#Brooklyn nine nine straight to my veins

[moonchild-nissa]

Usopp and Nami are ✨ bff ✨

[spideyspeaches]

Truth and Reconciliation ↬ p.p

AN: for @scarletspideyy ‘s 3k challenge! And also inspired by Rambling by @lousimusician !!!! Go check theirs out its HILARIOUS 😂

Summary: you're hit by an alien substance that makes you speak the truth no matter WHAT the situation is ;)

Warnings : rambling. lots of it. Also mentions of sex cause that’s basically the plot but it has not smut. it’s only implied! it is also implied that all the characters are 18+ !

Word count: 1.2k

College!Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

The thing is, even if you’re dating a hot smartass like Peter Parker, your ability to make smart decisions are exceptionally low. Add that with being a chaotic junior Avenger and boom you have a reckless teenager at your service.

“Ugh, I wish Peter was here right now.” you mumbled as you kicked the creepy robot monster square in the chest, huffing a little before running off.

“You’re just saying that because he’s your boyfriend.” Nat says in the comms, the static startling you a little.

“And because his ass looks great in the super tight spandex.” you nodded very seriously, missing your hot ass boyfriend’s ass, and of course because you were worried that he was going insane sitting at the tower’s newly delivered futon, munching at M&Ms and sulking about his ankle and how he broke it (by tripping in the shower).

“That’s it. The next suit I make for the kid will make him look like a pillow.” Tony piped up in your conversation.

“Nooo please don’t do that Tony, for my sanity!” you said, smirking at the ‘get some’ and ‘gross teenagers’ that came from Sam and Bucky, before your eyes widened.

‘Oh shit.’ you thought.

A Jabba the Hutt like creature was making its way towards you with a gun…in it’s hand. Wondering how the Jabba look-alike fitted a gun in its barely there hands, you used your telekinetic powers to fly towards the goop monster, thrusting your hands in front of you and slicing it smackdab through its belly, satisfied by the way it blasted in smithereens, but not before the green goopy thing hit your face, sliding down your neck and shoulders.

Looking in wonder at the green goop as it seemed to have saturated in your skin, you wondered,

“The fuck was that thing?”

Ignoring the ‘language’ from Cap, you felt your vision waver.

“Uh Mr. Stark, Nat, Bruce, someone. I think something’s wrong, I can’t see straight, which reminds me that Peter wears contacts but he never told anyone and I only know that cause I’m nosy and his glasses make him look ridiculously dorky and hot at the same time, why am I telling you this?” You said, trying to shut your mouth.

“I’m going to pretend that you don’t sound like you want to bone my kid, but were you hit by something? Any weird alien green goop? Are you hurt?” Tony said, landing near you.

“Oh my you care about me too, you’re like a father figure 2.0 to me too, but you didn’t ask that. Yeah I was hit by this weird green alien goop that seeped into my skin and that creature kind of looked like Jabba the Hutt-”

“-like the star wars character?”

“– yeah now stop interrupting me dad..man.. dadman! As I was saying, I think the thing is kind of like a truth serum. But it’s also making me say what my mind desires the most, like the Mirror of Erised! ” you said, excited in your own world, which is why you didn’t notice the glimmer in the other Avengers’ eyes as they saw you blabber your mouth off until you were out of breath.

***

“So you’re telling me that my girlfriend physically can’t stop telling the truth? Or just stop talking?” Peter said, crossing his forearms and squinting at the team. It did nothing but make him look adorable because of his propped up broken leg.

They at least had the decency to duck their heads to hide their smirks.

“Yeah if I have to hear her talk one more time about the theories of what might happen in season 8 of Brooklyn nine nine and then get distracted by “the veins in Peter’s arms’, I swear I will blast another hole in the wall!” Tony shrieked, hands up in the air in an exasperated gesture.

“But it’s true right? I mean Peter come on! you folding your arms like that are just making your biceps bulge and that poor t-shirt of yours looks like it’s about to tear.” You piped in from behind Tony, which queued Peter to loosen his arms, blush rising up his face.

“You have the right to remain silent.” Tony said firmly, glaring at you to stop talking. You shrugged as if to say ‘can’t help it.’

“I mean she can’t really help it right? You didn’t say anything embarrassing…..right? ” Peter said in a small voice.

“I'm pretty sure the Miranda warning was meant for me to shut up but I’m sorry I’m currently incapable of reassuring you,” you said, eyes slightly wide, "I told them that you read and write fanfiction on tumblr and I secretly follow your blog and your writing is so damn good! I never really told you this because I know you would die if I told you that I read your smut fictions till 2 am cause they’re so well written… SOMEONE GAG ME!”

***

By the time Stephen showed up to help Tony and Bruce, Peter’s face was so red that he looked like he was going to explode.

“….and then I said that fuck off bitch that’s ma bro you’re messing with, and promptly punched him in his little gremlin face and then realised that I had called my elementry to highschool crush ma bro…” you rambled, amusement clear on Steve’s face, who was intently listening to you talk about that time you had punched Flash for messing with Peter.

The tower was a mess due to the revealed secrets, Tony and Banner were trying to find a cure with Stephen , Wanda was recording you and Natasha was just…..casually sharpening her knife.

“Hey Y/N, drink this please?” Tony said, cutting you off from your rant about god knows what. He thrusted a vial with a weird goopy substance in it, instantly making you gag.

“What is that? I’m not taking some shit from a mad scientist who gave his fortune 500 company to his girlfriend because he was too emotionally unstable to handle it himself! I mean good call, cause Pepper is badass and all but-”

“-I’m going to ignore the jab at me but it’s a hopeful cure, so you’re going to drink that goop, and hopefully we all will get some silence.”

Huffing petulantly, you took the small vial of glass from him and chugged the thing with a small grimace.

Everybody was silent for a moment, including you. You could hear everyone holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But that never happened cause you wore the shoe like a pro.

Giving a huff, you laughed out loud. Again you looked Peter in his eyes and said in a serious tone, “Peter, I’m never fucking you again.”

Peter’s face fell at what you said, tears almost appearing in his doe eyes. Wanda and Nat gave you a shooketh look while Bucky and Sam were just laughing their asses off somewhere in the background. Strange looked so done that he portaled back to his Sanctum and poor Bruce just made his merry way to the lab.

“Hey look I lied!! This worked!” you whooped, Tony and Steve shaking their heads as you ran, but not before giving Peter a subtle wink.

Welp. Someone’s gonna get laid tonight.  

[fullmarvelheart]

Crossing Lines (6/?)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader

Word Count: 5,199 

Recommended: 18+ readers

Summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?

Warnings: Swearing, angst, a wee bit of fluff?, Grant Ward (because he’s his own warning), mentions of violence

A/N: Happy Black Widow Day! I’ve been waiting for this movie to come for so long and unfortunately I won’t be able to watch it tonight😢. But anyways, here’s part six with a surprise character😉 (literally didn’t think of adding her until yesterday). Hope you guys enjoy! This has not been beta read at all. All mistakes are my own. The GIF is not mine, so credit goes to the original creator!

Series Masterlist

“Skye, come on! Why the hell did you drive off to the middle of damn nowhere?”

“Just trust me.” She says calmly as she parks the car, completely ignoring my outburst in the process. “And stop complaining, Y/N/N. I know you had another fight with your dad, so I know you wanted to be out of the city.”

“Fine, ok. But what is going on? I’m guessing Ward has no idea what you’re doing.”

“You’re not serious, right? You know he hates me doing anything remotely dangerous.”

“Not that I’m against going behind your boyfriend’s back, but what did you do?” I ask my, running my fingers through my hair.

“So, you know how Ward mentioned HYDRA’s top runner, Crossbones, the other day?” I nod. “Well, I got curious. We know nothing about him, and Ward thinks he can set a trap for him. I just, I just don’t want him to get hurt when I could have done something.”

“And you know if you did this at the Bureau, he’d find out somehow and stop you. Or Gonzales would.” Now she nods. “Alright, but I’m helping you with this. I’ve got a weird feeling about the whole thing and as your partner, it’s my job to keep you safe.”

“You worry too much.” She chuckles. “Besides, I’ll practically be behind my computer screen the whole time. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“You’re right, I guess. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop worrying though. And why are you still with Ward?” I groan dramatically, causing her to laugh.

“Oh, be nice. He’s not bad once you get to know him.”

“I don’t know. Something about his arrogance just doesn’t settle well with me.” I shrug.

“You’re being over dramatic. He’s great!”

“He better be, he is dating my best friend after all. Now let’s find the next exit, I’m hungry!”

Her laughter echoes in my head as the car moves along the highway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stomp through the halls on a mission. The office was empty, and disturbingly dark and stuffy for nine in the morning. If he’s not in his office there’s only one other place I could imagine him in, his bedroom.

“Please, don’t kill me for this.” I mutter to myself before taking a deep breath and throwing the door open.

My eyes scan the room and zero in on the lump underneath the covers.

“Go away, Steve.” His usually pleasant rough voice is mixed with hints of sleep and something else. I can’t help it that my inner self finds it sexy while I try to stay concerned rather than turned on.

Now’s not the time for a daydream. Focus.

The door shuts with a soft click, giving him the impression ‘Steve’ left. You aren’t that lucky today. I’m no push over! My boot clad feet thud on the wooden floor as I march straight towards the end of the bed. With one strong grip at the end of the comforter, I yank the sheets off his body before turning towards the curtain clad windows.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He screeches, trying to pull the blankets back up to cover himself from the cold air of the room. That was nothing. “Hey! What the hell is this, Rogers?” I pull the curtains open; the intense sunlight illuminates the room causing even me to briefly squint.

After successfully finding a single blanket to cover back up with, I notice the fact that Barnes had curled himself into a human ball in the middle of his mattress to block out the light.

“Oh, for fucks sake.” I groan, grabbing onto an edge piece of the fabric. “Get up, now!”

I try to yank it off him in one swift motion, again, but he’s faster than I thought. He springs up into a sitting position, latching on to the blanket I almost had off him, commencing a tug-of-war over the stupid thing. The muscles and veins in his arms flex and bulge, and in normal situations, I’d be impressed. But I’m getting irritated.

“You’re an absolute child.” I grunt as I fight with him.

“Let go, you heathen.” He counters.

At his command, I let go, causing him to fly backwards and bounce slightly on the mattress.

“Dangerous mob boss my ass.” I chide, crossing my arms as he just looks at me with disbelief.

“What do you want, Fury?” He groans, rubbing his eyes.

“Too much for you to comprehend at the moment but let’s start with this. How about you get your head out of your ass, get out of bed, and do your damn job?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand, Fury. And you’re crossing a line here. Get out.”

“It’s Maximoff to you right now. And what don’t I understand, Barnes?” I ask, ignoring his other remark.

“You have some nerve, coming here, into my room. Now get out.” He growls, tossing the blanket away, exposing me to the fact that he sleeps only in a pair of boxers. Damn, suits really don’t do his body justice, but damn does he look good in either.

“You have some nerve thinking this doesn’t concern me.” I snap back, regaining my focus, glad he didn’t catch me staring or was too annoyed to notice.

“And how,” He starts, finally standing up and slowly walking towards me, “Does this concern you?”

His muscles bulge as he crosses his arms, stopping at the foot of his massive king-sized bed. Though, there is an unsway of his body, and the shakiness that was in his hands that doesn’t evade my attention. Where I once noticed stubble, an unkept beard lies in its place. His hair looks knotted, unwashed, and greasy. Overall, he looks like an absolute train wreck.

“How does it not? Furthermore, how does it not concern you?! Barnes when did you last have a full meal, let alone showered!?” I exclaim, looking him over more closely. I can barely see the fact that he’s lost weight, but it’s there, it’s noticeable. The lack of a hot shower is more than just noticeable though.

He scoffs again.

“This is none of your business. Leave.”

“Stop being so fucking defensive with me. And this is my damn business, or have you forgotten the deal you have with my father? With Brooklyn on uneasy ground, especially after losing their last leader, you’re a target for HYDRA to attack. Not to mention the threat of the other mafia clans. And you know damn well that if my father has any idea that your alliance will cost him more than benefit him, he’ll watch you be fed to the sharks. But it just so happens that his daughter is in your territory, which gives you just a bit more wiggle room. However, if you put me in danger, he won’t just watch, he’ll feed you to the damn sharks himself!”

