#i know the park manager is running that national park like it's the NAVY!

[prophetictattoo]

alex and some of his coworkers at the national park he works for

[moneymasnn]

The Holiday Fling| Mason Mount 2/2

Notes: I loved writing this cute little fic!! I'll be back to writing normal blurbs from now on, reqs are open for the time being if anyone has any requests! xx

Blurb: One where mason finally manages to bump into his mystery girl from Mykonos again.

Warnings: None.

It has been roughly a year since your trip to Mykonos with your brother.

In the last year you decided to do some traveling of your own before deciding to move out of london and bagging yourself a wonderful media marketing job at saint georges park for england's national football team. As nervous as you were, you were more excited for the job and its new opportunities, you knew very little about football but you were excited to learn.

You had been sent the job offer in a matter of weeks, only giving yourself days to start, therefore you didn't have much time to educate yourself on the sport or any of the team players, but that didn't matter all you had to do was interview them and supervise the videos that were being filmed for the england youtube channel.

You have been at the park for almost two days now. You spent your days getting to know the women's team, who all happened to be really lovely and welcoming. But today was the arrival day of the men's team.

You got a coffee in the morning with one of your coworkers, Layla, as you patiently waited for the team's slow arrival. However layla had now been whisked off on a job, leaving you on your own as the players were slowly starting to turn up, and this awful twisting feeling in your stomach just won't seem to go away.

That's how you found yourself against the door of the toilet cubicle, your hand clutched to your phone as you tried to steady your breath.

“Your be fine, i've met most of them and they seem like alright lads.'' Lando speaks through the phone.

“I know, I know.” You sigh, bringing your free hand up to rub your acing pupils.

“I could text some of them, asking them to look out for you, i'm sure mason would-”

“No! No, please don't do that, I just need to be a big girl.” You take in a deep breath.

“You're going to be fine, y/n. Listen, I have to run, but good luck!”

You say bye to your brother, putting your phone in your back pocket and walking out of the cubicle to the skink, looking up in the mirror.

“You're a bad bitch y/n, what's the worst thing that could happen.” You tell your reflection in the mirror.

You straighten out your navy blue england polo shirt before placing on some more lip balm and pushing the loose threads of hair behind your ears. 

You take in another deep breath and head for the door.

You suppose you had a lot on your mind with the new job, you didn't know why you were so nervous for the men's team arrival, you put it down to excitement but really you were just scared they might not be as welcoming as the women's team.

You pulled open the door to turn left when your ankle was caught on the bottom of a suitcase, you started to tumble backwards until you felt a hand softly wrap under your arm pulling back your body to stop you from falling.

“Woah, are you okay?” The stranger asked you.

You stumble to find your balance, mentaly cursing yourself from the awful habit of walking with your head down.

It takes everything in you to raise your head to look at the person you had bumped into, you knew your cheeks would be visibly red since you were clearly embarrassed by the encounter.

But when you raised your gaze it was not at all what you were expecting to see.

You knew the face, but you didn't know who he was. He clearly knew you were because he was looking down at you like you were a ghost that had just walked through a wall.

He continually blinked his eyes as he scanned your features, his eyes intently stared into yours before examining your hair and your lips. You almost felt uncomfortable under the examination that was starting to last minutes with no words spoken from either of you.

Your eyes drifted down to where his hand was still wrapped around your upper arm, he watched as you let out a small cough and he took this as a hint as he released your arm from his grip.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

The moment he opened his mouth and released such an awkward chuckle you knew exactly who the boy was. 

You could tell by the way he scratched his neck out of nervousness, how his Adam's apple bobbed when he talked. You mentaly hit yourself for a second for not recognizing him straight away, his eyes were the same, brown and glossy, even when they weren't reflecting in the moonlight. His hair was shotter and his shoulders were brouder, you took a moment for yourself to examine the man, just to make sure it was truly him.

It was definitely him. 

The boy from Mykonos, your mystery boy. 

“Y/n!” Your neck snapped behind you when you saw your co-worker calling you from afar, her brows furrowed as she watched you and the footballer standing outside the female toilets intensely staring each other down.

You turned your head back to the boy, his expression now changed, his shocked face and agpe mouth now closed as you watched the corners of his mouth slowly perk up in a smile.

You took a step back, still not uttering a word to him before scurrying off to you co worker.

Your mouth was in a thin line as you walked, your eyes wide as you didn't dare to turn back and look at him.

“What was that about?” She asked you as you scurried past her, clearly flustered as you wisped off to your office.

“Just keep walking.” You whispered, prepared to tell her the story once you were out of his sight.

Mason didn't move from his spot, he stood with a wide smile, it was his mystery girl, the thought.

“Y/n.” He muttered what he assumed was your actual name, he liked the way it rolled off his tongue, he liked the way it was nothing he had guessed before. He had spent countless nights wondering what your real name was, y/n never crossing his mind, he stood for a moment, still not being able to wipe his smile off his face as he repeated your name over and over again, he still liked Maya though.

“Hey mase?” Ben called from behind him, he had also watched the awkward interaction from afar, and he was prepared to bombarded his teammate with questions.

“What the hell did you just say to that poor girl? I've never seen someone run so fast in my life.” Ben chuckled, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. 

He had assumed Mason had dropped some kind of awful pick up line on the new girl, prepared to giggle at the boys' awful ways with females.

“That was her.” Mason mumbled, his gaze still strong on you as you walked over to the coworker that had been calling your name, grabbing her arm and continuing to walk down the hall.

“What?” Ben cocked his head to the side, confused at his teammate's bluntness.

“That's her.” Mason mumbled, his eyes wide as he eyed up your figure slightly, almost like he was confirming it was really you to himself, not to ben.

“Who?” Ben peered over Mason's shoulder, willing to get a good look at the girl his friend was staring down.

“Maya- No, I mean the mystery girl, from Mykonos last summer.” Mason said with a smile, watching as you scurried around the corner, now out of his sight.

“The one who stood you up?”

He had forgotten that part.

“Yep.”

“I thought you said she was blonde?” Ben's eyebrow quirked up as he started to smile at the predicament that was unfolding in front of him.

“Well she's obviously dyed it, idot.” Mason scolded, pushing Ben's hand off his shoulder, as he gripped his suitcase, ready to continue his journey to his room. Mason scurried off down the opposite end of the hallway, still not being able to wipe the smile off his face. He had found his mystery girl.

“So… you're telling me last year you went on holiday, met a random guy, went on a date with this random guy, but the random guy turned out to be mason mount but you didn't know it was mason mount until roughly five minuets ago?” Layla rambled out, just checking she had the story straight. 

“It wasn't a date.” You mumbled back, your head pressed against your hands as you leant back in one of the desk chairs in your office.

“No, sorry it was just a romantic stroll on the beach?” She smirked at you, from the chair she was sitting in across from your desk.

“That's not even the worst part.” You winced as you remembered having to stand the boy up.

“Oh my god your had sex on the beach!” She sat up, her hands pressed to her cheeks as he giggled at you.

“What? No!” You giggled, You removed your hands from your face before letting out a large sigh.

“I was supposed to meet him the next day, but I kinda stood him up.” You winced as you spoke, remembering how badly you wanted to meet him outside of his hotel but your stupid brother had to ruin it.

“Ouch. Do you think he might be salty about it?” She asked you.

“I hope not.” You sat, biting the pads of your thumbs, wondering how you were going to work in such a close proximity with this man.

“Oh new girl, you have made my job so much more interesting, it's been two days and i love you already.” 

After being left in your office by layla you found yourself drawn in the glass window where you could see a few of the boys walking around the grounds, you could see charles- mason laughing as he walked along.

Anyone could see from a mile off that he was clearly a ball of sunshine, he radiated laughter everywhere we walked and you could help but smile at the boy as you watched him walk past your window.

Later on in the day you were handed your schedule of where you needed to be and what you needed to do.

Your first job was to put together some questions and challenges for some of the boys to be posted on social media.

You felt your heart sink as you saw his name written on the bottom of your page, him, you mystery man from mykonos.

You tried not to panic as you made way out of your office and down to the big hall where the players would be for media day.

You kept your gaze straight as you desperately searched for layla. You walked by the boys that were sitting on the bleachers on your left. The hushed whispers definitely didn't go unnoticed by you as you felt your cheeks tint pink under such strong gazes. You made your way over to layla, just wanting the ground to swallow you whole.

“Just go talk to her.” Ben shrugged, he lent back on the bench, watching as his friend seemed to be wallowing.

“I can't just walk over there-'' Mason tried to protest, but Ben cut him off.

“Of course you can, just pretend she's ‘maya’?” Ben nudged his friend.

“Wait, do you know her real name yet?” Ben questioned Mason, his body leaning forward as he had just thought about something.

“I think it's y/n.” Mason answered back to the boy next to him, but his gaze was still focused on you as you were finishing up interviewing some of the other players.

“Y/n? Y/n as in landos sister y/n, the one that that he texted you about asking you to look out for?” Ben officially couldn't hold back the smile that had broken out on his face.

“Oh shit.” Mason mumbled.

Mason sat for a moment, his mind was racing a mile a minute. He was wondering if you were really the y/n that Lando had texted him about. But Ben confirmed his suspicions when he had managed to find your instagram within a matter of minutes.

Mason scrolled though you instagram before finding a photo you had posted in mykonos last year, the same night he had met you.

He handed Ben back his phone, ignoring the giggles erupting from his friend. But before he had even realized, his legs were dragging him up and off the bench, towards you.

“Don't panic, but Charles is walking over.” Layla lent over your shoulder to whisper in your ear. 

“Whos ch-” You were about to question her, dropping your papers to turn around but instead your eyes locked with glossy brown ones of the man you seemed to know a little too well.

When he finally stood in front of you it took him a moment to counger up some words, his nervousness made you smile.

“Hello, maya.” He smirked at you, his calm and gentle tone relaxed you slightly as you melted into the sound of his voice.

“Charles.” You nodded at him, his smirk now reflecting onto you.

“It's erm, mason actually.” He smiled, extending his hand out for you to shake, you took his hand in yours, watching as he shaked it a couple times before pulling away, stuffing his hands in his back pockets.

“Y/n.” You were shocked you could even talk after touching his hand, you mind felt all over the place but when you saw that his smile never faded you couldn't help but feel comfortable in his presence.

“How did your mission go?” he asked you.

“What?” You questioned him.

“The potential threat, against the queen? You didn't turn up to the hotel so I assumed that she must have been in grave danger?” He said with a smirk and a light hearted laugh.

“Oh yeah, i would tell you what went down but it's a violation of rules.” You winked at him.

Mason giggled at your witty humor before bringing up the dreaded.

“You know, I was gutted when you didn't turn up.” He looked down to the pristine trainers on his feet, you felt a pang in your heart as you thought about how long he must have waited for you.

Mason waited in the lobby of the cecer hotel for roughly three hours, until eventually the receptionist took pity on him and called him a cab to meet his friends at the bar.

“Yeah me too.” 

His gaze snapped up when he heard you say this, he thought maybe his company wasn't good enough and you had forgotten about him and your plans to meet up.

“Listen mason, I'm really sorry I couldn't meet you. Trust me, I really did want to.” You smiled up at him out of sympathy.

“Well then y/n, you owe me a date then.” He smirked, trying to push his luck.

“I guess I do.” You smiled up at him.

“I did promise your brother that I'll look after you.” he shrugged, "I would plan another date but the last time I did that you didn't show up."

He still couldn't believe how we had spent countless hours looking for any trace of you on social media, only for you to be the sister of the boy he plays playstation with most nights.

You smiled up at the boy in front of you, your heart panging in your chest at the way he was looking down at you.

“Room thirty four, in the west wing, pick me up at six spiderman.” You smiled before walking away from him, your mystery man.

Mason stood for a moment, the wide Cheshire cat smile on his face as he couldn't contain his excitement about finding you again.

His mystery girl from Mykonos.

[rightpastnowhere]

Photographer Perc'ahlia (Percy! Can shoot things! In a healthy way!)

JSJDKKCKD STOP LMAO-

okay so most people would go photographer percy and model vex, but @romeoandjulietyouwish already did that so i’m doing something different!! nature photographer vex, city photographer percy

also i went. so overboard with this jfc

AU a-z meme

vex is famous for her nature shots because she knows the woods so well. she grew up in a small town on the edge of the woods, and ran around them as a child - this is her turf. she finds these beautiful spots that no one else has gotten around to yet, and takes beautiful pictures without disturbing the area. but her most impressive shots are the ones of wild creatures, out in their natural habitats and lives - she knows the woods so well that she can track them down, and for some reason they’re less likely to bolt and run (aka: i like adding subtle class features and magic into modern aus, and vex is a ranger in her soul). her favorite photos are from when she managed to find a perch above a valley with a bear’s den, and shot a series of photos of a mother bear and her cub who lived there.

percy is known for cityscapes, architectural shots, and other pieces about the modern world. he’s got a lot of those, like, black and white photos of different skyscrapers and stuff - photos that are simple and quiet and stark. a lot of his photos are photoshopped, but only in the way that he gets them as close to what his eye originally saw as he can. he’s from a wealthy family who owns a lot of property in this old town, and got his start by taking pictures from the inside of an old clock tower (he wasn’t allowed to be up there). a lot of his favorite shots are of the inside of clocktowers.

the rest of this is below the cut because holy shit i got so invested in this

percy and vex meet at a gallery, once both of their careers have taken off. their exhibits are placed next to each other, something about the meeting of the wilds and civilization, according to the director of the gallery. vex is mostly just excited for a chance to poke at the broody, white-haired photographer dressed in a sharp navy suit. she’s expecting him to be like her brother, what with the dark clothes and dark photos, but he’s witty and sarcastic and charming, and they actually hit it off really well.

they keep meeting up at galleries here and there, and conversation eventually evolves from simple discussion about photography techniques to how they got started, their favorite photo subjects, how they both use photography to get away from the world for a while. vex shows percy the bear photo series, and percy shows her the pictures from old whitestone, including the clock tower. vex is immediately in love with the little town, and percy impulsively invites her out to come and see it. he covers it up quickly with mentioning the parchwood, a forest near whitestone that his family may or may not own the rights to (cue vex’s eyes getting so “what the fuck” wide) and may or may not turned into a national park to protect it (which is the way to get to vex’s heart). vex immediately agrees, and vax immediately invites himself along.

(also, vax is a city photographer as well, but he focuses instead on the people. candid shots of everyday city life. he just does it as a hobby, though, not as a career)

cue a trip to whitestone, where he shows her around town - which she absolutely adores - and takes her up into the clocktower that they’re still not technically allowed up into. and vex runs around and shouts up into the bell, just like percy did when he was a little kid. and he’s got this soft and tender look on his face as he watches her, and then they have a Moment. and then they kiss because i’m cheesy. and then the bell chimes and scares the shit out of them because i, am once again, cheesy. they agree to talk about it later, since vex leaves tomorrow, with shy smiles and loosely held hands.

and then the de rolo family comes down with a horrible sickness, killing all but two of them, and percy disappears for a year. vex keeps enough tabs to make sure he isn’t dead, too, but she leaves him his space. she wonders how he’s doing. she wonders about that moment in the clocktower, if it meant anything. and she wonders about the family he promised she would be able to meet “next time she was in town”.

and when percy shows up at one of her galleries after that year, looking tired and broken but like he’s starting to heal, she helps him create a gallery of photos of his family. when he can’t bear to present it himself, she stands in his place - and when he can, she’s right there anyway, holding his hand. they take a while to “talk later”, but vex doesn’t mind. she gives him all the time he needs.

(and a couple years later, they ask vax to be their wedding photographer)

[alecmagnuslwb]

Marriage is a Contract and My Signature is Unreadable

Read on AO3

John’s never seen a bride wear fishnets with their stunning white dress, but Dinah Lance is pulling it off somehow. Admittedly though John hasn’t seen that many brides that weren’t ghosts or the earthly demonic embodiment of some sort of hell beastie so maybe his experience in weddings and bridal wear is a bit skewed.

Of course he’s also a bit skewed because in his eyes no one at this wedding, not even the bride no disrespect to the woman who’s by far one of the few supers he can truly say he likes, is as stunning as his date. Zatanna sits beside him at their table, the reception in full swing now, her legs crossed the deep navy-blue asymmetrical dress she’s wearing showing off a tantalizing bit of her leg. Her tattoo, the twin to his peeks out from the front of the dress right next to the silver lining at the edges where the dress straps around her neck. She’s a fucking vision his Zatanna.

“I can’t believe they finally did it,” Zatanna says gliding her silver French tipped nails with little crescent moons on them along her glass of champagne. “I really thought Lois and Clark would be the only ones to take the plunge.”

Supers aren’t known for tying the knot, their world is so complicated and their relationships so wild they never find the time to actually get around to it. The fact that Dinah and Oliver managed to not only successfully get engaged, but plan a real wedding and have the ceremony without any major incidents happening in the middle is a miracle if John’s ever actually seen one.

“Who do you think’ll be next?” John says surveying the room. Every hero he’s ever met and ever butted heads with is here out of costume and all dressed up to the nines. There’s a congregation of Green Lantern’s by the bar, Superman is on the dance floor poorly attempting to floss as Nightwing laughs his fine ass off at him, the Flash is somehow dancing with his girlfriend and eating every item on the buffet simultaneously.  “Seems like two in a row will make a domino effect, yeah?”

Zatanna hums in thought her piercing blue eyes with the glittery navy blue and silver eyeliner around them shimmering in the light as she tilts her head in thought. She carefully scratches at the space beside the cluster of tiny rhinestones artfully placed around her right eyebrow and settles her eyes to a table across the room with a smile.

“Wally and Linda for sure,” she says tilting her head their direction. John swivels to look at them. Unlike Barry who’s still zooming back and forth from Iris to the buffet, Wally is wholly engrossed in every movement Linda makes as she talks rapidly her hands moving all about as she speaks to Mia Dearden on the other side of the table. That is a man wholly in love, enraptured by the woman he gets to call his own. John understands the sentiment as he looks back to Zatanna her dark blue painted lips still resting in a beautiful smile.

“What if it was us?” John asks leaning in closer to her a wicked smile on his face.

Zatanna snorts, a harsh indelicate thing that on anyone else would be unattractive.

“Aww, love you too, Zee,” John says faux offended falling back against his chair. He knew it was an absurd suggestion the moment he said it.

“I’m sorry, you know I love you,” she says holding up a hand attempting to hide her laughter. “It’s just look at us, we’re coming up on our first and only three-year anniversary. We’re not exactly known for being good at this.”

It’s a valid point. Despite the fact they have technically been together for over a decade they’ve gone through their fair share of ups and downs, break ups and make ups and even a few trips to hell and literal deaths. John has screwed up more times than he can count and even Zatanna has bungled it once or twice. Complicated has at almost all times been their relationship status, but the past three years, ever since John got his head out of his ass and finally decided to sort out this one particular aspect of his life they’ve been good, solid.

