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[eyesofshinigami]

For Love

Rating: T

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, very mild sexual content, fluff, humor, a little dialogue heavy

Prompt: For @starryeyedjanai "Love is letting him put his cold hands under your shirt and only complaining a little bit"

WC: 617

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 22

Steve knows it’s coming. He wants to brace himself, even if he’s not sure exactly when it’s going to happen. It’s something he’s come to expect, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Just let it happen,” he whispers to himself. 

Which is exactly when Eddie chooses to slip his hands up Steve’s t-shirt. 

Steve manages to only jump a little bit. Months of being together has honed his ability to ignore the way Eddie’s freakishly cold fingers feel against his skin. It’s like his boyfriend has no ability to produce his own body heat. Even now, Steve can feel the scrape of his own sweater against his skin, and yet, Eddie’s fingers still feel like tiny icicles against his skin.

“Sorry, baby. You’re just… so warm,” Eddie says, not sounding sorry at all.

It’s a familiar song and dance. Eddie constantly shoves his cold hands (and occasionally his cold toes) up Steve’s shirt, his sweater, and sometimes even his shorts. 

“And your fingers are fucking freezing. Seriously, Ed. You’re like a corpse.” 

“Maybe when they revived me the first time, they forgot to turn that feature back on. Besides, you’re a human furnace, surely you’ve got some body heat to spare?”

Oh, he sure does. Steve’s always run hot, so there are some occasions when he really appreciates Eddie’s cold ass fingers against his skin. Like in the middle of the summer. Or when he’s sleeping and he has to throw off the blanket because he feels like he’s sweltering. He appreciates it considerably less when he’s doing something like cooking breakfast, or bending over to get the laundry. Case in point, he’s standing at the stove, trying to flip eggs with Eddie’s slowly warming fingers digging into his sides. “Is that all I’m good for, huh?”

Eddie grins, shifting to cup Steve’s pecs with his hand as he presses against the line of Steve’s back. “Not all you’re good for, no, but it is one of my favorite boyfriend package features for sure.” He gives Steve’s chest a good squeeze before his hands retreat to fold across Steve’s belly. They’re a tolerable temperature now, but they’re both enjoying the closeness. “Come on, you know you love it.”

Steve grumbles, just for show, “That’s what you think. Now, are you going to stop being a menace and let me finish making you breakfast?”

“Only if you promise me we can go back to bed after? It is No Fucks Sunday, after all. Maybe you can warm me up in other ways?” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows and somehow Steve still wants to tell him yes. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Steve turns back to the stove, but Eddie doesn’t let go. “That’s your cue.”

“Never was a good drama student. I think I want to negotiate terms. How about you say fuck the eggs, we go back to bed and fuck until we can’t move anymore, then we order in?” Eddie lets his now warm fingertips trail down, fiddling with the band of Steve’s sweatpants and dipping just underneath, a nice little tease. “And look, my hands are warm now. Imagine how good they’ll feel…”

Steve is a weak, weak man. He doesn’t speak, just turns the eggs off and sets the spatula to the side. “You better be naked and lubed up by the time I get this kitchen cleaned up.”

Eddie gives him a dorky salute and speeds off towards their bedroom. Meanwhile, Steve looks down at the half-cooked eggs in the pan and can still feel the cool tingle of where Eddie touched his skin. 

The things he does for love, he thinks to himself as he scrapes the pan clean.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Promise - Josh Dun x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: Kiss, swearing, angry Tyler

A/N: Can't be bothered to do a word count bc i'm tired. its about tyler saying he'd wait for reader when she comes back to columbus but when she comes back for the high school reunion she finds out he's married to jenna. so she starts to hit it off with josh.

Worthington Christian High School reunion. 2015. 7 years after Tyler and I had graduated. 7 years after I moved from Columbus to LA in search of making it as a film director. Everyone at home had thought I was insane, throwing my life away for a career I was almost guaranteed to fail at. Except Tyler. The other crazy dreamer in our grade, except his passion was music. We spent two summers together, him helping me make films and me helping organize gigs for him. When I left Columbus we promised we’d wait for each other. I loved him and was willing to do anything to make him mine. 

“I’ll wait for you,” a couple tears dropped down his face as he tried to remain strong. I pulled him in close for a warm embrace, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breath. I knew I would be back, I was going to make it and then I was going to come back for Tyler. But it had been 7 years and all we’d seen of each other was a few video calls. Tyler had achieved massive success with his band and it was impossible to avoid their songs on the radio. I’d ended up becoming a director, making a few movies and music videos, winning me my first Oscar. I didn’t know why but I was nervous to see Tyler, worried that he’d changed. It was a cold night so I’d made sure to put on a sweater. I was at least half an hour late–being stuck in a meeting with producers was almost always the reason I was late to everything–the entrance to the school was dead, except one man sitting on a bench, staring up at the night sky. 

“The reunion’s tonight, right?” I asked him, trying to figure out if I’d marked it wrong on my calendar. He didn’t look familiar to me, there was almost no way he’d gone to Worthington Christian, I knew everyone in our grade. 

“Yep,” he nodded. 

“Then why aren’t you in there?” I folded my arms and my breath came out in steam, the air much colder than I thought it was. 

“I didn’t go here, my friend and his wife are in there. I drove them here from my house and just stopped to get some air. What about you? How come you’re so late?” He smirked. 

“Uh… I had a meeting. Some producer thing for a new TV show in production. I’m a director,” I spoke, still trying to figure out how the man looked so familiar. He had curly brown hair and arms covered in tattoos, and that golden retriever look about him. 

“That’s cool, I’m a musician, the name’s Joshua,” he seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, “have you made anything I might’ve seen?” I paused to think about what he might’ve seen. He was a musician so surely he’d watch music videos. 

“Well Joshua, I directed the music video for Green Day’s ‘Corvette Summer’ if you’re a fan of them,” I offered. His face lit up, clearly he had seen it. 

“Hell yes I’m a fan, the video was epic. Gosh, I love music videos, they’re awesome,” he grinned. Music blasted from inside the school, they were playing Tyler’s song, ‘Stressed Out’ which was my cue to go inside. 

“Sorry, I should probably get inside, it was nice meeting you Joshua.”

“Wait! What was your name?” He grabbed my hand. 

“Y/N,” I smiled. Joshua pulled out a business card from his wallet and passed it to me. 

“Get in touch with me, I live in LA too. We should get coffee sometime Y/N.” I nodded before slipping away through the doors. The song continued to blast through the speakers as I walked inside the gym. 

“Y/N! Hi!” a jock shouted, towering over me.

“How’s Hollywood?” a popular blondie who I was sure had peaked in high school preened, her phone flashing into my face. 

“Looks like we’ve got two stars in our grade,” Jack, the class president shouted over the mic. He was standing on stage, a can of beer in his hand like no time had passed at all. “Why don’t you two come up here? Talk to us about what it’s like to be better than all of us,” he let out a loud and obnoxious laugh which was then echoed back by everyone else in the room. I felt a hand on my back push me towards the stage, turning my head back to see him, Tyler Joseph. He looked so much older than the last time I’d seen him. His head was shaved in a buzzcut and head was wearing a yellow denim jacket. He looked famous. More so than me. He flashed a smile at me before taking the mic from Jack. 

“Hey everyone,” he waved, “god it is good to be back here with all of you, if you guys even remember us. If you don’t, then I was the basketballer who wrote poems at the back of Mr Stevenson’s math class while the rest of the team was failing his infamous algebra test,” he let out a loud laugh. “Now I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Worthington Christian, the people at this school shaped who I am as a person. I found the confidence to share my music with people here. I stayed in Columbus and I met my loving wife.” I’m sorry, wife? Tyler Joseph was married? My Tyler? The Tyler who’d promised he’d wait for me? I felt dizzy. But that didn’t stop Tyler from shoving the microphone into my hand. The room went silent as I stood there feeling like I was spinning. This wasn’t happening. 

“I–I’m happy to be here,” I tried desperately to smile but I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “Thank you for having us back.” I handed the mic back to Tyler before leaving the stage and running out the gym. I felt warm, my cheeks flushing bright pink and the lack of water I’d drank finally catching up with me. I stared at the ground as I desperately tried to hold back sobs. 

“Y/N?” It was Tyler. 

“What the fuck do you want Joseph?” I spat, he knew exactly what he’d done. “I don’t want you here.” 

“I–I know you don’t. I effed up, I get it. But you never came back, you promised me you’d come back and you didn’t Y/N,” he sighed. 

“I fucking waited for you,” the tears started to pour down my cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he pulled me in for a hug, “I still care about you, okay? You’re still important to me.” I nodded my head, waiting for him to let me go. I needed to get back to my hotel before I screamed at him. Finally he pulled back, a sorry look clinging to his face. I pushed past him, walking into the parking lot, I was done. Joshua was still sitting out there looking up at the stars. He turned around as soon as I pushed open the doors, his eyes widening when he saw me. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” 

“Joshua, now's not the time,” I snapped but all it did was make him look more worried. He stood up and started following me through the parking lot–my hotel was a 15 minute walk away. 

“What happened?”

“Just this guy I really liked, Tyler. When I moved to LA we promised we’d wait for each other but apparently he’d married,” I threw my arms up in frustration. Joshua looked confused.

“What?”

“I wasn’t aware you were that Y/N, if I knew I probably would’ve prepared you for what you were about to see,” he said. 

“That Y/N?” Joshua stopped walking and let out a sigh. 

“Y/N do you know anything about Tyler’s band other than radio hits and that he’s in it?” he asked. I shook my head, Joshua chuckled lowly. I probably should’ve known more about my best friend’s famous band but I had been busy. Making movies was tough work.

“Okay well… My name is Joshua but everyone calls me Josh–Josh Dun.” I still shook my head, having no idea what he was talking about. Should I have known who he was? 

“Okay Josh, what does that have to do with Tyler?” He looked baffled that I didn’t know what he was talking about. 

“Tyler’s band… twenty one pilots. I’m the drummer, the other member in the band.” My jaw dropped. Holy shit. Fuck. I just vented about my stupid crush on Tyler to his bandmate. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’ll leave you alone now Josh,” I ran a hand through my hair and started walking away. 

“Y/N, wait!” Josh grabbed my hand, “I don’t want you to leave me alone. You seem cool, I want to get to know you. Tyler’s told me a lot about you and if it makes you feel any better he felt really bad when he started dating Jenna.” If Tyler felt bad then why did he do it? Clearly they were made for each other if he felt like he could break our promise. I was 25 and hadn’t dated anyone since I’d left for LA because of that promise. I’d wasted 7 years. 

