#micro library

[thatonebirdwrites]

(I wrote this article to help remind myself that even small actions like maintaining my microlibrary matters. I've included my methodology below and why I do it. I also includes some resources that go into further depth).

Archiving Our Works Offline

Since we are entering a fascist era where I live, archiving literature of all types becomes more pertinent. Especially with the current rise in book-banning and censorship (much of that focusing on marginalized groups like LGBTQIA people and Black and Indigenous people).

So how do we archive literature and keep knowledge safe from censorship or destruction by authoritarian regimes? There’s various methods, but I’ll speak of a way one can do this without a degree or beforehand knowledge of archival practices.

I’ve been archiving my eBooks and the studies I’ve read for a long time now, but it’s only recently I’ve been working on transferring them to a safer, offline drive. I also have a large physical library of books from various genres and covering many different topics. I collect books and can often find them cheap at book sale fundraisers, estate sales, sales in book stories, discounts in online stores, etc. 

Due to how extensive my library is, it’s inspired my friends to read new authors or genres or to tackle new topics; the archive gave us room for discussion. It also helped friends or community members who don’t have access to a library still access a digital copy by checking-out a copy from me. Now, one doesn’t have to share their archive with anyone, but I find it helpful to do so.

The goal however should not be to archive the most famous books — as if everyone did that we wouldn’t preserve much knowledge, so focus on unique and lesser known literature and media to preserve those too. This is why I focus so much on marginalized authors, who are not well known.

Archiving knowledge is why physical libraries in a town is so crucial. They are bastions of knowledge and archived books, media, and documents. Supporting your local library and fighting with your library to keep them open is crucial. This also requires fighting against book bans that would censor/restrict what a library is allowed to put on their shelves and archives.

What I’m suggesting here isn’t to replace libraries. It’s to augment the community’s archives of knowledge, media, documents, and books. Since Public Libraries are the forefront of the fight against banned books, it can be crucial to make sure the banned or censored books are preserved somehow.

While the authoritarian state may easily target Public Libraries, they can’t so easily target civilians, especially if the archival project is done quietly among small groups of people. These smaller projects are how some of the lost knowledge from before the 1930s Nazi book-burnings were salvaged; everyday people like you and me archived books and documents and kept them safe.

Experts often discuss four stages to censorship:

Stage one: Not allowing certain topics to be discussed. This is similar to laws in Florida, where speaking of LGBTQIA folks (trans in particular) can be penalized. This primarily impacts schools, but not necessarily the publishing industry as a whole.

Stage two: Bills that censor the Internet. The terrible KOSA bill (Kids Online Safety Act) is an example, where it sought to censor the existence of LGBTQIA and/or Black and Indigenous literature, media, and documents on the Internet. This is where sites that carry these media may start to go dark digitally.

Stage three: Penalizing anyone who sells, disseminates, or produces censored materials. This is when authors, publishers, bookstore owners, libraries, and others are attacked directly and penalized for having any literature or media the state deems ‘bad.’ The penalty can range from fines to jail time to death.

Stage four: book burnings. This is full-on blatant Nazi-esque book burnings and trashing of any institution or public archive of knowledge and media that holds the censored materials. For example, the Sex and Gender Institute in Germany in 1930s was the first targeted institution for book burnings by Nazis. A century worth of data on LGBTQIA (and specifically trans and intersex individuals) were lost. The only remnants that survived was documents smuggled out before the book burnings.

For the country in which I reside, we are hovering between stage one and two. I suspect by the end of these four years, we’ll be closer to stage three. This is why it’s crucial to keep an archive of knowledge, and if many people are doing this, the higher likelihood that more data can be preserved. It may seem daunting, but that’s why it’s helpful to work with other people and focus on a specific genre or topic for the archival project you start.

I personally started with Leftist books focused on anti-capitalism, anti-racism, building communes, and science fiction and fantasy by marginalized authors. I was a little broad in my choice of topics, but there’s no need to be this broad.

For example, one could pick to archive only trans literature or only literature by Indigenous authors. Also remember, you cannot archive every book in your chosen topic. You will be curating these archives to some degree because that’s inescapable. Do not fret over this or agonize over being unable to archive all the books.

Preserving some knowledge is better than losing it all. That’s the goal. Take it a step at a time. For me, I’ve been adding to my archive for over four years. It’s sitting at around 25 gigabytes, and it’s something I added to slowly over that time. I took breaks. I set aside time each month to update the archive, and I asked others for help during high pain times. (This was helpful during the start of Covid, where I started up a digital archive of studies. Friends helped catalog them.)

Preserving knowledge and literature is crucial in times where censorship and book bans are on the rise. There’s a lot of great knowledge, literature, and media out there that should be preserved for future people to read or watch.

When an authoritarian regime starts to censor the sharing of knowledge, data, and stories, this is when archival practices become crucial for the survival of people’s history, culture, and stories. Anyone can work on an archival project, though I recommend building up a group to help make it easier in the long run.