“Okay, true, but you’re stuck with me and we can’t act like there aren’t benefits to the whole marriage sham,” he says stretching his arms behind his head.

“It’s extremely comforting you called it a sham,” Zatanna says giving him a fondly exasperated look. “But you know maybe you’re right the tax incentives alone are a real benefit.”

“Now, the tax incentives would be appealing if I had ever in my life filed my taxes,” John says with a laugh.

“You’ve never filed taxes?” Zatanna says with a slightly startled look.

John just shrugs tossing back the remainder of his champagne. “It’s not like I’ve ever had any real upstanding type of job that would require me to fill out a W4 or whatever.”

“It’s a W2,” Zatanna corrects. “And John you live with me, our landlord made me put your name on the lease because he saw you there so much. You could totally get caught.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” John says with an unconcerned wave of his hand. “The fact that I’m not technically a citizen of this country is probably a bigger issue than the tax thing anyway.”

“John!” Zatanna exclaims with a laugh.

“What? You can’t have thought I actually went to a baseball park and held my hands up and did the national anthem or whatever,” he says kicking his feet up on the empty chair next to him.

“Clearly you haven’t considering that’s not at all how citizenship works,” Zatanna chuckles. “But hey there’s a potential benefit of marriage for us, citizenship.”

“Ah the romance of marrying not for love, but so the government pricks don’t send your ass packing,” John reaches out a hand tangling his fingers with Zatanna’s on the table his thumb running small circles into her hand.

Zatanna hums. “I guess lack of romance aside it wouldn’t matter since I can always just portal you back into the country on a whim anyways.”

John nods in agreement trying to come up with another benefit they might be able to actually take advantage of. “You couldn’t testify against me in court, that could be incredibly useful down the line.”

Zatanna raises one jeweled eyebrow, “Is there a crime you’ve committed lately you’ve neglected to tell me about?”

John thinks for a moment genuinely scanning his memories in case there is something he forgot to tell her about. “No,” he settles on confidently. He’s pretty sure at least. “I’m just thinking in general considering my track record in the past.”

Zatanna pats the top of his hand with a smile. “As if any prison could hold you long enough for me to even be asked a single question.”

John just laughs again, “Alright so maybe there aren’t that many marital benefits for us to take advantage of then.”

“No parents to satisfy,” Zatanna sighs. “And of course making medical decisions for one another doesn’t really matter when you use magic and superhero doctors that definitely don’t accept any sort of co-pay,” she adds on with a contemplative bite of her lip.

“Half your friends hate me,” John says thoughtfully with a chuckle.

“And half your friends are dead,” Zatanna says ruefully tapping a nail to her chin. “The wedding party would be abysmally uneven.”

“I haven’t bought a new tie in years,” John says tugging at the red thing around his neck. He looks hilariously basic compared to Zatanna’s ensemble essentially wearing what he wears any given day of the week the only difference being Zatanna had forced him into a subtly lace patterned black jacket for a change and repainted his chipped nails for the first time in two weeks. “It’d make the pictures look horribly out of place.”

“Plus let’s be real I’m a show woman, I’d probably hate having to share the spotlight with you for one day,” Zatanna smiles teasingly. John smiles back shifting so that he’s scooting his chair closer to hers. He lifts a hand to her face twisting a long dark hair that’s slipped from her twisty updo held in place by two sharp silver hair pins with crescent moons at the end to match her nails and tucking it back behind her ear.

“So, basically there’s not a benefit in this world or a thing that would change if we got married,” John says letting the silky hair go.

“The only thing I can think of is that I like shiny jewelry and you look hot when you wear silver rings,” Zatanna says reaching back and pulling the two pins from her hair letting it all fall across her shoulders, the one stand out streak of navy blue appearing as it falls.

“And we can buy each other jewelry anytime without a reason,” he says brushing the bit of hair that’s fallen into her eyes away.

Zatanna smiles at him once before standing holding out a hand that he instantly takes. She guides him to the dance floor twining her fingers behind his head slowly.

They sway slowly to some sappy love song John vaguely recognizes their eyes locked on one another.

“You know,” she says after a while her fingers pulling through the hair that’s getting a bit too long at the base of his neck. “Just because I don’t want to get married doesn’t mean I don’t want you for as long as I can have you, right?”

He does know that. It’s inexplicable to him why someone as bright and vibrant and good as her wants him, but she does and he intends to keep it that way till the demons or the cigarettes kill him.

“I know. I’m happy how we are, knowing us, and by us I mean me, marriage would end up mucking everything up anyways,” he says pulling her in closer his hands moving from their grip on her waist to the exposed small of her back. “We can just keep going to everyone else’s weddings and raiding their open bars.”

Zatanna laughs then leans up kissing him once soft and slow not even smudging her lipstick in the slightest. She stays close when she pulls back resting her head on his chest as they continue to sway.

“We really need to get your name off of my lease though, I don’t need the government showing up and trying to audit me,” she says softly. “I’d be a nightmare for Mistress of Magic brand.”

John laughs loud and bright leaning his head down to kiss her once atop the head already planning a minor break in to the landlord’s apartment. It’ll be okay if he gets caught, married or not he knows she won’t testify against him.

[isakwon]

Traveling with Junmyeon:

A moodboard series

Arriving at the hotel

The first morning on vacation:

You roll underneath the blankets and smirk once you see Junmyeon sleeping with his back facing you. Yesterday was a real treat for both of you for your first day on vacation. You toured around the city by foot, walking as much as your feet could take, and became blown away by the Cathedral from the inside. It was ivory inside even the statues of saints, and the front was golden as well. You sailed on a ferry boat, admiring how the river sparkled underneath the sun, and endured the breeze hitting you in the face. And even watched a performance of Gypsy dances in the park. 

Before the day had ended, you and Junmyeon had dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. Although, you didn’t get to have an outdoor table with the a view of the river, the restuarant was as classy. And the food was as delightful as the time you had spent.

The desserts weren’t the only thing that was sweet for you either. As you and Junmyeon chatted about how much fun you had, a little girl randomly walked up to your table and gave you a pink carnation. You were appalled by the sweet surprise and as you waved goodbye at each other, you felt your heart swell. Another thing that made you feel warm was when Junmyeon told you it was no surprise that the little girl wanted to give you a flower. Because children and dogs know that a person is beautiful just by looking at them.

You joked with him by asking if he only thought you were beautiful on the outside, and he blushed, saying you are gorgeous on the inside. You then asked him if that was so true then why didn’t she give him a flower. Junmyeon simply took your hand in his and said you were more deserving than he is. Your boyfriend doesn’t see or carries himself in the way you do. You had always thought how unbelievably beautiful someone could be.

You had so much fun yesterday, you were about to shake him awake, so you could do it again. Until he rolls over, half awake, and pulls you closer towards him. 

“Morning sleepy head.Need more time to recharge?” 

Junmyeon shakes his head. “I’m just happy to see you.”  

You giggle and nuzzled against his shoulder.  

The time spent in the national museum of art was magnificent for the first hour. The last thirty minutes would have been great too if the guard would’ve stopped following the two of you with threats of loud clapping. If anyone who dared to touch an artifact would be stopped with security guards clapping. And neither of you had the heart to want to touch museum artifacts. However the same guard who had accused you of touching the ‘Las Meninas’ painting, thought you would do it again, followed you around in each gallery. What was worse was how every other visitor kept looking at you and Junmyeon as if you were really thieves.

With reluctance, you both left early. But it wasn’t a total loss once you stepped into the museum garden, where more sculptures are displayed around. And there are flowers at every square foot and a gigantic fountain. Each flower looked healthy and gorgeous and bursts with color, you were aching to take all of them home.

“I wouldn’t mind staying here forever.” You said, dipping your fingers in the water. “It’s really beautiful.”

You were so enamored with the flourescent garden and the grandiose water fountain, you didn’t notice the sly smile Junmyeon had over him. He pretended to shake the water off his hand until he suddenly flicked a bit of water onto you. You looked at him in surprise before taking a little more water into your hand and flicking it back at him. Your favorite thing about your relationship was that you and Junmyeon can pick at each other’s funny bone, as much as you can be lovey dovey. It’s how the two of you have more fun.

“You can if you make a wish for it now.” He said.

“But is that really allowed? What if the guard sees us from afar and starts to run toward us clapping.” 

Junmyeon laughs. “We’ll be okay babe. Look there are people doing it.”

He points behind you for you to turn around and see other tourists tossing their coins into the water.

“Oh all right, let’s do it then!” You jump off the spot and start digging into your pockets for change.

“Um...but, I don’t think it takes foreign currency babe.” He said.

“Every little penny counts Myeonie. There are no limits or exceptions on wishes.”

He smiles and grabs two coins from his pockets, setting one on your hand, and the other on his. Both of you turn your backs against the fountain in order to toss the coin behind your shoulder. As you chant your wish inside your head, you feel Junmyeon grabbing your free hand. A shy smile etched onto your face with how his hand feels like a warm glove. He was being extra with the skinship.  

You tossed the coins over your shoulder, and out of nowhere, you hear grumbling sounds from right next to you. You widened your eyes at an embarrassed looking Junmyeon, and you snicker as you realize you have to leave after all. This vacation wouldn’t be great if you stayed here and starved to death. The cafe you found seemed more like a bread shop than a cafe. In fact, it looks prettier than any of the other cafes back at home. 

The walls are painted with much brighter colors, and the windows had no blinds or shades to block the sunlight from shining inside. The staff kept their polite smiles on the entire time, and even Junmyeon was looking brighter. He removed his layers of navy sweaters, and reveals an amaranth pink buttoned-up shirt, matching the cafe aesthetics. You feel all the more excited.  

“Oh cool, my wish came true.” You said.

“Really?” Junmyeon asks, “What was it?” 

“An oversized pink shirt that I can steal from you.” 

He laughs and shakes his head as he sits down. “You’re gonna have to rip it off me in order to have it.”

You roll your eyes in amusement. “So what did you wish for Junmyeon?”

“I can’t tell you Y/N, you know that.” He says, “But I will say, I have a good feeling it’ll come true.”  

“Most likely. Since you aren’t gonna tell me.”

The waiter brings over your breakfast, and you were instantly in awe with the meal presentation. You do not know how many times this city can keep impressing you, and you are glad that it still has. The Belgian waffles were crisped into a beautiful golden brown topped with bananas, walnuts, melon, and with honey drizzled over them. There was a cup of caramel on the side, and two poached eggs topped with chives and pepper on a separate plate. Junmyeon had a heart-shaped foam over the top of his latte, while you just had a dollop of foam.

“Babe, did you not get a heart?” He asked when he saw your disappointment.

“No, but it’s fine. I’m more excited about eating this waffle though!” You laid your napkin over lap, and lifted your fork and knife.

“Here babe, take mine.” Junmyeon carefully switches your mugs, so that way you have the latte with the heart shaped foam.

“Babe, it’s okay. It’s just latte art.” You said.

“You didn’t look too happy about getting the blob though.”

You cave in to help Junmyeon carry the mugs that were filled up to the rim. The distance between you wasn’t far, but you were still shaking with nerves about spilling the drink. He didn’t have to trade drinks for you to have a neat foam art, but he did. He gave you his latte with the heart shaped foam to keep you satisfied. You smiled, “Thank you Myeon.”

“So do you accept my heart?”

You furrow your brows, confused, and looked down on the latte until you realize what he really means by heart. You bit your lips as your guts churned. Junmyeon has a polite and gentle kind of speech in general, but when his romantic side takes over, his words turn into dulce. You have been together for years and somehow he manages to drive your heart dizzy as if you were still in the honeymoon stage.

You nod, hiding the cheesy grin growing on you. “Yes Myeon, of course I do.” 

He huffs a smile. “My wish came true”

[henrylevesconte]

Maybe this is a dumb question, but what exactly do you do as an archaeologist? I mean, you're not digging at archaeological sites all the time, right?

Not a dumb question at all. Excavation of sites is one aspect of archaeology and it’s the one you typically think of besides running from giant boulders like Indiana Jones but an archaeologist has several parts that make up their job. I’ll just cover how archaeology works in the United States, specially what I do which is Cultural Resource Management for a Government Agency (as opposed to academic archaeology or private culture resource management archaeology).

Just so this doesn’t clog up too much space since I was a little overzealous in descriptions, explanation is below.

Archaeology in the United States follows several federally mandated laws. In 1969, the National Historic Preservation Act was passed, specifically Section 106 which is 100% of my job. This particular law mandates that if any sort of project or undertaking is done on federal land, you have to make sure it’s not going to impact any cultural remains (structures, sites, sacred places, graveyards, and more!) You can read more about Section 106 here.

Usually my job always begins with background research and planning. So that includes doing inventory assessments (see what people did archaeologically in the past) or going to local archives to do research on an area of interest. With that comes the scientific parts of the job like developing a plan and a research design. Back in the day people just dug up sites for the hell of it and had no plan for conservation or much reasoning why they wanted to do it besides “oh neat stuff!” So to combat the overflow of artifacts and sites with limited information, as a field we started asking a lot more questions. Like what sort of cultural groups were here? Why did they do what they did? How did they make x, y, z? etc. It has to have meaning and it also has to have plans for post fieldwork so if you do find something and collect artifacts, you have to have a conservation plan. For example one of my previous jobs had an agreement with the local university to have them conserve and curate our artifacts by their Anthropology students.

So once you do planning and background research then you do survey. There’s several different types of survey and not everything is about putting holes in the ground. It all depends on the state, area, country, land vs. underwater that you’re in. And there’s different levels to survey and excavation (basic, transect, phases 1-3, etc.) But this is what you think of when you think of what we do. This involves scientific recordings because archaeology is a destructive science (I love that description but it’s true!) When you dig anywhere, you are disturbing the ground. And no matter what we do, you cannot return any site back to how it was before you put that shovel in the ground. So when archaeologists find a site, you bet we do our very best to record it since only sometimes you’re allowed to go back but you’ll never return everything to how it was before you found it. Everything needs to be recorded within its context to be understood otherwise its meaningless. For example: there was an issue on one job where a supposed archaeologist would pick up historic glass bottles from the side of the road, just to collect them. They never took a gps point, nor marked it on a map, nor looked to see if it belonged to a larger cultural area and since it was never recorded, it means nothing to future archaeologist besides what the bottle itself could tell you. It could give you a date but it won’t tell you about the person it belonged to and that’s the true heart of archaeology. We care about the people behind the things they used in everyday life.

Anyways, so once you get muddy and a few more bug bites than usual, you have to do a slop load of paperwork. So that’s the other aspect of the job, once you’ve completed your survey and collected all the cool stuff that answered all your research questions, then you have to report on what you found and if there are sites, how to go about protecting them. So that includes writing site forms, curating artifacts, photographing artifacts, compiling reports, and consulting with interested parties. Typically for my job in Cultural Resource Management or CRM, you have to talk to multiple people about what you did. This includes a State Historic Preservation Officer (SHPO) aka a state employed archaeological expert, Tribal Historic Preservation Officer (TPO) a tribal appointed archaeological expert for each federally recognized tribe you consult with, and federal agencies with shared geographic boundaries (USDA Forest Service, DOI National Parks Service, DOI Bureau of Land Management, BOEM, NOAA, Navy, FEMA, etc). So you have to tell everyone with culture ties in that area what you did, get their approval, add recomendations of what is to happen to said sites in the future (are they impacted? Are they significant and need more research? Is it just a rodent hill and not Blackbeards treasure?) and cheers you did a whole lot of archaeology.

The other aspect of archaeology is public outreach which can include educational events, hosting lectures, having people who are not professional archaeologists but love the topic come help with sites and resources, giving papers at conferences, and engaging the local community with archaeology. You also can attend different events and interact with different cultural groups too.  It’s my favorite part of the job. Getting to talk to people who are curious about what I do on a daily basis (besides send emails and go to meetings, you know, the actual fun stuff.)

People in academic archaeology do different things (with their fancy PhD’s and professorships.) That’s not really my thing unless someone would like to pay for my PhD. We also publish articles, write and take in grants, and produce studies just like academic archaeologists 

Private CRM isn’t much different than what I do, in fact private companies often partner with agencies and complete work together. Private CRM usually does contracted projects and can travel a lot more than Federal CRM. Overall we usually all work together (academic, private, and federal) to protect our history. 

I hope that answered your question or wasn’t too confusing/too much 😓

[lost-your-memory]

okay but what about mechanic Kara and the small garage she owns in midvale. Cat lives just outside and her husband at the time is some big business man and really wants to buy the land that the garage is on. and cat one day she has real bad car trouble. so she meets kara and then she starts to fall in love with the mechanic with the massive grin and an oil smudge on her cheek. NC x

Alright, I’m not entirely satisfied with this because at first, I wanted something rated M or even E but in the end, it didn’t fit. So this is really soft.Also, I am NOT a mechanic so nothing here is accurate, merely the fruit of some research to avoid being too far off. Hope you like it! 

—

A beautiful, golden morning greets Kara when the metal shutters of her garage opens.

The square across her shop is still half-plunged in the relative darkness of the end of the night but already, the first rays of a winter sunlight are hitting the buildings around it, highlighting the church tower. A few shop owners are opening, pulling up the metal shutters and adjusting their frontages, amicably waving at the few morning souls that are already up and heading to work.  

The air is cold and crisp, with morning dew hanging from the trees and flowers that add a touch of color to the little village. Behind the heady smell of freshly baked goods coming from the bakery next to her garage, Kara can still discern the distinct scent of salt water that come from the ocean, carried around by a very light winter breeze.

“Morning Kara,” Lucy waves, walking up the street to come drop a kiss on Kara’s cheek. “Beautiful day isn’t it? I have your usual bear-claw and a hot cocoa for you.”

“You are just the best, Luce,” Kara beams, taking the styrofoam cup and the pastry from her friend’s hands. “Wanna come in for a moment?”

“Not this time, sorry! I’m already late as it is,” Lucy shakes her head and drops another kiss on her friend’s cheek before going away, back to the bakery. “See you tonight, don’t be late!”

“I’m never late for game night!” Kara protests, despite her mouth full of bear-claw.

Lucy only laughs and then disappears into her shop.

—

“Thank you so much Kara! I don’t understand why it keeps breaking down”, Winn whines, climbing on the passenger side of Kara’s tow truck.

“Winn …” Kara sighs, waiting for her friend to close the door before starting the truck. “Honestly, I’m kind of impressed that your car still starts when you turn on the contact. I would know, I’ve disassembled and reassembled your car at least five times and I still don’t get it. Old doesn’t even begins to cover it, Winn. Your car should be in a museum, not on the streets.”

