into the ice our relationship is all anyone wanted to talk to me about? Interview me about? Even when I became Director of SHIELD the same questions followed me around, ‘What do you think Steve would think? Would he be proud? Do you still miss him?’”

Something in him twists as he looks at her. “I’m sorry, Peg.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Lord, I’m not saying it to make you feel bad, Steve, still so dramatic...” Her features soften again, but her gaze fixes on his. “I’m just trying to give a little perspective, having been in the position she is. It’s not easy.”

He exhales a long breath, his shoulders dropping a little. “That’s what I’m afraid of, actually.”

Her brow dips. “What do you mean?”

“Like you just said, it’s not easy being with me.”

“Steve Rogers...” His gaze, having lowered, meets hers again, and he finds it faintly incredulous. “... It’s the easiest thing in the world being with you. You are easy to be with. It’s the rest of the world that’s the problem.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I liked where that was goin’ but that last part doesn’t make me feel any better.”

She huffs out a laugh, tilting her head. “But the rest of the world doesn’t matter, though, does it? Not if you’re with someone you love, hm?”

He looks at her, his lips lifting a little higher. “No, it doesn’t.”

—

“... So, it was only a couple of weeks ago... We were out at the park we like to walk in, you know the one, I go on about it all the time, the trees are always on my Instagram ‘cause it’s just so pretty, ‘nd it’s quiet, y’know, we’re in the middle of winter, and it’s dark, no one wants to really be out walking, except us...”

 You’ve had a bit more champagne than you probably should, but, hey, go away, morals, this is a nice story.

“... so we’re walking, and we’re just talking, and then we stop, and we’re looking up at the stars...”

Dolly, Bridget, Sally, and the other five shop assistants, Donna, Nicole, Max, Jamie and Priya all sigh together at the imagery, and your eyebrows raise and you nod in an expression of, ‘I know’.

“... and then he just gets down on one knee and asks me to marry him.”

They all sigh again, a couple of them putting their hands to their chests and ‘aww’ing and you nod as you sip your champagne because, yeah, that is very cute.

Good one, me.

“What did he say? How did he ask you?” Max asks, all the assistants bunched together on a long couch they’d dragged over.

You take another, longer sip of champagne because what did he say...

“... Oh, well, that’s just between me and him,” you say with a coy smile and they all boo good-naturedly.

Nice one.

“That’s such a lovely story,” Sally smiles warmly and you return it before raising your eyebrows.

“Shall we carry on trying these gorgeous dresses?”

They all cheer and the assistants get to their feet and scurry off to the back to find more for you and Dolly and Bridget. You look at your two friends, Dolly in a yellow ballgown, Bridget in a multi-coloured floral suit, and beam. You are wearing an ivory lace number that hugs your figure and then flows out just below your hips, and are trying very hard not to spill champagne on it.

The session had quickly escalated into Dolly and Bridget trying on whatever they wanted between red dresses, and you just putting on whatever was brought out. You’d told Sally you were here to get an idea of what you wanted, but that you’d be returning very soon. Nat has scheduled in another dress shopping day for Friday and you’d quickly messaged her about half an hour ago while you were changing to cancel wherever that was and make it here. She hadn’t argued.

You’re also giving little bits of details here and there to practise for the interview, your first kiss (at your place after watching a film), when you’d said I love you, (at his place after having dinner and watching a film together), and the story of how he proposed. You’re going to have to remember all this to tell Steve, though, so you keep making notes on your phone as you get changed.

You’ve also sent him a message because you still haven’t spoken.

You know he’s with Peggy, though, so he absolutely won’t be checking his phone, but... 

It just feels strange.

“Right...” Your attention comes back into the room as Sally and Jamie appear with an armful of dresses each, “... We have a vintage style one here that we think y’all are gonna love.”

Dolly claps her hands together as Bridget gasps dramatically.

“Vintage? Oh, he’s absolutely gonna love that.”

You don’t know why that makes you feel warm. It’s not like he’s actually going to see you in it... Unless...

—

“... Thank you so much! ... We will! We’ll see you Friday!”

You have to practically drag Dolly out of the back doors of The Pearl, the three of you giggling as you wave at the assistants. Who knew you could become such firm friends with people in the space of in five hours? Well, two bottles of champagne will do that.

You’re on the higher end of tipsy, in a lovely, warm, chatty way, and you have lined your stomach and soaked some of it up, Sally having ordered you all food so you wouldn’t have to leave and 1) Face the crowd, and 2) You couldn’t be bothered to leave, really.

The crowd is also the reason you’re leaving out the back doors, none of you wanting to face the horde outside. It has grown throughout the day, people desperate to get even the tiniest glimpse of you and what you’re wearing. Priya had closed the curtains after an hour, though, and they’d had two of their security guards stationed outside the front doors and it was just bliss. You’d had the chance to forget all about the outside world and just have some fun. Moving across the staff parking lot for The Pearl and a couple of surrounding shops, people haven’t had the chance to get in because it’s guarded, and the man whose job that is looks up from his newspaper in his little station, then looks back down.

Bliss.

Nat waits for you in the SUV, those sunglasses on, one hand leaning against the steering wheel.

“Such a ‘top’ pose,” Bridget stage-whispers and you’re all falling into giggles again.

You’re still gigging as you climb into the car, you in the passenger seat, Dolly and Bridget behind you. Nat’s lips twitch as she raises an eyebrow.

“Did we all have a fun time?”

“So fun.” Dolly, who is usually the most intimidated by Nat, which isn’t surprising considering she has a crush on her and they’ve both only met her three times before, including today, launches into a glowing review of the shop and day, “Everyone was so nice and the dresses and suits and jumpsuits and shoes are gorgeous, I can’t wait until we go back, oh my God, it’s all I’m gonna think about tomorrow...”

Nat’s smile lingers on her lips as she heads towards Dolly’s apartment, Dolly carrying on for the whole journey with Bridget occasionally butting in to add a comment. You laugh the whole way, your cheeks almost hurting from how much you’ve been grinning.

Nat parks up outside Dolly’s building, and turns in her seat, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head and meeting Dolly’s gaze, which provokes a pink blush to rise on her cheeks.

“Sounds like a really good day, then.”

Dolly just nods now, swallowing lightly. “Yep.”

Glancing from her to Bridget, Nat smiles and you think you hear Bridget let out the quietest of sounds. Wanting to save them both, or maybe they don’t want to be saved, they could be loving gazing into her eyes, who knows at this point, you turn to them, too.

“Oke doke, we’ll see you later, Doll’, I’ll text you when Sam and I are on the way.”

Bridget’s eyes whip to you, their mouth dropping open. “Sam’s picking us up?!”

You can’t stop your smile from widening, your eyebrows rising. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God, right, I need to go home and get ready now, Doll’ get out, I only have three hours, oh my God...”

Dolly is laughing so hard she nearly trips out of the SUV, and one hand is on your chest as the other wipes at your eyes as you laugh. Dolly waves from the pavement as she grins before she trots into the building, and all feelings of intimidation have left Bridget as they point ahead.

“Step on it, Nat, this is a national emergency, go...”

Nat just shakes her head as she turns back around, but she’s still smiling and you’re still laughing. “All right, all right, don’t worry, hold on...”

And, boy, does she mean it.

How does she drive this fast and this safely.

—

There’s just something about getting ready for a night-out while you’re tipsy. 

Sometimes, if you haven’t had a chance to pre-drink, you have a few moments of ‘ugh, do I really want to go out, I can’t be bothered, there’s that new show out, I’m so tired, oh my God, what if I do something embarrassing...’ but now, the champagne having only worn off a little from what you made yourself for dinner, and, okay, it probably didn’t help that you also made yourself an alcoholic beverage to have with it, you’re still quite buzzed.

Steve hadn’t been home yet and Nat had left a few minutes after making sure you were inside the penthouse so you’d been able to play your music and yell along to it. You’d been able to take your time getting ready, trying on a few outfits before settling on a true classic number that makes a lot of appearances on nights out because 1) you look amazing in it, and 2) you look really damn amazing in it.

You’d even, Nat having requested it, taken a selfie once you were ready and uploaded it to your Instagram story, along with a few gifs of glasses clinking together and someone dancing.

Job done, you’d returned to the group chat you have with Dolly and Bridget and sent them the picture, accompanied with, ‘time to fuckin party’. You could send them a picture of you in a bin bag and they’d still reply with the same thing they do for every photo, and you would for them.

Bridge’ 🌟: Y E S

Dolly ✨: WHO IS SHE???

Bridge’ 🌟: INCREDIBLE, SHOW STOPPING, AMAZING, ICONIC, LIFE CHANGING

Dolly ✨: I LOVE IT

They swiftly send their own photos.

You: LOOK AT US

Bridge’ 🌟: WHO ARE WE

God, they’re great.

You ignored the slight, unpleasant flip in your stomach at seeing Steve’s message, that he sent an hour ago and you haven’t replied to yet.

I hope you had a good day, have fun tonight x

You message each other every day so you never send ‘kisses’, so this just makes you think he’s done it to soften the blow of a slightly blunt message. Is it blunt? Or are you reading too much in to it? He has had a busy day based on what Nat told you when she’d driven you to the penthouse. He was seeing Peggy all day and then going over to Bucky’s to see him, and then they are going to have their own night out.

That’s busy, right.

Whatever, he doesn’t have to reply all the time, it’s fine.

You reply:

Thanks, you too! :-) x 

Which is the kind of reply you’d give to someone at work.

You’d ignored your phone vibrating as people, strangers, react to your Instagram story, slipped it into your bag and headed downstairs.