“Thanks Josh. You seem cool too,” I smiled. Maybe Josh would be it, I’d only known him for an hour but he was friendly, interested in film and music, and incredibly attractive.

“You know, I haven’t had dinner yet, do you want to go get some food? Tyler said there was a diner nearby,” Josh suggested. I agreed and walked back to his car. 

Josh had a burger and I snacked on some fries. Things were going well, we’d talked about the band and what it was like touring and we talked about the film industry. We’d even realized that we were on the same flight back home. 

“When we get back to LA, I want to show you my place,” Josh held the door open for me as we left the diner. 

“I’d like that,” I replied, trying to hold back a smile. I climbed into his car as he drove back to the school to pick up Tyler and Jenna. “I should probably walk back to my hotel before Tyler comes out, I don’t want it to be awkward,” I sighed.

“It won’t be awkward, you’re with me. But I do want to give you something before you go back,” he replied. We drove into the school parking lot and waited while everyone walked out. 

“And what’s that?”

“A kiss,” he smirked, leaning in towards me. 

“Oh really?” I smiled, his hand coming to cup my face. I felt his lips brush mine and I closed my eyes, butterflies filling my stomach and cheeks flushing pink. 

“You’re really something else Y/N,” Josh whispered. Knock knock knock. I jumped, turning around to see Tyler standing there with his arms crossed and his wife hiding a smile. 

“You two have known each other for less than a day!” Tyler shouts, a hand rubbing his eyes. 

“And that’s my que to go. I’ll call you,” I laugh, getting out of the car. Josh says his goodbye and Jenna gets in the car. Tyler grabs my arm and drags me aside. He looked angry. 

“First you’re mad at me for marrying someone and now you’re kissing my best friend?” 

“Tyler, that's not fair. Josh and I, we’re just talking, it’s okay, he’s cool.”

“It better be okay because if he hurts you I’ll kill him,” he pulled me in for a hug. He still cared. He still cared.

//

Please submit any requests y'all have! I love to write so let me know if you've got any!

[kcuf-ad]

Ranking The Captains On How Likely I am Going To Use Their Outfits During The Summer

10. Charlotte Roselie

Girl, I love ya, but what in the fresh hell is this?

It looks good on ya, but during the summer? Hell no! That cape looks fine, but you wear metal armour around your neck, arms and legs and wear a helmet. The moment I walk outside, I am sweating like a person after running a marathon.

9. William Vangeance

First of all, you wear a full body uniform which will be hot to move around with a cape that will make your neck sweat, but you also wear a metal mask on your head. That thing will stick to my head from the amount of sweat I would be producing.

8. Nozel Silva

Do... Do I even have to say anything?! This man walks around with several feathers around his neck, a long cape and uniform that would be hell to take out. Not to mention that braid.

7. Kaiser Granvorka

Not much to say, just I don't like to wear full sweaters during a day during the summer. And it covers his entire body.

6./5. Fuegoleon and Mereoleona Vermillion

These two are on the same list because they actually wear surpringly similair outfits. The problem? The long as hell cape that would get into my way, similair designed sweaters and long beige pants that just aren't my style. If I had Fuegoeleon's Arm, the fire one, I would simply put him in 10, easy.

4. Rill Boismortier

It isn't bad, but again with Kaiser, he wears a full sweater during the day, pants that are a bit too tight, but at the very least he wears short shoes compared to the rest.

3. Dorothy Unsworth

Specifically because of the hat. If she had more comfortable clothing, she would have been number 1.

2. Yami Sukehiro

Ahh, yes the king is here! He is the only one that wears Summer Appropriate outfits, outside of one, as this is something that I can actually wear! A crop top, a small cape and not too much except for the pants. Honestly, if his pants weren't as baggy as they were, he would be number 1.

JACK THE RIPPER!

That is a smile from someone that knows that he won. Legit, the pants he wears may not be as comfortable, but they aren't as baggy as Yami's which is a good thing. His cape is understandble and reasonable and it is the only one where I can actually go around shirtless, which is the best feeling during the summer.

[shadowqueenjude]

about the dawn court people being east Asia inspired - feyre says something when she sees Nuan at the high lord meeting about how Amren must have chosen a fae form similar to Nuan's bloodline. If Amren is east-asian coded, so is Nuan and thesan too, having at least one parent hailing from xian (am i reading too far into xian sounding so stereotypical, maybe, do i care rn, no). they also say that a majority of the dawn court hails from xian. thesan is supposed to have brown skin (again, please give a better descriptor) so he's mixed.

no one's clothes or architecture reflects anything concrete regarding their inspiration and its such a hodge podge it's so painful to try to discern where the differentiation between courts are. Spring court - because of the name tamlin correlates to a myth about a guy named tam lin who is kind of being held captive by the queen of faeries who needs to be rescued by his mortal lover that he met like suuuper recently, I'm placing the spring court in a place that reflects a medieval scotland. clothes are fairly accurate not in detail but in the sense of material and idk just general existence (women wear dress, man wear breeches, idk) I love that! so simple! Everything makes sense! So then why in dawn are we having technological advances in a steampunk sort of way and similar "old fashioned" clothes to spring, but then in the night court (velaris, the other's i think are fairly period accurate), there are all these advancements in fashion like leggings and pullover sweaters and whatever else she's wearing in the last two books, yet they have the same tech as everyone else barring dawn. (Doing a small pass on the bodysuit armor things because I'm just assuming that's people's artistic interpretations of her visions)

ALSO, how are they self sufficient if they're a closed off city? They aren't harboring secret technology that helps their city run, they are one city and also A CITY so like, no resources, no agriculture. who tf are they getting their things from if they are an invisible city that no one knows about? same thing with how they're getting trades that they wouldn't have been able to make themselves. Also, at this point I would like to propose the idea of wing armor. you have siphons which can idk make shields. HAVE YOU TRIED SHIELDING YOU'RE VERY SENSITIVE AND MASSIVELY TARGETED WINGS FROM DANGER?? in conclusion I'm tired and also a fashion/history nerd, okay bye

Ahhhh yes I see what you mean about Dawn now! Yeah, I always imagine Spring to be like medieval Scotland, and I'm guessing Autumn is medieval England? Rhysand is a Welsh name I believe, so Night is supposed to be Wales??? But the Illyrians are also supposedly POC and there's some evidence of Indian influence there too (barf, night is NOT indian at all), so I'm stuck on that one. Dawn is East Asian while Day is...Middle Eastern? Winter maybe Norway or some Scandinavian country? And Summer I'm assuming is supposed to be from some place in Africa, but it's all very vague. Also more points about Velaris: how is their fashion sense so...modern? Since everything is so closed off...shouldn't their fashion be stuck in the 1600s or whenever they closed their borders? Why don't they open their borders to Dawn since they're sooooo close to the Solar courts supposedly??? Has it not occurred to them that Nuan, who made Lucien's metal eye, could also construct new wings for the Illyrian ladies who got theirs cut off? Or do they just not care? They don't but SJM is trying to convince us they do.

Yeah how in the flying fuck is Night surviving on no industry whatsoever? No trade? No agriculture, nada? Because we have no evidence of the Illyrians producing anything either, besides "warriors." My explanation for this is kind of inspired by @kateprincessofbluewhales 's headcanon, but what if the Illyrians are like mercenaries? They're hired to fight for other courts and in exchange they receive all of their necessities and more which the Illyrians then send back home to their wives and children. This still doesn't explain how Velaris operates, but I'm sure Rhysand crutches on the Illyrians' profits to keep shit going and that's part of why they resent him. I'VE BEEN SAYING IT FOR AGES. WINGS ARE SUCH A VULNERABILITY. THEY MAKE YOU SUCH AN EASY TARGET. WHY IS THERE NO WING ARMOR??? THAT WOULD BE SO COOL TOO. BUT NO, WE'RE SUPPOSED TO JUST ACCEPT THERE'S NOTHING COOL ABOUT THE WINGS AT ALL AND MOVE ON.

[rillils]

OK BUT STUCKY LIVING TOGETHER WITH THE AVENGERS AND BUCKY LOVES TO WEAR FLOWER CROWNS AND OTHER NICE AND PRETTY STUFF AND AVENGERS THINKING HOW CUTE BUCKY IS AND BEING "DISGUSTED" (not actually tho) ABOUT HOW DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE STEVE AND BUCKY ARE AND BUCKY DENYING THAT HES CUTE AND HIM DOING A CUTE POUTY FACE AND THE OTHER AVENGERS THINKING THATS CUTE AS WELL ALL THE WHILE STEVE IS STANDING THERE JUST WATCHING HIM WITH THE ABSOLUTELY BIGGEST FRICKITJN HEART EYES EVER AND AND YEAH

NONNIE, OH NONNIE MY LOVE, GOD BLESS YOU SO SO MUCH, DARLING 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 I don't know if you're the same lovely nonnie from the Thor + jealous Steve ask (if you are, then I thank you not 1000, but 2000 times!! 😘😘😘), but either way I LOVE YOU and thank you for bringing such preciousness to my inbox 💕💕💕 I simply adore this trope, and indeed I think this is one of the million opportunities the mcu wasted - so here, I wrote a silly little thing for you that I hope you will enjoy :3

1.5k words under the cut!

*

The popcorn kernels hit the bottom of the pan with a happy little tinkle, all tin-tiling-a-ling, spilling like summer hail out of the box. Steve barely hears the sound over the sudden burst of laughter coming from the living room, which – and here comes the pleasant surprise – is the baseline soundtrack of all their game nights lately, and he finds himself grinning along with it as he turns the stove on. Who knows, maybe Lucky went hurtling straight into Tony’s house of UNO cards again.

“Aw Barnes, you’re so cute, man,” Clint – of course it’s Clint – slurs through a mouthful of– possibly a pizza pocket. Could be a coupla pigs in a blanket getting shmooshed in there, though.

Bucky’s reply comes through gritted teeth and positively dripping with indignation. “I am not. Cute.”

Oh yes, ooh yes you are, Steve’s brain supplies instantly, and he steals a quick glance (do 37 seconds still qualify as quick?)– a quick glance towards the couch, where Bucky’s currently demonstrating his Eternal Glower of Profound Betrayal. Dark brows pulled tight together, pursed lips just entering the Hardcore Sulking stage, icing sugar caught in his stubble, and the sight alone makes Steve’s heart feel tender and juicy like chicken thighs after six hours in a slow cooker. Could pull him apart with a spoon, he’s so sweet on the guy.

And God but is Bucky cute; cute doesn’t even begin to cover it. In his new fluffy sweater with the kitty prints, the neon-green pj bottoms, and his arms and legs crossed stubbornly in a full-body pout, he’s just about the cutest thing Steve’s lucky, lucky eyes have ever seen.