“I know, I know but … It has a sentimental value. I’m not ready to let it go,” Winn whispers and Kara doesn’t insist. She knows how much the car means to her friend and so she keeps trying to fix it, even though it’s not possible.

“Alright, then back to the garage it is,” Kara smiles, turning on the volume of the radio.

They’re about to enter Midvale when a car pass over them at an alarmingly high speed.

“Now that’s a fine car, even though the driver is crazy …” Kara whistles, admiring the back of the car before it disappears. “ A Ford Mustang Shelby, GT500 … probably a 2019 but it could be a 2020, I didn’t get a great look.”

Winn throws her a weird look and Kara arches a brow.

“What? Why are you looking at me like this?”

“You’re telling me you never fixed that specific car?” Winn sounds incredulous but then a thoughtful look flashes in his eyes. “Well, that makes sense actually. It’s Cat Grant’s car.”

“Cat Grant?” Kara frowns. “The name doesn’t ring any bell …”

They’ve just arrived in front of her shop and so she carefully maneuvers her truck to be able to easily enter her friend’s car in the garage.

“Really? Cat Grant, CEO of CatCo, the media conglomerate? The company’s headquarters are in National City but she’s recently moved here, in Midvale, with her young son and her new husband …” Winn says before he exits the truck and follows Kara into her office, all the way at the back of the garage. “Whom you probably heard of, his name is Alaric Byron-Price.”

Kara freezes and grits her teeth.

“I see why you’d think it makes sense that I never fixed Miss Grant’s car, then,” Kara says, coolly. “Since her husband is trying everything he can to buy my garage, I imagine she won’t be using my service anytime soon.”

Winn is about to say something when a voice echoes in the garage.

“Kara, I need some help over her!”

“Coming Alex”, Kara replies instantly.

She gestures for Winn to follow and quickly crosses back her shop to join her sister in front of it.

“Alex? What the hell?” Kara asks, eyes widening at the sight of her sister’s car. “How did that even happen?”

The blue and white Ford Police Interceptor in front of her is showing various stage of destroyed.

The word “police” usually plastered on the right aisle is scratched beyond readable, with lacerations so deep it almost show the inside of the car in some spots. Both windows on this side of the car are exploded and almost non-existent, aside from some piece of glass still hanging around the corners, and the driver’s door seems to have been hammered with such force it’s now bending in the inside.

“Errr …” Alex starts, looking a little uncomfortable. “I got carried away while chasing this mobster we’ve been after for months and … I didn’t realise the street would be too narrow for the car.”

“On the bright side,” Susan smiles next to Alex. “We got the guy and he’s now going to pay for his crimes!”

Kara doesn’t even smile, looking at the car in utter horror.

“You can fix it, right?” Alex asks, sounding all too hopeful. “The boss says that as long as the car comes back in the shape in which it left, he’s not going to care. Otherwise, it’s …”

“Some disciplinary sentence,” Susan grimaces.

“I …” Kara starts, moving around to circle the car and study the damages. She winces and frowns a lot before coming back to stand in front of the two cops. “I’m going to try but it’s going to take some time.”

“You’re the best, Sis’,” Alex smiles widely, exchanging a relieved glance with Susan. “We’ll come help this weekend, it’s the least we can do.”

Kara nods and then gestures for everyone to follow her back to her office.

It’s going to be a busy couple of days, she thinks.

—

“Another try from Lord Byron-Price?” Alex asks, waving a piece of paper with a golden logo at its top.

“He’s relentless,” Kara replies from under Winn’s car.

“He’s offering more money than either of us can make in a lifetime,” Alex muses, sounding amused. “How many time have you said no, already?”

“This is his ninth attempt,” Kara grunts, struggling to remote a piece of metal that shouldn’t even belong to this specific zone. “I’ll pop some champagne for his tenth try.”

Alex laughs and then walks to her sister, standing on the side of the pit in which Kara’s working, the car above her head and her table of tools next to her.

“Susan’s on her way, she says she wants to stop by Luce to buy some donuts.”

“That’s a bright idea,” Kara says before throwing away the piece of metal she finally managed to remove. “I need some help down here.”

“Sure,” Alex nods. “Let me put on some work clothes, though.”

She steps away, removes her favorite leather jacket and jumps into some red overalls before joining her sister.

“Hellooo!” Winn’s voice echoes in the garage. “Anyone here?”

“Down here Winn, we’re working on your car until Susan gets there,” Kara explains, waving at her friend. “Then we’ll try to do something to fix that police car my sister managed to destroy …”

“Hey! I was only doing my job,” Alex protests, greeting Winn with a wave and a smile before handing over some tools to Kara. “I really didn’t know the street would be too narrow.”

Kara throws her an unamused look and then focuses back on the fuel tank deflectors.

—

She gets a call from an insurance dispatcher one day, asking her to go pick up a car and its owner a few miles away from Midvale. She doesn’t get much more intel, just that the car has broken down on the side of the road.

It’s one of those rainy spring day where the sky is low and grey, where the nature is bending down under the weight of the water and where a cold, bitter wind is adding to the apocalyptic atmosphere.

It’s only when she sees the car that she realises who she is here to pick up.

The blue Ford Mustang is messily parked on the side of the narrow campaign road and with the back of it still on the asphalt, it looks dangerous. The rain is thick and dense, falling on the world like a curtain.

Kara stops her truck ahead of the Mustang and climbs out, running to the car to knock on the driver’s window. She’s already drenched by the time a woman opens it, and the look in her eyes is distraught, slightly distant.

“Ma'am, are you alright?” Kara asks, noticing the shaking hands on the wheel. “Let’s get you out of here, you’ll be more comfortable in my truck while I handle your car.”  

It takes a moment before the woman nods and lets go of the wheel. Kara guides her to the passenger side of her truck and leans over to crank up the heat.

“It’ll take ten or fifteen minutes, don’t worry,” Kara explains before closing the door.

It takes a little longer, because the rain has caused the car to get stuck in the mud. Kara struggles to drag the sport car onto her tow truck’s platform but eventually, it’s all set. She’s shivering when she climbs back in front of the wheel.

“Are you alright?” Kara asks again, glancing at the woman on the passenger’s seat.

She takes in the wet blond hair that barely reaches the woman’s shoulder and the hazel green eyes that still looks a bit distraught. Cat Grant, since it seems to be her, is wearing a navy-blue trench coat Kara recognises as a real Burberry, a pair of blue-jeans that are too well cut to be casual and high-heels of a daring red color. Idly, Kara wonders how it is possible to drive a car as capricious as the Ford Mustang with such impractical shoes.  

“I’m … fine, thank you,” Cat replies with a quick hand gesture Kara doesn’t know how to interpret. “What’s wrong with my car?”

Kara throws her a disbelieving look. She didn’t exactly stay under the rain to have a look under the hood so Cat couldn’t possibly believe Kara would have an answer to that question.

“I don’t know, I have to take it back to the garage to analyse it,” she replies, slowly pulling away from the side of the road and driving them back to Midvale. The pouring rain makes the drive really tricky, with big puddles that catch her tires and slow them down.

“I don’t have time for that,” Cat states, sounding deeply annoyed.

Kara forces herself to stay calm and to mentally count until ten. She should have guessed Cat Grant would be nothing else than a spoiled rich white woman, given who her husband was.

“I have to … pick up my son,” Cat eventually adds, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It’s brief but Kara notices it anyway.

“Oh,” Kara breathes, not having expected such a reasonable reason for Cat’s hurriedness. She quickly thinks and then asks “Hm … when do you need to pick him up?”

“In twenty minutes,” Cat replies after having checked her watch, looking a little surprised at the question.

Kara nods, going over her schedule in her head. She doesn’t have any plan, aside from Winn’s car and the police one. There’s a few repairs she needs to do on James’s bike but it can wait until later.

“If … I can always drop your car in my shop, drive you to the school and then home, if you’d like?”

Now Cat looks positively thrown off at the suggestion.

“I have a real car, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kara adds with a chuckle, knowing her tow truck isn’t exactly classy. Cat’s clearly standing out in it, with her fancy clothes and expensive jewelry.  

“No that’s not … I’m just … surprised, I guess?” Cat sounds a little hesitant, clearly out of her depths. “If it’s not too much trouble though, that would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Kara smiles and then focuses on the road.

—

“A real car, uh …” Cat muses, looking at the red Ford Boss 302 Mustang Kara just unveiled.

“I admit, I don’t drive around much with it, I usually take my bike or my tow truck …” Kara chuckles. She gets rids of her work overalls, washes her hand at the sink next to her locker and gathers her, still a little wet, hair in a high-ponytail. “Is that car alright with you?”

“It’s more than alright, it’s … an honor,” Cat breathes, letting her hand run across the hood of the car. “It’s an iconic car, you know?”

Kara laughs and walks around to open the door for Cat. “Oh I know! It’s a family heirloom of sort.”

Cat sits down and Kara hears her inhale the scent of used, clean leather.

“Not everyone can appreciate the car,” Kara points out as she slides behind the wheel.

“People nowadays, they don’t have any taste,” Cat retorts, with just a hint of disdain. “Do you need the address?”

“No, there’s only one school in this town,” Kara laughs and turns on the engine. She makes it roar just for Cat and the smiles on the woman’s lips is worth it. “I just hope your son doesn’t have Mrs Luthor as a teacher …”

Cat throws her a slightly impressed look. “He does, actually. I’ve heard good things about Lillian Luthor, why would you say something like that?”

Kara slowly exits her private garage and presses a button to close it behind her, before speeding up to reach the school in time.

“I went to school with her daughter Lena, we had her as our teacher and she was … extremely hard to please, let’s put it that way,” Kara explains, stopping at a crossroad and moving again after every cars drove by. “She’s got high standards, which is a good thing, but she doesn’t know how to handle children who are not made for the school system, like I was.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Cat says. Kara can’t help but to frown, wondering if it’s a hidden jab at the fact she’s now a mechanic. “Carter is doing well so far, let’s hope it lasts … his last school experience didn’t go too well.”

Kara hears the notes of regret and anger in Cat’s voice and she chooses not to push. Instead, she takes a few turns and then parks herself in one of the few free spots left in front of the school.

“Smooth driving,” Cat praises before glaring at Kara. “Please don’t do that when Carter’s in the car. He’s crazy about cars and speed, you’d only help his obsession of becoming a car racer.”

Kara laughs at that.

—

Carter’s his mother’s son.

Thirteen years old, not tall but not small either, with dark blond curls around his childish features, freckles over his nose and cheeks and deep blue eyes that sparkle with intelligence, he looks ecstatic when he sees the car.

He jumps and down on his spot, under the umbrella Kara gave his mother so she could go pick him up at the school’s gates.

“Whoa mom, I didn’t know you were going to buy a new car!”

Kara laughs from the driver’s seat. Cat shakes her head, open the backdoor and retorts “It’s not my car, Carter. It’s Kara’s, the mechanic. Say hello.”

“Hi Carter, I’m glad you like my car,” Kara greets him with a wink and a smile.

He looks surprised at first but then quickly recovers and returns the greeting.

“What happened to your car mom?” He asks once Cat’s back in the passenger’s seat.

“It broke down on my way back from National City. Kara was kind enough to offer me to drive me here so I could pick you up and bring you home,” Cat explains, before giving their address to Kara.

That’s when Kara realises she’s about to drive into her enemy’s land.

She doesn’t know if Cat’s aware of her husband’s deals and she doesn’t want to be the one bringing it up, so she simply nods and makes the engine roar, earning a giggle from Carter and another smile from Cat.

—

“You drove Cat Grant and her son back to their home, to the Byron-Price mansion?”

“I did,” Kara confirms, crouching in front of James’s bike while her sister paces the floor behind her.

“Do you realise you’re literally flirting with the enemy?” Alex insists, sounding more than a little alarmed.

“What?” Kara sputters, dropping her tool and stammering. “Who said anything about flirting? I’m not flirting!”

A heavy silence follows her little outburst and she knows she’s screwed.

“Oh my god …” Alex breathes. “You like her. You like Cat Grant.”

Kara retrieves her adjustable wrench and starts to use it on James’s bike, not turning around to avoid showing the blush that slowly creeps up her neck and colors her cheeks.

“I do not,” she tries to pass it off. “I mean, sure she seems nice enough and her son is a car aficionado but that’s pretty much it.”  

“Kara Danvers, look at me,” Alex calls and Kara winces, because there’s no disobeying Alex when she uses that commanding voice.

Slowly, Kara stands up and faces her sister, who takes one glance at her and throws her hands in the air.

“I can’t believe it! Seriously!” Alex exclaims, pacing even harder now. “It’s bad enough that she is married, but she’s not even married to some random dude you know nothing about! She’s the wife of the man who’s been trying to buy off the garage for a year!”

Kara ducks her head and looks down at her feet, feeling a little bad. She knows it’s a disaster, she saw it coming the moment Cat smiled after she’d heard the car roar for the first time but she can’t help herself.

“Please, don’t do anything stupid?” Alex eventually asks, eyes intent on her baby sister. She looks resigned, if not a little worried still.

“I won’t. She’s Cat Grant anyway, CEO of a media empire and married to Lord Byron-Price, with a son, a mansion and I think I even saw a few horses in the domain. I’m just the mechanics, I’ll fix her car and that’s it,” Kara replies with another shrug, trying to hide the hurt and sadness in her tone.

Judging by Alex’s meaningful look, she didn’t succeed.

—

“Hello?”

Kara jerks at the unexpected voice, causing her arm to violently hurt her table of tools and making everything fall with a loud, metallic raucous.

“Kara? Are you alright down here?” Cat asks, sounding worried.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, sorry! You took me by surprise,” Kara explains, picking up her table and then gathering back her tools, fixing her work space before coming out of the pit.

“Hello again, Miss Grant,” Kara greets, taking a look at her dirty hands and choosing to wave instead of going for the usual handshake. She laughs and then teases “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

It makes Cat smile, amusement shining in her hazel green eyes. She’s wearing her navy-blue trench coat again, opened on a grey pull over that looks impossibly soft and a pair of black trousers that fits her legs in a very flattering way. She’s perched on heels again but not the red ones, Kara notices.

“I came to see you about my car,” Cat replies, gesturing toward the blue Mustang under which Kara had been working since she woke up.

“You do know I have a phone, right?” Kara tilts her head with an amused smile.

“Do you, now? I wondered, since you’re not answering …” Cat retorts, looking a little smug.

Kara moves to go pick up her cellphone and sees that she has indeed a lot of missed calls, including some from Lucy, Alex and Winn.

“Eh, my bad. I’ve been working on your car all morning,” Kara explains, walking up to her locker to wash her hands before coming back in front of Cat.

“Dedicated, I see,” Cat smiles, looking back and forth between her car and Kara’s face.

“I don’t often have the occasion of working on such cool cars, it’s pretty cool,” Kara shrugs and grabs back her phone to shoot a text to Alex.

“So what’s wrong with it?” Cat asks, walking toward the blue Mustang held in the air.

“I don’t know yet,” Kara explains, joining her a few seconds later. “I’ve changed a few things for the suspensions and the brakes, since you’ve been using those a lot more than a normal person should, but I didn’t find the issue yet.”

Cat looks a little sad and Kara asks “Don’t you have another car you can use in the meantime?”

“I’m using one of my husband’s but it’s not the same,” Cat explains and Kara closes off a little at the mention of Cat’s spouse. “It’s a regular Ford, nothing comparable to this little piece of art.”

Kara has to agree, because the Mustang is really well built, with a lot of nice options and it must be a dream to drive, despite its temperament.

“When can I expect it back?” Cat asks, focusing back on Kara. The hazel of her eyes is fascinating to watch, intense and sparkling.

“I don’t know, I’d say something like a week because I don’t have too much work for the moment, so I can focus on your car,” Kara thinks out loud, glancing back at the Mustang and then at the Police car.

“You have … something … on your cheek,” Cat says, bringing Kara’s attention back to her. Cat’s pointing at something on her right cheek so Kara uses the sleeve of her work overalls to try to wipe it.

It causes Cat to laugh.

“You’re only spreading it,” Cat explains and she pulls off a tissue from one of her pockets, approaching it from Kara with a question in her eyes.

Kara doesn’t know how to react so she only nods and lets Cat take care of it, whatever it is. Cat smells like spring, like the grass after the rain and with hints of lemon and spices. She looks concentrated as she conscientiously erases whatever it is that stains Kara’s face. It leaves Kara speechless and a little breathless.

“There you go,” Cat says, showing off the dirty trace on her tissue. She looks pleased.

“Uh … Thank you,” Kara manages to say, still dazzled.

“You’re welcome. Give me a call once my car is ready?” Cat asks, handing over her card. It has a blue and grey logo on it, that says CatCo. “My personal number is on the back.”

After that, she leaves without another word, the sound of her heels fading away.

—

“Miss Danvers, what a surprise!”

Kara freezes, recognizing the voice on the other end of the line. It’s not who she expected and she angrily stares at the CatCo card, already feeling betrayed.

“Lord Byron-Price. You’re not who I was calling,” Kara greets, coolly. “I’m simply calling to let your wife know her car is ready, she can come pick it up whenever she’s free.”

“Why thank you,” the man replies, sounding amused. “I’m surprised you agreed to handle Cat’s car.”

Kara greets her teeth and forces herself to stay calm before replying “It’s just business.”

“Is it, now?” Alaric asks, smugly. “I’ve been told you don’t have much work these days … Have you thought some more about my latest proposal?”

Kara recalls her last talk with Cat, how she said she could focus on the Mustang because she didn’t have much to do. The feeling of betrayal grows and settles, bringing with it the bitter taste of disappointment.

“I have, and my answer is still the same,” Kara replies. “Have a good evening, Lord Byron-Price.”

Kara hangs up before he could answer and sits down in her chair with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, Kara,” Alex says, making Kara startle.

“I didn’t hear you come in … ” Kara arches a brow.

“You really should buy a new lock for your back door,” Alex replies, as matter-of-factly as she can sound. “Anyway. I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

Kara nods but doesn’t answer. Alex doesn’t push it, simply moving to go grab a couple of beers in the fridge, handing one over to her sister before sitting down in front of the desk.

“Business’s not going so good, uh?”

“That’s … an understatement,” Kara sighs, looking at the papers spread on her desk. “I might not even have a choice in a few months, I’d have to hand my garage over to him.”

Her phone goes off and Kara recognize the number she’s just called. Cat’s number. She ignores it and turns her phone face down against the desk.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Alex asks, settling in more comfortably in her chair.

“Nah. I’m tempted to ask Lena for an investment but I don’t feel comfortable with the idea and beside, it’d only serve to buy me some time,” Kara explains, finishing her beer in a few gulps. “I think the end’s unavoidable …”

Alex doesn’t say anything after that.

