#watercolor drink coasters

[leth-writes]

lost boys x reader

This is the first time I've ever written for these characters, so tell me if anyone wants more!

Summary: You're going to die. Shame your friends had to die alongside you.

Warnings: discussions of gore and murder.

it was a hot, muggy day, and you were going to die.

You’d only wanted to go out with your friends, maybe spend some of your hard-earned allowance on candy and carousel rides. You’d never meant for it to be this serious.

The day, or evening, rather, had started off normal enough. You’d gone on the roller coaster a couple of times, eaten some cotton candy and won some rigged carnival games, and you and your friends were sitting, enjoying the free music coming from the concert. It was a sax player tonight, a man without a shirt and and a chest covered in oil, though the crowd was reacting as though it was the most intense rock concert they’d ever heard. The cheap lights twinkled, lighting up the night sky with bright, neon hues. Laughter and chatter filled the humid air, the boardwalk filled with people.

Santa Carla was the murder capitol of the country, but you’d never thought you’d find yourself in real danger. You’d always thought the only people at risk were people without a place to go and the various tourists that trickled through, people who wouldn’t be immediately noticed upon disappearing. You had convinced yourself that the mysterious disappearances were nothing to be concerned with, as had everyone else in the normally quiet town, and your parents had finally relented to letting you stay out late with your friends. The 5 of you were sitting on the ledge by the stairs to the beach, drinking in the atmosphere and joking around; the current topic of discussion was the crush your friend Cindy had on some boy from school, Freddy.

“I’m telling you, there’s just something about that boy that’s so…” She paused, licking her lips deviously, a glint in her eye, “delicious!” Lara, a brunette with thick, curly hair and large glasses, rolled her eyes. She looked off into the distance, staring out at the shoreline and watching the waves disappear into the night, merging with the sky and creating a watercolor of stars. “You say that about every guy that catches your eye, Cindy. Maybe you should slow down and wait for a while?” She asked, still staring into the distance, eyes vacant and cloudy. Cindy laughed, throwing her head back, large earrings clacking. Various people in the crowd in front of you turned at the noise, surprised to find such a small woman practically doubled over.

“You need to have some fun, Lara, don’t be stuck-up!” She continued, smiling so wide her gums were visible, framed by her bright pink lipgloss. “I’m not stuck-up, just busy!” Lara defended, fighting a smile. Tamara turned from where she’d been comparing nails with the last of your group, Amy, and gently nudged Cindy. “hey, don’t tease her, Cin! She’s just focused on school, you know how smart she is!” Tamara sighed, exhasperated.

“Yeah, Cin, she’s the only one who’s getting out of this town when high school ends!” Amy picked up. Tamara and Amy were practically inseperable, being old family friends, and practically all agreed. Well, except for the Todd Incident, which you officially weren’t allowed to talk about.

“Well, Fred is cute,” you hedged, trying to prevent an argument before it escalated and got you all kicked out. Cindy was known for her loud voice, afterall, and you’d rather not get a lifetime ban from the boardwalk, the only place with any sort of entertainment not designed for sticky 5 year olds.

“Well, not everyone can be so picky, hun!” Cindy laughed, luckily not taking it the wrong way. It was true, though it stung slightly; you hadn’t ever really been interested in boys, not the way your friends were; even Lara had had more experience than you, and she’d only had one boyfriend! Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to so much as look at the local population… The boys were so immature, you felt like you were babysitting, not going on a date! Not to mention, most were only interested in sex, not long-term relationships, like you wanted. While you knew Cindy was happy, and you were slightly envious she seemed to have such luck with boys, you just knew that you two were different. It didn’t bother you anymore, though you’d been convinced you were broken as a child for not seeing what the others were talking about when Johnny Park had caught every girl in your grade’s eye. You knew that you’d find someone eventually, or at least you hoped you would, but for now you were content with your friends and the entertainment offered by romance flicks.

“I just thi-” You began, only to be interrupted by the loud roaring of motorcycle engines.

All 5 of you turned, shocked, as a group of boys rode down the boardwalk on their bikes, laughing and shouting as people were forced to jump out of their way. “Holy shit,” Cindy breathed, popping her gum, eyes locked on the bottle blond at the front of the pack. “Jesus, they’re gonna hit somebody!” Lara gasped, hands flying up to clutch her face in shock. “I hope they hit me,” Cindy responded, eyes glazed with want. Amy lightly smacked her arm, chiding her. Still, she wasn’t to be deterred. “We need to talk to them,” Cindy continued, once again biting at her lip, this time a more serious expression on her face. “You look like you’re going to jump someone,” Tamara interjected, looking slightly nervous. Cindy just wagged her eyebrows in response, breaking the tension and causing the 5 of you to break into peals of laughter.

“Jeez, Cin! I thought you liked Fred?” you joked, nudging her in the ribs with your elbow. “Well, Fred can wait!” She said, determined. By then, the group of boys had pulled up to the ledge across the railing from you, parking their bikes and lighting their cigarettes. There was something almost ethereal about the boys, 4 in total, all clad in leather with hair mussed to rival an ‘80s rock legend. Maybe it was the way their sharp edges blurred in the twinkling boardwalk lights, the warm lighting casting them in shades of gold and white as though they were angels. You couldn’t help but admit that they shared some resemblance to the feathered creatures of myth.

The frontmost boy was… at first glance, average height, bottle blond mullet framing his face in choppy waves and light beard just starting to accentuate the sharp curves of his face. He glanced up from his cigarette and made eye contact with you, icy blue eyes locked onto yours. For a second, the sounds of the boardwalk faded away and the lights dimmed, casting his face in harsh shadows; you could swear he smirked, teeth elongated into sharp fangs, brow bone warped and jutting out. Then, in a blink, it was gone, and the only sign of the vision you’d had that remained was his slightly too sharp smirk.

The tallest boy, the brunet, was clad in a dark jean jacket, sleeves pocked with leopard print, exposing his bare, toned chest. His skin was a touch darker than the others, and his shaggy hair swung around him as he shook it out, looking almost akin to a shampoo ad. You couldn’t help but stare at the muscles as they twisted under his skin, bunching and pulling taught. Your eyes snapped up and you blushed as his own dark chocolate ones met yours, mirth clear in his face.

The boy next to him, head thrown back in uproarious laughter, seemed to be the wildest. His hair, also blond, was shaggy and teased so big it practically enveloped him, and his wild smile exposed sharp canines tinged slightly with… you weren’t sure, though it looked slightly red. Lipstick, maybe? He wore beige pants and a fishnet shirt, slightly covered by the decked-out and ripped leather jacket accentuating his lithe form. He looked graceful, almost dancer-like, in the soft glow of the evening.

The final boy was the shortest, hair twisted into cherubic curls, and had one arm swung over the shoulders of the long-haired wild blond. the two were practically howling, doubled over, slightly obscured behind the front two.

All in all, the group was… intoxicating. You couldn’t help but stare, and judging by the silence of your friends, you knew they were doing the same. Catching your eye again, the bottle blond clicked his tongue and said something to his friends, who all immediately straightened. Then, they began sauntering over, walking in a pack like circling predators. You couldn’t help but feel like prey in the jaws of a lion.

“Oh!” Lara squeaked, pale face flushed the same shade as Amy’s hair. Tamara and Amy just silently nodded in agreement, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly anxious at the sight of the boys approaching you.

Finally they reached you, forming a loose semi-circle, boxing the 5 of you onto the ledge. You were trapped, though it seemed you were the only one conscious enough of the situation to notice.

“Hey there,” the shaggy blond started, though he was quckly shushed by his shorter friend. The bottle blond inhaled sharply, then grinned devilishly. “Hello… we couldn’t help but notice you all looked lonely,” he began, making intense eye contact with Cindy. None of the boys were even looking at you; were you that unlikeable?!

“I’m David, this is Paul,” he gestured to the shaggy blond, “Marko,” the curly haired boy, “and Dwayne.” the dark-haired boy making sharp eyes at Lara. Cindy quickly introduced the 5 of you, though you noticed that the boys didn’t take their eyes off of the respective friend they seemed to pick. You should’ve taken that as a sign.

Throughout the rest of the night, none of the boys seemed to spare you a second glance. They took turns going off with your friends, who each returned looking satiated with mussed hair and clothes slightly skewed. None of your friends seemed to notice you sulking in theh corner, content to pair off with the boy that had decided they were their target for the night. It was lonely, and you found yourself staying slightly on the edge of the group. They chatted and laughed, but you were stuck in the corner on the ledge by the bikes, completely isolated. you spent the night staring off into the distant shoreline, contemplating just leaving, though you convinced yourself to stay to ensure your friends stayed safe. Or maybe because you were jealous, though you’d never admit it. Finally, a couple of hours into the merging of the two groups, David paused in his discussions with Cindy. “Hey, why don’t we all head to somewhere more… quiet?” He said, smirk ever-present on the chiseled plains of his cheeks.

“Ok,” Cindy breathed, seemingly wanting to go back to chatting with him, or more likely making out with him, as soon as possible. You sighed, seems like you’d be finding your own way home toni-

“Hey, you can ride with me,” Dwayne said, cutting off your internal pity party. At that moment, it seemed your friends remembered your presence, as they all rushed to get you to agree. You might as well go, just to ensure their safety…

So, you agreed.

One slightly awkward ride later, and you all found yourself staring into the entrance of a cave, water crashing harshly against the base of the cliff. It was dimly lit from the inside with a variety of candles, it seemed there was no electricity in the desolate cave.

