#tiny homes in Iowa City

[tinyhomesofiowa]

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[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Named After Locations Masterlist

A Little Bit Of California, With A Little Bit Of London Sky (ao3) - twelfthnlght

Summary: (alternatively, dan and phil go outside.)

on an impulsive road trip dan plans right before their high school graduation, the truth will out.

Australian Adventures (ao3) - shippercentral

Summary: An Instagram story of Dan and Phil’s island adventures in Australia seem normal, but what really went on behind the scenes? Why did Dan really cover up Phil’s face in that one story? This semi- normal get away seems to be leaving a lot of questions.

berlin (ao3) - waveydnp and dizzy

Summary: dan and phil meet at a hostel in berlin.

Dan and Phil's Stroll Through Japan (ao3) - cafephan

Summary: When Duncan and Mimei have to cancel on their plans with Dan and Phil for the day, they take it upon themselves to stroll around Japan by themselves.

Disney World Misadventures - auroraphilealis

Summary: Dan, a law student with parents so strict they make him come home every weekend, gets ditched by his friends at Disney World in Florida during his short summer holiday. Alone, he runs into an incredibly attractive YouTuber who nerds out about anime with him, and even buys him a tiny Ciel figurine. Dan, meanwhile, quickly finds himself falling in love, especially after they get it on in a Disney World bathroom.

Glimpses of Portugal (ao3) - adorkablephil (kimberly_a)

Summary: Dan and Phil went to Portugal together May 27-June 3, 2010, but very little is known about the trip. This is a random collection of ficlets that take place during that trip, occasionally incorporating some of the few actual tweets and photos from the trip. They aren't in any particular order, but they all take place during that holiday in Portugal.

how to survive a flight to australia - softiejace

summary:inspired by ���will dan and phil survive australia?” in which dan suffers through horror in the form of planes, noise, and other people. but hey, at least he’s in it with phil.

Iowa 80 - realityisnoplacetolive

Summary: In which Phil is stranded in Iowa.

It's Good To Be In Manchester (ao3) - danrifics

Summary: Dan and Phil are in Manchester visiting their friends Ian and Lauren Ian and Lauren’s daughter draws a cute photo of Phil.

(Based on a Phil insta story, link in notes)

Manchester (ao3) - ahappyphil

Summary: 13 March 2010 @amazingphil- “Looking at apartments in Manchester:]”

Memories in Melbourne (ao3) - hilariousandunappreciated

Summary: moments from Dan and Phil's instagram stories in Melbourne.

Moscow to Berlin (ao3) - outphan

Summary: What happens when they get horny on the plane?

New Zealand During Six AM (ao3) - watergator

Summary: Dan and Phil wake up early during their first day in new zealand to get some laundry done.

Phoenix Rising (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan challenges Phil to a period of forced abstinence while on tour in America. The game becomes unbearable, and each man has moments of weakness. In the end, it is all about passion and urgency.

That's What You Get (For Waking Up in Vegas) (ao3) - notanannoyingfangirl

Summary: While revisiting Vegas for Dan’s twenty fourth birthday, Dan and Phil both have a bit too much to drink…. and apparently wake up married. Dan’s not entirely sure that he wants a divorce, now he just has to convince Phil.

Under Vegas Lights (ao3) - LunarLoverrr (orphan_account)

Summary: It's the last night of their Nevada road trip, and Phil has the perfect date planned for his boyfriend. However, he hopes this date will be a stand out among the rest.

Vegas (ao3) - justhavesex

Summary: When Dan turns 30 and Dan makes a video titled 'Vegas', a short home made video with him and Phil at the alter in Vegas. Not when they were younger, but the current them. He wanted to live out everybody's fantasies about them getting married in Vegas, just a tiny bit.

Vegas Lights - softiejace

Summary:2012 is not going as planned, but phil still takes dan to vegas for his 21st birthday, the city that is said to hold adventure, risk and fortune – and maybe a flimsy hope for conciliation?

Venice: City Of Dreams (ao3) - expiredlove

Summary: Dan and Phil are on holiday in Venice, Italy, with two of their best friends. They discover the city with their unprofessional tour guide Phil and end their day with a romantic stop at the Accademia Bridge, which is known for its so called love locks.

We’re Going To Disney World! - dxnhowell

Summary: A future fic where Dan and Phil are no longer youtubers. They’re married and have two kids named Kaden and Josh. Josh decides that he wants to go to Disney World for his birthday this year.

[yes-perwallstedt]

The Wild have a matinee home game on my birthday so I was planning to make a day trip up to the cities as a treat, but my skating club has decided to put our winter show that day and skipping it is absolutely not an option unless I want to spend the next 8-9 months being guilt-tripped by a tiny Russian woman.

And Iowa’s on the road that weekend so I can’t even go see my local boys as a birthday treat 😔

[kneelbeforeclefairy]

I call them burn out studios. You can stuff a young person from Iowa in there for a few months while they try to make a career in fashion or theater or art or something and live the "New York City lifestyle!" For a year or so. But they're gonna get disillusioned real fast because you CANT do everything, you'll exhaust yourself, you're working constantly, for no pay, you're trying to do all the fun things constantly like you're on vacation, and then you come home to a tiny, boring , cramped studio that doesn't encourage growth or permanence (you can't buy bigger furniture if you need or want it,nonetheless have a partner, or a friend move in, and forget about having a kid) so you get tired. And you leave in a few years, ready for the next burnout. And of course most of your shit paycheck goes to this tiny studio.

It's a known thing in New York, because there is such a population of people who come here to "try it" who don't really intend on staying, so why make housing people can live in, when it's more important to just have a LOT of housing that turns over quickly. And it's one of the main things that contributes to the housing crisis where there isn't adequate housing for people who want to stay here, maybe have a family , nonetheless people who were BORN HERE and feel kicked out of their own home.

(and don't get me started on the Starter Family Apartments. They're also bad.)

But anyway, we get it. We're on islands, space is a premium, there's 9 million of us, we can't expect to live in huge houses in NYC (at least not by a subway! Though it does exist). But when you look at the square footage of a 1900s tenement apartment, and then look at your own apartment and compare the price...

I don’t think humans should be living in studio apartments or little one bedroom apartments you can barely turn around in. It’s like how the minimum tank size requirement for a betta fish is technically 2.5 gallons but you’re a monster if you put them in anything less than 5 gallons. I think people deserve at least one extra room in their house.

[tinyhousecalling]

c.1900 351 Sq Ft Tiny Bungalow Close to Downtown Iowa City $95,000

c.1900 351 Sq Ft Tiny Bungalow Close to Downtown Iowa City $95,000

Quite possibly THE cutest & smallest little bungalow in Iowa City. This adorable little Bungalow comes with a rental permit. 910 Highland Ave, Iowa City, IA, 52240 $95,000 1 bed 1 bath 351 sq ft 2,280 sq ft lot Build date 1900 Google Map Property Listing Realtor: Cindy Clark Urban Acres Real Estate Related: 687 Sq Ft Cute Small House on 4.63 Acre Lot w/ Pond in Atlanta MI About This c.1900 351…

[aiweirdness]

Planet Earth From Above

Melbourne, Australia: home of kangaroos, botanical gardens, and a surreal monolith, jutting impossibly tall and narrow above its unassuming neighbors.

[images from a video by reddit user fulltimespy, in a successful completion of the Monolith Challenge]

This is the virtual Melbourne of Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020, where players are flocking to see the weird building and, naturally, land on its roof, before the game is patched and the monolith disappears.

How did this happen? Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020 uses AI to fill in building details from a combination of satellite images and crowdsourced data from Open Street Maps. And at one point, someone who was entering building height data for Melbourne made a typo, accidentally changing a building height of 2 stories to 212. Monoliths are gradually being discovered in other places as well.

Even barring typos, the task of reconstructing every building in the world from height data and satellite photos is really tough. A roof’s details might give clues about whether a structure is a historic villa or an office block, but it’s easy to make mistakes if, for example, you don’t know what the Washington Monument is.

[screenshot posted by Reddit user NightReaper3210]

Because a nondescript office building is a reasonable default guess given a square building pad and a many-story height, the AI will tend to populate the planet with them unless specifically told otherwise. The Statue of Liberty, the Taj Mahal, and the Eiffel Tower are all lavishly hand-modeled in 3D. But The Motherland Calls statue of Volgograd is a condo high-rise, Buckingham Palace is an apartment complex, the Leaning Tower of Pisa is a vertical concrete silo, and the Pyramid of the Sun is a nondescript warehouse with a hilarious tiny dome on its roof.

[screenshot, posted on reddit by l4adventure]

The AI is also making its best guesses when it comes to traffic patterns. It knew that this Boston street intersected a building somehow but didn’t know that the road passed through the building via tunnel. So it had the traffic drive up the side of the building.

Other terrain glitches force the traffic to do even weirder things. If the road is suddenly tilted vertically along the wall of a newly created canyon in northwest Iowa, the traffic will still drive on the road, just… sideways.

Water levels in particular seem prone to being incorrect, sometimes drastically so. The Pingualuit Impact Crater of northern Canada was apparently inverted by one of these glitches.

[image by reddit user NovaSilisko]

Bergen, Norway, has been transformed by this bug into canyonlike terrain, its buildings forced to adapt to the suddenly steep ground, their roofs rising like mushrooms for dozens of stories. It’s otherworldly, unrecognizable.

[screenshot by Mikael Privatby]

Greenland, on the other hand, is terrifying. The available terrain and satellite data is less precise, so pixels are sometimes visible as square-edged neighborhood-sized patches of gravel. The far north is marked by 20,000 foot ice walls, improbable ice spikes, and strange shimmering rifts. The geographic North Pole itself is unreachable; players report that any attempt to descend below 2,000 feet results in the player being rocketed skyward by a strange repulsion force.

[20,000 foot ice wall image: reddit user unrelentingdespair]

[screenshot near the north pole: reddit user Feydakin_G]

Some Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020 players are thrilled with the unusual terrain, while others are disappointed when the photorealism is broken, and/or when their city’s distinctive architecture and most beloved landmarks are replaced by nondescript concrete jungle. The AI itself isn’t going to be able to reconstruct the world’s weirdness from satellite photos, so already people are crowdsourcing hand-modeled landmarks. You can install an add-on to convert Stonehenge, for example, from a miniature flattened Spinal Tap version to a full-sized 3D model.

As the developers tweak their algorithms and fix other things by hand, slowly the weirdness will be ironed out, the rivers and lakes set back in their beds, the statues restored to their detailed glory. Many will be disappointed when it happens - I’ll particularly miss the Melbourne Monolith. It would be nice to have a weirdness slider that goes from normal to Ragnarok, amplifying terrain chaos, perhaps adding the occasional floating mountain range or lava lake.

Subscribers get bonus content: I prompted GPT-3 to write an Atlas Obscura entry for the Melbourne Monolith. It added entries for a few other Melbourne landmarks, like the Artificial Gardens of Loria and The Very Pickled Centurion (did you know that the Lost Bar, like the Australian rules football lounge, is 10,000 light years away from the city it's located in?)

[aqueducts of Denali, screenshot by daveonthenet]

My book on AI, You Look Like a Thing and I Love You: How Artificial Intelligence Works and Why it’s Making the World a Weirder Place, is available wherever books are sold: Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s - Boulder Bookstore

[alj4890]

Day 4: Travel

Choices Red Carpet Diaries Appreciation Week

(Seth Levine x MC*Jessica Clarke) in a Choices Red Carpet Diaries Drabble (Taking place between books 1 and 2 before Jessica moved out of her cheap apartment)

Prompt: "Can we go ice skating?" "It's 70 degrees, where are we going to find ice?"