He’s wearing his second-favorite flower crown, too – a half a wreath of the most delicate fake cherry blossoms that make the steel blue of his irises pop like goddamn fireworks on the fourth of July. The first time little Cassie caught sight of Bucky in that, she dubbed him an Actual Princess, very earnestly adding that he looked, and dare she say it, prettier than Rapunzel, thus producing the loveliest shade of bubblegum pink all over Bucky’s cheeks – a color which Steve has been trying to recreate, with much patience and dedication, with the loving touch of his fingers and the filthiest words he can fit in his mouth, if only to see how far down Bucky’s body he can get it to reach.

In other words, yes – he’s very much on Clint’s side on this one.

“The man’s right, Barton, he’s not cute,” Sam chimes in, his toothgapped grin all but glinting with mischief. “I believe the word you’re looking for is adorable.”

Amen to that, brother, Steve thinks to himself, just barely remembering to cover the pan before the popcorn starts popcornin’ right into his face.

“Fuck off, Wilson,” Bucky replies, helpfully illustrating the anatomy of a middle finger for Sam’s special benefit.

“Excuse me,” Tony pipes up, one UNO Reverse card tucked behind his ear and two more balanced precariously on top of his multi-story card tower, “I would urge all of you people to consider a true evergreen. The all-powerful, the all-encompassing, the one and only: precious.”

A chorus of cooing noises erupts across the room, rippling from body to body all around the coffee table, until Scott’s arm is shooting up, phone a-wiggling in the air.

“Wait wait wait, I’ve got one– JARVIS, if you please?”

There is a beat of silence. Then the AI’s voice echoes through the entire floor, somewhat mortified.

“As per Mr. Lang’s request, I submit for your perusal an animated Graphic Interchange Format, depicting a small child with cartoonish features, who appears to be holding an overlarge stuffed toy in the shape of a unicorn. The script beneath it reads, It’s so fluffy I’m gonna die.”

The GIF in question starts playing on loop on every screen available in the room – including the one that occupies the entire length of a wall – and the little crowd immediately explodes in a symphony of cackles and excited “Yes!”s and “Spot on”s and “Look Barnes, it’s you!”.

“I hate all of you,” Bucky grumbles, seemingly resigned to his fate; but Steve doesn’t miss the amused twinkle in his eye, nor the subtle curl in the corner of his pouty mouth.

Bucky’s gaze finds him, bright and beautiful, and they exchange a long look across the living room’s open space – intimate, somehow, even over the ruckus caused by their merrymaking friends.

And it might be the popcorn beginning to knock into the lid under Steve’s hand, but there’s something here, fizzing in the tips of his fingers, tingling at the base of his neck; something bubbly and sweet filling up his chest, that he just can’t keep a lid on tonight.

When he sees Nat perched on the backrest just behind Bucky, tugging on his half-braided hair and pleasantly threatening, You move your head again and I’ll bite your ears off – and Bucky drawls out a soft little Sorrey for her, but he keeps grinning up at Steve, his eyes like the shimmer of sunlight on clear waters.

When he finds Clint trying to stick fridge magnets to Bucky’s vibranium arm even through his fuzzy sleeve, then dragging Sam into it too like Hey man, check this out, and from there it’s all about how many times they can spell ‘DICK’ on him before Bucky notices and shoves them both off the couch.

Even when Thor interrupts his Mario Kart showdown with Bruce to offer, “Personally, I find it quite a dashing look – although in my experience, fresh flowers improve it tenfold. STEVEN! You must provide your beloved with fresh flowers for his hair every day! It’s tradition!”

And amongst all the snacks laid out before him, the teasing smile on Bucky’s lips is still the only thing Steve wants to taste tonight.

“You hear that, Steven?” Says his beloved.

Steve adores him. Steve would worship the ground his green-socked feet walk on. “Loud and clear, baby.”

Ohh, it’s worth saying it just for the lovely blush it puts on the apples of Bucky’s cheeks, rosey pink and delicious; and maybe, yeah, maybe even for the outburst of catcalls and Get-a-room’s it gets him, the second the word is out of his mouth.

“Aww, he said baby~”

“That’s so cute, you guys–”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“No, shut up– if you two lovebirds start making out in front of me again, I will throw up in the guacamole bowl and it won’t be pretty.”

“Nah, don’t you listen to this old sourball here, this is a PDA-friendly zone! If you guys feel like a bit of canoodling, some squeezin’ and a-lovin’–”

“Yo Rogers, that popcorn about ready or you still growin’ it?”

And. And Steve loves it. This– this, right here. It’s pure unadulterated chaos sometimes – all right, most of the time – but he can hardly picture his life without a healthy dose of this anymore.

Four years ago, he was a shell of a man; raw pulp under a too-thin rind, the chill of ice still creeping in his veins, with barely the will to see another day.

 Two years ago, he found something he’d thought he’d lost forever to the sharp embrace of a frost-coated ravine. Hope. And what a powerful fuel that proved to be.

Ten months ago, when Bucky first sought his kisses again, and slipped into his arms as easy as if he’d never ever left them at all, Steve rediscovered the meaning of bliss. He had everything he needed. Everything he’d dreamed of, night after day after night. What more could he have wished for?

Today, an unexpected answer presents itself to him.

“Hey, pass the chips, will you?”

“You think we’ve got any caramel sauce?”

“If you unleash one more of those green shells upon me, then so help me Odin–”

This. He wants this, with no name to put to it, except for the way it makes him feel inside. This thing that fills a room, warm and lovely, like hot chocolate poured in a cup, and feels so much like an embrace. Like coming in from the cold.

He never would have dared to wish for it. Hell, he didn’t even think he could afford to ask for it, but now that it’s here, he finds he’s hungry for it; and it doesn’t feel like greed at all. It just feels– good.

He’s only vaguely aware of Sam walking up to him, handing him an empty bowl to pour the fresh popcorn in. His brown eyes are gentle, knowing – but then, Sam always seems to know something Steve doesn’t.

“Happy’s a good look on you, man,” Sam says, and this smile, ah, this Steve couldn’t hold back if he tried with all his might.

He looks over to the couch, where Bucky’s holding his belly as he laughs, head thrown back and flower crown drooping perilously over his eyes. Steve is smiling so hard, it hurts.

“Thanks, man.”

[maitaiwiththecorpses]

(Headcanoned) Spotify Playlists For All The Aru Shah Characters

had a stroke of inspiration while scrolling through @namesarehard123's blog, and armed with (probably expired) lemonade, I had at it.

Plant Stalking Skillz- playlist by spider_shah

Royals by Lorde

All You Had To Do Was Stay- Taylor Swift

Everybody Talks- Neon Trees

There Are Worse Things I Could Do- Grease

Interlude: I'm Not Angry Anymore- Paramore

Adhd- Truslow

Dead Girl Walking- Heathers

All The Single Ladies- Beyonce

Carnaval Del Barrio- In the Heights

Dandelions- Ruth B.

Gorgeous- Taylor Swift

Mr. Brightside- The Killers

History Hates Lovers- Oublaire

The Dumb Song- AJR

U Wished U Were This Emo- playlist by shadowfaxnotprinter

Lover- Taylor Swift

Yellow- Coldplay

Producer Man- Lyn Lapid

Boy Bi- Mad Tsai

Numb Little Bug- Em Beihold

Overwhelmed (Ryan Mack Remix)- Ryan Mack

Mad At Disney- Salem Ilese

Riptide- Vance Joy

Detached- Lyn Lapid

Cruel Summer- Taylor Swift

Until I Found Her (Em Beihold Vers.)- Stephen Sanchez

Dancing With Our Hands Tied- Taylor Swift

Still Into You- Paramore

Romantic Stylz- playlist by prince snekkyboi

Happier Than Ever- Billie Eilish

Come And Get your Love- Redbone

Bad Dream- Stellar

Dancing Queen- ABBA

Kiss Her You Fool- Kids That Fly

Don't Blame Me- Taylor Swift

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go- Wham!

Here Comes The Sun- The Beatles

God, I Hate Shakespear- Something Rotten!

Therapy- Tick, Tick, Boom!

The World's Smallest Violin- AJR

Grace Kelly- MIKA

Freaks- Jordan Clarke

Times Are Hard For Dreamers- Amelie

Denim On Denim- playlist by eat-the-rich-and-good-biryani.

Sweater Weather- The Neighborhood

As It Was- Harry Styles

Gloria- The Lumineers

girls- girl in red

Teenager In Love- Neon Trees

Radio-Friendly Pop Song- Matt Fishel

Line Without A Hook- Ricky Montgomery

Turning Out- AJR

Take Me To Church- Hozier

Space Girl- Fraces Forever

Pink Triangle- Weezer

Jolene- Dolly Parton

Boy In The Bubble- Alec Benjamin

I Will Follow You Into The Dark- Death Cab For Cutie

Tear In My Heart- Twenty-One Pilots

Fuck Me (I Didn't Know How To Say)- Crawlers

Delicate- Taylor Swift

Bathe In Sanitizer, Elmo- playlist by YaKaMeLo

Someone You Like- The Girl and the Dreamcatcher

As The World Caves In- Matt Maltese

Fade To Black- Metallica

Wildest Dreams- Vitamin String Quartet Cover

In Case You Don't Live Forever- Ben Platt

The 30th- Billie Eilish

I Did Something Bad- Taylor Swift

Queen Of Kings- Alessandra

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy- Queen

Enemy- Imagine Dragons

I Write Sins Not Tragedies- Panic! At The Disco

London Boy- Taylor Swift

Brain Damage- Pink Floyd

Hiding In Your Hands- Dear Evan Hansen Bonus Track

Uptown Girl- Billy Joel

The Man- Taylor Swift

Dismantle The Sus- playlist by here?AHHHHHH

Ordinary- Alli Grace

Dress- Taylor Swift

Stairway To Heaven- Led Zepplin

The Takeover, The Break's Over- Fall Out Boy

Wake Me Up When September Ends- Green Day

we fell in love in october- Girl In Red

Material Girl- Madonna

Green, Green Dress- Tick, Tick, Boom!

Warriors- She-Ra And the Princesses Of Power Theme Song

American Idiot- Green Day

You Need To Calm Down- Taylor Swift

Family Line- Conan Gray

We Didn't Start the Fire- Billy Joel and the Fall Out Boy cover

Question...?- Taylor Swift

Devil Doesn't Bargain- Alec Benjamin

Away We Go- Bad Suns

Misery Business- Paramore

pt. 2 coming... eventually. add in the tags any songs that I might have missed

[the-heaminator]

Winter prompt 1 anything with Canada not needing the coat!

what do you mean you 'don't need a coat'???"