—

“You’re not answering my calls.”

Kara doesn’t startle this time, she’s hear the heels before Cat spoke. She’s bent over the hood of Winn’s car and trying to fix a tiny leak that causes the engine to drown, provoking the many breakdowns she’s been wondering about.

“I left a message with your husband,” Kara replies, not even bothering with facing Cat. Her own voice echoes around her head.

“So it seems, yes,” Cat replies, her voice short and slightly angry.

“I fixed the wrong contact in the wire that caused a short-circuit chain reaction, it’s as good as new. Keys are on the contact, you can leave with it,” Kara continues, blindly reaching to her side to grab another tool.

There’s a silence behind her, only troubled by her own grunts as she struggles to screw on a tiny bolt on the side of the engine.

“How much do I owe you?” Cat eventually asks and Kara sees red.

She stands back up and throws her tool on the table before turning around. She’s tied the upper part of her work overalls around her hips today and her tank top is drenched with sweat, oil and grease. She grabs a relatively clean cloth and uses it to wipe her hands on it as she stares at Cat.

“I don’t want your money, Miss Grant,” She calmly states, lifting her chin up. “Your husband has been trying to buy my garage for over a year now, I’m not accepting anything that might come from him.”

Cat looks utterly appalled, so much that Kara wonders if she knew about it. Then, anger flares in the hazel green eyes and Cat steps forward, coming to stand into Kara’s personal space.

“What year do you think this is? Who do you think I am, exactly?” Cat bites, looking furious and slightly hurt, if Kara really looks. “I don’t need a man to make money, Kara. I never needed a man for anything, I’ve been making it on my own since I’m 16 and I don’t like you implying that I’m some kind of trophy wife!”

Kara returns the heated glare and doesn’t back off, despite the fact she can smell Cat’s dizzying perfume and see the freckles of gold that swirl in the hazel green eyes.

“You didn’t even know, right?” Kara accuses, her voice low but clear. A hint of guilt gleams in Cat’s eyes. “You don’t know what your husband has done to my business, my reputation even. You might not be a trophy wife, but you’re just as oblivious as one.”

Cat steps even closer and now they’re standing just inches away from each other.

“You take that back, Miss Danvers. You don’t know me, you don’t know my husband” Cat threats, anger dancing in the hazel of her eyes.

“Do you? Know your husband, I mean,” Kara attacks right back and for a second, she thinks Cat is about to slap her.

Instead, Cat leans forward and crashes her lips on Kara’s.

It’s a bruising kiss, heavy with anger, resentment and so much passion. Kara’s hands drop the cloth she’s been holding and wrap around Cat’s body, pulling her closer. Their tongues dance and explore, collide. Cat reaches out and wrap one hand around Kara’s neck,  the other one closing on Kara’s shoulder, fingernails already digging in the thin tank top.

It lasts and Kara finds herself leaning against the hood of Winn’s car, holding Cat and drowning in their kiss. Cat instinctively tilts her head and Kara takes advantage of it, leaving Cat’s lips to trail down to her jawline.

It’s only when one of Kara’s hand venture under the helm of Cat’s shirt that Cat pulls back, eyes wide and hooded, breath laboured and irregular.

“We can’t. It’s not … I’m …” Cat struggles to just breathe and Kara’s no better. Her head is spinning and the heady scent of lemon and spice screw with her focus.

“ … married,” Kara finishes, eventually regaining some form of composure.

Cat looks impossibly desperate at that, so lost and small that Kara just wants to hold her again, to kiss her until she’s smiling but she can’t. Cat’s married and this isn’t right.

“You should leave, Cat. Keys are on the contact,” Kara repeats and she turns around to hide the hot tears that are already gathering in her eyes.

She grabs back her adjusting wrench and bends over Winn’s car, making it clear she doesn’t want to talk about it.

It takes a while but eventually, Cat’s heels walk away.

—

“Cat? What are you–” Kara stops right in her track, taking in the sight of Cat in front of her.

Cat’s been crying, there’s a reddish glow around her eyes and her make-up’s all messed up. Her hair is damp from the rain that’s beating down the street and her clothes are soaked through, crumpled and even ripped in some place. The most alarming parts, though, are the already darkening bruise on her jawline, the impressive, bleeding cut on the side of her head and the split on her lips.

“What the fuck? Are you alright? Come on in,” Kara opens her door and gently grabs one of Cat’s wrist to pull her in. She immediately guides Cat through her apartment to the bathroom, making her sit on the edge of the bath tube. She helps her out of her Trench and drops the wet piece of cloth in the laundry basket near the washing machine.

“Don’t move,” Kara orders and she leaves for a few minutes. When she comes back, she hands over a glass of what smells like Bourbon to Cat and then opens a drawer, pulling out an impressive pharmacy box.

“I’m going to disinfect everything, it’s going to sting,” Kara announces and Cat simply nods, seemingly too out of it to react.

Kara’s careful and gentle but firm, she doesn’t let Cat pull away when it hurts. She takes care of all the injuries and fixes them as best as she can, before rummaging around to find some tiger balm.

“This is going to hurt, Cat,” Kara explains, digging two fingers in the small can of medicine before approaching them from Cat’s jawline. With her other hand, she gently holds Cat’s face in place while she massages the darkening skin. She’s slow and careful, tender even.

“What happened, Cat? Did Alaric do this to you?” Kara asks, ready to drive over there and beat the shit out of him.

“No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare raise his hand on me,” Cat retorts, a little of her usual fire returning to her. Kara doesn’t show it but she feels relieved at that. “I … we had an argument, about him wanting to buy your property.”

Kara freezes for a second but then returns to massaging Cat’s skin. The balm is penetrating the epidermis with difficulty, so she keeps at it.

“I’m … You didn’t have to …” Kara tries to say but Cat places a hand around her wrist, holding her in place.

“I wanted to know,” Cat whispers, looking a little forlorn. “I’ve been living in my own world for a long, long time Kara, I never paid enough attention to anything else.”

“I’m sorry,” Kara replies. “It must not have been easy.”

“It wasn’t, no. I realise he … did this to other people, not just you. He’s been slowly buying out the whole town, you’re just one of the very few people standing up to him. It made me realise that I didn’t know him, at all. You were right, you know? I didn’t know my husband, at all.”

Kara doesn’t even try to deny it. She simply stops touching Cat, observing the result with attention before deeming it satisfying. She pulls away to go wash her hands.

“We got into a massive argument, at the end of which I asked for a divorce,” Cat lets out a strangled, dry chuckle. “He didn’t take it too well, we yelled some more and eventually, I left. I drove too fast, it was raining, I didn’t even know where to go … I crashed against a tree, not too far from here. Hence the injuries.”

Kara turns back to glare at Cat, looking really annoyed.

“Again, I do have a phone you know?”

“Would you have picked up, seeing my name on it?” Cat defies, eyes gleaming.

Kara doesn’t reply right away, thinking back on it. Eventually, she shakes her head no because she’s been too hurt to deal with Cat, in any capacity.

“I figured so,” Cat replies, hurt audible in her tone.

“Where’s Carter?” Kara asks, a little concerned at the idea of the young boy being alone with Alaric.

“With his father, in Metropolis,” Cat explains. “Carter’s the result of my first marriage, I only married Alaric two years ago.”

Kara thinks it makes sense, especially since Carter doesn’t look like Alaric at all.

“Do you want another drink?” Kara asks, gesturing to Cat’s empty glass.

Cat nods and Kara makes a motion for Cat to follow her back to the kitchen. Cat sits down at the kitchen’s bar and waits until Kara places the whole bottle in front of her.

“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need,” Kara offers, leaning back against her kitchen in front of Cat. “I’ll make up the guest room for you.”

“Thank you,” Cat replies, pouring herself another glass of alcohol.  

Kara doesn’t linger and goes to prepare the guest room.

—

“Do you know how bad this looks?” Alex hisses through her greeted teeth.

“I know!” Kara groans, handing over the right car key to a customer, who thanked her with a big smile and a firm handshake.

“I don’t think you do! For the love of God Kara, she’s going through a divorce! She can’t live with you!” Alex stresses, starting to pace in front of Kara’s desk.

“It’s not like that!” Kara protests, trying not to blush. “She’s in the guest room and nothing ever happened, I swear!”

“That’s not even the point Kara,” Alex rolls her eyes, looking impatient. “How do you think this will look for the divorce attorneys? She’s got a lot to lose, you know?”

Kara pauses at that. She never thought about it, especially not since Cat seems to be so comfortable in Kara’s place. She didn’t think about the divorce attorneys or any kind of official procedures and Alex has a point, it could look bad.

“I’ll … talk to her about it,” Kara eventually sighs. She doesn’t want Cat to move out, it’s been surprisingly nice to have some company, even as prickly and impossible as Cat is. Still, it’s the right thing to do.

“Do that,” Alex nods and waves at her sister before leaving the office.

—

“You want me to move out?” Cat asks, looking as hurt as she sounds.

“I don’t want to, no, but I think you have to,” Kara sighs, pouring herself another glass of wine. “What about the divorce procedure? I’m guessing your husband has an army of divorce attorneys looking for flaws to ping on you so he can get the most out of it … How does you living at my place might look, to the outside world?”

Cat opens her mouth but nothing comes out and so she closes it, looking thoughtful. It takes a little while, during which Kara switches to a beer because Cat’s wine is all good and fancy but it’s not her type.

“You … might have a point,” Cat finally concedes and she looks a little sad.

“Don’t worry Cat, as soon as the divorce’s official, if you want to keep living here you can,” Kara says without thinking, instinctively reacting to the look in Cat’s eyes. It takes a second before she realises what she just did.

“I mean, you have a lot of money and a media empire in National City, you probably should buy something there but you know, in the meantime … I mean …” Kara stammers and blushes, cursing herself in her mind.

Cat looks terribly amused now, which is a step up from the sad look but Kara feels like a fool.

“Why thank you, Kara,” Cat smiles. “I’ll consider it.”

“Whatever,” Kara mumbles and busies herself with her beer to avoid looking into Cat’s amused eyes.

—

“Whoa, what’s happening?” Alex asks, staring at the line of people waiting outside of Kara’s office, at the back of the garage.

“Hey Alex,” Winn greets, emerging from the pit in a dark blue work overalls. “Apparently, the divorce didn’t go so well for Lord Byron-Price and to be able to stay afloat, he had to sell a lot of properties back to their rightful owners. People have been coming back for weeks now, tourism is starting up again and with it, businesses.”

“That’s nice,” Susan quips from her spot against the fixed police car. “I take it Kara’s been busy with work?”

Winn nods and then throws a knowing look at Alex.

“She’s been a little out of it though. Cat hasn’t been back to Midvale since she left, right after their talk about Cat living with Kara at the beginning of the divorce …”

“That bad, uh,” Susan says and Alex sighs.

“I’ll handle it tonight. We’re having game night at Luce’s, I’ll talk to her then.”

Winn nods and goes back into the pit while Alex and Susan climb back into their car.

—

“Hello Kara,” Cat greets the moment Kara opens her door.

“Miss Grant,” Kara replies, arching a surprised brow. “Long time no see … What brings you to this neighborhood?”

Cat smiles and waves at her blue Mustang parked behind her.

“Care to join me for a ride? I have something I want to show you.”

Kara blinks and then frowns. Cat’s looking expectant, there’s some trepidation in her hazel eyes and the smile on her lips is genuine, wide. She’s wearing a simple but very elegant green summer dress that exposes her arms and her legs, but no heels.

“Alright,” Kara eventually agrees, grabbing her keys, her phone and her wallet before she closes behind her.

The ride is quiet but comfortable and after a little while, Kara notices they’re driving toward the ocean.

After one last swerve, Cat turns to take a smaller path that leads toward a beautiful beach house, located atop a cliff that overlook the ocean.

“See, you asked what brings me to this neighborhood … Well. I live here now,” Cat says as she parks in front of the house.

Kara exits the car and takes a few steps toward the house before she gets almost tackled to the ground by a teenager with dark blond curls and sparkling blue eyes.

“Hey Kara! Welcome to our house!” Carter greets her, hugging her tightly. “Come on, come see the view from the back of the house, it’s amazing!”

“I bet it is, kid! Lead the way,” Kara laughs, glancing back at Cat before following the young boy.

The house is huge and decorated with taste. It’s obvious the people living in it have money but somehow, it’s simple and homey, cozy. Kara walks across big rooms with wooden floor and soft tones, wide glasses that let the sunlight in and allow a really beautiful view of the ocean, beyond the well maintained gardens.

Eventually, she steps out in the back and walks with Carter to the end of the gardens, almost at the edge of the cliff. The ocean is spreading in front of them, joining the horizon in the far beyond in a simple line defined by two different shades of blue.

“It’s amazing indeed,” Kara breathes, inhaling the distinct scent of salt water and sand. “You’re very lucky to live here!”

Carter beams at her and then runs away back into the house. It’s Cat who comes to stand next to Kara.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back,” Cat starts, sounding a little hesitant. “The divorce didn’t exactly go as planned, at first.”

Kara frowns “It clearly turned at your advantage though, because Lord Byron-Price had to sell back a lot of the town’s properties, people have been moving back in and our business has never been better …”

“We’ve turned the tables around, yes,” Cat smirks, looking a little smug. “Turns out, he had some terrible skeletons in his closet, I only had to press on it …”

“This is a fine house, in any case,” Kara smiles, turning her head to face Cat.

“It is, yes. I’m hoping you’d … consider moving in with us, one day.”

“That was fast,” Kara laughs. “You lived with me for a few weeks and it’s all it takes for you to ask me to move in with you? Damn, woman, you’re impossible.”

Kara steps forward and reaches a hand to lift Cat’s chin.

“How about we go on a real date first?.”

“Kara Danvers, are you asking me out?” Cat smiles, golden sparkles of happiness floating in the hazel of her eyes.  

“Well, yes, it’s about time don’t you think?” Kara retorts, leaning in for a kiss.

It’s soft and tender but it’s also oddly familiar, for two people who only kissed once before.

It feels like coming home, Kara thinks as Cat’s lips open against her own

[ohgoddard]

Those Loyal Dogs.

In the space between planes, there exists great dangers. Wandering clouds of thought form misty shaped giants that prey on the minds of the sleeping. Beasts that existed long before anything else float within in its nothingness, content to be as they have been for millennia. Doors and rifts flicker in and out of existence, gateways to lands beyond the veil of understanding. The Aether is the name given to this plane of existence, at least by those who don’t live there. No sane man would live in such a dangerous place, for aboleths and dreadnaughts devour all who dare inhabit the same plane as they. Not to mention the lack of any place for living. The plane is nothing but emptiness, with the occasional rip that allows passage into a random place and time.

But while there is no place to live, there are many places to make a living.

In the land of thought and knowledge and all that falls under that umbrella there exists treasure. Oh sure, there are some ancient relics, jewels, and other novelties that any old scoundrel would want. But the real catch is information. It floats freely in the realm, like schools of fish in a sea. And unless you have immense mental fortitude, they can be caught just as easily. So enterprising blackmailers create Aether-Craft to set out into the rifts whenever they find themselves lucky to do so. They bring with them spells that can capture unspoken words and when the time permits it they return to the plane which they came from. Such finds have turned the tides of battle, rulers of nations, and relationships sour.

And with every honest trade, there comes those who want to cut a few corners.

Why hunt for the thoughts when you can just pilfer another?

========================================================================

“CAPTAIN, THEY’RE GONNA HIT US!”

A loud crash of splintering wood sounds as the forward ram ruptures the hull. A few men fly overboard, falling endlessly into the magenta purple nothingness below the ship. Suspended in the Aether are two of its craft, sails at full mast and their steering fins pulled in. The sounds of fighting emerge as the boarding crew invaded the other. The poor soul that tried to warn his captain of the ramming was felled in the crash, his long dwarven beard obscuring the damage done to his face. 

The Captain was not pleased. The splinters had torn several holes in his jacket and shirt, and there is crewmember blood all over his nice boots and pants. Even worse, he lost his hat in the impact. So his pointy ears that he despises so much stuck out among his bald head.

Standing atop the cabin, one hand on the wheel, he scowled. A gigantic ship had collided with his.

This is going to cost me so much.

His ship was not a big one, but a void craft is priceless in its creation. Hull damage meant not only replacing wood, but rewriting all the runes as well. An expensive folly on their end, indeed!

The Captain had only a moment to ponder his finances, when his name was called.

“Hey! You parked in my spot, you blind void-ferret!” He turned his head in disgust. Only two things in existence would dare refer to another Void Captain in such a manner, and this wasn't a Gith.

Standing atop the bow of his ship, which presided over the fordeck of The Captain’s, was a man dressed in a red naval uniform and bright white boots. He wore wraps around his entire face and hands, but left room for his eyes. His bright, blue, and inciting eyes. The Captain felt rage throughout his body.

“Captain Carmichael. I thought the Royal Navy had no jurisdiction over the Aether?”

Carmichael drew his sword from its sheath, a very dirty and near rusted blade.

“Oh it doesn’t, but I thought a bit of privateering was needed so I put in a work order. And last time we met, dear friend Marstrom, I told you no sea could hide you from me! Surrender now and I won’t throw the crew overboard.”

The Insolence! Such crimes Carmichael hunted him for were committed in royal waters! He has no right! 

“Captain Carmichael, for the betterment of yer crew and yerself, I recommend you take yer privateering contract and shove it up yer toilet paper ass! No one owns the Aether! Not the Royal Navy, not me, and certainly not you!”

Marstrom backed up his threats by unsheathing his own sword and taking his stance atop the ship cabin, knowing full well that Carmichael could jump from the foredeck to him. A feat only he could pull off, thanks to the numerous amounts of surprising inventions and arcane tricks up his sleeves.

Below him, he could hear his crew being soundly beaten by the more experienced Buccaneers. It would not be long until they got to him, he knew. His fights with him have been bloody, but he always managed to get out alive. His crew was only a shield between the end of that rusted sword and himself. But the sounds of gunfire and steel clashing beneath told him his shield was being broken. The pots and pans of the kitchen were thrown about, the explosions in the powdery rocked the ship, and the noise of broken bottles mottled his head with the thoughts escaping them.

This was a forgone fight the minute Carmichael saw him. Him and that blasted entourage he kept with him.

“You can try and take me ship, but you won’t be doing it with all yer limbs!” At this he hopped onto the railing and began to run at Carmichael, who still stood patiently on the bow. 

He calmly watched as the foolhardy Marstrom ran towards him, and sighed of boredom. He traced the outline of his tricorn, waiting. Just a bit closer, you dumb half elf.