Song inspiration: Walking In a Winter Wonderland by Darlene Love

Rating G for nothing but Fluff

@choicesrcd2022 @hopelessromantic1352 @promptnonny @tessa-liam @twinkleallnight @trappedinfanfiction @flyawayboo @krsnlove

Masterlist

Hollywood Magic

Jessica sniffed as she finished trimming her tiny tree. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gazed at the pitiful little thing.

"You look like you should be Charlie Brown's tree."

Taking a stuttered breath, she tried to calm down before answering her door.

"Ho Ho Ho! Merry Chris-why are you crying?" Seth came in, arms filled with presents, and kicked the door shut.

Jessica shrugged. She swiped up a dish towel to wipe her face.

Seth set the gifts down on her kitchen table. He folded his arms and waited for her to explain.

She ignored the silent prompt and began to search for something to drink.

"You want anything?" She asked.

"Yeah." He replied. "I want to know why you're crying."

"Well I want to know why you're wearing a Santa hat." She quipped back. "I guess life is full of unsolved mysteries."

"Nice try, Iowa. But there can only be one comedian in this apartment building." He spread his arms out with a grin. "And you're looking at him."

Jessica rolled her eyes as she brushed past him to sit on the loveseat.

Seth pulled his hat off with a deep, over exaggerated sigh.

Plopping down next to her, he set his arm around her shoulders.

Tears began to fall freely once again.

"Will my work never cease?" He grumbled playfully. "Hey Jess?"

She looked up at him.

"What do you call a kid who doesn't believe in Santa?"

Her brow furrowed. "I don't know."

"A Rebel Without a Claus."

A heartbeat of silence fell between them before a tearful laugh slipped out.

"Whew. I was worried I had lost my touch there." He gently shook her. "What's going on?"

"I guess I'm homesick." She mumbled, dabbing at her eyes.

She then narrowed them at the sunshine spilling in through the windows. It was so... unnatural.

"I've never had a Christmas without my mom or snow."

"Ah yes." Seth pulled her closer. "Who can forget freezing your extremities off while shoveling snow for five months of the year?"

Jessica laughed, settling her head upon his shoulder. "We always got the biggest tree we could find on old Mr. Winslow's lot. Then we'd pull out the ornaments passed down through our family and tell the same stories we tell every year about them."

"Hard same, but with a menorah." He quipped. "Nothing like polishing great Uncle Morty's for eight crazy nights."

Jessica chuckled. "Then we'd bake goodies for all our friends and neighbors. There'd be caroling."

"Sugar comas while singing in below zero temperatures." He smiled when she laughed again.

"There'd always be a group of us who would go ice skating on Christmas Eve." She continued. "Then we'd hurry home, nearly numb from the cold to sip hot chocolate by the fire."

"Now there's a thought." Seth turned towards her. "How about a date tonight, Iowa?"

"Um," Jessica replied, a little surprised by the abrupt change in topic, "okay."

"Can we go ice skating?" He asked.

She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "I don't know if the heat has gotten to you, but it's 70 degrees here, where are we going to find ice?"

His smile grew. "Oh Iowa. You're in the city where the magic never stops." He got up, pulling her to her feet. "Go wash that beautiful face of yours. We are going to do one of your holiday traditions tonight.

************

"Welcome to Pershing Square's Holiday Ice Rink!" Seth gestured out where people were gliding along to music.

Jessica blinked, trying to take in the sight of an outdoor ice rink in downtown Los Angeles.

"How?" She asked.

"Magic." Seth replied.

"Sure, but seriously. How??? It was almost ninety degrees out today!"

"Oh Jess. We don't do science here." He wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked over to a skate rental booth. "I mean, I'm sure whoever runs this does. But we locals--"

"You are from Ohio." Jessica reminded him.

"I've been here long enough for the sun to burn away all those Midwest winters." He winked at her. "Anyway, we don't ask questions. We put on our skates and rock out to whatever DJ HowLy puts on."

"Walking in a Winter Wonderland is something you rock out too?" Jessica teased.

"We rock out when it's a remix of Darlene Love's version." He knelt down to tie her skates.

Jessica felt her loneliness begin to lessen as she watched him. Her heart ached over how sweet he was in trying to bring a holiday tradition from home to life out here amongst the palm trees.

He took her hand, smiled at her, and tugged her out onto the ice. He then let her go.

"Okay Iowa, let's see what all those years of ice skating taught you."

Jessica's smile made his heart race. He still couldn't believe someone like her was always ready to go out with him. After the unexpected success of her first film, he'd thought she would consider him a part of her past.

Instead, she acted as if nothing big had happened to her. She was still that sweet, gorgeous, incredibly talented girl who'd been completely lost in the big city six months earlier.

He whistled when she began to skate, doing elegant twirls and jumps around him.

"All right. You passed the test." He held his hand out to her. "I believe this is a couple's only skate."

"Oh?" Jessica pretended to think about it. With a huge smile, she took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "Then we shouldn't break the rules."

He squeezed her hand as they skated, both belting the lyrics to songs as loud as they could, laughing the whole time.

"You know?" Jessica cut her eyes towards him. "I like this couple's only idea."

"You do, huh?"

She nodded.

He stopped them off to the side of the rink.

"Anyone in particular you'd like to be the other half of your couple?"

She lowered her eyes while a pretty blush made her cheeks rosy.

"I had a few ideas." She looked up at him. "But clearly there's only one that will do."

"A few ideas?" Seth felt the wind get knocked out of him. "Wh-wh-who is it?"

He knew she and Matt Rodriguez made their love scenes in Tender Nothing's look like the real deal. Plus he'd seen how close she was to Teja and Victoria. Then seeing Thomas Hunt talking to her after the premiere revealed a lot potential romance there. He didn't stand a chance against any of them. Not only was he not in the same league with them, it wasn't even the same universe!

Jessica skated forward, pinning him between the barrier and her body.

"It's you, you dope." She draped her arms around his neck. "Who else has gone out of their way so many times to make me stop crying and encourage me?"

His smile reappeared. "You are pretty lucky, aren't you?"

He held her close as he sought her lips.

She hummed her agreement in the midst of it.

Her eyebrow raised in expectation once the kiss ended.

Seth took her hand again and pulled her back out on the rink.

"Yes, you are very lucky, Iowa." He continued. "But nowhere near as lucky as me."

[bearsinpotatosacks]

The crew visit each other's home towns:

Jim-

They visit Iowa briefly, since there's still some (a lot) pain about there

They do see the first house he had after running away at 18

And the motorbike he stole and later crashed a year later

And a field near a river full of wildflowers that was his safe place

Uhura-

She lived in many places in Kenya in her life (because of the different schools she went to)

But she lived in Nairobi the longest

She takes them to some touristy places and some hidden gems

They have to be told to leave the museum because it's past closing time and they're all history nerds

She also shows them a few restaurants she still adores and plenty of places where they understand why she fell in love with learning languages and about cultures

Chekov-

There are plenty of complaints over the cold

But after bundling up they explore

Chekov is exploring a lot too, because despite how well versed he is in his country's history, he was studying so much as a kid he never truly explored the city

They go for long walks around the city and even get a boat out for a day

But they also visit his mother's grave, somewhere he hadn't visited since her funeral in 2249

Scotty-

He too never had a permanent home for too long as a kid, because his parents' jobs meant they had to move around

But he went to University in Aberdeen, and that's where his grandparents live, so they explore Aberdeen

They go to a few museums and gardens, and definitely a few castles where Jim tries not to fall in love too much with the idea of being a knight to Spock

They also see the place where he came up with the Aberdeen solution and realise even more that Scotty is really skilled because, let's just say, he didn't exactly have Starfleet level equipment to work with (he was 15)

They also go for afternoon tea

Scotty gets loads of sandwiches and is happy

Bones-

The first day is difficult

Not too difficult, he visited Georgia with Jim to clean up his apartment and look for a nice rural ranch style house

He takes them peach picking and spends a day making loads of recipes with them

They also meet the McCoys and realise that Bones truly comes from a sweet, close, accepting Southern family

They also go riding in a local forest

Spock takes some convincing to go because he's terrified of horses

It does create some peace about Georgia though and Bones becomes even more southern due to the troubles being settled

Sulu-

Sulu was raised in San Francisco (where all the crew lived at some point)

So they don't think they can really "discover" it

But Sulu proves them wrong

They meet up with Ben and Demora

They visit his childhood home, go to some botanical gardens and visit the racetrack where he realised his talent for being a pilot/driver

Sulu shows them all the tiny, backstreet restaurants that he loves, and they see how at home he is there, much more than any of them were

Spock-

He gets kinda sad after they visit everyone's childhood homes

Because, you know, his entire planet was destroyed

But he does show them New Vulcan and takes them to various places he's visited that feel like home

And the crew try to make the Enterprise feel like more home

They have group dinners and parties and dance battles and want to show him that they're his family and can be his home

He gratefully accepts

Wow, that got a bit sappy at the end, huh? I hope you enjoyed this, I really like creating stuff for the characters' lives before they met and pre-Starfleet years. If anyone has any of their own ideas I'd love to hear them!

[pinervista]

Shine song buddy

He added, “But I’d spend the night at his house, and lots of times he’d spend the night at mine. But whereas others preferred Grand Ole Opry-type country music, Buddy and I liked to listen to rhythm ‘n’ blues. We being Buddy, me, Jack Neil and Don Guess. “Also, Buddy was kind of a smart aleck, and I liked that. He had loads of charisma, and always went all out. “One reason I was drawn to Buddy,” said Allison, “was because he practiced like he was in concert. He has been inducted into the Musicians Hall of Fame and Museum in Nashville, and, in 2012, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame would correct its 1986 mistake and induct the Crickets, including Allison, to join Buddy Holly. Allison had become interested in drums as a fifth grader, never knowing his style would later be studied. Holly and Allison had written the song in Allison’s tiny bedroom, which can be toured today at the Allison home, located next to the Buddy Holly Center.Īllison, 79, mentioned this week from his 50-acre Tennessee farm that he met Holly at J.T. He later traveled with Allison, Mauldin and Sullivan to Petty’s studio in Clovis, where they recorded a 1957 demo of “That’ll Be the Day,” this time with Holly playing lead guitar. Holly was discouraged by early sessions with a country producer in Nashville. Curtis recalled this week that Holly, Allison and Mauldin “met in Clovis and decided to continue as a three-piece.” When the latter decided he did not want to tour, Petty suggested that Holly hire Sonny Curtis as a replacement. The original two guitarists were Holly and rhythm guitarist Niki Sullivan. Unlike most in that era, he wrote, recorded and produced his own material - and he was among the first musicians inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1986. He is regarded as the artist who defined the traditional band lineup for rock ‘n’ roll: two guitars, bass and drums. He didn’t want to go, but he had to make some money.”ĭespite his comparatively short career, Holly influenced the music industry. Jennings told Rolling Stone magazine in 1973, “The only reason Buddy went on that tour was because he was broke. As Allison and Mauldin were unavailable, Holly hired drummer Carl Bunch, guitarist Allsup and bass player Jennings as his backing band. With Holly having received no royalty payments from producer Petty, Holly joined the Winter Dance Party because he needed a paycheck. Allison and Mauldin, joined by Sonny Curtis, were working as the Crickets at Norman Petty’s recording studio in Clovis, N.M. 15, 1958 - settled in New York City, Holly was using his own name. While Holly and his newlywed wife, Maria Elena - married on Aug. Holly had temporarily separated from the original Crickets: best friend Jerry “J.I.” Allison on drums, and standup bassist Joe B. 3, 1959, became known as “the day the music died.” It wasn’t until Don McLean released “American Pie” in 1972 that Feb. Holly’s drummer, Carl Bunch, was left behind in Wisconsin, hospitalized for frostbite experienced on the freezing bus. Tommy Allsup lost a coin flip with Valens for the remaining seat. Waylon Jennings gave his seat to the Big Bopper, who had the flu. Holly’s two remaining band members did not board the plane. The destination for the plane, a Beechcraft Bonanza, was Fargo, N.D., the nearest airport to Moorhead. Unable to arrive at Clear Lake’s Surf Ballroom until 6 p.m., Holly decided to charter a plane for his band rather than ride the same bus 500 more miles the next day for a concert in Moorhead, Minn. 2, 1959, 350 miles away, in Clear Lake, Iowa. It was a school bus and we slept on the luggage racks, and it (the bus) kept breaking down.”Īmong those traveling on the bus: Holly and his three-piece tour band, and also Valens, The Big Bopper and Dion & The Belmonts. With temperatures consistently dipping below zero, the heating system in the bus did not work.ĭion DiMucci, leader of Dion & The Belmonts, was quoted in /stories: “It was a rough winter, and we didn’t have those beautiful luxury touring buses. Riding in the bus between concert sites was considered torture. Shows were very well supported, but travel conditions were miserable. The 1959 tour was called the Winter Dance Party. Witcher, recently promoted to assistant city manager, had been managing director of the Buddy Holly Center and other cultural facilities.īober added she felt a need to take over the Saturday tour of Holly landmarks after the 2011 death of Holly historian Bill Griggs. 3 fell on a Super Bowl Sunday, there was a sum total of 10 people at the Buddy Holly Center, and five of them were staff.” “Brooke (Witcher) told me the last time that Feb.