1. Hardware. 

Obtain a large storage drive, as in a 1 or more terabyte SSD drive. This will serve as the data repository for the digital portion of the archive. This drive must not be used regularly. It’s meant to store the data, then be placed in a safe storage area (at just the right temperature to avoid degradation of the drive).

Since books can range in size, multiple storage drives may be needed. If one is seeking to also rescue/archive media such as photographs, videos, music, podcasts, etc — then you’ll need larger storage drives. This storage drive should not be connected to the Internet in any way. It’s meant as an offline archival device.

Servers can also be used as archives, where the data is stored on the server, but a server is connected to the Internet. Depending on the circumstances, it may not be wise to have the back-up archive in the cloud. A back-up should be stored offline for any archive security.

Try to avoid cloud storage, especially if based in the USA. Do not use googledrive or dropbox or any similar cloud storage. If you must use cloud storage, always have an offline backup on your own SSD drives, and seek out a storage service that is based in a country with good privacy laws that has encryption embedded in it such as cryptpad.org.

Next make sure the computer hardware needed to open those drives are kept in top-notch shape. The digital archive will end up useless if there isn’t a device capable of connecting with the storage drive. Most devices with USB ports have the capability to connect to a storage drive.

2. File types.

You need to make sure the file types used in digital storage can be easily accessed by the majority of devices currently in existence. At this time of writing in January 2025, PDFs, ePub, .Doc, .mp3, .mp4, .wave, and .zip  are the most common file types and the most accessible. Could this change in the next decade? Maybe, but for now, focus on the most common file types that are accessible by the majority of systems.

3. Avenues of procuring the literature for archiving.

There’s two forms of archival data: Physical form and Digital form. 

For the physical form, that consists of print books, magazines, newspapers, photos, etc. These can be purchased online or in physical stores. They also can be traded for using a grey market system. (Grey market is where the item is obtained legally but then sold by someone who may not have a license to sell. Black market is when item is obtained illegally.) Physical forms of literature are the superior archival forms. Books can easily outlast our lifetimes if stored in a dry, lukewarm temperature storage space.

Digital forms do not have a physical version of the data. The storage device or server is the only sign it exists in the physical realm. Digital forms can be compressed into smaller file sizes for long-term storage. Buying eBooks is also cheaper than a print physical copy. There is also online PDF/eBook libraries where one can download the book for free (for legal reasons, I cannot recommend. For ethical reasons, I maintain archiving literature to make sure it doesn’t disappear or is destroyed by censorship is important in the long-term).

Once the item is procuring (in hopefully legal way as I in no way suggest breaking the law), then it becomes important to store it appropriately.

4. Storage of archival data and literature.

The storage drives in point 1 become crucial for the digital forms of literature and other data. Storage drives need to be kept in a relatively dry, cool space and kept offline. When I saw cool, I’m speaking of between 50 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Best to keep it at a steady temperature. I prefer 70 to 75 degrees Fahrenheit. This prolongs the shelf-life of your drive. To avoid stressing the drive by using it often, try to time the storage so that you store as many files as you can in one boot-up.

Another important component to using storage drives is the power of encryption. A drive can be encrypted, and the key needed to use it safely guarded. I’d recommend this only if there are concerns of increased scrutiny to penalize the possession of certain types of literature and archival documents and media.

For example, if a law is passed to ban trans or queer literature, there’s a few ways the law could be written: it can focus on who sells or prints this literature, which means possession of it is not part of the law. A second way is to penalize both selling, printing, and possession. It’s this latter form of law that needs to be watched out for, and if it comes to be, that’s when encrypting the drives and keeping that key safe is crucial.

I am not an encryption expert, however. So be sure to research encryption to determine the best way to build up this security.

For physical storage, the area needs to also be dry and in that same temperature range. Storage in bins such as metal or plastic bins can also help preserve the books and magazines. Finding a space big enough can be difficult. Sure, a storage center could be used, but if you lose access to it or one is raided, you’d have no control over rescuing your archive. Better to work with your community (and friends) to store it yourself, so you have control over who has access to it.

5. Building up these archival Libraries in your communities.

If this feels daunting, then take a step back and think about who you know that may be interested in assisting. You can then talk with those people and work out a system to spread the tasks and make the project less intense. By working together in community, you will lessen the risk of burnout, which is crucial since it can take anywhere from weeks to years to recover from burnout.

What is burnout? It’s when stress on the body and mind pushes one past their limits and causes illness — physical or mental illness. The body and mind are exhausted, and so activities becomes increasingly hard to do. The best way to avoid this is to share the burden in projects like these. Take breaks often to give your body and mind rest. Spend time with family and/or friends and/or pets to help recharge. Take some solitary time too.

Working with other people in community is crucial for surviving fascist regimes. We are not islands, as that saying goes, and even islands are not isolated and independent. For the island relies on the larger, interconnected ecosystems of earth to exist. 

Mariame Kaba, who wrote ‘We Do This Till We Free Us,’ wrote about her father and something her father shared with her: “You have a responsibility to live in this world. Your responsibility is not just to yourself. You are connected to everyone…. because the world doesn’t work without everyone.” 