I need more putting Jack in the cold and watching him suffer while Matthew is in his natural fucking habitat, its platonic if you don't mind.

It was snowing outside, and a pretty type of flurries, it had already packed onto the ground beforehand, so it was a bit of a difficulty to get out of the house because of the snow, Matthew was just outside in a sweater while Jack looked like he had just come out of Antarctica, not Canada, to him both would have felt the same.

“What do you mean you don’t need a coat? It's colder than a witches tit out here!” Matthew could have laughed at him, oh you sweet summer child, it was only like -5 degrees

“Jack, I think you are just a lizard, nobody else is that cold, fuck, even Arthur isn’t cold and he is built like a damp matchstick.”

“I ain’t no lizard, just cold.”

Jack was, no shit, wrapped up in two jumpers and a jacket, and a hat, to save those sticking out ears of his, one of the jumpers was his, the other he had nicked off Matt, everyone loved stealing his jumpers ‘cause they were by far the most comfortable, and the biggest, Matthew was a big dude, tall and wide, man ate well and it showed, maybe that was why he wasn’t cold. The hat Arthur made, honestly he was fiddly little man and it came out in the way that he crocheted like a madman, that was useful right now, because his ears were so cold.

Didn’t help that December in Australia was the hottest part of the year, at this time he was usually slightly moist on a beach trying not to overheat, not trying not to freeze in the bloody Canadian winter, he wanted to hibernate, a very odd thing for him to do considering he had about as much energy as the sun, but even the sun was hiding today, behind steely grey clouds, and the air was cold, so very cold, it hurt to breathe man, he should have worn that bloody scarf.

He was a surly little thing when it was cold, he always had been, the dampness of England used to get to him like it used to get to books, making him damp and limp and sad, he disliked it severely, this was a drier cold, but it was also a much colder cold, and instead of being damp and limp, now he was cold and frozen and a bit frostbitten. Matthew was vibing, Arthur was bundled up but was moving around like a midget with a mission, the smaller you were, the more heat you lost, so logistically he should have lost the most heat.

But there was also the fact that he was a cold little bastard to begin with, he didn’t produce his own heat anyways, if anyone was a lizard it was him. Bullshit, but even he seemed just fine, Matthew was still literally just wearing a jumper, Alfred was wearing a jumper and gloves because while he was an idiot, he did like having his fingers intact, Matthew seemed not to care, his fingers would regret this, to Jack at least they most certainly would.

Alisdair, much like Arthur, was also wrapped up warm, but nothing like Jack, both were just about wearing a jumper and a coat, Alisdair was wearing wellies, a name that Matthew and Alfred found immensely funny, Jack called them gummies when he wanted to, so did Eli, but fucking rain boots was just boring, though admittedly if said in a rush or with an accent wellies very much morphed to someone saying willy, which was always funny to hear.

Anyways. Jack was cold. Matthew was seemingly immune to the cold, and he got hit in the face with a fucking snowball.

Matthew wasn’t wearing gloves how hadn’t his fingers frozen what the fuck, Jack would have been more agile had he not sort of dug himself a few inches into the snow by his incapability to stay still, and what happened was that he got a faceful of snow, fell down, and then got filled with the unimaginable rage of 20 suns and started chasing after Matt, then Matthew knew he was fucked, Jack was so much faster than him, Matthew used to be a hell fo a lot more agile but he had put on a whole lot of weight in the past couple decades and was no longer as agile as he could be.

Also regardless of how agile you were you could not outrun Jack on a fucking mission, and with some difficulty and a lot of slipping and sliding he managed to get his frigid ass to Matt and knock him over, he got a face, and a body, full of snow.

Alfred, not being one to let a chance to be a fucking dumbass go untaken  decided to get involved, and dumped a whole armful of snow on the both of them. The enemy of my enemy is my friend so Matt and Jack had a momentary truce as they went after Alfred. Boys will be Boys despite them being a couple hundred years old.

Arthur and Alisdair were standing a bit off from this whole farce, both chainsmoked like a chimney, and they were doing just that, don't ask me how they managed to light them because I genuinely do not have a clue, regardless of how frozen their joints were at the moment, the compulsion to join them was so goddamn strong.

They were civilised but only barely and very few can resist the urge to throw a snowball at a sibling, and those two were no exception.

"CATCH THIS YOU FUCKING CUNT."

Alisdair got a mouthful of questionable snow.

Arthur was faster than Alisdair but Alisdair had longer legs so this could be anyones guess, everyone was dogpilling snow on Jack and he was pretending to die. Alisdair had flipped Arthur till he was on the snowy ground, winded since he slammed him into it, and then started putting snow down his shirt.

The other 3 were watching because holy shit that was so fucking evil, and then they got back to covering Jack in snow.

He groaned and started to read his will. Not that he had a will. Being functionally immortal and all. But he did. And very dramatically so.

He was loud naturally, and Eleanor could record what he was saying from inside, all cozy and warm, recording them being fucking idiots, watching Arthur and Alisdair was interesting tik because there there may have been malicious intent.

"And I hereby relinquish my house to the lizards~" and then he mock died, went all rigid in a way that didn't happen until rigor mortis set in, and even from a distance she could see him still breathing.

Matthew and Alfred tried to look solemn, and both were failing severely, they lifted Jack on their shoulders like they would carry a corpse on a stretcher, Jack was taller than Alfred but shorter than Matthew, and Matt had 4 inches of height on Alfred's 5'11, so Jack was a bit crooked held.

He didn't move until they had gotten his wet clothes off him and swaddled him in blankets like a baby. Arthur had kicked Alisdair in the chest and bolted so he could get the bloody snow out of his chest ahhhhh he was so cold, he weighed all of 110 pounds and really did not have the insulation to stay warm, after a quick check in on Jack, who looked ready to pass away, he decided that now would be a good time to hog the radiator.

Eli was the only one who wasn't at least a  bit cold, Matthew was minimally cold, bloody polar bear of a man as he was, Alfred was cold enough that he had also decided that the radiator was a good idea but got scared away from the one Arthur was on because he hissed at him and he did not want to deal with that at the moment.

Alisdair had also buried himself in blankets after getting out of his wet clothes, since he got far less snow on him he was a lot faster to warm up and he could produce his own heat, unlike Arthur.

Eli was completely warm and dry, she was the one who was the beholder of brain cells today and decided not to go outside, and smack Matthew over the head for leaving the door open for a couple milliseconds, she was cold dammit.

Seeing Jack shiver in a pile of blankets was an experience in it's own, and decided, as is her way, to pretend to be a natural geographic producer.

"Here we see one of the different subspecies of Kirkland, this subspecies lacks the ability to thrive in cold climates, and had lowered his defences, and does the distress call of a far younger specimen." That distress call being asking anyone who would listen for tea, strong and sweet and most importantly, scalding fucking hot.

Arthur had unwrapped himself from the radiator and had absorbed enough heat to function and stop his muscles being too stiff to move, he also needed tea to function.

"Oi, who wants tea?"

Everyone but Alfred immediately said yes, who then said yes afterwards because well, it couldn't hurt, and it would make him a bit warmer.

Eli continued "As is custom for these creatures, the distress call of a juvenile causes the coddling by much older members, and one of the most notable comforts that they provide, is a mixture of various herbs and leaves, steeped in hot water, with milk and sugar, almost all subspecies have a fondness for this, save for one," she was referring to Alfred "Who, while not as fond if it as the rest, will still not reject it if given to them."

She watched and recorded the various sighs of contentment as warm tea got into them from various people she was recording all of this "As you can see, this mixture creates the release of dopamine in these creatures stronger than most, myself included." Arthur was fussing over her as much as his pride would let her, and practically forced a mug of tea into her hands.

"And with that, I shall leave, we will be back tomorrow to see what happens when you underfeed some of them." She was only saying that because she noticed that neither Alfred nor Matt had eaten in a while, a while as in a good 14-16 hours, that was fine for the oldest of the species, they were used to a whole lot less, but not feeding Alfred and Matthew made them so incorrigibly grumpy that it was funny.

[blessyourhondahurley]

Keep Me Fed All Year

Dean has a small crisis of faith at a fall festival.

Suptober prompt: Maze/Maize Flufftober prompt: Wearing Each Other's Clothes Fictober prompt: “I chose you.” Inktober prompt: Gargoyle

(Read on AO3)

Summer in Kansas was over, there was no debating that. A late-September frost had hustled in all of the usual seasonal accoutrements: sweaters and scarves, changing leaves, pumpkin spice everything, and signs on every corner in town for–

“What on earth is a 'maize maze'?”

His angel wasn't fully an angel any more, but he could still look mighty smitey when he didn't grok a piece of pop culture. Dean chuckled and reached across the Impala's bench seat for Cas's hand.

“It's a 'family fun' kinda deal, babe. Farmer carves a bunch of twisty paths in his cornfield and charges folks top dollar to tramp around in there and get lost.”

Cas's furrowed brow did not clear at this explanation. “And where is the fun part of that?”

“Most times there's other attractions. The farmer's wife sells some cookies, his kids run a few little games. It's cute.” He realized just a moment too late that those last two words had determined his Saturday plans. Cas was a sucker for things that were cute. The collection of baby animal figurines on the shelf above his side of the bed was testament to that. As if on cue...

“Can we go?”