[shirtlesssammy]

5x21: Two Minutes to Midnight

Then:

The End is Nigh

Now:

Davenport, Iowa

We begin this episode with Pestilence paying an ailing woman a visit. He’s riddled her with more diseases than she can handle. What an experiment!

One Day Earlier

At Bobby’s, Sam’s getting an earful from Dean about his plan to say yes to Lucifer. Dean gets a call from Cas. Dean wants to know where he is --they all thought he was dead. He’s in a hospital. He’s not one for conversation at the moment, but does tell Dean that he just woke up in the hospital. Dean tells him their next step: get Pestilence. 

For Hospital Bed Science:

Cas groans in pain and tells Dean he can’t fly anywhere. He’s thirsty, and his head aches, and he has a bug bite, and he’s all so very... Dean finishes his thought with, “human”. Cas needs money for pain meds and travel expenses. 

Also, he stops Dean from hanging up and says that he owes him an apology. “You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be,” he confesses. Dean’s awkward about such a solemn apology. I’m soft about how soft this moment is. 

The brothers head out to scope out the convalescent home where Pestilence chills. They knock out the security guard to watch video footage of the place. 

Eventually Sam notices the camera flickering with one person. They head out to find him. 

As Pestilence is taking care of Cold Open Celeste, a demon comes in to warn him about the Winchesters. He’s upset over what they did to his brothers, and wants revenge. The demon reminds him he’s not supposed to hurt “the vessels”. He doesn’t care and starts hurting everyone in the building. 

Sam and Dean start coughing, and struggle to keep walking. They both collapse outside Pestilence’s door. They’re now riddled with disease, just like Celeste. While the boys struggle on the ground, Pestilence gets to monologue a bit about the frailty of humans. 

Enter one VERY human-like angel. Yeah, poor Cas is just as affected as the Winchesters. Pestilence laughs, “There's not a speck of angel in you, is there?” Cas then lunges at him, and cuts his ring finger right off. “Maybe just a speck.” Oh Cas, you badass. Never change. 

The demon attacks, and he knifes her. Pestilence disappears, but not before ominously stating, “It’s too late.” 

And now they have three rings. 

At Bobby’s, Dean asks for some good news. Bobby tells them that Chicago is about to get hit with the storm of the millennium. Three million people are going to die. 

GOOD NEWS, Bobby! Or as Cas deadpans, “I don’t understand your definition of ‘good news’.” 

Bobby points out that Death will be there. They still need his ring. 

Sam wonders how Bobby knows all this. Enter Crowley. 

Bobby admits to selling his soul to Crowley. Dean demands that Crowley give it back. Sam wonders if Bobby had to kiss him. Bobby denies it --but Crowley’s got proof. Of course. 

Crowley won’t give back Bobby’s soul as insurance that the Winchesters won’t kill him. I mean, I kind of have to side with Crowley here. He’s being REALLY generous even considering giving back Bobby’s soul. Bobby sold it fair and square. He’s getting information from Crowley in return. 

Later, by the Impala, Dean and Sam talk. Sam admits that he has his doubts about his plan as much as the rest of them. “You, Bobby, Cas...I'm the least of any of you.” Like, OUCH, Samuel. We deep dive into Dean’s self-worth issues on the regular, but let’s just pause and reflect on the younger sibling right now. 

Sam’s all they got though, so they have to try. 

Crowley interrupts the broment with news about the world. It seems that Pestilence was spreading Swine Flu, and Sam’s old buddy Brady’s company was cranking out the vaccine --only it was full of Croatoan virus not a cure. If this vaccine is distributed nationwide, it’ll all be over.

Cas and Bobby pack up the van. Cas is...moody. He mourns the loss of his angelic might. The only thing he has available to him now...is a shotgun. (Starts humming) Bobby tells him to quit whining and load the truck. 

The teams finish packing for their respective hunts. Sam waxes nostalgically about the simpler days of hunting monsters. Dean doesn’t think it was ever simple. Crowley interrupts and presents Dean with Death’s own scythe (in travel-sized form). 

Crowley urges Bobby to stand up and get ready to fight. He reveals that he inserted a little healing clause into Bobby’s soul deal that healed Bobby’s paralysis. Bobby stands up triumphantly. 

Later, Sam, Bobby, and Cas drive towards the Croatoan virus operation. Cas reflects on Sam’s idea to toss himself into the pit along with Lucifer. He thinks it’s a solid plan. 

Cas passes along some new intel about the archangel prize fight: Michael has taken Adam as a vessel. He warns Sam that failing to control Lucifer means that the apocalypse will happen, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Oh, and “there’s also the demon blood…��� Sam will have to drink gallons of blood in order to be strong enough to contain Lucifer. BLEGH.

The next morning, they lurk at the distribution facility. A truck tries to leave and Cas takes out the driver and jams the gate controls. Sam and Bobby head into the warehouse, only to find that the demons have already infected some of the workers with Croatoan. Sam races off into the warehouse to save (uninfected) civilians. 

Dean and Crowley enjoy their first date, tracking Death to a little warehouse.

There’s a lovely clip where Crowley mentions that the area is swarming with reapers, and we get a reveal…

Crowley zaps into the warehouse, discovers that Death isn’t there, then meets Dean outside again. He suggests hightailing it out of Chicago and waiting for the next doomed city in order to find Death. That’s not good enough, though. Dean wants to find a way to save people, even if they can’t track down the Horseman. While Dean despairs, Crowley peers into a little pizza place and then heads back to Dean. He found Death! With his work done and not even a high five to show for it, Crowley zaps out of there.

Back at the warehouse, Sam’s finishes evacuating the uninfected civilians. Just as they think they’re home free, Sam gets attacked and Bobby’s gun jams. Enter Castiel, who shoots Sam’s attacker and says, “Actually these things can be useful.” 

For Angel with a Shotgun Science:

Dean creeps through the pizza parlor, which is full of dead patrons and waitstaff. Death’s scythe heats up in his hand and, agonized by the red hot handle, Dean drops it. The next thing he knows, his Death super-weapon is safely by Death’s side. 

Death sits at a table savoring a piece of pizza, and invites Dean to join him.

Dean wants to know if he’s about to die, but Death informs him that he has other plans for him. Death quietly reminds Dean that he’s as old and vast as the universe. No biggie though. Dean’s a bacterium, practically, but it’s fine. Death serves Dean a slice of pizza and I desperately long for some good Chicago deep dish. 

Death says that he’s as old as God, and maybe older. “At the end, I’ll reap him too.” (And while I appreciate that they didn’t kill Chuck in the traditional stabby manner, I’ll always mourn that we didn’t get to see this line fulfilled in one of the finale’s endless montage sequences, and that Billie didn’t survive to do the job.) (Boris, huddled in the corner: Death didn’t reap Chuck because he won, and the story isn’t over yet...)

Anyway, Dean’s appropriately awed by Death’s power. “This is way above my pay grade,” Dean mutters. Death reveals that he’s been waiting for Dean to catch up to him - Lucifer’s spell has prevented him from directly seeking out the Winchesters. “I’m more powerful than you can process, and I’m enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum,” Death spits. Preach! Death proposes depowering Lucifer’s Death weapon. He’ll hand Dean his ring willingly.

“What about Chicago?” Dean asks, ever the hunter.

Oh, Chicago can survive. Death likes the pizza. He hands Dean his ring and tells him that he has to do whatever it takes to trap Lucifer. “You’re going to let your brother jump right into that fiery pit. Now, do I have your word?” Dean takes the ring as Death issues one final warning. “You know you can’t cheat Death.”

Back at Bobby’s, Dean looks at the rings. They’ve got all four of them and together, they form into a magic little bundle of rings. Bobby finds Dean for a little heart to heart. 

Dean reveals that he lied to Death - he’s not okay with Sam tossing himself into the pit. However, Bobby thinks that Death may be right about Sam’s plan being their best option. Bobby watched Sam save all the civilians in the factory before they blew it up, and he thinks that Sam can handle it. “Sam will beat the Devil, or die trying. That’s the best we could ask for. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother?”

O, Quotes:

I don't understand your definition of good news

We'll catch Death in the next doomed city

Think how you'd feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers. I'm old, Dean. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[tinyhomesofiowa]

The Future of Housing: Trend Toward ADUs and Tiny Home Living in Iowa 

People are moving towards Accessory Dwelling Units (ADUs) as an alternative type of housing. You can explore the world of tiny homes in Iowa with many different floor plans. You can also customize the space with the help of our design experts. 

In this blog, we will discuss ADU's advantages and share some insights into floor plans for tiny homes in Iowa City.  

What are ADUs?  

ADU stands for Accessory Dwelling Units which are small homes built right on the same property as the primary residence. These units can be detached, or attached to the main house in the basement, or even a garage conversion.

Top Benefits of ADUs  

Affordable: As compared to traditional single-family houses, Accessory Dwelling Units (ADUs) are very cost-effective. They can be used as guest houses, for rental properties, or to house aging parents in a close and safe home.  

Highly Sustainable: Tiny homes are also considered cleaner and more sustainable for the environment, as they do not use as many resources.

Why a Design-Build Construction Company?  

When it comes to building ADUs or tiny homes, you need to hire a design and build construction company to get the desired results. They know the right way to execute the plan and make it easy to go through the planning, and construction process.

Managed Process: A design-build company manages both the design and construction parts of the project. Here you must deal with one party with clear communication and the process will be well managed.  

Cost Efficiency: There is a scope for saving money by going through a design-build firm.  They are also good at budget handling and ensure to complete your home within the given budget.    

Highly Experienced: When it comes to design-build companies, they are experienced and put that expertise into your project. They also know the local regulations related to construction that help you in the long term.   

Tiny Homes in Iowa City 

The city of Iowa City is very favorable towards tiny homes and encourages people to build them on their property, by making the zoning and permit process much easier and faster.

Types of Tiny House Floor Plans in Iowa 

There should be many floor plan options to build your tiny home. Here are some trending options in tiny house floor plans Iowa that you can select for your dream house. 

The Studio Plan: It is the best layout for people who like open space concepts. There will be a large room including space for living, dining, bathroom, sleeping, and kitchen.  

One and two Bedrooms: There are a few different options for one and two bedroom ADU’s. It really depends on who will be living there and the orientation of the ADU for your yard.

Custom Design: Many ADU builders Iowa also offer custom design services which are affordable and able to create a floor plan to accommodate your specific requirements.  