We are interconnected with other people and the environment as a whole. No one is “self-made” as that is individualistic capitalist propaganda; all of us had people throughout our lives that taught us what we know, socialized us into society’s norms (or out of those norms), assisted us in hard times, and so forth. Humanity are inherently social creatures, so do not discount the power of community.

Resources

For ways to build up your own groups and communities, I recommend starting with Surviving the Future edited by Branson, Hudsen, and Reed and How We Show Up by Mia Birdsong. Group-building can be as simple as a book club, who meets monthly, deciding to take on archiving the books they read.

For further reading, the following article discusses archiving and rescuing trans literature, but it’s tips apply to everything I’ve discussed above and to many other types of literature: A Practical Guide To Resisting Censorship. It includes tips for ways people can work together to safeguard knowledge and literature, which is nicely organized based on your role in the literature ecosystem. 

Feel free to share thoughts and tips below. :)

[siryl]

Another artistic interpretation of a microscopic black hole.

[mythic0210]

The Night Time Stood Still someone would go missing

[simply-sithel]

It is only well after I left college that I figured out the fun of finding reasons to 'research' things. The treasure hunt of digging for something not easily found online. I'm not creative (or curious) enough for this to come up often but am delighted when I get the chance to explore the depths of a library's offerings.

It's also rewarding to chase down a tight run of connections. This week's has been Dicken's Fair -> a musical about "The Naming of Uranus" -> reading about historical lady mathematicians -> visiting the Suzzallo library -> getting to use the Micro Print machine!

I'm perhaps known amongst some friends for my love of pushing the printing limits in making mini books. Imagine my awe and delight at getting to hold a micro print page! Now THIS would make a tiny book!

100 pages per sheet and absolutely not legible with the naked eye! Pages were brought into focus (on the digital screen) by panning the tray about. Not only easy to use, it made reading more fun! The book I wanted was actually missing the first sheet- thankfully there was a scanned copy I could read on a library machine -- interesting to see the aged pages in the 'digital' version, but I much preferred reading the micro print (even though it too was delivered to me 'digitally' at the end)

If I'd brought my Moment macro lens I could have taken some sweet photos (and read on my phone!) -- my new Pixel 8's macro mode just barely makes the text legible.

The initial bio on Mary Somerville I read mentioned that her writing was accessible and after reading a chunk of it for 20 minutes I heartily agree. Initially published in 1834, I'm sure there's a couple copies floating around out there (the library does have a physical copy, but it's at the off-site auxiliary and requires planning/advanced notice to get ahold of) -- makes me happy to now have a title to keep an eye out for in those rare bookshops/the collectables field.

[platosshadowpuppet]

My favourite building in Edinburgh is the Central Library and my favourite part of that is the Arcane section.

The Central Library is an ornate Victorian structure, entered via a bridge from George IV Street (George Street is an elevated street, built across and above the much older Cowgate, where the library's foundations sit. Hence the need for a bridge to cross the gap between street level on George street and the front entrance to the library, which is actually on its fifth floor. As with many British cities, Edinburgh is mostly built on other older bits of Edinburgh).

The Arcane section sits at the very top of the library, beneath a dome of iron filagree and glass. The whole space is in a Folded Room, tucked safely away from the modern world. If any casual library visitors wonder that they can never seem to find the glass domed room visible from the outside, a strong glamour of inattention nudges their thoughts onto a different track.

Reading desks are scattered amongst the Arcane section's oak shelves. Each has its own gaslit reading lamp, with green glass lampshade, and an iron warding circle set into the tabletop - just incase any of the grimoires start to get restless.

If you grow tired of reading, each desk has its own tantalising view out over the city's roofscape. Slivers of Grey friar's kirkyard, Grassmarket, Carlton Hill or the distant castle are visible between the shelves, depending on where you sit.

Always this place is popular with Edinburgh's Cunning Folk. Keen students and apprentices labor at dusty tomes, and the occasional unusually academic Fae can be seen digging through genealogical records, looking to back up some boast about their ancestors' deeds.

On a Monday morning the space is even quieter than usual. Most of the younger readers are face down on their chosen books, deeply regretting the choices of the night before. Along with the scents of old paper, wood and leather, there's a distinct smell of stale beach leaf wine and hawthorn liqueur.

I take a cruel pleasure in setting down my own book a little harder than necessary, just to enjoy the pained groans from nearby tables.

[the-head-in-the-clouds]

Last read: 'The Midnight Library' by Matt Haig

What I wanted: this was a present so I just hoped for a nice book

What I got: well while reading it I had a rather good time, but I'm writing this review a few months later and had to stop a while to remember what the story was actually about. It sadly didn't made such a big impact on me, but it's a nice, quick read for in-between. Have to say though, that I was glad that I didn't read this during a time when I wasn't feeling that good life-wise because it would have made me sad.