He was eyeing up the rail that Masrstrom ran on, waiting for the exact moment to-

Carmichael leapt from the bow, coat and wraps fluttering behind him. He went near 12 feet in the air before landing hard on the railing with the accuracy and balance of a trapeze artist. The sudden change in weight, and the fact that railing was missing several of its support structures, meant that poor Captain Marestrom went flying in the air from the other end slamming into his bottom. His round little body flew not 7 feet before thudding against the main mast, sliding to the ground like a fireman on his pole. There he lay unconscious, red marks going from the top of bald head to the bottom of his fourth chin. 

Carmichael smirked under his wraps, and brought his hand to his ear. “Wrap it up, men. Captain’s captured. Render all willing crew unconscious and throw them in the brig. And do be sure to take all the stolen goods this time. This is a very prestigious contract!”

A collection of aye-ayes and Dontcha worry cap’n!’s came in as Carmichael bent over and threw the sleeping body of Marestrom over his shoulder. “By the divines! I think the prison diet will do you good, you greedy pig.”

========================================================================

Back aboard his own ship, with all the prisoners locked away in the brig, Carmichael stood in his quarters looking out his window. Compared to the slow burning ship in front of him, a view he took great pride in watching, his ship was for titans. A true Man O'War, lifted directly from the shipyards of the Royal Navy when he committed his first act of piracy, it was beauty. Nearly 300 feet long, 100 feet high, over 100 void cannons of varying sizes, and with artisanally crafted fins, his ship was a sight to behold. 

And such a catch too! Why, if he wasn’t going to steal it, someone else definitely was sooner or later. And he couldn’t let the Royal Navy have this. Not those backstabbing bastards. It’s there original imprisoning and torture of him that lead to his wonderful ship being named “The Loyal Dog”. That, and his crew who remained loyal to him and him alone followed him from prison to pirating. Something they did with great happiness, he noticed. The Navy regulations had prevented them from drinking as much as they would like.

Carmichael thought about this while looking out his window at the burning smuggling ship before him. Marstrom had a point. No one did have a right to own the Aether, much less police it. The contract he had for his capture wasn’t even given out by the Royal Navy. Carmichael had made up the contract for an excuse to hunt down the bastard who gave the Royal Navy false information that had led to his imprisonment to begin with. He’ll just take the financial loss of his personal wallet to pay the crew. But the currency of the soul was worth so much more.

That's what he told himself at least.

He sat down at his desk, a large and carved mahogany thing, and began to relax in his chair. It was a job well done, he said to himself as he began to undress from battle. First his hat, which was thrown on the hat rack with precision, then the dozens of mechanical devices strapped all over his body. It was going to be a slow process. Atleast he would be alone.

The door opened. “Hey Carmikey, nice job on your revenge today!” If not for the hastily wired explosive he was trying to removed from his chest, Carmichael would have thrown his head back and groaned. “Jin, the door?” Jin turned to look at the open door, then at the still wrapped captain undressing, before realizing. “Oh!” they said in an embarrassed tone, “My bad! Still learning things.” They then knocked on the still open door. “Can I come in?”

Explosive device fully removed from his body and set gently back in the gadgets case, Carmichael let out a full body sigh.

“Fine. Just close it, will you?” As Jin went to close the door, Carmichael gave thema once over. He couldn’t help it, it was a tick at this point. Prison has taught him to always gauge a person.

Jin worse a pair of brown khakis, loafers, a red knitted sweater with white undershirt, and a necklace. Their hair was different though, but nothing too alarming.

Stop thinking like that. His own mind scolded him. Jin has saved you and your crew’s life more than enough times to earn your trust. They will not betray you.

“Captain?” Carmichael shook his head, erasing the thoughts. He looked over at Jin, whow as looking at him quizically with his pale blue eyes. “You changed your hair. And your eyes. Again. Sorry It just caught me off guard.” He went to remove the rockets strapped to his calves.

Jin smiled. “Oh you noticed! I was thinking no one would! Drockgar and Carri said youd like it so i changed it and-” “I do like it, Jin. The white and blond mix very well together. Looks like one of those cartoons you watch a lot.” The captain stopped mid rocket defusing to look up from his feet to Jin. Jin, for their part, tried to remain neutral faced, but one of the few human traits they learned began to creep red onto their face.

“You got the idea from that show, didn’t you?”

“S-so wha? You said it looked good anyway.” Carmichael shrugged and finished taking the last of his gadgets off.

“Jin, just because you're here can you do something for me?” Jin cocked his head to the side. “Need me to unwrap you again?” Carmichael rolled his eyes. “Yes, I need help unwrapping. Aegis cut all the loose ends very close this time.” Jin soured their face as they approached Carmichael behind their desk. “I don’t know why you keep wrapping yourself up. Your wounds are fine, I made sure. And the gadgets I made too are completely -”

“Jin, I know they are completely safe. Its an intimidation tactic, a brand if you will. People talk about Captain Carmichael the Bandaged Bandit!” Jin pulled up a stool beside him and pulled a pair of scissors out of a drawer in the desk. “They also call you rude names because of it.” They began to cut at the layers of bandages, letting them fall to the carpeted floor. “I mean, remember when we did that joint contract for the Nightmare Giant? Captain Callisthenes called you a poor excuse for a paper mache doll. It was very mean of him!” Carmichael chuckled, causing Jin to hmph and intentionally poke him with the scissors. “OW! Ok, yes so what? It works well enough. Plus, it soaks up any blood I may spill. And to your Captain Cal point, well we got back at him for it didn’t we?”

An exasperated sigh left Jin as they cut more bandages off, there still being some tightly wrapped. “Yes I suppose so. But I do feel bad for it. I mean, what if he doesn’t turn red again? I mean, turning yellow isn't the worst thing to happen but I am still very new to this magic thing.”

Carmichael laughed again, but Jin smiled along this time. “Oh please, Jin. The magic was temporary. The Ignes Navi is under the command of a salacious red demon.” Jin stopped his cutting and just looked at the Captain with a confused face. He sighed. “He is red again, don’t worry.” Gotta run the idea of a metaphor past him. Maybe the concept of a joke too.

A few more minutes later, Jin was done cutting the bandages. “Alright, Captain. That should be the last ones. You can take them off now.” Carmichael just stared at Jin, hand placed on cheek.

Jin became red once more. “Oh! Sorry, uh, I forgot that this is different in the real world. Where I come from information is presented in a bare manner so im still unfamiliar with the concept of privacy and also there are a lot of images where people are-” In stammered a bit before slowly growing quieter, as Carmichael still just looked at him. “I’ll just, uh, leave now.” Jin hurried out, almost forgetting to close the door behind him. Carmichael shook his head and chuckled.

Little Ai still has a lot to learn.

He shook the rest of his bandages off his body and let them hit the ground, grabbing his robe and a pair of pants shortly after. As he sit back down at his desk, he began to ruminate. He remembered when he was as young as Jin. Or, at least how young Jin looked. Carmichael had no idea how hold the Ai truly was. The corporate conglomerate that coded him, whatever that meant, had been decades old themselves. Still, he was young. Which made Carmichael think of the old days with his dad on the sea. He reached into another drawer and pulled out a drawing, one covered in this thing Jin called “laminate”. It was one professionally done by an artist for  him and his dad. How happy they were. His dad was built for the heavy work, as all orcs are. And he loved his time spent with him. But his mom is who really raised him. A kind woman she was. He wished he remembered her face, but such a memory was lost to him. It was a small reason why he became an Aether privateer. Such things can be found in it. He wanted to see the person that made being a half-breed worth it. 

Then dad died out at sea and mom of a broken heart not too long after. 

Maybe being young isn't all what its cracked up to be.

A while later, after the Captain had showered and dressed himself in his casual ship robes, being sure to clean the green Aether algae off his equally light green skin, he walked down to the treasure floor. On his way he passed many a sailor of his working. Patching up the ship, helping navigate the fins, cleaning all that wasn't clean (which was most).  Some lucky ones were even sleeping, having helped directly in the attack earlier. When Carmicahel descended the stairs to the lower level where the treasure is counted, not a second passed from entering the room he was greeted by his chief accountant. “CAPTAIN YOU GOTTA SEE THIS!!!” An excited voice sprung from his knees, and looking down he saw Drockgar, his resident numbers man and the only gnome he has seen with a beard longer than he is. “Now now, Drockgar. Information is to be inspected after all the treasure is counted.” Camrichael began to walk down the isles. A few men were writing intently over scrolls, counting coins and weighing them. One dwarf was even gnawing on a ruby to determine its authenticity. As he observed him throwing it out a porthole into the great abyss, the Captain concluded it must not have been real.

“Aye know Captain, but this one is special!” The gnome jumped onto the table in front of Carmichael, careful to not knock over a box of pixie dust (grounded up pixies. Same result, more gruesome). His beard was tied up to not trip him, and his big glasses almost fell off his tiny nose. “There is someone in here that looks exactly like your dad! Down to the grey hair!”

This piqued the Captain’s interest, so he allowed the gnome to hand him the bottle. The glass bottle was like all other thought bottles, small and with a wispy smoke inside. “Do you think its him?” asked Carmichael. He looked upon the bottle with disbelief, his tousled black hair and green skin looking back in its reflection.

The gnome shook his head. “No son, sorry. I worked with yer dad for a good few years. This man aint him. But..” The gnome stroked his beard. “It is him at the same time.” 

This caused a raised eyebrow from Carmichael. “An alternate dimension where he exists still? We’ve been looking everywhere for those. He seems to have only existed in one.”

This elicited a chuckle from Drockgar. “Thats the funny thing about Infinity, Carmichael. The possibilities are endless.”

He smirked at the gnome then hugged him. “Thank you. Ill look into it at once.”

“Bah! Don't hug me for this! Just my job. Besides, ain't you supposed to be a feared pirate?”

Carmichael laughed as he went up the stairs, the gnome smiling and shaking his head.

When he got back to his room,  Camrichael made sure to lock the door this time. This would not be something he wanted interrupted. He sat in his chair and gingerly removed the cork from the bottle, letting the wisp escape into his mind.

In his memories he saw his father.. Except not. He looked just like him. Huge, grey and black hair. But at the same time, he knew not him. For one thing, his father would never wear a gaudy thing such as tweed jacket. The other? He was in the desert. His dad hated sand. Despised beaches. He could not imagine the old coot being in a desert. 

Carmichael could still not stop watching though. His initial theory was proving right, that this was an alternate dimension. He watched as his not-dad met up with a group of adventures it seemed. He watched as this one yuan-ti thing got all flustered as he picked them up. He saw the group fight deadly worms, and eventually descend into a dig site. 

Then he saw his not-dad die. 

A tendril beast thrashed him about and the adventures too, and everything exploded into a great white light. Then all he saw was his not-dad floating in limbo. But it was a limbo he knew.

The Aether. He threw the memory back into the bottle and ran as fast as he could to the steering controls. The crew watched in disbelief as their Captain ran, robes and underwear only, to the ship’s wheel. Once at the controls, he turned off the rudder stabilizer and pulled down the  radio, a box that Jin hooked up to little earrings that communicate directly to his crew. 

“ALL CREW! CHANGE OF NAVIGATION! MASTS TO FULL, FINS TO FULL!” Immediately the deck beneath him sprang to life as his almost hundred manned crew acted. Men and women alike pulled the ropes into position, and unfolded the fins for steering. 

The sounds of footsteps sounded next to him as his first mate stormed up the stairs.

“What's wrong?! Are we under attack?” She stood there, sword drawn, silver hair tied up, and outfit very hastily thrown together. “No, but my dad is.” 

She looked at Carmichael with an incredulous look, her violet eyes staring into him only a drow can. “By the nightmoter, your dad?! How is he alive?!”

Carmichael turned to her with a smile on his face. “He isn't! But I have found one who is!” He then pulled a lever to pull the Aether-Anchor back, shaking the ship in the process.

“Now hang on, Cerri!”

In seconds, the ship caught the Astral current and was speeding off in a wayward direction.

And a few days later, soon came across a body floating in nothingness, holding a very disorganized journal.

And when he saw it, Carmichael Azork II nearly cried.

Because that man looked exactly like his dad.

And then the man coughed.

[kpophoneybunny]

Love is in the Heir (Chapter 2) - NCT OT21 Joseon AU

Genre: Drama/Romance

Rating: PG-13 (select chapters will have strong language, violence, and suggestive situations)

Disclaimer: Our main girl has a name, but feel free to self-insert.

Tag List: (comment to be added or removed from the tag list).

Word Count: 1410

“Your highness,” Mark cleared his throat, “shouldn’t you be attending the horse riding demonstrations?” The first official round of competitions had started but Ayumi was hiding in the palace gardens and painting.

“Shouldn’t you?” She huffed. ”I don’t care to look for a husband. My brother and the queen can choose one for me.” Mark wasn’t sure how to answer. She was being ridiculous but how could a navy captain dare to call a princess ridiculous?

“Then don’t pick a husband. Let your brother pick someone hideous who will be a tyrant in your marriage.” Johnny came, holding a few books in his arms.

“None of them were hideous, sir.” She scoffed. “And my brother would never pick someone horrible for me. I trust him.”

“Well, at least save your reputation. The men will think you don’t care and they won’t try as hard. Not for the competition, not in your marriage, and not in ruling the nation.” Mark crossed his arms. Had they been called in just to babysit the princess? Was she prone to tantrums like this one? “Maybe you don’t care but monarchs who aren’t loved by the subjects usually get overthrown… or worse.”

“You’re overstepping, general.” She frowned, rolling her shoulder back and turning to the two men. “Where is this demonstration, anyways?” She set her paintbrush down in the small jar of water.

“In the practice yard behind the stables, your highness.” Mark cleared his throat nervously. Why was Ayumi so terrifying? Wasn’t Johnny intimidated? The princess had quite a sour attitude and a stare cold enough to freeze even the bravest of men.

“Your highness!” One of her suitors came jogging over to her with a small smile on his lips. He was one of the Korean men and he seemed unaffected by her cold stare. “Her Majesty, the queen dowager, has requested your presence. She sent me to escort you to the horse riding demonstrations.” She looked him over, mentally running through the names from the day before.

“Kim Jungwoo, right?” She smoothed out her dress, her face relaxing into a gentle smile as opposed to the scowl she had given Mark for interrupting her painting. He bowed, realizing he had dropped all the formalities and had gone straight to the point. “Well, aren’t you going to offer me your arm?”

“O-oh. We don’t usually-” He cut himself off when she raised her eyebrow and he looked at Mark and Johnny for help.

“It isn’t customary for a man to offer a woman his arm in Joseon. That Western practice hasn’t been adopted here yet.” Johnny explained quickly. “It might seem inappropriate.”

“Well, we wouldn’t that. Now, would we?” Ayumi’s smile became a bit less genuine and she stood next to the young noble. “Lead the way, then.” The four made their way to the practice yard and Ayumi sat to the queen’s left. “Your majesty.”

“You’re late. We couldn’t start without you.” The queen huffed. “Where were you?”

Hearing her get scolded made Mark a bit braver, even if he was standing up to a queen. “Forgive us, your majesty. We were educating her on proper Joseon customs for physical interactions with members of the opposite sex. The language barrier made it a bit difficult but she’s a good student.”

“Well, as long as you weren’t late for some silly reason…” She looked at Jungwoo who still stood at the base of the platform they were sitting on. “Go on, boy. Tell the others to begin.” Jungwoo hurried off into the stables and they began to ride out in pairs, two horses at a time.

The rhythmic clopping of hoofs against dirt made it hard to focus, pulling her into a trance. “What am I to look for in this demonstration, your majesty?” Three pairs had already gone by and they were now on the fourth.

“The grace with which they ride. If the rider is untrained, you’ll see a difference in their stance. Lee Taeyong and Xiao Dejun are excellent examples of well-trained equestrians. Park Jisung and Zhong Chenle are not quite as graceful.” The queen explained, her eyes never leaving the young men riding in circles and jumping over hurdles. Once one pair completed the circuit, they went back into the stables and another pair rode out.

“Well, those two are so young. They’re barely old enough to marry.” Yuta couldn’t accept anyone that young for his sister. They were still boys. He didn’t care if they were legally adults. “Do they even know all that marriage entails yet?

“If they make it far enough into the process, they will learn.”

Ayumi couldn’t keep track of who was who anymore, dizzied by the circles the men were riding in. But she couldn’t stop herself from noticing that some of the men definitely looked better while riding horses than others. She noticed the way some looked to move with the horse while others fought for control. “These men have all passed various academic tests, yes?”

“Yes. All of them have extensive cultural, history, language, and political educations on top of the standard mathematics and sciences.” Johnny and Mark were standing behind the royals, watching the demonstrations with scrutiny. They had to keep score for all of the competitions, mostly just so the royals could have numbers to look at outside of opinions. For the horseback riding, the score was out of five for form, stability, grace, ease, and how well they worked with the horse.

Once the men had all ridden past, the stablehands collected the hurdles and set up three archery targets. Each man would get three shots. “Bring me a bow and three arrows.” Yuta came down from the platform, holding out his hand. A stablehand rushed and gave him what he asked for. He effortlessly shot three bullseyes, one right after the other one. “If you can split my arrow in half, you’ll gain my favor.” He handed off the bow and sat back down in his chair to the queen’s right.

Ayumi sank into her chair as most of the men shot within the center circle of the target. They were all really good. But a few of them scored relatively low. Instead of using a score out of ten, they used a five-point method. No one scored lower than a three in archery but it was still a bit humiliating compared to a few of the men with perfect aim.

Someone managed to split one of Yuta’s arrows and Ayumi immediately perked up, her eyes searching for the culprit. Who had gained her brother’s favor? She locked eyes with none other than Jung Jaehyun. She smiled, about to speak when another arrow was split. Chittaphon. And another. Kun. Her eyes widened and she looked to Yuta for guidance. “Three of them met your challenge, brother.”

“I’m aware. All three of them have my favor for now.” His jaw tensed up. He didn’t know how he felt yet about choosing a husband for his sister this way but it was really about choosing a king for Joseon so it made sense. He just didn’t like that she was being treated as a prize instead of being treated as a person.

Mark and Johnny tallied up the results. Any ties were sorted into the order of favor from the queen.