If you were an ego-maniac, Sam’s reaction on top of your friends would just make your head explode.

“Well, hello, ma’am!”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Nu-uh, let me look at you... Wo-ow. You look amazing.”

“Stop it... but thank you, I know.”

The moment you got into his SUV, (does everyone get one the moment they join SHIELD?) he has music playing that you can both sing along and dance in your seats to. Bridget had told you to pick them up last to give them more time so you swing by Dolly’s place first and she looks gorgeous as always in a short, glittery pink dress with matching eyeshadow and lipstick, her blonde hair curled and bouncing.

You give little squeals as you see each other, despite having only seen each other a few hours ago, and she’s definitely still buzzed, too. Sam gives her the same reaction he gave you and, God, you love him.

As you pull up outside Bridget’s building, you can’t stop meeting Dolly’s gaze in the rear-view mirror, your lips twitching. She’s doing a worst job than you at hiding her smile, her hand in front of her mouth, and you’re both trying so hard to stop a laugh.

It escapes when he gets out of the car and closes the door and you’re both turning in your seats to stare at Bridget as they walk out, gorgeous as always in a buttoned up, black blazer with no shirt underneath and matching black shorts, one side of their head freshly shaved. Dolly’s hand darts out and grips your arm as Sam approaches them and kisses their cheek and they’re both smiling but you can’t hear what they’re saying and you hate SUVs, are these things sound-proof, I’ll ask Nat...

As they climb into the car, you and Dolly are staring at Bridget, smiling. They just raise their eyebrows, grinning and say, “Hey, girls.”

“Well, hello.”

“Hi.”

You have to once again stop a laugh as Sam starts to drive, turning the music up, and you were all soon yelling along to the songs.

Now here you are, at a roof-top bar, being escorted to a table that had been reserved for you. Usually, you’d go to your favourite bar opposite work but Sam had gently insisted that you move it to another place he was more familiar with and where he could have better access to an exit and eyes on you. For a place simply titled The Venue, it’s very nice up here; it’s large, fire pits and heaters dotted around so you can’t feel the cold, a stunning view of the city, low, sultry tunes playing, a dance-floor in one corner, everything either purple, red, or gold. There’s even table service, and you recognise a few people dotted around.

“Is that—”

“Oh my God, yes...” Bridget whispers back to Dolly’s question as they stare at a table a little way away.

Your lips twitch as you each take a seat at a wooden table with a candle on it, the chairs red and plush. Your server informs you that a tab has already been set up for you, so you each grab a menu and debate for a good few minutes about what to get, the server standing patiently. Settling on cocktails, the server leaves with a beam, promising to be back in a few minutes.

“God, this place is fancy,” Bridget says, turning in their seat to get another look at everything. 

“And we actually have a table!” Dolly sighs delightedly.

“Perks of being Mrs America, huh?” Bridget turns back around to look at you, their eyebrows raising with a smirk.

You snort, your cheeks heating. “Not quite yet.”

Bridget opens their mouth but Dolly gets in first, gasping suddenly. “Did you see the news by the way?”

You pull a slight face. “No, I don’t tend to look at it anymore.”

She beams, her eyes sparkling. “Well, what happened at the dress shop, at the first place, everyone’s talking about it. People are so happy you said something and brought attention to it, there’s so many discussions being had about the wedding dress industry and the fashion industry in general when it comes to plus size clothing.”

The server returns before you can reply, and as she sets your drinks down you feel heat rise on your face again as you bite at your lower lip, pride spreading through you.

Well... Great power, great responsibility... I could get all kinds of stuff to be talked about... Note to self, change world tomorrow.

The three of you take long sips of your chosen drinks, humming in delight at the taste. As you lick your lips and set your glass down, Bridget places their arms on the table and leans forward.

“Now, come on, Y/N...”

Your eyebrows raise. “... What?”

Bridget tilts their head. “What’s he like in bed.”

You give your best scandalised gasp as Dolly laughs and Bridget smirks, continuing, “He’s kinky, isn’t he? It’s always the quiet ones...”

“Bridget Sanderson,” you gasp again, even as you grin, Dolly’s laugh infectious, “A lady never tells.”

“Well, you ain’t no lady so spill.”

You take a long sip of your drink to buy some time.

Could you? Should you?

Well, I’m in this far... And they won’t let it slide...

Licking your lips, you lean forward and lower your voice. “All the details?”

Dolly giggles and claps her hands together as Bridget grins. “All of them, you saucy bitch.”

—

Who knew you were so imaginative. Who knew you could remember every detail of every fantasy you have ever had about your best friend. Who knew you could think up such filthy, delightful things. Who knew you’d start comparing these imaginings with actual things you’ve done in your life, and that Dolly and Bridget have done with their sexual partners.

Who knew all three of you could drink so much.

Sorry to whoever’s paying the tab. The government? Shit, sorry, government, no wait, no I’m not, another round!

As the server, Melanie, you found out is her name while ordering the second drink, brings you your fourth drinks, you’re currently in the middle of laughing so hard it hurts at a story Dolly is telling of a sexual encounter, tears streaming from your eyes.

“... and then...” She dissolves into laughter herself, leaning over. “... and then her cat came in and it just, it just sat on the bedside table and made eye contact with me and...” God, you bloody love her laugh. “... she was doin’ such great things and sayin’ such good dirty talk but all I could do was stare at this cat and I just felt like apologising to it... and then it just started licking itself!”

Bridget is practically curled up in their chair as they laugh and you’re having to wipe at your cheeks, practically crying. Once you’ve all calmed down, you blow out a breath and massage your stomach.

“Oh my God, Doll’, I can’t believe you never told us that story...”

“I’m gonna wanna hear it again every day,” Bridget says, running a hand through their hair as they grin.

Dolly beams, sipping her drink. “I’d forgotten ‘bout it, think I repressed it.”

“So Steve’s into dirty talk, too, huh?” Bridget asks, sipping their own drink.

You nod several times, because part of you had always just thought, with him being such a great commander and leader, that he would be... and you’ve already told them that he is. “Mmhm, he’s made me come by jus’ his words alone.”

“No.”

“Get th’ fuck outta here.”

You nod smugly, your tongue catching your straw and you take a long sip. Not a total lie, you’ve imagined his voice in your ear several times... with a vibrator helping you along. And, hey, you won’t feel guilty about any of this ‘cause this is boosting his image... to your friends.

Dolly’s eye are wide and she and Bridget lean in, wanting more sordid details. You grin, happy to oblige and divulge more of your fantasies.

“So, it was when he was away one time ‘nd he called me ‘nd—”

“Excuse me?”

All three of you pause and turn to look at a woman, close to your age, smiling as she pushes her brown straight hair over her shoulder.

“Hi.”

“H’llo.”

“Hiya.”

“Hey,” she says, holding a phone in her hands as she looks at you. “I’m sorry to bother you, but can my friends and I get a photo with you?”

You blink, and look at her. Did... Yeah, you heard it right. Photo? With you?

You nod quickly, realising you’re just staring and silent. “Oh, yeah, sure, absolutely.”

What the fuck is happening. I hope I don’t sound as drunk as I feel. Or look it, oh my God, are my eyes open properly?

You push yourself up and, oh, fuck, yep, you’re drunk, and step around your chair as the woman beams and beckons her five friends over.

“Thank you so much!”

Bridget offers to take the photo, the woman very grateful, and she and her friends introduce themselves, a little tipsy and giddy with nerves and being with a celebrity, oh my God, I’m a celebrity, this is hilarious...

You stand in the middle, your arms around the girls either side of you, and you smile, making sure your eyes are open properly, as they pose. Bridget takes a few photos before smiling and handing the phone back to the first woman as they break away from you.

“Oh my God, thank you so much!”

“You’re so pretty!”

“We’re so jealous of you!”

You just smile and nod, trying to appear a little more sober.

“Thank you, have a nice night!” you call as they wander off, still giddy with excitement and all wanting to look at the photo.

Sitting back down, blinking, you look at Bridget and Dolly. They’re looking at you, blinking, too. It’s Bridget who finally speaks.

“... So, as you were sayin’ ‘bout gettin’ absolutely railed by America’s Finest?”

The three of you dissolve into giggles again, Dolly throwing her head back as Bridget leans over the table and your hands cover your mouth.

“Hey!”

Oh my God, I really am a celebrity.

Your wide smile lingering, you lower your hands and look up at the woman. You hear a chair scrape back on the stone floor somewhere as you pause. Hang on, you know this woman—

“You worthless bitch!”

Dolly screams as the woman throws some kind of small can at you and you’re suddenly drenched in a thick, liquid, your eyes closing just in time. Someone else screams as you hear Bridget shove their chair back and yell obscenities at the woman, lunging for her, but suddenly other voices are there, and they must be pulling the woman away because her own screams are coming from further and further away.

You’re frozen in your seat, hands half-raised. People are shouting around you but you barely listen. Dazed, your hands continue moving up, as they had been doing to protect yourself, and you wipe the liquid away from your eyes, and slowly open them.

You can feel the cold now, the heaters and fire-pits worthless, the liquid sticking to your skin and clothes. Or maybe you’re just shaking because you’re in shock.

You suddenly realise someone has been talking to you. Your head moving, you meet Sam’s gaze, suddenly feeling his hand on your back. His features are soft and his voice is gentle, but you can see the rage in his eyes.

“I got you, it’s all right. Can you get up? And we’ll get you out of here?”

You nod and lower your gaze, going to reach for your bag.

“It’s all right, I got it,” he says and your eyes move to his other hand, confirming that he does.