Conclusion 

When it comes to building an ADU for your family, trust the builders of Tiny Homes of Iowa. We are a professional design-build construction company that will make your dream project into reality. Reach out to Tiny Homes of Iowa today!

[navegandoaciegas]

Sunshine Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: fluff, soft!Bucky, mentions of injury (no graphic descriptions), 3.6k words

Summary: You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish he wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

Two years ago you were supposed to enjoy a solo road trip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invited himself along. Now you’re forced back to New York, and your boyfriend is ready to surprise you once again.

A/N: Bucky’s POV. Sequel to I love my baby to death, but I suppose you could read it on its own. As always forgive any mistakes, English is my third language.

Had to repost this cause it didn’t show up in the tags, hopefully this time it will

“I swear Buck, if I see one more damn corn plant I’m losing it. I am this close” you say pinching your thumb and pointer finger real close “to a mental breakdown. I’m never eating corn again, mark my words. No corn flakes, no corn on the cobble, no nothing. I’m done.”

“We’re in Iowa, in the middle of the corn belt, I don’t know what you were expecting.” he replies, slightly amused by your little outburst and sour mood.

“Well, clearly not ending up on the set of Children of the corn.” you groan, getting back to sulking in the passenger’s seat, seething at the fields that are only a scapegoat to the real problem.

You’d been merrily skiing in Montana when his skis got somehow tangled with yours and he tumbled down on you, dragging you down the slope. Hadn’t you injured yourself, rolling in the snow like it only ever happens in cartoons would have been pretty comical.

“What?” you screech, almost jumping off the stretcher and grimacing in pain when your left foot hits the metal poles at the side. “No. It’s just pain, I’m sure it will go away, right? I mean I was an Avenger, I’ve suffered worse than a fall.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but knee surgery will be necessary, the MRI here shows you’ve torn your ACL and from the looks of it, your left knee was already damaged badly, numerous times at that, probably a result of your time on the field.”

“I can’t, I can’t just get surgery, we’re miles away from home and I-”

You’re almost sobbing and Bucky feels like shit because he’s the reason for all this and all he can do now is pat your back reassuringly.

“Given the extent of the damage, I’m afraid there’s no other option.”

“How long is the recovery time?” he asks, voice unsure.

“Well, it’s my knowledge she’s not an enhanced individual, so like any average human it will take anywhere from 6 to 9 months to recover fully. In the meantime, no more hikes or sports.”

Bucky inhales a sharp breath. Six to nine months. No more hikes. Surely you’ll have to go back to New York.

God, you are so going to break up with him.

Turns out you didn’t dump him in Montana, you didn’t abandon him in one of those auto stops along Interstate 90 in South Dakota, and you don’t seem to want to break up with him amidst the green fields of Iowa, but still, he knows he will drive through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate, driving the same route you did as friends two years ago, along Interstate 80 headed East instead of West, only this time he’s not hoping to be more than the annoying old man who invited himself on your trip; he’s your boyfriend now, but maybe not for long.

“You know, you really are dramatic.” you say in a teasing tone, “I’m not going to break up with you, stop thinking about that, it was an accident, ‘s not like you beat me.”

“I know, I’m just sorry because you’re in pain and it’s my fault and now we have to get back home but I know you wanted to stay more and I did too and if I didn’t-” he’s rambling, and your place your hand on his thigh and squeeze reassuringly, offering him one of those sweet smiles he dies for.

“Buck, it’s okay” you interrupt his word vomit “like I said a million times before, it was an accident, it’s going to be fine I promise. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise with my mood, I swear I’m just pissed at all this damn corn. We’re never going to a maze again, by the way.” That gets a laugh out of him, and he loves you even more because you’re always there to lift his spirits. “I’m dreading these next months, the surgery, physiotherapy and all, but I know you’re there for me, yes?”

He nods, teary eyed, and you continue, “And I can’t lie, it’s been a while, I’m kind of excited to see everyone again, I mean except for Sam of course,” you say, as if he didn’t “live rent free in your head”, like Sam himself put it, “Jesus that man, how many of our trips has he invited himself on? I’ve lost count. ‘Member when we found him waiting for us in Phoenix? Fuckin’ weirdo.”

You both chuckle at the memory of Sam in your motel room, waiting on your bed with crossed arms like a disappointed parent, pissed off because you hadn’t called in a week and he was worried sick that something may have happened to you, a deadly sniper, and him, the Winter fuckin’ Soldier. Truth is, Bucky was so excited about your new relationship that he rarely let you leave the bed when you were in your room, and when you did you were in no condition to Facetime anyone, with your smudged mascara and swollen lips.

“I’ve heard Clint will come visit us with Laura and the kids. Nathaniel must be so big now.” you add, your eyes glazed over as you think of the little boy who was named after your Natasha.

“God, Morgan is probably all grown up.” he muses, a tinge of sadness in his voice. You squeeze his thigh again. “And the spider kid too, he’s a grown man now.”

“That he is.” you chuckle, “But to me he’ll always be the boy in the red spanx who knocked us on our asses in Berlin.”

He smiles and shakes his head at the memory, and you both fall in a comfortable silence. Now that he’s not consumed by fear anymore, Bucky kind of agrees with you that all this green is, in fact, nauseating.

“You know what, no more popcorn either.”

“Deal.”

-

A year and something ago

Arizona

“Can you believe there’s a city in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences? We should totally go and visit just for the hell of it, sounds like the type of place Steve Rogers should have been born into.” you state with all the seriousness in the world, and he snorts because after all this time you still haven’t found it in yourself to stop mocking Steve’s righteousness.

You’re walking ahead of him and he’s so distracted by your tiny denim shorts that he, the master of stealth, almost trips over a boulder. You’re always pretty but tonight, illuminated by the orange sky of Arizona, you look like a dream. And you’re so happy, snapping photos at everything you see, that even if Bucky hates the desert and the heat makes him uncomfortable, he won’t tell you, because the look on your face makes it all worth it.

“Baby, look at this big boy here, he’s like 20 feet tall. Oh my god, he’s so cute and beefy, just like you.” you gush at one of the giant cactuses of Saguaro National Park.

He raises his eyebrows skeptically.

All he sees are green spiky motherfuckers that he’s accidentally hurt himself with more times that he’d like to admit in all those damn ‘hikes’ you like so much, but to you cactuses are the most beautiful sight in the word. He genuinely does not see the appeal, but he understands now how you feel when he talks about all his ‘nerd shit’, as you call it.

“I’m cuter.” he says frowning.

“Of course you are.”

For some reason you don’t sound convincing at all.

-

It’s only spring but here in Tucson the temperature is 85 degrees today and he’s sweating buckets underneath the long sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing to conceal his vibranium arm. He’s long past the time when he was forced to hide from authorities or the general public’s judgement, but still he doesn’t want to be recognized and attract attention. He doesn’t do well with crowds, and he doesn’t understand how you can be so calm and collected when people stare at you and ask for photographs while you’re minding your own business.

As soon as you get back to the motel you’re staying at he takes off his soaked shirt, not caring that the air conditioning is probably going to end his old ass.

“What the hell happened to you?” you ask, scowling as you analyze the skin around his prosthetic.

He shrugs. “It happens sometimes.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me James.”

You only call him that when he’s in big trouble. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose: why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the damn time? “It’s nothing sweetheart, just sometimes the skin becomes flared when it’s too hot.”

“Nothing?” you shrill, throwing your hands around animatedly, “Nothing? Bucky your whole shoulder is super red and irritated, don’t act like it’s normal. We’ve been in the sun for hours, for days really, why didn’t you tell me anything? I would have driven us back here immediately. Does it hurt?”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin your fun, you liked it so much there. And no, it only itches a little.”

Your eyes soften and you move to cup his face in your hands, looking at him with so much love that he feels himself melt away into a puddle, “Baby you don’t need to do that, you know I care more about you than anything else.”

“Even more than the cactuses?”

“Well, now you’re asking too much of me.”

He snorts and playfully hits your arm, then he falls back on the bed and drags you down with him. You stay cuddled like that for a while before you pull back to look into his eyes.

“I appreciate you doing this for me Buck, but you don’t ever need to sacrifice your own comfort for me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry. But you looked so happy.”

“Don’t be, and I’m always happy with you, I promise.”

“I’m always happy too.”

“We’re such saps. Gross. Anyways, guess where we’re going next?” you ask him cheerfully, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.

“The plan was New Mexico, Texas and Louisiana, right?” he frowns. You’d made plans together ages ago and you were so excited about visiting Texas of all places for God knows what reason. He’s predicted already that he won’t stand the suffocating, humid heat of that whole area. At least Arizona was dry as hell.

You on the other hand, everyday he’s become more aware of how much of a lizard you are, seeking the sun and walking around in the scorching heat not even breaking a sweat.

“Guess again baby boy, we’re going straight to Oregon. I mean, it's not Alaska but it’s not as hot as the desert here, right?

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to overheat?” you state like it’s obvious, rolling your eyes, “We’ll do New Mexico and the rest next fall, and now Oregon and Washington because it’s a little cooler there. So what do you say?” You ask with a hopeful look in your eyes.

“Princess I appreciate you doing this for me, but I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to change plans for me, this is your road trip.”

“No you won’t Buck, you’re not doing good and I don’t ever want to see you suffer, you understand? By the time we get to Texas it will be summer and you won’t stand it, it’s better if we visit when it’s colder.”

He smiles softly. He knows he’d do the same for you. “Then Oregon it is.”

You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom to shower, “Oh, and baby?” you call out,  peeking your head from behind the door, “This is your road trip too, never forget that.”

-

Oregon

“Why does Thor get to have places named after him and we don’t? We were Avengers too.”

“But are we norse gods?”

“I mean, not yet, but I definitely deserve some nature’s wonder, or at least a star, to be named after me.”

“I’ll call WMO and get them to name a hurricane after you, princess. It seems more fitting.”

“Asshole.”

You’d been camping somewhere in Oregon’s wilderness when he came up with the idea of visiting all of the State’s so called seven wonders, starting from Thor’s Well on the Coast and ending in Mount Hood near Portland. You took a thousand photos of each attraction and sent a video of the water seemingly draining inside the famous well to the God himself, who enthusiastically expressed his appreciation.

Bucky’s cherished every minute of it, from the hot springs of Crater Lake to the chillier temperatures at night that force you to snuggle closer to him to warm up.

You’re in Portland now, and you’re thoroughly enjoying it, but what’s new about that? You’re always so full of life, so genuinely excited about everything the world has to offer that he’d be worried if you weren’t having the time of your life as you usually are.

He likes the city too, which is saying a lot.

“Blueberries are the superior berry and that’s the hill I’m willing to die on.”

You’ve been eating your way through Portland for weeks, and you’ve been discussing pies for a solid thirty minutes now. It’s raining outside and you’re cooped up in a small pie shop, eating more than an average human can and receiving weird looks from the waitress as you tell her to ‘keep ‘em coming’.

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong princess,” he states with a stuffed mouth just for the sake of aggravating you to no end, “blackberries are just so much better.”

It works as you grimace in disgust, both at his statement and his manners.

He’s found out you are weirdly opinionated when it comes to pies: pecan pies are an abomination, pumpkin doesn’t belong in dessert, lemon pie and key lime pie are only acceptable if someone’s grandma is kindly offering them to you, rhubarb pie without strawberries is a threat to mankind and cherry and blueberry pies are the absolute best. Apple pie is too bland to even take the time to discuss it, although the taste is likeable enough.

He on the other hand likes anything pie and anything sweet. And anything that gets a rise out of you.

“Please Buck, this isn’t even a blackberry pie, it’s some sort of inbred experiment that turned out kinda right.”