“I know!” He yells, walking closer to me.

“Then start acting like it.” I hiss.

“You don’t understand!” He argues, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Understand what?!”

“I can’t do this without him!”

The room falls into silence, and I stare at him, stunned.

“Okay? I can’t do this without my father. Yes, he’d been preparing me for years. But I always knew I could get advice from him or help if I needed it, once I took over. But this, all of this. I don’t know how to lead my men; I don’t know how prepare us. I don’t even have time to grieve the fact my father, not my boss, is gone forever, and I don’t know how to do this without him.” He chuckles dryly, hands on his hips. “I told you, you wouldn’t understand.” And he’s turning away from me.

“You’re wrong.” I cringe at how shaky and quiet my voice comes out.

“What?”

“You’re wrong.” I repeat firmly. “To think I don’t understand.” The sting of tears forming in my eyes has me pausing to close them and take a deep breath.

When I open them again, Barnes faces me properly with a look of confusion and mild concern.

“No one knows exactly what to do in these situations. But from one ally to another, you have your training, and the people you trust to help you figure it out. And you have your friends. It might not always work the way you planned, but nothing ever really does. You aren’t the only one grieving the death of your father, the men also adored him. Keep that in mind.” I pause, watching him work through what I said to him. “But don’t you dare ever assume I don’t understand grief.” I sneer. “Or how to continue on with the weight of it constantly on my shoulders. You don’t know me. So don’t act like you do.” He gapes at me, like a fish. “Get your shit together Barnes, and get to work.”

I walk out of his room as quickly as I can, letting the door slam behind me. Two corners later and I finally let myself slump against the wall. I gasp for air I didn’t know I needed as I fight back the tears trying to escape. It’s been six months! It was just a stupid dream! Get it together!

When my breathing returns to normal, I pull out my phone. The message from the unsaved number glares at me as I ignore it, again, and type out a message to another party.

“Meet me at the shore this afternoon. More details will be given soon. Bring the info you have gathered and don’t tell the boss.”

The response is almost immediate.

“Understood. He’s getting antsy about the report...”

I groan to myself as I push off the wall. He’ll just have to wait longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The zippers of my backpack nearly shriek as I pull both of them together quickly. I’ve been frustrated with my more legal job before, but this is something different.

Why the fuck are they making me go to a check in with the case officer this early? A month! I’m supposed to have a month to gain traction and trust in the role they requested of me! They should know that it isn’t safe to possibly expose an undercover operative at all, why would they risk it this early on?!

I growl to myself under my breath as I lace up my boots, aggravated that they’re risking the objective of this mission. If I get made, my father will also lose the alliance, HYDRA might learn of my role in the government and go into hiding, and that’s a lot of fuck up that doesn’t need to happen. Gonzales better either know what he’s doing or have good intel for me.

I swing the backpack up on my shoulder, just as someone knocks on the door.

“Give me a second.” I call, letting the pack flop onto my bed.

I’m surprised to find Natasha on the other side of the door, waiting with her arms crossed patiently.

“Come on in.” I say before she can speak, nodding to the inside of my room.

She raises an eyebrow in suspicion but walks in anyways. She turns to face me just and the door closes.

“All I was going to say was that Barnes is requesting everyone to head to the warehouse, but I’m guessing there’s something else?”

I nod. “I got called for a check in.” I tell her with an eyebrow raised, not needing to tell her who I’m referring to.

“This soon?”

“I’m hoping to get something worth the risk for this, but my gut says otherwise.”

She hums to herself in thought as she processes.

“I can get you a cover this time.” She states sharply. “But they need to get their act together. The cover might work just enough, but there are still people in here who don’t trust you, yet.”

“They might never.” I shrug. “But I agree with your risk assessment. I’m prepared to chew out whoever it is.”

She smirks, then motions towards my door. “Get to the warehouse and leave your things here for now. I’ll make the arrangements.”

I give her a small smile before we’re both walking off in different directions.

The warehouse is packed with people, many of which I don’t recognize, all of whom are engaging in loud conversations. I begin to push my way through the crowd, though I don’t make it too far as I feel a hand grab onto my arm. When I turn towards the pull, Drax smiles at me, motioning for me to follow him. I laugh quietly to myself as people practically jump out of Drax’s way. When we stop, I spot Carol not too far away and walk over to her.

“For the record,” She says, not even looking at me. “This is odd for us too.”

“Is this everyone?” I ask, confused.

She scoffs. “No, there are still those on patrols or jobs that aren’t here. But I’m sure they’ll be brought up to speed, on whatever this is, later.”

I hum as an answer, my eyes scanning the crowd of faces, seeing who I’ll recognize. I just make out Rollins’ silhouette as the voices begin to fall silent. Barnes stands in front of the gathering on a small platform, Rogers and Wilson flank him on either side. He looked a lot better than what I saw earlier. His beard trimmed back to a five o’clock shadow, his hair washed, brushed, and tied into a small bun behind his head, and there was strength in his body showing that he was able to eat since I last saw him. If I hadn’t seen him this morning, I wouldn’t have believed anything was wrong in the first place.

Standing behind the three mafia men, I see Barton, the two Odinson brothers, and five other men and one woman that I don’t recognize. Natasha casually merges in with the group at the last second.

“Many of you have taken note of my absence recently.” Barnes starts talking, his voice booming across the warehouse, commanding everyone’s full attention. It sends a thrill down my spine that I suppress. “And I am aware of the rumors that have been spreading regarding such absence.

“I was reminded earlier today that I was as close to my father as he was with many of you, maybe just a little closer. And yes, I’ve been grieving. But that grief has not blinded me to the enemy that is still out there, just as it has not blinded you.

“The enemy that has let their guard down because HYDRA thinks it has weakened us!” Grumbles of disapproval make him pause. “But they have not weakened us! This clan, this family, is not weakened by the grief of our leader. We are angered, enraged, that they dare try to cross us.” He pauses, listening to the murmurs of agreement of his people. “They have no idea what awaits them. Since the fall of George Barnes, they’ve expected us to kneel before them, begging for mercy. But they will be the ones begging. Their days are number because we will find them, and we will bury every last one of them as we watch HYDRA burn!”

The men begin to shout out their support, the roar almost sounds deafening to my ears, but I follow their lead, yelling with them. Barnes holds up his hand, and the crowd silences.

“Get a move on. We have work to do.” The warehouse erupts in applause, shouts of affirmation, threats to HYDRA, and anything of the sort.

The men begin to clear out of the warehouse, and Carol motions for me to follow her before walking towards Barnes.

“It’s good to see you again, boss.” She tells him with a smile, one he reciprocates before glancing at me. “I was wondering if I’d be able to take new girl around for a drive. Just to show her around our territory.”

“That’ll have to wait, Danvers.” Natasha cuts in, before turning to me. “Let’s go.”

She’s walking away before Barnes or Danvers, who both share a curious glance with me, can say anything. I only slightly hesitate before hurrying after her.

“Thank you.” I mutter once we’re out of the warehouse.

“Don’t thank me, yet. The boss will have questions.”

“Hopefully it’ll be worth it. If it isn’t, I’m gonna chew out whatever unlucky soul is sent.”

“I have no doubt of that.” She replies, and I can hear a hint of a smirk in her voice.

We near one of the doors that serve as an exit to the base, and I see my backpack sitting at the bottom of it.

“Know you way around?” She asks as I swing the backpack over my shoulder.

“Well enough. It shouldn’t be too hard.” I say, shrugging.

“Good. If you do get lost, call me,” She hands me a piece of paper with a number on it. “And I’ll sent someone for you. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I nod, folding the paper up and slipping it in the back pocket of my jeans.

She nods back, then walks away. I take a deep breath before throwing the door open and walking out in the direction of the nearest subway. When I’m a decent way away from the warehouse, I pull out my phone.

“Brooklyn Bridge Park, Pier 2, two hours.” I press send on the text before placing a call, one I admittedly should have done earlier.

“About damn time!” I cringe at the tone in his voice but carry on as if I didn’t piss him off.

“I thought I wouldn’t have any contact with the Family. But everything’s going well. There was a slight issue, but I handled it and everything’s back to the way it should be.” I say over the noise of the street traffic.

“What issue? And why are you calling in public?”

“I was called in.” I grumble into the phone.

“Already?”

“Yes, but I swear if this is a waste of time, whoever I’m meeting is getting an earful.”

“I’d be concerned if they didn’t. But what issue?”

“It’s been fixed, it doesn’t matter, but I need a copy of the contract.” I state firmly, hopefully distracting him from the other thing.

“Y/N, you know-”

“Father!” I take a breath, so I don’t start arguing with him in public. “I need that copy. If I’m going to be doing this, I need to know every single condition, and every term.”

The other end of the line is silent, and I know he’s thinking things over.

“Alright. But in turn, when I ask for an update, you give me one that fucking day. Understood?”

“Yes.” I mumble, hating feeling like a scolded child.

“Good.”

“I’m getting on the subway, I have to go.”

“I expect an update tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.” I hang up the phone and let out a deep sigh before walking down the stairs.

As the subway approaches, my phone chimes and I glance at the text.

“Understood. I’ll see you there.”

The meeting place my case officer chose, a quaint little coffee shop, is two blocks away from my stop. The amount of people on the sidewalks has me wishing for my bike as I squeeze in between people, and there are several times I wished to shove the slow walkers out of my way when I couldn’t pass. Honestly being stuck in traffic was a bit more enjoyable to being stuck behind of group of gossiping women.

I come up to the corner of the street, where the shop is located, and spot its cute little sign. As I cross the street, I happen to take a glance in the window and immediately find a face I recognize.

“You got to be shitting me.” I growl to myself.

The door chimes as I walk through, and I head towards the table.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I grumble as I take a seat, using the heel of my boot to put pressure on the toes of his foot.

“Right, well,” He coughs, covering up a wince as he pulls his foot away from mine. I smirk to myself. “Considering I called for this, I’m not really surprised.”

“Ward, you son of a bitch.” I hiss, quiet enough not to draw attention, as I kick his shin sharply. “You’re an idiot. You better have a good reason for doing this Grant.”

He visibly winces and adjusts himself before clearing his throat to address me.

“As your case officer, I don’t need to explain this to you.”

“You do when you compromise my position. This was way too early!” I hiss before clearing my throat, remember not to cause a scene. “Do you have information for me or not?”

“We’ll get to that in a second. Look, if Skye was still alive, she’d want-”

“Yeah, well she’s not here. How does your new girlfriend, what was it, Kara, feel about you still being hung up on your dead ex?”

“Do not bring her into this.” He hisses, before straightening up and burying any hint of annoyance until there is barely any emotion visible on his face. I hate when he does this, it unnerves me how easy it is for him each time. “Here.” He states before putting a thin file on the table for me to grab. “This is everything that we’ve been able to find out about them recently.”

I swipe it off the tabletop and gently toss it into my backpack, without opening the folder.

“Hopefully, I don’t see you again anytime soon. This better not become a regular thing with you.” I mumble before getting up and ordering a cup of coffee to-go.

As I walk out of the store, I almost bump into a blonde woman that was on her phone. Luckily for both of us, the coffee didn’t spill. After a few seconds of hurried apologies, and foreign curse words on her end, I hurry to the station, hoping I won’t have to wait that long for my ride.

When I get to the park, I decide to wander around for a little bit. It feels good to be out in fresh air inside of being inside a building for the entire day. The clouds look fluffy and soft, the breeze is cool on my face, and the sun feels just warm enough to enjoy without sweating to death. I stop once I get to Pier 2 and just find myself leaning on the railing of the pier, looking out onto the river and the skyscrapers on the other side.

While I wait, I decide to enter Natasha’s number into my phone, then letting the piece of paper fall into the water of the river, the safest way to dispose of it. After I can no longer see the white of the paper, I return my gaze to my father’s city.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, looking towards the voice.

“Content. Happy, even just a little bit.” She says with a small smile while moving to stand beside me.

“It’s the little things like this that make me happy, May. It helps me forget about the mess that is my life, even just for a few minutes.”

She hums and we just stand in silence for a moment.

