#tomorrow is my very last day of classes in my undergraduate career…

[trashcandroid]

i fucking HATE tiktok videos that are posted here where there’s some interesting prompt with captions on screen that immediately changes to someone just talking to the camera with no captions

like i just got invested but i am not going to bother connecting my headphones just for this and i am definitely not playing it out loud

[jed-thomas]

Debt and Unreality at a British University

Most of the time, when journalists or researchers ask students in Britain about their “concerns” and their “experience”, they’re not looking for answers like: ‘I don’t feel real.’ Because, well, what do you do with that?

A friend of mine sat on a stiff leather couch in the hallway, tiredly scrolling. She’d just clocked out. For nine grand, we were getting about 7 hours of teaching a week. The rest of the time, of course, was supposed to be devoted to reading all the material we’d be discussing in seminars or attending lectures on. But she was working part-time at a Pizza Express. The maintenance loans only stretch so far, especially with rent around here. And you have to catch a bus to get to campus. Lots of us, our parents helped out. But if the ‘rents can’t or won’t pay, you’re a little stuffed.

In 2019, it was reported that over half of young people are now attending university. These figures represent the fulfilment of a target set by Tony Blair at a Labour Party conference in 1999, during his first term as Prime Minister. In July of the year before, Blair’s parliament passed the Teaching and Higher Education Act, introducing tuition fees for universities across the UK. In 1990, around 25% of young people stayed in some form of full-time education beyond the age of 18. Today, most young Britons will have experienced the presumption that they’re a university student and frequently, the expectation.

Yesterday, the University of Warwick’s official Twitter account shared a link to a blog post on how to ‘relieve intense stress in 60-seconds.’ The post was written by a current student.

In 1962, towards the end of Harold Macmillan’s Conservative premiership, “ordinarily resident” students were exempted from tuition fees and made eligible for a means-tested maintenance grant. Shortly after the Teaching and Higher Education Act of 1998, maintenance grants were replaced with loans. In 2004, the cap on tuition fees rose to £3,000 and by 2010, it had risen to its current rate of around £9,000. There were protests over that last increase, of course. The protests were in 2010 and I went to university in 2017. I now owe the British government around £27,000 for tuition and around £10,000 for maintenance. If you’re going this year, you’ll end up owing roughly the same - more, if your family earns less than mine.

You hear things. “Oh, they’re antidepressants.” A friend with a weird flatmate who never leaves their room. Oddly intense desperation eking out of drunk students from some corner of a smoking-area. Vaguely recognisable names and their time of death. “Honestly, just couldn’t be bothered to get up.” An acquaintance from your course drops out and moves back home. Barely concealed frustration in your professor’s tone, hushed rants in faculty corridors. And you notice other things. Admissions of 'suicidal ideation' and life-crises on a FaceBook page which is supposed to be about students sending anonymous messages of romantic interest. Sarcastic tweets about ‘mental health dogs’ and ‘mindfulness seminars’ have become cliché. A routinely empty chair in your seminar room. Strained eyes staring into the middle-ground, silence attending the teacher’s question. Dysfunction as normality. Your diagnosis in your bio next to where you go to uni.

In 2014, it was reported that one in seven full-time students also work full-time. The same report put the proportion of full-time students working part-time at a third. A number of reasons were given as to why they were doing this. I wonder, when they look at their bank accounts, or their accommodation, or their text on sociology, on Latin American history, on virology, existentialism, do they feel they have a handle on things? "I’m a full-time barista, full-time student." "Hello, I’m an impossibility."

For students, the British university is an experiment in unreality. Am I a customer or a pupil? Am I demanding a service from a business or being educated by my elders for my own good? Will it be my fault for selecting a ‘non-applicable’ degree or their fault for selling it to me? Everything is optional, even when it isn’t. You spend all week pouring over the text but feel embarrassed to correct or question the people who clearly didn’t because the professor doesn’t: “Don’t worry if you haven’t done the reading.” Next time, you just put in a sentence or two to fill one of the many silences, improvising off of what others have said, pretending you read whatever it was. Then, of course, coursework is set assessing your knowledge of the curriculum. You spend a couple of days stressed out, hoping to turn your lack of knowledge into a scholarly tone of caution and hedged bets. You go to a careers fair, a student union election, a party, a debate. Nothing sticks, tomorrow is the same day. Your teachers are devotees of a faith but you have to fill the ranks of their picket against the Church. The protestors mass, fill the campus with tension and noise, and then, in a couple of weeks, you’re sitting in the same seminar room with the same professor doing the same thing. You have to think surprisingly hard to remember that past, fugitive now in an opaque present. The only thing that changes is that a few new buildings emerge from their shells of scaffolding. When you miss almost five weeks, there is an email or two. One time, because of your chronic truancy, you get some mark or something, some strike against your name. Nothing happens. In fact, you find it incredibly hard to even find the place where that warning is actually recorded, displayed. You graduate with a First.

Recently, there has been a steady trickle of data, news items, and reports, gradually exposing the rate of suicide in higher education in the UK. It came to a head last week, as a Conservative peer, Lord Lucas, called for a bill which would give British universities a duty of care in the mental health outcomes of their students. Lord Lucas’ plea represents the mainstream of a movement by aggrieved parents of young people who took their lives whilst at university. One of these young people was Benjamin Murray, a 19-year-old in his first year studying English Literature at Bristol University. Shortly before falling to his death, Murray was told by the university that he would have to leave. A local newspaper reports that, according to sources at the university, his attendance was ‘sporadic’ and he had ‘failed to hand in expected work’. Discussing interactions he had with Murray which revealed that the undergraduate was suffering with an anxiety disorder, senior tutor Ben Gunter remarks that: 'A large number of students we see have varying levels of anxiety.’

I mean, look at it this way. You’re saddled with a debt, a sizeable debt. It makes you nervous just looking at all the zeroes. But this moment of selling your soul was planned, it was expected from the beginning. And there are voices all around you that keep coming up and whispering in your ear. It’s just a tax on spending after education. No-one’s expecting you to pay it back. It all gets forgiven when you hit 40. What’s a person to do in that situation? The same government that portrayed the national debt as an existential threat is the same government that turns around and says: Don’t worry. Does debt matter or doesn’t it? Is this real or isn’t it?

People are screaming, again. It's 5:35 in the afternoon. Earliest you’ve heard it this week. They’re really drunk. Or on something. You’re only dimly aware of it, really. It’s ubiquitous, it’s ambiance. Dimly, you wonder if they realise how loud they are being, how obvious their public intoxication is. You perk up when you recognise a few voices. People on your course - you’ve got an essay due tomorrow at noon. Down the ages, goes the cliché, students are drunk and reckless with deadlines. But you’ve been wondering whether it really matters if you get a 1:1 instead of a 2:1. Don’t they inflate the numbers, anyway? And besides, it's experience that matters on a CV, everyone’s got a degree these days. I’d just be another idiot with a 1:1. Your flatmate drunkenly knocks on your door and you seriously consider going back on your refusal to go out tonight.

A survey of undergraduates in seven universities in England reportedly found very high rates of dangerous drinking, with 41% identified as ‘hazardous drinkers’. It also considers that one in five students were likely to be diagnosable as alcoholic.

Every weekend students give in to the unreality. I know what you're thinking. Of course, young people have always experimented with substances, acted like they were invulnerable, ignored consequences. But many of the young people before us were unfamiliar with this level of unreality, this level of confusion. So the recklessness intensifies in those claustrophobic spaces that remain open to us.

I have deadlines, right now. A few days to go. I’ve been looking at the news, all the statistics on internships and jobs falling through for graduates and young people, in general. The worst hit. I’ve been talking to my friends, moaning about the job hunt, the rejections and the no-replies. Anecdotes tumble down the grape-vine of graduates from respected universities not even being able to get a part-time job at a supermarket because of the number of applicants or whatever. A couple of my friends are intermitting due to mental health problems. When I was home, before the most recent lockdown, a number of my friends and I worked at a pub. I’m back at uni and they’re still there. Class of 2020, all of us. Of course, they like it, it’s fine. But where do we go from here?

Don’t ask me, mate, I’ve got deadlines.

[malekshardy]

groupie love – hardy!roger taylor x reader (part three)

summary: everything comes full circle when betty surprises you with tickets to queen’s last show at madison square garden. 

a/n: this is it!!! the last part!!! and it’s three times as long as either of the first two, oops. obviously i think it must be at least kind of good, otherwise i wouldn’t have written over 6k words of it. definitely listen to the playlist while you read – i wrote most of this listening to empty space and close to me, but for the end i listened to my love, my life by abba EXCLUSIVELY and then somebody to love for a little bit at the very end. this has been so much fun to write, and i hope you like it!!

word count: 6,677 (!!!!)

part one | part two

Betty is waiting for you when you finally get home, just as you knew she would be. The whole subway ride home, you had thought about how to confront her about the phone number – although, logically, you know that you hadn’t seen her since you both got home from the party the night before.

On principle, though, you’re still mad.

Betty is laying on the couch, half asleep, when you slam the door open and enter the apartment. She snaps awake and sits straight up.

“Where have you been?! I thought you were dead in a back alley somewhere!” She exclaims.

You sigh. “Work.”

“Oh,” she seems disappointed for just a second, then her expression changes back to a more relaxed one. “Did Arthur keep you this whole time? Three extra hours?”

“Yeah.” You sit down next to her. “He paid double for the overtime though, so at least there’s that.”

“That’s good. But, like… why?”

“Queen came in around midnight.” You say shortly. You know you have no right to be annoyed, but it’s almost three in the morning and you knew your best friend and drunk Betty getting a rockstar’s number should definitely have been a topic of conversation on the taxi ride home last night. “John says hello.”

“Oh,” Betty blushes.

“I guess you don’t have to pray you run into him sometime in the next three days so you can say hi back, considering he has your phone number.”

“Y/N –“

“I’m not really mad,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Because we haven’t seen each other all day, but how did you not tell me last night on the way home? That’s exciting!”

“You didn’t tell me about you and Roger,” she says.

Oh. Right.

“And who told you about that? John?”

“We saw you, Y/N. You were literally in the middle of the party making out with the world’s most notorious playboy.” She laughs. “But yes, John mentioned it when he called me earlier. Do you want something to eat?”

“What did he say?!” You nearly shout. “Because Roger was being weird at the restaurant when I ran into him, but I just assumed that’s because he’s a rockstar who’s used to having to deal with groupies and all that.”

“I had mac and cheese for dinner,” Betty says, standing up and walking towards your kitchen. “I’ll reheat it for you.”

“Betty!” More than anything, you want to hear what John had to say. Even though you know it was probably mentioned in passing – oh, just Roger being Roger, attracting yet another groupie to his side for the night – you can’t keep yourself from hoping it’s something more.

The oven beeps. “C’mon Y/N, eat something and I’ll tell you.” You scramble to your feet and head into the kitchen. Betty takes the leftover mac and cheese and sets in on the table as if she’s your mother.

“Okay, go.”

“Well, our conversation started off a little bit awkward, since I think both of us got a lot of our confidence from being intoxicated, so I brought up you and Roger just because it was something about people that we both knew, and –“

“– Wait, what time was this?” You interrupt.

“Around three, maybe? I’m not sure, I had just gotten back from work. But don’t interrupt, I thought you wanted to hear what he had to say about you.”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“Basically, we talked a little about you guys and the party last night, and then he said something about us leaving really early and Roger being apparently pretty torn up about it – John said that he was pretty grumpy and irritable right after we left and this morning when they all got together for lunch, which is how he knew he was disappointed – and he said that Roger thinks that you left because you didn’t like him or something, which I didn’t think was true, but I also know about your wild side and you didn’t seem too upset to be leaving, so I just told him I wasn’t sure –“

“Betty, it was your fault that we left!” You exclaim.

“I know, I told him that.” Betty glares at you. “Keep eating. I know you haven’t eaten anything since five.”

“Fine. But I didn’t want to leave, just making sure you know that.”

“I know. But I’m not done with the story, so shh. Basically, John was saying that Roger didn’t want to talk about the party or you, which was weird to everybody because Roger always wants to brag about his groupies the next day, so John said they decided that Roger likes you and wishes you would have stuck around the other night.”

You can’t help it; your face heats up and your heart begins to pound furiously in your chest. Betty is watching you with a smile on her face. “That’s… good.”

“And one more thing. John and I were scheming a little bit over the phone, I’ll just tell you now since I know you’re thinking it, and he just happened to find four extra tickets and backstage passes for tomorrow – well, I guess tonight – at Madison Square Garden.”

You hadn’t really been thinking about Betty and John scheming, although you probably should have, considering Betty had been trying to set you up with a guy forever, even after you started going backstage at rock concerts and hooking up with rockstars. What you had been thinking about was being in another small enclosed space with Roger, his hands gripping your hips, your arms wrapped around his neck, his mouth on yours, just like the afterparty.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” You snap back to the present. Betty is staring back at you. “I’m going to bed. I, unlike some people, have work tomorrow.”

“Okay. What time do you get off? I mean, since we have a concert to get to.”

Betty smiles knowingly. “I have the ten o’clock tomorrow, so I’ll be out by four. I think I want to bring Sandra with us to the concert, do you have anyone you could bring?”

“Liz,” you say immediately. “We bonded yesterday over our mutual love of the band, right before they came in.” Betty suddenly giggles. “What?”

“I forgot to tell you, I may have mentioned to John that you were working tonight and… I maybe told him which restaurant it was.”

“So you got me stuck at work until three,” you laugh. “You should have known where I was if you told him where I work!”

“I didn’t think they would actually end up there! And especially not for that long! Wait, so that means you saw Roger, right?” Betty asks. You nod. “How did that go? Wait, don’t tell me. I need to go to bed. You can tell me later.”

“Okay,” you say as she heads down the hallway to her bedroom. “Good night!”

As she disappears into her room, you stand and rinse out your bowl of mac and cheese and set it in the dishwasher. As you do, you can’t help but think about what it’ll be like to stand in front of Roger Taylor again, having him all to yourself again, and being able to explain to him why you had left and why you hadn’t wanted to.

And hopefully he would forgive you. And maybe he would kiss you again.

***

The next morning when you wake up, Betty is gone again. Between the two of you working and going to classes, you were rarely home at the same time – even less so if a particularly good band was in town. It was nice, though, to have time apart from each other to relax or do homework. You had lived with Betty for the last three years of your undergraduate careers, and when the time came for graduate school, you and Betty had never even considered living with anyone else. The two of you could understand each other’s crazy schedules and hectic lives, and you supported each other in everything you did – with one notable exception.

You started going to rock concerts your freshman year of college, before you had even met Betty. Rock music had been part of your life since you were born, with your parents constantly playing Elvis, Ray Charles, and Bill Haley. Your first solo venture into the musical scene, like so many other girls your age, had been the Beatles. Then came Pink Floyd, David Bowie, and Led Zeppelin. Then, of course, there was Queen.

So it was safe to say you were a big rock music fan.

The first time you had slept with a musician, he hadn’t been a bona fide rockstar. However, the pure adrenaline you got from catching the eye of one of the men on stage was addicting, and you went to more and more shows, and the eyes that you caught became bigger and bigger stars. Betty, who, while also a rock music fan, tended to stay on the sidelines, was not a huge fan of your little hobby. It all led up to one massive fight at the end of your junior year, where she had called you a few choice names and moved back in with her parents for the summer. You reconciled, obviously, after finding out she was only worried for your health and safety, but she stayed far removed from your whole scene until she just couldn’t bear it anymore, and then you started bringing her to shows in the front row and going backstage. However, you usually kept her away from the afterparties – they were overwhelming and sometimes not entirely safe.

Until Queen came to New York and Betty begged you to bring her along with you to their afterparty. Which is how John Deacon ended up with her phone number.

You spend your morning doing mostly homework for your classes that week, and before you know it, it’s nearly three and you realize you still haven’t called Liz. You know she’s not working tonight, you just hope she doesn’t have other plans.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end is unfamiliar.