“'Course, sunshine. Anything you want.”

~~~~~

Which is how Dean finds himself handing over a twenty to a gangly pre-teen in a gargoyle costume. The kid folds the bill in half, then in half again, working with the exaggerated focus only an eleven-year-old with his very first grown-up job can muster, and drops it neatly in the slot on top of the metal box in front of him.

“Welcome to the Johnson family harvest festival corn maze is straight ahead maps are here on the table hay ride line forms next to the barn hot apple cider donuts come out of the fryer every fifteen minutes please enjoy your stay thank you for coming!!” He punctuates his spiel with a fast inhale, like the whole speech takes exactly one lung full of air to produce.

Dean nods and grabs a map, shoving it into his back pocket for emergency reference only. He ambles over to the cornstalk-bedecked entrance gate where his husband is waiting. Cas is wearing a navy blue Carhartt jacket that used to be Dean's. It looks about a million times better on him than it ever did on Dean. There's a soft gray knit cap on his head, and a matching scarf around his neck. (Cas gets chilled easily now that he's 90% human, so Dean always makes sure to wrap him up nice and snug whenever they go out.)

Dean's wearing his husband's cardigan, a favor returned after Cas saw the hungry look in Dean's eyes when Cas had tried on his Carhartt. The sweater's thick and warm, but it's definitely not Dean's usual lumberjack-meets-bounty-hunter vibe, so it's making him feel a little itchy.

A lot about this moment is making him itchy, actually. He's standing next to a cheerful scarecrow that’s holding an IT'S FALL Y'ALL sign. He's dressed like Mr. Rogers and he's probably gonna go on a hay ride in a few minutes. The man-shaped being next to him is wearing his mom's wedding ring, a ring that Dean pushed onto his finger in front of a raggedy band of their nearest and dearest, promising to love him always in this world and all others. All around him he sees happy families engaging in wholesome fun and there's a skull-filling siren blaring in his brain. This is not for you, it screams. These things are not for you.

Suddenly he's about three seconds from a panic attack. His heart starts trying to punch its way through his rib cage, and he's envying that eleven-year-old his lungs full of air. His eyes dart as he tries to scope out a quiet place to hide while he rides this shit out.

“It's okay to enjoy this,” Cas whispers in his ear. “You're allowed to be here.”

Dean's heart rate immediately slows, the panic ebbing as his husband takes his hand. Grateful tears spring to his eyes and Cas brushes them away with chilly fingers.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, turning to bury his face in the crook of Cas's neck. “How do you always know when I'm freaking out?”

“Still 10% angel, remember? Besides, I know you inside and out, beloved. You still don't think you deserve to be saved.”

Dean huffs a watery laugh into the collar of Cas's jacket.

“Don't deserve to be this happy,” he agrees. “Don't deserve you.”

“Well, who knows what either of us deserves,” the angel says with a soft laugh as he leans his head sideways against Dean's. “But this is what we have. I chose you. You chose me. We're here and it's a beautiful day and I love you. So let's go inside. Did I hear that boy say something about donuts?”

Dean's tears come faster after that, and he drops Cas's hands to wrap both arms tight around his love. He's gonna need a minute here, but once he's calmed down a little they are going to eat themselves sick on apple cider donuts and get lost in a goddamn cornfield and Dean is so fucking happy he's afraid he might burst.

(Title from Harvest Festival by XTC)

Continued here...

[daggerzine]

Bloomsday- Heart of the Artichoke (Bayonet Records)

Here’s the 2nd full-length from Brooklyn's Iris James Garrison, better known as Bloomsday, on Bayonet Records. It’s filled with a slew of indie musicians right down to producer Ryan Albert (Babehoven) and mixer Henry Stoehr (Slow Pulp). I mention this because the press release states it’s a collaborative feel on this one. “Where I End and You Begin” sets the mood of the album with strumming acoustic guitars, Neil Young’s “Southern Man” beat, dreamy keyboards, and Iris’s mellow singing. “Smell your perfume here; Used to smell it everywhere; Never got it out of that sweater; I hope that you’re doing better; Where I end and you begin.” It ends with a soaring guitar solo. “Virtual Hug” gives off a boygenius vibe (pick any of the three songwriters), which is not a bad comparison. More upbeat, but still a slow, soft sound. “You took me to your local haunt. The bartender knew exactly what you want. And played your favorite songs on the jukebox all night long. Seeing you, Sewn together, Weave me through, Where you go when you are along.” The title track, “Artichoke,” is another softer song highlighting intricate guitar work that eventually builds and builds with added instruments. “Peel back all your layers, Get you to your core. Heart of the artichoke keeps me wanting more.” “Bumper Sticker” is another favorite, a song with a bit of a bounce to it. Excellent electric guitar this time around. “Can you see past this; On a different day; Show them everything that we’ve got on a small screen; Leave out anything with feeling or a bad dream. I wanna go where you go. I wanna stay in our home. Holding our hands through the phone. I need to settle down. I need to.” More soaring guitar solos and keyboards add to this one. “Night Swim” is a short, slow, eerie instrumental that fits in perfectly with the rest of the album’s soft sound.  Next up, “Carefully,” quietly trickles in with Iris and acoustic guitar. A beautiful song displaying intricate guitar and vocals. “Make them laugh, Carefully, You’ll find a way, To hide your needs, In cups of tea, In empty beer cans.” “Object Permanence” is another upbeat song that would be great to hear live. (Looks like only New York shows at this point.). Great beats, hypnotic keyboards, occasional guitar riffs, and Iris’s vocals make this song another gem. The album closes out with “Old Friend,” another slower, softer track. The lyrics tell it all, “Old friend, See me as I was before, Drifting, begging, for a place to land.” Ten new songs that capture a mood perfect for late night, early morning, or an adventure in the quiet outdoors. Here’s hoping Bloosmsday will make it out of New York this summer.  ERIC EGGLESON

[denimbex1986]

Barbie is everything. He’s just … Robert Oppenheimer.

That’s right. The main character competing with Barbie for attention right now isn’t Ken, her plastic significant other. It’s the man who designed the atomic bomb.

Fans have been waiting for this summer’s release of two movies — “Barbie,” from Warner Bros. and directed by Greta Gerwig, and “Oppenheimer,” from Universal Pictures and directed by Christopher Nolan — which are both coming out on July 21, and they have been poking fun at the stark contrast in the movies’ themes, moods and color schemes.

The result of the release schedule is a mash-up many people may not have seen coming: Barbenheimer. Or Boppenheimer, if you will.

“Oppenheimer” is Nolan’s prestige movie based on “American Prometheus,” a biography of Oppenheimer, the scientist who led the Manhattan Project, which during World War II produced the first atomic bombs. The trailers for that film, with intense music and suspenseful scenes starring a pensive-looking Cillian Murphy as Oppenheimer, are in stark contrast with the pink and sparkly trailers for “Barbie,” which show Margot Robbie as the doll living in Barbieland before setting off on an adventure into the real world.

The two characters could hardly be more different (does this Venn diagram even have a middle?). And yet, Robbie and Murphy are appearing on T-shirts and sweaters together.

Memes, videos and online chatter have flooded social media, and some people are making plans to see the two movies on the same day. A debate about which order to see them in — “Barbie” first to start the day off light, or “Oppenheimer” first, to end on a more cheerful note — hasn’t been settled.

The curious crossover is also giving rise to real-life merchandise. A Google search for “Barbenheimer T-shirt” brings tens of thousands of results, and sellers on Etsy have designed their own versions. Some feature Robbie and Murphy, while others combine Barbie’s pink font with a pink drawing of an atomic cloud.

One such T-shirt, and an early entry in the crowded field, is a simple split-screen combination of the two movie logos, spelling out “Barbenheimer” with the release date of the films.

Hunter Hudson, 23, a filmmaker in San Antonio, said he originally designed and created the shirts for him and his friends to “roll up to the Barbenheimer double feature” on July 21. But when he posted pictures of the shirt on his Twitter feed, he said, it took off beyond his expectations.

“I normally get about three or four likes on anything I post,” Hudson said. But after sharing a few mock-ups of the shirt, he woke up one morning to hundreds of messages from people asking him if they could buy it.

Hudson makes the shirts himself, with a friend, and charges $40. So far he said he had made about 150 shirts, with a second batch of about 70 more on the way. It takes him about 45 minutes to an hour to make one T-shirt, which he does by cutting two shirts in half, pinning them together and sewing and pressing them.

“I had a couple of movie theaters reach out to me privately to do bulk orders for employees,” he said. “It’s been overwhelmingly positive.”

This kind of organic marketing is probably good for both films, said Robert Mitchell, the director of theatrical insights at Gower Street, a company that does predictive analysis for the film industry.

Not that the studios’ marketing has been lacking: There are life-size cardboard Barbie boxes in theaters for people to take pictures and a selfie generator. There have been collaborations with multiple brands: The frozen yogurt chain Pinkberry is offering a Barbie flavor, Gap has a line of Barbie-themed clothes, and Airbnb is offering a real-life Barbie Dream House in Malibu. Warner Bros. declined to comment on the movie’s marketing efforts.

What all this hype means for box office results for either film is unclear, and awareness doesn’t always translate into attendance, Mitchell said. Predictions for opening weekends are tricky and a lot can still happen before July 21, said David Gross, a movie consultant who publishes a newsletter on box office numbers. Some conservative industry estimates, he said, have “Barbie” opening between $55 million and $65 million in the United States and Canada, and “Oppenheimer” between $40 million and $50 million. Both of those estimates would be strong for a fantasy comedy and a historical drama, neither of which are sequels. Superhero, big action and big animation movies usually open higher, Mr. Gross said.

Still, the hype around the films could be beneficial to the numbers. “Every time ‘Barbie’ released a trailer, ‘Oppenheimer’ would start trending,” Mitchell said.

“They’re so vastly different,” he said, “that they allow for the narrative that popped up organically: This would be strangest double bill ever.” That online conversation, he said, “is pretty much a gift for distributors.”

While social media is full of people showing off their tickets to see the double feature, it’s unclear how many really will. “But it shouldn’t matter,” Gross said. “Audiences are going to find them, and both films are going to do extremely well.”

[feverinfeveroutfic]

time is coming | a continuation of the original now it’s dark

you’ll undoubtedly have to read the initial trilogy to understand the universe here, but i’ll try and make it so it can stand alone. i ain’t putting this on ao3 because it’ll be my attempt at a comic book and to make a long story short, i can’t really focus on the writing on there making a comic out of the text (i learned my lesson after doing the comic for amped and wired).

June 1, 1989. Oswego, New York.

It sure is good to have my old job back in singing with Anthrax, even if it meant pushing John out of the fold. I can still feel the fire directed at me, but I can handle it all, though. If I nearly drowned in the lake and nearly been blown up by a nuke, then I can handle the four of them. But then again, it’s going to be something to rearrange my hockey games with singing sessions and touring sessions, and especially on such short notice.

I have my demo tape, too, produced and polished by Lars of all people. It’s not like I’ll be starving to death at all.

I still think of Maya, though. I saved her as well as the whole world, and the fact that I singlehandedly took down an entire industry still feels surreal to me. Even after five months, it still feels like a dream.

My place also feels empty after the ghosts left and returned to the other side.