“What have you been able to find?” I ask, breaking the silence and going into business mode.

“Not much. I doubt it’ll be much help to you.”

“A little may be what I need. I still have some of her research. At this point I just need anything on him.”

“Having nightmares about her again?” She asks, concerned.

It causes me to smile, even just a little bit. Sure, my father hired her, but she has always remained loyal to me, more so than to the family. Though, I have no doubt that if she had any concern about me, she’d go talk to my father.

“More like memories. Still, they leave me feeling restless because I haven’t been able to find a lead on this guy. Skye was getting close, I know that. Which is the only explanation as to why she was killed.”

She hums again. “Still not planning on telling your father?”

I scoff. “After he basically called me paranoid for looking into Ward? No. If he finds out I haven’t let this go like he thinks, he’s going to ask questions. Questions I’m not ready to answer. Not only that, but if he finds out I contacted you while on assignment, I’d get my head chewed off. I’m technically not even allowed to contact him, yet here we all are.”

She nods with a slight chuckle, then pulls a file out from underneath her jacket and hands it to me.

“I’ll keep checking in with my contacts on the street to see if anything new about him surfaces, but until then, this is all I have.”

I stare at the closed file for a moment, before sliding that into my backpack as well.

“Thank you again, May.” She smiles briefly before nodding.

“You should get out of here, before anyone questions why you’ve been gone for a while.” I nod and push away from the railing. “Oh, and Y/N?” I turn back around. “Stay safe.”

“You too, May.” I call back, walking away.

A flash of blonde hair in the corner of my eye has me pause for a second, but when I see nothing, I shrug to myself and keep going. It must have been in my head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door to my room shuts and I feel my body sag from the exhaustion of the day. I let my backpack slip to the ground with a soft thud and shuffle towards my bed. When my back meets the cool sheets of the mattress, a deep sigh escapes my lips and I close my eyes, finally enjoying a bit of rest. But, there’s a knock at my door that has me groaning loudly.

“Of course.” I grumble under my breath.

When I open the door, I’m very surprised to find Thor standing on the other side with a slight scowl on his face.

“Follow me.”

I do so, hesitantly, letting the door slowly click shut before catching up to him. The walk is silent, and for some reason, I feel uneasy for the first time since I walked in here. He leads me through the halls, and I find myself recognizing where we are going. James Barnes’ office.

Thor opens the door and motions for me to step inside, and I do, trying to maintain a façade of confidence. And I’m grateful for it, because the glare Barnes wears as he watches me enter almost has me reeling backwards. He sits behind his desk, looking regal, deadly, and in charge. No trace of friendliness shows on his face.

What really throws me for a loop is the petite redhead curled on his lap, her well-manicured nails raking through his hair in almost a possessive manner. The sight makes something churn uncomfortably in my stomach, and by the smirk on her face, she knows it too.

I look away from her, finding Rogers and Wilson in their places behind Barnes, leaning against the wall. Natasha stands off to the right, near the only window in the office.

“Dot, leave.” He says stiffly, not removing his gaze from mine.

“But Bucky Boo-”

“Now.” He growls, ignoring her high-shrieked protest. This is the infamous Barnes I’ve heard about on the streets.

She huffs in irritation, untangling herself from Barnes’ lap and starts stomping out of the room like a child throwing a small tantrum. She brushes past me, giving me the death glare on her way. I simply raise an eyebrow at her retreating form until the door shuts behind her.

“Lovely person, Bucky Boo.” I mutter under my breath, turning back around. “I haven’t looked at the information I was given, yet. I only just got back to the compound.” I say to Barnes, assuming that’s what got him so miffed.

“How was the meeting?” He asks, completely ignoring my remark, irritation still evident.

“I wanted to shove Ward’s head through the window only a few times. So, fairly well, I guess. Still pissed off he’s assigned as my case officer though.” I shrug still not seeing the point of this.

I see Barnes’ eye twitch and hear the soft click of the door closing. I turn around to see the blonde that I almost walked into on the sidewalk from earlier, and everything falls into place. With a click of my tongue in understanding, I turn back around towards Barnes.

“You had me followed.” I state.

“Yelena Belova, Nat’s sister, was sent to keep an eye on you. Make sure you stayed safe.”

“Hmmm. Interesting.” I hum towards the ground, frustrated that I didn’t see that coming earlier, as my hands find purchase on my hips, my nails digging into the fabric of my shirt.

“Imagine my surprise when I got a message saying you weren’t on your way back after the drop off, but was going to meet someone else.”

“Yeah, and I’m not telling you why.” I fire back stubbornly, my hands still on my waist.

Barnes blinks rapidly, shocked, because I didn’t deny it, that I said no to him so easily, or maybe because of something else completely. Whatever the reason, he recovers quickly. A scowl now twisting up his features.

“We had a deal with your f-”

“I’m not the one that needs reminder of that deal, it seems.” I snap. “What I did today, was for reasons you aren’t entitled to.” His scowl deepens. “Now, I could give you some information about it. If you were to tell me something in return.”

“And what’s that?” He growls, but willing to play my game.

“The last crate I picked up on my assignment.” Recognition dances over his eyes. “Yeah, it’s about that. Tell me what was in there because I know for a fact it wasn’t the shit on the manifest. That was just a cover. You tell me what the shipment was, and I’ll tell you what I was given.”

He clenches his jaw, but doesn’t say a word. I wait for a moment before nodding, more to myself than him.

“You’ll get the info the Bureau sent me, once I make sure it’s actually useful.”

I turn and exit the office quickly, no one saying a word to me before the door closes. My nails dig into my palms as I stomp back to my room, pissed off at the day I’ve had. My door slams shut, and I begin pacing the floor of my room. Anger flows through my veins like a fire that can’t be stopped. I had at least thought I was gaining some ground with Barnes and even some of the others, but apparently not. The only reason he let me go free is because of that stupid deal.

One thing’s certain after tonight, though. James Barnes is not to be trusted.

 Part 7

Tag List:

@the-ss-horniest-book-club

@broco8

@tcc-gizmachine

@miraclesoflove

@ladyacrasia

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

Let me start with this.

Police shows are propaganda to teach us to glamorize police and let them get away with doing literally anything like harassing and arresting a man on a hunch which disproportionately effects Black and Brown people.

Now that I've established the baseline of the post.

Anyone want to talk about how shows that have an obvious bad and good guy are in the same vein?

Because you can see who the bad and good guys are based on our legal system. A cis/straight man can use the "gay panic defense" as an excuse to stab a gay or trans person 45 times under the idea of temporary insanity.

But I saw a Tiktok where a Black guy said he was harassed and assaulted because he was a suspect in a robbery he didn't commit, and now he has PTSD. So if the cop pulls him over and he starts shaking, he assumes he has something I hide, rather than accept the fact that he has PTSD given to him by a police officer.

And, I can't relate to that, but I am afraid of how I, a mentally ill person, may interact with the police. First if all, I gave APD. If a cop says something, I may not hear him. Second of all, if he gets mad and starts yelling at me, I'll disassociate. That's a trauma response for me. (For the record, unless it's for an extended period of time, if I disassociate, I'm not mentally there's my body is an empty shell. I'm not moving or reacting to outside stimulation. That's also part of the trauma response.)

So. Like...

Mentally ill people or Black people aren't allowed to be afraid of cops, even if they have a history of trauma.

But Cis-straight men are allowed to be afraid or gay and trans men to the point it sends them into a violent rage even if there's no trauma there?

Our media normalizes the idea of an obvious good and bad guy, and the legal system takes advantage of that to claim certain groups are always the good guy and certain groups are always the bad guy.

-fae

[captainjimothycarter]

So silly image of sorts based on cousins, but Peggy and Steve vs other parents regarding their kid because their kid takes after serumed daddy and is big for his age. Someone giving them shit for being terrible parents cause their 'obviously' pre-school aged child is throwing a fit and the snap back that the kid is a year, 18 months, not pre-school don't expect a big kid just because he's tall/broad for his age, he's still a baby etc.

Okay maybe less funny but over protective Steve really wanted to showcase himself.

--

They knew that there was going to be problems down the road with Steve having the serum and he and Peggy trying for kids.

Howard had given his own input or two and it was nothing more than, “We simply don’t know what will happen, kid. It’s all guessing games. Peggy’s pregnancy could either be completely normal six, seven, eighteen months or she could have the kid in six and the kid be fine or worst.”

Peggy’s lips pursed slightly, taking Steve’s hand into her own. Their wedding bands gently brushed one another as she did. “First off, do you not know how long a woman is pregnant for, Howard? Nine months! Nine months. How…” She pinched the bridge of her nose and waved off anything he said in explanation.

“Second,” she continued with a huff. “What do you mean worse?”

Here now, Howard looked sheepish, more so for the worse than the lack of knowing how long a woman was pregnant for. “Well...when we first met Steve he did have that laundry list of problems and-”

“You mean our kid could be like how I was?” Steve interjected, interrupting an annoyed-looking Howard. “They could-could-”

“Hold up, before you start spiraling, Stevie.” Howard’s hands flew up, raised to defend himself and stop Steve from starting to panic. “I said could. If. Maybe. It’s a possibility, a slight possibility that we have to consider, even if I don’t think it’s possible. That serum coursing through your veins rewrites DNA. Genetics. Your little kid is more likely to have that serum than to have any laundry list of your problem.”

But it was still something they had to think about and Steve was struggling to wrap his mind around that.

All through Peggy’s pregnancy, that problem remained in the back of his head. It was a possibility. No matter how much he tried to reassure himself with the countless doctors and even Howard saying that Peggy was doing outstanding for her pregnancy, how big the baby was, and what naught.

It was still there, no matter how much he tried to drown it with optimistic thoughts.

It wasn’t until Chester Micheal Carter-Rogers was born at ten pounds and nine ounces, twenty-five inches in length did Steve breathe a sigh of relief. Even if Chest was three weeks early and Peggy had to have a c-section.

Peggy and baby were both fine and Steve was grateful, so, so, so grateful.

That’s when the problems began to show how it would be to raise a child with the serum. How much of the serum and if they’d later possess super-human strength, no one was sure. Not even Howard. It was all development.

At three months, Chester was already sitting up on his own and responding to his name with a toothless smile. At five months, he was holding his own bottle and loving to play with his parents. At six months, started the teething.

“Well, at least he doesn’t have your strength,” Peggy tried to joke as Chester chewed on the slushy-texture pacifier. “Else he would’ve bitten my nipple straight off with those three teeth halfway coming in. If he bites my nipple, we’re having a problem, mister.”

Chester just giggled at his mama’s finger and gripped at it, making Steve give that half-smile of relief.

Chester was eight months before he said his first word, “Broom!”

Steve dropped the broom he was holding, looking down at the heavy boy strapped to his chest. He’d dropped a glass earlier and was trying to clean it up, having strapped his baby boy to him so he wasn’t hurt. “Did you just…?”

Chester grinned a whole eight teeth in his mouth now. “Broom! Broom!”

“You just…” Steve swallowed, feeling faint and overwhelmed with pride as he picked the boy up and hugged him. “You spoke!”

It was near the year mark did Howard point something out over dinner. “You know...Chester has never been sick.”

Peggy shared a look with Steve, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth. Steve lowered his fork and looked at their baby that he was feeding mashed-up food. “That’s true,” she said carefully after a moment of thought. “Not even a fever, a cold. I wasn’t sickly as a child but I had my fair share of colds as an infant and Lord knows you did too, Steve.”

“I think it’s safe to confirm that Chester has Steve’s serum,” Howard mused as if no one had already thought about that. “Good for him.”

--

Other parents started to notice the developments too during their daddy and me! classes. There were some snide remarks on how big their boy was for a one-year-old.

“Thirty-two pounds!” Gretta hissed, glaring at where Steve was showing Chester and the other kids how to blow bubbles. “He said Chester is thirty-two pounds and thirty-five inches! Can you believe that? Look at how big he is!”

Steve huffed in annoyance and tried not to let the other gossip get to him. It wasn’t until Peggy stormed home one day after a grocery trip with Chester, the little boy sniffling like he’d been crying did it hit him how rude the other parents were.

“I ran into our darling neighbor today,” she noted, slamming the eggs down on the counter.