“Hi, this is Y/N Y/L/N, one of Liz’s coworkers? Is she there?”

“Yeah, let me go get her for you.” There’s a brief pause, and then Liz gets on the line. “Hello?”

“Hey Liz.”

“Y/N? What’s up?”

“I know this is pretty last minute, but I managed to get tickets for the Queen concert tonight and last night you mentioned wanting to see them while they’re here, so I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

“Oh my God, of course! Thank you so much! How did you even get these tickets so late? I thought the whole show was sold out!”

Yeah, how did you get these tickets? “Would you believe me if I told you my roommate knows the bassist?” Technically, that was true.

Liz laughs. “No, but I appreciate you inviting me so much that I don’t even care. What time should I be ready?”

“The show starts at 7, so we want to be there by probably 6. You can meet us at my apartment at 5 and we’ll head over right after, it’ll probably take a little while to get there with rush hour traffic. You have my address?”

“Yeah! Sounds good. See you soon!” As soon as you hang up, Betty walks through the door, clearly exhausted and frazzled from her day at work.

“How was your day?” You ask.

“Not great! People are assholes.”

“Tell me about it.”

She groans loudly and flops onto the couch. “I just hate my job. I can’t wait until I graduate and can finally get a job in like, the field my degrees are in.”

“Oh, I so agree. But at least we get to go to the concert tonight?”

Betty smiles, her eyes fluttering closed. “Yeah. And we have backstage passes. So you can make up with Roger. Or at least have a conversation you can remember.”

“Haha,” you say sarcastically. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

“Y/N, if you had been making out with just a random guy at a random party instead of Roger Taylor, you wouldn’t even remember his name.”

You laugh. “I mean… you’re probably right. What time is Sandra coming over? Liz is coming at 5.”

“I told her 5 as well. We should probably start getting ready then, right?”

“Definitely.”

***

You’re in the middle of doing your eye makeup when you hear a knock at the door. You quickly finish up with your eyeliner and head to the door to find both Sandra and Liz right on your doorstep, looking perfectly dressed for the show.

“Hey guys!” You say brightly. “Excited for the show?”

“So excited,” Liz exclaims. Sandra nods.

“Yay! Me too.” More than you know.

“I was just telling Sandra while we were outside that the band came into the restaurant yesterday, so we got to see them up close and personal,” Liz says.

Yep. You smile. “Yeah, it was such a cool experience.”

“It sounds like it! What are they like in person?” Sandra asks excitedly.

“I got cut before I could talk to them, I just got to see them come in. Y/N, you stayed till closing, did you get to talk to them?”

“What?” You barely catch the end of Liz’s sentence. “Oh, yeah. Just for a second.” You don’t tell them what Freddie said about you being Roger’s Cinderella, or anything Betty had told you about her phone conversation with John. Obviously. Because that would require a lot of backstory you didn’t want to tell your coworker. Betty is the only person in your life who knows about your little hobby (and your interaction with Roger), and you intend to keep it that way.

“And?” Liz says. She and Sandra are staring at you expectantly.

“Um – they all seem nice. Nicer than most rockstars. Probably.” Too bad all you can remember from your actual conversation with Roger is his wide eyes looking at you softly, you’re something, that’s for sure playing on a loop in your head. “I ran straight into Freddie Mercury when I went to put the silverware in the front and he was perfectly polite about it. He even made a joke or two.”

“Did you talk to Roger at all yesterday?” It’s Betty’s voice, and a shock runs down your spine at the sound of his name.

“Unfortunately, no.” You say, your teeth gritted. She only smiles at you.

“Maybe you will tonight,” she says, then turns to the others. “Ladies, we have backstage passes, so you can finally have those conversations you’ve been dying to have.”

“Oh wow,” Sandra says, shocked.

“You know, maybe now I do believe that you know the band,” Liz says to Betty, a grin spreading over her face.

“Oh honey,” Betty responds. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

You roll your eyes. “Can we go now? It’s a quarter past five in New York and one of the biggest bands in the world is playing at the Garden. It’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Okay, okay,” Betty teases. “I understand.”

The four of you shuffle out the door, you in the front, hurrying towards the street. Thankfully, miraculously, a taxi stops for you almost as soon as you step onto the curb and hold your hand up.

“Evening, ladies,” the driver says. “Where to?”

“Madison Square Garden,” you respond.

“You girls going to the Queen concert?” He asks, his eyes raking over your body, and for a moment you feel utterly exposed. Then you give a sigh of annoyance.

“Yes, and we’re trying to get there before it starts.” You snap.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “C’mon in then, it might take a while.”

“I’m aware,” you mutter, climbing into the backseat of the cab. The four of you squish together in the backseat – no one wants to sit in the front, right next to the slightly creepy cab driver – and Sandra slams the door behind her.

God must be looking out for you, because you only hit traffic once, when you reach 27th Street, and at that point it’s only 5:30 and you’re six blocks from the Garden, so you can relax a little. The car is nearly silent as you sit in standstill traffic, which is odd because you’ve never known your friends to be so quiet. The only thing puncturing the silence is the occasional honk from one of the cars around you – and by occasional you mean every fifteen seconds or so – and yet you’re still grateful to live in what you consider the best city in the world.

You sit in traffic on 27th for about twenty minutes, and then things finally start moving again and you can see Madison Square Garden’s magnificent shape start to appear on your right. Excitement pools in your stomach and a wide smile spreads across your face. You love Madison Square Garden and you love rock and roll and you love your friends and you love Queen.

And you have backstage passes, which means no having to persuade the crew to let you backstage to talk to the band. For once, the band knows you and they want you backstage. At least you think they do.

***

Roger has a girl under his arm, because of course he does. It’s half past five, and his friends are relaxing in the dressing room backstage, talking loudly amongst themselves and laughing, but Roger is stuck in his own head. The girl – he can’t remember her name – has her hand on his thigh, and every so often she inches it slightly further up, but he doesn’t care the same way he usually would. He doesn’t know this girl’s name and he doesn’t care that she’s hoping he’ll live up to his reputation in the half hour or so before they go onstage. What he does care about is his run-in with another girl last night – a girl he can’t seem to forget.

“Roger,” the girl whimpers. “Can’t we have a little fun? We’ve just been sitting here doing nothing all evening!”

She doesn’t speak too loudly, but the rest of the band can hear her. “Yeah Rog, why’re you so upset?” Brian laughs.

“You’re all bloody annoying,” Roger snaps. It’s not meant to be funny, but of course the others burst into laughter.

“Really? How absolutely unusual,” Freddie chuckles. “But wait, Roger, would you still be annoyed if Deaky told you he invited his little girlfriend and some of her friends to the show tonight?”

Roger jolts forward, letting the other girl fall out from under his arm, and the moment he does it he wishes he hadn’t; he wishes he could look as disinterested as possible. But of course he can’t – he’s been wishing for another chance to talk with Y/N since the moment she left him alone at his party two nights ago.

“Oh, look at him,” Freddie whispers. “There must be a fairy godmother in here somewhere.” The others laugh.

Roger clears his throat. “I don’t care. She doesn’t want to talk to me, and I know that, so I’m done.”

“Do you, though?” Deaky smirks. “I had a very interesting conversation with her lovely roommate, who happened to tell me that when they had to leave that night, it was all because she had to work early the next morning.”

“So it wasn’t Cinderella’s fault, then,” Freddie says. “Hmm. Interesting.” Roger’s heart free-falls into his stomach. She hadn’t left him on purpose.

“Also,” Deaky continues. “I got them backstage passes for after the concert. Although I’m sure Cinderella doesn’t need them, considering how you met her in the first place.”

“Who’s Cinderella?” It’s the other girl. Roger had all but forgotten about her, he was too invested in Deaky’s words.

“A princess,” Roger says. “From a fairytale.”

“Now that was cheesy,” Brian laughs. “You’re better than that, Rog.”

“C’mon, boys.” Freddie stands up from his seat on the couch. “We’ve only got twenty minutes before showtime, we’d better get going.”

***

The seats John had given Betty were better than you could have ever dreamed. You had been third row or closer at many concerts, but none this big. None at Madison Square Garden. You could see everything.

And every time Roger looked up from his perch behind the drum set, you knew what he was thinking about. You knew because you were thinking the same thing.

The concert goes by in the blink of an eye. You certainly didn’t pay as much attention as the first time around, but a lot of things were different the first time around. Soon enough, though, it’s over, and Liz is tugging you excitedly towards the backstage entrance, where plenty of girls were already crowded. You recognize a few of them from other concerts, other parties, and for a moment a bolt of jealousy runs through you. Then one of the crew members starts speaking.

“Okay ladies, do any of you actually have backstage passes?”

“We do!” You exclaim, pushing through the sea of girls until the four of you are at the front, standing right before the crew member.

“You were just here two nights ago,” he starts. “And you didn’t have backstage passes then.”

“And yet somehow I still made it inside,” you smirk, forgetting for a moment that one of your coworkers is right behind you, watching you work your magic. “It doesn’t matter, though, because this time I actually do have backstage passes. All four of us do, actually.”

“Uh huh,” the man replies. “I’ll go ask the band then. What’s your name? Your real name. I know you groupies don’t always use your real names.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You say with a smile. He grumbles, but heads backstage anyway.

Liz looks at you as if she’s never seen you before. “You went backstage at the last concert?”

“Um… yeah,” you answer.

“So last night at work wasn’t the first time you’d met them?”

“Not exactly,” you say hesitantly.

“And that guy – that crew guy – he called you a groupie?!”

You smile uncomfortably, making eye contact with Betty over the top of Liz’s head. Betty opens her mouth to speak, but before she can say anything the man comes back.

“Congratulations, Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Mercury himself says you and your friends are on the list, so I guess I’ve gotta let you in this time.”

“Thank you!” You say cheerfully, stepping past him and heading backstage. Betty slides up next to you, letting Sandra and Liz talk between themselves.

“Are you good with Liz knowing about all this?” She asks, her voice quiet.

“I didn’t confirm I was a groupie,” you answer.

“Yeah, but it seemed pretty obvious with the way you were talking to that guy. About making it backstage last time.”

“It’s okay,” you sigh. “I’ll figure something out.”

The two of you are quiet for another minute before Betty speaks again. “So are you excited? About seeing Roger again?”

You can’t keep the smile from spreading across your face. “Yeah. Especially with what you said about what the band said about me.”

The four of you turn the corner into the open dressing room and there they are, in all their glory. Freddie, Brian, John, Roger – and a girl, nestled into Roger’s chest, next to him on the couch.

Your stomach drops as you watch Roger look at the girl. You were right, then, and John had been wrong. Roger had replaced you, and you know you don’t have the right to be so hurt, but you’re hurt all the same.

Betty is looking at you with a shocked expression on her face, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, but you can’t focus on her. You can’t focus on the band, who are all looking at you with the same dispirited look as Betty. All you can focus on is Roger. His shirt is open again, chest still glistening with sweat, his long hair messy.

“Roger,” John mutters.

Roger sighs. “What?”

John gestures so slightly that you wouldn’t have caught it if you hadn’t been watching every second of this interaction. Roger follows his friend’s gaze – and lands on you. And then he scrambles to his feet, leaving the girl alone on the couch. You can hear Liz and Betty and Sandra talking with wonder about the situation, but all of that fades out as you make eye contact with Roger. You had always heard people say that the eyes are windows to the soul, but you had never believed them until now. You had never been so happy to be wrong.

“What am I supposed to do now?” The girl screeches from behind you.

“We’re going to leave now, I think,” Brian says. “If you ladies would like to join us. I get the feeling that Roger and his Cinderella probably want some alone time.”

Everyone shuffles out of the room, with John and Betty bringing up the rear, closing the door behind them. Everything is so still and so silent, and all of the sudden you get nervous again. Part of you wishes that you had a little alcohol in you, so that everything would be easier to say, but a much bigger part of you wants to remember every detail of this conversation.

“Hi,” Roger says, breaking the silence.

“Hi,” you respond. “I’m sorry about the other night. I would never have left if I didn’t have to. And I didn’t even have to, Betty had to, and if I was a worse friend, and I was really feeling like it at that moment, I would have let her go home by herself, but we live on the other side of town and it was really late and I would rather die than have something terrible happen to her, and – are you listening to me?”

He’s not. His eyes are fixated on your lips. “Hmm? Yeah. I know, Deaky told me. I don’t blame you. I’m sorry – can I kiss you?”

You hadn’t expected things to be moving this fast, but the afterparty seems like it was so long ago and you’ve been dying for this moment for what feels like years, so you nod, lifting your eyes to meet his, and one of his hands reaches up to gently cradle your cheek while the other settles on your waist. He leans down, torturously slowly – he’s so much taller than you – and finally his lips find yours.

Again, like the first time, it’s soft and sweet. He moves so that both of his hands are on your waist and pulls you closer to him, which hardly seems possible at this point, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

He pulls away for a second. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I know I came off like a dick last night at the restaurant, but I just thought you didn’t want to see me.”

You laugh softly. “It’s okay, it’s not like I said anything either.”

This time, he kisses you more roughly, leading you to the couch. This all feels so startlingly similar to the first time it happened, you can hardly breathe. This time, though, you’re fully aware that you’re on his lap, and when his hands find their way under your shirt, you let him take it off. You’re fully alone in this dressing room, the door is closed, and you’re with one of the band members. Nothing bad can happen.

He takes your shirt off and tosses it to the side, wasting no time in attaching his lips to your neck, trailing sloppy kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. You let your head fall back, giving him more access. He leaves a trail of hickeys behind – your eyes are closed, but you can tell – and you let out a breathy moan as a knot begins to form in your lower stomach. His hands find the clasp of your bra, and just as he starts to unclasp it –

“Oh, fuck. Sorry mate.” It’s Brian. You sigh, sliding off Roger’s lap and covering yourself as best you can. “Didn’t think it’d be dangerous to come back in so quickly, but I should have known better.”

You know you must look like a mess, because Roger certainly does. His hair is all over the place, his pupils are blown wide, his lips are swollen and tinted darker red than normal from your lipstick. And obviously Brian walked in on you almost completely topless, dark hickeys spotting your neck and upper chest.

“Okay thanks,” Roger says politely. “Now piss off.”

Brian holds his hands up in surrender, stepping out of the room and slamming the door closed behind him. Roger turns to you then, his hands reaching for your hips, and you giggle.

“What?”

“Sorry, you just –“ You reach up to fix one piece of hair that had fallen (been pulled) out of place. He takes your wrist and pulls you close to him. You kiss him again, gently, and then pull back. “I’m sorry. I just can’t remember our first conversation and I really want to. Can you remind me?”

“What makes you think I can?” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I don’t know, I just thought maybe you could handle your liquor better than me.”

“Mhm, probably,” he hums. You can feel the vibrations from his voice reverberating in your chest.

“I’m serious,” you laugh. He looks up at you, his eyes sparkling.

“Well,” he says, leaning back against the couch. “You said that you were halfway through your second year of graduate school for… I don’t remember exactly?”

“Public health,” you say.

“Public health,” he repeats. “I remember thinking that was pretty cool, that you wanted to help people like that.”

You beam. “Yeah, I’ve always been interested in it.”

“That was pretty much the most coherent thing you said all night, which was cute. You obviously really care about it. You talked about your family, and how much you love Betty and New York and rock music.”

“Oh, God, of course.” You groan, blushing.

“Don’t worry!” He exclaims. “It was cute. You’re cute.”

Everything is soft and silent for a moment, besides the pounding of two hearts. You had been in this situation before, in the dressing room of a rockstar, just the two of you. But you as you sit with your head on his shoulder, you feel an unmistakeable wave of peace crash over you.

And that had never happened before.

“‘m tired,” Roger says suddenly. “D’ya wanna take a nap?”