“A-are you sure this is the right place?” You questioned warily. The boys just laughed, and Cindy huffed impatiently. “Come on, worrywart! We’ll be fine!” She sighed, pulling you inside.

If you thought the outside was intimidating, the inside was warm, though it looked like it had been ripped from a painting of a bygone era. An old fountain graced the middle of the room, large draped fishnet fabric separating areas of the space. There was debris everywhere on the floor, coating the space in a thick layer of dust that prevented you from being able to see its real color. All you could do was hope you weren’t stepping on any faultlines.

The boys filtered in, bringing your friends with them as they did so, scattering around the space. You found your way to the beatup couch, taking a seat across from where Paul was sucking a hickey onto Tamara’s neck.

“Well, I think it’s time for a drink!” David crowed, plopping down in the wheelchair next to the fountain. Light cast his face in harsh shadows, hiding parts of his expression from you. Still, you got the feeling he was looking directly into your eyes.

“Ow, you’re being a little harsh there, Paul!” Amy cried, and you turned to look- only for a splash of warmth to hit your cheek. Where she’d been sitting, cuddled into his lap, she was now splayed across the edge of the sofa, neck bent at an odd angle and face twisted. Her chest deflated with a soft sigh, and her eyes went glassy. Her body was limp, limper than you’d ever seen her, normally so full of life. Blood pooled in her neck, and Paul shot you a wide grin, fangs now coated.

You screamed.

And you jumped back.

And you bumped into someone. You whirled around, and there was David, face coated in blood. Just over his shoulder, you could see Cindy, her arm yanked out of the socket. Her pretty face was twisted and contorted in pain, and tears streamed down her cheeks, now ruddy from her fear. She was clutching the limb tightly to her chest, rocking slightly. It looked as though she’d been mauled by a bear, arm bleeding heavily and chunks hanging limply by a thread. She let out a short scream, and then Paul was on her. You couldn’t see her after that.

From the other side of the fountain, you could hear Tamara crying, harsh sobs filling the air. Lara had been thrown, her body lying limp where Marko was drinking deeply from her neck, head lolled to the side and eyes looking unblinkingly at you. You couold tell she was dead.

Then, David was blocking your view, and your entire world narrowed down to him. His harsh icey blue eyes locked onto yours, and it was like you forgot how to breathe; all you could do is stare at him, not even trying to run. It felt like you weren’t in control of your body.

“Drink up,” he whispered softly, hand gripping your chin and bringing an ornate wine bottle to your lips. Against your will, your lips parted, allowing the spiced red liquid to enter. It didn’t taste like wine, an oddly thick mixture, though you had no idea what it could possibly be.

The other boys cheered, now standing in a loose semi-circle behind David.

When you finished drinking deeply from the bottle, David kissed the remainder off your lips, so soft he barely brushed your lips with his own, plump and warm. “sleep,” he said, and you were gone.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part five - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: Bullying

Michael has a lot of stuff. A lot of heavy stuff. Despite him assuring her that he can move it all in on his own, she still wants to help.

It would be kind of a dick move if she didn’t assist with all of this. An hour in, and the apartment is already transformed from bland and empty into a hoard of pastel rainbow decor and soft white staple pieces.

She takes a break to admire the painting of a fluffy white angel cat over watercolor Van Gogh scenery. Michael comes through the door, panting, with his White Cottage microwave in tow.

“Who painted this?” She asks him.

He smiles, blushes, puts the microwave down and then his hand on his hips. “I did.”

Her eyes grow wide. “This is amazing.”

He chuckles. “Thank you.”

She likes Michael a lot already, but she’s also very jealous of him and his many talents and cool possessions. He makes her want to decorate and be creative, both skills she’s never been able to possess correctly.

She hasn’t gotten the key made yet, so she goes out and does that while he starts unpacking his things. By the time she’s done, her apartment looks astonishing. Fairy lights twinkle over gauze white curtains and a big speaker plays soft hiphop music in one corner of the living room. Her couch is full of comfy white and grey fluffy throw pillows. An incense burner releases gourmand, smoky aroma into the air.

Michael is stretched out on the couch, taking a break, watching Legally Blonde on DVD. Her small TV is now in her room and his bigger flatscreen dwarfs the stand that it was on.

She sits down beside him with two glasses of water. Before she can set hers down on the coffee table, he stops her. “Wait! Coasters!”

He digs through two boxes of stuff before he finds new marble coasters for them to set their drinks on.

She laughs at him and he grins back. “I know, I know,” he tells her, “typical trust fund kid BS.”

“You’re fine,” she says. “I was laughing at the coasters because the table is already a mess.”

“Listen,” he says, “this table just needs some tee ell cee. A sander and some paint would do her wonders.” He pats the wooden top.

“Can I help?” She asks, excited and jumping at the opportunity a little too eagerly.

“Of course you can,” he assures.

She remembers him telling her that his mother is an artist. “Did your mom teach you to paint?”

He nods. “She also taught me how to make miniatures. You know, like dollhouses but for adults?”

“That’s amazing. Do you trade art with her?”

“I do,” he says, “we send things back and forth in the mail. Although my dad says it ‘clogs up their post office box’.”

“He’s not a fan of art?”

Michael snorts. “He hates everything except golf. Sometimes I think he hates me.”

She shakes her head. “Does he really hate you? You’re the perfect son.”

Michael sighs. “No, but he hates gay people, so it’s close enough. When I first came out to him, if my mother wouldn’t have been there, he would’ve probably shot me. He’s a real man’s man if you know what I mean...”

She nods, smiling ruefully. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean.”

Michael thinks for a moment. “We should get a dog.”

“I would love that, but it’s no pets here.”

He raises his eyebrows and sips at his water. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

They decide it has to be a quiet dog, one who’s comfortable being alone at night, and there are an abundance of local shelters displaying perfect furry candidates online.

“Rocky. Pitbull mix. Potty trained, good with kids and other pets, sweet and loves everyone.” She shows Michael a picture of a medium sized black, stout dog with shiny grey eyes.

Michael shows her his own selection, a retired service beagle named Winnie. “Short for Winnifred,” he reads, “loves people and other pets, very polite, and hardly ever barks.”

“I love them both,” she groans, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“Same,” Michael sighs. “It’s one in the afternoon. Do you work tonight?”

“Yup.” She presses an arm over her face, blocking out the ceiling light.

“Don’t you have to sleep?” He asks.

She’s not tired at all because she slept through the night—wet dreams work wonders on insomnia—but she agrees because Michael sounds like he needs some alone time. Plus, her DVDs and TV are in her room now, and if she can’t sleep she can watch an old, comfortable flick.

The problem isn’t getting to sleep, it’s staying there—waking up sweating, gasping, whining John’s name. She slaps her mouth shut, presses her face into her pillow, and prays to any deity listening that her voice wasn’t loud enough for Michael to hear. First day in the new place and his roommate is a fiend. It would make any sane person want to revoke their rental agreement immediately.

She should be embarrassed and anxious that Michael potentially heard her, but instead she’s grinding against her sheets and thinking of tall men handcuffed to beds.

This won’t work. This isn’t working. She’s so pent up that it’s borderline painful. She sticks her hand into her sleep pants, past her underwear, and into a sloppy mess, tries to think about anything but John while she rubs herself raw, but in doing so her brain latches onto the thought of him and pretty soon he’s the only thing on her mind.

She tries to paint a decent fantasy of what she would like sex with him to be, but really she doesn’t give a shit as long as it’s him. And that’s what scares her. He could be absolutely celibate and she’d still crave whatever he wanted to give her whether it be a rough kick or a soft caress—she’d be his dog, and **this is the worst time for her to realize that because her alarm is going off for work.

She orgasms at the cost of being ten minutes late.

The locker room lights are off when she goes to put her things away, which is unusual. Since she started, they’ve been lit around the clock. In fact, she’s not even sure where the light switch is in here because she’s never had to use it. Fumbling around in the pitch black is making her even tardier. Finally, when she finds the switch and flips it, the room illuminates, and standing under the migraine-inducing glow is someone who makes headaches seem like a dream come true.

Benny grins from his seat on the bench, which he quickly abandons in favor of looming over her. Once again, the sweaty, edematous mass of him blocks her exit.

She’s too busy contemplating if anyone would hear her scream to see him hold his open palm out expectantly.

“Give it to me,” he says.

“What?” She asks, imagining in another universe she sounds angry and oppositional instead of whiny and terrified. In another universe, she can also kick his ass. Not in this one, though. In this universe, she does as Benny demands and hands him her phone so she doesn’t have to suffer through the touch of his greasy skin a second time.

He holds her phone in one hand while the other holds his own. She doesn’t bother trying to see what he’s doing because she can’t get her feet to move let alone stand on tiptoes and look over his shoulder.

This goes on for a while in which her only thought consists of asking herself if she could run to the door and make it into the populated infirmary before he can catch her. Again, this is a solution mainly dependent on her stubborn feet.

She’s not really worried about what he puts on her phone. It’s what he’s getting from it that sets her pulse careening.

He reaches out and tries to shove it into her jacket pocket, but luckily that’s when her feet decide to save her and step away from his hands. He scowls at her like she just insulted his mother.

“Fine.” Benny opens his hand and drops her phone on the stone floor. She winces when she hears the shatter, then looks back up at his pleased, disgusting expression.