He shushes you, barely holding back a laugh when he sees the waiter side eyeing you as you disrespect one of Oregon’s most famous dishes, “First of all, it’s called marionberry and it’s a type of blackberry. And second, keep it down unless you want us to be kicked out, you’re offending a whole state.”

“Sorry.” you shrug, “But blueberry tartness level is where I draw the line, anything more than that is unacceptable.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re still a child and haven’t developed adult taste buds yet baby.” He does love his senior citizen card a bit too much.

This earns him a kick under the table and a scowl. “Stop it, grandpa.” you groan.

He grins and digs in your slice of marionberry pie. You resume to people watching.

God, he loves Oregon. And he loves you.

He really is a sap.

-

Wyoming

Washington was nice enough. You’ve taken him bar crawling most nights, and all of them have ended with him giving you a piggyback ride, per your request, back to the hotel room you were staying at.

It takes 13 hours to drive from Seattle to Yellowstone and you’ve driven all the way. You refused to disclose the destination of the trip and he’s fallen asleep the last 3 hours in the car. He’d mentioned he wanted to see the geysers somewhere in Pennsylvania two years ago and you remembered and took him.

Bucky couldn’t be happier.

He’s still describing the constellations above you when you fall asleep, and he’s so absorbed by the sky that he doesn’t notice until your head falls on his shoulder and he hears your soft snores.

He picks you up bridal style and takes you back to the fancy tent he bought on a whim in Ohio after you both slept in the SUV and woke up with major back and neck pain. He smiles as he removes your makeup with a wipe and does your skincare just the way you taught him, and admires your relaxed state.

He grazes your pretty face with his vibranium fingers, something so unimaginable to him before he met you, as he never thought his arm could bring anything other than pain.

Back when he was a semi stable 100 year old man thrust in another fight yet again, he hadn’t realized the extent of his feelings for you, believing he was only attracted to your beauty and youth. He hadn’t seen the way your smile lights up a whole room, nor the way you listen, truly listen, to anyone who may have anything to tell you, without ever judging them. He hadn’t witness your kindness and patience, let alone experienced them on his own skin. He hadn’t been lucky enough to watch you feed bird seed to the ducks of every pond of the country, or try to rescue a cat from a rooftop and almost falling off to save it.

Then Sam told him you were leaving and he felt like the word was collapsing on him. He’d found the sunlight and he never wanted to be without it.

Now he’s seen it all, all the little things that make you who you are, including your flaws, and he loves you not regardless of them, nor in spite of them, but because even your worst imperfections make you… you.

Bucky doesn’t know if meeting you was a way for the universe to fix all the wrongs that have been done to him, a sort of payback for all the shit he’s been put through, but in case it is, then he’s got no objections. And maybe he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, but he’s a selfish man, and now that his sunshine girl is with him he never wants to plunge back into the the darkness ever again.

He tucks you both under the sleeping bag and snuggles next to you.

“Buck?” you mumble in a haze, tugging at his t-shirt, “Love you.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but his supersoldier hearing allows him to pick it up. He kisses the crown of your hair as he caresses your back.

“I love you too sweetheart.”

He wants to spend the rest of his time on Earth proving you how much.

-

New York

6 months later

The doctor wasn’t lying when she warned you that recovery would take 6 to 9 months.

You said the aftermath of the operation hurt like a bitch and that physiotherapy hurt even more. Today’s your last session and Bucky is glad about it for many reasons, like how you’re not in pain anymore for starters, and maybe because of how annoyingly fun, smart and hot your therapist is. Not like he’d ever admit it to you.

“Jesus,” you groan, “he turned me inside out like a sock, I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“Sounds fun.” he deadpans.

“Someone’s jealous of the doctor?” you ask with a mischievous smirk.

“‘M not. He’s not all that.” he mumbles, blushing like a school boy.

You snort and drawl a ‘sure’. He sends you his best death glare.

“Whatever. I hope you don’t mind if we take a stop before going home.” he announces, helping you into the car. His palms feel clammy and he’s sweating despite the chilly winds of New York’s fall.

“Sure, where are we going?”

“Actually, that’s kind of a surprise, you’ll see.”

You beam at his words; he knows you love surprises and he hopes you’re going to like this one.

----

You look radiant as you lie on the blanket he’s spread on the grass, surrounded by colorful foliage. You’re sipping some of your favorite wine and nibbling on crackers as you admire a flock of birds migrating south in the sky.

You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish we wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

He’s prepared a long, passionate speech to tell you how much he loves you, of all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better and of all the reasons why he’d be a good husband.

But when you look at him with those bright eyes and beaming smile, he can barely remember his own name. He drops on one knee and holds the box out with shaky hands.

“Marry me, please.”

----

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please reblog and comment, don’t be shy, feedback is always appreciated 🥺🤲

[sweetdreamsjeff]

A Meeting of Mythologies

Guitarist and singer Jeff Buckley was a budding superstar. He died in Memphis in May 1997 at age 30. This is his story.

by Danielle Costello

April 3, 2017

In the fall of 1997, I spent an evening with my older brother traversing New York City’s Lower East Side, searching for the spirit of Jeff Buckley. Our intended altar was Sin-é, a tiny bar-cum-performance space that was once a muse to the late singer with the unforgettable falsetto and a knack for colorful asides. A few wrong turns instead landed us in the right place, called 2A, where a Buckley intimate was keeping bar. Tom the bartender and my brother stayed in deep conversation while the hours and customers fell away.

Nine years later, my brother and I found ourselves face to face with another Buckley intimate: Midtown Memphis. I was new in town, moving into a guesthouse a few blocks from Rembert where Buckley had lived in the spring of 1997 while working on a follow-up to his first (and wildly successful) 1994 album release, Grace.

In the music world, Jeff Buckley had all the right stuff for stardom: a critically acclaimed album, respect from industry insiders, heartthrob looks, and mystique. The industry first took notice when he stunned the audience with his unforgettable vocal chops at a tribute concert for his folk-singer father, Tim Buckley, who abandoned him early in life and died of a drug overdose two months after their first meeting. 

Jeff Buckley left a mark on Memphis that has been somewhat tainted by media accounts of the evening of May 29, 1997, when he drowned after wading into the Memphis harbor for a late-night swim. But today, nearly 20 years after his death, recollections from friends and acquaintances show that his time in Memphis was more than just a tragic ending. It was about an artist and a friend living life authentically in a city that knows more than a bit about music. And lots about tragedy.

As described in the book 1,000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die: A Listener’s Life List, “Buckley struck some admirers as a rock god a lá those of the mystical late 1960s, a singer forever in search of unattainable ecstasy. At the same time, he could sound like a tortured Sylvia Plath type, desperate to convey a particular depth of feeling. He could wail like an opera singer nearing the big final scene, and create extemporaneous themes like a jazz player.”

Jeff Buckley’s first Memphis moment wasn’t even in Tennessee; it was in Iowa, fall of 1994, where his band headlined a show with Memphis indie hard rockers, the Grifters. Neither group had ever heard of the other, but proximity and pre-show beers would signify the beginning of a friendship. Although affinity among touring bands isn’t uncommon, this relationship began with a typical mutual creative admiration that grew into real-life affection, the latter poignantly summed up by Grifters bassist Tripp Lamkins’ recent comment: “I miss him all the time.”

At the end of that fall 1994 tour, the Grifters would reunite with Buckley at the former South End downtown. Still largely an unknown, the singer drew a small crowd, mostly due to the Grifters’ efforts to rally support for their new friend. The following year, Buckley would land in Memphis again, this time with a big crowd at the New Daisy Theatre on Beale Street. Thanks to major-label backing — Grace, his first studio album, was making the rounds on radio stations across the country — he was quickly gaining celebrity, touring the world and capturing admirers with a vocal presence as commanding as the Mississippi River itself.

University of Memphis sophomore Emily Helming was in the front row at the Daisy that night, having been a fan since discovering Buckley on the radio in her home state of Oregon. With one last beer for courage, she decided to find her way to the tour bus to thank the man whose live performance had blown her away.

“That’s a great thing about Memphis — you can get up close with people you couldn’t elsewhere,” Helming remembered on a call between my home in West Virginia and hers in New York City. It’s true. During my five years in Memphis, I played taxi driver for Tommy Ramone; shared a table at Wild Bill’s with Samuel L. Jackson; made small talk with Luke Perry in the lunch line; and told Kate Beckinsale that, yes, she could give my dog a piece of chicken. Memphis has time and space for characters, not celebrities. It’s an endearing indifference.

As for getting that chance to extend flattery to Jeff Buckley, Emily Helming got a dose of character instead. While she talked with his bandmates near the bus, he descended its steps and addressed her without saying hello.

“You’re the vanilla girl. I smelled you on stage.” As quickly as he interrupted the conversation, Buckley walked away. He wasn’t rude, Helming pointed out. He was just there and gone. Doing what came naturally. Unbeknownst to Buckley, he was channeling the city of Memphis itself. 

Rolling Stone magazine named Buckley’s Grace number 303 of the “500 Greatest Albums of All Time,” saying, “Buckley had a voice like an oversexed angel, and the songs here shimmer and twist. The fierce rocker ‘Eternal Life’ up-ends Led Zeppelin’s take on the blues while honoring it: Instead of a hellhound on his trail, Buckley, who drowned in 1997, evokes immortality bearing down on him.” He was also listed as number 39 among the magazine’s “100 Greatest Singers of All Time.” 

Like Jeff Buckley, I had a small taste of Memphis before making it my home, in the form of a weekend trip with a friend. Not long after we exited Sam Cooper, my preconceived ideas and reality collided, and kept at it for the entire weekend. It was the slow drip of Midtown, not the gush of Beale. It was accents whose velocity left Southern drawl in the dust. It was a barista who offered us tofu pie instead of pecan in a quiet Midtown district kept barely alive, not by the smell of barbecue and the sound of live music, but by a bead shop, a bike shop, and a pizza joint called a café. Unlike New York City or Los Angeles, Memphis doesn’t deliver. It will leave you underwhelmed — and wanting more.

When I made Memphis home in 2006, I learned the complicated life cycle of Overton Square and discovered big rocks at Mud Island that would allow me closer to the river. I found theater in fast-talking coffee shop characters and had love affairs with pimento cheese sandwiches. I learned that everyone, and everywhere, in Midtown has a story — not least the well-known panhandlers whose yarns, though not entirely inspiring, get credit for effort beyond, “Spare some change?”

I learned that Memphis doesn’t have change to spare. Decades of strife — yellow fever, deaths of American icons, racial discord, economic despair, and violent crime — had given way to trickling evolution, Memphis-style. Here, growth happens “only in ways that make sense,” says one of the city’s brightest offerings, producer-director Morgan Jon Fox.

Fox’s career could easily take him to New York or Los Angeles, yet leaving hasn’t been on his radar because he sees Memphis as “a place where soul seeps from the cracks in the concrete and overgrown parking lots. Here in Memphis, we have a community. We pride ourselves on the grit and grind attitude of us against the world. There’s nothing clean and safe about the art that’s made here.”

Fox’s sentiments are echoed by another Memphis success story, writer-director-producer Robert Gordon, who literally wrote the book on creative culture in his hometown, It Came From Memphis: “You can come here and be a star or amount to nothing; either way it’ll have no impact on the greater community.”

“Memphis allows you a great freedom,” says Gordon. “You don’t encounter a world of agents and publicists and managers — there’s not that pressure. The expectations, in fact, are low. The edge where artists live here is wide. You work at your own pace, you develop in public as much as you want, then you take it somewhere to sell — either in a van with a guitar, or to one of the cities of industry, or from your bedroom to the internet. We are a city for creatives.” 

In the same way Buckley’s vocal stylings varied, so too did his guitar playing. Through the years, his style ranged from reggae and funk to rock and grunge, from jazz and country to the guitar-picking style showcased in his cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” a track that became one of his most well-known recordings. His version of the song was inducted into the Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry in 2014.