1st: Lee Taeyong (Riding: 5pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 9pts)

2nd: Moon Taeil (Riding: 5pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 9ts)

3rd: Jung Jaehyun (Riding: 4pts, Archery: 5pts, Total: 9pts)

4th: Wong Yukhei (Riding: 5pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 9pts)

5th: Wong Kunhang (Riding: 5pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 9pts)

6th: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul (Riding: 4pts, Archery: 5pts, Total: 9pts)

7th: Qian Kun (Riding: 4pts, Archery: 5pts, Total: 9pts)

8th: Na Jaemin (Riding: 5pts, Archery: 3pts, Total: 8pts)

9th: Kim Doyoung (Riding: 4pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 8pts)

10th: Kim Jungwoo (Riding: 4pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 8pts)

11th: Xiao Dejun (Riding: 5pts, Archery: 3pts, Total: 8pts)

12th: Dong Sicheng (Riding: 4pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 8pts)

13th: Liu Yangyang (Riding: 4pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 8pts)

14th: Lee Jeno (Riding: 3pts, Archery: 4pts, Total: 7pts)

15th: Lee Donghyuck (Riding: 3pts, Archery: 3pts, Total: 6pts)

16th: Huang Renjun (Riding: 3pts, Archery: 3pts, Total: 6pts)

17th: Park Jisung (Riding: 2pts, Archery: 3pts, Total: 5pts)

18th: Zhong Chenle (Riding: 2pts, Archery: 3pts, Total: 5pts)

The final results for the day were posted on a chalkboard and it was time for the royals and the foreign consults to speak in private.

[hispeculiartreasure]

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Eleven | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: All Ages

Word count:  3,681

Chapter 11/24

Warnings: Just me being a baseball nerd.

AN: Thank you for your continued patience as I work on this story! Serving on a jury really threw my writing schedule for a loop. And then all the doubts and fear crept into my mind, but sweet friends helped battle it, per usual. The next chapter should be out by next week, it’s one that’s been in the works for a while and should be a fairly quick write for me.

Let me know what you think! Love you all, sharing this with you has been a delight.

A few notes from a huge baseball nerd right here - the game I wrote about is June 21, 1946, which was actually a Friday night. But they lost the Saturday game in real life and that wouldn’t have been near as fun to write about and I couldn’t see Flannery letting Sixth Floor off of work early for a baseball game. So grant me that one small creative liberty. I even used the box score from that game to help guide the chapter -- Pee Wee Reese is indeed in the Hall of Fame and ball parks all over the country broke attendance records in 1946. If anyone cares, the Dodgers and Cardinals ended up tied that season, so they had an extra series of games to determine who won the Pennant that year; sadly, the Dodgers lost. And the 1941 game that Bucky recounts? Same game as the one Steve hears on the radio when he wakes up in modern day New York in CA:TFA.

Chapter Ten

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

“You’ve honestly never been to a pro ball game before?” Bucky eyes you as he hands over two tickets to the Ebbet’s Field worker who waves you through the turnstiles.

Brooklyn Dodgers fans swarm around the two of you, the number of people surprising. The late June heat is near-stifling and you find yourself grateful for your sundress and hat; sweat had already broken out on Bucky’s brow as he adjusts his suit jacket. At least he had a hat to try to ward off some of the sun. A ballpark wasn’t your first choice of location for a Saturday date but Bucky had been so excited to introduce you to the team and sport he loved, you couldn’t refuse.

“Nope, never. My hometown is pretty small and Dad wasn’t interested.”

Bucky’s hand finds its way into yours before he grins at you. “Well, then. Guess it’s my job to make sure you get The Dodgers Experience. Let’s get you a hot dog.”

The smell of sausage wafts toward you from the concession stand. Each step forward is announced by the distinct crunch of peanut shells beneath your feet. While waiting in line, you turn and catch sight of the field for the first time. Chalk lines indicating foul territory are fresh; you note the players warming up on the field make an extra effort to avoid stepping on the white. The vibrant expanse of green grass spreads much further than you had expected. You couldn’t imagine how anyone managed to hit a small ball far enough to launch out of a park of this size, though you know it was not unusual.

Bucky turns to you in line and states matter-of-factly, “There are three important things you need to know today: we love the Dodgers, hate the Yankees, and are in a bitter rivalry with St. Louis - who we are playing today.”

You hum and muse, “I bet the games against the Yankees are intense since fans are all here in New York.”

“Oh, we don’t play them during the regular season. We’re in different leagues.” Bucky then steps up to the stand, ordering you hot dogs and a bag of peanuts.

Narrowing your eyes, you squint at him dramatically. “That doesn’t make any sense, why do we hate them if we never play them?”

He thanks the attendant and hands over your food, leading the way toward your seats. “It’s the principle of the thing, they take up New York fan real estate. You’re not wrong, though, the World Series games we’ve played against them have been pretty ugly. Plus, they’re from the Bronx. What could be worse?”

Following as he begins to descend giant concrete steps down toward the field you ask, “Isn’t there a third New York baseball team?”

His chuckle floats back up to you. “The Giants are in last place, they’re not a problem.”

“Okay, why are we in a rivalry with St. Louis?”

“Been neck-and-neck all season,” he says as he motions you down the narrow row to your seats close to third base. “People are already saying it’s gonna be either us or them in the World Series.”

“Isn’t it a few months early for that?” you follow his gesture before plopping onto the small chair that was marked the same as your ticket. The wooden seats were painted royal blue to match the team’s jersey colors, offering a bright pop in the stadium. Sitting down made you realize how crowded the seats were; thank goodness the idea of being close to Bucky wasn’t an unpleasant one.

“It’s all about the long game. Four months will fly by and every game counts.” He settles into his seat beside you before digging into his ballpark meal. “Alright, how much do you know about the game?”

You narrow your eyes at your boyfriend. “I’m not dumb, Bucky. I played street ball as a kid. You try to hit the ball with the bat, run the bases, make it to home plate to score points.”

“Runs,” he mumbles around a mouthful. You tilt your head in confusion before you bite into your hot dog as well. “They aren’t points in baseball. You score runs.”

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. “You’re that kind of fan.”

“A dedicated one? Yes, yes I am.” He offers a smug smile as he chews which only prompts you to slap his shoulder in good nature.

“More like an obnoxious one.”

He takes great offense to that and blurts out, “Baseball has been part of my life for as long as I can remember! Whether it was with my family or just Dad, this field has always been a happy place. It’s one of the few places Dad and I got along.”

You let the weight of that admission settle before you get a laugh out of Bucky when you moan over how great the hot dog tastes, soon after he affectionately slaps at your hand when you reach for the bag of peanuts in his lap.

“That’s who you wanna keep your eye on today,” he points to a player standing between second and third base. The stout man scoops up a ball tossed from the first baseman, easily throwing it back in a laser-straight line. “Pee Wee Reese. Best shortstop in baseball right now.”

“Pee Wee? Please tell me that’s a nickname.” 

Bucky nods before continuing, “He’s gonna be in the Hall of Fame one day, I guarantee it. He missed three seasons serving in the Navy. As soon as he stepped on the field again, we all knew we had a shot at the Pennant. A lot of the players served in the war, but things are finally getting back to normal.”

“Sure seems like it.” Again, the dull roar of the crowd milling around the stadium registers with you. You turn in your seat, mentally counting the large number of people just in your section.  “There are so many people here, a ton more than I thought there would be.”

“I read something last week that said they’re on track to double their attendance from last year.” His gaze settles across the field, though he’s definitely not paying attention to the activity. “I guess watching baseball doesn’t really feel like a guilty pleasure anymore. People can really enjoy the game again rather than always thinking about the worst thing that could happen.”

Before you can respond, the crowd shuffles to their feet for the national anthem and the reading of the rosters before the teams take the field, Dodgers in their gray and blue home uniforms on the field, the Cardinals in brilliant red and white jerseys at bat. The game begins amid the encouragement of the crowd.

Minutes into the game the Cardinals already scored two runs, to which the Dodgers responded with their own two runs during their share of the inning. The spectators were raucous, booing St. Louis’ success and losing their minds in excitement for their home team. It was easy to get caught up in the fervor of taking every play, every out seriously. 

You tried not to be obvious about it, but you couldn’t stop watching Bucky. In an environment that by all means should be chaotic, triggering, and at the very least, bothersome, he couldn’t be more at home. His posture is nonchalant even in the cramped space; an arm tucked across the back of your seat, legs spread comfortably. You couldn’t remember a time in your short relationship when he’d been this chatty.

That’s when it strikes you that Bucky is completely in his element. This crowd, these noises, this environment - they weren’t sudden or jarring to him like they were to you. It was familiar. Homey, even. So far he’d only shared fond memories of the place; but even he could admit that it wasn’t the fanciest park in the world. Your heart swells at the easiness of his tone, the confidence in his speech. He looked truly like himself; like a much-younger, carefree Bucky. You loved it.

As if he can feel your eyes on him, Bucky leans into you further before clearing his throat. “Did I ever tell you about the game Steve and I saw in ‘41?”

At the shaking of your head, he continues. “Five years ago, we were here for a game against Philadelphia. The crowd was restless because the Phillies had just tied up the game. Pete Reiser, our left-fielder,” Bucky points out the outfielder closest to your seats, who was poised on his toes, ready to head in whichever direction the ball headed. “He was up to bat. Now, the Phillies’ pitcher had hit Reiser with a pitch just the month before, almost caused a fight on the field. Anyway, our bases are loaded, and all we’ve got is this 22 year old who is barely out of his rookie season.”

A spark ignites in Bucky’s eyes as he mimics a swing, “Next pitch, Pete puts everything into his swing - sends the ball sailing right over the outfields’ heads. All the runners that were on base scored. Reiser wasn’t the fastest of the bunch but I’m telling you, he was flying like a bat out of hell. His coach on third base waved for him to keep running for home. The outfielder finally gets the ball into the infield, the infield throws the ball home. . . Pete hit the ground for a slide - and he scored.” 

Bucky’s animated antics had you smiling, completely enraptured with his story. “An in-the-park grand slam, the first one I had ever seen - hell, the first one almost anyone had ever seen; it hardly ever happens. You should’ve heard it in here, it was at least 10 times louder than it is right now. I thought we were going to bring the stadium down with how loud we were screaming.” A grin takes up his entire countenance before he lets out a laugh. “I remember Steve got into a really bad coughing fit right after, he almost turned blue. He couldn’t breathe for shit, but he sure was noisy.”

You both dissolve into giggles, mostly due to you imagining poor Steve hacking up a lung while Bucky watches on with a laugh. Surely there couldn’t be a much clearer picture of their friendship.

Moments after the Dodgers score yet again, Bucky shouts out to a man walking up and down the stadium stairs, yelling something about food. “Can I get two boxes of Cracker Jacks?” Coins are flipped and boxes are tossed, and before you know it you’re both ripping into your respective packages. “What toy did you get?” he asks as he scrounges to the bottom of his carton.

You pull out a small plastic figurine, brilliantly blue. “How appropriate, a baseball player swinging a bat. What’d you get?”

Bucky finally manages to get his hands on the prize. “A. . . bright orange cowboy? Come on, I wanted a Dodger player too!” Not being able to stop your bark of laughter at his childish whine, you pluck the toy from his fingers and replace it with your own.

“There, you happy?”

“Well now you’re stuck with the dumb cowboy,” he quips, winking gratefully as he pockets the prize before grabbing a handful of the treat. “I owe you one.”

“I think I’ll survive, thanks.” You dig into your own snack, the caramel crunch delightful after your salty meal. “How’re your courses coming along?”

“Tough, but good. Really getting to the meat of it now. Feel like I spend almost all my time studying.”

“I’m proud of you, Bucky.”

He turns from the game, wrinkles around his eyes softening ever-so-slightly. “Thanks, doll.”

“Back at your apartment Steve mentioned you were still washing windows. That true?”

“Mhmm,” he hums noncommittally.

“Why? Is your monthly stipend not enough?”

He only shrugs and says, “It’s familiar.” Focusing on the game again, he joins the crowd in yelling at an umpire who made an apparently questionable call.

And there was that wall of his. A wall you wanted to push against with all your strength, asking every question that ran through your mind. But he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. And it wasn’t your place to force them down either. So you pop another handful of crackerjacks into your mouth and crunch away.

Three outs are reached and all of a sudden the entire audience stands to their feet as the announcer proclaims it’s time for the “Seventh Inning Stretch”. 

“Wait,” you say as Bucky stands to his feet. He stares down at you, seeming confused as to why you’re still sitting. “People actually do a seventh inning stretch?”

“Well. . . yeah.”

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s my first game!”

He tries - and fails - to smother a laugh. “Yes, the seventh inning stretch is real. We’ve been sitting for,” he checks his watch, “almost two hours now in a cramped space. Plus we sing songs, it’s fun.”

Your nose wrinkles in suspicion. “That sounds made up.”

“I promise!” another laugh escapes him. “Come on, stretch with me.”

Looking around to make sure Bucky wasn’t trying to publicly humiliate you, you do indeed find almost everyone standing and shuffling around in some fashion. You mirror Bucky as he stretches his arms to the sky while standing on his tiptoes, followed by rolling his shoulders and shifting his weight from foot to foot. As you open your mouth to confront him about his blatant lie of singing, rousing organ music blares over the speakers attached to the balconies.

You almost jump out of your skin, grabbing onto Bucky’s arm tightly. He only offers a smirk as he joins in with an obnoxious amount of gusto to ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game”.

Except he saw it fitting to add on his own commentary.

“Take me out to the ball game -- you’re welcome, I already did. Take me out with the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks - again, you’re welcome. I don’t care if I never get back - you will get back, don’t worry. Let me root, root, root for the -” and then the entire stadium screams, “DODGERS! If we don’t win it’s a shame - we will.

For it’s ONE! TWO! THREE! strikes you’re out at the oooold baaaaall gaaaame!”

Again, the crowd is cheering and you feel a bit like 30,000 people were playing a joke on you. Was this actually a tradition? Bucky insisted it was.

The next inning is fairly quiet; the majority of the gameplay sticking to home plate in the ongoing duel between pitcher and batter. You settle back into your seat, mind wandering for a moment before you realize that Bucky had fallen silent in the past few minutes. Turning to ask a question, it dies on your lips as you take in his state. His thumb is rubbing against the tips of his other fingers constantly, his foot tapping a steady beat beneath him. You’re fairly certain if he keeps biting his lip like that he’s going to draw blood.

Everything in you wants to ask what’s wrong, what had changed, what you can do to help.

But maybe that’s not what he needs right now.

Instead, you place your hand over his fidgety one, squeezing his fingers tightly. His head swings to you. Releasing his lip from between his teeth he takes a deep breath before making a terrifying statement.

“I, uh. . . wanted to ask you something.”

The bustle of the crowd fades away. The yelling, the taunting, the outraged fans, all fall on deaf ears. In this moment, your focus zeroes in on him - eyes latching onto his icy blue ones, the knit of his brow causing your stomach to flip.

“Okay. Ask away.”

I’ve gotten really good at faking being calm.

“I know this is a lot to ask, but you’ve become very important to me.” He pauses, further prolonging your terror. “Would you wanna meet my family soon?” His thumb is rubbing across the top of your hand, squeezing ever so slightly.

A smile that is equal parts relieved and thrilled makes its way to your face. “You want me to meet your family?”

He casts his eyes down, still playing with your fingers. “If that’s somethin’ you want. I know everyone at once could be overwhelming, maybe instead we could have dinner with just Becca first?”

“Bucky.” Finally looking at you again, you do everything in your power to show him just how sincere you really are. “I would love to come.”

He gives you a disbelieving smile in return, cocking his head as he asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling heat in your cheeks that had nothing to do with the sweltering temperature.

“Okay,” he sighs, lifting his hat with his other hand to run fingers through his hair. “We do dinner together every Sunday night. Dad’ll be out of town on business until Wednesday so it’ll just be us and the girls. That okay?”

“It’s more than okay. I’m really, really excited to meet everyone.”

Neither of you realize that you’d been lost gazing at each other adoringly until the crowd erupts, everyone leaping to their feet as Pee Wee Reese hits the ball, allowing his teammate on third base to score a run. But all Bucky does is bring the hand holding his up to his mouth and places a gentle kiss to your knuckles, eyes locked on yours. His action knocks loose the feelings and memories from your first date all those months ago when he’d done the exact same thing.

The game ends in a Dodgers victory, prompting a whooping cheer and applause from the crowd. As you shuffle out of the park along with the rest of the patrons - like content cattle, Bucky jokes - an ominous boom floats down from the heavens.

“Sounds like it may rain. Let’s stop by my apartment to grab an umbrella before we get you home.”

You’d long since learned that Bucky walking you home after spending time together was a non-negotiable. No matter your arguments the night always ended with Bucky kissing you goodnight on your doorstep and whistling a tune down the street. Could you easily hop on the subway by yourself and be home at a much more efficient time? Yes. Were you upset about the additional time spent with your window washer? Mmm, you really couldn’t say no.

The pair of you climb up the steps to his apartment, his keys jingling in his hand when you hear raised voices coming from behind his front door. Bucky’s eyebrows pull together, looking utterly confused as worry bubbles in your chest.

Framing the door you both lean in, now able to clearly make out Steve’s low and Peggy’s clipped tones.

“Uh-oh,” Bucky mutters. You tilt your head in question. “Something big has been brewing at work. I’m guessing this has something to do with it.”

Initially you’d laughed when Bucky had admitted that Peggy and Steve worked for a lesser-known, semi-covert government agency - SRS? SRR? Something like that. The same people who had been responsible for making Steve into Captain America, is what you’d gleaned from his vague explanation. Connie had actually been right about it and you owed her an apology drink.

You couldn’t help but be grateful that Bucky hadn’t chosen that line of work; you didn’t think you could handle him dealing with the bizarre and unexplainable happenings throughout the world and not worry about his well being every second of every day.

Bucky shifts to turn the doorknob when your hand flies to his, your head shaking vehemently.

“The umbrella is just inside the door, they’ll have no idea I was even here,” he assures. Reluctantly you remove your hand, allowing Bucky to crack the door open. Muffled voices turn into clear words as Peggy and Steve disagree - rather loudly.

“By all means, fly out on a mission tonight if that’s what you really want.” Steve’s sarcasm cuts deep - and you aren’t even on the receiving end.

“God, can you get it through your thick skull that I’m doing what I have to do? That I’ve been given orders?” You could hear the barely-checked rage seething from Peggy as Bucky slides through the narrow opening he’d allowed himself.

Steve scoffs, “Orders? You really wanna tell me - you demanded they let you in on this!”

“Even if I did, what gives you the right to tell me I shouldn’t go? Because they told you ‘no’? Because you don’t think I’m capable of doing this?”

“You know me better than that. Of course I know you’re capable.”

“Then what could it possibly be?”

“When we were overseas, I always had you as backup. You always had me. And I don’t trust any of those fucking idiots to have your back over there.”

“I don’t need to be saved, Steven!”

“That’s not what I’m-”

Bucky appears in the doorway again with the umbrella in tow, though he’s more focused on the ongoing bickering than closing the door.

You’d missed a few lines back and forth by the time Bucky is back at your side, both of you pressing against the door to hear.

Peggy’s voice comes through slightly softer. “You need to trust me when I tell you that in the moment they will do what needs to be done.”

“Can you be sure of that? You know that I respect you, that I know you are worth 10 other agents. But do they?”