“Remember our trip.” He pushes past her, not enough to hurt but to make her yelp and stumble, and slams the door shut on his way out.

Her phone isn’t broken. The screen has a tiny crack in one corner but other than that it’s still perfect.

She grabs her bag from her locker and brings it with her to the nurse’s station, labeling the locker room as an unsafe and off limits space, which are becoming more bountiful by the day.

John is not her patient tonight. On her day off they must have had an influx of admissions because she’s responsible for 10 of them and the infirmary is unusually and appropriately staffed.

Her hopes of his nurse trading him are slim to none because he’s a wonderful patient and over time everyone has seemed to agree that they want him on their assignment sheet.

The other nurse’s that take and give her report always talk about what a cool, easy going guy he is and how they’re surprised that he needs that many guards with him.

“What do you think he did?” Stan, one of the day shift nurses, asks her.

“My bet’s on released a circus full of wild animals and let them trample a small town, but I could be wrong.” She taps her pen against her report sheet and laughs at her own joke.

Stan snorts. “He probably killed some rich guys.”

The other nurses like him so much that most of their theories on why John is in four point restraints with four men guarding him at all times is because he’s done something valiant that pissed someone powerful off.

That’s probably the other reason his wound looks better; not just because of her, but because if you like a patient or connect with them you’re more than likely going to give them the best care you can provide.

If she’s honest, it kind of makes her feel sick. Not because everyone has grown to like John, but because that means she��ll have less chance of being his nurse from here on out. Also, she knows it’s kindergarten mentality, but she liked him and treated him well first while the other ones had to get to know him beforehand.

Her case load is heavy. A couple IV’s, wound changes, someone with a tracheostomy. She sits down to chart, finally, at 3 AM.

One of the other nurses, Bill, calls for her across the hall.

She fights the urge to groan while standing on sore feet and walking over to his medication cart.

Bill grins at her, looking like he’s really enjoying himself. “My patient in 9 wants to see you.”

“Me?” She asks.

Bill shrugs, still looking very amused. “He says he needs to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Bill tells her. “Seems that he likes your company, though.” He gives an eyebrow raise at the awkward expression crawling onto her face.

She reminds herself that this her workplace for the 80th time and that Bill’s suggestive expressions are just him messing around. Joking. That’s all. He’s joking.

John is watching the door, waiting for her. When she pops in like a mouse and scurries to his bed, he feels the urge to pat her on the head for showing up which would be the only thing he could do to stop himself from grabbing her up and kissing her.

His smile is wide and genuine. “How’s the roommate search?”

“Uh, I got one.” She smiles timidly, hoping he doesn’t think she’s erratic and air-headed for finding someone so fast

His eyes widen just the smallest bit. “That’s good, is she…nice?”

She nods too eagerly. “He’s great. And he has great decorations.”

The key word here—at least the one his ears attune to—is he. Not because a woman and a man living together automatically entails romance or connection, but because John knows men—John is a man—and most of them turn out to be less than good.

He tries not to look mean, to keep his smile, to focus on her being here with him in the present and alive and well; If he doesn’t, rage will start talking, nefarious, whispering sin in his ear, assuring him that it wouldn’t be hard to break out of these handcuffs and make sure her roommate becomes her loyal dog for the rest of the time he spends living with her and alive.

“If you wouldn’t have suggested it, I’d probably be homeless by next week.” She tries to sway the conversation toward optimism because she sees something in his expression that reads like he’s a little upset. He probably does think she’s a moron at this point.

Maybe it’s just good that she’s happy. He tries to shift focus onto that. The roommate can’t be malignant if she’s so upbeat.

It’s been very easy to talk to John most times, but then there are moments like this when something awkward and unsaid hangs between them and more often than not she doesn’t know what it is. Maybe he doesn’t either.

“Just be careful,” is what he decides to say.

She chuckles. “I will, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t understand what’s funny—again, but he appreciates the laugh. One of them can get him through a few hours, and they’re so easy to wring out of her pretty throat.

One of the security guards stands, stretches, yawns. He says he’s going to take a break. The other guards are asleep, so once he leaves they’ll be alone.

“I’m gonna go to vending, John you want anything?” He asks.

John shakes his head no. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry if I bothered you while you were busy,” he says, too eager to talk as soon as the guard walks out. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She purses her lips, which he thinks means she’s trying not to leak an expression that will probably be embarrassing. Really, she’s trying to tame her lion heart back into its cage before it sinks its teeth into him and refuses to let go.

“I’m okay, John.” She attempts smiling. “You’re the one in the hospital bed.”

He shrugs like his stab wound and near death are just a hiccup.

She talks again. “And I’m glad you called me in. I like talking to you.”

His face is all smile now. “Likewise.”

He tells her to pull up a chair if she wants, and she steals one of the metal ones that the breaking guard left behind, sitting by his bedside. They start with a casual conversation about the weather that turns into a discussion on harsh winters in Belarus.

“Did you grow up there?” She asks him.

He nods. “I traveled a lot.”

“So, you’re Russian?” She puts her chin in her palm and stares at him like he is the most interesting person in the world. She’s adorable like this. He wants to brush the stray hairs from her cheeks.

“Yes. American, now.”

“Do you speak Russian?” Her eyebrows raise.

“да, красивая девушка” His tone automatically slides into a deeper baritone when he says this, and it makes her shudder.

He needs to be nerfed. Outlawed. He should not be handsome, nice, like-able, and be able to speak a different language in his perfect voice. It’s really not fair at all.

She’s too busy trying to tame her rogue thoughts to ask him what he even said. The desire to climb into his lap and straddle him crosses her mind twenty times in different ways. She blinks heavy. “You’re the coolest person I know.”

They talk until the guard comes back from his break, mainly about Belarus and what it was like there and where else he has traveled.

Although she has a ton of charting to catch up on, she doesn’t want to leave him. The taste of human connection is on her tongue after a couple years of abstinence and she’s becoming addicted.

When she exits his room, it’s with reluctance and impressive self control.

She tells him to sleep. He promises he’ll try.

It would be easier to do her job if she wasn’t catching Benny sneering at her whenever they’re in the same space, but she gets through it, reasoning that John has it worse than her because he has to suffer through six hours with the asshole guard in his room. And, it’s easier also because of…well, John himself.

[illym]

I think Justice would be a huge novelty (atypically shaped or designed) cup fan.

Bonus group gifts from her kids:

Elphelt: handmade mug

Ramlethal: handmade coaster

Jack-O: homemade hot chocolate mix (that you shouldn't drink if you have a heart condition) and a bunch of candy canes.

ID for both images in alt texts.

Misc thoughts below:

I feel like Jack-O hardcore celebrates every single holiday even if she doesn't personally celebrate, to explain her tree neck thing and headband.

I honestly don't know if the Valentines would celebrate Christmas; I don't know whether Aria would celebrate (she was American in the 20xx's, and I imagine that people flocked to religion as a way to provide emotional support and answers after the technology collapse of 1998 or whichever year that happened. People might've left again after magic became huge, but... I dunno. I don't study human psychology, i just find it fun to think about.), and her closest human friends currently are Sylv and Bridget.

Sylv doesn't know what Christmas is, and... Actually, Bridget's accent core costume is vaguely (very vaguely) nun themed, so that implies that she knows Christianity well enough to stylize herself after it.

But on the other hand, we never see her experience Catholic guilt 🤔.

Okay, we've gotten off track and forgotten our original point... Let's go back.

I headcanon that Justice can't eat solid foods very well because her mouth doesn't open very wide and chewing is difficult for her, so most of her meals are smoothies and drinks and the like. It's why she started collecting cups; may as well have some fun with it. I don't know if she would think of it herself; maybe Sylv came up with the idea, and Justice enjoyed it far more than she thought.

Elphelt went to a pottery class and got absolutely obsessed for two weeks. Ramlethal joined her, but only really enjoyed carefully forming more solid (pre-baked pottery), as the wet and mushy stuff was too hellish as a sensation. Elphelt enjoyed going absolutely ham hitting it around and shaping it and squashing it flat again. She fell out of it after those couple weeks, but she goes to the big fancy studio in Illyria whenever someone she knows is headed to Illyria.

Jack-O wasn't around during that saga (I've started debating whether she's six months older than the Elphelt and Ramlethal, which would make her roughly emotionally 4-7 years older than them), so she never had a pottery moment. I think if she tried out physical crafts, she'd really like that thing where you smash glass and then build something pretty from it.

Justice .... Probably watercolors or something that doesn't require hardcore precision. But I don't think she'd ever initiate trying it out; someone would have to convince her to try it and stick with it through her "this isn't worth the effort of working around my hands" phase.

Bonus: Christmas gifts from the other people that Justice knows

Sylv: xe got her a thick stick with a soft rubber tip to make reading books easier (by making turning the pages easier) (she has difficulty with delicate things like paper because of her claws). Handmade since Sylv couldn't find one that was good for Justice's hand size.

Bridget: she ordered a custom Roger shaped cookie jar for herself, and went ahead and ordered some custom cups to go with it, giving one to Justice since (liking novelty cups) was the only personal gift able trait she could think of. Justice loved it.

Robo Ky: He piggybacked off of Sylv's gift the first year, since he was too self centered to get anyone else a gift. The first gift he got her was lightly scented armor polish, since Justice had complained that she was tired of her armor overpowering a lot of other sensations (the metallic smell being stronger than most other smells around). She was extremely grateful and flattered that he thought of that.