[rebornrosess]

never forgiving we heart it for dropping off the face of the earth without warning

[hotfuss]

i stand by what i always believed, that instagram is a cesspool, but the fact they have taken away the most recent while browsing a tag, basically rendering that useless is one of the worst things ever. i wanted to look at pics to get inspired to draw!!

[sporclechezchunklets]

Just a beautiful piece of design! The article includes a lot of lovely photos of the Shared Lady Beetle micro-library -- here are a couple that I found on FB:

[wanderingandfound]

You know how in Great British Bake Off these really good, but amateur, bakers flounder and head-scratch when it comes to the technical? And as the season goes on fewer and fewer instructions are listed?

That's what rules-light and micro-TTRPGs are like.

[siryl]

An artist's conception of a microscopic black hole.

[rottenappleusach]

Results: Third Writing Contest

The Rotten Apple

We held our third writing contest on November, 2024. This contest was open to all majors in the country and this time students had to write micro-narratives on mystery and terror. Our contest jurors were Marlene Espinoza, Patricio Pino, Timothy Poremba, Richard Parker, Angela Morales, Cherie Flores and Alex Peterson. We thank them for their committed work!

We, as The Rotten Apple, would like to extend our thanks to everyone involved, both organizers and participants.

The Rotten Apple USACH’s Literary Magazine

Enjoy the micro-narratives and feel free to comment!!

[thanatoseyes]

I got super obsessed with 16th century French clergy a couple days ago so I went to the library checked out like 12 books and spent hours reading.

[tfatwsbarnes]

we can’t be friends | bob reynolds pt. 2

read pt. 1 here!

summary: bob and you now navigate the implications of your curse by the TVA

pairing: bob reynolds x variant fem!reader

word count: 4.6k

content: angst and yearning on both ends, they’re in LOVE! fluff and honestly just self indulgence at this point. it’s christmas but reader doesn’t celebrate it, reader also has to wear a dress, swearing, more heavy use of dialogue, reader is v emotional and still an avid tea drinker. touch starved babes, eventual kissing but not how you would expect. tva inaccuracies again.

a/n: mwah ty for the love on part one! not proofread hehe. also i confess to not seeing s2 of loki so i’m none the wiser to anything past the first season

taglist: @amandarobertsboyce @micro-kat @kurogxrix @gavin-isstupid - tysm for reading 🫶

You woke up with a splitting headache.

Days had bled into weeks since the exposé on your deep dark secret, that you were not an Earth-616 Variant. Your existence did not belong amongst the chaos of this New York in all it’s anarchic glory. It was the perfect sweet spot, tucked deep into the belly of the TVA library, you had spent countless hours — no, minutes? — peeling pages upon pages out of manilla coloured folders, to find a Timeline which you could simply dissolve into the background of.

Earth-616. Plenty of things wrong with it. A handful of things right with it. Including the sole reason you had been arrested, fought off pruning, escaped and arrested thrice more. Robert Reynolds. A little wounded, an exponential amount of skeletons in his closet and you adored every corner of it.

It took a lot of background work, to ensure you had chosen a place that you could escape the prying hands of the TVA and locate Bob.

Your memory so vivid of that time. The paper cuts, calloused fingertips from endless paperwork being handled from the start of the day until the very end, where Mobius M. Mobius had tracked you down within the confides of the TVA and banished you to your room to sleep before the trial.

The sickening drench of the colour orange wherever you looked. Unable to rest, you’d pad around the infinite halls before slipping into the same room you had been thrown into the first incident that you had been arrested. No longer coated in fear, but grieving a loss of the life you knew still existed within the realms of time.

Lights flickered in the darkness, an image pooled upon the screen in front of you: VARIANT Y1097 FILES. An ache in your bones at the title, a sadistic element to your viewing of your own life. You’d press the button with hesitation, eyes wide with wonder over a treasured lifetime.

There he was. Hair a little shorter, but face all the same. Swamped in anxiety and self-deprecation, but his eyes poured with love whenever you watched the scenes between you two unfold. You two led a simple life in that Timeline, nested in New York City, adopted an all white mountainous feline, Sierra and even introduced the likes of therapy to Bob.

If you hadn’t come across the advertisement for Wonder Inc. taped to a lamppost just two blocks down from your apartment, you and Bob would be tethered for that lifetime. Your eyes welled as they always did, to the sight of your greyed hairs, thinner as Bob’s was cut short to maintain thickness on the top. Laughter lines plenty, hands spotted with age; you died first. The end of your tape concluding that you craved the simplicity of life with Bob Reynolds. No matter how you found it.

Your name was called. And for a moment, you felt the panic creep up the back of your neck. Sight blurred from being unfocused, you blinked back into the moment to see the man you had been daydreaming your lost life with.

If you could have, you would’ve smoothed the wrinkle set between his brows with worry.

“I lost you there.” He mumbled.

You always lose me.

You conjured up a smile, “Sorry. What were you saying?” You peered over your shoulder — as you always did — awaiting that familiar orange glow and TVA guards tenfold.

“It’s OK.” Bob started, “I was just mentioning that Yelena returned your files back to Valentina’s office.”