It’s all changed. It’s all morphed around and made into something I don’t recognize, and yet I still feel something in the wings. After all that thinking, and all that investigating, I came across this huge ecosystem where the dead were able to cross over into our world, and my grandfather was a part of it all as well. The land could be desecrated against the will of someone else, and if it happened once, it could unquestionably happen again. Even after twelve days, I knew that something could take its place. An industry fell, and one that took place over the course of some decades.

Something had to fill the void, especially with something that was supposedly too big to fail.

I may be a damn Injun, but I’m not an idiot. Being around someone as smart as Lars gave me something else, something that I could go by. Lars said it’s a new era to celebrate, but all this time, I have had this nagging, persistent feeling within me that celebrations won’t last for very long.

It’s another one of those hot and humid days in upstate New York where the mercury isn’t very high but you would swear that it’s raining: it’s not quite the lake effect but it’s definitely something that makes me wish for snow again all day. I should wish for snow so I could curl up in bed again.

Then again, even if I could curl up in bed all day, there’s still plenty of things to do. I’m not the poor boy anymore trying to find his way around the world without the anchor of his band: now I’m the poor boy back in the band and with odd times to deal with from thence forth.

I sit up in bed, and I look out the window to the bright sunlight out there: the plants in full form, the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the feeling of the first heat wave on the horizon. Even in the summer time, it’s so weird sleeping without the ghosts, especially when I expect to find Vera at the foot of my bed or Nerissa right next to me.

I guess it’s not that bad. The last day at the hockey game, we were freezing our asses off, but at least we managed to play the game, though. I put on a sweater, and that long black winter coat as well as my black pants. I think I’m always going to be the man in black, more than the man in black himself.

The sun beats down upon my hair as I’m walking out there, and I know that it can pick up at any given point and time while I’m walking towards the street. Broad daylight and I’m still thinking about that night when I found Maya on the sidewalk. I don’t even want to think about finding another girl in a gutter, especially when I know for a fact that she could lead me to my own death.

The ghosts returned to the other side, but I’m still haunted. I have my hands on the sides of my head even though my head feels fine. It’s too hot and humid. I need something to eat, something to drink, something to do, something to take my mind off those scars and those memories.

Calm down, Joe. Calm down. It’s all behind you. It’s a brand-new day. Never forget where you came from but it’s to build up fresh new memories.

I clasp my hands to my face and I glance back to my apartment complex.

I just want to go for a ride.

I go back to my place and fetch my keys, and I get in my car and drive out of there. There’s always one place that I can go to, especially with my demo tape in the process of being made over there, and my hope is that I can get there before the afternoon thunderstorms flare up over the lake surface, and if the beads of sweat on the side my body are anything to go by, it’s practically inevitable. I keep my hands out of the direct sunlight while I’m steering, and it’s way easier said than done: my car is still a piece of crap and more so after all of that at the beginning of the year. Add to this, the air conditioner barely works and the heater finally gave out for real that time. 

And once again, I’m hungry and on the way over to Rochester, through the trees and without a place to stop for a time, except Spence is elsewhere. I’m still driving anyway because there’s only one place that I want to be at the moment. At least this time around, I’m not so hungry that I feel ready to puke there on the floor below the steering wheel.

I recognize the skyline, and I follow my nose to that familiar brick building. I can still smell the fine fabrics. I can still smell everything.

In fact, I can still feel everything. Even though it hadn’t been for very long, it still felt like a distant memory of sorts. I have to find myself a new mindset away from it all, away from the feelings that had haunted me in the wake of the ghosts leaving the apartment.

I take the spot before the front doors. I recognize those black letters on the white background over the bright lights: Sew Into You.

I find my way inside only to be greeted by the black and white checkerboard floor, the presence of the checkerboard all around me, and of course, that blast of air conditioning upon my head as well. I know her headband anywhere, and more so when she turns around and smiles at me as she’s holding a tulle of white lace.

“Hey, Marcia!” I stop right in my tracks at the sight of the deep purple crescent shape around her eye.

“Hey, Joey,” she greets me, and then she stops right at her tracks as well.

“What—what happened to your face?” I gasp upon sight of her.

“Oh—” She chuckles and runs her fingers over her black eye. “I got into boxing after the whole… adventure this past winter,” she tells me.

“Boxing, wow! You don’t see that every day, at least not with girls.”

“Sonia’s been my trainer, too,” she adds. “In fact, she and I both have training and working out quite a bit these last few months. I do boxing, she does that Israeli one—”

“Krav Maga?” It takes me a second.

“Yeah, that one! Add to this, the two of us also do capoeira on the weekends. We’re getting stronger and harder every day after work. You never know when your friends are going to fall into a big-ass ordeal again.”

Right as she says that, the ceiling light over us cuts out and we’re engulfed in darkness, albeit for a second: it comes back within a couple of seconds.

“What the hell?” I wonder aloud.

“The power’s been cutting in and out like this all week long,” she explains as she sets the lace down on the counter behind her. “No idea why and we can’t get an electrician in here, either.” She reaches up for a caress of her black eye once again, and that time she grimaces from the feeling. “I’ll be right back, this is starting to hurt like a son of a bitch…”

As she walks out of there, I turn my attention to the other fabrics right behind me.

There’s a guy on the other side of the tulles… and he looks like me. His long wavy hair the color of molasses, and his smooth skin kissed by the sun, and I am intrigued almost immediately. He’s looking at all the checkerboard fabrics, and I am particularly intrigued by his long and lanky fingers as they caress over the spines of the tulles.

He then turns and looks back at me, and his eyes are as bright as diamonds.

“Hey,” he greets me: his voice is low, almost gruff, and quite sensual.

“Hey,” I reply back to him, complete with a clearing of my throat. “Like what you see?”

“Of course. I could totally use some of this back out in California. You wouldn’t think of it as getting all that cold out there, but it does.”

“California, really?” I show him a little smile. “What brings you to upstate New York?”

“A little relaxation before we head back into the studio,” he explains. “It’s been a little get away for the five of us the last four months, and now it’s time to wrap it all up.”

“Five? Another quintet?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?” He chuckles at that, rather amused.

“I’m the lead singer of a band, too, and there’s five of us.”

“Dude—” He raises his hand for me, and I give him a high five.

“Dude!” And I feel my heart fluttering from the feeling, and I’m not sure what’s come over me, either. But I hunch my shoulders and embrace the chill up my spine.

“Would you like to take a walk with me?” he offers.

“I kinda just came here to hang out, so… yeah.” I crack him a smile, and I tuck my hands into my pockets.

“I’m Chuck,” he says.

“I’m Joey.”

It’s right then I wonder what Lars is doing right then, especially when we last spoke back in January after the dust had settled. A time to celebrate, was the last thing he had said to me.

He and I walk back outside to that overbearing humidity, but as long as I’m walking with someone else, and someone who didn’t get sparred in the face on accident: there is no way that Marcia can see straight, and I really just have to be away from the empty apartment at the end of it all.

I can’t go back to Black Orchid, even though I know that I’m always welcome back there. I need something outside of the pleasures of the flesh with a bunch of classy as hell girls.

He’s a fair bit taller than me, and quite a bit burlier as well, but my eyes are drawn to his slender waist and sinewy thighs. I don’t really know how to explain it but I feel something with him.

“I hope that we don’t walk too far from there,” I confess to him.

“Oh, we won’t,” he assures me, and he shows me a thoughtful little smile.

“You’re Native American, right?”

“Pomo. From Northern California.”

“I’m Iroquois, from just a block from here,” I retort, and he chuckles at that.

We reach the street corner, and all of a sudden, he stops me dead in my tracks with a hand on my chest. It’s a feeling I can’t really put my finger on, but I actually like the way that his hand feels on my body. But then he points to the street before use: there’s a line of trees up ahead of us, followed by the end of the street itself only for it to end into a dirt road.

In the bushes, I see something move.

“What the hell is that?” he demands in a hushed voice even though we’re a ways away.

As far as I know, it’s Death again.

We glance at one another and then he gestures for me to follow him. I swallow, and I have a bad feeling about this. Five months of quietness went by too fast.

But we’re walking, and he’s bringing us to the bushes in question. Indeed, there’s a pathway back into the trees.

She has long scarlet hair and is wearing a long black gown. She’s holding something in her hand.

“Get down, get down…” he whispers to me.

We both hunker down behind the bushes and we watch the witch down by the trees. The sunlight shines through the trees onto her head and shoulders. The thing in her hand is a skull. It takes me a second to realize that it’s also sparkling.

“Do you think she’ll eat us?” he asks me.

“Eat us?” I raise an eyebrow at that. “I don’t think I can ever imagine a witch eating two Native American guys whole, not without spiking a lot of shit with some mad juju.”

He snickers at that.

“She could make a stew out of us,” Chuck cracks. We watch her until she vanishes into the shadows before us, and we glance at one another.

“What do you think we should do?” he asks me.

“We’ll have to follow her,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders, especially when I know that Marcia is going to be out of it for a time. “We’re going to have to be incredibly quiet, though.”

He nods, and then, with our heads bowed, we creep into the trees. It might seem a bit odd to go on another adventure and with someone who I had just met, but I had done it before, and I was going to be damned if I didn’t do it again. I keep my head down a bit as I lead the way to the clearing, and we’re met with a ring of low pine trees all along the rim. A fine layer of mist surrounds us, even with it still being rather warm outside.

“I’m gonna have to hit up Lars again,” I say under my breath. “I have to call him again, anyway, he’s got my solo album.”

“You’re making a solo album?”

“Yeah.” I turn my attention back to him, and I show him a smile. But before either of us can say anything else, we’re met with a flash of heat upon our heads as well as bright blue light from the canopy of the trees.

“Holy shit—” He grips onto me and the two of us bow down towards the bushes. Against the blue light, which is giving me some serious flashbacks, there are the silhouettes of witch hats and their heads against the trees. I almost feel like I shouldn’t be there.

Chuck and I are going to get our clocks cleaned right after we had just met one another. There’s a tree branch right next to me, and I pull it before us to protect us.

“Leave, believe, retreat!” the witches chant in unison. “Leave, believe, retreat! Leave, believe, retreat!”

“Oh, god, it’s like the worst thing you can imagine,” he says right into my ear.

“LEAVE, BELIEVE, RETREAT!”

This is followed by a loud crack!, followed by a series of bright green, red, and white sparks and another wave of heat upon our heads. I open my eyes to find the witches gone, but there are two figures on the ground on the other side of the clearing. Before I can do anything, Chuck moves out from behind me to investigate it all.

I hold still for a second as he creeps on over to them.

He then turns towards me with a worried look on his face.

“Joey, these two boys could be hurt! Help me!”

I raise my eyebrows at that.

“Oh my god in heaven,” is all I can muster out. But I go over to him, anyway, and every step gives me a deeper pit in my stomach.