Getting to your feet, Sam’s arm goes around your shoulders and your feet are moving. People are still shouting, some trying to take photos, but there are people pushing them away, giving you and Sam space to head towards a door he’s leading you to.

It’s paint, you realise suddenly. Blue paint. You look back down at yourself again, watching it stain your skin and clothes.

“Where’s Bridge’ and Dolly?” you hear yourself ask.

“Another agent’s got ‘em, don’t worry, she’s gonna take ‘em home.”

Sam shoves the door open and you step into a stairwell, two men stood inside it. One of them moves to your left and you see an elevator, which the man opens by typing in a code on a keypad. Sam’s hand is still on your back, gently guiding you into it. The doors shut as the man types in another code, and Sam drops his hand from you and presses a button marked ‘B’. The elevator starts to descend and you stare at the doors.

“We’re gonna get you home, all right?” Sam says quietly, and you just nod, not caring to ask if he means home home, or the penthouse.

You hear him unzip his jacket. Yeah, it is hot in here. Your skin is warm all over and your throat feels tight, and you can’t quite take in a deep enough breath. Then you hear the sound of something ripping. Your gaze darting to Sam, he holds a section of his polo shirt in his hand and offers it to you. You stare at it, your brain putting the pieces together, and then you take it. You wipe at your eyes, mouth and face, and Sam zips his jacket back up and looks at you.

“You okay?” His voice is quiet again and you’re grateful for it because even the sound of his shirt tearing has made your heart beat faster.

“That was the woman from my work, who got in, wasn’t it?” you ask blankly, your volume matching his.

He shifts a little, scratching at his jaw as you hear him release a breath. “Yeah.”

You nod, swallowing hard and you wish the lump in your throat would go away. “Right.” He opens his mouth when you continue, finally meeting his gaze, “Why did you do that, Sam? You’ve blown your cover, surely, or they’ll know I’m being watched.”

He gives a light smile. “People will expect you to be watched, it would’ve been suspicious if no one stepped in.”

“Ah.” You start to wipe at your hands.

Sam tilts his head slightly, his smile softening. “And I wanted to get you out of there.”

You meet his gaze again, but you don’t have the energy to smile, despite the sentiment being touching, and just nod. His eyes linger on you as you look back down at your hands, concern swiftly replacing his smile. 

The elevator slows then comes to a halt, the doors sliding open a moment later, and the cold night air washes over you as you both step out into the underground parking garage, yet another one, Sam’s hand returning to your back. The place is silent, and you spot Sam’s SUV amongst a few other cars, both of you heading towards it. He gestures to someone in another car but you don’t care to look, assuming it’s another agent.

He moves a step ahead of you to open the passenger side door and you stop abruptly.

“What?” he says instantly, tensing.

“The paint. It’s gonna ruin the seat.”

He looks at you for a moment, his features relaxing into a smile. “Ah, that’s all right. That can be taken care of.”

You get in after he nods, and he places your bag on your lap. Closing the door, he jogs around to the driver’s side as you buckle your seatbelt then settle your hands over your bag, gripping it along with the piece of his shirt. Your eyes focus and stay on the dashboard as he secures his own seatbelt and puts the car into ‘drive’.

The barrier is more guarded than the other parking garages you’d been in this week but that hasn’t stopped paparazzi and occupants of the building from gathering, assuming that’s how you’d leave the area. You keep your eyes on the dashboard as lights flash and people shout.

Shouting, always shouting.

Sam doesn’t drive as fast as Nat, but he’s goes at some speed when you’re out on the main road. “Steve’s gonna meet us at the apartment,” he says after a couple of minutes, keeping his eyes on the road, “He was out with Barnes.”

“Okay.” Your voice sounds small to your own ears, distant.

Neither of you talk.

You look at your hands, the paint dry and barely having come off from when you’d rubbed at them in the elevator.

You start rubbing at them again, then use your nail, trying to scrape what you can off.

“Shit...” Sam murmurs suddenly.

Glancing up at him, you find him looking in the rear-view mirror every few moments.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s followin’ us.”

Your stomach drops, and exhaustion hits you like a fucking freight train. From his reaction, you guess it’s not a news van.

Sam presses a button on the steering wheel and the sound of dialling fills the interior.

Nat answers on the first ring.

"Where are you?”

“Nat, we’re bein’ followed.”

“Shit. All right, there’s a car on the way. Change your route.”

“Okay.” He takes the next left, and you know your heart should be pounding but you’re just so tired.

“How far away are you?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Sam replies, glancing up at the rear-view mirror. “We’re definitely bein’ followed, Nat.”

“The car will be there in three minutes. Keep taking turns, it’ll follow behind them.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N, nearly home,” Sam murmurs.

“Mhm.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Nat asks, her voice a little softer.

“Mhm.”

Sam glances at you as he pulls up at a red light, his lips pressing together. “Not long now.”

“Mhm—”

The sound twists into a gasp as you’re thrown forward slightly, the seatbelt catching you. Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you lift your head and look in the wing mirror as Sam spits out a curse.

A car, its bonnet dented, is reversing... then it speeds towards you again.

“Sam—”

“I see it.”

“Sam, what’s going on?” Nat demands to know as Sam pushes his foot down on the accelerator, the SUV lurching forward.

“We just got hit, they’re tryna ram us.”

“Are you both okay?”

Sam’s expertly weaving through the traffic, leaving horns blaring in your wake, but he just keeps going.

“Y/N, you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” It’s an automatic response, but you think you are. Physically, at least. Whiplash will properly rear its head soon, though.

A faint memory comes to you, however, of Sam telling you all the SHIELD cars have been built to absorb the impact of things like this, it having happened a fair few times, leaving the occupants with minimal damage, if none, so maybe not.

“Are they still following?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Think we lost ‘em.” He only slows his speed a little, though.

“You’re right, the agents are following them now, just get back here as quick as you can.”

“All right.”

The call ends and Sam glances at you.

“Y/N, you gotta tell me if you’re not okay, are you hu—”

“I’m fine, Sam, thank you.” You swallow hard, the lump still in your throat.

He falls silent, leaving you be, and you’re grateful for it because you’re so fucking tired.

Several minutes later, he pulls up at the penthouse building and he makes you wait, sliding out of his seat and jogging round to open your door. People stare as he ushers you across the main foyer to the elevator that’ll take you up to your floor but you just look ahead. Thankfully, Sam doesn’t say a word as the elevator ascends and you just look at the doors. When they slide open at the penthouse floor and you step out into the tiny circular foyer, you let Sam get his keycard out, opening the door.

And then the noise washes over you.

People talking, to each other, over each other, on phones, demanding, ordering, snapping. You hear the door close and feel Sam behind you as you slowly walk down the short hallway, then into the living room area.

There are agents everywhere, maybe about twenty, all stood around, talking. Loudly.

They don’t look up at you as they continue on with whatever they’re doing, typing on tablets, staring at tablets, standing over a hologram of what you realise is the floor-plan of the penthouse.

“Y/N.” Your eyes dart up to Nat as she approaches, striding across the carpet. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Tired.”

“Okay.” Her gaze scans you, assessing, and you’re too drained to care that she knows you’re lying. Her hand settles on your arm gently and she holds your gaze, her voice lowering. “We analysed what this is, okay, we got the can of it from the woman, and it’s just paint—”

“Who is she?”

Nat pauses at your abrupt question, and you know she’s weighing up what to tell you. Her hand doesn’t move from your arm as she speaks, “Her name’s Marise Daniels. She’s one of Steve’s stalkers, we’ve been aware of her for a while.”

Stalkers. One of.

“Oh.”

“She...” Sam starts to say, choosing his own words carefully. “... She isn’t meant to be out, especially after what happened at your work.”

“Apparently there was a system error. Someone’s seriously fucked up,” Nat continues, the information new to you both considering Sam’s hissed release of a breath.

“Is that why these people are all here.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard your own voice sound so lifeless.

Nat pauses again, weighing her words again and, God, just tell me. “Someone tried to break in. They got into the elevator and overrode it, got up here but they couldn’t get in. The tampering alerted our systems but by the time we got here they’d gone. We’re checking CCTV footage now and asking people if they saw anything.”

You look at her, her words barely feeling like they reach you. “So why are all these people in here.”

Her hand is gently rubbing your arm now, and it’s faintly starting to ground you. “They’re checking the security systems in place here, making sure they’re secure or reinforced.”

“Okay.”

“They’ll be gone in thirty minutes, I promise.”

“Okay.”

She takes in a breath and smiles lightly. “How about we—”

“Agent Romanoff?”

A muscle in her jaw ticks slightly but she turns to the agent, her eyebrows raising. “Yeah?”

The agent lowers her phone from her ear. “Captain Rogers has helped to apprehend the suspect. He’s on his way over. Agents Moore and Lane are taking the suspect back to HQ.”

“All right, tell them to...”

Nat’s voice drops out of your hearing, and your gaze drifts to the stairs. Sam’s hand settles on your back, rubbing gently, and you remember that he’s there.

“I’m gonna... gonna go upstairs and wash this off,” you mumble to him, and you don’t hear if he replies as you move forward.

People don’t look at you, continuing with their business, talking, talking, talking. You reach the top of the stairs before you know it, opening your bedroom door. You close it behind you, muffling the sounds of the people downstairs.

Removing your shoes, you drop your bag to join them on the floor as you head to the bathroom. You pull your outfit off, letting it drop to the floor, too, you can deal with it later, hopefully the washing machine will get it out.

You turn the shower on and step under the water. Head down, you watch some of the blue paint start to wash off, swirling and whirling in the water and disappearing down the drain. Only a little, though.