You’re on cloud nine and there’s still so much adrenaline running through you that you can’t imagine falling asleep, but he looks so cute and soft that you can’t say no. He smiles and shifts so he’s laying down with you on top of him, his arms wrapped around your waist and your cheek resting against his heart. You don’t think you’ll fall asleep, but Roger’s breathing slows and his heart beats rhythmically in your ear, and before you know it you’re fast asleep.

***

Roger wakes up first. He wakes up to find you resting peacefully on his chest, your face completely free of any stress that may have lingered there earlier in the day. There’s a pang in his heart, and it takes a second to recognize it, and when he does he’s terrified. He’s only felt it one or two other times in his life – it’s the feeling you get when you’re on the precipice of something big, your stomach dropping in a good way when a rollercoaster hits its first big drop. His heart beats furiously, threatening to break out of his ribcage.

It’s the feeling he gets when he knows he could fall in love.

You wake up, your eyes fluttering open, and he’s suddenly embarrassed by the intensity of his heartbeat. You are so beautiful and interesting and smart, and he’s never met anyone like you before.

You’re something. That’s for sure.

“Hi,” you say softly. He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Hi.”

“Do you know what time it is?” You ask, not really wanting to know the answer. You want to stay here, laying with Roger, forever.

He sighs. “No, but I don’t want to know.”

“Me neither,” you smile. For a few brief, beautiful moments, it’s just you and him, laying intertwined on the couch in the dressing room of Madison Square Garden.

And then someone knocks on the door. And you remember that other people exist and the world isn’t just this dressing room.

And you’re still not wearing a shirt.

Roger groans. “Just a minute.”

You scramble off of him, looking for your shirt and throwing it on once you find it crumpled in a ball in the corner of the room. You turn back to look at him, but he’s already looking, a dazed expression on his face, his cheeks pink. You can hardly contain the smile on your face, and for the first time, you hear it. That little voice in your head. You could fall in love with him.

You bite your lip, opening the door, and Betty stands behind it. Roger sighs from behind you. “Are you gonna take my girl from me again?”

Betty’s eyes widen. “Uh – it’s just getting late. We haven’t seen you in a while and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“She’s better than okay!” Roger yells.

“Roger,” it’s John this time. “We’ve gotta go to the hotel soon. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, y’know.”

Right. They were still on tour. They had thousands more fans to see, hundreds more tour dates in all different cities all across the world.

Roger doesn’t belong to you.

“Yeah, I know,” Roger says tersely. “Just give us a minute.” They look at the two of you, then each other, and leave again, closing the door behind them.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, and sit down next to Roger. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you rest your head against his shoulder. It all feels so incredibly natural, you can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to go back to your apartment, knowing you’ll never see him again. Knowing it’ll never be this way again.

“Come on tour with me,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. You sit up in shock, turning to look at him. It’s clear on his face that he means it, that he wants you there, and for a moment you feel warm all over. You’ve never been on tour with a band before, and his offer is so incredibly tempting. But –

“I can’t.” Your voice is so quiet, he has to strain to hear it. “I have a job, and I have classes – I’m halfway through getting my degree, Roger. And then I can finally have the job that I want, one where I can make a difference and help people. I would love nothing more than to go with you and watch you perform every night and see the whole world, but… I can’t.”

“You can,” he urges. “You can take a few weeks off of work and school and come with us. And we can get to know each other better.”

You know what he’s saying. You would get to know each other better and you would fall in love with him, and then he would break your heart. You would be silly not to think of who was asking you this, and how he had met you, and how he’d been with another girl when you had first arrived.

“I can’t.” Your voice cracks, and the look on his face is so heartbroken that you can’t help it. Tears begin to fill your eyes. “I’m sorry. I want to, I really do. I just… my whole life is here. I can’t just leave like this. I wish I could.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. Some vague, disconnected part of your mind that isn’t experiencing excruciating pain wonders if this is the first time he’s ever been in a position like this one. “I understand.” He says. His voice is small – the complete opposite of the proud, cocky drummer you met at the afterparty of one of his shows just two short days ago. It feels like it’s been a lifetime.

“Call me if you’re ever in New York again,” you say. You know he will be. “You have my number now, you know.”

He chuckles softly. “I will.”

You know he won’t. By the time Queen comes back to New York, your face will have faded from his memory and blended with hundreds of other girls, and he will have forgotten everything about you that made him feel light as air. He’ll forget you, you know. And you have to make your peace with it. It’ll be hard – because these last few days are engraved in your memory forever. He’s Roger Taylor.

And you’re you.

You leave him sitting on the couch, as close to a broken heart as you could both possibly be, and go to find Betty. And when you do, you can’t help the tears from spilling over, and Betty and Liz and Sandra scoop you up into a big hug and you leave Madison Square Garden, a little piece of your heart still in that dressing room.

•••

It took time. It hurt for months afterwards to see magazines with his face on them and to hear his songs. During those months you threw yourself into your groupie lifestyle more than ever before, causing more than a few blowout fights with Betty. You argued that nothing was wrong – you were passing all your classes with flying colors and doing extraordinarily well at your job. But obviously something was wrong, and it wasn’t something anything but time could fix.

But as the months went by, it began to hurt less and less until all you were left with were the beautiful memories of two perfect nights with Roger Taylor. You thought about him often, especially when you were at a rock concert and you happened to make eye contact with one of the men on stage. After a while, the thrill of sneaking backstage and hooking up with rockstars wasn’t good enough to fill that hole in your heart. You threw yourself back into your studies and prepared to graduate in May of 1979 with your master’s degree in public health. Things went well for a long time. You felt almost fully healed all the way through the summer of 1978, when Queen announced their Jazz tour. And that ripped the wound open all over again.

New York City, November 16, 1978

It’s a chilly, cloudy day in New York – a typical November day for New York City – and you’re in the process of finishing up some homework when it happens.You’re actually so deeply invested in your work that you barely hear it at first. It takes Betty yelling from the next room over for you to notice.

“Y/N, the phone is ringing!”

“I got it!” You shout back, standing up.

“I sure hope so, considering I’m leaving for work in thirty seconds!”

Sighing, you hurry into the kitchen to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Your heart drops to your knees and you get so lightheaded you nearly faint and have to sit down at the kitchen table. It’s him. It’s Roger, and you haven’t heard from him since that fateful night at Madison Square Garden. “I’m back in New York for a few days and managed to find you a few extra tickets to the show tonight. I wanted to let you know that my offer still stands. I never forgot.”

It only takes you a second to consider what he’s asking. “Yes,” you say breathlessly. “I’m graduating in May and then I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[your-modern-shakespeare]

Brighten Your Day (5): First Fight

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Summary: College!AU: You skip class and instead opt for going to the grocery store for your parents, where you meet a certain boy who works there. Snapshots of your relationship with Sam Winchester depict the rest of the story. 

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 6,120

A/N: It’s been a while since I posted any SPN fanfics, so I’m super excited to put this out for you. I’m hoping to have the next chapter of A Little Too Real out tomorrow so watch out for it. Enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of cheating, implied sexy time, angst, fluff

Tags: @fangirl1802, @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes, @linki-locks11 , @iamwarrenspeace, @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi , @ssweet-empowerment

Y/N’S POV

Sam and I made it through to the new year much better than Thanksgiving.

My dad started his book tour a few days after we got out of school, giving me a little time to say goodbye to him before I left. My mom was planning to fly out to be with him for Christmas, giving them some time to be alone together, which gave me the perfect reason to spend the break with Sam. Of course, they did promise to do a Christmas as soon as they got back but I wasn't too upset since I knew that Sam and I had wanted to separate our time between families for the holidays.

Once we got to Kansas, Sam spent a lot of time showing me where he grew up: his favorite places, the spot where he had his first kiss, where he went to School, stuff like that. It was all very personal and honestly it had made us closer than we had ever been before.

When we got closer to Christmas, I had to admit that I was honestly surprised. They pulled out all the stops...just for me. Sam had told me about their Christmas’s before, about how they kind of stopped celebrating when their mom died. Never did I think that Sam and I would come home one day to find Dean and John putting up a Christmas tree, boxes full of Christmas decorations littering the room and glasses on the coffee table filled with eggnog. It was incredible.

I mean it was really the first time in a long time that these three had had a true Christmas, which made it all the more special. And it was good…really good.

But Christmas came and went and sooner than really expected Sam and I were enjoying our first kiss of the new year. And it was perfect.

But the craziest part of the break wasn’t how perfect it was, it was how fast it went by. Before either of us knew it, we were starting our last semester at Stanford and I wasn’t too sure I was ready for it.

It wasn’t that I was scared to finish school, I just wasn’t sure about…adulting.

“What is it that scares you such much about the real world?” Sam asked me one night. We were laying down facing each other, our arms wrapped around one another, I couldn’t help but stare at him.

“I know who I am here. You know, I go to class and I talk to people who know I’m smart and I don’t have to be shy around them. And I’m really good at school, it’s pretty much all I’ve ever known, its all I ever had. I can do school, I always had school. But I never had a home, I never knew what that felt like. I always moved and I’ve been to a ton of places and that’s great but things are different now. You…you’re my home and you’re going to be in school.”

“Y/N, you are not going to lose me. I may have had a home and I may be in school and I know that I didn’t have the same life as you. But I love you, I love you so much that it hurts. And this love that I have for you isn’t just going to go away once you graduate. You’re my home too and no matter where you go or where I go or where we go, I’m always going to love you. We’ll figure this out.”

“You love me.”

“You’re seriously going to ask me that?” I smiled at him and at how goofy he was sometimes, even in the middle of a heavy conversation.

“I believe I made a statement.”

“A statement.”

“A fact.” He laughed at me and quickly leaned forward to kiss me.

So we started school much like every other semester, but with the lingering sensation of being so close to the end of our undergraduate careers. My dad was still on his book tour but texted me every day with updates on where he was going and sometimes he would call if he had a really great story. He called me with this great idea, in this case, right in the middle of mine and Sam’s lunch..

DAD: Come and visit me. Is how the conversation started.

Y/N: Well hello to you too.

DAD: Hello, I love you. Come visit me, just for the weekend.

Y/N: Dad—

DAD: I know that we didn’t do Christmas like I promised—

Y/N: That’s not what my hesitation is about.

DAD: Then what is it?

Y/N: Sam’s brother is coming in town this weekend.

DAD: How long is he here for? I paused for a second, not really sure about telling him how long Dean would be here.

Y/N: He’s visiting for the week, but Dad that’s not what this is really about. You can’t just call me out of the blue and tell me to get on a plane. You have to give me some notice, I would have to get a flight early tomorrow to even make the trip worth it. And who even knows if they have available seats.

DAD: I know it’s late notice, I just...I miss you and would love for you to come to this convention with me.

Y/N: It’s a convention?

DAD: Yeah. It’s not just a book signing, I mean there will be a signing but I’ve got a panel and it’s sold out. I don’t want to be up there alone.

Y/N: Next time you need to give me some notice.

DAD: I will.

Y/N: And you’re going to pick me up from the airport.

DAD: I will.

Y/N: Okay. I’ll let you know when my flight is.

DAD: I love you honey.

Y/N: Yeah, yeah. I know.

“What was that about?” Sam asked, words jumbled from the sandwich he was chewing.

“My dad wants me to fly out to be with him for the weekend.”

“You should go.”

“I’m glad you agree because I already said yes.”

“Well good. You haven’t had quality time with your dad since Thanksgiving Break.”

“I know. I just wish I wasn’t leaving right when Dean was getting here.”

“We’ll be fine, we’ll just get to hang out with each other until you get back. You just spend some time with your dad.” He reached across the table and held my hand in his.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After lunch we went back to Sam’s apartment and worked through as much homework as we could before it got so late that I needed to start packing for my early flight. I didn’t have too many options at Sam’s apartment concerning clothes but it would do for the weekend and I didn’t want to leave Sam right now if I was going to be gone for a few days. When I packed all that I could I passed out next to Sam on his bed and despite my begging for him to get some sleep, he sat up typing on his computer long past when I fell asleep.

What I had been expecting of the morning was waking next to Sam, maybe getting some breakfast, and then him driving me to the airport. But...

I woke up the following morning to an empty bed. I looked around the room for Sam but didn't see him close by. I grabbed my phone off the bedside table and quickly looked at the time. I placed my phone back down but then realized that what I saw couldn’t have been a joke and looked up at my phone again. I was running late.

I ran over to the bathroom and quickly got ready for my flight, not really having the option to put much thought into the way I looked. And as soon as I was ready to go I walked out to the living room, trailing my bag behind me.

So things hadn’t gone to plan, but I was still going to make my flight and even though I probably wouldn’t have time to eat, I knew that Sam had still wanted to drop me off at the airport.

Only...I wasn’t expecting to see the scene that I had walked into. I never expected to see Jess again, but I especially never expected to see Sam and Jess kissing.

I don’t exactly know what I did but I do remember walking out and practically running to my car. I just kept repeating to myself that I needed to make it to the airport, that I could handle what I had just saw after I got on my flight.

I drove in complete silence, my muscle memory taking over as I drove to the airport. I could feel my phone going off in my pocket but the shock of what I had just seen outweighed any feeling I had.

Just get on the flight. I told myself.

I parked my car in the lot and made my way inside to get my bag checked, making it to my gate just in time. As they closed the doors and readied the plane for takeoff, I finally looked at my phone to see at least a dozen texts and calls from Sam. I didn’t read any of them I just turned my phone off.

And as the plane took off I took in a deep breath, just trying my hardest to keep myself from falling to pieces. I turned towards the window watching the sites of the city disappear as the clouds became the only view I cared to see.

I loved how they were so simply there, how they would part for the plane and become something completely new. I loved how they gave life to so many things, so many beautiful things, and they were just always there.

So as I sat on the plane, I plugged in my headphones and thought about the clouds. And yet somewhere along the way I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about Sam.

I thought about the first time we met, the first time we kissed, the first of everything with Sam, it all came racing through my mind as I tried to rationalize what happened. There just had to be a reason for what I saw.

But as soon as I got through the rationalization, then came the guilt. I shouldn’t feel guilty but I felt bad about walking out. I did have to catch my flight, but I didn’t even give him a chance to tell me what happened.

Sooner than expected the plane was landing and I was feeling so many different things that I had no idea what to do. I wanted to tell him that I landed but I didn’t want him to think that I was ok with what happened. I wanted to ask him about what I saw but I didn’t really want to have this conversation on the phone. And now I was wondering if I should have left at all, but I really did want to see my dad, now more than before.

I got off the plane and walked through the gate looking for my dad as I walked to baggage claim. I stood and watched as the other people who had been on my flight grabbed their luggage and left the airport. I never saw my bag come out.

“Looking for something?” I turned to see my dad with my bag.

“I was just thinking about how long I could wear these clothes before they started to stink.”

“Sorry about that. I got here early and grabbed it when it came out.”

“Thanks.” I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around him. “Hi dad.”

“Hi sweetheart. How was the flight?” He grabbed my bag and we made out way out to a taxi.

“It was longer than I thought.”

“How’s Sam?”

“Good.” I tried to say it as if it were true but I was 99.9% sure that my dad’s “radar” was going off.

“Doesn't sound so good.”

“He’s fine.” We climbed into an available cab and I tried my hardest to avoid the subject as long as I could, despite my dad’s insistence that I tell him what’s wrong. “Dad I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“I just don’t like seeing you sad, and in my experience it’s usually the guy that causes it.”

“I’m not saying that something didn’t happen, I just don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay, but you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know, just not right now.”

We were dropped off at the hotel, where I checked in to my room, took a quick nap, did some touristy type explorations with my dad, and had dinner before going to bed for the night. As I was lying in bed I looked at my phone again to see numerous texts and voicemails from Sam.

I had to admit that all day I had been in a foul mood, I felt terrible for ignoring Sam and my dad was so worried that it was causing me to just want to break down and cry. And then I started to read through everything, paying attention more to the most recent messages.