Steve flinched and hope they weren’t broken as he finished buttoning up Chester’s pants after he’d taken him to the bathroom. “Darling,” he warned, knowing how sensitive Chester was to emotions. “Which neighbor?”

“Oh, the wonderful and perfect Kelly and her perfectly normal daughter Jackie. Don’t you know how perfect they are?”

Steve watched as she half-aggressively put up the groceries, only stopping her when she almost dropped the barely-survived eggs. “Peggy,” he breathed, cupping her jawline. “What did they say?”

“Chester went to hug Jackie as normal - he’s fascinated with other kids and you know him, doesn’t know his own strength, and is just getting the hang of walking right. He fell into Jackie and pushed them both down and Kelly acted like he had punched her daughter. She told me to keep my monster of a child away from her and her family. I told her then she needs to keep her husband home and away from his mistress on business trips.”

Steve’s lips pursed and looked over to Chester playing with his blocks, sighing. Yeah, he got that. The neighbors were not the most polite about Chester’s rapid growth. It’s not like they could say he was Captain America and Chester had some percentage of the super-soldier serum.

“Well, maybe she’ll learn to keep her mouth shut,” he grunted, taking the eggs from her to safely put in the fridge.

--

In the two months since that incident, Chester was speaking more, learning new words every day. He was even speaking full sentences and could name objects. Now he was walking by himself, kicking a ball back and forth, and even sang songs.

Unfortunately, that meant that Peggy had, of course, taught their son The Man With The Plan.

Right now, none of that mattered. Not when Chester, his beautiful son with his downy soft blonde hair, and hazel eyes, was screaming in the buggy. Not that Steve blamed his son, really. The kid was hot and icky and tired and after several boosters from the doctor, he wouldn’t want to be in public either.

But grocery trips had to be had.

And it didn’t help that Kelly shouldered by them, dragging her daughter and loudly stating that Jackie wasn’t allowed to hug Chester or even look at him.

Now how do you explain that to a child who’s already in a bad mood? You don’t.

Steve had given up on comforting Chester beyond rubbing his back and whispering to him as he looked at the options of oatmeal. He was still sniffling and hiccuping loudly and screaming every so often, even if Kelly had insisted on staying on the aisle with them.

“If that was my daughter,” she droned on without anyone asking her, “I would’ve taught her right and told her tantrums to get you nowhere, especially at that age.”

“And what age might that be?” Steve challenged, standing up and laying a hand on the cart. Chester’s little fingers wrapped around his middle finger to try to suckle on. Poor buddy. Still had that tooth coming in.

“Four, isn’t he?”

Steve just blinked at her, scooping Chester up to try to ground him. God, he wishes Peggy was here. She wouldn’t keep her temper in check as much as he was, but her comfort was greatly needed.

“You know damn well that our kids were born the same year, just months apart, and your daughter, who’s now pulling open the boxes of grits, by the way, is three months older than Chest. And by the way, Kelly, Chest is only eighteen months old! He’s just big for his age and upset because you’re a terrible mother who insists that our kids can’t play together.”

“Well-well-” Kelly stomped to her child and ripped the box from her hand, jerking her up. “He’s too big! He’ll hurt her! He’s nothing but a m-”

Steve didn’t feel his feet moving him until he was in front of the woman about to call his child a monster. He cradled Chester closer to him and glared down at her.

“Finish that sentence, I dare you. You and I both know damn well that Paul isn’t the father of your child and unless you want him to know…” The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he stepped back fixed Chester in his arms. “Come on, Chest. I know mommy is waiting for us at the house. Are you ready for our big move, huh? Away from judgemental neighbors who can’t keep themselves in check, yeah? We’ll find new friends for you to play with who don’t mind how big you are. Yeah, we will!”

--

It might’ve taken two months from moving from Brooklyn to DC and to finally get their house in order but Chester was a lot happier here.

More room to play around in, even having three play dates lined up in the last week with new neighbors who didn’t seem to mind their son was a little more advance.

It wasn’t until the four-month mark hit and Peggy came home from a doctor appointment within Shield did Steve feel the familiar dread hit him as she silently handed him a blank envelope.

Two sonograms were laid inside. One labeled baby a and the other baby b.

“Twins,” he breathed, looking over to Chester rolling his ball after the cat. “We’re having...twins.”

Peggy, seeing the familiar look pulled him in for a comforting kiss. “We are, but at least we have practice with Chester. And no judgemental Kelly around here.”

[hansensgirl]

salvatore | iii

series summary | Bucky Barnes doesn’t believe in love anymore. Especially after the tragic, unknown death of his wife, Natasha. He thinks it’s stupid and a waste of time and- oh my. Hello there, you. There you were, with your notebooks and your novels, writing your heart away. He’s hellbent on saving you from this nasty world, his elusive neighbor that has him under the stupid spell of love. You soon find yourself trapped in a tragic love story with Bluebeard, not Prince Charming.

chapter warnings | graphic depictions of murder, guns, blood, kidnapping, crying, manipulation?, bucky being a creep once again, sad!reader, alcohol, feelings, dark themes, dark!bucky, 18+ THIS IS A DARK FIC, IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T READ IT!

pairings | dark!bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x reader, mentions of bucky barnes x natasha romanoff

a/n | the long awaited part three! enjoy and leave me some feedback! also thank you so much @threeminutesoflife for beta-reading and editing this chapter for me, ilysm!

7:48. Bucky traced the gun in his hand with his metal arm, admiring it in such a way that he almost forgot what he was doing. He was crammed in the front seat of a lousy car he stole, but that wasn’t the problem. It was the man who left the tall building at last, wearing a smug smirk that Bucky desperately wanted to knock off. Bucky shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans and stepped out of his car. He kneeled behind an expensive car next to his, the one your boss loved more than his own wife. Just when the man reached for the door handle, Bucky pulled out the handkerchief that was soaked in a chemical far more strong than chloroform. The diamond encrusted CEO struggled in Bucky’s strong grip, but didn’t inhale. Bucky huffed as he grew annoyed with the businessman, gutting him in the stomach. He wheezed and inhaled deeply, falling unconscious in just a few minutes.

8:03. Bucky dragged his body into his stolen car and slammed the door shut before driving off. He drove further into the city, all the way to little old Brooklyn. As he drove down the streets, old forgotten memories were brought back up. He quickly pushed them back down, trying to focus on his mission. He felt almost like the Soldat, just with freedom. He wasn’t on HYDRA’s leash, he was free after years of torture. Bucky hung a right and parked by the old abandoned warehouse. He stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It wasn’t the good kind. He dragged your boss’s body into the old warehouse, trying to hurry the process up. He shut the metal shutters and cringed at the loud bang from them before dragging the body into the warehouse’s basement. He sighed and pulled out the gun, pulling the trigger. One. Two. Three. Three bullets pierced through the man's body and Bucky didn’t feel a remorse of guilt. He rushed out of the basement but left the door open, leaving the warehouse. By tomorrow night your boss’s wife and colleagues would find the body.

9:14. It seemed to Bucky that the day was in a hurry to end, but he couldn’t let that happen. The smell of gunpowder filled the car and he realized that he had to ditch it before it was too late. He ditched it on the side of the road for someone else to find, leaving the keys in the ignition. He jogged back to his home in an effort to reach there before ten. He couldn’t wait to see you, maybe you’ll wear that pretty pink dress in your closet, or that black skirt in your drawer. He smiled once he saw his house become closer and closer, before looking up to the window. He could see your faint silhouette dancing to a song he didn’t care about. He smiled at how carefree you seemed, wanting to stay there and watch you dance all night. But he couldn’t. He opened the door to his house and shut it behind him, before heading up to the shower. He undressed himself and dumped his clothes in his laundry basket. He turned the water on so that it was scorching hot, but not too hot. He stepped in and revelled in the refreshing feeling, wanting to take all the time in the world just so that he could relax. But even he himself couldn’t resist going out with you. He felt as if the water cleared every sin of his away, almost as if he was a new man. Was this love? Was this what true love does to you? Natasha never made him feel this way, this had to be true love.

-

It’s half past nine and you’re lost. The blinds to your window are slightly opened, allowing slivers of moonlight to shine through and they make your tear-filled eyes glisten. You blinked them away, even though you dared them to fall. You don’t know what to feel. You were happy, but at the same time you were the melancholic mess you’d sworn you would never become. Old feelings for Bucky have resurfaced and a question circled your mind for the whole night. Was it always just a puppy crush or love? There’s no way it was love, right? You groaned as you asked yourself the same stupid question, trying not to let it ruin your night. You pressed shuffle on your playlist and swayed your hips to Lana Del Rey’s elusive voice. You stopped in front of your closet and tried to find something suitable. You grabbed a skirt and tank top, before you began to sing along to the lyrics. You pulled the articles of clothing on, not realizing how revealing they were.

Your face frowned with disappointment as you realized that your bra straps did not suit the outfit. You sighed and slivered your hand to your back, undoing your bra clasp. Your tits fell with a bounce and you let out a lewd sigh at the feeling of your hardening peaks against the soft material. You stood in front of the mirror and smiled at your reflection. A chain of curse words fell from your mouth as you realized it was almost ten o’clock. You scrambled for your phone and completely rushed down the stairs. You struggled to pull on your shoes that seemed as if they didn’t want to be worn. “Come- on!” You grunted with frustration before your foot finally slipped in. The other side fitted with ease and before you knew it, Bucky was standing on the other side of the door.

You let out a small gasp, before standing up straight. He tied his long locks into a bun but the simplicity of his outfit contrasted the exuberance. You were dumbfounded, just watching him. His eyes raked up and down your frame, taking you in. “Ready?” He asked, smirking playfully. You nodded meekly, following him. You tried to catch up to him, but his long strides didn’t give you a chance. “Wait up! You walk too fast!” You squeaked, making him chuckle. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, colliding with your small figure. The super soldier didn’t feel a thing, but he let out a grunt for no reason. You winced at the collision, looking up at him with eyes that asked a simple question. “Are you okay?” you both blurted out, before chuckling. You looked into his steele blue eyes and wondered how anyone could consider him a monster.

Bucky stared into your eyes, an underwhelming feeling surging inside of him. He had to hold back the urge to kiss your lips, to hide you away from this cruel world that hurt you. But he couldn’t. Instead, he intertwined his flesh fingers between yours, his rough skin contrasting the soft feeling of yours. He felt his hand become clammy, but you didn’t. He tugged you gently down the small sidewalk that led you to his home. You frowned as you noticed his front lawn. It resembled a graveyard, filled with withered flowers that were begging to be dug up. You stood on the front porch and looked around, trying to make out your surroundings in the dark. “Ladies first!” He cajoled as he opened the door. You smiled and stepped into his house. It was something out of the forties. “At least the walls aren’t flower covered” you mumbled under your breath, hoping he didn’t hear a word.

His eyes burned holes into you as your words replayed in his head. But when you turned and smiled at him, all his anger flew out the window. “You have a nice house, Bucky” you complimented, taking off your shoes that gave you trouble before. You bent down and tried to take off your shoes as smoothly as you could, not wanting to embarrass yourself. Now, that would haunt you for the rest of your life. Bucky unashamedly stared at your skirt-clad ass, imagining what it would be like to bend you over and fuck you to his will. He had to take things slow, unlike what happened with Natasha. He turned around and opened the freezer that was filled with all your favourite frozen foods and treats. “Slowly but surely, James” he recited in his mind, grabbing a tub of your favourite ice cream. He set in down on the marble countertop and placed two spoons next to it.