You have to use your hands and the body-wash to get it off. Scrubbing at your skin. Scraping at it.

You’re in there for twenty minutes. Scrubbing. Scraping.

When you finally make yourself get out your skin feels raw. There’s still a faint stain in some parts, though. You grab a towel and use it to continue rubbing at your skin, blue now staining the cream softness of it. The rest of your skin is dry by the time you make yourself stop and you pull the robe on.

Then you look at yourself in the mirror.

The lump returns to your throat and tears fill your eyes. You look... drained. And you fucking feel it. You’re exhausted. So exhausted, in every single way. You’ve spent all week fighting so hard to stay up-beat, to stay positive, to make this work, to see the good sides, but the world isn’t allowing that. You’d just wanted to yell at the woman, Marise, that you are doing this to keep him safe, that he is in danger, and you are just doing this to keep your fucking best friend safe.

The fact there’s still some blue paint staining your cheeks and neck is what makes the tears finally spill down your face. Sniffing, you swallow hard and grab a hand towel, wetting it and scrubbing at your skin once more.

It’s not moving.

You inhale a quiet, shuddering breath, almost a sob, as you stare at your reflection, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing.

Three gentle knocks sound on your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you say automatically, your voice cracking, and you wipe at your eyes.

You look up as the door opens and see in the reflection... Steve.

He pauses, the door nearly closed behind him. You sniff again as you look at him, his eyes assessing you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” you answer. You shrug then, your features crumbling. “... It’s not coming off.”

The door closes and he’s moving towards you.

“Come here, it’s okay...”

As you turn from the mirror, you’re then enveloped in his embrace, your cheek pressed against his chest as he holds you. A jagged sob escapes you as your arms go around him, holding onto his shirt, gripping it.

“It’s okay...” he murmurs again, and you feel his voice rumbling in his chest, his chin resting on your head.

You’ve tried so hard to stave off tears all week that now that you can, now you don’t care anymore, now that you’re so tired, they’re not stopping. The front of his grey shirt must be damp, now, and your throat hurts and your chest is heaving but you just let the tears come and come, and he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his hands occasionally stroking your back and arms gently.

It’s not until you start to draw back that he does, guiding you to the sit on the rim of the bath.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with one hand. “Still a bit drunk, I think.”

A corner of his mouth lifts a little as he crouches down before you and takes the hand towel. “You don’t need to apologise. You can cry as much as you like.”

Your own lips lift for a moment as you sniff, and then you want to cry all over again as he starts to gently dab at the stains on your face and neck. You watch him, your eyes tracing his nose and mouth, the small, concerned lines on his forehead. If he got into a fight with the suspect earlier, there’s no sign of it. His hair doesn’t even look tussled.

Your eyes continue moving and meet his. He lowers his hand and inhales a quiet breath.

“I’m sorry, about all of this, Y/N.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence. “Steve, it’s not your fault.”

He looks almost pained at that, shaking his own head. “I could’ve prevented you being in this situation, though, I knew the risks of—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt sharply, surprising you both, but you continue on, “I already know what you’re going to say, and I will take it all, all of this, if it means I get to be your friend. Like we’ve said, we’re a team in this. I really wouldn’t want anyone else as my fake fiancé or as my friend.”

A smile pulls at his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to take all this, though, you shouldn’t—”

“No, I shouldn’t. But I will.” Your hand has found his free one, and grips it gently.

He turns his hand over instantly, curling his fingers around your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His smile softens.

“I think the world’s finally gonna see the stubborn pain in the ass I have to deal with.”

You exhale a laugh, and his smile widens at seeing yours.

“Well, it’s only fair others should have to suffer,” you say, shrugging a shoulder.

“You’re right there.” He resumes dabbing at your skin as you look at him.

“How was your day?” you ask quietly after a few silent moments, knowing he’ll just ask how you are if it stretches any longer.

“It was okay.” He’s dabbing at your chin now. “Peg says hi, and that she understands what you’re going through.”

God, you just want to cry all over again.

Your chest warms as you smile. “Really? Maybe I should go on your next visit.”

“I think she’d really like that.” His thumb is still brushing over your knuckles, and you wonder if he realises he’s still doing it. “She knows this isn’t real, though, think she figured it out.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect anything less. How was Bucky?”

“Fine. He says hello, too.”

“Wow, everyone’s being so kind to me today.”

He arches an eyebrow at you as you laugh, trying to stop himself from doing the same. “I don’t know whether it’s a good sign or not that you’re already joking about this.”

“Humour’s a great coping mechanism, you know that.”

He’s still smiling, but you can see the concern returning, so you quickly continue, taking your hand from his so you can raise a finger, raising your eyebrows, “Well, Doll’ and Bridge’ told me to tell you, by the way, well done, on having me as a fiancée.”

The corners of his mouth lift higher, now reaching his eyes. "Yeah, I know how lucky I am.”

“Oh, and, you proposed to me in our park, by the way.”

He tilts his head as you smile somewhat smugly. “Did I, now?”

“Yeah, under the stars.”

His eyebrows raise as he smiles widely. “Wow, you’re also very lucky, then.”

You wave your hand slightly. “I said a lot of stuff today, I’ll have to fill you in. I made notes.”

He chuckles as he lowers the towel from your face and rises to his feet. “You can show me my homework tomorrow.”

You watch him as he moves to the sink, dropping the towel into it, then raise your hand suddenly. “Oh, there was a dress I actually really liked there, too.”

 “The one you sent me a picture of?”

You freeze, staring at him as he turns to you.

“... What?”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he moves back towards you, unlocking it, then taps on a couple of things before turning it towards you.

Ohp.

And there you are.

In the vintage style dress, cascading flutter sleeves stopping just below your elbows, tight on your breasts and with a v-neckline, satin gold, your hand on your waist, beaming at your reflection in the gold mirror at The Pearl. 

Ah, now you remember sending it...

“... Yeah, that’s the one.”

“It’s really nice,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he offers you a hand to get to your feet. “You look great in it.”

Your face heats as you take his hand and get up, shrugging a shoulder and smiling. “Oh, well, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Your hands drop, yours going to your side, his going into the pocket of his jeans. Looking up at him, you give a light smile, which he returns.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and you nod after a moment.

“Yeah. Just so fucking tired,” you say with a slight laugh. “Think I’m just gonna sleep now.”

He nods, his teeth grazing over his lower lip. “That sounds like a good idea. What a fuckin’ day, huh?”

You snort, your eyebrows raising. “Yeah, for both of us.”

He sighs, as if remembering that, oh, yeah, someone had tried to break in, too. “The agents have all gone, now. The place is even more secure, it’s like a fortress.”

“Well, that’s good.”

You head into the bedroom, and he follows you out, moving to the door. He opens it, turning to you, and you share another smile.

“Sure you’re okay?” he asks again, and you bite at your lower lip.

Stay.

You widen your smile. “Yeah. Just very ready for sleep.”

He nods, taps his fingers against the door and smiles. “All right. Goodnight. I’m just down the hall if you need me.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

Your smile lingers for a moment as the door closes, then fades as you hear him walk away.

—

Halfway down the stairs, Steve pauses, his hand on the railing.

He considers turning around.

Going back up the stairs.

Opening your door.

Taking you in his arms again.

After a minute, he carries on down.

—

In your pyjamas, phone in your hand, you climb into bed, sinking into the soft safeness of it.

You unlock it, finding several messages in the group chat from Dolly and Bridget, asking how you are, saying they’re home safe, that Sam had filled Bridget in and they’d filled Dolly in, that they both hope you’re okay.

You send a message back saying that you are okay, you’re tired, and that you’ll speak to them tomorrow, and you hope they’re okay.

There’s a message from someone else, too.

I’ve just seen what happened on the news, I really hope you’re okay x

I’d have a normal life with Aaron.

Where the fuck did that come from?

But you can’t help thinking it.

He’d slipped into your mind when you’d masturbated that morning. You hadn’t wanted to think about it. You’d just imagined him, out of curiosity at first, as he’d posted a photo on Instagram of him at the gym again, just to imagine what he’d be like, you do it with most people to pass the time... and then he’d stayed in your mind.

It had seemed... more real than when you’d imagine Steve. Probably because Steve is your best friend and you shouldn’t be thinking of him that way and you don’t want to ruin what you have, you really don’t, and Aaron... Aaron is the kind of person you could take a chance on.

You feel tears start to prick at your eyes because this is fucked, this is all so fucked, and you love your best friend and you can only think that in it’s entirety without your brain shutting down when you’re drunk or tipsy because it’s the only time your mind is free and you love him, you love him, you love him, you love him...

But there is no fucking way you will ever risk losing him as a friend.

—

Comments and reblogs make my day in a way I can’t describe.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in this series!

Tagged: @herb-welch​, @jobean12-blog​, @gifsbysimplysonia​, @multireality​, @saltyspiceduh​, @sergeantangel​, @sarcasm-is-my-native-tounge​, @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky, @dispatchvampire​, @superapplepie​, @rynabarnesrogers-reading​, @im-not-great-at-making-up-names​, @imaginedreamwrite​, @thesefleshfailures, @mrsbarnes32557038​, @tellthemall-i-saidhi​​, @tacohead13​​, @opalsandlace​​, @notsomellowmushroom​​, @river-soul​, @ollypopp​, @byssheplease​, @kimberliinabox​, @ughofcourse​, @sebbystanlover-vk​, @vale0413​, @donutloverxo​

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

7 11 15 21? If you fancy ❤

absolutely!! <3 i’m doing this on my phone, hopefully it doesn’t look too weird lol

7. a song that makes you want to dance

whenever “waterloo” by abba comes on in my playlist, I am legally obligated to drop whatever I’m doing and have a little dance party!! waterloo is absolutely the reason why it takes me so darn long to do any sort of chore 😂

honorable mention also goes out to “tayo’y magsayawan” by vst and co. mostly because the music video is an absolute vibe

like?? oh to be grooving on an expressway in the 70s to filipino earth wind and fire......