Sol: didn't get her anything. They have a really awkward, emotionally strained relationship so even if he'd thought of it in more than a passing thought

Can you tell I'm primarily a writer.

I can't copy paragraphs on my phone but this was too good to restrict to a Christmas gift

The first gift he actually gave her were some claw coverings, made from one of the few materials that was stronger than her claws and also not a major pain in the ass to use. They can connect magnetically to a bracelet Justice chose to wear around her elbow, so that taking them off for fights doesn't require her to find a place to put them.

[nnaassposhem]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: American Eagle Watercolor Car Truck Cup Coaster Car Coasters.

[greenleafgoddess]

rainbow drink coasters! bring some colour to your dining set

on amazon through the link below

[november-forest]

Fall Themed Activities by Astrological Sign

Aries: making an autumn wreath or painting pumpkins at a hometown fall festival, getting caramel macchiatos with apple cider donuts

Taurus: Hocus Pocus, Halloweentown, and the Nightmare Before Christmas in a blanket fort with Christmas lights and hot chocolate

Gemini: ghost tours at night through centuries old buildings after a potluck with friends, ouija boards and EMF phone apps to commune to spirits

Cancer: baking pumpkin swirl bread for a picnic on a fleece blanket, knitting or crocheting scarves and hats for friends and family

Leo: hosting pumpkin carving and apple pie baking competitions after a trip to the pumpkin patch and apple orchards, making mulled cider

Virgo: Harry Potter movie marathon after rereading all of the hardback novels in a cozy nook, drinking butter beers with whipped cream

Libra: backroad drives through the country every week to watch the leaves change, watercolor painting the best leaves after pressing them

Scorpio: horror movies late at night with Halloween candy, stargazing in an old cemetery with cozy socks and sweaters, haunted houses

Sagittarius: theme parks at night with candy apples and roller coasters, sunrise rock climbing, zip lining, or chairlift riding in the mountains

Capricorn: corn mazes and hay rides with pumpkin spiced lattes, making costumes from scratch and spooky playlists for Halloween parties

Aquarius: photography sessions in sunflower fields with wide brim hats, peppermint mochas at hometown football games

Pisces: staying at an Airbnb cabin in the woods to build campfires and roast s’mores, writing short stories and poems set in the fall

[itsmoonphobic]

Dream SMP characters and my interpretation of them:

-Techno: The smell of Dirt and soil,blood,wine and old books. Silk pillowcases,golden jewelry,mosaics,stained fingertips, grand staircases,scented candles,storyteller,lazy smiles, secretive,slow dancing,sad resting face,elegant language,cold weather,confident,doubts himself,philosophy, messy braids,glowdust flakes, poetry,graceful movements,neat and cursive handwriting, greek mythology, oriental music,pale skin,libraries,sarcasm, long-lasting friendships,quotes,frosted windows,layering clothes, know-it-all,rude but endearing,pile of papers,cherry blossoms,muted colors,overthinks everything,devotion,logical thinking,insomniac,scattered mind,castle walls,laid back,tired eyes,long debates,show over tell,lingering touches,rulebreaker, dirty palms,old movies freezing feet,old habits,late nights studying,early riser,skips meals,eye bags,tea with milk,velvet jackets,dimly lit by streetlights,ancient wood floors,flowy curtains,art museums, gravely morning voice,echos in the middle of nowhere,sleepy whispers,nostalgia everywhere,red lipstick stains,loves animal more than people,calm and quiet, healing stones,parked car conversations,sharp jaw,obsessed with memes,violins,doves, doves,floats instead of walks,unbroken promises,twisting and winding hair around fingers,nail biting, repeating phrases,mist secret scars,rumors,always wearing earphones,metaphorical, emotions fragile as a flower, speaks with his eyes,fluttery eyelashes,dog lover,forehead kisses,calligraphy,pretty knives,cares too much,lopsided grins,messy desks,talks for hours no,rolling his eyes all the time,powerful strides,wants to conquer the world,slender hands,good grades, dusty book covers,wax stamped envelopes,vintage mirrors

-Phil: The smell of cold air,pine trees and sandalwood.Dead birds and mothballs,stops on the sidewalk to make sure nobody is left behind,morning person,herbal teas,crows,eats breakfast outside,constellations,family portraits on walls, chirping and whistling,crime documentaries,cool father figure, graveyards,weeping angels,meteor shower,many friends but only a single close one,contagious laugh,fragile teacups,fog, early mornings,fuzzy blankets,springs of thyme,bare feet, empty streets,rosemary stems,flickering lanterns,burnt wood bowls,feather collector,antique silverware,a sky full of stars, skylights,torn pages,overstuffed bookshelves,makes you feel comfortable whenever you talk to him,organized,full of ideas, believes in magic,gives the best advice,lost in his own way, warm hugs,scrapbooks and bullet journals,old cars,soft features,daydreaming,bright eyes,getting lost in the woods,moonlight,self knitted sweaters, stargazing on tailgates,the universe,hand in hand with wandering hearts, garage sales,questioning life but feeling at peace,attic bedrooms and haylofts,pursuing science and desiring art, photo albums,hopeless romantic,dark chocolate,open windows and quirky morning rituals,actually knows what brunch is, succulents,a kind-hearted loner,free-spirit,plaid button-ups, always ready to let you rant,abandons projects quickly, complicated past,bold moves,goes with the flow,aims for things that seem unachievable,lives in extremes,knowing smiles,constantly busy with something new,soft touches,love at first sight,naps alot,subsequent tea stains,sparkly eyes, abandoned barns,handwritten notes,feather quills,fascination with the sky,whispering secrets to the wind,great with kids, takes a backpack everywhere,hugs trees,big winter coats,road trips,knows tons of medical info,bites his nails,comforting presence,lost souls,city lights from a high rise

-Wilbur: The smell of fire,smoke,caramel and coffee. Stands up for people who can't for themselves,emotional wreck,loves his family too much but still yells at them,soft turtlenecks,sits in different spots every time he eats dinner,chipped nailpolish, songwriter,probably depressed,wakes up in the middle of the night to write down random thoughts,heartbroken teenager songs,dark psychology and deep meanings,globes and maps, wants to travel and make lots of memories,curls of steam, earbuds in,spattered ink,good singer,keeps to himself,old music and dusty vinyl,the type of person that you could stare at for hours,loud laugh,ride or die,dreams about his future, believes in fresh starts and new beginnings, messy and tangled hair,summer nights,soft features,deep thinker and dimples, having crushes,musicals and theater, half finished diaries and laptop stickers,mixtapes,quirky love notes, secretly kinda insane,always ready for coffee,thrift shops, beachy waves, bonfires,probably drives too fast,cutoff jeans, cream and sugar,nude colors,always creating new problems for himself, fights for equality,long debates and tired eyes, tapping a rhythm and humming quietly,spends all his time on social media,beanie galore,trench coats,foggy glasses,cozy sweaters, dancing around his room to the Beatles,looking out the window when the sun is setting,birkenstocks,guitar strumming on a warm summer evening,bells and chimes,subtle sadness, the feeling of diving into a deep pool,perfect proportions,too many playlists,holding hands,pretty boy,sew on patches and bomber jackets,candid photos,warm sun on bare skin,dancing silhouettes on the sunsets,beach walks at midnight,messy but cozy room,different mood every minute,singing his favorite song at the top of his lungs,sharp grins,haunted houses, paranormal stuff,late night snack runs with friends,explores creeks and lakes,double checks everything he does,walking through hot sand,backyard campfires,acoustic songs,photo booths,train platforms at night,s'mores,sun bleached arbors

-Tommy: The smell of plastic,fresh cut grass and musk. Does the bare minimum at School,unless genuinely interested in a topic,doodles on the side of his paper,movie marathons,empty coca cola bottles everywhere,rope swings,glossy nailpolish,lots of energy,life of the party, kidcore ,can always make you laugh,loves photography,eyestrain and bright colors,bruised knees and untied shoelaces,paperballs in class,brand new red converse,denim jackets,pins and clips,chalk drawings in the middle of the road,every text contains emojis, garden sprinklers,graffiti,wreck this journal,vibrant dyed hair, scribbles and highlighter pens,carnivals,involed in many things, watermelon flavored anything,loves to climb trees,screaming on playgrounds,oversized t-shirts,stained glass windows, anklets,skateboards and hula hoops,milkshakes on the front porch,social butterfly,always in a hurry,pinkie promises,tangled headphones,melted crayons and gummy bears,bean bags and hummingbirds,spinning around till he gets dizzy,chaotic and crazy yet so fun to be around,rushing into things too quickly, roller coasters and derbies,doesn't get knocked back by criticism,cans of fizzy drinks and neon lights,skips school,tye dye shirts and nitendo games,impulse and class clown,sticks stickers on stranger's things,pickpockets his close friends,has to carry a walkie-talkie around with him at all times,sleepovers and sneaking out through windows,pockets full of change and random buttons,stands out in crowds and makes friends easily, pretends to be fearless but is scared of the littlest things,trips and rips his jeans daily,uno cards,social butterfly,music discs, fights with his family but would actually kill for them,broken handwriting,flannels and jerseys around his waist