The two boys have darker skin in comparison to us, but by the look of their smooth almond-shaped eyes and their pushed in noses, I can tell they hail from Asia. Their long black hair tells me everything I need to know, and the smell of incense and sulfur gives me some ideas. Whatever those witches did to these boys, I knew in my heart that no doctor could solve it because they wouldn’t tell us anything, just like how they couldn’t possibly say anything about Maya or about my grandpa.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I grumble to myself, and I help him pick up the two boys from the ground.

[theworldthroughyourwindow]

(to listen to as you explore the village)

You open the window and step through. The ocean breeze immediately wraps you in an embrace. Looking down at your feet you notice your clothing has changed. Instead of your pajamas, you are now wearing clogs, corduroy pants, and a thick cable knit sweater. You are too relaxed in your new setting to be alarmed at how this could have possibly happened. You walk up the plush grass admiring the ocean view as you go. Upon turning back, you notice your apartment window is sitting in a large tree. Above the window is a clock counting down. Just under 5 hours. Anxiety sparks inside. You assume you only have 5 hours in this land before the window to your apartment closes. You don’t have much time, so you quickly begin to move. Of course, the key on the windowsill fits perfectly in the cottage door. The home is charming inside and appears well lived in. There is a long hallway and to left you see a cozy living room. To the right is a bright kitchen and dining space. A fresh loaf of bread sits on top of the oven and there are fresh flowers on almost every surface. Upon closer inspection, you are startled to see the family photos on the shelves are yours. You and your parents at your college graduation. You and your best friend during your trip to Hawaii. And you are even more shocked when you hear a familiar meow coming from the stairs. Your orange cat Patrick hops down and greets you, purring and circling your feet. This cottage is clearly yours. Before you can even question if any of this is real, you are startled by a knock at your door. You open it slowly and come face to face with a smiley girl with red curly hair.

“Good morning, Y/N!”

You have never met this woman, but the words seem to come flooding into your brain.

“Hi, Cassandra! How are you today?”

“Just splendid! Are you ready for the farmers market? All the summer produce will be there today.”

“Yes, of course! I think I’m going to have to pick up one of Mrs. Chapman’s cherry pies too.”

The two of you set off down the path. You converse about your lives. Knowledge about Cassandra’s life and the village happenings just appear in your brain like you have lived here your whole life.

When you arrive at the market, you are greeted by a colour wheel of fresh produce, homemade baking, and garden flowers. You chat with the village residents easily . The village is small but has everything that could be needed. Everyone knows everyone and our happy to catch up with each other. When you turn around, you come face-to-face with the town butcher at his booth. He is the tallest and one of the most good-looking people you have ever seen. He smiles and puts down his large butcher knife.

“Y/N, I was hoping I would see you today,” says the butcher, whose name happened to be Jack. He has an accent like Hugh Grant and looks like Paul Mescal.

You stutter in an effort to respond to him. He is clearly the man of your dreams… and maybe a good reason to stay in this village as you have had no luck in the love department back at home.

“You know I couldn’t resist picking up a fresh chicken from the best butcher in town,” you say.

“I’m the only butcher in town,” he says with a laugh.

Before you can respond, he says, “Hey, since the weather has been clearing up lately, I have been wanting to catch the sunset again. Would you join?”

You know fully that your 5 hours will be up if you agree to this date. Your decision on this date determines your future.

(for reference)

Paul Mescal

Do you stay in this world?

Yes

No

[nycbagcls]

sohan pague.     he/him.     trans man.      ›spotted   at   the   met   steps   ,   luka   kent   ,   most   likely   listening   to   gimme!   gimme!   gimme!   by   abba  with   their   airpods   pro   .   the   twenty-three   gained   quite   a   reputation   ,   known   to   be  -cynical  yet   +kindhearted   to   anyone   who   knows   them   .   you'll   easily   spot   them   when   you   hear   about   a   signature   denim   jacket   with   pins   on   the   pockets   //   getting   your   name   right   the   first   time   you   say   it   //   forcing   distance   from   family   in   order   to   find   yourself   //      a   seven-figure   bank   account   under   a   name   that’s   no   longer   yours   ,   followed   by   literally   just   old   spice   deodorant   .   latest   nepoupdates   article   talks   about   director   anthony   kent’s   middle   child,   who   disowned   his   family   three   years   ago,   is   allegedly   working   at   a   starbucks   on   the   upper   east   side  ,   but   i   guess   any   reputation   is   good   reputation   .   ( muse b // subplot 1 )

DEMOGRAPHICS

name: luka kent

age: 23

gender: trans man, he/him

occupation: starbucks barista.

sexuality: bisexual

residence: a three-bedroom apartment shared by five people and two cats on the lower east side

languages: english, minimal french & portuguese

social class: lower, formerly upper 

education level: high school diploma, was accepted into nyu, deferred, and didn't end up going.

APPEARANCE

height: 5′6"

build: cuddly, but in shape

hair: brown, always cut short, minimal styling

eyes: hazel

piercings: lobes pierced, purposely doesn't wear.

tattoos: none 

PERSONALITY

+ kindhearted, caring, selfless

- cynical, pessimistic, bitter 

aesthetics: a   signature   denim   jacket   with   pins   on   the   pockets   //   getting   your   name   right   the   first   time   you   say   it   //   forcing   distance   from   family   in   order   to   find   yourself   //      a   seven-figure   bank   account   under   a   name   that’s   no   longer   yours // an apartment that may be considered too crowded, but you're never lonely // sending tiktoks to your friends at 2 in the morning // giggling over nonsense // the disillusionment of seeing childhood peers who may or may not recognize you now // gender euphoria, being shirtless at riis beach in the summer

PEOPLE TO KNOW (NPCs unless otherwise noted)

rebecca whitehall-kent, broadway producer mother

anthony kent, director father

older brother (player character, see wc on main)

younger brother (player character, see wc on main)

roommates (player characters, see wc on main eventually lol)

SKILLS, HOBBIES, MISC INFO

hobbies ;; guitar, pottery, has tried his hand at rug making, baking, and embroidery

likes ;; lattes with oat milk in the morning, the way the city is quiet when he's going to work, spending time with his roommates, cats, dogs, traveling (when he can afford it), going to the beach, his testosterone prescription, silly nonsense tiktoks, cuddling, movie nights, youtube video essays

dislikes ;; familial pressures, the excess wealth that's being hoarded by the 1%, societal pressures, the fact that the tabloids won't realize he's not A Kent(tm) anymore, feminine clothing, the fact that you have to pay just as much rent in february as you have to pay in any of the months with 31 days.

style ;; rarely seen without his trademark denim jacket, likes printed button-down shirts, jeans, converse, vans, fisherman's sweaters. you'll rarely see him in anything formal, but if he's forced into a formal situation, he'll rent a suit and tie.

ABOUT

trigger warnings for transphobia // dysphoria // familial neglect // injections

born [REDACTED], he was the only daughter of rebecca and anthony kent, and rebecca was overjoyed to have a little girl to raise into a mirror of her. but luka always knew that he wasn't who his mother wanted him to be, even before he had words for what he was feeling. every time he was forced into a dress, he would throw a fit, causing the family to be late to many a premiere or red carpet event.

as a child, he was in a few of his father's movies as a background or minor character - it was kind of richard's thing, putting his kids in scenes in his films. it was cool, for a while, before it became just another thing he dreaded - being in the movie meant seeing himself looking wrong, and there weren't words to describe how much he hated it.

luka always hated the way that the kents could never go out to dinner, go see a movie, do anything without eyes and cameras on them. he loved new york, don't get him wrong, he still does, but there were days that he wished that they lived anywhere where the paparazzi and rumor mill didn't exist the way it does in the big apple. he's jealous of the people who have never been affected by the severe lack of privacy that he experienced.

as luka grew up, he got access to the internet, and he started finding words for himself. transgender, primarily. the word felt freeing, like he could finally understand why he hated his brothers for the fact that their mother never tried to force them into dresses for premieres, why he hated them for being able to go out and play in the rain and get their clothes all muddy, why they seemed so comfortable in their bodies while luka hated every single second of puberty. he started transitioning socially with peers online when he was sixteen, though he didn't bring it up to his family until he was nearing eighteen, afraid of repercussions.

he was right to fear - as soon as he spoke up, there were a lot of tears shed, primarily from his mother; things about how he'd always be her little girl, and how could he do this to them, and a bunch of other shitty things that he's tried to block out of his memory since then.

that was when he deferred his acceptance to nyu, not sure he wanted to go to college under his deadname, not sure who he wanted to be at all. he knew that there were people talking about him, knew that there were people staring at the back of his head whenever he went out in public, and he hated all of it.

he spent two more years with his family trying to put up with it, but, on his twentieth birthday, he was at his breaking point. he couldn't handle being called [REDACTED] and all of the "she/her"s he got from his mother, couldn't handle the way he looked in the mirror, couldn't handle the way his voice sounded wrong every time he opened his mouth.

luka was on one of his trademark depression walks when he saw a sign on a stoplight pole asking are you searching for roommates? want to live with cool people? must be queer-friendly and like cats and listing a phone number to call. he stared at that sign for way too long, his hand on his phone in his pocket. he dialed the number, made the call, and had agreed to move in by the next week.

packing up all of the few things he loved, luka moved into his current apartment on the lower east side within the week. it was also that week that he found himself a job at a starbucks, and took the last chunk of money out of his old bank account that he would ever use - a down payment on his top surgery, and the first payment for his new testosterone prescription. he took his first shot surrounded by his roommates (and new best friends), and he hasn't looked back since. this life is the one he's chosen, and he may be poor, but he's happy.

GOSSIP

director   anthony   kent’s   middle   child,   who   disowned   his   family   three   years   ago,   is   allegedly   working   at   a   starbucks   on   the   upper   east   side

this is true and luka has no shame about it at all. it pays his portion of the rent & utilities and allows for some additional cash to spend on things he'd like to do, like his pottery classes. they also have gender affirming care covered, so he's planning on working there for the foreseeable future.

CONNECTIONS

roommates — (  luka lives with two queer couples on the lower east side. they have two cats. this is very much a found family relationship; the five of them are ride or die and they have been since they met luka three years prior. they could have known each other for longer, though!. ) // 0/4

friends (present) — (  they've only known luka post-disowning his family and his transition. they're also a support system for him, though not as close as his roommates are. they're the people who get invited over after drag shows, for movie nights, for early morning pancakes and coffee on luka's days off ) //

friends (past) — (  they knew luka before he was luka. they cared about him, but he always seemed a little closed off, more distant than others. it was rare to see him truly smile, let alone laugh. they haven't spoken regularly in three years. ) //