Bucky pulls the door closed, breathing deeply. “Well. That’s gonna be fun to hear about when I get home.”

You raise a brow when Bucky offers his arm to help you down the staircase. “You really think he’ll be in the sharing mood?”

“Trust me,” he gives an ungraceful snort, “He’ll probably keep me up all night with his dumb puppy-dog eyes and moping.”

“Steve, moping?” you ask with a giggle.

As you emerge back onto the busy New York street, Bucky unfurls the umbrella against the soft pitter-patter of rain. He gives you a sidelong glance before muttering, “You have no idea.”

Chapter Twelve

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[haven-raven012591]

Just One Day

                 Intro: Soul Mates happen Anywhere

Words: 3,567

The following are the stories of when “Just One Day” becomes the beginning of what could be a lifetime. Seven boys brought together by fate would be brought together with seven ordinary girls by fate again. When these boys were brought together in 2013, they only had dreams. As they rose to fame they began to dream of more. Now six shorts but very long years later they are not only the most well-known “Idol” group in Seoul, South Korea but the world. They are known by their fans as BTS. And BTS know their fans as ARMY.

The Seven men of BTS are Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, And Jeon Jungkook. Some of the men have stage names and others don’t. Kim Seokjin is simply known as Jin. Min Yoongi is simply known as Suga, there are more than a few theories as to how he got this stage name. Jung Hoseok is known as J-Hope his stage name came from ARMY, he is the eternal hope for both BTS and for ARMY as well. Kim Namjoon is simply known as RM a shortened version of his original stage name Rap Monster Jimin is just Jimin he has no stage name. Kim Taehyung is known simply as V. And finally, there is Jungkook who like Jimin and somewhat Jin has no stage name he is simply Jungkook. As you have noticed there is an order to the names, the names are put in order of age.

Let’s being with Kim Seokjin he is the eldest of the group of men and is the one Army Refers to as “Worldwide Handsome” this is a self-imposed nickname, but it is true. From his deep brown eyes to his amazing singing voice to his broad shoulders Jin is indeed Worldwide Handsome. Jin is one fourth of the vocal line of BTS and is one of the ones with the best voices. He was picked up in a street audition to be the Visual of the group. Which meant that he was the best looking out of the guys. He had a series on YouTube or Vlive, not sure which was simply called, Eat Jin. You watched him eat and talk about food He is the one that loves to cook out of the group and the guys will tell you that he is the best cook between them. He even owns his own restaurant in Seoul. He was brought up with his mother and father along with a younger brother. One of the best things about Jin is his work ethic when it comes to his dancing. When BTS started out he was one of the ones that needed the most help. Now six short years later he has improved so much and is just as good as some of the others. Jin had deep brown eyes, a tall frame with broad shoulders, just black hair that was short. He has very plump and kissable lips. He had long graceful fingers that helped him when he was playing the piano and guitar.

Grace is the best chief in the city and has two restaurants to manage because of that. She is the sole provider for her family of three. Her parents are very poor in health, her mother has fibromyalgia which is a muscle and nerve condition and with her age it is hard for her to do much. Grace’s father worked all his life and is now taking it easy in his golden years as his health beings to decline. Grace is an only child but is very well loved by her parents who insist she do something she loved instead of doing something as a “job”. They paid for her to go to cooking school and now she is repaying them by making sure she does everything for them. Grace was beautiful she was about 5’5, jet black hair, which made her navy-blue eyes pop and made her look like some eerie magical woman. She was thinner with curves in all the right places. Her light tanned skin just made her features standout more. All in all, she was very beautiful inside and out. She was warm and kind with the side of if you screw with me and my family or friends, I will murder you in your sleep. She took no shit from anyone; she also knew how to pick her battles.

Min Yoongi or Suga as he is known from his fans is the next oldest. He is one third of the Rap line of BTS. In fact, he is one of South Korea’s fastest rappers, I believe he is third in the country. He has the stage name of Suga because of his position when he played basketball, he was a shooting guard. Yoongi is the best producer out of the group and that is what he wanted to do for the company that he is under contract for. He is often considered cold and distant, but once you get to know him you know that his demeanor is only like that because he doesn’t trust others so easily. Just like Jin he is very handsome he has deep brown eyes, short grey/blonde hair, very kissable lips. He is one of the shorter members, but he still had long legs and broad shoulders. He has very long graceful fingers and large, strong hands.  He has the talent to play the piano as well as sing. His singing voice might not be as strong as the vocal line but don’t let that fool you, he has a very deep voice when singing with a lisp. He was raised in a family of five, mother, father, older brother and a brown poodle named Holly. He is very warm hearted and very kind; it just takes a lot for him to trust people. He still loves to play basketball whenever he has the time.

Sura is one of the girls you can’t figure out. Every time you think you know her inside and out, she will turn the tables on you and show you why you don’t know a damn thing about her. She is the oldest of three, her little brother Jake was what was coined by one of her best friends coined as a big/little brother. Which meant that he was younger but taller. Sura was in herself about 5’3, with long dark brown hair with burgundy streaks running through it, she had deep hazel eyes that could look anywhere from brown to blue as long as you considered the color of her shirt or the weather. Sura’s little sister Mary was the reason Sura had become a nurse. When their mother passed having Mary and left them all alone Sura raised Jake and Mary as best she could. Right now, she was learning how to handle a job and still balance a life that she wanted to live. Jake was now in college and was helping her as much as he could. Sura wanted to do one thing other than helping people she wanted to be a writer and after work she walked to the park to spend a few hours in private to work on that.

Jung Hoseok, J-Hope or Hobi as he was known as his fans and friends is the third oldest. He was the sunshine and life of the party when it comes to BTS. He is loving and kind and warm hearted and just a beautiful soul to be around or see on stage. He is the best dancer in BTS hands down, it is simply amazing to see him dance the way he does. He is now BTS’s choreographer, he is also one third of the rap line of BTS. He is one of the ones that you must watch out for he has this very bright and beautiful personality, but he is one of the most amazing rappers of the group. His rapping style is just as bright as he is, you can tell by his tone of voice. He has deep brown eyes, short black hair, plump kissable lips. He is about medium height and has the dancer’s body that is long and lean. His family is a family of four. His mother and father, older sister and him. He is what we like to call a big/little brother because he is younger but taller than his sister. He has a beautiful singing voice as rapping his heart out. Hoseok is the one that lives and breathes dancing and you can tell when you watch him.

Hikari is an up and coming dancer. She is the best in all her classes and can go toe to toe with her teachers. She has long and beautiful red hair, she is tall and fit and has the long legs of a dancer. She has these eerie and amazing arctic blue eyes. You can tell her Native American heritage from looking at her. She has the deep tan that most Native Americans have the blue eyes and red hair come from her Scottish part of herself, that she got from her father. Hikari’s name made it very interesting to be who she was and have her two heritages, her name means light in Japanese. Her father told her that her mom had loved being an “army brat” growing up and that was why she had her name. Hikari had moved and because of her father’s business she was able to focus on just her dream. She was one of the most beautiful girls in her class and even though the guys were all after her she didn’t really have time for them. She was a dancer first and a woman second. But she was strong and was kind and sweet and everyone said she lit up a room when she walked in. She was this tough take charge and take no shit sweetheart that everyone loved.

Kim Namjoon or RM now, he was first known as Rap Monster but decided to change it because he didn’t want to come off as that aggressive. He is the leader of BTS and is fluent in English. Namjoon is the tallest of the group with very long legs and long arms. He is a little clumsy naturally but it’s ok because it makes him relatable, his nickname is god of destruction given to him by the other guys in BTS. He tends to break things sometimes. He is one of the smartest people that you will ever meet. His IQ is 148 but please do not hold that against him because he doesn’t use that to look down on people at all, nor does he act like he has that high of an IQ sometimes. He has brown eyes, short light brown hair, kissable lips and a set of dimples to die for. He is sweet and very relatable. He has a unique voice; he is the last one of the rap line of BTS. His mother and Father and his little sister. Namjoon is the one in 2018 spoke to the United Nations as part of BTS’s and UNICEFs Love Yourself campaign. He loves to read and has done so for a lot of years. He comes from a family of four as well.

Isis is just as her name suggests an Egyptian Goddess, or that is what her mother and older brother has told her all her life. Her mother and her bother are the ones that have raised her to be her own person. She has long curly blonde hair that is off set with her very caramel colored skin tone. She has deep brown eyes that almost look black. She is tall and thick; she has curves and is a very beautiful person inside and out. She is the top of her class in college with a very impressive IQ herself. She is the one that other go to when they have a problem. She is almost always seen with a book in her hands and wireless earbuds in her ears. She was the first in her class in high school and was the one that spoke at her graduation. Her speech had everyone in tears and when she finished, she got a standing ovation. She is now in college to be a psychologist and is currently on the fast track to have her own practice when she graduates. She has a very protective and but is a sweetheart when you break her outer wall down.

Park Jimin is the angel of BTS he is what is the start of the Mankae line or the youngest line. He is the second-best dancer of BTS. He is also one fourth of the vocal line like Jin. Jimin has a very soft and sweet voice that is different than the other four vocalists in BTS. He has short black hair; he has long legs which is a nice contrast considering he is the shortest of the group. Just like Hoseok he has the dancer’s body that is amazing to watch move. He has brown eyes but unlike the others his are most likely to be covered up by color contacts. Which means he could have any eye color on the planet which somehow matches his personality. He is very sweet, very kind, he loves animals and his friends he is a cuddle bug, you just can’t say that enough. He has very plump lips and besides his voice those are the feature you see first. He has a very cute giggle and is just an amazingly sweet guy. He is from a family of four. His mother, Father and younger brother. So, he knows how to be a big brother. Jimin is very hard on himself when he doesn’t need to be, can you say perfectionist? Just like Hoseok too he lives and breathes dancing and you can tell.  

Aria was just as beautiful as her name. She is an only child and is the apple of her grand-parents’ eyes. Her parents where killed in a tragic accident when she was a baby and it was a miracle; she survived the accident herself. She had been told all her life that she could do anything that all she had to do was believe in herself. But she found that hard to do. When you are 5’0 and all you want to do is dance but you have no rhythm at all it seems like just one battle after another to her. Her grand-parents’ had done everything that they could to get her not to give up on her dream. They knew she could do it all she needed was one person, one teacher to tell her that she was going to do fine. She was short but she had long legs, she had curves and looked like a doll sometimes. Her jet-black hair, porcelain skin and hazel eyes made her look like something men could only dream of. She was as sweet as they came but with that sweetness came a bluntness that some loved and some hated. She had decided that she was only trying one more time and then she was really working on college. This was to be the last chance at her dream.

Kim Taehyung or V as he is known to his fans. He is the middle Mankae, between Jimin and Jungkook. He has deep brown eyes that almost look black, short dark brown hair that’s very curly or wavy and very kissable lips. He has a very deep voice when talking or singing, he can hit the high notes though don’t let that deep voice fool you. He is one the tallest in BTS. He is very sweet and very unique. He has a very different way of looking at the world that is very childlike but not childish. He is still a very pure soul even to have traveled the world like he has. And that is one of the best qualities about him. He is one of the vocal line of BTS. He loves taking pictures, looking at art. He is very fashionable his nickname is Gucci boy, because that is what he likes to wear, and it looks very good one him. He is from a family of five. He has a Mother, Father, a younger brother and a younger sister. He loves animals especially his little puppy tannie who is like the mascot for BTS or at least all of their babies. He loves going to art museums when he was time off.  His favorite artist is Vincent van Gogh.

Yuki was amazing at her job, very few years she had managed to become the curator of the art museum she had loved to visit as a kid. She knew art like the back of her hand, and she loved being around it all day. It didn’t matter if she was getting new pieces for the museum or she was looking at things she had seen a million times she loved it all. She was trying to acquire something special for a few weeks to allow new blood to come to the museum and fall in love with art. It needed to be soon so that people could see the beautiful and importance of art and especially art in school for children. She had shoulder length bright white blonde, it looked amazing next to her pale skin. It when well with her bright hunter green eyes and her red lips. She was about 5’6 and she had curves. She had this very take charge personality, but she was still very sweet. And they only reason she had to have the personality was so that the men that worked under her would respect her. She had a very innocent a loveable side to her. She was quiet and saw things that others couldn’t see sometimes. Her Mom and dad and her sister loved that about her, and they loved that she loved her job.

Last but certainly not least is Jeon Jungkook known as the Golden Mankae, meaning the golden youngest. When BTS was formed and debuted Jungkook was only15-16 years old. The other guys raised him from them on, as he had to leave home and move to Seoul and being training as an “Idol”. All the guys raised him as though the was their younger bother and they love him as such. He is the last of the Vocal line of BTS, but he has rapped on a few of their songs and is very good at it. Which to be fair there isn’t really anything that Jungkook is bad at. He has an amazing voice and is a pleasure to hear sing. He is a very sweet guy; he is very confident, but he also has times when he isn’t so confident. He is trying to learn English so that Namjoon isn’t the only one that is fluent in it. He is one of the tallest in BTS he is the one that works out the most and has the best set of abs in the group. He had wavy, curly brown hair; he has deep brown eyes. He has very kissable lips and a very cute smile that fans call his bunny smile because he looks like a bunny when he smiles. He’s very down to earth and a very considerate person. He has said that he has a little bit of the other guys personalities in him since they raised him.  He loves to play video games and he is very good at them.

Diana was named after Diana prince or Wonder Woman because her mother wanted her to be strong and beautiful just like Wonder Woman. Her mother got her wish, Diana is a very strong and take no shit kind of woman. She is also very sweet and caring she loves with her whole heart or she hates with everything in her soul. There are very few instances where she sees middle ground, but she is very far to everyone. She lets her heart guide her and is very grounded. She is sweet and kinda and has a very warm personality until you piss her of then you really need to watch out because then things will get very, very bad for you very fast. She has long dirty blonde hair, she had green hazel eyes. She is tall and has very long legs, she is thick and curvy. She is very beautiful just like her name sake. She has a motherly side to her because she helped her mom raise her three younger siblings. When she discovered her video game ability, she was unsure as to what she was going to do with it. But her little brother started taking her and entering her into the competitions around the state. She has a very competitive side to her sometimes but its all in good fun. She is one of the best video gamers in the country.

So now that we know the people that this will be about when can see how things will turn out between each of the couples. Oh, and by the way the seven girls…They don’t know who BTS is at all! They don’t listen to BTS and have no idea who they will be meeting in the up coming chapters.

@alternateafterthought​ @scuzmunkie @kittysilver86  @team-elias@alexnine@loveroflive78 @calwitch @briqueenofthenorth@soulofaravenheartofawolf@queenofthearchitect @balorbj @moxley-unhinged@adriennegabriella @ladylucksposts @2sweetqueen@meremaidqueen@mohawkmama  @susanleann1 @lauri3strode@hardyfangirl3

[cking19ahsgov-blog]

Executive Action Assessment of of Issue

Trump

President Trump’s view on the pacific garbage patch was not directly addressed, however his stance on the environment is Americans have long been told that our country is running out of energy, but we now know that is wrong. America’s energy revolution has produced affordable, reliable energy for consumers along with stable, high-paying jobs for small businesses—all while dropping carbon emissions to their lowest level in 25 years. American energy policy must balance environmental protection with economic growth in order to encourage innovation, discovery, and prosperity. I kinda agree with his statement because I agree that the main issue is resource use. If we used our resources in a sustainable matter than we wouldn’t have as big of an issue.

The Department of the Interior

The Department of the Interior manages public lands and minerals, national parks, and wildlife refuges and upholds Federal trust responsibilities to Indian tribes and Native Alaskans. Additionally, Interior is responsible for endangered species conservation and other environmental conservation efforts. 

There mission is to conserve and manage the Nation’s natural resources and cultural heritage for the benefit and enjoyment of the American people, provides scientific and other information about natural resources and natural hazards to address societal challenges and create opportunities for the American people, and honors the Nation’s trust responsibilities or special commitments to American Indians, Alaska Natives, and affiliated island communities to help them prosper. Yes this does relate to my issue because the ocean is a public area that is in need of help.

Secretary of the Department

A fifth-generation Montanan and former U.S. Navy SEAL Commander, Ryan Zinke built one of the strongest track records in the 114th Congress on championing sportsmen’s access, conservation, regulatory relief, forest management, responsible energy development, and smart management of federal lands. It is hard to tell if he is suited for this job because his credentials are solid however the website talks about him being a Navy SEAL which proves he has great qualities, however it doesn’t really state much about his environment protection mentality.

The program that relates to the pacific garbage patch the most is the Bureau of Safety and Environmental Enforcement. They focus on monitoring and improving the oceans. 

Review

While I found a little on my topic I was mostly disappointed as I feel like the plastic issue in our oceans just isn’t being looked at in more depth. While the problem is not easily visible the consequences still affect us and will have a tremendous negative impact if not looked at.

[michiganandback]

July 30 – July 2 AM

Left camp and drove north by northeast to Lake Circle Drive which is the historic Highway along Lake Huron. The trees are grown up along the highway so there's not much to look at unless you got off the highway. We Googled a point of land off the coast and tried to go there, but GPS took us to a private road with a guard. We turned around and headed north on the scenic route and went past a Historical Museum. We decide to go back because it was free. I like free museums. The curator was very friendly and we had a nice visit. She showed us the bedroom set that President Garfield's stayed in when he visited this area. I was more interested in the mini loom that was next to that display because my mother had had a loom made in the late 1700s that I worked on. We had a good discussion about that and discussed the various levels of looms and about how the loom works. She showed us some other displays which included a grain separator that was hand-cranked to separate the grain for the chaff. She also showed us something which I had never seen before called a cow poke. It's a device you put around the neck of a cow which was probably a Guernsey because they have small necks. I'll try to show a picture in the blog, but the basic principle was that the cow could only take one step or one-and-a-half steps before the stick poked into the ground to stop them. It was used to keep cows from wandering away before they were fences. It was hinged so that the cow could bend down and nibble at the grass and when she stood up to walk forward the stick with jam into the ground to prevent her from walking very fast. This was a nice unexpected encounter and she told us the point we wanted to go to just down the road was a private Resort but Google didn't know that. We ended up in campground near town called Frankenmuth that was modeled after a Bavarian Village. We registered at the Campground and headed straight to the Village because I wanted to see what they thought a Bavarian Village looked like. They did a very good job with half-timbered buildings and German music played around in the stores. We had an ice cream and walked around to see some of the buildings. We stopped by the Bavarian Inn and Restaurant. I was reading the plaque outside when someone asked me to move a little bit. I did and they were speaking another language which I thought was German I asked them where they came from and they said Germany. I asked in German where do you come from in Germany. The lady said you can speak to this man in German. So I did. He would only admit to being from Austria and not Germany, but we had a nice 15-minute conversation while the ladies waiting patiently. He knew I spoke German with three dialects, Swabish, Bayrisch and Frankish. He said Swabish is impossible to learn. We really had a nice visit until the women said we have a reservation in 5 minutes. We went back to the campground and relaxed for the rest of the evening. We always get a campsite near the bathroom and ours was by big tree. I went over and talked to the campground manager who had have been in the Navy and we swapped military stories. He was station somewhere in Georgia when they told him they were transferring him to Key West Florida or Iceland and he picked Iceland because he didn't want to stay in the states. His duty was to get the pilots on and off aircraft carriers safely. Iceland was not the friendliest place for American servicemen even in the sixties. He did get a 14 day pass and flew over to Germany and visited Munich, Berchtesgaden, Garmisch Etc. We're glad we stayed there but after we played golf the next day, we went to another campground nearby. The golf course was beautiful and reasonably priced. However, after not having played for nine-plus months our scores showed that. We really didn't keep score but I did have three pars and a lot of other scores. I think I lost more balls literally on that course than I have a long time. It looked easy, but there are a lot of rough spots running across the fairways and in front of the tee boxes. We still had fun.  