-Tubbo: The smell of honey,fresh bread and citrus. Lowkey soft, hugging a teddy bear,pressed flowers,eats alot of bread,big hoodies,fairy lights and blanket forts,prank calls while holding in your laughter,beeswax candles,sidewalk dandelions,gentle cuddles on the couch,pastel yellow and cute doodles,flower crowns and diasy chains,plays the ukulele,fascinated by bees and supports local coffee shops,outdoorsy sunshine addict, sparklers and iced lemonade,festivals with fireworks and fireflies in mason jars,homework done as soon as its assigned, watercolor paintings,giggling uncontrollably,long hugs and lazy cartoon afternoons,park dates and forehead kisses,cutting pants into shorts,messy wild hair and pear lollipops,has tiny random braids decorated with golden yarn,hearing the crinkle of leaves underfoot,suprise piggy back rides,adult swim shows and lip gloss stains,being goofy without meaning to,bounces in his step and stops to pet stray animals,baked bread and washi tape bracelets,bike rides and summer picnics,rolling down a hill in the spring and bringing home grass stains on his jeans, waving at someone across a crowded room,spontaneous hang outs and self made clay rings,sitting in the warm sunlit grass on early spring mornings,rock painting and hiding them for other people to find,picking apples from trees but needing to be held up in order to reach one

-Ranboo: The smell of peppermint tea,denim and rain. Is there for everyone but never themselves,regrets things they said but can never find the nerves to apologize,clumps of mascara and winged eyeliner,writes down every tiny thing in notebooks, loves children and their friends,forgetting that they already grabbed a waterbottle,drawing on condensation windows,rainy days and puddles,always on the edge of a breakdown,elevator music and long limbs,old tape recordings and cassettes,moss covered ruins and greenhouses,wanting to be in multiple places at the same time,different colored socks,long hugs and head pats,reading under the covers,collages and spray paint,record players and walks alone through the woods,loves playing by creeks and collecting stones,always wondering and worrying about things they shouldn't,vivid dreams and leather jackets, silver necklaces and piercings,snoozing their alarm clock, seeing the moon in the early morning,blurry photographs and windswept hair,downpours and comfortable silence,wrapping gifts and handing them over with shaking hands,sitting on a rooftop and spontaneous plans,lofi sounds and long train roads,deja vu moments,randomly dissapears and sipping tea, cold concrete and city parks,tickets and brochures from places they visited,dusty parchment and desperately trying to be a good person,wikipedia articles and lace-up boots,often loses track of time while talking to people they love,sings to the radio and avoids conflict if possible,can't sit still for five minutes, perpetually in an emo phase and knows more than they let on, hawaiian shirts,henna tattoos and sparkling water,sleeping in complete darkness and the relief of falling into bed,midnight thunderstorms and anticipation for the coming day,lucky charms and the sound of rain hitting the windows

-Dream: The smell of apples,eucalyptus,vanilla and green tea. Freckles and smiley faces,glow sticks and wrinkled linen, probably a really good singer,wild laughter and jellyfish, popular,tanned skin and cruising with the top down,doesn't take shit from anyone,analytical and self assured,beachy waves and dreamy sunsets,running barefoot,likes being active and on the go at all times,sassy and dramatic as fuck,dream catchers and hammocks,glow in the dark stickers on his phonecase, feisty and a sense of danger,brought home stray cats when he was a child,falling in love with strangers,waking up early and continue laying on the bed,golden hours and 4pm naps,soft aching hands burried in messy hair,center of attention,static and heavy breathing,old percy jackson books under the bed, throwing pebbles at the closed windows of his friends' room, retro diners at 2am,adrenaline junkie and nighttime thriver,will go insane if cooped up indoors for too long,deadlines till last minute,oversleeping and coming home past midnight,naturally a really good surfer,hugs from behind and neck kisses,checking the fridge at 1am,ice cream in bed and cat cuddles,always picks up over facetime

Might make more parts for some of the other guys :)

[sam-and-buck]

At Home With Captain America

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

Words: 7.7k

Also on AO3

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

At Home with Captain America

By: Adrien Davis

Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM 

To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.

Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.

Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.

“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.

“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”

Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.

It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?

There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit. 

Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.

There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials. 

“Captain Rogers painted this?”

“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”

I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.

I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.

I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.

“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”

The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.

“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.

“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”

I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.

His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.

“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”

“So you decorated this place?”

“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.

This is my in.

This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first. 

All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.

Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.

“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”

What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time. 

Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*

But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.

Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.

Wilson makes a face.

“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”

The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.

“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”

This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”

“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”

Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”

And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.

“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”

At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”

He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”

“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”

“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”

“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”

I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”

“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”

“So you decided to stick together?”

“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”

“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”

“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”

“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.

Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”

Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.

“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”

In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.

That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.

“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.

“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”

“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”

I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”

“How did it happen?”

Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”

“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.

“I see what you did there.”

“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”

“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”

“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.

“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him. 

“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”

“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.

“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”

“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”

“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?

“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.

“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’ 

“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”

This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience. 

“Who proposed and when?” 

“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”

“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:

“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’ 

“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included. 

“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”

“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.

“You did it?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.

Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.

Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.

“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”

“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.

“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”

“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”

“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”

“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.

“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”

“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”

The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.

“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.

“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”

“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”

Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”

“—I don’t hate technology—”

“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”

“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”

“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”

Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.

As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce. 

“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”

“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”

“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.

“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.

I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.

“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room. 

Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.

One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.

He puts that one back up onto the mantle.

The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”

That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.

Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”

An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.

Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”

“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”

“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”

Wilson rolls his eyes.

“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.

“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”

Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.

Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”

Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”

“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”

“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”

Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”

“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.

“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”

“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”

“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.

Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”

A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on. 

I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’ 

“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”

Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”

“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”

“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”

“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”

When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”

He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:

“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to  know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect. 

“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”

“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”

“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.

“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”

“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”

“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“

“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”

“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher. 

“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”

“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to. 

“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one. 

“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”

Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.

“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist. 

“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.

“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”

Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.

“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.

“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”

“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.

Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”

This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.

I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is. 

Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.

*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.

**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.

For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends: 

1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.

2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.

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Also check out our Unique Fine Art Australian Galah

[desperatehousewifecraft]

Hi all. Today’s post is a special one, as it is for my level 2 assignment for Altenew’s Educator Certification program. If I pass this assignment, I will go onto the last level and finally finish the program… and hopefully be certified! So for this assignment, I’ve been asked to create a home decor and a tag, which is perfect, as I’m making watercolour paper drink coasters at the moment. I made a video, which I attached at the end of this post, showing how I did it. These pulpboard coasters are made from compressed paper and are exactly like the drink coasters you find in your local pub, except they are blank and without any coating. So they are very absorbent. In my video, I show you two different ways of using them. One without any coating and one with clear Gesso, which is a surface preparation. Without Gesso, the coaster is very absorbent, which makes it difficult to blend my watercolours. You can see above on the coaster without gesso, that the different shades are not blended in, but you can still make beautiful coasters, as you can see below.I first stamped the flowers from Altenew’s Wild Hibiscus stamp set with Altenew inks and added a first light watercolour wash to each flower, followed by darker colours in the middle. The outline and the accents in the middle of the flowers were made using my Spectrum Noir Illustrator alcohol markers. Once everything was dry, I sponged in the background using Altenew’s Halftone stencil and Ocean Waves ink. For the second bunch of coasters, I first sprayed a layer of Gesso surface preparation on my coasters and let them dry overnight. (I sprayed a whole bunch, out of the house, at the same time so I would have them available for future use).  This turned the surface of my coasters into watercolour paper type surface so I could do normal blending with my watercolours. You will see the difference in my video.For these coasters, I used the gorgeous blooms from Altenew’s Botanical Garden stamp set and a paper stencil I made from Altenew’s Layered Floral Cover Die A. I stamped in the flowers and painted the background before painting the flowers so that the orange from the flowers wouldn’t leak into my background. I placed the paper stencil over my dried coaster and blended in yellow and orange distress inks.  To finish, I sprayed all the coasters with a clear gloss varnish to make it waterproof and resistant to fading and once that dried, they were ready to be used!Now onto my gift tag which I wanted to coordinate with the coasters, so I went for the floral theme with a spotty background too.  This was really quick to make as I had some scraps from an experiment with embossing gel and liquid watercolours, which I used for cutting the leaf and flower from Altenew’s Floral Shadow die set.

I used the Halftone stencil again to create the background of my tag so that it would resemble two of the coasters. This time I used a shiny paste from Shimmerz called Coral Me Crazy. Don’t you love the shine? So now its packaged and all ready to go to a mother’s friend, as a Thank You gift, as she brings me Altenew products whenever she comes to Europe!

For my two projects, I used the following techniques: stamping, masking, watercolouring, stencilling with inks and pastes, doodling with markers, ink blending and die cutting and you can see all that in detail in my video below. Please give me a thumbs up in Youtube if you like my video, and if you want more helpful tutorials, please subscribe to my channel!

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed this post as much as I enjoyed sharing it with you! Have a great day!

Hugs,

I’m sharing this at:

Altenew Inspiration challenge – I’m providing coasters for the mugs!

Simon Says Stamp – Spring Mood Board

Mod Squad challenge – Use a stencil

Simon Says Stamp – Work It Wednesday Spring Flowers

        Home decor project for Altenew Academy Assignment Hi all. Today's post is a special one, as it is for my level 2 assignment for Altenew's Educator Certification program.

[awashsquid]

From one artist to another

I can’t take credit for this idea--it was inspired by a post that @presidentnerd made a while ago about Michiru bonding with Chibi-Usa over their shared artistry.  About 1900 words.  Like it?  Reblog, shoot me a comment, or check out my ko-fi!