Expand



DAN BALL

Unlike other cities that attract the so-called creative class, Memphis isn’t big on consequences. Rent is relatively cheap, and starting over is the currency of creativity, which runs the gamut: music, film, TV, food, theater, writing, photography. Newcomers and natives alike have equal opportunity to climb or linger, to seek or simmer, to do it their way. After living in small towns and big cities like New York City and South Beach, I myself eventually pressed the thumbtack into the far left corner of Tennessee because why not, where else? Every writer should be Southern for a little while.

Buckley’s bartender friend Tom Clarke, whom I tracked down on an email trail through three states, said Jeff had only planned to be in Memphis for a little while, too. Former Memphian Joey Pegram emailed me from China, recalling interactions with the star who “could just be himself and hang out and people treated him like one of the gang.”

If Buckley wanted a break from the pressure of making art in New York City, he found it in the Bluff City. The Grifters’ Tripp Lamkins says of his friend, “Jeff was kind of how you imagine he’d be.” Hypercreative. Moody. Shy. Witty. He “radiated at a high frequency,” says former NYC roommate Joe Murphy, who coincidentally became a Memphian himself long after his friend’s time here.

As a marvel of the public eye, Buckley met expectations. Here’s the guy who did a wicked Cher impression; who’d share morning coffee at Rockopolis, aka the apartment shared by Tripp Lamkins and Lucero’s Roy Berry across from Shangri-La Records; who paid out of his own pocket for the Grifters to fly to Australia when their label, indie powerhouse SubPop, wasn’t keen on the expenses. Buckley was like any human: multidimensional. Observers saw the obvious, and intimates discovered the depth. It was the Grifters, after all, who introduced Buckley to Memphis, and Memphis to Buckley. Among his friends and acquaintances, there was a consensus: He felt at home in a city where he was treated as a friend more than a spectacle.

A drummer by trade, Joey Pegram recalls running into Buckley one afternoon, hanging out on a patio with friends in Cooper-Young. The group walked a few blocks to play music at a friend’s practice space at Plan B gallery, formerly an industrial bakery no one remembers. For Pegram, the highlight of his acquaintance with Jeff Buckley was that jam session, where the two switched instruments and Buckley’s facility on the drums matched his comfort in a big city with a small-town feel. “I think he liked Memphis and the folks there,” says Pegram, “because we didn’t fawn over him or kiss up to him like I suspect a lot of people often did.”

Moving to Memphis in early 1997, Buckley began work on his newest album at Easley McCain Recording. He performed several shows at the downtown venue, Barristers, a bar tucked away in an alley off Jefferson Avenue. Buckley was a lively entertainer, but in Memphis he could let loose in ways that record labels and big-city venues either didn’t allow or didn’t cultivate. At one of his Monday-night gigs at Barristers, Joey Pegram and Emily Helming were there, separately, and it’s telling that both remembered a night where fans sat on the floor — not typical of Memphis bar crowds, or maybe any bar crowds. 

Helming says Buckley seemed frustrated that evening, but when he played the first notes of his infamous Leonard Cohen cover, “Hallelujah,” the atmosphere changed. Pegram added another layer, saying, “The music created a kind of sparkly magical feeling in the room … and people were kind of looking at each other, smiling like they knew they were experiencing something really special.”

In a city whose musical history is forever wet to the touch, a major performer who called it home for merely a few months hardly makes a ripple. Buckley’s Memphis legacy is more about him than his music. In many ways, Buckley’s time here is a well-kept secret. Doug Easley, who worked with Buckley at Easley McCain Recording on that never-finished second album, says there’s “a kind of hush about it.” Of the small group who got to know Buckley, some waited 20 years to talk about it.

The album that took shape between Easley McCain Recording and the house on Rembert Street would be released in rough form in 1998 as Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk. Tripp Lamkins can’t bring himself to listen to it all the way through, nor does he believe that it’s the album his friend intended to release. Without Buckley himself to lend insight, fans and friends are left to go the way of college literature courses: to look for themes and draw comparisons.

Sketches has the unapologetic candor of New York City and the disturbing human-ness of the Southern Gothic tradition. Intentional or not, there’s Memphis flavor on the album. Songs like “Your Flesh Is So Nice,” with its hollow, unproduced edge, could sit comfortably between the Reatards and Harlan T. Bobo on a Goner Records compilation. The classic-denim cool, straight-whiskey buzz of “Witches Rave” might be inspired by one of Memphis’ most beloved exports, Big Star, whose song “Kangaroo” was a favorite cover for Buckley. 

Buckley is part of a coterie of soul seekers — a mix of names recognizable and unknown — who have come from other states and countries to a home inside the Parkways, or maybe they never left there to start. For those inclined to follow their noses more than their wallets, for those who feel that, as Robert Gordon and others have said, “life is short and art is long,” Memphis is a beacon. The living is cheap. The pace is slow. This sets it apart, even from somewhere as close as Nashville. You don’t have to make it in Memphis, but you can — it’s just different. Memphis is creative awakening, growing untamed like kudzu. Buckley’s journey through this city is also a reflection of just that.  

On May 29, 1997, while waiting for his band to travel to Memphis from New York to join him in the studio, Buckley went for a swim in the Wolf River Harbor, reportedly fully clothed and wearing boots. He drowned after being pulled under in the wake of a passing tugboat. His body wasn’t found until June 4th. The autopsy report deemed the drowning accidental, as no signs of drugs or alcohol were found in his system.   

Memphis Magazine April 2017

Danielle Costello

A former Memphian, Danielle Costello is now a freelance writer/editor in Morgantown, West Virginia. A mom of two, exercise enthusiast, and dog-rescue advocate, she spends her free time making 45-minute 30-minute meals and savoring disrupted sleep.

[areiton]

something to hold onto - stony

Read on AO3

~*~ 

It goes like this: 

You put the Valkyrie in the water. And then you swim. 

You don't die. 

You get picked up in Greenland and Howard Stark is already on his way, a search and rescue only be believes will succeed. 

It goes like this: 

You tell Peggy you’re going back. 

You ask her to wait. 

You take the Howlies and you look, do what you didn't have time for then, because you should have died and Bucky should have died and if you didn't--

You go searching for Bucky, following trails and rumors and a missing body until you find a broken shell of a man and rumors of a snake that should be dead. 

It goes like this: 

You don't die but a bomb is dropped and then another and maybe part of you does die. 

You don't die but Bucky is broken, and you don't know how to put the pieces together. 

You don't die, but Peggy looks at you with regret and sadness and you think--maybe you should have. 

It goes like this: 

You don't die. 

~*~ 

You go back to war. It’s familiar, what you know even if it isn’t what you want. It’s familiar and you’re good at it and Bucky falls into place at your side, familiar and comforting and as unchanging as you are. 

He’s haunted now, and you hate the ghosts in his eyes and his dark days, when he’s all silence and brooding, the long months he vanishes and comes back restless and violent. 

He’s never talked about the years he was with the Russians, or the way you found him, and you’ve never pressed. Some days, you think you should. 

You fight with Howard. About his fucking bomb and his company, about the presidents and Bucky. About his child bride wife and his drinking and Peggy. 

You're there when the boy is born, but Howard is drunk and you only stay long enough to brush a kiss on Maria's forehead and touch the tiny hand of his newborn son. Small fingers wrap around yours and you smile. “Hello, Anthony.” 

~*~ 

Your relationship, shaky at best, shatters when you find out about Zola. “He tortured Bucky!” you shout in his face, and Howard waves it off. 

“You need to learn to adjust,” Howard snarls. 

“And you need some fucking principals,” you snap back, furious. 

You slam out of the mansion, and you see Tony peeking at you from behind Jarvis, wide eyes and pale face, and you feel a pang of regret, that you’re losing this--Maria and Jarvis and Tony, sweet and young and already brilliant. 

But Howard is there with his secrets and his agenda and the way his gaze tracks over you, hungry and calculating. 

“You and Howard want different things, darling,” Peggy tells you. You’re friends now, able to look at her and see the woman you respect and admire, and not just the might have beens. “You’ll never like him, because you don’t respect him. And he’ll never forgive you for that.” 

“So what do I do with that?” 

She shrugs, and smiles, enigmatic. “You do what you can.” 

~*~ 

What you can is this: you move to DC, to her newly founded SHIELD, and you work. You aren’t an army, like Phillips wanted, but you are here and the people you loved are growing older but you--you don’t. You work. 

~*~ 

Bucky returns from six months of silence, and there’s blood under his nails and fury in his eyes, and a little girl, red haired and beautiful and unnerving, at his side. 

“She’s mine,” he says, and it’s not true and it is, and it doesn’t matter, because there’s a look in his eyes, feral and familiar, and you don’t think anyone would survive crossing him on this, maybe not even you. 

“Ok, Buck,” you say, mildly, and that’s how you become an Uncle. 

~*~ 

Some years are easy, and you train the SHIELD agents that get younger every year. 

Some years are hard, endless the way that you have begun to feel. 

Some years are quick and brutal, marked by blood and shield in your hand and the battles that never end. 

But some years--some years are Natasha’s smiles, shyly emerging, and ballet practice and bake sales, and weekends cleaning your weapons because Nat likes it with her cartoons. 

~*~ 

When they promote you to Commander, you see Howard. It’s the first time in--decades. You’re startled, to realize he’s gotten old. 

“That’s what people do, darling,” Peggy says, a little bit dry and you laugh and when your old friend comes up to you, shakes your hand and stares at you with that old familiar hunger, you don’t hate him for it--you feel only the slightest stirrings of pity. 

You think of the years that are passing, think of Natasha, your niece who smiles now, and Peggy’s children, her niece Sharon, and think, with a pang, of Tony. 

You haven’t seen him in ten years, since you stormed out of the mansion all those years ago. 

You shake Howard’s hand and you think maybe it’s time, to go back and mend those fences, because maybe you are slowly aging--but he is not and you don’t want the chance to pass, to fix things. 

~*~ 

Bucky laughs at you, when you tell him, but he never much liked Howard, and you can’t blame him too much for that, considering Howard never had any use or time for Bucky. 

You mean to call, but a mission comes up with SHIELD and you end up in Iowa, chasing a boy with a bow of all fucking things and you forget, for a time, that you mean to fix what’s broken. 

~*~ 

He dies. 

Howard dies, and you don’t really believe it, but there’s Peggy, sobbing on the phone, and the reality of the truth--Howard Stark is dead. 

You sit across from her, this girl you thought you’d love and marry and have a life with, this woman who has become a fulcrum in your life, the turning point that you built everything that came after upon, as much as Bucky is, as much as Natasha is.

There’s more white in her hair than black now, red lips wrinkled and thin, laugh lines near her lips. 

Your hair is going grey and your body aches sometimes, but there’s this--you can still fight, can still lead the young recruits in training and combat, still slip into undercover missions that Bucky has always been better at. 

You are as old as Peggy and Howard, and you feel it some days--but days like this, you mostly feel lonely. 

~*~ 

You have Bucky, steady and haunted and mirroring your own age. You have Natasha, beautiful and defiant and vibrantly alive. You have Peggy and her children who you watched grow up, watched fall in love and marry. 

But you feel, so often, utterly alone. 

~*~ 

“Steve, darling,” Peggy says, and you turn, watch her come towards you with a young man, pale skin, a wicked smile, and familiar eyes. “You remember Tony, don’t you?” 

~*~ 

“Dad used to talk about you,” Tony says, when Peggy has wandered away and it’s only you and this beautiful creature--this son of your dead friend. 

“Did he?” you say, dumbly, and his eyes are bright and laughing, laughing at you. 

You don’t think you mind, not if it means he’s laughing. 

“Always wanted to fix things with you, Cap.” 