You placed your shoes next to the door and turned around just to see your favourite ice cream on his counter. You pinched yourself and winced at the sting. It was too good to be true, right? Were you so used to being treated horribly that you couldn’t believe that someone was doing something nice for you? You smiled brightly and grabbed one of the spoons. Your smile slowly began to fall when a question floated around in your mind. How did he know? Bucky turned around and pretended to smirk at your shocked expression. “What? It’s too late for some of the best ice cream ever?” He teased, setting a flask of mead next to the container. You cursed at yourself for worrying at something so trivial, not even noticing the flask. You noticed the spoons were similar to the ones you couldn’t find earlier that day, but then again, you had purchased them at the local Target that was about five minutes away from your neighborhood.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards his staircase, bringing you upstairs. Your eyes scanned the walls but they seemed to go by in a blur. He brought you into the farthest room at the end of the hallway, and you looked around. The room was dark, yet it was so lively. A record player sat on a table and he had a bookcase that was stacked with all your favourites. You gasped at some of the more provocative titles, ones that you wouldn’t dare to think Bucky would’ve even glanced at. Bucky watched you carefully, noting the small gasps that left your mouth and the way your eyebrows were slightly knitted together. “Have you ever read it?” He asked, noticing the way you marvelled at the specific title. You meekly nodded, remembering all the times you had to take a cold shower because of it. Bucky felt his pants slightly tighten at the thought of you touching yourself to a book. You turned your back to the bookcase and took the tub of ice cream from his hands, opening the cold cover. Your mouth salivated at the sight of the treat, and you immediately dug your spoon into it. You held back a small moan when you ate the ice cream, your worries almost disappearing. Bucky’s spoon soon joined yours, but he didn’t really care for the tub of ice cream.

He set the spoon down and cleared his voice before speaking. “So, why did you want to hangout?” He asked, hoping you’d open up to him. As Natasha used to say, “if we don't have trust, we have nothing.” You nearly choked on your ice cream, making Bucky let out a chuckle that had you weak in the knees. “Well, I just had a bad day, you know?” You spoke, sighing heavily. You set your spoon down next to Bucky’s, realizing your situation. You were jobless and your own mother didn’t even want you to visit her and your father. You felt a lump in your throat form, tears stinging your eyes once again. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. Bucky fought the urge to sigh as he realized that you weren’t ready to open up to him. He put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, the gentleness causing you to look up at him. You both locked eyes for the billionth time that night, but this time yours were filled with tears. “Hey, maybe this’ll help. Talking about your problems helps a lot, you can confide in me, doll. Trust me, I’m a safe” Bucky coaxed, making you relax your muscles. You didn’t even know you were tensed up.

Bucky dug around in his pocket and pulled out the small flask of Mead. You furrowed your brows with confusion and he smiled down at you. “Thor brought it from Asgard, y’know, Thor? It’s their alcohol, it’s way stronger than anything anyone on Earth has made. It can actually get me drunk” he explained, twisting the cover open. He pretended to take a small swig from it, knowing that he’d have to stay sober for the night. You watched him fake a wince, his face frowning at the “taste”. You reached out for the flask and he handed it to you, gazing at you as you took three gulps of it. The flask felt lighter than before and so did you. Your throat burned from the amber liquid, making you cough. Bucky patted your back and sat you down on the bed, chuckling as you stumbled slightly. So cute, Natasha would’ve fought me off, though. You clinged to Bucky and your eyes darted around the blurry room. You groaned softly and immediately regretted drinking the Mead so carelessly.

It’s 11:47, and you were sitting in Bucky’s lap. You babbled nonsense and Bucky simply cooes at you like you were a little baby. “My stupid boss fired me because I requested for a vacation. And now, I can’t even pay my bills!” You exclaimed drunkenly, grasping Bucky’s hand in yours. “It’s okay, baby” he rubbed your back innocently and admired you. We’ll have to do this more often, doll. “And my mom, she and my dad retired and she doesn’t even want her own daughter to visit her!” You cried out, not even bothering to hold your tears back. Everything had come crashing down at that moment and Bucky’s heart broke for you. You wiped your tears and leaned your head onto his shoulder, looking up at him. He looked down at you and stared at your lips. They were slightly puckered, almost as if you were silently begging him to kiss you. Fuck! You moved closer to Bucky until there was barely any space between your faces. You looked him in the eyes, and your reflection stared back at you. You closed your eyes and pressed your lips against his soft ones.

Bucky couldn’t stop himself then. He kissed you back without hesitation, loving the way your lips felt against his. He began to move his lips against yours, but somehow you sobered up. Your eyes shot open and you pulled away from him, your lips swollen. You stuttered and struggled to look him in the eyes. Bucky’s gaze followed you as you hung your head, almost ashamed with your actions. The kiss had sobered you up, even though the Mead still was in your system. “I- I’m sorry” you muttered out, realizing you were still in his lap. “‘S’fine” he whispered loud enough for you to hear. All of a sudden, you felt drunk once again. You stumbled back into Bucky’s lap, placing your head in the crook of his neck. Your eyelids started to feel heavy and they shut on their own accord. You soon dozed off, sat in Bucky’s lap.

-

You woke up in your soft bed, tucked in and your phone was charging on your bedside table. You groaned as soon as a killer headache seared through your head, recalling everything that had happened last night. You thought about the kiss and kept replaying it in your mind. You started to feel butterflies in your stomach, almost as if you were a school girl who had gotten a crush. Your eyes shot open wide once you realized what was happening.

It was 9:36 a.m, and you have fallen in love with James Buchanan Barnes, your next door neighbor.

Fuck.

@spicylangdon @lollypop-lam @boozeb4noon @debonaire-princess @ok-buchanan @binkysteebnpewter @buckysthot @honeychicana @orphiclittleone @autumnsoidier @bvckys-doll @lousocean @parker-barnes-af @anxiousamandapanda @jianawoods @marvel-mania27 @xoxabs88xox @sillyqt @hv-chw3 @notyourtypicalrose @sebbbystaaan @mushyjellybeans @rayche776 @marvelsangels @grayxswan @livsheph @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @hoseokchild @evanssgi @babyboyjames @amirahiddleston @kitkatd7 @readermia @steveodinsonbarnes @bucksgoat @vherriepie @femalemarvelfanatic @golden-ariess @princess-of-riviaa @official-and-unstable-satan @deceitfuldevout @itgetsdarksometimes35 @captainchrisstan @smollest-soybean @literalmcuhoe @iheartsebastianstan @imsoft-barnes @sebssweettooth @captainamerica-is-bae

[sunbeammeme]

rp starters based on the absolute garbage myself and my friends say. [ april 2021 edition. ]

feel free to change pronouns / details / anything else in order to make them work best for you!

“all I have now is cucumber and tears.”

“he’s six foot five. that’s too many.”

“I think it’s reasonable, when a man is that tall, to remove his feet.”

“take your three attacks and shove them up my ape-hole.”

"you know what I got [name] for his birthday? a [great present for that person]. you know what he got me? death."

"I forgot I hadn't told him. so he asked how I was, and I was like, 'well, not great.' and he looked confused, so I had to be like 'oh, yeah, I'm getting a divorce.'"

"alright, milk boy."

"are you two bonding over lactose intolerance?"

"thank you, wisdom. get fucked."

"I am also suffering from immense amounts of blood loss."

"I think people normally call it a 'cry for help'."

"it was a friends reference but okay."

"anyone can cut off their arm."

“I have the brain of a bisexual but the heart and thighs of a lesbian.”

"white people are the fire nation."

“she is cinched for the gods. specifically anubis.”

“there’s an app that lets you have poop competitions with your friends. you can track each other’s and everything.”

“give me a pint of ice cream and the name of that app.”

“april is a whore’s month.”

“he’s not a bad person. he’s just useless.”

“I didn’t die, but I did give my girlfriend a panic attack.”

“I’m sweating, like, a lot, but that could just be the five hundred milligrams of cortisol running through my veins.”

“what the fuck just flew past our house? because it looked like el chupacabra.”

“[sings] if you’re stressy and depressy clap your hands. if you’re stressy and depressy clap your hands. if you’re stressy and depressy, and your life is kinda messy, if you’re stressy and depressy clap your hands.”

“one of my friends- well, I say ‘friends’, I fucking hate the guy...”

“I think I overdosed on vitamin D.”

“he didn’t mind the tony the tiger dick pic.”

“if you’re straight but, like, cool about it, you’re still allowed to come.”

“I don’t mean to be a hero, I just am one.”

"let me just get a photo of this strawberry."

“want to keep your hair out of your eyes? decapitation.”

“I love my husband, but I also know exactly which brooklyn-nine-nine character he is.”

[ollieologys]

summertime (with you) | p. parker | one.

SUMMARY; In Queens, things have finally calmed down for Peter Parker - he’s more than content with the way life is going. In Brooklyn, Y/N struggles with her own identity. Out of nowhere, Spider-Man dies, and Y/N begins to stick to things. (into the spider-verse/multi-verse au)

PAIRING; peter parker x spider-woman!reader

WORDS; 2.4k

WARNING; mentions of death (a/n: i updated twice today cause why not? also! if you’ve seen into the spider-verse, you know how that plotline goes. i’m going to incorporate my own villian and stuff like that into order to make this both easier for me to write and go how i want it to. this, of course, is more of a love story than an action one and therefore that’s what i’ll focus on! thank u for reading i love u <3)

prologue | two |

 “Summertime is meant to fall in love, I could fall asleep and stare in your eyeeesss!” Y/N sang to herself.  

Outside the apartment building, the bustling streets of Brooklyn continued through the night. New York never slept. Outside her room, however, light streamed from beneath her bedroom door as her parents conversed about their day as they cleaned up and prepared for the next day.

Y/N spun in her chair, pushing away from her white desk and overlooked her room. Describing it as a mess was an understatement. It was a Sunday night, and tomorrow began her first day of school. Only it was her first day at the prestigious boarding school known as “Brooklyn School of Science.” If anyone asked her, she wasn’t scared to go - she just didn’t want to. The truth was, she was scared.

None of her friends were going - which is a lot considering she felt as though she were friends with all of Brooklyn. She felt intimidated to be surrounded by her soon-to-be classmates. Y/N didn’t mean to prematurely judge anyone, she swore she didn’t, but it was hard not to think about how many students got into the school by paying the full tuition and those who got into the school through the placement test. She couldn’t shake the thought that the former was the majority of the population.

Scattered across her floor were shirts, jeans, bras, and other articles of clothing that she practically vomited onto her floor from her dresser and closet to “layout her options” - as she told her mother after being scolded - for what to bring to school that week. An hour or so ago, an earthquake spread across the city of New York and did nothing to help her already disastrous bedroom.

It wasn’t long after nine, and Y/N didn’t feel like feeling her suitcase or backpack. Instead, she pulled her headphones onto her neck with her music continuing to play faintly. She placed her phone onto her desk and walked out of her room and through the hallway leading into the kitchen. The lights were off, but her eyes landed on her parents sitting on the couch and watching the news. Y/N’s mother turned to face her.

“Baby, what are you still doing awake? You have school tomorrow.” Y/N’s mother asked.

“Momma, my hand hurts.” Y/N motioned toward the swollen and reddening spot just below her knuckles. “What are you watching?” Y/N took a step forward to see the TV better. On the flat screen was a well-known reporter, Grace Falon, sitting in all her professional beauty in front of New York News’ camera.

“Breaking News ahead, New York. Just as of a few hours ago, Spider-Man - also known as his true identity Peter Parker - was found dead in an abandoned warehouse just outside of The Bronx. After the earthquake, Police say that a surge of power was reported from locals and when investigated, they found the dead body of the 26-year-old male. It’s a sad night for the city of New York, especially Queens. We send our regards to anyone who idolized him. Tomorrow, a community meeting in his honor will be held and hosted by no other than his wife, Mary Jane, at...”

The reporter’s voice trailed off in Y/N’s ears as she gazed at the images on the screen. There were two. One was a photo of Peter Parker in his Spider-Man suit, and the other was simply a portrait photo of the man himself. Her father sighed.

“I never liked that Spider-Man, you know. But it’s a shame to see him gone so soon.” His head turned toward Y/N’s mother’s figure as she walked toward Y/N.

“Come on,” Her mother urged, flipping the kitchen light’s switch and then walking toward the bathroom. Y/N followed. “I hate spiders.” Her mother said, rubbing ointment softly on the red bite. Y/N laughed softly. “Yeah, Momma, I know you-” She sucked in a breath through her teeth, pain rushing through her hand. It was only yesterday that Y/N walked through the door complaining about getting bit by a spider. Grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and letting it rest on the bump had helped for a while, but eventually, the stinging pain returned.

“Sorry, Baby. Go get some rest though, okay?” Y/N nodded at her mother. Her mother smiled down at her and kissed her cheek before giving her a light push towards her room.

“You finished packing, right, Y/N?” Her father yelled from the living room.