Michiru padded over the plush area rug in the living room to sit in her favorite chair, a hot cup of tea delicately balanced in one hand, the novel she was currently perusing tucked underneath her arm.  The tea cup clinked gently against the marble coaster on the end table as she set it down, watching the steam curl upwards gently and dissipate into the air.  She turned to retrieve a blanket out of the chest, the encroaching winter chilling the air, when she spotted an item that did not belong in the carefully cultivated decor of the space.  

On the corner of the glass coffee table was a sketchpad--one of the cheaper ones, she noted habitually--that was well-worn, the corners of the pages rolling upwards, a stain marking one spot towards the center.  Michiru crossed and picked up the foreign book, noting the melange of worn stickers decorating its cover, before flipping through its pages.  

The first page declared in fanciful lettering: “CHIBI-USA’S DRAWINGS.”  That would explain its presence, then, she mused, fingers leafing through the thick pages with deft precision cultivated from years of skimming through her own similar tomes.  Professor Tomoe had not yet been declared mentally fit to raise Hotaru, not since the “tragic explosion” that had overtaken the Mugen School a few years back.  He was a loving and doting father, but his frequent memory lapses meant that he had been confined to a group living facility since that time.

He had been surprised, but not ungrateful, when Michiru, Haruka, and Setsuna had offered to take Hotaru during his rehabilitation, Michiru offering up expertly forged paperwork declaring them to be cousins of Hotaru’s mother (easy enough to obtain for someone with her wealth and connections).  The young girl had aged rapidly from baby to toddler to teenager, but her growth seemed to have stalled and returned to a normal pace somewhere around the age of sixteen.  Chibi-Usa had been delighted by this rekindled opportunity to spend time with her best friend and had become a frequent visitor in their flat, the two teens typically shut up in Hotaru’s room, the door open just a crack at Haruka’s protective insistence.

The drawings weren’t half-bad, Michiru recognized with some measure of surprise as she flipped through them.  Many towards the beginning of the pages were of Pegasus in various landscapes, then one with the horse looking into a mirror where a young boy was looking back, fingertips touching the glass barrier lightly.  There was a degree of awkwardness to the proportions, but the expression on his face was captivatingly rendered, sadness and resignation evident on his carefully penciled visage.  Michiru sat on the couch absently and continued to look through the book at pages depicting what she assumed to be Crystal Tokyo, a few rough sketches of Diana, an unflattering caricature of Usagi shoving rice cakes into her mouth, and various other subject matters before landing on the final drawing.  

It was Hotaru, looking at the viewer with a knowing smile not dissimilar to the Mona Lisa’s, her eyes kind and wise even as there appeared to be a distance between her and the audience.  The proportions were a little imperfect, the shading rough and the lighting inconsistent, but Chibi-Usa had managed to capture the essence of Hotaru’s character in the sketchy lines of the face, and the eyes of the drawing were captivating, showing a true promise of talent.

Michiru shut the sketchpad gently and placed it back onto the coffee table, then rose and went upstairs to dress, tea forgotten and growing cold in its cup where she had left it.  She had some calls to make.

--

“Hello?”  Usagi answered the door, a confused smile appearing on her face.  “Michiru!  What’s up?  Um, I mean, how can I help you?  Do you need something?”  She danced a little on the balls of her feet, clearly nervous even after years of knowing the older woman.  Michiru pushed away the thought that Usagi would naturally assume she wanted something from her rather than just stopping by for a visit and instead smiled back placidly.

“Hello, Usagi.  I was wondering if Chibi-Usa was home.  Might I come in?”  Usagi nodded and stepped out of the way, shutting the door as Michiru delicately slipped out of her shoes.

“Lemme just go grab her!  Um, you can sit down, or whatever; be right back!”  With that, Usagi bounded out of the room and up the stairs.  Michiru could hear a muffled shout of “CHIBI-USA!  MICHIRU’S HERE FOR YOU!” followed by the reply, similarly bellowed.  She felt a small smile turn up the corners of her mouth.  Perhaps it was that Chibi-Usa was a princess allowed to be a child where Michiru had been a child expected to act like a princess, but something about the freedom with which the two were able to interact in such an immature but open manner warmed her in a way she couldn’t quite parse out.

Michiru sat down primly on the couch for a moment, absently smoothing her skirt as she glanced around the room at all of the various knick-knacks and photos on display.  After a minute or so, she heard the thumping of little feet running down the stairs.  Chibi-Usa skidded into the room, nearly toppling over, and took a moment to catch her breath before standing straight.  “Michiru!  Usagi said you wanted to see me?”  Her eyes flickered over the table between them and she frowned, turning to scream up the stairs.  “USAGI!  You didn’t even offer her something to drink!”

Michiru chuckled, her hand rising to delicately cover her mouth.  “I’m not planning to linger for very long, Chibi-Usa, but thank you for your hospitality.”  Chibi-Usa’s cheeks flushed pink and she nodded.  “I believe that you left this at our house yesterday, and I thought you may be missing it.”  She pulled the sketchpad from her purse, offering it out towards the girl.

Chibi-Usa’s eyes lit up and she took it quickly, holding the book close to her chest as she twisted back and forth in an embrace with it.  “I was looking for this all morning!  Thank you so much!”  She smiled widely during her response, prompting Michiru to smile back without even recognizing that she was doing so.

“I’m glad I was able to reunite you.  I understand the anxiety of being separated from your works.”

The young girl’s happy expression fell slightly, and her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth as she bit it, her movement stilling and an expression of anxiety working its way across her features.  “Did- did you look at it?”

Michiru winced internally, knowing that she was going to have to admit to the inquisitiveness that had caused her to violate Chibi-Usa’s privacy.  “I did,” she affirmed, and Chibi-Usa’s expression turned more nervous.  “Initially, just to determine who it belonged to, but I confess that my curiosity can best me at times, and I admit to looking through it.  I am sorry if I invaded your privacy.”

Chibi-Usa blushed, face turning pink to match her hair.  “It- it’s not private or anything, it’s just sketches though, it’s not my best stuff or anything--” she stammered out anxiously, rocking back and forth slightly as all children do when embarrassed.

Michiru raised her eyebrows.  “You mean to say that you have more works?  What medium do you prefer?”  She received no reply, so she decided to rephrase the question slightly.  “Do you like watercolors, oil paints, pastels, sculpture…?” she trailed off, waiting for a response.

“We did all of those at school, um, but I wasn’t too good at sculpture,” she responded, face wincing as she recalled all of the assistance she had needed to complete her Holy Grail.  “I like painting, mostly.  Watercolors are nice because I like how light they are.  It makes it look all dreamy,” she described, her eyes flicking off as though envisioning herself painting.

“Between the two of us, Chibi-Usa, I’m not talented at sculpting myself,” Michiru confided in a conspiratorial tone, and the girl seemed to relax at the idea that even an artist like Michiru wasn’t perfect at everything.

“Really?” she asked.

“Really,” Michiru affirmed.  “Sculpture was the course I performed most poorly in during my schooling.  I found it too abstract, too much to visualize at once, perhaps.”  She cleared her throat.  “I digress.  I am sorry for looking through your works.  I know how personal they can be.”  She thought of her own sketchbooks, full of drawings of her visions, of Haruka, of things that she wouldn’t necessarily want to be shared to the world.  “I assure you I won’t tell anyone about the contents of your sketches.

“I do want to tell you, though, that the reason I even perused so was because I think that you have genuine talent, Chibi-Usa.”

“Wait, seriously?  You’re not just being nice, are you?”  The skepticism was heavy in her tone, her small face crinkling in suspicion.

Michiru smiled.  “Have you ever known me to give a compliment insincerely, just to make the recipient feel better?”  There was a pause where Chibi-Usa’s light eyebrows furrowed together as she though hard before deciding on an answer and shaking her head ‘no.’  “Precisely.  You have a real gift for capturing the emotion of your subjects, and I think with some refining that you could be a truly great artist.  How would you like to be enrolled in some studio classes?  Evenings and weekends, of course, so that they wouldn’t interfere with your traditional schooling.”

Chibi-Usa’s eyes lit up.  “Really?  But wait, I have to ask about--”

Michiru held up a smooth palm.  “Everything will be paid for in full; I insist.  My only stipulation is that I be invited to your first gallery showing one day.”  Chibi-Usa rushed forward and wrapped her in a tight hug, shocking the air out of her as the small arms squeezed around her torso.  She smiled and patted the girl’s back before Chibi-Usa withdrew, flushing once more with a mixture of embarrassment and happiness.

She graciously accepted the multitude of proffered thanks before exiting, assuring Chibi-Usa that she would be receiving information via the mail in a few days regarding her upcoming coursework.  The next morning, a package arrived on the Tsukinos’ steps addressed to Chibi-Usa, a card attached.  The careful calligraphy on the inside read: To get you started, from one artist to another. -M. Kaioh.  

Inside the large box were thick, expensive sketchpads and painting pads, fine watercolors and brushes, shading pencils, several canvases, and other assorted supplies, each one of the highest quality, purchased from an expensive art-specialty boutique, not just the local craft store where her previous supplies had come from.  Usagi’s mouth had fallen open when she saw the contents of the box, and Chibi-Usa promptly ran up to her room with the contents, eager to try out some of the new supplies that she had been given.

She unwrapped a watercolor set carefully and selected a piece of thick paper to begin her first work, smiling as the brush glided across what would become a carefully-detailed thank-you card to Michiru, one that she would secretly keep on display in her studio for years to come.