“Commander,” you correct, instinctive. You haven’t been a captain in almost five years and you remember it, abruptly, wanting to fix things. You never did. 

Tony’s eyes have widened, just a touch and his voice is different, a little bit raspy, when he repeats, “Commander.” 

~*~ 

You jerk off, that night, to the thoughts of a wicked smile and big brown eyes. 

~*~

He is a child--he is twenty--and your friend’s son. 

He isn’t for you, a bright shining beacon in a world you have long since decided has gone dark. 

He is brilliant and beautiful and for the first time in so long you have forgotten what it feels like, you want. 

~*~ 

You take missions that take you out of the country, come home for a few days and Bucky looks at you, eyes sharp and knowing and you don’t meet his gaze, avoid Peggy when you are forced back to the states. 

“You miss Nat’s show, she’ll gut you,” Bucky tells you, when you’re in Belarus, and not even sure why--the Cold War has been a series of confusing standoffs. “Come home, Stevie.” 

“Buck--” 

“You can’t run forever,” he says, and he sounds exhausted, the way you’ve felt for years, and you think maybe it’s because he ran first. “Come home.” 

~*~ 

You go to Nat’s recital, and sit between Tony and Bucky in a dark row, and the warm slight weight of him is distracting, even as she is beautifully captivating on the stage. 

You don’t ask why he’s there, not when Bucky stares at you, that thousand yard stare that promises violence, not when Nat hugs him, giddy and unreserved, not when Peggy lets herself lean against him, frail and thin and still fierce. 

He fits here, in your family, the people you love, and you love it, far more than you should. 

~*~ 

“We should get coffee,” he says and you smile and shake your head. 

~*~ 

“Come over for dinner,” he says and you give your regrets and stay home. 

~*~ 

“I got tickets to the Dodgers,” he says and you laugh and take a mission to Atlantic City. 

~*~ 

“Why do you hate me?” he asks, and you stare at him, big eyes and wet mouth and messy hair you want to sink your fingers into. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say. “That’s the problem.” 

Understanding fills his eyes and Tony smiles. 

~*~ 

You want him. 

You’ve wanted him since the moment Peggy led him, young and beautiful and smiling, up to you. 

Now--seeing him with your niece, the way he’s sweet and careful with her, the way he brings weapons and dancing shoes to her and let’s her paint his nails and listens intently when Nat bitches about school--it makes you weak. 

The way he is with Peggy, gentle and teasing, flashes of the boy he had been in the way he reverts to a teasing mischievous child with his godmother. 

The way he treats Bucky, like a peer, talking too rapid and fast about tech, about SI and SHIELD and Nat--

You want him. You want the complex man who talks about his assistant like she’s his favorite thing on earth, who laughs with your niece and watches you like you’re a puzzle he can’t wait to solve. 

You want him and sometimes, when he’s standing too close, lips stained with wine and laughing, you forget he’s twenty three and not for you. 

~*~ 

The first time Tony kisses you is on your birthday. He throws a party for you at his beach house, and kisses you in the dark kitchen, under a spray of fireworks while his godmother and your family laugh and shout outside. 

He tastes like cheap beer and strawberries, like sunshine and freedom and everything you can’t have. 

~*~ 

You leave the next day, take a training assignment with Barton in the wilds of Canada and bitch the whole fucking time, because who decided that Clint fucking Barton should train baby SHIELD agents. 

You spend six months in the wild, come home with a thick beard and too long grey hair and an ache to see your bed. 

You sleep for three days solid and Bucky drags you and Barton both to a family dinner at Peggy’s son’s house. 

Tony is there, and he looks--different. Stretched and tired, shadows in his gaze. You listen as the family teases him, as Nat sniffs over his latest girlfriend, and Tony avoids your gaze and skirts the conversation with a deft skill that’s infuriating and fascinating. 

“He’s been spiralling,” Bucky says, later, when you’re sitting in the dark living room with him, “Whatever happened, before you left, he didn’t take you running real well.” 

He sighs, and rubs a hand through his hair, hooks it--it’s long now, when did he grow out his hair?--behind his ear and says, “You gotta quit this shit, Steve.” 

“I can’t stay here, with him.” 

“You could. He wants you to.” 

“Buck,” you say, reproachful and he shrugs. 

“You ever think you aren’t meant to be alone?” he thinks. “You fight these wars and you go on these missions and you’ve got nothing to keep you going, nothing to come home to.” 

“I have you, Nat. Pegs.” 

Bucky smiles at him and it’s sad, resigned. “I love you, brother. But you need a reason to live, because folks like us--watching our friends die? It’s gonna be too easy to give up.” 

~*~ 

You think about it a lot, Bucky’s words. He found his reason to live, even after the years of rage and grief, found it in a pretty little girl with haunted eyes and red hair, and he never looked back or away. 

You think of the decades of fighting, with the Howlies and for Peggy, with Nick Fury and Coulsen and Barton, and wonder if it wasn’t always you, reaching for something you can’t find. 

Tony smiles at you, over coffee at Peggy’s, and you don’t want to run, don’t want to fight. 

You want, for the first time, to rest. 

~*~ 

You kiss him for the first time in the spring, while Natasha is sleeping in the sun outside the house where you and Bucky raised her and Barton can’t quite stop watching her, and Tony is sun-gold and laughing, with his tired eyes and sad smiles. 

“Don’t,” he whispers, almost begging, “If you’re going to leave again, don’t do this.” 

You almost, almost step away, and his lips tremble under yours, eyes bright and scared and hopeful. 

He’s too young and your friend’s child and not for you. 

But he makes you feel alive, too, clings to you like you might vanish, watches you like you matter. 

You drag him close, lick the whimper from his mouth and hold on tight. 

[romancandlemagazine]

An Interview with Alexander Wolfe, the man behind Pedestrian Magazine

Pedestrian is a magazine about the humble art of walking. In this interview, I talked with the man with the plan, Alexander Wolfe, about his love for this much maligned form of transport, his recent expedition from New York to Philadelphia, and the art of conversation.

First off, you recently walked from New York City to Philadelphia over nine days. What made you want to do that?

The initial desire to walk to Philadelphia came out living in New York City during the pandemic. I was bound to my apartment for a few months with little to do but walk around my neighborhood. I've always had a habit of walking around the city, but the pandemic only made these walks longer and longer, which eventually led to a 23 mile journey from my apartment in Brooklyn, to the Bronx, and back.

Around that time I was reading The Roads to Sata by Alan Booth and started contemplating longer, multi-day walks. I needed a change of scenery and found the idea of traveling by foot and living out of a bag very appealing. I felt like I'd developed a process here in the city (go on a walk, take photos, write a newsletter about the walk, repeat) and needed to give myself a challenge.  I wanted to lean further into this practice that I've been developing for the last three years.

I'd never considered my walks to be hikes, so it made sense that I'd keep it in an urban setting. Walking to Philadelphia seemed like a no-brainer. What most people don't initially realize is that most of my time was spent walking through New Jersey. I liked the idea of walking in a place that is commonly misrepresented as the "armpit of America" and typically deemed unwalkable. New Jersey is actually a very underrated state. It might be the densest state population-wise, but it's called the Garden State for a reason. Oh yeah, I'd never been to Philadelphia and just really wanted to visit.

How did the walk go? Quite often trips or excursions can be a fair bit different to how you first imagine them… how did the reality of the walk differ from how you thought it was going to be?

I was presented with a new challenge every day. Don't get me wrong, the walk turned out better than I could have ever imagined, but you can never anticipate everything in advance. This was the first time I'd ever walked with a 25 pound bag on my back, let alone the first time I'd walked 9 days in a row. Originally I set out to average 17.75 miles per day, but thanks to my own curiosity, ended up waking 20 miles a day on average. I mapped the entire route a month or two before leaving, but would always deviate from the path in favor of exploring some neighborhood, road, or park that looked appealing. The first day alone ballooned into 27 miles because I got cocky and thought I didn't need to use my map while walking in Manhattan. I learned my lesson and kept my eyes on the map for the rest of the trip.

Another thing I didn't expect was the sensitivity one develops after walking 6-8 hours for days in a row. The smell of exhaust and gasoline becomes more potent. You realize how violently we've shaped the land to build huge highways and abysmal business parks. So much of our infrastructure is built in favor of the car, which makes being a pedestrian incredibly difficult at times. If the built environment didn't present a challenge, it was always the weather, the gnarly blisters on my feet, or my gear malfunctioning. I quickly learned to accept these challenges. It was just another component of the walk.

A lot of times people go for ‘a walk’, they’re seeking out beauty spots or nice scenery—maybe in nature reserves or the countryside, but your walk was cutting through some fairly overlooked places… industrial estates and small towns. Do people miss out by not seeing the whole picture of somewhere? Is just driving through these places to get to the destination sort of cheating?

I wouldn't consider driving to be cheating – it's just another way we alienate ourselves from the world around us. When we drive, we experience the world at a speed that makes it nearly impossible to pay attention to the fine details. Our relationship to place is abstracted, especially thanks to the rise of GPS. We no longer have to have a physical relationship to these towns. We don't even have to remember how to get to them. Driving around in a car reduces these places to nothing more than a label on a map or a convenient place to stop for gas.

It's important to have relationships with the places surrounding you. The walk has given me an intimate experience with the space between New York City and Philadelphia. I know what it looks like, I know how it feels to be there. I can tell you where residents stop hanging New York Yankees flags in favor of Philadelphia Phillies flags. If I'm watching the Soprano's and Tony references Metuchen, NJ then I know exactly what he's talking about. I think to understand a place, such as New York City, it's just as important to understand the places around it. There are generations of people who once called the Big Apple home, but decided to plant their roots in Jersey for one reason or another.

I suppose you could have read about some of these places on Wikipedia, but being there is a completely different thing. Is experiencing stuff first hand important?

It's very important if you actually want to understand a place. It's too easy to create our own narratives without ever visiting a place. I still tried to do my share of research before heading out. I have friends from North Jersey or the Philadelphia Metro and tried to take their opinions with a grain of salt. I spent some time reading about certain towns along the way on Wikipedia or scanned Reddit to get a vibe. I even previewed chunks of the walk on Google Street View to mentally prepare and know if it was actually safe to walk near some of these roads. I could have spent months preparing, but it never would actually replace walking in these small towns and cities. It's so much different when you're on the ground.

I suppose the main reason we’re talking is that you make a magazine based around the idea of walking. How long have you been making Pedestrian? What started it off?

I released the first issue of Pedestrian back in March of 2018. I was living in Ridgewood, Queens at the time and made friends with a guy named Curtis Merkel (I actually met him while out on a walk). He ran a moving business for a few decades and retired. At 84 years old he opened up a tiny little bookshop to keep himself busy. I'd visit him every weekend to check out his books and eventually we'd just get to talking. He'd lived in Ridgewood his entire life and loved to talk about the neighborhood's history. Moving to NYC also introduced me to a thriving community of zine makers. I wanted to share these conversations I'd had with Curtis in print form, so I decided to start a magazine. I invited a few friends to contribute and the rest was history.

Since then, the identity of Pedestrian has become quite fluid. While it started as a magazine, I would now describe Pedestrian as my own practice. It's a platform that allows me to collaborate with others, produce magazines, write newsletters, go on these long multi-day walks, and produce t-shirts. I have found this configuration gives me the most creative freedom.

A lot of your magazine is about meeting people and striking up conversations. Is this a lost art these days?

I don't know if it's a lost art per se, but there's less incentive to reach out and talk with strangers these days. Thanks to the rise of social media it's just getting easier and easier to stay within our own "bubbles." Starting Pedestrian, in a way, was an excuse for me to speak with those I typically wouldn't reach. It's amazing how having a publication kind of takes the fear out of speaking with strangers. You can do anything when you have intention.