SAM: I’m so sorry Y/N

SAM: I know you’re upset with me, but I love you and I hope you landed okay

SAM: Dean made it here and he told me not to text you again but I’m really worried that your flight didn’t land

And then his voicemail…

Hey Y/N. I was trying to decide what to say to you but I don’t really have the words to say how sorry I am. I can’t bring myself to try and talk through this on the phone but I’ve sent so many texts and called everyone I could think of, just hoping that you were okay. Your dad told me that you made it, so I guess I’ll just leave you alone now. But, I...I hope that I haven’t ruined your weekend, you deserve to have a fun weekend with your dad. And maybe we can just talk when you get back and I’ll explain in person what...god I hate doing this over the phone. I’m sorry. I love you Y/N.

I listened to the voicemail a few more times, just missing his voice and feeling terrible about the whole situation.

It took me a while to fall asleep and even then it really didn’t feel as if I slept at all. I woke up in a daze, eyes foggy and hair all over the place. I rolled out of bed and got in the shower, knowing that I had to get ready for the day despite not wanting to do much of anything. I put on the nicest outfit that I could find amongst my clothes and met my father downstairs for breakfast.

I filled up my plate with food and tried to make it look like I was eating but didn’t really have the appetite to eat much.

“Okay, I thought that things would be better once you got some sleep, but you actually look worse than you did last night. Y/N, honey, please tell me what’s wrong.”

I could feel tears coming to my eyes. “Before I got on my flight, I saw Sam...he kissed his ex. And I had to leave and I’m ignoring him and nothing makes sense. I don’t know if I should feel sad or mad or if I should talk to him or just forget that it happened. I just know that he’s my best friend and all I want to do is talk to him.” I felt a tear fall down my cheek.

“I’m so sorry baby.” He moved to the chair closest to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “You want to talk about it?”

“I just don’t understand. There has to be a reason right?”

“Well maybe there was. How did Sam and Jess breakup?”

“She cheated on him.”

“Oh.”

“Oh what?”

“Well, it’s just that if he felt anything like you do now then I can see why he let her in.”

“Why’s that? They’ve been broken up for a while.”

“From what you know about Jess do you think he ever got any real closure on what happened between them?”

“Well he said that he found out from a friend that she was with someone else. Then when he went to confront her, she was with the other guy and he left, never talked to her again.”

“You know how conflicted you feel...you have to understand that it’s more than likely that he’s held in just as many conflicted feelings. He probably let her in so that he could figure out why she cheated on him. I mean, you know Sam better than anyone, do you really think he would’ve kissed her?”

I took a second to really think about Sam and everything that I had come to know and love about him, but when it came to my answer there really wasn’t doubt. “No.”

“Then don’t doubt him. He’ll have a reason, I know it.”

“Thanks Dad.”

“And if he doesn’t have a reason I’ll kill him.”

“Moment over.” I laughed at him.

After breakfast, we met my dad’s publisher in the lobby and then he showed us to where we would do the book signing. There was already a table and some decorations set up, stating that it was my dad’s table. There was a stack of books, a bunch of pens, and a velvet rope weaving back in front of us.

“This is much bigger than Barnes and Noble.” I said.

“Yes it is.”

He was setting things up the way he wanted and it seemed almost instantaneous that a line started to form within the velvet ropes. We could see most of the people with books in there hands and they were all very excited to be waiting in line.

The line grew longer and longer and as it did, more security came by to make sure that nobody caused any problems while they were waiting.

Then when it came time, we started to sign books.

Everyone was very enthusiastic to meet my dad. And it was nice to talk to strangers because it distracted me from what to do about the “Sam thing.”

After the talk with my dad I had to believe that Sam didn’t have anything to do with that kiss. It just wasn’t him to do something like that unless he had been forced to. So I guess I wasn’t angry anymore but I still felt really bad about walking out. I wanted to see him more now than before.

After the signing we took a break for lunch, making sure to follow the conventions schedule, while also taking a moment to take care of ourselves. My dad’s publicist was our ever watchful eye, making sure to not give us too much time to ourselves and making sure that my dad didn’t wander off, which he had been known to do in the past.

Later in the day, we headed down to this big conference room where we were supposed to be doing a Q&A. Now, I had expected a small room with a table at the front but this was the exact opposite. There was a stage and hundreds of chairs, nothing like I had expected.

We went to the front of the room and climbed up on stage, getting our view of the room and the possibilities for this Q&A. There we’re definitely going to be a lot of people here.

As soon as we got a feel for the room they ushered us back to a lounge area with a couch and some chairs, obviously some kind of waiting area. And then we waited for everyone to get to there seats.

Question after question we answered, trying our best to give answers that would satisfy what they had asked. Some were easy, questions about the book and the characters, others not so much. These people definitely had their suspicions about my dad’s identity and would try every which way to get something out of either of us . It was never confirmed or denied that my dad assumed an alias, we just always knew to keep up the charade. When it came to our fans though, they all had their own ideas about who we were and whether or not we were who we said we were.

This young girl, couldn’t have been much older than 7 or 8, stepped up to the mic and asked the cutest question I think we had gotten all day. We spent our time answering her question, knowing that after she had gotten her answer we would more than likely be heading back into the defensive questions.

After the young girl had finished her question, I jumped off my stool and headed to the table where the beverages were kept, grabbing a water bottle and taking a second to gather myself again. As I was drinking my drink I heard a very familiar voice step up to the mic.

“I have a question for Y/N.” I turned around to see Sam standing at a microphone.

“What’s your question?” My dad asked, glancing back at me with a slight smile on his face.

“If someone you loved, messed up, big time, would you be able to forgive them?” I walked back over to my mic and picked it up.

“I guess it would depend on what this person did.”

“Can I give you a hypothetical?”

“Sure.”

“This guy that I know is incredibly happy with his girlfriend, they’ve been together for a while now and honestly it’s the happiest he’s ever been. But he messed up. His ex came knocking on the door of his apartment and he let her in. He thought that if he talked to her, he could finally get some answers and maybe figure out what happened between them. They were talking and he thought that they were getting somewhere, but she kissed him. It just so happened that his girlfriend walked in on the kiss but didn’t see him push the ex away, or him telling her to leave. It doesn’t excuse what happened but he’s torn up about it. So, if something like that happened to you could you forgive him?”      

“I don’t know about you, but I’m a romantic. I think it would take a pretty big romantic gesture to convince me that he’s sorry.”

“Would you consider flying across the country with an aviophobic, big enough to win her back?”

I laughed a little at the remark, thinking about Sam dragging Dean on a plane, who was absolutely terrified of flying, just so that he could come and fix things with me.

“That’s pretty big.”

“Thank you for the question.” My dad said and the security guard ushered him back to his seat, leaving the next person to start their question.

As the Q&A came to a close, I got more and more anxious, knowing that Sam and I, despite not being angry at him anymore, needed to have a serious talk.

The security guard escorted us off stage and before we could get into the waiting area from before, I asked him to grab Sam and Dean from the audience and bring them back here to us.

My dad and I sat down on the couch and waited just a couple of minutes before the security guard opened the door. Dean was the first one to come in, Sam following behind him.

Dean walked over to me and I wrapped him in my arms.

“Thanks for flying out here, I know you hate it.”

“I couldn’t let him do this alone, he was a wreck.”

“Well it means a lot. Uh...Dean, this is my dad. Dad, Dean.” They shook hands and told each other how nice it was to meet each other. “If you guys will excuse us.” I looked over at my dad and he knew that I needed a moment with Sam.

We walked out to the hallway outside of the waiting room and I turned and faced Sam for the first time. We stood some distance from each other, and I waited to find the words to say to him. He beat me to it.

“I shouldn’t have let her in.”

“Sam, I...I’m confused about what happened, about what it means.”

“It didn’t mean anything. I was stupid to let her in. I thought that if I talked to her, I could understand why she cheated on me. I was confused about why she did it.”

“I understand that, um...I more concerned about that fact that you’re still thinking about her?”

“I’m not thinking about her.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” I said, giving him a serious look.

“Okay...I let her in because...I loved her, you know. We had been together a long time and when we were together I saw her falling out of love with me, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I set myself up for the heartbreak. So when I finally found out that she cheated on me, I was hurt, but I should have known, you know. I let her in, because I wanted to know what I did wrong, what made her fall out of love with me...so that I don’t mess up again.” He said, sadly.

“Sam...” I sighed and just caught a brief glimpse of the window on the door leading to the waiting area, my dad and Dean staring at us. “Act like we’re arguing.”

“What, why?” He said with a surprised look on his face.

“Because my dad and Dean are watching.” I tried to make myself look just as surprised as Sam did but with a little bit of hurt on my face, like our conversation had taken a turn.

“What are you getting at?” He asked, his face looking as if he was upset at me.

“We need an excuse to leave.” I crossed my arms across my chest.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I’ll play along.” He crossed his arms too.

“Follow me.” I then walked away from him, as angry as I could look.

He followed after me and we got into the elevator together still playing along since there were other people in with us. We got out on my floor and I showed him to my room.

“Okay. I’m not sure what that was about but if you are upset with me, I understand. And I am sorry Y/N I didn’t think that—“ I walked over to him, grabbed his face in my hands, and kissed him. He pulled away first. “Y/N, I —“ I kissed him again but quickly and then pulled away.

“Sam...shut up.”

“So this was just a ruse to get me up to your room?”  He asked with a smile on his face.

“If it didn’t look like we were having our first fight it would be more likely that they would come and check on us sooner than if it weren’t our first fight.”

“So you want them to think we’re having our first fight?”

“No, I want them to leave us alone so that they think we can have our first fight.”

“So they won’t come and check on us?”

“No.”

“But what about—”

“Sam, what you said, you could never mess up, not to me. Whatever happened with Jessica was meant to happen, but she wasn’t meant for you. You didn’t mess up, she did. And because she messed up, she gave me you.”

“So this was just a ruse to get me up to your room?”

I smiled and laughed at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

He smirked before he leaned down and kissed me, slowly backing up towards the bed.

We stared at each other. We didn’t need words, there was nothing left to say.

We weren’t perfect people, we weren’t ever going to be, but I knew that I was perfect for Sam and I knew he was  perfect for me. And honestly I don’t think anything could mess that up.  

Sam moved from his position against the pillows, leaning down to kiss me sweetly.

“I hate to ruin the moment, but we should probably get back downstairs.”

“Yeah…” We both sighed, not really wanting to move. Instead I just wrapped my arms around his neck and brought his lips back to mine. I never wanted anyone else to know what this felt like, know what it felt like to kiss Sam.

He moved, letting his body rest on top of mine, the two of us getting distracted from the actual objective of joining my dad and Dean downstairs.

But with that idea floating around in our heads we didn’t make it very far past kissing.

“We should really go downstairs.” I said this time.

With that, the mood was killed and we both got out of bed, got dressed, and tried to make us look as if we weren’t just having sex.

Somewhere along the way, we agreed that we would make it seem like we were okay but that I was still kind of upset, you know to throw them off. If they saw how okay we were then they may just assume that we didn’t go up to my hotel room to fight, and I didn’t want them to think otherwise.

So we got in the elevator and walked to the lobby. We found my dad and Dean in the hotel bar, sipping on there drinks and talking to some fans. I went and sat on my dad’s side and Sam went to sit next to Dean. We tried not to look at each other as we both ordered something to drink.

“That bad, huh?” My Dad asked, trying to ask without either boy hearing.

“No, we’ll be fine, we’re working through it.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I’m okay. You know I was hurt...but I love him and I know why he did it. I can’t imagine my life without him.”

“What was his reason?” The bartender brought over my drink and I took a sip of it before I answered.

“He thought that he was the reason they broke up, he wanted to know what he did wrong so that he wouldn’t mess up with me.”

“Better than I thought.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re still upset.”

“I’m sad and happy and who knows what else. I’m just trying to get the image out of my head, but we’ll be okay.”

We spent some time after that walking around the convention, meeting other authors and just talking to each other. Dean wasn’t much of a reader but he did really enjoy my dad’s books and so my dad made it his mission to find him something else he would like. This gave him the perfect distraction and gave me the perfect opportunity to walk around with Sam.

He held my hand and we walked around the floor but spent more time talking to each other than anyone else. I could feel Dean and my dad spying on us but it didn’t stop us from trying to have a good time together.

As the convention activities came to a close for the evening we separated for dinner. Dean and Sam went to some bar together and my dad and I went to a restaurant across the street from our hotel.

“So, you and Sam looked better the later the day went on.”

“Yeah, we spent a lot of time talking and getting back to where we were before.”

“Good, I’m happy that you guys are working it out.”

We spent the rest of our dinner talking about how the rest of his tour was going and where he was headed to next. I talked about school and how excited I was that this was my last semester. And then it got serious: what was I planning on doing once I graduated, was I going to stay in California, what was going to happen with Sam staying for Law school?

I didn’t have the answers for him, I didn’t have any answers for myself and honestly it scared me.

We went back to the hotel after dinner, meeting the guys down in the lobby. My dad offered up his room, 2 queen beds, to Sam and Dean and moved his things to the other bed in my room for the night.  I sat down in the lobby with Sam and we talked before we headed up to bed. He walked me to my room and gave me a goodnight kiss before he walked away.

I quickly and quietly got dressed for bed, seeing that my dad was already asleep. And that night I dreamed of Sam, I dreamed of a life with him and I dreamed of maybe someway to make this future mine.

When we woke up the next morning, we didn’t have long before we needed to head to the airport for our flight. So we all had a quick breakfast together before we packed up our bags and my dad drove all of us to the airport.

“Dean it was nice to meet you.” My Dad started, reaching out his hand for him to shake.

“Nice to meet you too. I’ll let you know about those books.”

“Yeah, I would love to hear what you think.” He turned to Sam next. “Sam.” He wrapped him in a hug. “You take care of my baby girl.” He pulled him away and gave him a stern look.

“I will.”

“Good.” Then he turned to look at me. “I already miss you.” He wrapped me in his arms, holding me longer than he did Sam.

“I haven’t left yet, Dad.” I laughed at him.

“I know, I just miss you when I’m on these tours.”

“I miss you too.”

“Tell your mom that I love her.”

“You could call her.”

“I will, but I want her to hear it from you.” He knew. “I know you haven’t been home in a while.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Go see your mother.”

“I will.”

“Good. Now go get on your flight.” He leaned down and quickly kissed my head.

“Bye Dad.”

“Bye sweetheart.”

The three of us walked to our gate and boarded our flight. Sam and I both watched Dean very closely as he put his bag down at his feet, plugged his loud rock emitting headphones into his ears, and pulled out one of two books that my dad had given him. He was trying absolutely everything to distract himself from the flight.

I sat next to Sam, holding his hand with a smile on my face. I was glad that we had cleared up everything and I was excited to moving past this. I had so many things to look forward to and when my head started to doubt or remind myself about what I had seen with Jess, I thought about the possibilities that the future held, one without her in it.

“You guys didn’t go up to the hotel room to argue did you?” We both turned to look at Dean with one of his head phones out of his ear, interrupting us mid flight.

“What?” I asked.

“You went up there to...you know what.”

“I’m not saying anything.” But when I looked up at Sam he was fighting a smile. I slapped him on the chest, knowing he had given us away.

“What?” He said, with a smile on his lips.

“What would you have done if my dad asked that?”

“I’m glad he didn’t.”           

Dean just laughed and put his headphone back in. I tried to argue with Sam, get an answer about what he would have done.

“No more arguing.” He said instead and grabbed my face in his hands before kissing me in an attempt to make me stop. It worked, I was done arguing with him.

I curled up to Sam, as much as one could on a plane, and let my thoughts run away with the passing clouds.

And when we finally got home we went straight to bed, Dean got set up on the couch and Sam and I curled up in his bed. I couldn’t help but smile as my eyelids drooped shut and my crazy weekend came to a close. 