[the-moons-just-the-sun-at-night]

I was tagged by @fancybasementfestival​ thank you so much <33

nickname: Jane, Savage (and I still don’t know why...)

sign: Gemini

height: 166cm/ 5″6 i think

time: 6:08pm

birthday: June 19

favorite bands/artists: Queen, NGHFB (yeah I’ll count them as a band), The Who, Led Zeppelin, Muse, Metallica, Gorillaz

song stuck in my head: I Want It All by Queen because I just watched the Freddie Mercury tribute version with Roger Daltrey :’))))

last movie i saw: this Korean movie called Heart-Blackened (침묵) and it was the biggest emotional roller coaster I had been on in a while

last tv show i watched: god it was such a long time ago but Doctor Who

last thing i googled: College Board (fk them)

what i post: Mainly classic rock, some Britpop, art, the occasional meme (this is a lot like my real life lmao)

url meaning/why i chose my username: In most or a lot of Led Zeppelin’s live versions of Stairway to Heaven, Robert says, “Does anybody remember laughter?”, and I’ve always loved that bit, but one day I was listening to a new live version (I can’t remember which one...), he changed “laughter” to “forests”. Loved it so much, I made it my url.

average amount of sleep: During school days, usually 5-6, but it’s vacation now babyyyy so 7-8 maybe?

nationality: South Korean

do i get asks: yeah occasionally

following: 394

lucky number: 7

what i’m wearing: tank top and shorts, my pjs

dream job: musician, haha dunno yet actually...

dream trip: Europe

instrument: guitar, piano

favourite song: Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen (atm)

played any sport: Well I’ve done this and that and I really stuck with figure skating for a while, but now it’s mainly basketball and cycling

hair colour: a brown so dark it’s nearly black

eye colour: dark brown

language you speak: English, Korean (all the years of learning Chinese, Spanish and French went where??)

random fact: The temperature in South Korea is about to surpass it’s highest recorded temperature, which was 40 degrees Celsius, and it’s FKING HOTTT

10 songs i’m currently obsessed with:

1. Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

2. Something Human - Muse

3. Tenement Funster/Flick of the Wrist/Lily of the Valley trio - Queen (let’s just count this as one........)

4. I Want It All - Queen

5. Let’s All Make Believe Demo - Oasis (yeah the one Noel sang, fight me)

6. Snap Out Of It - Arctic Monkeys

7. Soldier of Fortune - Deep Purple (one of the songs of my childhood, peoples)

8. The Miracle - Queen (Deaky’s bass line near the end fking slaps)

9. Too Much Love Will Kill You - Brian May (first song I cried to lol)

10. Penny Lane - The Beatles

this or that?

musicals or plays

lemonade or iced tea

strawberries or raspberries

winter or summer

pandas or koalas

beaches or forests

planets or constellations

pastels or neons

diners or cafes

unicorns or dragons

gemstones or crystals

hummingbirds or owls

fireworks or sparklers

sunflowers or hydrangeas

brunch or happy hour (haha I can’t drink yet)

sweet or sour  

rome or amsterdam (been to neither)

classic or modern art

sushi or ramen

sun or moon

polka dots or stripes

macarons or croissants

glitter or matte

degas or seurat (them ballerina faces creep me out)

aquariums or planetariums

road trip or camping trip

coloring books or watercolors

fairy lights or candles

honey & lemon or milk & sugar

[oomny]

More watercolor coasters. Putting sweating drinks on them did not make cool watercolor bleedy circles. Sadface emoji

[transparentmanposts]

What is the Difference be tween Dreamer and Visionary?

Today I turn fifty-three years old, by the Grace of God. Why do I make this point? Well, My life has always been a hair-raising roller coaster ride. The large uphill battle on my ride has been money. No mater water profession, or company I have worked for, never made more money than just enough to squeak by. I own no property of any value,I have no significant other or children. The loop de loop, on my ride would be not being steadily employed. The longest employment I have had with a company is ten years. Shortest employment has been five months. I am fifty-three years old and I am unemployed again and looking for work again. So accord to most people I am a ghost. Now let's look at some of the thrills in my life. At the age of Fifteen, I took one art class with Caroline Wyeth at N.C Wyeth's 1980 At The age of sixteen, I was doing ink and watercolor illustrations for rich and famous people while on the family vacation at the seclusive Island Captiva .1981-1984 Assigned presidential guard detail for President Bush Sr. for his visit to Ft Sam Houston, San Antonio Texas 1989 Participated Ft. Lewis Art show and won two awards. 1995 I was hired as tutor-er and behavioral manager of the son of an ambassador to the U.S. From the country Luxembourg. I have met a lot of famous people, movie actor, rock stars, pro sports athletes. What I have accomplished in my life. Served in the U.S. Army Reserve as a Combat Engineering-1987 Served in U.S. National Army Guard of Pa. Mechanize infantry, TOW missile crewman. 1987-1989 Served U.S Army as Combat Medic: with 232 Field artillery in Giessen Germany 1989-1991 / With a clearing, company support the 1st Green Beret and the 23rd ranger battalion Civilian work, I worked for two years for a sign company building and installing. For fifteen years I have worked for vaporous electrical companies both old and new work, both residential and commercial. Worked for two years in the telecommunication field, was an installer, for a company that installed services for large corporations. I worked for ten years in the supply chain. for a major telecommunication company.

Dreamer or Visionary.

Now since I came across Christian Contemporary music I have always had a burning desire to use my God-given talent in the arts, to spread throughout the world the gospel of Christ. So we come to what is the difference between a dreamer and a visionary? Both people have the same dire, to make their dream become a reality. They both will plan and assassinate action, Now the defining moment that separates the two is how they respond to the roadblocks that will liberally be entrenched along the pathway to success.

Some of the obstacle ones will face:

Very few people will support your vision. The Na Sayers will squawk in your ears until it bleeds and falls off. It's a gamble with resources of time and money, that you do not have a plentiful supply of. Companies you have hired to reach your goal do not provide accurate services. Losing Patients, because the project is not progressing as fast as one thinks it should. Having a lack of faith.that you will regain the money you invested to accomplish the project.

So a dreamer will be turned away from pursuing the path to success when they start getting weighed down by painful obstacles. Where the Visionary hungers down and endures the obstacles, stay committed to the competition of their project.

I had started my visionary journey Back when I was in Bible College, A designed and had printed my first track, which was entitled God Gift. I had one thousand printed, and I distributed them to my fellow college student to have them give them out during the Christmas break.1986-1987 While at Bible college I also did illustrations a professor, and an illustration for a new paper advertisement, that was for a piano concert put on by the college. Shortly after my discharge from the military, I start a ministry called "God, You and the Bible. This was in the early days of the internet, I had a friend who knew how to program, so he was my right-hand man to create and maintain a page on the internet. During this time I also put a book of art and poetry together, which I had Kinko's print them for me, they had a spiral spine. I disturbed them at washing mattes The web page went off the internet because my right-hand man was drinking too much. and I knew nothing about programming. 1997 I had a jacket embroidered with a logo design advertising my ministry " Creative Touch ministries. I also had a sweatshirt made with painting I have done printed on the front and a poem I wrote on the back with my poem number above it. 1998 I had an old Chevy S10 that I use to have outdoor stickers made of my art, and I put them on the cap I had on the back of the truck. Around this time I started a donation and lending program of the originals of my artwork. This was to colleges, and community centers. In 2007 I was given a free computer, and I my place of employment provided discounted internet service. So I started using the internet to reach out with the gospel communicating it through the use of my art and poetry and writing apologetic articles on Christian concepts. This is a major tool of my ministry to this day. From gaining a following through the last fifteen years of posting on internet communities, my public suggested I publish this material in a book. 2016 After getting an inheritance, in just the nick of time to pay my credit card debt. I thought to my self, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much of my life is spent working, I can't stay out of debt. So I had a publishing company call me and ask me if I was ready to put out a book, I had put it off for a couple of years, hoping I would get out of debt to take on the protect. Well, I prayed about it, asking God what is His will in the manner. So I ask God to affirm His answer, giving me a sign by having Christian Faith Publishing company except for my manuscript. If the publishing of the book was not His will, then he would be closed the door of this opportunity, and I would not continue to pursue. Well do to my age, poor health, I decided to take a leap of faith and used my line credit to pay four thousand dollars to have this book published. Sine the book has been out on the market, there is sixteen bookseller on Amazon offering my book, there are three on Barns and Noble. I have three bookstores that have made a commitment to carry my book It is my goal to approach five books to store a week to carry my book, I have personally sold 9 books on my own. the conclusion of this article is that I hope that by sharing my story, you can tell the difference between a dreamer and a visionary. If God is calling to a project that takes you to step out on the unseen bridge of faith don't allow the roadblock stop you. He will lead you to step by step along the path to success.

Written by Stephen J. Vattimo 7/30/2018

[mydarlingfelix]

Get to know me tag(s)!

Tagged by: @hyunjinh  @felox-the-great @jaeffreyy @squishywoojin @welcometochanskitchen @dabkingfelix @mosquitofelix

Hi! I’m Summer btw (Ik it’s not in my bio), but I just go by Sum or other nicknames lol *I also just put multiple “get to know me” tags in 1 lol THIS IS A SUPER LONG POST IM SORRY However thank you for tagging me!! I Love you all soOoOo much!