“Uhh, yeah! G’night!” She yelled back, slamming her door shut and pressing her back to the wood. Across the floor was still the spread out clothing, shoes, and other objects of hers that she planned on bringing. Y/N sighed, pushing her way through her mess and toward one of her windows. After grabbing her phone, she slid the glass upward and climbed out onto her fire escape, looking out at the city beneath her.

As a child, Y/N was always scared of this balcony. Her apartment was four stories up, and for some reason, she always thought she’d fall to her death. Her mother had assured her that no matter what, she’d still be there to catch her. The distant sound of honking horns flooded her ears, a sound she was used to yet didn’t quite love. Leaning against the right side of the balcony, she closed her eyes, let the breeze flow through her hair, and thought about what was to come.

The abrupt sound of a closer, louder horn startled Y/N. She yelped, jumped, and fell backward off the balcony. A scream escaped her lips for just a moment as the thought of death filled her mind. Was she really going to die because she was so clumsy that she fell off her own balcony? The fall was fast, incredibly fast, before she felt herself stabilize on a surface,

Only, she was looking straight up at the moon. Y/N wasn’t looking up, though. She was looking straight. Fear and adrenaline raced through her veins. She looked at her feet and noticed they were on a balcony lower than hers.

But she wasn’t on the floor on the balcony, she was standing on the side of it.

Y/N began to hyperventilate. She was panicking, her entire body stiff with fear. How the hell was she not plummetting to the ground right now? She wasn’t obeying any law of gravity, and it terrified her.

“Think, think, think.” She whispered to herself, careful as to not wake any of the lower-level residents. If anyone saw her like this, she didn’t know what she would do. Looking in all directions, she looked for a way to get back to her room. She had fallen on the side of the balcony where the ladder wasn’t, so she needed to find a way to get to the other side of the brick wall. But it was impossible to climb up a wall, right? You’d have to be Spider-Man to do that. And Spider-Man was dead.

No matter what the facts were, she had to try something. Y/N couldn’t call for help or wait for this phenomenon to run its course. With that thought in mind, she lightly pulled on her right leg.

Nothing.

She pulled harder, then tried the other leg, but it appeared as though she was glued to the metal. With her heart-rate off the charts, and her mind buzzing with fear and questions to no one in particular, she tried her hardest to focus. Y/N thought back to the Spider-Man comics her obsessed friends would show her during their chill sessions. She felt as though she knew how to get out of this predicament, she just needed to think hard enough.

Relax. She had to relax.

In the softest and quietest voice she could muster, she began to whisper-sing.

“Summertime is meant to fall in love, I could fall asleep and stare in your eyes. You’re right by my side.”

After attempting to lift her leg again, she could feel herself begin to unstick. Panic flashed through her, she hoped she didn’t fall again, but she continued to sing in hopes to keep herself calm. Slowly but surely, she made herself off the balcony and instead onto the brick wall. Y/N inhaled quietly and placed her hands onto the wall, swiftly turning her body so that she was facing the ground far below.

Y/N could almost feel her pupils dilating. She was beyond scared, but still, she continued to sing to keep herself calm and walk down the wall.

“Summertime is meant to fall in love, I wrote you a poem for your surprise, it’s right by your side.”

Her voice trembled, but she found herself gaining more control over her sticking. She was able to unstick her hands from the wall but kept her legs sticking every time her shoe hit the wall. More than once, she wondered if this were a dream. How could she possibly be walking down a wall right now?

When she finally reached the ground, she had stopped singing and gasped, looking up at her own balcony as her bedroom lamp light flooded out the open window and onto the metal fire escape. Her original plan was to go back up to her room, go to sleep, and try and forget any of this happened. However, she found herself walking away from her apartment building and down the street. She looked something up on her phone quickly before stuffing it in her pocket. Y/N was heading straight for Calvary Cemetary in Queens.

Where Peter Parker was buried.

Meanwhile, Peter was alive, but Peter was also dead.

Not only was Peter beyond puzzled, but he also was heart-racingly scared. He yearned for help, but he had nowhere to go. After seeing the news lady say that he was killed in an abandoned warehouse, he frantically looked around in search of anything familiar. It was clear he was in Times Square. He was standing on the corner of a sidewalk as a swarm of people continuously pushed past him to get to where they were going.

“Think, think, think,” Peter whispered to himself. He grabbed his phone. It was twenty after nine, not terribly long after he thinks he was sucked into that black hole. Or wormhole. Or vortex. Or vacuum of space. Or whatever brought him here. Wherever he was. He tried calling Tony, but then he thought against it and hung up. If the call went through, which it probably wouldn’t now that he thought about it, even if he was alive he was supposedly dead. It was unlikely that he was in the same world he was before, as Spider-Man dying seems to have just happened. If he were in a different year, or if he had “died” in the suction-hole-thingy, then everyone would have already moved past his death, and it wouldn’t be on the news. All of that made sense, which could only mean one thing.

Peter Parker was sucked into a different dimension.

Adrenaline rushed through his body, and he felt goosebumps appear on his arms. The theory was insane but simultaneously made perfect sense. It was mad, and terrifying, but exhilarating and completely opened new doors to what really was happened every time Peter made even a simple choice. Despite his excitement, he needed to question Quantum Physics and space-time singularity later. He was still an odd-ball out in the sea of people as he stood in his Spider-Man suit, but he had no other clothes, and only a few people glanced at him for longer than usual.

“Um, okay,” He began to speak to himself quietly. Still, no one bothered to take a second glace at the teenage boy dressed as Spider-Man talking to himself in the middle of the night. “Where do I go to get home?” He asked himself. Tired of pacing, he began to walk in a direction he wasn’t quite sure of yet. After a few minutes of walking, snow began to fall. That freaked Peter out. It was almost summer. How could snow be falling?

He decided not to question anything anymore. At this point, anything was possible.

“I got it!” He snapped his fingers and smiled. That was what got his strange looks, but Peter ignored them. He could go to his own grave. Maybe there were people there who could let him know more about how he, or Peter, or whatever - he couldn’t figure out who exactly was who - died. There had to be some sort of reason - or correlation - to his death and his, for lack of a better term, new-found birth into this dimension.

Just as Peter was going to shoot a web to a building, he cursed and stopped himself. He couldn’t just go swinging around as Spider-Man anymore. There were too many people, and he had to keep in mind that he was dead. Or supposed to be, at least. And so, after asking a couple passerby’s, he found out where he was and headed for Calvary Cemetary.

Needless to say, the journey was cold. By the time he arrived, it was just after ten. Peter looked up at the gate’s sign that read the cemetery’s name. The snow had been falling for over an hour now, and it covered the ground. Thankfully, his suit had a heater. Peter missed Mr. Stark. He missed Aunt May and Ned. He missed Happy, and he missed his bed. Peter’s eyes began to water, but he swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth and moved forward.

It was mostly silent. Only the sound of his feet hitting the snow and the distant sounds of cars and liveliness of New York City echoed in his ears. That is, until, he heard a voice.

“I don’t know if you gave me whatever it is I have, or if this happened to you, too. But I-- I’m really scared, Spider-Man. So if you could just, I don’t know.” Peter realized the voice was a girl’s. Quiet, but his enhanced hearing could pick up every word. He walked toward her crouched figure and wondered why she was sitting in the snow all alone. He wondered what she was talking about, but as his hand reached out to touch her shoulder, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his spider senses spazzed.

“Hey-” Peter started, but was interrupted by her scream. He screamed back in response. The girl pushed him away, and his body fell to the floor as he jittered.

She sent an electric shock through his entire body, and that was the last Peter saw before he became unconscious.

-

taglist: @romance-geek

[blackleatherjacketz]

Secondary Location

Frank Castle (The Punisher) x Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn Nine Nine), with a special appearance by Terry Jeffords (Brooklyn Nine Nine)

Notes: I tried something different this time, so sorry if you hate it. 500 Followers got Rosa and Frank together just like I promised:)

Warnings: Me shipping Rosa with everyone, Terry having a nervous breakdown, a car chase, an undercover mission gone bad, amnesia, spot the John Mulaney reference.

Tags: @chelseafartnoise @bullet-prooflove @acutecupidity @sonnshineandrainbows

“Oh good, you’re up.” Rosa spun the steering wheel as she glanced at her passenger, his eyes slowly blinking open. She sat her sawed-off shotgun out the window, aiming it backward as she blasted a thunderous storm of cover behind them. The back half of the vehicle skidded to the side as she took a sharp left turn, quickly taking refuge behind the broadside of the tall brick building.

“Make yourself useful,” she told him as the car straightened itself out.

The sound of tires screeched in her ears as their assailants barely made the sharp turn behind them, giving her time to reload. She flicked the barrel of the gun open and handed him the firearm. “Shells in the glove compartment.”

Frank quickly came to and opened the latch just above his knees. A box of shells fell into his lap as the vehicle veered this way and that, dodging random bullets from the mystery men on their tail. His hands shook as he loaded two shells into the gun, locking and loading it before leaning his head out of the window and firing back.

“Who are these guys?” He watched the windshield shatter as the car spun out and stopped in its tracks.

“Are you kidding?!” She pressed her foot to the floor as she weaved in and out of traffic, finally finding a back road behind a laundromat and an old Chinese restaurant. Wasn’t this guy supposed to be The Punisher? A badass, ruthless vigilante? Why did he care who he was shooting at? Why didn’t he KNOW who he was shooting at? Had he already forgotten painting the walls with their blood a few minutes ago?

“No.” He sat down in his seat, glancing back for any more suspicious vehicles. “No, I’m not.”

Rosa rolled her eyes, groaning at the thought of recapping what had just happened at Gnucci’s club. She was just about to get everything she needed on Carlo Gnucci before… before HE came waltzing in. Before he strutted in like a big sexy bulldog and shot up all of the targets she’d been warming up to. Before he ruined a six-month long operation in less than five minutes. Before his cockiness got him hit over the head with a baseball bat.

She looked over and noticed his posture begin to relax, letting her know that no one else was following them. “That guy must’ve hit you pretty hard.”

He rubbed the back of his head, surprised not to find any blood on his palm as he brought it in front of his face. He grunted and settled back into his seat, looking around as she took him on a route he’d never been on before. “Yeah,” he trailed off, letting his hand fall to his side, “yeah, he did.”

“Those were Gnucci’s Boys,” she filled him in, turning off her headlights. “I thought you knew whose party you were crashing.” She eased off the gas pedal and slowly turned into an open warehouse.

“Gnucci…” He paused as she pulled into the garage. “Yeah, the Italians.”

“Yes.” She confirmed, shifting the car into park. “God, it’s like talking to a four year-old.” She rolled her eyes again and turned to face him. “You seemed to be on quite the mission, and made it very clear that you didn’t care about mine.”

Rosa took the gun from his hands and grabbed the box of shells, getting out of the car before slamming the door shut. She glanced back at him only to signal for him to follow her, pointing in the direction she was headed. —————

“What happened?!” Terry squealed as Frank followed Rosa into the main room of the warehouse. “The signal at the club went out! I was scared to death, and you’re covered in blood!” His eyes were wide with worry as he took her in, growing larger as they landed on Frank. “Who is this?!”

“It doesn’t matter who he is, and I’m fine,” Rosa grumbled, dropping the gun and ammunition on the table.

“It doesn’t matter? Yes, it does!” He paused and sized Frank up. “That’s Frank Castle,” he whispered, “The Punisher.” He rose his eyebrows at her while pressing his lips together in a thin fine line.

“I know who he is,” she stated matter of factly.

“Why is he here? This is supposed to be a secure location, Rosa! You can’t just bring people here you meet on a mission! How can you be sure someone didn’t follow you?!” He points at Frank, his hot gaze locked on her.

“I’m sure.” She glanced at Frank, nodding for him to enter the room. “I couldn’t just leave him there, he may have a concussion.” She opened the weapons cabinet against the wall, securing her shotgun on a shelf. “What kind of person would I be if I let him die in a strip club?”

“A safer person! We don’t know what kind of enemies he may have tailing him!” The vein in his neck began to bulge.

“Cool it, Terry.” She put her hair in a ponytail and walked over to Frank. “He needs to stay awake tonight.”