PART SIX: GRADUATION (Coming Soon)

Tell Me What You Think Here 

[storywool]

Longing (part 1)

Summary: *SLOOOWWWWBURN* Y/n Y/L/n is a recent graduate from New York University and Sam Wilson’s life long best friend. She wrote her dissertation on a new experimental surgery that could alter the brain’s memory and speech patterns, a surgery that she plans to use on one of the most famous men in America: the Winter Soldier. Part 1 follows her plan to get the surgery approved and the first steps in the process to de-Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes. part 2 // part 3

Word Count: 7,760 

“Which one, the green one or the beige one?” Y/n asked her best friend, holding up two distinctly different blouses over her bare chest. She had just gotten out of the shower, had her hair up in a towel, and nothing on but black pants and a bra. She quickly interchanged the two shirts. The green one was a sheer, long-sleeved v-neck that she often paired with a scarf, and the beige one was this peasant type shirt that Sam Wilson didn’t completely understand. But he eyed both of them carefully, knowing she needed his honest opinion.

“The beige one. Looks more professional.” He replied, taking a sip from his coffee. She nodded and roughly took the garment off the hanger. She forced the top over her towel headdress, and hurried back to her room when she pulled it over. Sam followed her and watched her open up her large makeup bag. She shuffled around in it. “You nervous?” He asked.

She scoffed, “Nah, I’m just meeting with Tony fucking Stark to propose a new, never been done before surgery to potentially ‘fix’ the guy who killed his parents.”

Y/n Y/l/n was a recent graduate from the New York University medical school; in undergraduate school, she majored in biology and psychology. She graduated top of her class with honors, and she had recently taken the year off to travel with Sam. She wasn’t sure what she was doing with her career currently, but after Sam joined the Avengers, and she heard all the stories about James Buchanan Barnes, she seemed to find her calling. She began her focus on neurological, experimental surgery and developed an idea to try on the cryogenically frozen superhero. After proposing the idea to a professor, getting his approval, and talking it over with Sam, she managed to get an interview with Stark (without the help of Sam). She had been preparing for this interview for weeks, and today was the day. Her nerves were absolutely shot and she felt like throwing up.

She laughed to herself. Despite being best friends with Sam and living with him for the past ten years or so, she hadn’t met a single member of the Avengers other than Steve Rogers. She was studying abroad in Norway when Steve and Natasha came to Sam for help, so she didn’t get to meet them then. She hadn’t met them not because she didn’t want to, but she was always busy when they weren’t, and vice versa. But she was about to meet Tony Stark, and terrified didn’t even begin to explain it.

“I can still come with you.” Sam offered.

She shook her head as she finished putting on mascara. “No, it’s fine. I want to get this because my science is sound, not because I know the right people.” Sam always had connections and was always using them to help her. She was thankful for that, but she wanted to do this on her own. She wanted to feel like she earned it.

Sam yawned loudly and stretched. “Well, I believe in you. I gotta go though.” He wrapped Y/n in a side hug so she wouldn’t have to stop putting on her makeup, and kissed her on the cheek.

“Gotta go play cards with Scott some more, you mean?” She smiled cheekily at him through the mirror. Since they didn’t have any cases currently, all Sam seemed to do was hang around Stark Towers and play cards with Scott Lang. But it paid the bills, and he was happy. After his tour with the army, he was never happy, so it was nice to see him this way.

He shot finger guns at her instead of responding. “Good luck!” He called down from the hallway. Y/n heard the front door open and then close.

Y/n finished her makeup, blow dried her hair, and threw on a pair of black heels. After throwing on a coat and hurriedly locking the door, she walked away from their shared house and headed toward the subway station. She took the train that would lead directly to Stark Towers. The whole ride, she rehearsed her ‘elevator pitch’ to herself over and over until she felt she could say it without shaking.

She exited the subway tunnels and entered the bustling New York City streets. Directly in front of her, was the landmark building- ‘Stark’ was written across the top in large, white letters. The building was a staggering 93-story high skyscraper separated into two sections, and lined with wide, blue windows. Y/n took a deep, shaky breath in and moved toward the door when a familiar hand reached out to grab it for her.

The large figure smiled down at her as he held the door open. Y/n looked up at the blonde-haired man and returned the grin. Steve Rogers was looking dapper as ever in a white t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and leather jacket. Y/n mentally laughed at the Captain America patch on the pocket. He looked healthy, considering everything that had happened recently. She couldn’t help but feel her anxiety wash away as she looked up at her friend. Sam was always the one to make her smile and laugh, but Steve always made her feel safe and at home. Part of it was because they were both from Brooklyn and she felt a sense of home in his presence, but he also saved Y/n’s life a few months back. She trusted him ever since.

“Mornin’ beautiful.” He beamed. His voice was chipper, even for him.

“Back at ya, handsome.” She entered the building and walked with Steve to the front desk. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I had my date last night.” He had been talking about this date with Sharon for weeks, and it had finally happened. Y/n wasn’t entirely sure what happened but it was obviously good.

Y/n smiled and gasp lightly, “Yay, finally! I can’t wait to hear all about it. You seein’ her again soon?” She handed the receptionist her I.D.

“What brings you here today?” The receptionist asked.

“Tomorrow night.” Steve replied at the same time.

“Oh fun!” She said to Steve first, and then turned to the receptionist, “I have a meeting with Tony Stark at 9:00.” The receptionist ran her name through the computer, printed out a fancy I.D. badge, and handed the badge and her license back to Y/n. Y/n thanked the woman, and walked toward the elevators with Steve.

“Meeting for what?” He raised an eyebrow and pressed the up button. Y/n swallowed; she hadn’t told Steve about the operation yet because she didn’t want to get his hopes up if she couldn’t fix his best friend. Y/n mulled over whether to answer the question truthfully or not. She didn’t want to mention Bucky, only for Stark to say no.

She cleared her throat, “Uh, I wanted to talk to him about a possible internship.” It wasn’t a total lie. After that, she acted like she was too busy marveling the beauty of the building to answer in depth; again, not a total lie. The lobby was enough to take anyone’s breath away; it had vaulted ceilings, flying buttresses, and all the latest technology displayed on all the walls. The Stark Tower was very much like the old S.H.I.E.L.D tower, except it was a bit smaller and fewer people traveled in and out the doors. Even the elevator was awe inspiring with its glass walls.

“I looked just like that when I first came here.” Steve whispered to her on the packed elevator.

Y/n made light conversation with Steve the rest of the way up. They talked about Steve’s date a little and whether they were going to do their weekly Monday lunch with Sam or not. They agreed that they would, and that she’d meet him on the 60th floor after her interview. He got off and wished her luck. Once he was gone, her anxiety returned immediately, and only rose as the elevator did.

On the 93rd floor, she exited the elevator and entered a waiting room type area. At the front desk sat a brunette woman, who Y/n informed that she was here to meet with Mr. Stark. The receptionist replied curtly, “He’s very busy. Impress him in the first minute or he won’t hear you out.” Y/n nodded, swallowed the lump in her throat, and took a seat. She drummed the folder in her lap with her fingers and bounced her leg up and down. Five minutes passed when the elevator doors opened up and the infamous Tony Stark marched out. He was wearing a tight, black suit; his face was clean shaven despite a few scraps from a possibly recent battle. He said hello to his receptionist and hesitated when he saw Y/n.

She stood up and stuck her hand out to shake his. “Who’s this?” He asked.

“Your nine o’clock, sir.” The receptionist replied.

“Also known as Y/n Y/l/n…sir.” Y/n blushed slightly.

Stark eyed her up and down before turning on his heel. “Y/n, I’m sorry but I don’t have a lot of time. Talk fast.”

Y/n began to panic. Everything she had planned to say was thrown out the window. She stuttered along her words as she tried to follow Stark as best as she could. “I think I uh-” As they walked, several assistants came up to Stark and asked him to sign here, initial there, smile at the camera, etc. Y/n recognized one of the women as Pepper Potts, Tony Stark’s girlfriend. Y/n couldn’t seem to get a word in. “I spoke with my former research professor and-” Y/n stammered as she was interrupted by more people. Stark held up a finger at her to tell her to wait. Y/n could feel her panic and anger rising. He was being completely unprofessional and Y/n did not appreciate it.  

She stopped walking and realized Stark didn’t even know she wasn’t following. He was continuing on farther into the distance. Y/n swallowed her pride, gathered her breath, and shouted over the noise and chatter, “I found a way to fix Bucky!”

Stark stopped moving and turned back to face her slowly. The noise around them died down as her words sunk in. Y/n’s face turned a bright red and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry.

“You what?” He whispered. Y/n couldn’t tell if the whisper was cynical or surprised. She was shaking. Stark could feel his own heartbeat increase slightly. No one outside of the Avengers and the few remaining people from S.H.I.E.L.D knew what happened in Siberia between him, Steve, and Bucky, and even fewer people knew that Bucky went back on the ice.

“I-uh- think I know how to fix Buck- Sergeant Barnes.” She stuttered. She fidgeted with the folder and held it out for him. He quickly swiped it from her hands, and him and Pepper read over the files inside. The folder contained a detailed explanation of the operation, a twenty page research paper, and the cited works. Pepper oh’d and awed as she skimmed the paperwork.

Y/n cleared her throat and continued, “I have a theory that instead of picturing Barnes’ brain as a whole, imagine it as the parts it is.”

She paused to gauge Stark’s reaction. He bit his lip and continued reading. “Come with me.” He said once finished with the files. He slapped the folder close and moved for the door. He held it open for Pepper and Y/n, and she entered what she assumed was Stark’s warehouse/ research lab. He handed the folder to a floating robot that Stark seemed to talk to like it was human. Once the robot scanned the files, he motioned his arm to bring up an electric, holographic copy of the paper. “Continue.”

Y/n cleared her throat again, “Uh, well, you see, the reason he keeps reverting to his Winter Soldier self is because of the sequence of words: Longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, and freight car. If you remove the significance of those words, especially in that order, theoretically the Winter Soldier side of him can’t be activated.”

“How do you know about all of this?” Pepper asked.

“How do we do that?” Stark asked at the same time.

Y/n decided to answer Stark’s question first. “Well, Wernicke’s area in the temporal lobe is responsible for understanding language and the parietal lobe interprets language. If you operate on those areas and basically rearrange the wiring, it might make him forget those words and the significance of that sequence.”

“Wouldn’t he theoretically forget how to speak?” Stark questioned. He flipped through the holographic research paper and noted points in her paper.

She nodded, “Yes, most likely he’d have to relearn everything. According to my research, he might remember how to speak English since that was his first language, but it’s not a guarantee.”

“Technically none of this is a guarantee.” Pepper mumbled. Y/n tried to suppress giving her the side eye, but let it show slightly.  

Y/n ignored it and continued, “Operating on the temporal lobe would also affect his memory…if we could target the right memories, we could remove the meaning behind those words that trigger him.” Y/n finished and felt utterly proud of herself. It did not go as smooth as she hoped, but she did it.

“We? Ms…” Pepper peered at the name on top of her paper, “Y/n, you shouldn’t even know about this stuff. This is classified information.”

Y/n sighed. She didn’t want to have to name drop, but here she was. “I’m Sam Wilson’s childhood best friend and roommate. He told me all about Bucky, and I researched it in depth. Everyone who has tried to look into this topic has been thinking about Bucky as a whole, not as parts. His whole brain isn’t what’s the problem…those words are.”

They both stared at her. Stark absentmindedly bit his thumb as he thought. Her plans were detailed and her science was sound, it was just the experimentation of it all. He couldn’t attempt a never been done before surgery on Steve’s best friend. He couldn’t be responsible if it didn’t work. His mind was racing with thoughts and he was barely paying attention to the conversation. He heard Y/n say she was best friends with Sam and Steve, that they hadn’t met yet because of poor timing, and that she came up with the idea after a drunken night with Steve.

“Pepper, can you fetch Bruce?” He asked suddenly, knocking Pepper off her momentary soap box. She rolled her eyes and stormed out of the room. Once the doors closed behind her, Stark sighed. “She’s so worried about the politics and logistics. I don’t care how you know this information. I just care about your science.”

He looked Y/n up and down. She looked so nervous and absolutely terrified. It was then that Stark realized he hadn’t said any encouraging words to her yet. He hadn’t said anything to calm her nerves. Y/n was, Stark noticed, a very pretty girl with an obvious brain between her ears. She was of average height, long hair, wide and anxious eyes, and a nervous smile. She was wearing a partially see through top, and Stark could see an arm tattoo poking through. It was typewriter like writing, but Stark couldn’t make out the word.

“What’s your arm tattoo say?”

Y/n yelped slightly and stared down at her arm. “Oh, it uh, says ‘longing’…which I realize is kind of funny now that I’m trying to fix the Winter Soldier whose first trigger word is ‘longing’.” She rubbed the spot on her arm and smiled slightly. The look on Stark’s face told her to continue, “My dad was a writer before he joined the Army. My favorite poem he ever wrote was called ‘Longing’ and he wrote it after his tour. I thought the poem was about love, but after he committed suicide, I realized what it was about. It’s kind of my goodbye to him.”

Stark’s heart sank slightly. He learned so much about Y/n in those few sentences. He felt for her, too because she lost her father, and that was always a hard thing for anyone to face. He cleared his throat. “I’m getting Dr. Banner to review your plans. I think they look pretty solid, but I need another pair of eyes.”

Y/n felt her insides swell. Tony Stark, son of legend Howard Stark, just said her plans looked good! If she were alone, she would have started dancing. “Wait, seriously?” She couldn’t help but say. A wide smile broke across her face. Stark grinned too. She was adorable, for lack of a better word. She reminded him of a girl version of Sam, which would make sense with them being best friends and all.

The doors opened and Bruce Banner entered the room. His hair was an absolute mess, he was wearing a purple button up and gray slacks, and his glasses sat crookedly on his face. His eyes searched the room, stopping only briefly on the holograph projections before laying on Y/n. She stuck her hand out and he shook it firmly as they exchanged introductions.

“Bruce, look through these files.” Stark handed him the physical folder because he preferred paper over electronics. Stark gave him 10 minutes to read over it. Y/n found a chair nearby and pulled up a seat. Stark offered her a drink, and she requested a coffee. She hadn’t had her morning cup yet, and it was catching up to her.

Bruce took off his glasses and bit the end of them when he was finished reading. “It’s sound science…good science at that.” Stark pulled Bruce off to the side and they spoke in hushed whispers. They were talking about the best way to go about the situation. Y/n heard them whisper about rats and test subjects and how to get Bucky to agree. She cleared her throat and the two men turned to her. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I did come up with the idea after all.”

They stared at her for a second, and then Stark broke out laughing. He shrugged his shoulder. “I guess you’re right.” He paused and walked over to Y/n. “What do we need to do next?”

She blinked rapidly, not entirely sure what to say. She hadn’t thought past the interview itself. She guessed that they’d need to get approval from someone to do this research, they’d have to get a team that could work on it together, and they’d have to get something to test the surgery on. And then they’d still have to get Bucky out of the ice and get his approval. She explained this to them, and they agreed. It was set that Tony would file paperwork with the United Nations (per the Sokovia Accords), and then they’d go from there.

“I’ll give you a call when I get word from the U.N. Until then, you should come work here. I could use a brain like yours.” Tony said. She nodded excitedly at the prospect of working at Stark Tower with the Avengers. Tony grinned widely and told Y/n to be back tomorrow.

She left the room, headed to the elevator, and moved down to the floor where Steve said he’d be. She felt absolutely elated. She couldn’t wait to tell Sam, but that also meant telling Steve. She exited the elevator and came face to face with the whole Avengers crew. Wanda and Vision were talking in the corner, Sam and Scott were playing cards (typical), Steve was reading Harry Potter per Y/n’s request, and Natasha and Clint were playing chess. Y/n noted that Thor wasn’t there, though. She chuckled at how…normal they all looked. They stared up at her as the elevator opened.

Sam jumped up from his spot immediately and practically skipped over to her. “How’d it go?”

She beamed up at him and whispered, “Stark’s sending the paperwork to the U.N. to get approval. Until then, he gave me a job working with him!”

Sam yelped and pulled Y/n into a bone crushing hug. “I’m so proud of you!” Sam let her go and turned back to the group. “Guys, this is my best friend Y/n. Y/n, these are the guys.”