not the kid you once knew — (  actors on his father's films! luka knew them all from his trips to set as he was growing up, and they may have thought they knew him, too, because he put on a happy face, even though he was dying inside. they may not recognize him if they see him on the street now. ) //

family friends — (  friends of his parents' kids. they spent a lot of time as kids together. they haven't heard from him at all in the past three years. ) //

muse a (see subplot page on the main)

brothers (wc tbd)

[mariasmemo]

The Ice Man Cometh

This is a blog of the past.  I often think of this “story” when it’s hot and humid out.  So here it is again.

The past few weeks have been very un-Nantucket as far as the heat and the extreme humidity.  When I was a child and even a teenager, I remember that we always wore long pants and even sweaters in the summer evenings on island.  This does not seem to be the norm any longer unfortunately.  The heat also leads me to think about staying cool and what generations before us did to preserve food. 

Long before modern refrigeration, ice was used for preserving foods. Although the use of ice brought an end to salting and drying fish for local markets, with railroad development and western expansion in the 1850s, salt fish was still being shipped to inland domestic markets as well as abroad. As the fishing industry grew on Nantucket and elsewhere, however, so did the need for ice to keep the catch fresh for market.

On Nantucket, when a hard freeze produced ice of the necessary thickness, blocks were cut from Maxcey’s and Washing Ponds and the North Head of Hummock Pond and stored in nearby icehouses. This was a fairly long and tricky process that took skill to make sure the ice was the right thickness and that one did not fall through the ice.  Mainland icehouses typically used sawdust for insulation, but Nantucket ice was insulated with beach grass, seaweed, and eelgrass—sawdust not being readily available here.  The iceman would drive his cart around the streets with usually a gaggle of children trailing behind – or hitching a secretive ride on the back of the cart – hoping for a piece of ice to suck on and cool off with – back when something that simple was a pure delicacy.

When electricity was introduced on Nantucket in 1889, cutting pond ice was no longer necessary.  Captain John “Jack” Killen built the first ice-making plant, on Straight Wharf, opening it on May 5, 1902.  Several other plants, including that of the Island Service Company, followed—all operating until the Great Depression.  Nantucket’s early ice-making plants were established primarily for packing fish and shellfish, which were shipped in barrels or fish boxes layered with ice. Fishermen both on and off-island would stock up on ice before going out on long trips, and it is said that island ice was of a much higher quality than that from plants off-island—perhaps because of the purity of Nantucket’s water.

Some people still cut ice.  My parents had an elderly friend, now gone, and his family owned – and I assume still owns – a camp of cottages from the 19th century up in New Hampshire.  In the winter, the entire family shows up to harvest ice and store it in the icehouse.  The ice is then used in each of the cottages during the summer since they have no electricity or plumbing.  It is an art that is almost gone but happily there are still a few who have passed down the knowledge and skill for harvesting ice.  I recently took a look at his obituary and was blown away – I remember him for ice harvesting – but wow what a life!  One of service and seeking justice.

JNLF

[thebeckster]

Dolce/Lest 31, 19. Don't go with the obvious choice. Or totally do. Thank you! And sorry if it's too late

(So sorry for the delay Nonny, I kinda forgot I wrote these prompts last month until just now 😬)

Anywho. I definitely didn't go with the obvious choice for this prompt when it comes to getting walked in on. Can't tell you why, but the first thing that came to mind when I saw the prompt was "Someone's gonna get walked in on while changing clothes" and this is what sprung from it. Poor Dolce just does NOT know what to do with her crush. RIP.

I hope you enjoy!

💜💜💜

It wasn’t often that Lest got presents. He was usually the one rolling up every few days with something in his bag to pass off to a friend as an impromptu gift with ‘just because’ being the usual answer when asked ‘why?’ Sometimes he spent the day cooking just to give everyone their favorite dish. Half the produce that came from his fields seemed to end up as a present to townsfolk. And then there were the memorable times when he emerged from the dungeon with some hard-earned trophy or prize from a battle with a monster, and he turned around and gave it to someone else. People sometimes asked him why he gave so much when he often received so little in return. ‘Thanks’ was not enough for the blood, sweat, and tears he put into getting some gifts for people. Lest always said he didn’t do it for reciprocation. He liked surprising people with an unexpected gift, or a favored food when they least expected it, or were having a bad day. He found great joy in the act giving. He didn’t need anything else. That wasn’t to say he was never given something in return. The dish-trading “war” Lest and Dylas had going on was six months strong, and showed no signs of slowing down. People often gave what they could or what they had when they came across something that made them think ‘Lest would like this.’ Dolce had been working on her gift back to Lest for months now. Over the summer Lest had gifted her a mountain of yarn after she’d expressed interest in taking up knitting again after her long sleep. And after receiving a huge batch of yarn from Lest’s own woolies, which he had spun and dyed himself to a lovely earthy brown color, Dolce had decided she was going to put this yarn to good use and give something back to Lest. She was going to make him a sweater!

She stubbornly ignored any teasing from Pico or Nancy about the alleged ‘Boyfriend Sweater curse.’ Mostly because such curses were silly to begin with. And also because Lest was not her boyfriend. Couldn’t have a boyfriend-related curse if there was no boyfriend to begin with. Nor was this sweater a declaration of anything boyfriend-intended either. It was simply Dolce’s way of showing Lest how much she appreciated him.

She had to be a little surreptitious to figure out his measurements. She would not let Pico sneak into his room while he slept with a measuring tape. She found out through other means, and maybe guessed here and there. There were several false starts when she just could not get her gauge to cooperate. The first try would have ended up with a sweater more suited to fit a man of Bado’s frame, the second attempt would have made a sweater that would barely fit Amber. But finally she got it right and she spent many long hours working up a sweater, stitch by stitch into the late hours of the night.

And just as Autumn was ending and the weather was turning to the chill of winter, when sweaters would be very much needed and wanted, Dolce had hers ready. The next time Lest came around with another ‘just because’ gift, she would have something to give back to him in return.

Just as predicted, almost like clockwork, Lest came into the clinic, saying ‘hello’ to Jones and Nancy and turned to Dolce, already digging in his bag. “Found something in the dungeon. Thought you might have some fun seeing if it’s worth spinning.”

He handed over a bundle of what must have been fur or hair, Dolce couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of monster it came from, but it carried some interesting energy in the fibers, and it did look like a suitable candidate for turning into yarn. Already her fingers itched to give it a try. “Thank you,” she said, clutching the gift to her chest. “I’ll have to show you how it works up, when I get the chance. I can’t wait to give it a try!”

Lest’s cheeks pinked, and he scratched at the back of his head muttering, “Oh it’s not much, nothing special.” Then he paused, as if deciding to say something more. Instead he swallowed his words and said, “Well, I’d better run.”

“No wait, I have something for you too.” Dolce caught him by the sleeve before he could retreat from the clinic. “It’s upstairs.”

And taking Lest by the hand, she guided him up to the second floor, ignoring Nancy’s knowing smile as they passed her on the way up. She held her breath when she presented Lest with the wrapped package. And only breathed again when he held up the sweater exclaiming, “Wow, this is incredible? And you made it for me? Oh it’s so soft.”

He rubbed the sweater against his cheek. “I mean, I know I made the yarn, but I swear it was not this nice when I gave it to you. You’ve put some magic in it to make it even better.” He beamed at her, and Dolce felt her cheeks warm up.

She’d expected him to like it, but she didn’t think he would heap so many praises on it. Then he asked a question she wasn’t expecting.

“Can I try it on here?”

“O-oh, of course. You can change in my room.” She directed him needlessly to the door, he’d been in there a number of times before.

“Be out in a jiffy,” Lest promised, closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door shut, Pico appeared right in front of Dolce’s face, chattering happily and excitedly endlessly. “Did you see his face, Dolly? He loves it so much! And the way he held it against his cheek, bet you wish he was holding your hand there instead of the sweater. And you know what else, you worked so long on it, I bet it smells like you too, and he’s gonna take it home and notice and—”

“Quite Pico!” Dolce hissed, swatting her ghost friend away like she was a gnat. Just above the chatter she heard Lest say something but hadn’t been able to catch the words.

She already had her hand on the doorknob, turning it without thinking to step into the room as she said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over Pico. Would you mind saying that again?”

Then she stopped cold. Her eyes were locked on Lest and she could feel her face burning up. What she’d thought she’d heard was just Lest complimenting the sweater again. She had thought that meant he’d put it on. She had thought it was safe to enter her room.

Whatever he had said it wasn’t remotely close to ‘Come check out your handiwork and see how well it fits!’

Dolce walked in to find Lest half into the sweater. He’d removed his shirt, and his chest was bare. And instead of doing the reasonable and polite thing and averting her eyes from this unintended show of skin, Dolce found she could only stare as her beautiful handiwork covered chest and stomach and abs as Lest pulled the sweater on. She lifted her eyes just as his head popped out from the neck of the sweater. He caught her staring with a little, “Oh.”

Dolce wanted to die right there. Or sink through the floor like Pico could. She thought she would combust with how hot her face felt. Quickly she averted her eyes. “S-sorry, I thought you were dressed.”

Lest laughed, though his cheeks were growing red too. “No worries! Look, it fits perfectly,” he lifted his arms and did a little spin to show off how well the sweater was made to fit him. “And it’s so soft, it feels incredible against my skin.”

Somewhere behind her, Dolce heard Pico break out into a fit of laughter. The heat drained from her face as other ideas of what might feel good against Lest’s skin so rudely invited themselves into the forefront of her mind, because that was certainly not what he meant. And before anything else could so rudely insert itself into the situation (like a certain ghost with the giggle fits) Dolce put an end to it.

She gathered up Lest and began bundling him towards the door and down the stairs. “Right, well I’m so glad to see it fits. I hope it keeps you warm through the winter. Maybe I’ll make a matching hat or some mittens. I still have some yarn left over. But like you said earlier, you’d better run. I’m sure you still have lots of important business to tend to today. Bye Lest, thanks for stopping by!”

And she pushed him unceremoniously into the street, closing the clinic door behind him. Jones and Nancy watched her with masks of placidity on their faces.

“So,” the doctor broached slowly, cautiously. “Did he like the sweater?”

Dolce did not grace him with a response. She rushed back upstairs, closing herself in her room, to burn in her embarrassment in private. As she dropped onto her bed and called muffled curses into her pillow about how incredibly awkward the whole thing had become. If only she’d waited two more seconds for a response before barging in!

After a minute or two of quiet despair, Dolce realized something. In her rush to get him out the door, Lest’s shirt had been left behind on her bed. Just as she realized this, she heard Nancy’s voice carrying clearly and brightly up the stairs.

“Lest, back so soon! Did you forget something?” Dolce groaned, balling up the shirt in her hands. Good gods, this embarrassment would never end!