“Your cover’s been blown, Rosa! We should call the Captain. I should call the Captain!” He exclaimed, tap dancing nervously.

“No!” She halted his movement with her eyes. “He’ll be gone by morning. We don’t need to tell Holt anything.”

She gave Terry a look she only used on her father in the past; a look that begged him for a brand new toy she’d been wanting for the longest time. She knew that this was her only chance to get Terry to buy her some time with Frank, to get her story straight. She hoped to God it would work on him.

“He better be. And just for the record… I don’t like this.” He stamped his foot on the floor.

She looked Frank over, noticing the mixture of wet and dry blood splattered across his face. This poor bastard wasn’t even asking where he was anymore, or who they were. Maybe he didn’t care, or maybe he felt that he could trust her. Either way, she needed to see just how out of it he really was.

“I’ll take the first shift, you go and get some rest.” She stared Frank in the eye as she ordered her sergeant to leave the room.

“Fine.” Terry pointed dramatically at the floor. “But I’m calling Captain Holt first thing in the morning.”

“Fine.” She shrugged, rifling through the drawers under the table. “Goodnight, Sarge.”

“Goodnight, Detective Diaz.” He bit his lower lip before letting his shoulders drop in defeat, heading toward his bedroom.

“Detective Diaz?” Frank finally spoke. “Do you always talk to your superiors like that?” He let his mouth slack open, tilting his head as he watched her fiddle with the contents of the drawer.

“Only when I need to.” She pulled his eyelids open and shone a light in his pupils. “Do you always play dumb like this after you ruin undercover police investigations?”

He smiled mischievously, looking straight ahead as his pupils dilated equally. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn by not saying anything.”

“Yeah, well, I was going to learn a lot more before you came in half-cocked tonight. Do you really not remember who you were gunning after?”

“I’m getting bits and pieces back.” He put all of his weight on his palms and scooted up on the table.

“Well, you better get the whole picture soon. My Captain is going to have my ass in a sling when I tell him some mysterious postal worker came in and shot up the club.”

“You aren’t going to try to arrest me?” He looked down at the open drawer and pulled out a rag with some motor oil on it. He turned it over in his hands, looking for a clean spot before shrugging and wiping the remainder of the blood off his face with it.

“Would you even let me?” She smirked, folding her arms across her chest.

“No.” He put the rag down on the table next to him and stared at her. Those eyes: black as night, with no gold or green to brighten them up, even in this dull fluorescent lighting, managed to hold her still. Sad and angry, wild and calm, she’s never seen so much emotion in two spheres before in her life.

“That’s what I thought.” She shook herself from her trance. “As much as I’d love to bring you in as an excuse for my failed mission, I need you out there more.” She turned around and leaned her back against the table. “I mean, you were just…” She smiled and closed her eyes, thinking back to the image of him tearing those men apart like rag dolls. “You were amazing.” Her smile got bigger as her eyes slowly opened.

“Yeah, well, not that amazing if I got knocked out.” He closed the drawer and hopped off the table, stepping in front of her. “You could have left me there, but you didn’t.” He paused, looking at her stature before meeting her gaze. “How did I get out of the club, anyways?”

“Easy,” she shrugged, “I carried you.”

[thearcaneescape]

Chapter 8

“Ah, fuck!”

Jimin giggled as Hoseok tried to thread the machine for the fourth time in a row. “D’you want to take a break, Hobi?”

Hoseok groaned and leaned back in the chair, frustration pouring through his veins. He fucking hated that fucking machine so much. “Please.”

Another giggle and the machine was turned off, both of them leaving the room to go to the dining room, about the same size as Jin and Joon’s dining room/kitchen.

“Do you want to get take out?”

Hoseok shook his head, stretching his arms in front of him. “Nah, I think I might go back to Jin and Joon’s. It’s been like six days.”

Jimin nodded, opening a cupboard and pulling out a sleeve of biscuits, putting one in his mouth and then offering the sleeve to Hoseok. “I bet you they’ve been riding these past few days. No talking, just having a grand old time.”

Hoseok choked on his biscuit and threw the rest at the giggling Jimin, who dodged it gracefully. “Ah, fuck off! I live there too, you fucker.”

“You’re a feckin gobshaw. How long’s it been since you had a casual line?”

Hoseok burned red, stuffing another biscuit in his mouth.

“A casual line is-”

“I know what a fucking casual line is and the answer is no, I haven’t had sex with anyone since my relationship with Joshua started going down the shitter.” Hoseok bit out in one breath, face turning an even brighter shade of red because of the lack of air.

“Well, we’re fixing that then, aren’t we?” Taehyung walked into the dining room, eyes half-open and a smirk on his face. “Tonight the bar isn’t open, on account it’s Sugar and Day’s anniversary. Can’t believe they’ve been together for over fifteen years. That’s commitment.”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows in what could be surprise, shock or just plain old admiration at that statement, making Jimin and Taehyung giggle and chuckle respectively.

“But, back to the point, we can go out to a gay club and hook you up with someone.”

Hoseok chewed on the inside of his cheek, weighing his options. Option one was going to the bar with his friends, having fun and maybe even scoring a date, option two was staying at home and hogging his sister’s Netflix account to watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine for the tenth time in a row.

“Come on, please? Even if we don’t get you a casual line, you’re still gonna have fun.” Jimin pouted and gave Hoseok his best puppy dog eyes, and Taehyung followed, both of them too fucking much to handle at once.

“Alright fine! I’ll just need to go home and change. And pray to God that there’s nothing sticky anywhere near my room.”

-

The whole flat smelled like parmesan cheese and shrimp, a massive pot of parmesan risotto and roasted shrimp simmering. A soft thump from the main bedroom and Hoseok was already regretting coming home.

“Ah fuck.”

Hoseok swallowed the shriek that was threatening to escape his mouth and he tiptoed his way to his room, closing the door after shouting. “I am back home!”

The subsequent sounds of people stumbling and hitting parts of others that were tender would have been hilarious, but right now, Hoseok was more mortified than anything, having literally walked into the flat mid-sex. He pressed his ear against his bedroom door listening intently for when the three lovebirds left the main bedroom. The door clicked open and three sets of footsteps left, a hushed goodbye and the unmistakable sound of four soft kisses and then the front door closing.

“Ah, the food!” Jin’s screech made Hoseok flinch so violently he smacked his head against his door. He stepped away from it, a hand pressed against his forehead, soft muttered curses leaving his lips.

“Can I come in?”

Hoseok walked back towards the door and pulled it open, giving Joon a half-pained, half-embarrassed smile. “Hi.”

Joon laughed, pushing his newly-dyed tresses out of his face, pink-streaked blonde reaching his jawline instead of his lower back. “Hi, Hoseok.”

“You cut your hair.” Hoseok blurted out, trying hard to avoid mentioning anything concerning what was happening before he came home. “Looks good.”

“Ah, yeah. I needed to cut my hair, it was starting to get ridiculous how long it was.” Joon cleared his throat, motioning towards the kitchen. “Jin’s made enough food for an army.” He gave Hoseok a warm smile and went to join his partner in the kitchen, not without tripping on Hoseok’s discarded shoes in the corridor. With a short huffed laugh and a rueful rub of his forehead, he followed suit, walking to the kitchen to find an equally pink-haired Jin plating his risotto in the biggest bowls they had. Joon was sitting at the table, hair pulled back into a bun with a pencil stabbed through it.

“So, Hoseok, how was your self-imposed exile out of our flat?” Jin turned to look at him with a bright smile, outstretching a hand to give Hoseok one of the bowls, gesturing at the table to make him go sit down.

“Intrusive. Jimin and Tae really like to gossip, don’t they?”

“Oh, yeah. I think it’s because they are approachable that people tell them a lot of things. What did they get out of you?”

Hoseok shoved a spoonful of risotto into his mouth, bright blush on his face. They’d managed to get him to spill his first time and deviant nature in uni, and now more recently the fact he hadn’t had sex for three months. “We’re going to a gay club tonight.”

“Ah, well, I hope you have fun. Clubbing with Jimin and Tae is a trip. Clubbing in general is a trip” Joon raised his glass of water slowly, muttering into it before taking a sip “Used to be literal.”

Jin’s stern look at Joon and Hoseok’s wide eyes alerted the pink-blond that his whisper hadn’t gone unheard. He swallowed his mouthful of water, shrugging slightly.

“I had my moments in uni. Don’t judge me, music students are wild.” Joon took a bite of his bowl of risotto, looking straight at Jin with an impassive face, making the elder sigh and shake his head.

“So the lesson here is keep an eye on your drink, don’t accept anything from strangers and use protection.” Jin sang out, giving Hoseok a wide smile. The risotto was taken off the heat, lid replaced on the pot and Jin walking towards the table with his own bowl of food. “Which club are you going to?”

“I don’t know, they told me that they would pick me up at 10, and to dress nice.” Hoseok took a sip of Ribena, which had been handed to him by Jin. “Also they said you were invited. All three of you.”

Hoseok cackled when Joon and Jin both simultaneously choked on risotto and water respectively. “Vindication!”

“Was that a fucking Brooklyn Nine-Nine reference?”

-

Hoseok walked out of his room, wearing his nicer clothes. A white shirt with cursive black script on the chest tucked into black jeans, an olive green bomber over the shirt, a gift from his sister. The choker around his neck was also from his sister, but he’d stolen it from her room when he was first leaving for uni. His white trainers were recently washed, so they were a pristine white that was definitely being ruined by the end of the night.

“You look good! I love the bomber.” Joon was standing next to the door to his and Jin’s room, dressed to the nines in a loose black v-neck under a black leather jacket, the shirt tucked into his black skinny jeans. His shoes were heavy steel-toed black boots, laced up over the jeans. His hair was tied back haphazardly, some strands falling into his eyes, showing off the heavy black studs in his ears, silver hoops climbing up, matching the hoop hanging from his choker. Hoseok had to swallow the dry lump in his throat (Holy fuck, where had this side of Joon been hiding?), but his response was interrupted by Jin opening the door and walking out, also dressed beautifully. The black shirt was a specific kind of shiny that said fine silk, the choker was soft velvet, and his shoes were beautiful black leather. His left ear sported a drip of red, and he looked absolutely beautiful.

“Do you two not know any setting other than extra as all fuck?” Hoseok blurted out, suddenly feeling shabby.

“If you think this is extra, then obviously you haven’t seen Jimin go out clubbing.” Joon chuckled, standing up straight and checking his jacket pockets to make sure his keys and wallet were there. Hoseok pursed his lips and jumped slightly when his phone buzzed in his jeans pocket.

Minnie

Come on down, we’re here.

“The terrible twosome is here.” Hoseok smiled wide and bright when Jin laughed, the squeakiness of it making the other two laugh as well. “Let’s go.”

When they got downstairs, Hoseok was most definitely not ready for what Jimin was wearing. The petite 22 year-old was wearing light blue skinny jeans, ripped to shit and showing the wide-gap fishnet tights underneath. The waistband of the tights showed over the waistband of the jeans, made even more apparent by the see-through black crop top with an opaque black panel across that read FUCK in white block letters, and over that he wore a wine-red velveteen bomber that matched the velveteen, block-heel boots on his feet. Joon and Jin looked over at Hoseok, who was sporting a rose blush on his cheeks, and chuckled.

“What-what-what the fuck?”

Jimin giggled, running a hand through his hair. “Why not? I look good.”

“I agree.” Taehyung piped up, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s middle and tugging him close, a smirk on his face.

“Well, you’re dating him!”

“Leave the antics for the low lights. This is a nice neighborhood.” Jin snapped his fingers at them. “Leave room for innocence.”

Tae mock-pouted and stepped a centimeter away from his boyfriend, lace overcoat-like robe fluttering behind him when a breeze went by. If anything, he was the most dressed down, white shirt, black jeans and black trainers under lace, but his poise and beauty made it look like something made by a high-end designer.

“We texted Jungkook the address, he’ll meet us there. Something about having to paint the floor of the art studios for the private view.” Jimin waved his phone and then tucked it into his jacket, turning on his heel to start walking to the bar, giving all of them an eyeful of the massive rips underneath his butt.

“Good Christ, Jimin!”