Y/n waved nervously as Natasha said, “So you’re the infamous Y/n Steve and Sam keep talking about.” She rose from her seat and shook Y/n’s hand. She smiled warmly. Y/n wished in that moment that she had met Natasha earlier. She seemed like such a nice person.

The rest of the Avengers greeted her as she made her rounds before she made her way over to Steve. He put his book down when she got to him. “By the look on your face, I’d say it’s good news.” He chuckled. Y/n found herself suddenly very nervous.

“Can we go for a walk?” She asked. Steve raised an eyebrow, but nodded nonetheless. She turned back to Sam and told him the plan. He offered to be there, but Y/n knew she needed to tell Steve alone.

They entered the surprisingly empty elevator. Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Y/n cut him off. “Not yet.” Y/n said. He closed his mouth and kept his eyes fixed on the door. Y/n could feel her heart beat in her throat and found herself biting her nails nervously. Steve could sense her unease, and realized he too was growing anxious.

They exited Stark Towers, walked a few blocks east, and came to their favorite coffee shop. This shop was the birthplace of Steve and Y/n’s friendship, and the foreground of several wonderful memories. The most recent memory being the day Steve finally asked Sharon out. Sam and Y/n yelled so loudly that they were almost kicked out.

Today’s news would either bring Steve joy or terror, and both responses scared Y/n. They ordered lattes from the barista and found seats away from everyone else. They sat down and Y/n sighed. She looked around at her surroundings and thought of what to say to him.

“So…how’d your date with Sharon go?”

He laughed, knowing she was stalling. “It was really nice. I picked her up from her apartment, we went to that restaurant you suggested,” Y/n chuckled at that additive, “and then we went for a walk in Central Park. I showed her all of the places that were there when I was a teenager and that are still standing. And then we went back to my place and…”

Y/n squealed, “Steve Rogers you dirty grandpa! I never would have pegged you for a sex on the first date kinda guy!”

Steve sipped his coffee before replying. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. “Well, she’s not your average girl, so I didn’t think what I usually did was the right way to go.” Y/n felt herself blush and her heart swim. She was so happy for Steve.

“I want details.” Steve told her all the nasty, probably too-much-information moments shared between Sharon and Steve last night. She loved that she could have these kinds of conversations with Steve, despite how conservative he usually was about relationship stuff.

Once their moment passed and Y/n was completely caught up on the night before, and Steve assumed Y/n was ready to talk, he cleared his throat, “So, is everything okay?”  

Y/n smiled sheepishly. “Yes and no.” She took a deep breath. “So I got a job with Stark to work on a new operation.”

Steve raised his eyebrows and grinned. “That’s incredible! So why the long face?”

She thumbed the side of her warm coffee. “The operation is to basically rewire the parts of the brain that deal with speech while leaving the other parts not tampered with. We’re basically going to remove the meaning behind words and re-teach the patient how to speech, essentially. It’s never been done before and there are a lot of things that could go wrong, and Stark and Banner seem optimistic. But-”

Steve’s face dropped. “But,” he paused, “who’s the patient?”

Y/n hesitated. Steve reached out his hand for hers and squeezed it. She didn’t know whether to build up to the name drop or just go for it. Either way, Steve would have questions.

“It’s Bucky.”

Silence fell over the table. Her gaze fell to the table as Steve retracted his hand from Y/n’s. He left his mouth agape. He frowned. Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and felt like she was going to cry if Steve didn’t say anything. But Steve was too dumbfounded to speak. Y/n hurried to formulate sentences in her mind to ease the tension growing between them.

“The only way to get him off the ice is to find some way to get rid of his Winter Soldier side. At least that’s what you told me. Since that night, I’ve been thinking of ways to…” She paused, searching for the right word but came up short, “I guess, fix him?” She glanced up at Steve and his expression was unchanged. Y/n reached out her hand this time and spoke to him, not at him. She stared into his eyes as she spoke, “I know how much he means to you. You’ve done so much for me, and all I want to do is repay those favors.”

“And you thought a never been done surgery would do that?” He snapped. Y/n was taken aback. She couldn’t believe his response.

“Steve, you know just as well as I do that the only way to help Bucky is to do things that have never been done before.” She scoffed and crossed her arms. She was thought about what to say next. She didn’t really want to tell him what inspired her to help, but it was the only way to get him to understand. “You told me about him and who he was before he fell off that train, and my heart hurt because of how much you cared about him. I’ve never seen anyone care about someone else so damn much, and if anyone cared about me that much, I’d do whatever it took to get them back. All I want to do is bring him back. After you told me all about him, before and after the Winter Soldier, I changed my major in school so I was better suited to help him. I’ve literally been preparing for this since I graduated from undergrad.” She didn’t mean to say it so viciously, but she felt like Steve doubted her abilities. She also felt embarrassed at her admission. While she had Sam, and Steve cared enough, she never had anyone love her like Steve loved Bucky. It didn’t necessarily make her jealous, but a large part of her wanted someone who would give life and limb for her.

Steve diverted his eyes and bit his lip. He was ashamed that he went off on Y/n the way he did. But he was scared, and he wasn’t sure how to admit that. The thought of getting Bucky back only to have him disappear again was too much to handle. He couldn’t leave his best friend up to chance. He trusted Y/n. He didn’t trust fate.

Steve cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Y/n. “How will it work?”

Y/n stared at Steve and blinked tears from her eyes. She was certain Steve wasn’t going to allow them to go through with it. She explained the possibility of him forgetting how to speak, the way they could change some of his memories, and the likelihood of recovery. She reiterated that Stark’s technology is unlike any in a standard hospital, and that she would not be performing the surgery directly.

“Obviously, this all ultimately hinges on approval from the U.N. and if Bucky says yes.”  She finished. They had finished their coffees and almost an hour had passed. Steve was visibly processing her words still, parsing each and every sentence she said. They left the coffee shop and headed back to Stark Towers. They got back on the elevator, which was empty. They hadn’t exchanged words since they left the coffee shop, until they were halfway back to the 60th floor.

“By the way, you do have people who care about you as much as I do about Buck. You got me after all.” Steve whispered to Y/n, and reached out his hand to take hers. They intertwined their fingers, and he squeezed lightly. Steve smiled down at her. She suddenly felt better about everything that had happened.

That night, Sam and Y/n were bundled up on the couch and sharing a cheese pizza. They were watching the latest episode of Game of Thrones when Sam paused the TV. He turned his body to face Y/n and cleared his throat. He gave her a look that said ‘we need to talk’.

“Oh god, why that face?” She asked, throwing down her plate.

Sam held up his hands in mock surrender, “I’m just worried about this whole thing.”

“What whole thing?” Y/n crossed her arms and sat up higher in her seat. She, of course, knew what Sam was referring to, but she wanted to hear him say it.

“The Bucky thing-” Y/n tried to interject, but Sam kept on, “I’m not worried about you at all. I trust you more than my own doctor, who’s a Jewish man in his fifties and has been a doctor for the latter half of his life. I’m worried about Bucky.”

Y/n raised her eyebrow, “Why?”

He laid his head on the arm he had stretched on the back of the couch. “You know why…he’s dangerous, Y/n. People think of him as the bad guy, and I don’t know what he’ll do when he comes out of the ice.”

Y/n reached out and grabbed his hand. She squeezed lightly. “A risk I’m willing to take.”

A week had passed, and Y/n was now officially a Stark Industries employee (paperwork took longer to process than expected). She returned to Stark Towers with Sam, just like Stark had instructed. It was a little after ten when they arrived. It was later than usual, but since they worked on their own schedules, it wasn’t a big deal. She waited on the 60th floor with the rest of the Avengers until Stark came and got her. She talked to Steve about his night with Sharon, and they tiptoed around the one conversation they really wanted to have. Sam could feel the awkward tension. He ignored it though, chalked it up to misinterpretation.

The Avengers talked about their nights as they all settled in for the day. Sam and Y/n saw the new Wonder Woman movie, Steve went on his date, and Scott got to see his daughter for a while. The rest of them reported nothing interesting, so they spent the time talking about Wonder Woman and how badass she was.

A voice spoke over the PA for Y/n to come to Stark’s office. The group oh’d like kids in a classroom, and one of them just got called to the principal’s office. Y/n rolled her eyes, bid ado, and headed to her first day at her new job.

As soon as she exited the elevator, Stark greeted her. He handed her a folder immediately. He turned to walk away, and Y/n followed closely. “Your file…while I prefer electronic everything, we kept paperback-ups. I didn’t put your name on it because didn’t know your title.” He explained.

Y/n smiled down at her manila envelope and opened it. Inside were standard documents like her birth certificate, resume, and photo copies of her license. “Oh, it’s Doctor Y/n Y/l/n.”

Stark stopped in his tracks. “Why didn’t you correct me when I called you ‘Ms.’?”

She laughed lightly. She got that question so often. “It’s just a title-”

“A title that you worked on for years.” Stark cut her off, and laughed. Y/n shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t go to medical school for a title; she went to help people.

Stark continued to walk and show Y/n around the office. He pointed to a room that was his office and told her to go there whenever she needed anything. He then informed her that her personal office was on the 61st floor, right next to Bruce’s office. Stark handed her an I.D. badge to use for all the doors she would need access to.

They reached the lab, and Y/n noticed that it was messier than last time. Bruce was already there too, sitting at the table and reading over a letter.

“As fun as it’s been showing you around, we need to get down to business.” Stark said, clapping his hands together as he did so. Bruce handed her the paper. At the top was the United Nation’s logo. Y/n glanced up at Stark and Bruce expectantly, and then hurriedly read over the paper.

“We have granted permission for your team to pursue this research on the condition that no other humans are given the treatment until further approval.” She read aloud. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears, she felt like she was screaming. They got approval! She squealed then looked back up at the two men. “I’m gonna give myself ten seconds to celebrate, so cover your ears.”

They plugged their ears with their fingers and Stark held up his watch to count the seconds. Their fingers in their ears did nothing to block out Y/n’s piercing screams. She danced in her spot, and jumped up and down. As soon as Stark signaled that her ten seconds were up, she shut her mouth and stopped jumping, but couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. Bruce and Stark grinned widely, too.

“So what do we do next?” She asked. She drummed her hands on the table in excitement.

“We wake Bucky up.” Stark replied.

Good feeling gone.

“Already?” She questioned nervously. She knew this day would come, but did not anticipate it being today.

Stark shrugged, “No point in doing anything else if he says no.”

Y/n thought for a moment and absentmindedly thumbed her necklace. She cleared her throat and nodded, “I’ll go get Steve.”

Steve tapped his foot nervously. He bit his thumbnail and exhaled loudly. Y/n glanced up at him, wrapped her arm through his crossed ones, and squeezed his forearm. They stood with their arms interlocked as Stark’s team of scientists rushed around the room to prepare for Bucky’s ‘unthawing’.

They stood in an open room with white ceilings and floors. The doctors wore white lab coats and they walked around with white clipboards and white glasses. Y/n noted how sterile everything seemed, and how unease it all made her. She was nervous for obvious reasons, but the severity and rigidness of the room, which was so unlike the rest of Stark Towers, was the number one cause for concern.

They wheeled Bucky’s sleeping chamber out onto the main floor where Steve and Y/n waited. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat upon laying his eyes on Bucky’s cryogenically frozen body. Y/n felt her heart stop too. She heard the stories, saw the news, but seeing him in person was something completely different. Seeing his closed eyes, his peaceful face, and his non-ageing body in person was unreal. She even felt a little guilty for thinking he was attractive.

Stark turned back to Steve and Y/n. “Ready?”

Y/n nodded and Stark dipped his head slightly. Steve wasn’t really ready, but he was as ready as he was ever going to be. On the bright side, he’d have his best friend again, but at what cost? Stark moved his attention back to the control panel in front of him. He twisted and flipped some buttons, and with a lot less pomp and circumstance than Y/n imagined, the machine hissed with the sound of thawing ice. The latch on the door turned as the door moved to open itself, exposing Bucky’s body to the fresh air.

As the ice thawed and the hissing grew quieter, time seemed to stop. They all waited in anticipation for that moment when Bucky would take his first breath and he’d open his eyes. And as much as Y/n wanted to watch this moment happen, she couldn’t help but watch her best friend instead. She knew this whole thing was taking a toll on Steve, and he was being such a good sport about it all, but being in the moment was something completely new. Y/n watched Steve’s heartbroken eyes as she heard Bucky’s first inhale. Steve squeezed her hand tighter, and he seemed to start shaking under her touch.

It was when Bucky started coughing loudly that Y/n turned her attention to him. He sat up in his seat so he could see; his flesh hand covered his mouth as he coughed. He eyed the room around him, but calmed down when he recognized his surroundings and most importantly, recognized Steve. His eyes seemed to soften at the sight of his best friend. “Steve…” Bucky whispered. Steve unwrapped himself from Y/n and ran over to Bucky. He sat up in the chamber and wrapped Steve in a tight hug.

“How long was I under?” Bucky asked Steve. Y/n traded a glance with Tony and noticed his rigid stance and nervous expression. The air was tense, and Y/n didn’t know which side of the tension she belonged on.

“A little over two years.” They separated and a man brought Bucky a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants to change into. Bucky hurriedly pulled the shirt over his bare chest and the sweatpants over his boxers. Steve helped him out of the chamber. Bucky wavered slightly, as he wasn’t used to using his legs. He wrapped his metal arm over Steve’s shoulders, and Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist.

“Why am I back? Did you find a way to fix me?” Y/n’s heart sank at Bucky’s phrasing. He was scared of himself, and Y/n couldn’t imagine what that must be like.

“We think we did.” Steve replied. He motioned back to Y/n, who stood awkwardly in the background with a clipboard and nervous expression. Steve moved Bucky over to her. She put out her hand for him to shake; his touch was cold, but his skin was soft. Y/n’s cheeks reddened and her stomach twisted.

“This is Dr. Y/n Y/l/n: genius, comedian, beauty, and your savior.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and smiled. “Genius is a bit much, but the rest is pretty accurate.” That made Bucky chuckle and Y/n felt slightly better.

“Ah, a Brooklyn gal?” He joked. Bucky studied Y/n from her black boots up to her eager eyes and kind smile. Her homely presence and gentle touch gave Bucky a weird sense of calmness. Bucky noted her awkward cuteness, and grinned.

“Born and raised. Steve and I actually met each other in Brooklyn one day when Sam came to visit my family in Brooklyn.” She traded a glance with Steve, “Anyways, it’s wonderful to meet you. Steve’s told me all about you.”

“Y/n’s been working on a new operation with Stark and Banner.” Steve added.

Bucky did not take his eyes off of Y/n. “What you got for me, Doll?” He asked Y/n, adding a wink at the end for good measure. Y/n remembered Steve telling her that his catchphrase was ‘doll’. She was glad to see that that hadn’t changed.

She laughed, “Well it’s a lot actually. Why don’t we move somewhere more comfortable?” She turned to Tony and nodded at him to follow. Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Y/n moved toward the elevator to head to the top floor. On the elevator, Bucky and Steve chatted the whole way up. Bucky asked about girls, and Y/n was prepared to hear his rant about Sharon that Y/n got months ago, but came up short. He gave a short ‘no’ and Y/n laughed.

The boys turned to her. Bucky leaned against the elevator wall and eyed her. He knew Steve wasn’t being completely honest with him, and Y/n’s laugh gave that away. But he didn’t press the issue; he’d only been out of the ice for five minutes, no point in pissing people off. “What about you, Y/n? You got anybody?”

“I live with Sam. That’s enough to keep anyone from settling down.” She said, making Bucky chuckle again. She told him about how she knew Sam since elementary school, how they’ve been best friends since middle school, and how they’ve been living together since her senior year of high school (really since her dad died, but she wasn’t about to share that).

The elevator reached their designated floor, and everyone filed out one by one. Steve grabbed Y/n’s arm to hold her back as Bucky and Tony moved to the lab.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n questioned, worry lacing her words. Steve waited until they were completely out of ear shot.