11. a song that means a lot to you

this goes three ways: “happy” by mitski (it’s my most listened-to song on spotify for a reason :p), “I bet on losing dogs” by mitski (it hits somewhere but I’m still not sure where), and “a song for you” by carpenters (looped it during a bus trip to an austrian village and. yeah)

15. a song to listen to on rainy days

“silent woods” for cello by dvorak, played by jackie du pré <3

21. a song that reminds you of the moon

the first song that came to my head was “no one else” from great comet LMAOOO bc natasha sings abt the moon in the FIRST LINE.....

but upon deeper reflection it’s gotta be “it’s only a paper moon” by ella fitzgerald…I just imagine taking a moonlight walk w a loved one and 🥺

[elysiumwaits]

Hey! For the two words prompt, can I request some ‘moonlight dancing’, please? I’ve had a craving for some slow dancing fic for a while now and I’d love to see what you do with it. As for the pairing, some Sterek, Stucky, Merthur or even some Thor/Bruce, if any of those inspire you. Thank you. 😊

Well, the good news is that I’ve got 1800 words of sappy wedding reception Stucky for you. The bad news is that I completely dropped the ball on the “moonlight” part of the “moonlight dancing” prompt. So if you could just picture a giant moon as the backdrop for this fic, I’d appreciate it.

My timeline for this fic puts this in the February of 2019, because timelines are hard in the MCU anyway. So this would put this fic before Doris Day passed away in May. Also, I believe the MCU puts Bucky Barnes somewhere around the age of 95? So I played with that a bit.

Here, you’ll need these, make yourself a playlist and set them up for the duration of the fic:

Doris Day version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7j8wa9sWOE

Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6TmogXhOZ8

Kate Smith: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dh8hW0irwpo

I refuse to link to Michael Buble because I can't stand listening to him sing thanks to many years of having to listen to one album of his on repeat at a book and toy store I worked at (and then, for two months out of the year, his Christmas album).

Nothing to tag for, no spoilers here.

I Linger On, Dear on AO3

The garden was lit by strings of fairy lights that zig-zagged overhead, and every-so-often by the big burning lanterns along the walkway that burned primarily to provide warmth to the party-goers. The moonlight did a lot for them as well, big and full above, not drowned out by the light pollution of the city. The party itself was dying down, guests having gone inside to the mansion to warm up and start saying their goodbyes, or perhaps be enticed into one more drink by their charming host and hostess. 

Most of the people they knew as friends but not family would dissipate, unable to be swayed by even Tony Stark’s extensive liquor collection and insistence that they have “one more, just one more, I’m paying for all the safe transportation home, after all.” If Tony didn’t manage to convince them, Pepper just might try to ply them with the wine she can’t actually have at six and a half months pregnant. 

Their family, though, won’t leave - there are rooms throughout the mansion, plenty of them, but most of them won’t be even approached until close to dawn, and it’s only a quarter until midnight now. The big celebration is over, but the smaller, more important one is just beginning, and will no doubt carry on through the night with drunken, half-sleepy conversations with people who recognize that these truly blissful moments are few and far between. 

The band has packed up and gone home. Their set ended at eleven, even though Clint had to be lured away from the drummer’s kit by Natasha promising him some complicated, fancy-sounding drink that was probably just going to be vodka, V8, and Sprite. Even after he’d gotten out of the band’s hair enough that they could pack up and be tipped generously by Tony, the drummer had loudly wondered where he’d put his drumsticks, none the wiser to Clint (accidentally) taking a souvenir. 

As a result, the dance floor is empty, but there’s a Bluetooth speaker built into the pavilion that Steve is taking full advantage of, albeit very quietly. His suit isn’t as neat as it was earlier, and the drink in his hand does absolutely nothing to get him anywhere even close to drunk, but he’s probably the happiest he’s ever been. He’s enjoying the peace and quiet of the garden, the distant sounds of revelry filtering through the open doors of the mansion, and the pavilion is heated so he’s not even cold. 

“I want you to know that I still think an outdoor reception in the middle of February is a little ridiculous,” a warm voice says from behind him.

Steve grins and waits without turning on the bench for Bucky to get closer. He expects for Bucky to sit down next to him, but instead he gets arms wrapped around him from behind, looping across his shoulders while Bucky’s chin rests gently on the top of his head. 

“That can’t be comfortable,” Steve says, grin widening. “Stealth big-spooning doesn’t count.”

“Well, if you would give me a shot at it one of these nights.” Bucky sounds amused though, and pulls away to come around the bench and stand in front of Steve.

He looks good, jacket lost and sleeves of his white button-up rolled halfway up his forearms. The tie he’d worn is undone and just hanging out of the collar of his shirt, while his hair falls halfway out of the neat ponytail he’d been wearing all day. He’s, in short, a bit of a rumpled mess, which is just how Steve likes him.

“What, you haven’t heard enough of this song?” Bucky teases when he finally hears the soft music playing through the speakers. “The Doris Day version, isn’t it? Turn it up.”

Steve obliges by reaching for his phone and turning the volume up a couple of notches, just in time to hear Doris Day sing about sweet dreams and leaving all worries behind you. They listen for the last little bit of the song before it fades away, and jazz trumpets begin. Bucky smiles then, as Ella Fitzgerald begins to sing about stars shining bright.

“Mr. Barnes,” Bucky says, and holds out his hand, “may I have this dance?”

“You may, Mr. Rogers,” Steve replies, taking his hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet, even as Bucky huffs out a laugh.

“I realize it’s your maiden name, but these days when I hear it I think of sweaters and the neighborhood.” Bucky falls into the lead role of the slow, swaying dance they do, metal hand placed on Steve’s waist while his other fingers curl around Steve’s. It’s a throwback to when Steve was smaller, when it made more sense for Steve to follow when Bucky was attempting to teach him to dance. Now they’re the same height, but here, Steve holds Bucky’s hand and rests his other on Bucky’s shoulder.

A faux-put-upon sigh escapes Steve. “I know, that’s why we went with Barnes. Trust me, I’ve been hearing it for years now, I don’t need it from you too.” He lets Bucky slowly move them around the empty dance floor as the soft music plays and Louis Armstrong comes in to sing with Ella. 

“I don’t think the band did a bad job with it,” Bucky says after a long moment of swaying and listening. “It’s just too bad Doris Day wasn’t available, or that we didn’t get married early enough for Kate Smith or Ella Fitzgerald.”

“Doris Day is ninety-seven, Bucky,” Steve chides. “She didn’t need Tony Stark bribing her to sing our wedding song.”

“I’m ninety-seven.” Bucky chooses that moment to guide Steve into a slow spin, letting go of Steve’s waist and lifting a hand to let Steve turn, before tugging him back even closer than before. “But you probably don’t want me trying to croon into a microphone, if how you react to my karaoke is any indication.”

“Little hard to dance with you if you perform your own wedding song, Buck.” 

Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong fade away, leading into soft guitar, and Bucky wrinkles his nose. “Skip this one,” he says, pausing their dance.

Steve fishes the phone out from his suit pocket, rolls his eyes and bites a smile back as he does as he’s asked. “I think Michael Buble is nice.”

Kate Smith starts to sing, piano playing to accompany. It’s not the version they heard back in the day, instead the one from the 1950s show, but Bucky starts to move them across the dance floor once more. 

“He screwed up the tempo,” Bucky says. “It’s too fast. The one that came out in the 60s did too, I don’t remember what they were called.”

“The Mamas and the Papas.” Steve can’t fight the smile anymore. He’s just so ridiculously happy, and there’s a gold band glinting off the fairy lights around them on the ring finger of his left hand. “And then there’s that guy with Lily Allen. I liked that one too.”

He knows there’s a matching gold ring on a chain underneath Bucky’s white shirt. He hadn’t wanted to wear it on the Winter Soldier arm, still a sore subject more than anything, and he’d considered briefly wearing it on his right hand before finally settling on the chain he swears to Steve he’ll never take off except to shower or if he’s undercover. Steve has a chain as well - the ring isn’t terribly comfortable under the gloves of his suit, after all. 

“What have you got to smile about?” Bucky pesters, like he’s not grinning too. “You’re stuck with me for good now, punk. No refunds or exchanges. You don’t even have the receipt, so HYDRA definitely won’t take me back now.”

“I think technically I stole you, so I wouldn’t have a receipt anyway.” Steve flexes his hand in Bucky’s, squeezing tight, but is careful not to do the same with the hand on Bucky’s left shoulder. 

Bucky drags Steve even closer, until his hand isn’t on his waist but instead on Steve’s lower back. “You’re telling me I married a thief? I want a divorce.” At Steve’s laugh, he adds, gentler, “What are you smiling about, Stevie?”

“Sam’s best man speech,” Steve teases, even though they both know that’s not exactly what’s got him so happy. “He spent the whole time insulting you, and you still cried. You can’t fool me, Buck, I saw you wipe a tear away when you thought nobody was looking.”

“Only because he was my best man, and he spent the whole time insulting me.” Bucky’s grumbling, but he can’t hide the twinkle in his eye. “Seriously, ‘you stay on a man’s left for years and his elderly ex-boyfriend shows up to sweep him off his feet, so now you gotta move even farther to the left,’ and people laughed! Clint asked if I got a senior discount on my suit.”