You visibly tensed. Back straightened, throat bobbed from a hard pill to swallow. Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was malice incarnate, she taunted you from the sidelines, her own version of a puppet with strings because one act of defiance, and she would be the one to make the call.

It had been two weeks since Bob had excavated the skeletons of your TVA file, it had led to a sudden bloom of friendship — to that you were thankful for — you routinely walked side by side to the kitchen in the dark mornings of December, shoulders brushed against the fabric of your clothes, subtle stolen glances at side profiles whilst the other was busy in their mind. To say it alarmed the rest of the team was an understatement. They thrived on the jest that Bob repelled you to the complete opposite side of the room, his heavy efforts not going unnoticed.

Now? You were practically joint at the hip.

It was a blessing and a curse. A curse that rained down as Valentina, heels clicking against the refurbished floor, pencil skirt to match the blazer as she sauntered into the kitchen with her sights set on you. Prepared to do anything, you turned your full attention to her pursed purple stained lips, a twitch in her right eye as she began to smirk with intent.

She spoke your name like it was a death sentence, “You didn’t happen to cross paths with a particular file during your admin work, did you?” You had shaken your head with vigour, fingers clenched around your designated tea drinking mug enough that you might’ve crushed it into dust. Valentina tilted her head, palms smoothed over the counter, “I’m missing a file. A very important one. I think we both know what I’m talking about.”

Yes. For two different reasons. One: Bob had stolen it in partial innocence — he sat beside you, sweat on his brow — and two: you wanted that file. The manipulative, devil in nature that brandished a white streak of hair, could publish your documents at any given time. Unleashing a relentless force, a sequence violation, and you would be right back where you started in the shackles of the TVA.

Hands tied, Bob — riddled with guilt — set Yelena the task of returning the file that Alexei had kept to use as a comically large bookmark. With a light snort after Bob questioned her capability of not being caught, Yelena slipped the dog-eared file back with nonchalance to her skill.

You would earn those files back. One day.

“Did I say something wrong?” Bob asked when you didn’t reply to his statement. He thought he had done right by restoring the cracked peace between you and Valentina. Visibly unravelled in nerves, you offered a warm smile and Bob softened.

“No. Thank you, Bob.” You meant it. Although the slight grit of your teeth said otherwise. Quick to change the subject, you added, “I hope you’re not a Kleptomaniac at tonight’s Christmas Gala.”

You, personally, didn’t celebrate Christmas. The Watchtower decked out in tacky decor with vintage LED lights that John Walker had torn from a building near by, just because he liked them. The team weren’t incredibly enthusiastic about the festivities, but, Valentina made it clear it was vital to your image as the New Avengers. Secret Santa gifts were a must!

Bob deflated. Socialising wasn’t his strong suit. A ticking time-bomb, he preferred to reside in the shadows whilst the rest of the team played the socialites role. However, he wasn’t getting out of the Christmas Gala — taken by Walker and Barnes to be fitted for a suit.

Things were different though.

He had you now. Things were different within two weeks, fourteen days, because of you. Suddenly, he felt anchored, validated in that odd feeling that clawed its way out from his stomach whenever he caught glimpses of you avoiding him. There were multiple versions of you, and multiple versions of him that belong together, written in the scripts of your lives. You existed, in your form that had Bob stumbling over his words, palms clammy when he caught the underlying note of your perfume, eyes lingering on you in meetings and, yet, he couldn’t have you.

Bob would tolerate the Gala; because you were there.

The question came as it always did.

“Is there a version of me that, that loves socialising?” Bob cringed at your expression. Rules had been set out. Rule one: Don’t ask about Bob Variants. That was it. But, you found a way to tell him in subtle blinking. One for yes. Two for no.

You blinked twice.

At least you still loved him in every timeline.

“I’ll see you later for the Gala.” You dropped from the barstool, and as you walked out of the kitchen, you called over your shoulder, “Don’t forget your Secret Santa gift!”

The sky grew black and snow began to cascade from the heavens above whilst the aristocrats of New York filtered into the Watchtower for the black tie event. Bob fiddled with the cufflinks of his suit as he waited beside Bucky who had helped him briefly to tie his bow tie. Failure to succeed, Bucky had unclipped his fake one and swapped with Bob to salvage any embarrassment bestowed upon the younger male.

The rest of the team trudged through from their rooms, freshened up to satisfy Valentina’s command. Yelena beelined for Bob, wearing a floral suit with her hair slicked back, a growing smile shown as she approached him.

“Look at you.” She patted his shoulder.

“Oh, thanks, Lena. I—You look cool.” Bob warmed in his face as Yelena posed from his compliment. He went to laugh, the joyful feeling caught in his throat and exchanged for a stammered, teenage whine when you entered the mouth of the foyer to greet guests. “Shit.”

There you were, confidence unshaken as you approached the rest of your team, figure exposed in a dress you hated but wore to keep Valentina’s threats at bay. Two wobbling Christmas trees clipped atop of your head, face beaming at your chosen family.