We drove through a town called Alabaster and didn't know why it's called Alabaster until we got off the main road and found a plaque. A found Alabaster offshore in 1837 and then eventually found another deposit probably on land. The material from here was used to make the marble like walls for the Chicago exhibition buildings of 1893 and that earned it the nickname of White City. The company was bought by US Gypsum and the quarry near here has helped to make Michigan a leading producer of gypsum for over a century. We believe we saw an offshore operation mining Gibson but we didn't find anyone to ask.   We also saw an interesting lighthouse in a state park where we bought our annual non-resident Park permit but they didn't have any Michigan state maps. We have been looking for one for over a week and finally found one at the Lumberman's Monument and Museum. I like having a detailed map of where I'm going.

In the morning, on August 1st we headed more northward toward a National Scenic Highway that was only 20 miles long along the Au Sable River. We stopped at Wally World for provisions and I ended up buying two pairs of cargo pants because the ones I meant to bring are on the bench in front of the bed in Tulsa. I needed some new ones anyway. The road along the Au Sable River was not so interesting, but like Yellowstone you have to take the cutouts to see the interesting things. We went to the Lumberman's Monument and Museum Store. It has some interesting exhibits about the CCC camps and how they actually prepared them for military service after the Depression. I walked down to an exhibit about the cooks and the camp stores that floating down the river behind the lumbermen who floated logs downstream to the sawmills. This area produced millions and millions of board feet of lumber for the growing building industry. That devastated the forest in this area and the CC Camp workers planted millions of trees to replace the forest that had been cut down. There is also a monument to the canoe race that started in 1947. It's a hundred and twenty mile race down the Au Sable River to the town of Oscoda. There are great overlooks if you go off the beaten track. The first one was at the Great Sand Dune that's called the champagne run where they pushed millions of board feet of lumber down into the river to float to the sawmills. We ended up a nice Campground about an hour drive from the Mackinac Bridge which we will drive over on the 2nd of August. Just before dinner, storm clouds rolled in and we have had rain the last 2 hours. It rained all through the night. We will continue to move North by Northwest now on our quest to reach the Isle Royale National Park. We're finally starting to get some good pictures and I have videos that I cannot get Tumblr to accept. I'll keep trying as the Wi-Fi signal get stronger.  

[newstfionline]

Man of Letters

Stephen Meyers, City Lab, July 24, 2018

My fourth day delivering mail for the U.S. Postal Service, it snowed-one of those heavy, wet, spring-in-Colorado snows that knocks down tree branches and crushes newly-bloomed tulips. I was training with a veteran letter carrier on a walk-out route, the type where the carrier pushes a blue buggy full of mail and small packages. It’s a lot harder, I discovered, to push that thing through slush.

I schlepped my disheveled, wet self into downtown businesses where concerned secretaries took pity on me as I handed them their soaked mail.

Welcome to the Postal Service.

“Neither snow nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night ...” that’s how the saying goes right?

The rude welcome to the Postal Service quickly taught me mail delivery is no leisurely stroll through the neighborhood, dismantling the idyllic image of a smiling Mr. McFeeley handing out birthday cards in “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” My first week on the job, I lost 5 pounds.

Being a mail carrier is hard.

I’d eventually get used to the physical rigors of the job and learn the rhythms, tricks and routines of delivering mail, but what surprised me the most over the next 15 months working on the front lines of this vast, imperfect, but essential big-government institution is how the Postal Service delivers much more than just letters, magazines and Amazon packages to a neighborhood.

I met elderly residents who lived alone and just wanted someone to talk to for a couple minutes a day. I saw how critical the Postal Service is for local businesses, like the one that ships dozens of Priority Mail boxes of custom-made zippers for wedding gowns across the country every day. I met strangers willing to donate grocery bags full of food during the long-running Letter Carriers’ Stamp Out Hunger Food Drive, which tallied 71.6 million pounds of found collected nationwide. I learned the value of a powerful union and experienced the most diverse workplace I’ve ever encountered. And most importantly, what I found while roving from house to house on foot was an intimate insight into my community and fellow Americans.

Like many who come to work for the Postal Service, I didn’t find my way into the USPS because I had a burning desire to deliver mail; I just needed a job. A laid-off journalist, I’d spent six months striking out on landing a writing gig and grew tired of the soul-sucking grind that is job searching. An old college friend was working happily delivering mail, and making more than I ever did in newspapering: The benefits are good, you don’t take the job home with you, and there’s lots of overtime if you want it.

And the USPS is nearly always hiring, especially in metro areas in advance of the holiday shopping season. Colorado’s Front Range, which includes Denver, Boulder, and Fort Collins, is currently short more than 500 positions. The hiring process is long--I applied in mid-February and didn’t start until May--and includes two exams, a personality assessment, and the 473 Postal Exam, which tests your ability to check addresses for errors, accurately fill out forms, and memorize and recall lists of street addresses. I had to also pass a drug test (that’s the biggest hurdle to hiring in weed-legal Colorado, the Fort Collins Postmaster told me) and an exhaustive background check. Then it was off to city carrier academy, where veteran carriers taught my fellow classmates and me the tricks of organizing and carrying mail and how to drive the postal vehicles. We each got a navy blue USPS hat and T-shirt and were sent to our respective post offices to begin our postal careers; I was now a USPS employee, working as a city carrier assistant.

In the evenings I’d continue my search for a Plan B career after journalism, but for the other 8-to-10 hours a day (and up to 12 during holiday season) I’d deliver mail and packages to residents of Fort Collins, Colorado.

A lot of packages.

Receive an Instant Pot for Christmas? Yeah, so did your neighbor. My record was 18 delivered in one day--we saw that craze coming on well before Black Friday.

The old-timers at my office remember the days they’d deliver, five, maybe, 10 packages a day. Now it’s more like 50 or 60 a day, from 40-pound bags of dog food to furniture and food-in-a-box meal kits. The Postal Service wasn’t really built for the Amazon era: Our (badly outdated) vehicles don’t have enough space to house them, and few have shelves, leaving carriers to play an Amazon box-sized game of Jenga every day.

(Sidenote on those trucks, called LLVs, or Long Life Vehicles: Most are about 30 years old, with that many years of cigarette smoke soaked into the seats; they lack airbags or air conditioning, and the heaters are less than effective. The USPS is facing a major budget challenge because it needs to replace up to 180,000 of these elderly machines over the next several years, which is going to cost more than $6 billion.)

Every Sunday we’d fill our LLVs with 100 to 175 Amazon packages, thanks to USPS’ exclusive contract with the e-commerce giant--that’s the one that the president keeps objecting to, though it’s been a revenue source for the cash-strapped service. And, no fail, every Sunday, customers would ask why I was working and I’d jokingly (is it a joke, though?) tell them “Because Amazon is taking over the world.”

Other comments I’d hear almost every day:

“You bringing me a check today?”

“You can keep the bills.”

“This one better be a winner!” (I had no idea Publisher’s Clearing House was still a thing, but it is, especially in low-income and senior-living communities.)

“You staying cool out there?” (The answer is always “No, but I’m trying!”).

No one is ever upset to see their mail carrier, you know? This was so foreign to me, as a journalist who was used to being less warmly received. And while predictable and routine and mostly about the weather, I loved these little conversations with residents along my route.

When kids saw me driving around the corner, they’d drop their ballgame and race me down the sidewalk. Others were excited to see me because I was about to be a lucky customer at their lemonade stand. At the retirement home, residents greeted me every day at the wall of mailboxes; if I’d show up five minutes early or five minutes late, they’d jokingly let me have it. “You know, Sue is usually here by 3:30!”

Residents learned my name, and more importantly I learned the intricacies of their neighborhoods. A fellow carrier, a Fort Collins native and Mexican American, proudly showed me his home that’s part of the historically Hispanic neighborhood that I had never taken the time to properly explore and experience on foot. I learned from longtime residents how they felt about the gentrification happening in pockets of Fort Collins. This booming college town has outgrown its farming and ranching roots and is transforming into a progressive tech hub, known for its breweries and affinity for bike lanes, coffee shops, and high-priced boutiques.

Delivering the mail gives you a granular insight into America’s growing cultural, political, and wealth divide. North of town, there’s a senior-living mobile home community sitting in the shadow of newly-built eco-friendly condos that sell for half a million dollars. Residents at the condos subscribe to The Atlantic and New Yorker; residents in the trailer park a few hundred feet away get People and National Enquirer.

After several months, the rhythms of carrying mail became second nature; I’d successfully carried nearly every one of the office’s 50 routes around the city. I also became familiar with the downsides of the job. As one might expect at a financially beleaguered organization that’s been losing money for more than a decade, office morale was often low: Nearly every week, there’d be a shouting match between carriers complaining about mail arriving late to the office, thus delaying and extending their day, and management only shrugging their shoulders and saying that’s an issue out of their control. Clerks, whose duties include working the front desk helping customers and sorting mail and packages (sometimes overnight), were brutally overworked, often clocking 60- to 70-hour weeks. Many of my coworkers felt trapped: Sure, the job sucked sometimes, but where else can you find a secure job that pays as well?

It was my relationships with fellow carriers and clerks--a diverse group, from first-generation Americans to military veterans--that made the job bearable most days. But once I landed a long-sought communications gig, I made the decision to move on from the USPS.

After I shared my Postal Service experience in a thread on Twitter that went semi-viral, I received dozens of comments from readers who shared their nostalgia and affection for this beloved and embattled American institution. One told me about a mail carrier who heard a smoke alarm going off in an empty house and alerted a neighbor. Others were children of postal workers, grateful for the livelihoods that the jobs provided. “Both my parents retired from the post office,” one reader told me. “My mom started when she was just 19 years old. It’s not what it used to be…. They work the new folks into the ground, so I hear. I try to tip my carrier well for dealing with the BS.”

The response made me even more proud of my time wearing the blue uniform; I’m more deeply connected to my community and have a better understanding of my fellow Americans. From now on, I’ll tip my mail carrier well. You should, too.

[ruminativerabbi]

Men on Horses

Readers of these weekly letters know that one of the topics that I find the most challenging is the question of whether or not people can reasonably be expected personally to rise up over the prevailing morality of their own day.

At least in retrospect, the question sometimes seems relatively inconsequential. Do I really need to feel guilty now, after all these years, for having enjoyed going to movies as a boy that depicted Indians as bloodthirsty savages bent mostly on killing innocent white people who merely wanted to farm their own homesteads in peace? Was the eight-year-old me supposed to have noted that the land on which the settlers wished so ardently to live in peace had mostly been stolen from the native peoples of North America? Or wondered if the religions of native Americans were in real life as silly-looking and -sounding as they were invariably depicted as being on the screen? Or why the Indians were almost invariably depicted as being unable to communicate other than in the kind of broken English in which the only first-person pronoun in use was “me” and all verbs were declined with the enclitic suffix “um”? Me wantum wampum!

I would like to write about two events that occurred last week and ask in their regard a similar set of questions.

The first is the announcement by the American Museum of Natural History that it is going to remove a statue of our twenty-sixth president, Theodore Roosevelt, on horseback that has been in place on Central Park West since 1940 and in which Roosevelt is flanked by an African man on one side and a Native American man on the other. And the other was the unsuccessful effort of demonstrators in Lafayette Park in Washington, D.C., to tear down a statue of Andrew Jackson, our seventh president. The comparison both does and doesn’t work, because their stories are somehow similar and dissimilar at the same time. In some ways, Andrew Jackson and Theodore Roosevelt were entirely different types who left behind entirely different legacies. But they also did have some important things in common. Both are generally remembered as “strong” presidents, as national leaders who got things done. Both were war heroes, Roosevelt actually having resigned his cushy Washington job as Assistant Secretary of the Navy to form the First U.S. Volunteer Cavalry Regiment (known then and still as the “Rough Riders”) and then to fight personally as its leader in Cuba during the Spanish-American War of 1898, and Andrew Jackson, of course, being remembered as the hero of the Battle of New Orleans that basically wrapped up the War of 1812 (or would have done so had the war not actually been over by the time the battle was joined) and conclusively ended any British effort to play a military role in North America. And both harbored extremely negative attitudes towards non-white people.

History has been relatively kind to both of them. Jackson’s face looks up at us daily from the twenty-dollar bill. Roosevelt seems only slightly the odd man out on Mount Rushmore, where he looks out across the Black Hills of South Dakota alongside George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln. So why then has their stock fallen so precipitously and so quickly? Is that loss of stature something to be applauded or regretted? Or, to ask the same question differently, are we being reasonable or unreasonable to base our opinion of men from one or two centuries in the past on whether or not they were able to step away from societal attitudes that they shared with countless other individuals of their day?

Let’s start with Jackson. That he was what modern Americans would call a racist goes almost without saying. He owned slaves personally, a fact so deeply embedded in his biography that the website of his plantation in Davidson County, Tennessee, called “The Hermitage,” presents visitors with a long, complicated apologia regarding the role Jackson’s slaves—by the time of his death, numbering about 150—played in the running of the place. (To take a look, click here.) And that detail frames the question I wish to ask in his regard. Of our first twelve presidents, only John Adams and John Quincy Adams never owned slaves. More to the point, perhaps, every single pre-Civil-War president of the United States who came from the South owned slaves. To people like ourselves to whom the idea of owning slaves is beyond abhorrent, it feels reasonable to ask how these people could possibly not have felt the same way. And yet…they appear not to have. And that list of slave-owning presidents includes the founders of our nation: George Washington (there were 317 slaves at Mount Vernon, 123 who were personally owned by Washington and emancipated upon his death and the rest part of his wife’s estate), Thomas Jefferson (who, after writing in the Declaration of Independence in 1776 that he thought it self-evident “that all men are created equal,” wrote in his almost entirely forgotten 1787 book, Notes on the State of Virginia, that “the blacks…are inferior to the whites in the endowment both of body and mind”), and James Monroe, whose solution to the slavery issue involved shipping the slaves back to Africa, which is why to this day the capital of Liberia is called Monrovia.

So Andrew Jackson, born in 1767, was a child of his time. He grew up in a slave-owning culture. He was taught from childhood on that black people exist to serve white masters, that the whole point of there being different races in the first place is to make it easily discernible, even to children, who is meant to serve whom. His almost unimaginably cruel policy towards native Americans is part of that ideational complex too: by personally leading the charge to buy up Indian lands in the Southeast and then by pushing through Congress the Indian Removal Act of 1830 that led directly to the forced uprooting of countless thousands of Native Americans and their forced participation on death marches to lands in today’s Oklahoma, Jackson was simply putting into deed his strongly-held opinion that whatever impediment affects adversely the ability of white people to flourish on whatever land they choose to settle is by definition something to be fought against and, if possible, removed.

So that’s Andrew Jackson.  But what of Theodore Roosevelt, whose statue is going to be removed from Central Park West as soon as the Natural History Museum can find a suitable new home for it?

Roosevelt was a different kind of racist, not one consumed by visceral hatred for non-white people but rather one possessed of the quasi-scientific conviction that people of color are simply inferior to white people and that there is nothing wrong in society reflecting that fact. In 1914, for example, Roosevelt came out in favor forcibly sterilizing criminals and mentally-challenged individuals to keep them negatively from influencing future gene pools, writing at one point that  “Society has no business to permit degenerates to reproduce their kind,” and that “someday, we will realize that the prime duty…of the good citizen of the right type is to leave his or her blood behind him in the world, and that we have no business to permit the perpetuation of citizens of the wrong type.” And who were the citizens of the wrong type? Could they have been the black people whom Roosevelt once characterized as “ape-like naked savages”? This was the same man, after all, who characterized white people as “the forward race” and who warned that they would be committing “race suicide” if they failed to out-reproduce the less advanced races of the world.

So it’s the same issue here as with Jackson. Eugenics was a thing in Roosevelt’s day. The notion that the Nordic, Germanic, and Anglo-Saxon peoples are genetically superior to other groups within the family of mankind was believed by many to be a simple, scientifically verifiable truth. Well-respected institutions like the Carnegie Institute, the Rockefeller Foundation, the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, and the National League of Women Voters at one point in their history all supported the concept of eugenics as a rational basis for public policy. Famous people were involved as well—people like Margaret Sanger (the founder of Planned Parenthood), Alexander Graham Bell, and Luther Burbank. So Theodore Roosevelt was simply signing onto what was widely perceived, not as prejudice or bigotry, but as science.

And so we come to the same question yet again. Should T.R. be held responsible for having believed in something that has in our day been totally debunked, but which in his was considered a branch of legitimate scientific inquiry? Should Andrew Jackson be condemned today for being a southerner of the 18th and early 19th centuries whose beliefs were fully in sync with the rest of the world from which he came? Should people be blamed for believing things that everybody in their day “just” knows? (Saying yes, of course, means that you are prepared to be similarly judged by your descendants in, say, the 22nd or 23rd centuries. Just saying!)

In terms of the “statues issue” that has surfaced in our own day, I recommend here a middle course. We can and should lionize the rare few who somehow managed to understand the error of their contemporaries’ attitudes and beliefs—the abolitionists, for example, who were Andrew Jackson’s contemporaries but who nonetheless had the insight and the courage to recognize a great evil when they saw it. On the other hand, I don’t know how reasonable it is to expect people to look past what their own experts tell them categorically to be true, what everybody believes to be true. Still, understanding people to be children of their day does not mean we have to erect statues to their glory in our public parks or honor their memory on our twenty-dollar bills. What do have to do is to own up to the fact that some of our past leaders were individuals who embraced beliefs that seem not only obnoxious to us because the mood of the public has shifted, but which seem deeply and essentially immoral. Those beliefs too are part of their legacy and need to be openly rejected and condemned at the same time we take national note of the good those same individuals accomplished.