“I’m worried about him.”

“What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms, “He hasn’t acted like this since before he fell. I’m afraid that the honeymoon will pass and he’ll snap.”

Y/n reached out and rubbed his bicep. She sighed- she totally understood his fear, but the constant comments from Sam and Steve about Bucky being ‘dangerous’ were starting to piss her off. She swallowed her annoyance and paid attention to her friend. He was so worried about his best friend. Y/n wasn’t completely sure what to say to qualm his anxiety. She grabbed his arm, pulled him into a hug, wrapped her arm around his waist, and squeezed. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and squeezed too. Y/n sighed again. She loved his hugs.

“I know you’re worried. But give him time- give us time. We’ll get him back to the old him.”

They separated and Steve placed a light kiss on her forehead. “I trust you.”

Y/n grinned, “I know. Now, let’s go convince him.”

They walked into the room, and Bucky and Tony were not speaking, which they expected. Bucky was tinkering with a piece of technology that he shouldn’t have been touching and Tony was off in the distance, preparing for their meeting. Y/n noticed Bruce in the corner peering over a computer screen.

“He’s been touching stuff since he got in here.” Bruce said, pointing over to Bucky.

Steve scoffed, “Well he’s a person, not a dog.” Bruce smiled sarcastically. Y/n sat her stuff down on the table and moved over to Bucky. He reached out to touch a laser pointer that definitely would have severed a finger if he’d gotten any closer.

“Don’t touch that.” Y/n yelped. She grabbed his hand and pulled it away from the machine. “If you want to keep what fingers you have left I mean.” She explained at his confused face. She smiled, hoping he’d laugh at her feeble attempt at a joke; he did, wide and unapologetic. She thought it was curious that he seemed so jovial when everyone kept telling her he was the opposite.

He stared at the equipment in front of him, and Y/n stared at him. “Bucky, Y/n.” Steve said. They turned to him sitting at the table, Tony and Bruce patiently waiting. Tony had a file prepared for Bucky and sat it in front of him. Y/n stood at the head of the table with Tony. She suddenly felt super nervous again.

Tony pulled up some of the holographic images again. The first image was a picture of Bucky’s brain, with the temporal lobe highlighted. Y/n cleared her throat and looked at Bucky, “So I’m gonna start off by saying that I came up with these ideas, but I won’t actually be performing the surgery.” She chuckled. Bucky did not react, but she expected that much.

She went through the surgery process, what to expect, how he might forget how to speak for a while, and how Tony and Bruce knew what they were doing. Y/n felt Bucky’s apprehension rise. Tony was going on some tangent about the surgery, when Y/n held up a hand to cut him off.

“What questions do you have?” She asked Bucky at his confused face. His eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled, and Y/n’s heart swelled slightly.

He forced a laugh, “I guess I just don’t understand how a surgery’s gonna fix everything.”

“To be completely honest, it won’t. Part of the treatment is doing therapy a few times a week…with me.” Steve’s eyes widened a bit, he didn’t know about this part, “Part of what we will do is figure out the meaning behind your trigger words, and try to help you heal from the trauma you’ve experienced. Bucky,” She spread her hands on the table and leaned forward to talk directly to him, “you’ve been through a shit ton-”

Tony held his hand up to stop her, “The idea being that to cope with these issues, you need to talk about these issues.”

Y/n shrugged and tugged at the end of her sleeves. Bucky assumed it was a nervous tick of hers. “What I was going to say, but more eloquent.” Bucky thumbed through the papers in the folder, reading over the fine print and scientific jargon to see if he could understand the operation more. “You don’t have to make a decision today. Read over the file tonight, we’ll answer any remaining questions in the morning, and then we can go from there.” Y/n responded, rubbing her hands together and trading glances with the men in the room.

Steve sat forward in his seat and clasped his hands together on the table. “I’ll show Bucky where his room his. We’ll just meet in the morning.”

They all agreed and parted ways. Bucky, head buried in the file, walked with Steve to the elevator to go to the 50th floor where Bucky would be staying. Steve requested that Tony prepare the room next to Bucky’s for himself; that way he could be close to Bucky in the off chance something happened. Y/n finished up some last minute work with Tony and Bruce before retiring to the 60th floor to pick Sam up.

“How’s my favorite scientist?” Sam asked upon seeing Y/n.

“Stark’s upstairs.” She sarcastically replied. She grabbed the coat from Sam’s outstretched hand and threw it over her shoulders. She sighed loudly as she did so.

“Rough day?”

She nodded, “I don’t know who’s stressing me out more, Bucky or Steve.”

[sfaioffical]

Don Ed Hardy on The Evolution of Tattooing 

SFAI’s Alumni Exhibition, In A Flash, is opening this month and the illustrious tattoo artist and SFAI Alum Don Ed Hardy (BFA 1967) has agreed to participate! Last week SFAI’s Exhibitions Manager, Kat Trataris, and Librarian, Jeff Gunderson, headed to Hardy’s North Beach studio to talk Flash and select works for the show. (Im)Material tagged along, and we were lucky enough to get a real education in the history of tattooing in the West from one of the original masters of custom tattoo art in the United States. 

After exploring decades of highly organized early flash and custom designs, Hardy settled in among a tidy spread of artwork, books, and CDs to answer a few questions for (Im)Material. Read the interview below, and don’t forget to come see In A Flash at SFAI’s Diego Rivera Gallery, opening at 5pm on July 4! 

SFAI: Thank you so much for agreeing to do this! 

Don Ed Hardy: It’s no problem. How’s this? 

SFAI: This is perfect. Alright, so my first question is, How would you say that tattooing has evolved since you first got started?

DEH: It’s... it’s reached the potential that I think it always had. I got into it because I believed in it and it was my destiny and I just… I was obsessed with it. When I was a little kid I was like ten years old and I started drawing tattoos and I was drawing on people. And when I was getting ready to finish my undergraduate degree and was set to go to graduate school in Printmaking and probably teach and I reconnected with tattooing. And I met a guy that was another, the first—my favorite term—“renegate intellectual” that had been in tattooing. He was a published author, really intelligent guy and good tattooer, and the first day in his shop he showed me a book of Japanese tattoos.

Actually Donald Richie, he was the one who brought Japanese cinema to the west in the late 1940s, he along with a lot of conscientious objectors/pacifist people worked on merchant marine ships so that they had joined the military. He got to Japan and he fell in love with it there. He was a closeted guy and in Japan you could—especially in those days you could function as a gay person I think easier than you could in America. There’s a great tradition of it there, you know a different outlook of gender. So anyway, Donald was one of the people who brought Japanese cinema to the west because he went over there in the occupation forces after Japan lost the war and fell in love with the country and then became obsessed with the cinema, became fluent in Japanese and then he really brought that whole culture to the awareness of Western people. And he was fascinated with the whole tattoo thing and he had written a book about tattooing in Japan with photos of contemporary tattoo artists in the 60s.

So this guy Phil Sparrow that I met who was working in Oakland showed me that book that first day in his shop and when I saw it—because I was teetering and I was supposed to go to Yale and I was going to teach printmaking and you know, do that—and when I saw that I just immediately thought, if you can make tattoos look like that, you can...I can make, you can make them into anything. And I just abruptly decided I was going to take up tattooing. I thought it had great potential as just human expression. And I knew it was way deeper and way beyond people’s perceptions, you know. When I was younger when you had a tattoo it was like, “well were you drunk or were you in the military?”—it was like those two things, otherwise, why would you ever have one of these things? And mark yourself? And I just thought it was better to see if we could develop this as a medium. So that’s what I did. Obviously, you know I had to meet a lot of influential people and a lot of great artists and get their confidence and, you know, just open it up in the West. Mind you I just hated the fact that you couldn’t have a tattoo without it having that reputation, it just didn’t seem right. It was sort of the last thing in the liberation of… being able to live your own life.

Don Ed Hardy answering our questions in his studio.

SFAI: Why do you think tattooing got that reputation? And how do you think it got away from it? 

DEH:  I think it got that reputation basically because of the suffocating judeo-christian power structure that ran everything in the world. You know, shame and this is wrong and you shouldn’t mark this body that God gave you and all this bullshit — I mean I was force-marched through, you know, Christianity as a kid. My mother meant well but I wasn’t meant for it — and I think it was just looked down on. They thought it was like this savage, barbaric thing. But it really flowered in the West, which we’re going to talk about tomorrow—are you coming to that thing at the Asian Museum?

Jeff Gunderson: I’m hoping to, yeah...

DEH: Because it’s gonna be really a really good panel. We’re gonna get there early enough to see the show. It’s a show of ukiyo-e wood block prints on loan from the Boston Museum which is a fantastic collection of asian art from all the cutters and they’ve loaned all these really pristine prints that feature people in the mid-19th century. I think Japan got opened up maybe early 1860s/late 1850s and then people started going in there and seeing it and some of the things they saw were, you know, tattoos on all of these people. And there was no kind of [western] tradition of it then it was just with whalers and just seafaring types and they just had these spot tattoos, but in Japan it was a really highly developed art form. So... that had a big impact and that followed through to the 20th century. Some of the tattooists, the few tattooists who were really interested in and capable of doing unique work and had inherent art talent wanted to expand it and were trying to offer people more than just, you know, the recipe of imagery and sentiments and stuff that existed in American Flash. 

Among them was Sailor Jerry in Honolulu who was one of my primary mentors. He’d been tattooing a long time, since the, probably the 30s, but in the 60s he really got known for doing these large Japanese-inspired designs but with subject matter and more polychromatic treatment and… you know, he opened up the field as far as the kind of things you could do with the machines. But that’s when it started really was the 60s there were a few people that were pretty interested in that. 

I was able to go to Japan and work with a tattoo master and when I came back here I opened up the first private studio and the whole deal was to get—I would only do absolutely unique tattoos. So people would come in with their concepts and I could draw, so I could draw the concept, and that’s what started it more. And I began to get tattooers from all over the world as clients and they saw what I was doing and thought “well maybe I have the interest and the drawing ability to do that myself,” so that just kind of put the ripples right out. 

JG: I’m always interested in that History of Tattooing lecture you gave in Richard Shaw’s class at the Art Institute.

SFAI: On that note, how would you say your experience at SFAI impacted your art career and art practice? 

Drawing on a pizza box spotted in Ed Hardy’s studio. 

DEH: The experience was really good there because of the openness of it but the key thing really was the instructors I got to have which primarily were Joan Brown and Gordon Cook and… some other people I can’t remember some of their names but um… But the openness of it and of course just the setup of the school you know, because I was raised in this totally right-wing Orange County town in Southern California and the first time I came up with a buddy and we flew—I think it was the first time we’d flown as conscious adults—BANG we came up (it was like 11 bucks for a one way ticket) and we came up for the weekend because Richard Shaw and Martha Hall, who became his wife, and another guy had come up, Reggie Daniker. And they’d come up from Orange County. And I just couldn’t believe it, it was like… the city, the whole thing… I was very aware of beat culture and, you know, I was pretty well-steeped in alternative consciousnesses as had been exhibited earlier in the century. Anyway, I was here and I was like, “Oh I’ve found mecca!” And the school, even the setup of it was fantastic. But really, I think the people that affected me the most were really the people who didn’t teach here that long and they were able to just get away with their take on the whatever the current…   I mean, maybe the primary intent of the school is to have different voices and so it was good for that. It was definitely good for that. 

And then I was on a career track and working in the library and it was going well and I figured I was going to go to grad school because I was accepted to Yale. In those days you either figured out the… the question we always posed ourselves was: Would it be better… if we want to keep making our personal art, would it be better to have a job that doesn’t involve art at all and then do your art, or is it okay if you’re connected, teaching or doing something, is that going to leach away your energy that you would otherwise put into your personal work. You know, it’s all a psycho-drama and anyone that’s cursed with like a, you know, an “intention to make art” you’re like, how will I do this and make it fit into your life. Not even as a financial thing, just as a thing that… so you can live with yourself. So… and for me it really worked out well that I chose the tattoo thing. I’m so glad I did… because right then too the primary flavors that were popular in the world not only were the economic thing about art as a big money commodity which was sick enough in the 1960s now it’s through the roof, but the fact that you could be made totally independent of the institution. That’s what I was after. My buddy Mike Malone, who was from here too—he became a tattooer, he was a fine artist—and he basically just summed it up, he said, 

“We joined the pirates. We just decided we’re not going to be part of any kind of groups. We’re just… we’re gonna try this.”  

... Which in those days... it was very transgressive.

But yeah, I’m glad to see that tattooing has gotten popular. I mean, I didn’t try to proselytize it but for people that try to get them now there are all these incredibly talented tattooers with great careers and they’re free agents and they just go around the world and tattoo and they have people… they’re appreciated. It’s really, it’s great to have—it’s beyond anything we could have dreamed of. It’s very cool. I’m stoked that the museum is—or the school gonna do a show there. It’s natural ... it was a nice surprise to hear. There are probably way more people that I know that I didn’t realize existed that became tattoo artists that came out of there, so… it’s good! It’s a good career. It can be a positive career option. I’m glad I didn’t have to get into it today with the competition, I never would have been able to do it.

Don’t miss Don Ed Hardy’s work on view in  In A Flash opening July 4 in SFAI’s Diego Rivera Gallery! 

[kohiimakesmehappy]

Day 15

Hi there :). It’s currently 1:45 AM, and I’m just enjoying my time by myself in my apartment living room. I have exactly 2 weeks left of my undergrad career... Insane. How did the 4 years fly by so quickly? I could’ve sworn that I was still a sophomore in Plex struggling my way through classes and relationships, and here I am listening to Kwon Jinah and wondering what I’m going to eat tomorrow (the most exciting question of the day!). After talking my thoughts out with Sol over a 3 hr KFT session, I think I’m starting to grasp what the void I’m feeling as of late is caused by: the fact that I don’t really have anything challenging me or work towards. The exciting things that I should be feeling excited about, like traveling to Asia and moving to Boston, just seem so far away to the point that I can’t really get excited about them. And they aren’t necessarily things that I am trying to achieve, they are already set in place for me until the specific number of days required go by. With this realization, I feel like I’m able to give myself a bit of a break from feeling guilty (which I don’t even know why I feel guilty... lol). In other news, I’ve kept up with the personal deadlines I’ve set for my final exams/projects, so i’m feeling pretty great about that. Additionally, I’ve made some great progress in my fitness journey of eating healthier and exercising regularly, and I’m feeling pretty great health-wise. If there is anything that is bothering me, it would have to be how flaky college students are + feeling like I’m judged. Now I know that the easiest ways to get over these two things personally are to just stop caring about them, but that doesn’t really get to the root of the problem, does it? But then again, is there a need to deal with these issues when I’m leaving so soon? Not really, huh. I think I just need to push through and focus on the things that make me feel happy and fulfilled: drinking coffee/tea lol, finishing an assignment, listening to music, walking in nice weather, writing our my feelings, being dumb with my friends. I do think that other than getting my final assignments done and spending time on the internet that I want to expand myself as a person. And by that, I mean watching more meaningful movies and reading eye-opening books. I’ll be looking more into what that means for me, but I’m excited to have a self-directed goal rather than one placed upon me. I admit that at the end of every quarter, I find myself picking out people’s/my friends’ flaws like how unresponsive someone is or how blunt they are, but I don’t want to harness such negative energy at the end of the quarter. My very last undergraduate quarter... Do I have any regrets? I don’t think so! Is there anything else I want to do before leaving? Honestly, nothing that I can do now (like painting a rock or something lol). It’s just a matter of catching up with the last of the people I need to and soaking in what it means to me to be a student. Maybe I’ll make a vlog of my last two weeks or something? Eh, I’ll probably forget to vlog some things, but maybe I’ll just compile all the 1 sec videos I’ve taken thus far! Yeah, let’s keep going with that then, shall we? Okay, the drowsiness is hitting me, and we just lost an hour of sleep so it jumped to 3:01 instead of 2:01 lol crap. Okay, time to hit the hay~. GOOD NIGHT. 