If you had a visible aura, it would be a glowing gold, Bob thought. Every part of you as beautiful as the next feature he stared at upon your face. His throat bobbed, a gentle elbow to his rib and he caught Yelena staring back at him with a brow quirked; he was quick to collect himself.

Your eyes trailed down Bob’s frame and back up to his face, his ears reddened as you pinned him under your playful gaze. You couldn’t kiss, that you were sure of. But, you’d ruffle his feathers a little for the sake of indulgent flirtations. Fingertips pinched the bow tie askew around his collar, his lung sucked in a breath from your closeness as you straightened it out. The closeness made Bob considerably dizzy. Months of longing to even sit next to you, had now flipped him on his head and shown him what closeness he really craved.

You patted his chest, “Handsome.”

Bob croaked, “Your dress—Good.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head with a nervous laugh, “I meant—”

“—I know. Thank you, Bob.”

“Ugh.” Yelena’s voice cut through the atmosphere, her right cheek filled with a striped Candy Cane, it left her mouth with a pop as she waved at you both, “This is disgusting. Are you guys falling in love?”

“What? No.” Bob was quick to cover tracks.

Then John Walker chimed in, “Oh yeah?” You both stared at him, oblivious to his next sentence, “Then why did I catch you two stumbling out of the Cleaners Cupboard two weeks ago? Huh?”

You looked to the comical Turkey hat on his head, eyes narrowed, “Your hat. Much better than that beret.”

Walker tightened his lips and Bucky — the voice of reason — stepped in with his hands up to settle the situation growing arms and legs. He had considerably aged in the presence of the Thunderbolts* turned New Avengers; grey hairs sprouted from the roots at his scalp.

Ushered by Bucky to enter the room where the highbrow, intellectual snobs resided in — Walker grabbing you in for a quick headlock — all beady eyes behind false pretences stared at the group with a few members missing, Ava and Alexei already mingling in their own way.

Yelena leant close to your ear, “Ten dollars goes to the first person to have a drink thrown over them.”

“Deal.” You mumbled, all of you dispersing into the crowd — Bob flipping between you and Yelena before subconsciously pulled in your direction.

Exercising your capability to talk the ear off of people, you used this to your advantage. Gesticulate in your manner, you became off-putting to the people you were made to socialise with. Faces screwed, and pearls clutched, most attendees would shuffle along — some skipping you completely — as you began to explain in depth about gruesome subjects that would make their eyes water.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine watched you from afar, not to your knowledge, but she always did.

And she wasn’t impressed.

Once ridding a trio of politicians with some hard hitting trivia, you and Bob had made it to the long table displayed with hearty food for the buffet. You plucked cheese from the charcuterie board and grinned back at Bob who couldn’t bring himself to take food without permission.

His hands wrung, head swivelling to watch others around him. Self-conscious because, really, he didn’t belong mingling like this. He hadn’t said two words in the time you had pushed away five groups of strangers and it made him begrudgingly feel a little silly. But — again — you were you and it was becoming apparent that you balanced Bob Reynolds out. Where he lacked, you made up for.

Maybe there was a Variant of him and you that were the opposites of your personalities.

He would ask another time.

Head turned back to you when you offered a block of cheese in his face, Bob politely declined and you threw it into your mouth, satisfied and unaware of his own self-loathing.

“You look beautiful.” Bob blurted out. His own eyes wide as you stopped your chewing to stare through him and into his soul. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, “That is what I meant to say to you earlier.”

You took a hard swallow to rid your mouth of cheddar, “I think I like when you compliment me.”

Warmth spread across his chest like wildfire. A newfound sense of confidence as a lopsided smile graced his face in your confession. God, he wanted to fucking kiss you.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t believe his boldness.

“Look at this!” Alexei cut through any remainder of a conversation with his imposing voice. His tall stature loomed over you and Bob with a grin as wide to bare his teeth. Brows furrowed, you peered up to see a twig of green and white foliage hung above your heads. He feigned a gasp, “Mistletoe! Now—It’s Christmas rules. You must kiss.”

You dropped your gaze to Bob in a panic. The sudden softness shared between you replaced with perturbation. Hands reached for the branch and Alexei moved it higher above with ease. The sudden race of your heart could’ve been heard at the other end of New York when you felt heads turn to stare in anticipation. It could’ve been the worst outcome that you would be unable to explain to the team after enforcing rejection upon a silly tradition.

Bob felt the anxiety radiate off of you and he felt helpless. Gawping like a fish out of water, Bob couldn’t think of a solution to the problem. Alexei was determined in his bid for humiliation.

“Dad, you’re embarrassing them.” Yelena pointed out in defence from her comfortable position on a chaise lounge. Champagne dangling from her hand.

“Nonsense!” Alexei argued, “Do you fear kissing? Just a little peck.”

You shook your head with vigour, “No. We—I can’t do that, Alexei. Can you please take the Mistletoe away from us?” Alexei frowned, not understanding your point as he hovered it above Bucky Barnes, who was close in proximity to you. Bob’s eyes almost popped out of his skull as you called in frustration, “No, Alexei! Take it away completely!”