Although walking is something most people do, is it overlooked as an activity? It seems it’s mostly seen as an inconvenience, rather than a hobby in itself.

It depends where you live. In New York City, for example, walking is a part of the culture. The city is built in such a way that makes walking a viable means of transportation. And if you can't walk to your destination, you're likely walking to a subway or a bus. Where I'm from in Iowa, walking is very inconvenient. Everything is spaced out, which makes walking anywhere very difficult. It’s not that people don’t want to walk, it’s just the way we’ve built certain communities has made it very hard to enjoy. It makes people think walking is very inconvenient.

I’m here in Iowa until August and it’s been interesting to walk a place that is so reliant on cars. The other day I did a 13.5 walk around the city. There’s nothing here stopping you from walking (unless the heat gets you. Technically we’re in the middle of a drought. It’s been incredibly hot as of late), and there’s plenty of sidewalk. I think it’s mostly just a mindset people have to develop. It doesn’t matter how many miles you walk, it’s just about getting out there. Your mental health will thank you and you might even learn something new about your surroundings along the way.

Walking is maybe the antithesis to the internet, but Pedestrian also has a decent presence on the World Wide Web, and you regularly send newsletters and... er... partake in the digital world. How do you balance the real world with the matrix?

It’s a relationship I’m constantly reevaluating. I’m not a master of balancing the two yet, but I’m slowly building habits that will protect my time. I often daydream of abandoning social media altogether and picking up a flip phone. I obviously haven’t done that yet, so in the meantime, I’m investing a lot of time in my newsletter. Sending out a newsletter is a much more thoughtful, intimate, and slow experience...kind of like the way I approach my walks out in the world. I understand that the web is a tool and I’m not sure the Philly walk would have gotten the same amount of attention had I not had an Instagram account. It’s cliche, but everything in moderation, right? I try not to take it so seriously.

What next for Pedestrian?

The Philly walk was such a great success and I’d like to keep that momentum going. Later in September I have another big, big walk planned, but I have yet to announce the route. Look for an announcement sometime next month. This one will be a bit longer and involve 3 different cities. I can’t wait.

Once winter hits I’m going to buckle down and produce a proper book for the Philly walk that will include all my writing and photos I took along the journey. I’m already excited to share the finished product with the world. Stay tuned.

Final question, what are your walking shoes of choice? And what's your soundtrack? Are earphones advised for long walks, or do you prefer the ambient sounds of the streets?

I’m a big fan of Hoka Clifton’s. I wore them throughout the entire Philly walk and have two pairs in my closet. At this point, Hoka should probably pay me for how much business I send their way. I’m always recommending them.

I prefer not to wear headphones and just listen to the ambient sounds of the street. More often than not, I find wearing headphones to be a bit distracting and it takes me out of the present moment. Although, I’ll admit I have been trying to introduce music into my walking once again, but few tracks make the cut. Lately Andrew Wasylyk’s Last Sunbeams of Childhood has been on repeat. There’s something about that track...

Find out more about Pedestrian here. Pedestrian is available in the UK courtesy of Central Library.

[notveryglittery]

kiss me

summary: a series of kisses.  words: 1,820 / ship: romantic royality notes: @hawthornshadow​ said “kiss me” by sixpence none the richer and royality and this happened? i wrote it on discord so it’s kinda plotless and messy but it’s cute, imo!! shout out to @sleepless-in-starbucks​ for encouraging me along the way <3 

please listen to “kiss me” while you read!!  read on ao3 | @fandersfic-royality 

— — — — — — — — —

If this godforsaken town has one thing going for it, it’s Patton Hart. He is sweet, and handsome, and mesmerizing. From the light floppy sun hats to the pastel spaghetti strap dresses; from his strawberry blond curls to the sharp emerald green of his eyes; from the sure swift grace he moves with and the mischievous smile he hides behind his hand. There is confidence in Patton that makes Roman wonder if he really isn’t from the city, if he truly has been born and raised out here in wheat fields and sunflower plains. 

They meet when Roman is sixteen. He and his mother have only just moved to Iowa and don't get him wrong, he'd go to the ends of the Earth for his mom, but did her job really have to transfer her to the middle of nowhere? Roman isn’t sure this tiny little town even knows what Starbucks was. There’s one grocery store, one gas station, a library that also doubles as the cinema which makes absolutely no sense, and an ice cream parlor. They have an ice cream parlor but they don’t have stable WiFi and what was the gosh darn ding dang point of a cute, aesthetic ice cream parlor if he can’t post on Instagram about it? 

Roman had been hoping it'd take some time to explore his new home, to get to know the lay of the land, but it really only takes him a day and a half, and that is only because they arrived late in the evening. It isn’t until after Roman has the streets memorized (which isn’t difficult given that there are about nine of them) that he stops in at Scoops 'n Smiles. He thinks it a stupid name but then again, most of this town is still stupid to him, because he’s still bitter about living in it. 

It all gets a whole less stupid when a greeting rings out to him as he steps inside.

*

Roman might not know anything about the cute employee behind the counter but the cute employee behind the counter certainly knows plenty about Roman. It is such a small town, after all, and word spreads fast. He’s a city boy, out here with his mama, and so far he’s been nothing but polite, if not a little grumpy. Neither of them would admit it until they’d been engaged for five months, eight days, and thirteen hours - but the love at first sight is entirely mutual. 

Roman approaches the counter with a spring in his step and stars in his eyes. Patton had smiled coyly at him. 

“Hiya, welcome to Scoops ’n Smiles,” Patton would say sweetly. 

Roman would choke (“your accent,” he’d explain later, “god, you were so cute.”) and Patton would find his stammering endearing. They’re only sixteen but Patton has never been so sure of something in his life. He’d marry this boy, if the fates would allow it. 

Maybe Patton hands Roman a napkin with his ice cream, despite there being a dispenser at the counter beside the spoons. Maybe it has Patton’s phone number written on it. Maybe Patton winks at Roman as he leaves, gripping his cone so tightly it is close to crumbling. Maybe Patton screams into a dish towel the moment the parlor is empty again.

*

Their first date is, not to put it loosely, magical. Roman learns quickly that anything is magical where Patton was involved. They go out to the lake. It’s a beautiful day, sunny and bright and warm. Patton is wearing a sundress in a shade of blue that matches the sky. Roman wears the wrong pair of shoes and they are caked in mud by the end of the day, but that’s alright. 

The stars are sparkling brighter than Roman has ever seen, laying in the bed of Patton’s truck beside the barley fields and green pastures. Lightning bugs flit in and out of view, the air is cool on his skin, and Patton is telling him all about the constellations.

“How d’you know so much?” Roman asks. 

“My cousin taught me when he visited last year,” Patton answers, turning to look at Roman, and smiling, smiling so sparkling and pretty that the stars no longer compare. “I’m pretty sure he used it to do the same thing I’m doing.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Trying to impress a boy he liked.” 

Patton tastes like strawberry ice cream and vanilla chapstick. Roman doesn’t see it, given he’s so very focused on kissing Patton (kissing Patton!), but a shooting star streaks across the sky, and it really all might as well be made for movies.

*

Let it be known that Patton is never one to be outdone. He throws himself into his projects and his friendships and his work. His pa tells him to be careful about giving and giving and giving, that he has to slow down sometimes. Patton thinks that silly; how could he ever do that when he has so much love and energy bottled up inside, so much that he feels like he might burst with it? Roman matches him here and it is exhilarating. City boy is outgoing and adventurous and go go go. It feels so good to finally have someone that can keep up. 

What could possibly go wrong when Patton has someone as wonderful and sincere and bright as Roman at his side? 

Winter is approaching and so the town is celebrating its autumn harvest. They do this at the end of every season and it’s Roman's first time attending one. There are games and prizes, treats and cider, and when the cleared space for a dance floor is glowing with moonlight, and the band is at full swing, Roman takes Patton by the hands, swinging and spinning him around. 

By the end of the night, the fireflies dancing and the silver moon sparkling, Roman will press a kiss to Patton's lips and murmur breathlessly "I love you." 

Never one to be outdone, Patton will return it, and he'll continue with hushed compliments, and light pecks anywhere he can reach, and by the end, Roman will be as red as the changing leaves.

*

If Roman had known he'd only have two years, he'd have done more with his time. He'd have confessed his love sooner, he'd have made sure to take more photos, he'd have done better.  

It’s at the broken treehouse and working tire swing that they've taken to spending their free mornings at. Patton is wearing his favorite sun hat, the one with the flowers. Roman’s pushing him on the swing, soaking in the sound of his laughter and the warm unfiltered sunlight. He doesn’t want to go. 

They sit down for a picnic, looking at an old map Patton's dad had given them, one marked with trails and clearings and lakes. The idea of spending his summer with Patton exploring and hiking sounds so much better than going back to concrete skyscrapers and smog. He doesn’t want to go.  

"I have to go." 

Patton looks at him curiously. 

"Home, I mean."

"You are home," Patton assures him. 

"I -" and it's all Roman can say before tears are stinging at the corners of his eyes. 

Patton's expression crumbles and he hurries to pull Roman into his arms, shushing him, and pressing kisses to the top of his head, and running a hand up and down his back. Somehow, it doesn’t help.

*

The following three years are dreadful. They are boring and slow and lonely and Patton finally understands what his pa meant by taking it easy. He can’t work at Smiles ’n Scoops without remembering this is where he met the love of his life, he can’t attend harvest festivals without recalling the way Roman had blushed so prettily after their first I love you, he can’t look at the broken treehouse in the park without remembering the way it had felt to hold a crying, trembling Roman in his arms. 

Sure, there are letters and texts and video calls. They don’t compare to the way Roman’s hand fits perfectly in his. The freckles Roman had earned from all his time in the sun fade the longer he is back in the city. His hair is darker and there are bags under his eyes and Patton wonders if it is because it’s so noisy there; he can hear it through the phone sometimes. 

Roman does get better, over time. He gets used to the noise and the monotone colors and it is almost like he was never in Iowa to begin with. That doesn’t mean anything, though, because three years and eight months and two weeks later, he’s packed everything he owns, and he moves back home. 

Home is where the heart is after all. More accurately, home is where the Hart is. 

Maybe he keeps it a secret. Maybe he meets up with Patton's father and asks for his blessing. Maybe the entire town is on the same page for once and doesn’t spread the word. Maybe Patton doesn’t see Roman sneaking up on him at the autumn harvest festival. 

Maybe when Patton turns around, Roman is behind him on one knee. Maybe when they kiss this time, it is with shaking hands and tears of joy and a ring that sparkles like the silver moon.

*

Five months, eight days, and thirteen hours into being engaged and Roman is still as hopelessly smitten as he has been since day one. He’s helping Patton to figure out his new phone. Somehow, Patton’s had the same iPhone 5 for over seven years, and it was still in perfect working condition. There wasn’t a scratch or dent on it, not once had it needed to be factory reset. When Roman asks how Patton does it (because Roman has gone through at least four phones), Patton says sweetly, like the way he does the day they met: 

“I take care of the things I love.” 

And it should just be something Patton says but nothing Patton ever says is just something and someone might as well be crowing “one hit KO” because Roman is down for the count. 

“I loved you at first sight,” Patton sighs, as if Roman isn’t already dead. “I said to the fates, I’m going to marry that boy.” 

Roman falls over, swooning onto Patton’s lap. The harvest festivals see them on the moonlit dance floor less often, too busy staying curled up beside each other. “Dearheart, please have mercy.” 

Patton grins mischievously and leans over to press a kiss to Roman's lips. There are fireflies dancing around him and his strawberry blond curls look like they're glowing. "Now why ever would I do that?" 

And if Roman confesses beneath the milky twilight to Patton, too, that he'd fallen in love at first sight, hoping to fluster his fiancé (his fiancé!) in return, well... Patton is never one to be outdone.