[sociologyontherock]

Stumbling up the Academic Ladder to Oxford

By Bernie Hogan

 EDITOR’S NOTE: Bernie Hogan grew up in Gander. He completed a BA degree at Memorial University in 2002 and MA and PhD degrees at the University of Toronto. He is presently a Senior Research Fellow at the Oxford Internet Institute at the University of Oxford where he has worked for almost a decade.

At Memorial University I studied both sociology and computer science. I imagine it’s still an uncommon combination (though I wish I could change that). With these skills I became an early entrant in the emerging field of computational social science.

Looking back on my academic life after MUN, it surprises me to this day how much was presaged during my time as an undergraduate there, from my aloof friendliness to my interests in networks, technology, and identity. Since leaving, it feels like I’ve been falling up the stairs on the way to an academic career. For example, I did my degrees at the University of Toronto, after being the last one admitted from the waiting list. I similarly ended up applying to Oxford only after having received a rejection to what I thought would be an ideal post-doc at Statistics Canada in Ottawa. Some of the lessons learned from this trajectory are to be a little bold, but friendly, stay true to your talents and find great people to work with. And don’t be afraid to admit you have a lot to learn.

 Case in point, when I first went to Toronto to look for an apartment, like a proper friendly Newfoundlander, I just strolled in to Professor Barry Wellman’s office. “Hi there, I’ll be a new student in the fall”. “Do you have an appointment?” he replied with some consternation and formality. “Umm…no, but I was in town so I wanted to see who would be teaching me”. “Right. See you in the fall!” Tail between my legs, I left Professor Wellman’s office thinking I might have much to learn about how things work up there.

 I did meet up with Professor Wellman in the fall. In fact, we hit it off well, and I’ve now published over half a dozen articles with him mainly extending his notion of “networked individualism” and my interest in representing and visualising social networks (or the connections of who knows who). I bonded with my cohort at Toronto, including MUN faculty member Rochelle Coté and got used to life in the big city. I was part of a team exploring how new media could intervene in the personal lives of people. Keep in mind, this was at a time when Canada was just getting used to cell phones. Friendster was a novelty and Facebook wasn’t even invented when we first went into the field. In the six years I spent in Toronto it felt like the world had changed. In 2007 Toronto was the first city in the world to hit one million members on Facebook. Around that time, the first iPhone was released. In this context I started examining the shift from self-reported personal networks to these new online networks.

 I showed how to create social networks from online websites like Digg, Reddit, Twitter and the reigning champion of online social networks: Facebook. In the penultimate year of my PhD studies I gave a major talk on this new field as a keynote in York, England. Half a year later I gave a follow-up at a Royal Society event in London. While there, I was intrigued to day trip to Oxford and especially to this nascent Internet Institute for the social sciences of the Internet.

 I emailed to ask if I could come and get a tour (having learned about advance planning by then). The admin replied and said “Great! Your talk is schedule for the day after tomorrow at 2pm.” Little did I realise that this was to serve as a proto job talk. I went in, talked about what was happening in Canada and had a major professor berate me for not including texting/SMS in my models. As a European, she simply did not understand Canada’s crazy texting pricing. Again, I felt like I had lots to learn, but at least this time I was told (a few years later) that I did make a fine impression.

 When I finished the talk, I asked the admin if there were any tourist highlights in town. She said there was a wax museum tour called the Oxford story, “but it ain’t Disneyland”. I went to the building, a close walk to the Internet Institute and purchased one ticket. I went in and sat at a wooden desk. It was on-rails and moved slowly through the history of Oxford, from the early days of the conflict with the townspeople that led to the formation of Cambridge, through Halley (of comet-based fame) to more modern times. Having never been to Disneyland, I thought it was pretty decent. Sadly, other tourists didn’t feel this way and the exhibit has been shuttered to make way for more Harry Potter wands and knock-off shirts.

 Not long after this trip, I was asked to apply to be a post-doc at their department. I applied and received the offer that day. They then emailed me a few weeks later to say they were starting a Master’s program and wanted to ensure they had full-time faculty. As such, would I be interested in having an open-ended contract rather than a two-year one. Wasn’t this something that I was supposed to negotiate, not them? Well, it’s coming on ten years and I’m still here, having moved up from Research Fellow to being Senior Research Fellow and I’ve learned a few things about this place in the meantime.

 One of the things sociology teaches you is how cultural capital is used to make distinctions. What music you like, the food you drink and how effectively you talk about any manner of topics can reveal your class and your heritage. Oxford, unsurprisingly, is one of the world’s prominent exporters of cultural capital. You can never be overdressed in this town, tourists come in droves to get some of the culture and education by osmosis, and the high street shops sell bowties, suspenders, and ceremonial gowns. Despite what the admin says, sometimes it feels like Disneyland for bookworms as the city’s heritage is endlessly recounted and repackaged to these tourists, especially during the summer months.

 Oxford is nevertheless a very lively and accommodating place for academic discussion. And the stories are true: the most interesting and lively discussions happen at the pub after the work day is ostensibly over. Social life in Britain in general revolves around the pub. We don’t go home for supper here. After work often times we head straight to the pub, eat some sad excuse for a burger and stay late. In Oxford, this is sometimes punctuated by formal dinners at high table. Think dining with Harry Potter’s faculty minus the magic (as far as I can tell).

 I’ve learned a number of other things while here as well. Mummering actually comes from the Oxfordshire tradition of the Mummer’s play, but instead of going house to house, they travel from pub to pub. And many a Newfoundland phrase, from “whataya at” to “go away witcha b’y” are really just southern Irish.

 But I’ve also learned what good luck, a good attitude and a good education can do. My best cited work is a critique of the use of Goffman online. I still feel like everything I learned about Goffman, Stephen Riggins taught me in his mass media course. As another example, my department is about to start its second masters, in Social Data Science. There’s a clear line from MUN’s vocational languages in my computer science undergraduate to this cutting edge program here at Oxford as I was the one to build this bridge at my department years ago.

 My work these days has come full circle in other ways. After spending almost a decade in digital social research and teaching how to extract networks online, I’ve returned to offline networks. Corporations have wised up to the fact that their social network data is of value and they are doing their best to keep it under wraps. My two Facebook social network visualizers NameGenWeb and CollegeConnect have been shuttered, caught up in this shift to more privatized networks and away from open access. In this context and alongside one of my very talented graduate students, Joshua Melville, and an amazing cross disciplinary team at Northwestern under Michelle Birkett, we are developing Network Canvas <http://www.networkcanvas.com/>, a suite of tools to advance personal network capture using touchscreens and tablets. Its old wine, but the bottle is very new and hopefully more accessible to ever more researchers.

 Having had so many people believe in me as I stumble my way up the academic ladder, I hope that these tools can help give a leg up to those looking for new and novel ways of advancing their research. We are currently in alpha testing and expect a full release in 2019. In the meantime, I look forward to discovering where I will stumble up to next.

[rueur]

Morning Pages #37 (26.02.2017)

Sunday 26th February - 11:44 p.m.

I decided that I’m going to write my way into my twentieth birthday, after Isaac sent me a super enthusiastic message in anticipation for my becoming a twenty-something. Ugh, that horrendous term. I do not want to leave my adolescent years behind me, I really don’t. But then again, I am also somewhat excited to begin on this new chapter of my life. I’ll still be in uni yes, but things are supposed to start getting more serious now, right? All of a sudden it’s supposed to be more disappointing that I don’t have a job, and that I’m living at home. It’s become more dangerous for me to be immature because now I don’t have free reign to do so, as a nineteen year old. To be honest with you, I greatly enjoyed turning eighteen. It was my first year of tertiary education and I had so much to look forward to! Nineteen, I merely tolerated. I mean I was still a teenager but nineteen was most definitely guaranteed to be a weird age, as well as a weird year. Last year was an immensely weird year. But twenty! I just don’t want to have to deal with this age. I mean I am so excited for this year, naturally. My undergraduate course is coming to a neat close and I have a very kind love in my life and I’m actually hopeful about my career after the slam poetry venture. But earlier today even thathi asked me about what I’m going to do for MONEY after uni and I just had no idea. The idea of selling my labour makes me uncomfortable, but if I don’t do this I will most likely become a beggar and beggars cannot be choosers.

I want to see how much I can type before midnight. It’s been five minutes or so and I’m halfway through the first page of these three pages. I kind of just want to spew these out so that I can go to bed at a reasonable hour. Ideally, I’d be asleep right now. But I just don’t want to sleep through my last few minutes as a teenager. There’s a massive spider in my room, just chilling on the wall. In the corner, above my desk. I can’t deal with this right now. I’m just praying that it won’t move at all for the next eight or so minutes and then I can deal with it once I’m twenty. This is awful, goodness. I have to sleep. This is just the worst timing. First day back at uni and my twentieth birthday. At least I’ll have an interesting fact for whatever introductions I’ll have to provide in my first class tomorrow. I have a lecture first thing in the morning, well actually it starts at noon. I’ll need to be on the train around ten then. I’m trying to get back into that morning commute mindset. My bike is at the station. Should I walk there in the morning or should I get a lift? A walk might be nice. Serene, peaceful, you know. I need a bit of time to myself. I spent all day with my parents and my grandpa, in a car mostly. We went to Warburton, to the Bodhivana Monastery, because I asked if we could and they couldn’t say no to me on my birthday. See that place is insanely beautiful and being there greatly improves my emotional headspace, even if I arrive there already feeling quite fine. I needed it today though, because I managed to speak to the saddhu for a bit about dealing with grief. It was helpful for the most part. Oh no, five minutes left. I’m at least at the bottom of the first page, or at least I’m nearly there. Isaac sent me another message. He wished me a happy birthday a little prematurely because of the time difference between Australia and New Zealand. I thought he’d just remembered ahead of time that it was my birthday, but apparently not! I’m aware of how little he really cares about me and how tiny a person I am in his ‘larger than life’ life, but sometimes I just kind of like to think I mean more than I do. Because of the way we met and the person that he is. He’s eclectic, and so vibrant and unique, I just want to keep him in my life. I think he wants the same from me, perhaps. He just doesn’t feel like he’s in a place to demand that from anybody because of how transient he is and will continue to be for most of his youth. He’s going to be twenty-six this year, and I know that I will not be as successful as he is at twenty-six. Well obviously not with that attitude. I need to be more optimistic, and have some faith in myself. I killed that poetry slam. My raw score was 28/30, and I know I can do so much better the next time round, because I have a firm foundation now.

Nearly one minute left now. I’m seeing Evan tomorrow, I think. We haven’t discussed it too much, but the plan is that we’re supposed to go out to dinner to celebrate my birthday and the first day of uni, and his last day of work too a little. And his birthday too, maybe. Everything is happening right now. Oh goodness thirty seconds left. I’m making this a bigger deal than it is, I know. I think about the nine months I spent in my mother’s womb and I know that I’ve technically been alive a lot longer than twenty years now, because of those months I was a foetus. Just because I wasn’t born, doesn’t mean I wasn’t alive. Midnight! And the first song I’m hearing is ‘Silenced By The Night’ by Keane which literally started right on midnight. iTunes is on shuffle as I type. I’m officially twenty. Well, I mean I can go by the hour and minute I was born but I don’t want to, I mean the Facebook notifications start from midnight onwards so I’ll just go off of that. Isaac went to bed. My first birthday wish of the day was rather brief. Goodness, I need to get this over with and go to bed. I have to sleep. I have to be ready for tomorrow. It’s going to be hot. It’s going to be hot for all of next week. I don’t know if I have enough clothes for five thirty-degree days. I don’t know what I should do on Wednesday and Friday of this week. I think I should get my monthly myki pass as soon as I can, though. Once I do get that, I’ll need to travel every day to make the most of it, or at least try and travel every day. I can just take myself out if I have nothing else to do, but I should be looking for work, I know. I do have some spare time even with uni and it would be nice to make some money using that spare time. Maybe I should actually run english tuition classes. Malli’s studying ‘Macbeth’ and ‘Twelve Angry Men’ this year and I studied them both in Year 11. I actually studied ‘Twelve Angry Men’ in Year 10, but it was a Year 11 Literature class. It was taught by that mousey goth teacher, the old Kiwi woman who looked like the human equivalent of a baby raven. She was so small. I forget her name, but I remember her face and her accent. She was a lovely woman, just a little too blunt at times and she had a bit of an attitude. She was witty on occasion, but more sharp than anything else. She was a little like Mr. McClenaghan except Mr. Mac was a lot more affable in his eccentricities. It helps that he was a man though, I mean you could argue that. It’s usually easier to get along with male teachers, because you can’t take them seriously. Female teachers get respect just for being ladies, or at least that’s what I remember from high school. Varrasso is on Facebook. People have added her. I think Marcus might’ve too, but Marcus was actually pretty friendly with her. A lot of people who have her on Facebook were cheeky with her, not sincere and oftentimes not even kind. I’m onto my third page! Would you look at that, huh? I think I’m actually writing these pages correctly, like as actual stream-of-consciousness and not just as a diary, which is what I’ve been doing for the past month, I feel. I have a bit of a nasty cough left, the dredges of my monster cold. It’s irritating me, not because I’m coughing, but because I haven’t stopped yet. I want to just wake up tomorrow and be all good again. That would be a fantastic birthday present from the universe. It’s been thirteen minutes and I don’t feel twenty yet. FUCK. THE SPIDER HAS MOVED. I actually have no idea where it is now. Oh no. I should’ve dealt with it immediately upon seeing it, I know. Whatever, I don’t care too much right now because my cold has been my biggest thought for the past couple of days (aside from Evan sometimes). Ikaros sent me a weird message this morning. He said ‘Good morning’ and then ‘Sorry for everything’. It sounded really finalised, like I was afraid he was going to do something. I don’t know, I mean I know he never would. He cares about himself too much to let himself wallow over anything. He didn’t cry at all the first time we broke up. To be fair, he initiated it all on his own and I don’t think he’d thought it all the way through either, but he didn’t even cry after he had given it some thought.

I took a break because my brother came back and he helped me find and then vacuum up the big spider. Bless him. Anyway, yes. Evan sent me some photos that he’d taken on Saturday morning, when we were out all night. He sent me four photos of the two of us on the top of the hills, whilst we were watching the sun rise. The lighting was pretty lovely and we were both wearing red that day, funnily enough. I was wearing a red turtleneck and my red puffy jacket, and he was wearing his big red hoodie, so we were accidentally matching. That tends to be our signature style: accidentally complementary, or unintentionally complementary. It’s pretty lovely, and as he said earlier, also rather cosmic. This just feels so right. I can’t get over how RIGHT this feels. For both of us too, I mean it’s so fantastic and so weird being this in sync with another person, but I love it. And I am so looking forward to seeing him tomorrow, I really am. It would just be the perfect way to end today. Hell, I have to start today first though, don’t I? It’s half past midnight and I have about a third of this page left to go. OH! I sent Evan photos from the Bodhivana Monastery and he said it looked beautiful (not in those exact words, his exact words were a lot more M-rated and enthusiastic, believe me). I also told him that I want to take him there some time soon, and he said ‘as soon as he gets his license’. ‘LIKE ON THAT DAY’. What a sweetheart, I swear to god I did not believe that there could ever be a boy this sweet, but here he is. I won’t lie though, I was a little taken aback by the fact that he just straight up said ‘I want to have sex with you’ to my face after the brief conversation we had about my poem, but I also think I appreciated him being straightforward and also for being considerate of me and letting me know what his intentions were rather than just making it happen. This means that next time we get some alone time we’ll be able to just...let things happen. I can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like, I mean if I’m just going off of the intensity I feel JUST when we’re KISSING, my estimate on the intensity during our sexy times is going to be through the roof. Right? Speak of the devil, he just messaged me. My love. My drunk love, apparently. I think he’s had a raucous weekend. It’s his birthday too after all.