Albeit a little befuddled by your sudden outburst, Alexei persisted and held the foliage above you and Bob again. Earning a groan from your throat as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You looked to the glass in your hand, immediate in your action as you poured it down the front of your dress.

“Hey!” Yelena shouted, “That does not count!”

You stared at the reddened stain that seeped into the woven fabric of your dress, tears prickled your waterline as you looked back up at Bob who went to reach out to comfort you. The room felt hot, your clothes tighter than when you had first wiggled into them. Hushed tones of alarm over your actions made your face warm from your neck to the very top of your head.

Throwing Alexei daggers, you turned on your heel, bottom lip wobbled as you shoved past Bucky who tried to halt your advances out of the door.

Bob was hot on your heel, and Bucky managed to grapple his forearm, “What the hell happened?”

“I—I don’t know.” Yeah, he did. “I’m just going to make sure she’s OK.”

Bucky nodded and let Bob go.

Foot wedged between the closing doors of the elevator, you followed the leg up to see Bob prying them open. He huffed as he stumbled in, dusting off fake dirt on his suit jacket to retract any attention away from your silly outburst. You wiped at your tears, chin tucked to your shoulder to try remain hidden in your vulnerability.

It was torturous. Everyday a reminder that flayed at your skin, that you caused the greatest loss of your life. And now? You had to live within the same Watchtower as him, aware that any wrong move would unravel your hard work. Any moment of weakness, and loneliness in the shape of a TVA beige jumpsuit and shock collar would be your punishment.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine would make sure of it.

Bob pressed the button to close the doors, “Cleaners Cupboard?” Where it all began. He peered at you with a sympathetic look, his fingers twitched at his sides to soothe you by his touch.

“Sure.” You smiled meekly.

It took no time to reach the Cleaners Cupboard, Bob held the door open for you and gestured for you to walk in first as if you were entering The Ritz. He followed you in, door clicked shut and he pulled the toggle to illuminate the tiny shack of a room. Your face glowed under the light, tear stricken but a little humorous with the miniature trees that wobbled on your head.

Throwing his shyness overboard, Bob reached for your hand, gentle in his tracing of your wrist before settling his finger between yours.

“‘M sorry.” You mumbled like a scolded child.

It turned out that this Variant of Bob had a strike of confidence in your moment of weakness.

He shook his head, “You don’t have to apologise.” A squeeze to your hand and a drop of his head to meet your eyes, “It hurts you. I know it does.”

You remained silent.

Bob took a step closer — which you had thought would be impossible in such a tiny room.

“I know it hurts you, because, without witnessing what you have witnessed, it somehow hurts me,” He took your hand and placed it on his chest to feel the thrum of his heart, “Right here.”

Fingers flush against his warm chest, you watched your hand for a moment before returning Bob’s eye contact. You were exposed at the core of your emotions, hard exterior cracked as your own demons shone through.

Sobered by his sudden assertiveness, you let your jaw slacken, his judgement clearly clouded by his own harboured feelings. Yet, you found yourself still as Bob brought you to him. Bodies now flush, desperation clung in the air just to be able to touch each other in a tender moment.

“I want to kiss you.” Bob nudged your nose with his, his breath touched your lips as his eyelids grew heavy with the lust for a simple kiss. It was easy to slip into submission, throw caution to the wind and allow yourselves the indulgence of each other.

You leant into his touch, his thumb smoothed against your jawline. A wicked form of torture as the TVA would have you pruned from existence the moment their screens flickered from the kiss. It was the hardest motion you had made — moving away from Bob — your forehead pressed to his shoulder with a groan muffled.

“We can’t.” You pulled back and Bob tracked your face, eyes occasionally dropping to the plump of your lips. You continued, “I can’t go through umpteen loopholes with the TVA again. In fact, I don’t think even Mobius would be able to salvage my reputation.”

“Mobius?” Bob queried and you waved him off. Long story, he guessed.

“If there was a way, Bob, I’d have kissed you the moment I met you. Trust me. My impulsive control is award-winning.” Your shoulders deflated, defeated by your own imprisonment, “If there was a way we could kiss and not have our lips touch, that would be the solution to all of our problems.”

Bob leant back on the heels of his feet, his fingers thread between yours as he mulled over your throw away comment.

If a lightbulb could’ve blinked above his head, it would have.

He straightened his posture with urgency, his hand left yours as he turned on his heel to search through the cluttered shelves. You watched over his shoulder, his frantic rummaging made your expression drop to medium concern. Bob was mumbling to himself before he drew out a long rod of Saran Wrap; gleeful in his findings.

You stood still on the spot as he turned back to you, desperately ripping at the relentlessly fiddly plastic, chucking the roll onto the floor and presenting you with the shortened Saran Wrap as if it were a precious reward.

“Wow. Nice.” You blinked and Bob rolled his eyes playfully.

“Think about it. If—if there was a way that we could kiss where our lips don’t touch.” He pulled at either end of the plastic wrap, “It’s a loophole. I found a loophole for us.” He smiled, suddenly feeling insecure, “That’s if you—if you would like to kiss.”