Steve laughs. “You were the one that asked about a senior discount on the suit when we went to get them fitted!” 

The playlist loops around, and Doris Day starts again. 

Bucky leans forward, pressing his cheek to Steve’s. “What are you smiling about, Steve? What’s got you so happy?” he asks one more time, softly, like he doesn’t already know, while Doris Day softly sings that night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you.’

“You said it yourself,” Steve murmurs, couldn’t stop grinning even if he wanted to. “I’m stuck with you for good now. No refunds or exchanges, don’t even have the receipt.” He pauses, loops his arm more firmly around Bucky’s neck. “‘Til the end of the line.”

“Sap,” Bucky says, and his voice is a little rough, just like it had been during Sam’s best man speech. “You’re gonna whip out that line every time you get the chance, huh? Just because you know it gets to me.”

“Well, it is actually a vow now. The ‘’til death do us part’ vow obviously didn’t apply to either of us, so I had to get creative.” They’ve stopped actually moving their feet, just standing and holding each other while swaying. “Now you know how much I mean it.”

“I always knew you meant it,” Bucky says. “Now stop trying to make me cry at my own wedding reception for the second time in one night.”

“Third.”

“One of those was at the altar, not the reception, it doesn’t count.” Bucky starts to pull away, but Steve holds fast. “I was supposed to come and bring you inside. They’re probably taking blackmail photos from the windows.”

“You called the official photos that we paid for blackmail too.” Steve tugs Bucky back into him, pressing himself close. “One more dance.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, relaxes and starts to guide them around the floor once more. “One more. But in your dreams, whatever they be…”

Above them, the lights twinkle, and around them drifts the soft lyrics of their song, as they slowly sway together. Steve smiles, and listens to Bucky’s off-key singing, gentle in his ear.

“Dream a little dream of me.”

[mawwart]

What’s ur most listened to song/artist/playlist? (Am I trying to get new music??? No I am yes I’m not <3)

Oh god anon my taste in music is ALL over the place. SO I uh picked out SOME that I usually end up listening to on loop.

Greta van fleet - light my love

Greatest comedian - matt maltese

Junk of the heart (happy) the kooks

Hyukoh- when october goes (HIGHLY rec Hyukoh ABSOLUTE angel)

Warm glow - hippo campus

Most non heinous - earth girls are easy (found this one bc the movie is one of my fav bad movies ever its so funny)

Someday we’ll linger in the sun - gaelynn lea

Exist for love - aurora

Paolo Nutini - one day

I Monster - Who is She? Here's just some artist that I can listen to just about anything they put out and vibe with Nate Ruess (ESPECIALLY The Grand Romantic ALL of the album art the songs UGH fav album for YEARS)

Orville Peck

Lord Huron

Matt Maltese

Mother Mother (BLESS I've been listening to them since middle school❤️❤️❤️) In a previous ask I came from a more musically inclined family and like generations of my family have played SOME kinda instrument or sang (I sing like a crow and can't play for shit lmao) BUT I am absolutely a radio rat. Every car ride HAD to have the radio on so I grew up with a LOT of country music (when country was a little less about drinking a beer and having a pickup truck and that's it. The country I grew up with had that and also saying "fuck work the boss is a dickhead live how you want" so. take that as you will ig) and tons and tons and TONS of 80-90's rock, pop, r&b, rap and everything else. Not to mention plenty of 2000's music since I was actually alive during that but y'know. ALSO my love for oldies music came around in I think middle school? Started with the songs that most people know from Paul Anka, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald and just kinda grew from there into a big ol oldies MESS So uh,,, sorry for that ramble here's a playlist I made for Odie made up of random songs that remind me of him, his relationships or just his story COYOTE

[readonline]

https://nyti.ms/2YtyPE0 25, 2019 at 09:12PM

I feared that my childhood had ruined me for romance.

My mother raised me alone, just the two of us, in five states and nine different houses. Sometimes we were broke, but we always had fun. She made every day beautiful. We ate pancakes for dinner, grew watermelon in the garden, picked raspberries.

I had always imagined myself married, but how could marriage ever compare to the enchantment of my childhood?

We had dogs, cats, ferrets. Wild animals showed up like messengers from fairy tales: a black snake by the river, dragonflies skimming the pond. When we lived in Florida, a baby manatee once brushed our bodies in the bay. When we lived in Maryland, my mother took care of injured birds of prey, one-eyed owls and hawks with broken wings.

We were always telling stories. Remember when? And then you said! And then I said! We laughed all the time.

When I was 27 and living in Vermont, I fell in love with Jeff, a fly fisherman and hunter who also crooned show tunes, read The New Yorker and wore an apron to bake scones.

But I was scared of being married. In fact, I backed out of our big Cape Cod wedding a month before the date. We eventually got married in the living room of our apartment at midnight during a New Year’s Eve party. “By the way,” we announced at 11:45, “we’re getting married in 15 minutes.”

My mother wasn’t at the wedding, only a handful of friends and a few strangers. I called her the next morning to tell her.

“You’re pregnant!” she said, gleefully.

Nope. Just too cowardly to declare our commitment in front of friends and family. But she didn’t care how I got married; she was happy I had gone through with it at all.

My mother lost her memory three years later on Dec. 23, when Jeff and I were home on Cape Cod for a Christmas visit. Bing Crosby, Ella Fitzgerald and Nat King Cole were singing carols; the house smelled of sugar. When Jeff and I walked on the icy beach, there were Christmas lights reflecting in the water.

Later, my mother went upstairs with a bad headache. When we checked on her, she was disoriented, blinking like someone woken from a long sleep. She couldn’t remember that it was Christmas. She couldn’t remember that it was winter.

We know our parents will grow old, but this wasn’t a slow fumbling toward frailty. It was like something had snapped. We led her out to the car and drove her to the hospital.

When I was finally allowed into the intensive care unit, my stepfather, Tom, was standing by her bed, looking scared.

“Oh, hi,” my mother said when she saw me. She looked around the room. “Where am I? What happened?”

My stepfather and I exchanged looks.

“You’re in the hospital,” he said. “You got a terrible headache.”

“My head does hurt.” She touched her temple.

“Then you lost your memory.”

“I was walking around and — poof! — my memory was gone?”

“You’re not having a stroke,” Tom said. “They ruled that out.”

“At least my memory’s back,” she said. She glanced down at her hands on the white sheets. “So, what happened?” she said, looking up. “Where am I?”

“Your turn,” my stepfather said to me.

“This is the hospital, Mom. I guess you lost your memory.”

“Really? I was walking around and — poof! — my memory was gone?”

“It started with a headache —— ”

“My head does hurt.” She touched her temple. “I’m just glad my memory’s back.” She looked around the room, at the metal bed, the beeping machines. “So what happened?” she said. “Where am I?”

I felt a terrible wave crashing on us. For several hours we took turns answering her loop of questions. When we told my mother that we were home for Christmas, she said, “But I didn’t buy any presents! I never made cookies.”

“You did,” we told her. “Don’t worry about that.”

We had that conversation maybe 30 times.

CT scan. Spinal tap. She peed in a cup and then forgot she had peed in a cup and eyed the container suspiciously. Her headache went away. She perked up, made a joke, laughed, then a minute later made the same joke. And again. And again.

She remembered everything about the distant past. My childhood, her childhood. Those old memories weren’t in danger. But she had no short-term memory. I felt the ache of this new reality. I was planning to have babies soon, and she wouldn’t remember meeting them, no matter how many visits we made. I wanted to sell a book, but even if I achieved that dream, she would never know me as a writer. I would be 33 forever, and she 62. We were frozen in time.

My beautiful mother, the keeper of my childhood memories, would not — it seemed clear — be able to keep any memories of my adulthood.

“So where am I?” she said. “What happened?”

“It started with a headache,” Jeff said, taking over when my stepfather and I were too tired. “And then you lost your memory.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” she said. “I remember a hospital, but it was a different hospital. And I remember people, but they were different people. The whole place was full of light. And we were all working so hard! It was a herculean effort.”

I stood near my new husband. I held his hand.

I finally cornered the doctor, who told me they believed she was experiencing transient global amnesia, a sudden memory loss that occurs in 5 in 100,000 people. It lasted about 12 hours and rarely recurred. There were no side effects.

“You couldn’t have told me this three hours ago?” The adrenaline of relief gripped my muscles.

My mother moved into a private room. My stepfather stayed the night. Jeff and I went back to the house, where we got undressed and slid under the blankets.

From the bed we could see the frozen pond through the window. There were geese on the ice. I felt how securely the image of the pond was lodged already in my memory. It was as lovely and lonely a thing as I had ever seen.

“You know what?” I reached under the pillow and took Jeff’s hand. We looked at each other, wide-awake, although it was 2 a.m. “I feel like this could explain alien abductions.”

Jeff shook his head. “I might need a little more,” he said.

“Think about it. The missing time. The weird warped memory of being in another hospital with other people.”

“I think you need sleep,” he said.

“I think I’ve just solved a really unsettling mystery.”

In the morning, my mother’s memory returned. She didn’t recall the night in the hospital, but she remembered where she had hidden the Christmas gifts. We found the cookies she had baked. On Christmas morning we ate cinnamon rolls for breakfast, just as she and I had every Christmas for as long as I could remember.