Bold Thingy Tag

1ST RULE: tag 9 people you want to get to know better

I think everyone done this already fkjdjgb

2ND RULE: BOLD the statements that are true.

APPEARANCE: - I am 5'7 or taller - I wear glasses - I have at least one tattoo -I have at least one piercing - I have blonde hair - I have brown eyes - I have short hair (idk it’s growing) - My abs are at least somewhat defined - I have or had braces

PERSONALITY: - I love meeting new people - People tell me I am funny - Helping others with their problems is a big priority of mine - I enjoy physical challenges - I enjoy mental challenges - I am playfully rude to people I know - I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it - There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY: - I can sing well - I can play an instrument - I can do over 30 pushups without stopping - I am a fast runner - I can draw well - I have a good memory - I am good at doing maths in my head - I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute - I have beaten at least 2 people arm wrestling - I can make at least 3 recipes from scratch - I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES: - I enjoy sports - I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else - I’m in a orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else - I have learned a new song in the past week - I exercise at least once a week - I have gone for runs at least once a week in warmer months - I have drawn something in the past month (Lucy wanted to be drawn for her bday and I did a watercolor portrait thing ig? for her) - I enjoy writing - Fandoms are my #1 priority- I do some form of Martial arts

EXPERIENCES: - I have had my first kiss - I have had alcohol- I have scored a winning point in a sport - I have watched an entire TV series in one sitting - I have been at an overnight event- I have been in a taxi - I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year - I have beaten a video game in one day - I have visited another country - I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

MY LIFE: - I have one person that I consider to be my Best Friend - I live close to my school/work - My parents are still together - I have at least one sibling (I have like 5)- I live in the United States - There is snow where I live right now - I have hung out with a friend in the past month - I have a smart phone - I own at least 15 CDs - I share my room with someone

RELATIONSHIPS: - I am in a Relationship - I have a crush on a celebrity (?) - I have a crush on someone I know - I’ve been in at least 3 relationships - I have never been in a Relationship (not a healthy one at least)- I have admitted my feelings to a crush - I get crushes easily (It’s disgusting, wtf is wrong with me. I don’t need feels) - I have had a crush for over a year (Umm kinda he’s just really really cute. I talked to Dain about this before) - I have been in a relationship for over a year (but not currently) - I have had feelings for a friend

RANDOM: - I have break-danced - I know a person named Jamie - I have had a teacher that has a name that is hard to pronounce - I have dyed my hair - I’m listening to a song on repeat right now - I have punched someone in the past week - I know someone who has gone to jail - I have broken a bone - I have eaten a waffle today - I know what I want to do in life - I speak at least two languages - I have made a new friend in the past year

Alphabet Soup Tag

A: Age - “I’m 19, you fight me?” B: Birthplace - Cali C: Current time - As I’m during this 1:26pm D: Drink you had last - Water, but also Thai Tea Boba E: Easiest person to talk to - F: Favorite song - None G: Grossest memory - My cousin’s and I were doing a auntie and niece day and went theMall and I saw this girl throw up on the second floor in Forever 21. I felt sorry for the workers...  H: Hogwarts house - G I: in love? - nah, never gonna happen J: Jealous of people? - It’s only a human aspect, you’re only truly horrible if you do something nasty to others because of that feeling K: Killed someone? - Not yet lmfao L: Love at first sight or should I walk by again? - No thank you M: Middle name - Summer N: Number of siblings - 5 O: One wish - None P: Person you called last - My mom Q: Question you are always asked - Idk tbvh R: Reason to smile - Idk things make me happy S: Song you sang last - The Unit No way (I dont remember the unit colors)  T: Time you woke up - 6:43am  U: Underwear color - White  V: Vacation destination - South Korea, Japan, & idk the other one, but honestly my goal is to visit all my mutuals before I died lmfaooo W: Worst habit - Not caring, sleeping in, getting distracted easily, being anixious all the time.  X: X-rays - Teeth Y: Your favorite food - I have a lot... Z: Zodiac sign - Gemini

🥛 Colour(s) I’m currently wearing: Black... Just a lot of black (I need to stop wearing sm black omg)  🍥 Last band t-shirt I bought: I don’t ever buy clothes for myself, idk when was last time? Maybe during the Got7 concert?  🥛 Last band I saw live: Got7 (Fly In LA: Day 1) and Paradise (A Hmong Band)  🍥 Last song I listened to: Rn I’m listening to The Unit’s Cherry on Top  🥛 Lipstick or chapstick: Idk... I wear lip tints.  🍥 Last movie I watched: Ever Wonder? (idk it’s a true story about the creation of wonder women)  🥛 Last 3 TV shows I watched: Wanna One Go, Wanna One x Aimgo TV, and The Unit 🍥 Last 3 characters I identified with: Kora, Steven Universe, & Ken Kaneki (idk for this part, I never thought about this fkdfdkgd)  🥛 Book I’m currently reading: Books for my classes njfdkjd 

What’s my name? (Imma just put my initials) 

M. S. L.

What’s my nickname?

Sum, SumSum, SumShine, Summahh Girl, Tsumdere, Chee, 

How old am I?

“I’m 19, you fight me?”

What got me into Kpop?

SJ- Sorry Sorry, but Got7 made me offically stay and learning everything about the kpop fandom

What’s my favourite Kpop group?

Rn W1 (the most)

Who’s my ultimate bias?

Park Jihoon

What groups/artists do I stan?

Too many to count, you all can ask my personally if you want lol

What groups/artists do I casually listen to?

A lot, I try to be diverse, but what’s good music is good music to me. Feel free to suggest me some :D

What artists do I listen to that aren’t Kpop?

Ahh I’m lazy, but just good sounding music. Calvin Harris just popped up in my head. fknfkjskfnj 

Who’s my bias and bias wrecker from my ultimate group(s)?

Omfg

Wanna One: Park Jihoon & Kang Daniel

JBJ: Kim Donghan & ??? (They’re all messing me up rn)

SK: Felix & I think Hyunjin? Idk

What’s your favourite song(s) to sing/hum?

It’s recently been Chungha’s roller coaster lol and The Unit songs  

What are your favourite flower/tree/plant (all 3 or whatever you have an answer to)?

I really love plants and flowers in general, however Peonies are one of my many faves!! 

Favourite colour(s)?

Pink, blue, purple, black, white, and gray

What do you always doodle (if you ever do)?

Umm yeah I always doodling, but I try not to because I want to be able to focus in class haha. 

How do you take your coffee/tea? If you don’t like those what’s your fav warm drink?

It probably like 20% coffee and 80% french vanilla cream nfksjfgsbjg sometimes I add a lil milk too 

Favourite candle scent?

Anything flowery, but i really like sweet pea smell lol. I don’t any candles yet, so I don’t quite know which I like more yet. Soorrryy

Sunrise or Sunset?

Sunset! The colors are soo pretty and like it doesn’t require me to wake up from my sleep lmfao. The transitions of day and night it just so beautiful! and the stars that start peeking through the dark sky! 

What perfume do you wear if any?

I don’t wear perfume? I have them at home but in my opinion I feel like if you’ve showered and smell nice why try to mix more scents onto you?? and I don’t really need it? DONT WORRY I AM CLEAN NFJSNJF idk if I make any sense

What’s your go to dance move when you’re alone?

-

Favourite quote?

“The moon is friend for the lonesome to talk to.” ― Carl Sandburg 

&  “We ran as if to meet the moon.” ― Robert Frost  

& also 

“The moon and stars just for you my love” - Me lol 

Favourite self care thing(s) or routine(s)?

Umm... Drawing. Showering and putting a face mask afterwards. Painting my nails. It’s more like small things, especially like painting my nails and drawings are things I can’t do often because I try to focus on school, because ik I’m bad at focusing. Sleeping and reminding to just eat, when I get too busy and focused I tend to skip meals. njfkdsnfj s

Fuzzy socks or House slippers?

OMFG BOTH THAT’S LIKE THE BEST COMBO! I have these pinky and purple house slippers I got aND IT’S FUZZY KSFJ SK IT’S SOOO CUTE OMG!! I love. nfjdnfd 

What colour are your eyes? 

Dark Brown

What’s your favourite eye colour on others?

Hazel, black, and gray

Favourite season? why?

Autumn and Winter (Ik contradicts with my name) but I love the rain! and cloudy weather! The sound of rain is calming and being inside while hearing the rain is nice. I really love Spring too when the flowers begin to bloom and like it’s a fresh type of feeling when spring hits lol.

Cheek, neck or nose kisses?

SJFNKFS Honestly depends on my mood  (´•/// ω \\\•`) but I like cheek kisses because softtt

What does your happy place look like?

My room on a rainy day with my fairy lights flickering

Favourite breed of dog?

YO OKAY SO I SAW THIS FB POST ABOUT THIS DOG BEAR AND I WANT A DOG BEAR IDK WHAT THEY’RE CALLED JKFDFHKSF. My dad is a dog breeder as a side business, so I grew up with pitbulls, pocket pits, american bull dogs, frenches, and now ‘exotics’ are the trend atm. 

Do you ever want to be married? If so what colours would you pick for your wedding theme?

Umm yes and no? I’m not sure. If I have an American wedding I like to stick to a traditional white with maybe a peach and light pink here and there, but for sure I would love to do a traditional Hmong wedding. 

Silk or Lace?

Silk feels nice, but I like lace too :)

Favorite weather?

SF type of weather