You shot Bob an incredulous look, “Are you kidding me?”

Oh no. Bob felt his pride falter. He had misread your signals. You snatched the cut Saran Wrap from his grasp, immediate in your action to pull it taught against your lips before yanking Bob in by the neck. He yelped from your sheer force, his hands flying out to the side as you planted a hefty kiss against his lips — a thin loopholed barricade between you — whilst your arms wrapped around his neck to hold him as tight as possible.

Wide-eyed, Bob whimpered out, his brain short-circuiting after computing that you were kissing. You and Bob. As it was written in the stars for every version of you two out in the universe. His stiffened body relaxed, a satisfied, low hum elicited from the back of his throat as he melted into your touch. Your index finger came to twirl the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, goosebumps rose on his arms before he let his hands guide themselves to your waist.

It was everything you had been anticipating. The ache of longing foretold in every arrest, punch to the gut from a TVA guard, and nights spent in a cell awaiting your trial. Headaches from research trying to find Bob Reynolds without his own Variant soulmate, where you could slip into his life without ever pressuring him to fall deeply for you. If adoring Bob from afar was meant for your lifetime within the Sacred Timeline; then you’d spend everyday relishing in his presence.

This, however? Was so much more.

You pulled back, the sudden creep of anxiety began to creep its fingers over your shoulder. Bob followed your lips, his eyes closed as he almost cried out to you to never stop kissing him. Perhaps, you began to panic, Bob hadn’t found a miraculous loophole and you waited to hear the all too familiar noise of the TVA storming the Watchtower.

Ear perked as you peeled the wrap from your mouth, Bob plucked it from your fingers and placed it to his mouth, the plastic moulded to his lips as he pressed them against the corners of your mouth. You could’ve been distracted if it weren’t for the burning fear that you had made a grave mistake. Then, as if miracles existed, there was no sudden rush from TVA guards. You remained against Bob, your hearts joint in quickened pace, relief drowned your senses.

Bob had found a loophole.

“You have,” Bob kissed you, “No idea,” Another plastic wrapped kiss, “How badly, I’ve wanted to do this.”

You grinned into his lips, “I think you’re showing me now.”

Bob hummed, one last kiss to savour you in the Cleaners Cupboard before he pulled back and peeled the Saran Wrap off of his lips. Hair slightly wild from your grabs, you both shared a laugh at the absurdity of your situation, your hands smoothing the tufts of hair back into place. It was ridiculously unreasonable, but the pair of you would celebrate your wins.

There was an invisible string attached to the pair of you after all.

Bob scratched at his brow, “I—Uh—Can I give you my Secret Santa present?"

“Bob.” You were monotonous in your tone, “The hint is in the name. Secret. But, OK. You funnily enough, were my Secret Santa, too. I left your present downstairs and I don’t fancy going back in my wine stained dress to fetch it.”

“Later.” Bob waved it off, “Just. . . Wait here. I think you’ll like it.”

You nodded and hastily, Bob pulled the plastic film across his lips to press a chaste one to yours before he exited the Cleaners Cupboard to retrieve your Not-So-Secret Santa gift whilst running on a high from kissing you in the very cupboard he found out that you were essentially soulmates until the end of time.

Arms folded, you leant your head back in disbelief. If it was acceptable, you may have let out a scream of gratification.

Immediately distracted, your eyes dropped to the warm orange glow that slid from the bottom of the door you hid behind. Brows pinched, you smiled in curiosity; awaiting Bob on the other side with his gift in hand.

“Bob?” You called, “What the hell did you get me?”

Bob returned to the Cleaners Cupboard, peering from behind the largest Monstera plant he could find in all of New York City. An ode to a reference that earned him the knowledge of your cold shoulder two weeks prior. He had played over the joke he would tell you when he handed it over, tinsel wrapped around the stem of it.

With minor struggle, Bob twisted the doorknob to the cupboard, “Alright. Here you go—” The emptiness of the room made Bob stop at the threshold. Eyes drifted down, he caught a glimpse of the headband you had worn with the two Christmas trees glued to it.

Bob felt nauseous.

Carelessly, he dropped the Monstera plant, the terracotta pot smashed upon impact. He replaced it in his grasp with the headband you had adorned just a few moments prior. When you two were kissing. Loophole kissing — he was so sure of it. Bob turned to look outward into the hallway and then back into the cupboard where he felt his heart clamp down in an iron vice.

The realisation hit and he called out your name softly.

[devonellington]

Fri. Aug. 25, 2023: Upcoming Theatrical Weekend

image courtesy of David Mark via pixabay.com Friday, August 25, 2023 Waxing Moon Pluto, Saturn, Neptune, Venus, Chiron, Mercury Retrograde Rainy and cool Rain. Again. I’m trying to be grateful: grateful it’s not snow. Grateful there’s no drought this year. But I’m tired of the rain. Anyone else feel like we’re being “over-adviced”? I just want some peace and quiet. We should be burning down…