I thought romance would be like a fairy tale. I thought it would be like my childhood. A beautiful adventure. Wild creatures stalking through lonely forests. Raspberries plucked from the vine. The actual motifs of my married life (which now includes a 100-year-old house and three children) are plastic dinosaurs, public pools, soccer games, flat tires, lost jobs, hospital beds.

Sometimes marriage is downright unpleasant. There have been times Jeff and I stopped talking to each other. There have been times we wondered if we wanted to be married at all. Some may call marriage a herculean task. I’m not that good at it. I can be distant. I can be exacting. I demand a kind of focused attention and then feel smothered by it. But maybe that’s not surprising. I grew up with a single mother, and our intimacy was effortless and magical.

So marriage isn’t the romantic thing I once imagined. But what other word is there for the ineffable force that keeps you coming back, coming home, night after night, returning to family and love? What else captures that sense of collaborating to create magic and adventure for your children, the way my mother did for me?

The night my mother lost her memory was a turning point for me. It was the night I realized Jeff and I would be the keeper of future memories.

And we are. When our babies are big, when they have moved out, when our parents are gone, we will tell the stories. The camping trip, the escaped chicken, the canceled flight, the flooded basement, the fights, disappointments and glee. We collect those things now so we can recollect them later. We’re pulling memories like shells out of the sea. We’re filling our pockets.

We’re collecting a life together. If that’s not romantic, I don’t know what is.

More Modern Love

It Wasn’t My Wedding Ring. It Was My Only Ring.

Apr 5, 2019

Tiny Love Stories: ‘Will You Please Forgive Me?’

Jul 16, 2019

Miciah Bay Gault lives in Vermont. Her first novel, “Goodnight Stranger,” will be published July 30.

Modern Love can be reached at modernlove@nytimes.com.

To hear Modern Love: The Podcast, subscribe on iTunes or Google Play Music. To read past Modern Love columns, click here. Continue following our fashion and lifestyle coverage on Facebook (Styles and Modern Love), Twitter (Styles, Fashion and Weddings) and Instagram.

From Modern Love

[floofsta-x]

Get to Know Me / 30 Questions Tag

Though I’ve done this one before (I think,) I decided to redo it because a lot of people are curious and have tagged me in it in the last couple days! If I missed anyone, holler: @stopkihyun ❤︎, @x--monpechemignon ❤︎, @missyou-mp3 ❤︎, @vchangkyun ❤︎, @diamondsforyoo ❤︎, @kimiin ❤︎, and @yeommyyug ❤︎!

This is long, so I’m putting it under a keep reading

Rules: Answer 30 questions and then tag 20 people you would like to know better !!

Nicknames: Mainly Bry, I answer to both Bryony and Bry~ I was also known around the internets as Blue in my younger days.

Gender: cis female

Star Sign: Virgo

Height: Somewhere between 5′9″ and 5′10″.

Time: At posting, 12:18 am

Birthday: September 20th

Favorite bands: (lowkey copy + pasting from a previous answer haha) 

Monsta X (2CHAIN), BIGBANG, VIXX, the group formerly known as HISTORY :(, ASTRO, Cross Gene, Pentagon, BAP, Block B, GOT7, ToppDogg, 24K, KNK, IMFACT, UP10TION, Super Junior, SHINee, Boys Republic, Day6, FTIsland, Royal Pirates, Romeo, the group formerly known as SISTAR, Blackpink

Outside of K-Pop/Rock: Def Leppard, Journey, Air Supply, AC/DC, Tower of Power, Skillet, Disciple, Thousand Foot Krutch, Caravan Palace, Cheat Codes, Blasterjaxx, Daft Punk, NERO

Favorite Solo Artists: All of the BIGBANG boys individually, Jooheon (of course??), Oliver Heldens, Throttle, John Dahlbäck, Jonathan Mendelsohn, Skrillex, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, and probably a ton I’m forgetting because I listen to far too much music to recall all of it at once...

Song stuck in your head: I’ve had Sweet Dreams by Air Supply on repeat in my head all day, so now I have it on loop in Spotify.

Last show you watched: Weird Wonders of the World (BBC) with my family on the Netflixs

Last Movie I watched: Um I think London has Fallen, with my parents

When did you create your blog: Um my first post is June of last year but I think I created the blog before that.

What do I post: All the Kpop Boybands ever, but primarily my loves, dorks, and owners of my heart, Monsta X

Last thing you googled: other than google search history... Peter Dinklage! We were talking about him at the supper table the other night.

Do you have other blogs: Yes, I have a secondary main and fic blog under the pen name Ellyne, at @nice-n-floofy and @ellynefics. Let’s see, @hithere-rapmon is my BTS blog. @ppdc-mx is my bliss blog of MX/Pacific Rim crossover au. @bryony-raylene-rps is my (now out of use) RP blog. I also own a ton of other urls and things that aren’t in use. I have a custom page set up with a list if you truly have to know all of them. haha.

Do you get asks: yes, often, from my lovely mutuals and when I put out an ask game or something 💖

Why did you choose your url: my floofy boys are floofy. Also my friend Fiona was like THAT’S SUCH A CUTE URL

Following: 1093 right now. I was so happy when I hit 1000 :)) I want to follow every monbebe blog on this site :))

Followers: I hit 400 today, I think it’s at 403 now??

Favorite colors: Greens of all shades, green-blues, dark pinks

Average hours of sleep: 6-8

Lucky number: I’ve never really determined, but 23 and 42 have always been great for me.

Instruments: this was in my blog description for a long time until I shortened it for my new desktop theme recently. I’m a music major, and I primarily play clarinet and saxophone (Tenor & Alto). Since I’m in the education program, I can barely play the rest of the instruments as well. In addition, I sing in choir (took private voice lessons for years), drummed on a church praise team, and took piano lessons for a while too (though I suck now lmao).

What am I wearing: ..uh just underwear and pants? It’s hot!

How many blankets do I sleep with: 2, a light sheet and a soft fuzzy one. I rarely have the soft fuzzy one on me though.

Dream Job: I used to think I knew (college music professor), but I’m not so sure anymore :((

Dream trip: A tour of Europe! If not that, a while in the Colorado Rockies <33

Favorite food: Ask my family, I’m obsessed with Kraft Mac n’ Cheese. If not that, lasagna.

Nationality: White (Swedish, German, Irish, Scottish)

Favorite song right now: Sweet Dreams by Air Supply... help...

I’m too lazy to tag look at that

[splitshortsyeah]

Blu 'Her Favorite Colo(u)r'

-Matt Duelka

Nobody gets to where you need to go without someone there to show you the way. Anyone who tells you otherwise, well, fuck ‘em.

I had a dude, a guy, a mentor if you will, that saw some potential – as small as it may have been – and decided I was worth the trouble. I mean, I wasn’t. BUT NEVERTHELESS, HE PERSISTED.

It’s 2007 and I’m prepping for a radio show during my junior year of college – a classic rap song, some indie dude I came across that might be good, yeah that’s the stuff. I’m pretty oblivious to what’s trending and any artists that have gained traction amongst the internet’s graces – but I like what I know and that’s what I’m gonna play.

“You gotta play this tonight”

*Throws CD at me*

That’s the dude. Anything he said I took as gold, so I scratched a few songs I thought were slappers (they definitely weren’t) and scribbled the ‘Promo Only’ CD into my 2am to 4am set.

“Listen to it first. It’s all fire. This kid is gonna be a game changer.”

I got some time. So I loaded that disc into the 1997 boombox in the corner and began an impromptu lesson on rap.

“Bllllluuuuuuuuuu-uuuu-uuuuuuuuu”

Tuggle was my guy -- DJ Tuggle. First time I met him was when I went to go see about becoming a radio DJ. He said “I just did an interview with Method Man. Fuckin’ A, man.” A few weeks later I was sitting in the staff room, meeting all of the radio DJs. I told them my favorite rap album was Atmosphere’s ‘God Loves Ugly’. As stupid as that was, I think I earned some points for not just going with ‘Illmatic’ or ‘Ready to Die’. Many years and rap debates later I asked Tuggle to DJ my wedding. He asked “You sure?”. No one could have made that night better than he did.

“This kid is from LA. Could be the best rapper ever some day.” Maybe he didn’t say that. But he wanted to. Tuggle knew his shit.

I’m sitting in the staff room listening to ‘Below the Heavens’ by the rapper Blu (produced by another southern LA guy named Exile). FLOORED. Literally, jaw to the filthy, dusty, hasn’t-been-mopped-in-years ground. It wasn’t a typical west coast jawn, though. Exile learned by listening to LA-based Madlib, and Detroit’s King of Beats J Dilla. Blu found Exile while collabing with Aloe Blacc (who was in a group with Exile called Emanon). Blu has said to be influenced incredibly by Common – trying to be a calm and composed -- yet compassionate rapper. Exile saw him perform and loved the style – the two meshed. ‘Below the Heavens’, now, is a way to know if someone knows their shit about rap music. It’s a classic, should be a globally acclaimed masterpiece, but only the folks who know what’s up know how good this album is. So now I’m a Blu STAN, stalking his updates for any bites on new music. Singles and collabs here and there (‘Johnson&Johnson’ – a joint album with Mainframe -- was a solid taste to hold me over) but I needed a bigger plate of Blu to keep satiated.

[Quick break of the 4th wall – I may be cheating because the mixtape I am about to talk about actually came out in 2009 on Blu’s Myspace, but then eventually became an album sometime between 2010 and 2011. I can’t recall, but I wanted to write about it, so here I am, and here we are].

As one does on the internet, one gets lost in the searches, and ‘next’ and ‘next’ and you’re on page 14 with 9 tabs open at 3:30am and you don’t know why you haven’t given it a rest. But that’s when you most likely will come across gold. I can’t recall exactly, but it’s 2009 and I’m probably 10 Busch Beers in and there’s a link on a blog with not much to it.

‘Download BluHerFavoriteColour.mp3’. Sure. Let’s see what the dude is up to. Maybe it’s a new single, maybe he’s on a new track with Exile. Worth checking out.

[Download. Open. Check length] 31mins long. Huh. No tracks, no explanation. Just a 31min track drop at 3am on a Friday. Welp. Here it goes.

[7 plays through on loop later0.

Yeah. I have no idea what this is, but please, give me more.

Blu released ‘Her Favorite Colour’ on his Myspace. Just randomly threw out it there and, artistically, it was one of the inspirational things I had listened, or absorbed, in quite a while. Since ‘Below the Heavens’ had come out, Blu seemed to be evolving. As I mentioned, ‘Below the Heavens’ was a classic. But it was a rapper and a producer doing a thing really, really f’n well. All of Blu’s stuff after that seemed to want more. I compare it to what Phonte (Little Brother, Foreign Exchange) said about a lot of fans complaining that Foreign Exchange’s albums that followed their first one (‘Connected’) weren’t in any way the same, even though ‘Connected’ was also a classic album. Phonte basically said ‘Connected’ was what it was but they could never just do a ‘Connected 2’. They had to move on because they succeeded in what they wanted to do -- but in order to progress as artists, they needed to evolve themselves into something different musically (their future albums’ sound, he has said, is more of why they formed Foreign Exchange in the first place – not just to be a rapper and a producer, but more than that). Blu wanted to do more and ‘Her Favorite Colour’ was his foray into that.

Blu seemed to take sounds and techniques of producers he worked with, but also what he did mostly was want to emphasize his childhood in his music – utilizing gospel-esque sounds and old jazz with a lo-fi mood. At this point, we all knew Blu could rap, so this tape seemed to be a test in the waters of ‘why not?’…what did he have to lose?’

The tape was birthed not just from his inspirations and childhood tunes, but also from a severed relationship which I could only assume, but definitely have no sources to confirm, was the relationship consistently mentioned in ‘Below the Heavens’. Sucks it didn’t work out, but glad something positive could come out of it.

[Billie Holiday “Am I Blue” Horn Solo] “I used to have…”

As is with some other mixtapes, I originally expected some interesting but already very produced beats (maybe renditions of other popular rap) with just Blu rapping over them. But the cover art (or better yet, Thumbnail art?) spoke to me a little different. It was telling me this was something more than a 50 Cent type deal. And from the gun this tape had my eyes open and ears peeled to the speakers. You think you get the jest of what artists are gonna do – or what they should do in order to showcase talent and get you to listen to their jams. Even though this tape isn’t monumental, and the production value isn’t top tier, it takes a lot to be SURPRISED these days, and this was something that even Left Field didn’t have on their radar.

I have to admit, it took me a few days of constant listening to even UNDERSTAND what the tape was. There were no tracks, I couldn’t tell if there were interludes or parts of songs. You couldn’t, and still can’t, pull a few minutes from that tape and try to sell it as a single, or “Hey give this a listen what do you think?” It’s 31mins or bust.

Sure, I’ve probably hyped this tape up to ‘Da Drought 3’ levels, so sue me. But it made an impact for numerous reasons. The first would be the simplicity of it all. Blu took old era jazz, and instead of turboing up a Thelonious Monk piano riff, he cut and lo-fi’d the hell out of it. But I was still sitting in the jazz club. And it was me and the 30 others who were rifling the internet for something different. I’ve got a cheap gin martini, cigarette smoke everywhere. That’s the vibe. Billie Holliday and Ella Fitzgerald HAUNTED this tape. Their voices eerily present – I can feel it in my bones. But it’s not sad. Like, I’m not in my feelings. There’s a definite broken heart involved, but nobody is crying.

“Goooood Moorrrrrning…”

Ella’s sample on “Morning” is most memorable for me. The voice is great, but it’s not 100% the main reason why the sample and track stand out. More so because of how the music and how Blu splices movie dialogue over it – they juxtapose each other so well. And the fact that there is nothing BUT movie dialogue – but we will get into this one a little deeper in a little bit.

My favorite sample – well co-favorite —is Astrud Gillberto’s “Corcovado”’s sample on “Silent”. It’s 35 seconds long, no rapping, but the IDEA of what this track could become is what makes it incredible. I can imagine a 4 and a half minute SLAPPER of a track and I git GIDDY. Nothing about the 35 seconds should scream at you, BANGER, but to me, it’s a lovely and jarring coupla cuts of Gillberto’s voice, the piano is perfect, but the MVP is what I believe to be in-between breaths that Blu spliced in, very specifically. It’s flawless.

PHEW.

The other sample that shares high honors for a COMPLETELY different reason is Radiohead’s “You and Whose Army” on “Untitled(Loveu)2”. It’s mainly because – WHY THE FUCK IS BLU FLIPPING, LITERALLY FLIPPING, A RADIOHEAD TRACK. The answer is, because he fucking can. The lyrics on this one are split into 2 entirely different thoughts yet sewn together quite nicely. At first he’s LITERALLY explaining why he’s making this tape, and what you should be expecting from him (in comparison to other rappers).

“I plotted, planned it for a year or so Hoping folks hear Below And see I'm not the same as Lil Wayne They say I bond with the spiritual But hollar if you hear me though”

He also jumps in on his breakup, which is the MAIN arching theme of this tape – giving him an outlet to get what needs to off his chest. This “track” is also located towards the end of the 31mins so it could be a wrap up of everything he’s been talking about and what he wants everyone to know moving forward.

You can listen to this 30, 40, 50 times (which I did for the first 3 days) and you can solely enjoy the smooth offerings of the musical interpretations that Blu is delivering without focusing on the other things. To be honest, this tape was one of the first recordings where I actively searched for the samples used because they were so blatant, but also so alluring. It’s become quite the pastime over the last 10 years, and I HIGHLY recommend playing this game with all of your friends. I also am able to SEE the samples in these, and imagine CREATING the finished product, and get so inspired by it. If I ever dove into music production, I’d have this tape as my blueprint for what I’d want to create. I’ve never been as jealous of a recording as I was this one. Nothing too fancy, but able to alter the sound just enough to create a new atmosphere around it.

At some point, though, you need to stop and focus on the other, maybe MORE, interesting aspect of this tape (MORE!?!?!). Blu not only samples some stellar jazz tunes, but he also splices in movie clips from some fairly middle of the pack independent flicks that just you make say “Of course he did.” There was no Scarface, no Godfather clips. Pitfork said it best in their review – “Blu seems like the kind of rapper who’s really proud of his DVD collection.” I’m talking Punch Drunk Love, The Life Aquatic, and the best one in there was from Closer (best maybe isn’t the BEST word for this…).

Oh man.

I teased it earlier, but needed to time to warm up into discussing this. If you’ve never seen the movie ‘Closer” I highly recommend you do it. But not because the movie is that good (I actually don’t remember how good it was. It was probably okay. I saw it in the theatres while in High School. Maybe I was in over my head), but because this would make a lot more sense. On the track “Morning”, right after Ella welcomes us, if you didn’t know the movie, you’re immediately hit with an incredibly vulgar-for-no-reason interlude that lasts way way too long. If you did know the movie, you immediately know you’re knee deep in a vital part of Clive Owen and Julia Roberts’ relationship issues (maybe similar to Blu’s? I hope not). I was floored that a young rapper from LA decided this, THIS was the clip needed for his tape.

If you didn’t want to be happy for 2 hours, I’m sure you can find time to watch the flick, but otherwise this part of the 31min tape does hit a big plot point – and is easily the most memorable “track” for no other reason than you have to cringe the entire few minutes (yes, this goes on for minutes) the two are jawin’ at each other. Just haymakers at each other right smack dab in the middle of the tape. If it’s your first listen, it’s hard to get through, but as soon as you get used to it, you start to get the popcorn ready and await a Ali/Forman-size rumble. But, make sure you’re by yourself, because if your wife or in-laws are around, you’ll definitely regret it.

“It tastes like you, but sweeter.”

“What in the HELL are you LISTENING to?!?”

The marriage of the samples from both the music and movies really opened my eyes to what is possible out there. I mean, Blu took this project on his own, without any funding or help from others, and just put it out there for everyone to see – “hey, I know I can rap, I know that shit was dope. But look at this. I can do it all.” I was a 22 year old when this first entered my life, and I was trying to figure out how I could bring unique, fun, and meaningful content into this world. This project was something I looked up to – even to this day – and I don’t mean “I’m gonna splice up some movie quotes and samples and send it out like he did.” More like, I can try something a little weird and a little unconventional with the talents I have and see if the world takes it.

And to anyone telling me none of this is revolutionary – I get it. The ground didn’t shake, and oceans didn’t part when this was dropped. But it hit me, it was like a whack on the funny bone and I’m sure it did the same to others too. But if someone wants to splice some movie clips on eerie jazz lady vocals and lo-fi that shit up – HIT ME WITH IT, I’M OPEN. I’LL EAT THAT UP ALL DAY.

It’s been 10 years, maybe 11. And I have to admit that I haven’t been able to push myself to doing that thing that this SHOULD have inspired me to do. I don’t know what my version of “Her Favorite Colour” is but I’m not afraid to keep looking. I cheated my way into writing about this for a reason. Accountability is key. I feel like Blu held himself accountable to become more than just that dude that rapped on ‘Below the Heavens’. I’m gonna be more than some dude who wrote this.