[amyscascadingtabs]

He’s seen and held babies before, knows how tiny and innocent they look when they’re that brand-new to the outside world, knows how they bring up something deep inside you that makes it impossible to see them sleeping without having your heart ache slightly. Those kids have belonged to other people, though. This is different. Even though he’s had plenty of time to prepare and get used to the thought of something fifty percent him and fifty percent Amy, not even Terry’s two hour long speech on how much he cried holding Cagney and Lacey for the first time could have begun to prepare him for how tightly this baby has him wrapped around her finger.

Jake and Amy become parents and everything is soft and fluffy and cute. Multi-Chapter.

(Read on Ao3 or below Keep reading)

Jake Peralta hasn’t slept in over 24 hours. He can feel the exhaustion coursing through his veins and his eyelids growing heavier, yet somehow sleep is the very last thing on his mind right now. To be completely honest, he doubts whether he will ever feel the need to again. There are things of infinitely higher importance demanding his attention now.

He should be sleeping. It’s been recommended to him, even. Their room is dark except for a nightlight in the window that illuminates the spot where he sits in a pathetic excuse for an armchair, its cushioning so poor his back is screaming at him. He doesn’t mind it. Amy is asleep, passed out in a hospital bed after over 24 hours of pain and tears and screaming. He’s happy she is. Both for Amy’s sake and for his own, because if she’d gone through all that without needing to rest after he’d be way more terrified of her than he already is. She looks a mess with crazy hair and rests of makeup under her eyes and still he’s never been more impressed by her. “You’d never been able to do this in a million years time without fainting”, she’d said staring into his eyes towards the end of it. “Can’t argue with you there”, had been his only response. At least he hadn’t made a ‘title of your sextape’-joke. Even Jake Peralta knew well enough to fear his own death sometimes.

He fears it more now, when he’s not sure he’ll ever want to risk his life for anything again now. It would be them, in that case. Amy and the sleeping kid in his arms that supposedly is his. He’s seen and held babies before, knows how tiny and innocent they look when they’re that brand-new to the outside world, knows how they bring up something deep inside you that makes it impossible to see them sleeping without having your heart ache slightly. Those kids have belonged to other people, though. This is different. Even though he’s had plenty of time to prepare and get used to the thought of something fifty percent him and fifty percent Amy, not even Terry’s two hour long speech on how much he cried holding Cagney and Lacey for the first time could have begun to prepare him for how tightly this baby has him wrapped around her finger.

According to the nurses their daughter is perfectly healthy in size. He finds this difficult to believe, because she’s so small she’s practically drowning in the hospital baby blanket. There’s a tiny bit of blood left on the few spots on her head not covered in the softest black hair, but aside from that she looks the least worn out from her own birth out of the three of them. Two hours of trying to take in her features has left the detective with the conclusion that the nose, pointed slightly upwards, is Amy’s, but the mouth is more similar to his own. Whatever he’s tried to picture in his head before, their daughter is infinitely more perfect.

That very thought makes his eyes tear again for the gazillionth time in a few hours. He quickly wipes the tears away with the hand not supporting her head. He’s not about to wake his soundly sleeping daughter up now, because if she wakes up Amy will wake up and even if it’s hard to admit in his own weariness she needs this sleep most out of any of them.

~

He actually isn’t sure when his wife was last asleep. Maybe she slept a few hours two nights before this one, because he remembers her waking him up by walking around in their bedroom in the middle of the night complaining about weird pain, but when he asked her if something was going on she denied it and eventually they both went back to sleep. The day after had been Amy’s first off work for maternity leave. Jake did try to stay home with her, but she shooed him away insisting everything was fine now and he spent the day at the precinct too jittery for anyone to get a coherent sentence out of him. “I finished everything”, had been Amy’s greeting when he’d finally stepped foot inside their apartment that evening. “The bed’s made, I washed the last baby clothes, I prepared food for us…” “But you said you were going to divide it over two weeks?” He’d questioned her, brows furrowed. “I was restless. I didn’t make any food for tonight though - how do you feel about chinese?” “Oh, yes.”

Their last evening together without kids had been spent eating takeout on the couch in front of Property Brothers. They’d only just crawled under the covers when Amy with a small outcry of surprise threw herself out of it again, water running down her legs, and the following twenty-four hours had given little possibility for sleep. “You literally were home from work one day”, he’d said jokingly somewhere in the middle of that night with her breathing deep while leaning against the kitchen counter and him massaging her shoulders trying to distract from the pain. “Your baby’s ridiculous.” “It’s your baby too, stupid.” “I’ve never been early for anything in my life. Exactly one day after you went on leave? That’s your genes, Santiago, not mine.” She’d looked tempted to strangle him at that, but he timed his snarky comment with another contraction and she never did.

~

“Yeah, you really are a Santiago, huh?” He whispers to the baby now in his arms. “Good for you, because your mom’s awesome and the more you’re like her the better you’ll be at everything. Except liking Die Hard and inappropriate humor.” This wakes a tiny yawn in response. “I can teach you those. It’ll be great.” She opens one of her brown eyes, giving him a look that could be suspiciousness. “I promise. I don’t know a lot of stuff about being a dad because mine was pretty useless - sorry, you’re not my therapist - but your mom will make sure I don’t mess you up too bad. She promised me that.” The brown eye closes again. “Yeah, I think we’ll be fine.”

~

Not that he was always so sure of that. It had stressed him out like crazy at first, because even if seeing Terry and Charles with their kids had given him an understanding of what a good parent looks like, he knew his own issues with father figures ran deep. What if being a parent freaked him out, too, and he ran away the way his own father did? What if he wouldn’t know what to do with a baby, if he couldn’t learn how to take care of his own kid? What if his job forced him to go undercover again and he’d not only be leaving Amy behind but also a child?

Jake voiced all of these concerns to Terry after a few beers at Shaw’s one night celebrating a solved case of his and Rosa’s. “Yeah, I thought about all those things before the twins came, too.” Reminiscing about this brought tears to his eyes, much like any other time Jake had brought up babies with Terry. “You won’t be a hopeless case, Peralta. I know this because you’re not stupid, because you and Amy are great babysitters and also because you already love this child.” He’d pressed the home button on Jake’s iPhone, revealing the ultrasound picture he keeps as background. “The rest will work out. As for work, it sucks, but maybe you’ll work less dangerous cases and we’ll protect you as much as we can. You’re not the first detective who’s ever been a parent.” “I guess not”, he’d mumbled as he takes another sip of beer. “Thanks, Terry.” “You could talk to Amy about this, you know.” Terry gestured to her a few tables away, chatting away with Gina and Holt. In her favourite flowy blouse it was still difficult to see much of a difference, but her drinking exclusively non-alcoholic beverages and still yawning every other minute gave her away. She smiled at him upon catching him looking at her, mouthing the words “All good?” and he’d nodded. “I don’t want to have her worry about me.” “No, but maybe you can worry together. It usually helps.”

Terry turned out to be right about this. As the months passed Jake never found himself less worried, but it was a lot less easier to handle with Amy by his side.

~

“For the sake of already having cried copious amounts tonight, I’m going to pretend seeing our kid in your arms is not making my heart go crazy. But it is.” Amy’s, still slightly hoarse, voice jolts his mind awake. “I think we have free passes on crying today.” She reaches for the plastic bottle on the small table next to Jake, and he gives it to her. “Yeah. I sure hope so.” He reluctantly shifts his gaze from his daughter to his wife, finding her looking at them with tears in her eyes in a way not all too different from when he proposed to her. “How are you feeling?” “Satisfied that I’ll always win any arguments about which one of us can stand the most pain. Also exhausted. And really, really happy.” “You were incredible, Ames.” “Thanks. Sorry for abusing your hand like that and threatening to kill you a few times.” “Worth it.” Their baby has put one hand up like the world's tiniest fist in front of her face, as if ready to punch someone in her sleep. He strokes the hand with his index finger back and forth, marveled over how flawlessly smooth her skin is. “Is it my turn soon?” “It was your turn for nine months straight!” “That was different.” She rolls her eyes, stretching out her arms and sitting up straight. “Also, don’t you dare fight me today.” “Fair. But only because I can’t remember the last time I went to the bathroom.” Standing up with a baby in his arms is terrifying, because what if he drops these seven pounds and breaks every bone in that miniature body and kills her instantly, but he manages to keep his cool and soon enough Amy’s holding their daughter and there are tears in his eyes again. He has seriously lost count of how many times that has happened in the few hours he’s been a parent.

~

The two of them never really discussed being parents before a positive pregnancy test took them both by surprise, because really, Amy had just figured the lack of periods and the throwing up was stress to begin with and Jake hadn’t known any better. They’d never had a serious conversation about kids. They used protection. Mostly. Kind of. Yet when they sat there, staring at five different pregnancy tests that had all come back with a strong positive result, there hadn’t been any question about it. Jake had promised Amy he’d be okay with whatever he chose, and she’d been silent for a minute - one of the longest in his life - before declaring that she was totally keeping it and if he could be so kind to excuse her because she needed to go get started on a binder right this minute.

No, the first moment the couple had understood they legitimately wanted to have a kid together had been the moment they were convinced they wouldn’t. About two months after they found out about the pregnancy he’d been at the precinct going over some paperwork when he received the phone call from Amy, crying hysterically at the other end of the phone, telling them they needed to go to the hospital because there was blood everywhere and it wouldn’t stop. Jake had dropped everything, convinced his wife to at least take a cab when she refused an ambulance and made Charles drive him to the hospital. His heart had been beating so fast he’d been positively convinced he was going to faint, but he’d made it to the hospital and the examination room without shedding as much as a tear. Neither of them had said a word to each other as the nurses poked and prodded at her, telling the panicked couple comforting words that went in one ear and out the other. “We need to do an ultrasound to make sure”, had been the final call, and they had went along with it knowing it most likely wouldn’t show anything.

Amy closed her eyes for it, tears still falling down her cheeks. Jake kept his open, only to find there was still something there on the screen. Was it something else? Something that shouldn’t be there? “Congratulations”, the nurse had said with a smile. “Your baby is fine.” “How?” Amy had stared at the screen in as much disbelief as Jake had already been feeling. “But there was so much blood.” “It happens sometimes. Everything seems fine far as I can see. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?”

Both of them had known then, listening intently to the fast-ticking heartbeat booming through the speakers, holding hands while still crying, that they wanted this baby. They might not have been sure they did before they were on the verge of losing it, but they wanted this. They really did.

~

“Have you texted anyone yet?” Amy questions him when he returns from the bathroom. “Oh, shit…” He last texted Charles at midnight, an hour before their daughter was born, and four hours later the last text he has 132 unread messages. There are only 10 missed calls - even Charles must have been wise enough to realise speaking on the phone was probably not Jake’s greatest priority. “I better text Charles. Do I just text the whole precinct? Holt? You’re supposed to text your parents, right? You don’t have a binder tab for this, do you?” “I may not have had the time to finish that exact section.” “Disappointing, Santiago. Suggestions?” “Call Charles and your parents. I can call mine. Then text the squad. Then sleep, because babe, no offense, but you look a mess.” “A hot mess?” “No. Just a mess.” She shakes her head and shifts her focus back to their baby, who is now letting out the sweetest grunts and squeaks while continuing to move her hands up and down. “Go call them. We’ll still be here after.” “Promise?” “Promise. Now go.”

Charles answers on the first ring and starts crying so intensely Jake struggles to get a word in. He ends up promising his best friend a visit the next day if he gets some sleep now, then hangs up before Charles emotional state gets him crying again. He leaves a message for his mom, then texts the squad and his parents one of the few baby pictures he’s had time to take together with a short message telling everyone they’re doing great. It feels surreal somehow, sending out something so trivial as a text with information he’s barely been able to process himself. Surreal, but awesome.

The hospital bed isn’t made for two, but they end up sharing it anyway. Jake reads incoming texts out loud, both of them laughing at how obvious it is who has sent which text. “Dope. Tell Amy she is badass” from Rosa. “Congratz. Iggy says hi” and about ten different emojis from Gina. “Dear Jake & Amy, Congratulations on the addition to your family. Best, Raymond Holt” from the captain. “She’s going to be so loved”, Amy whispers as they’re close to falling asleep, her head resting on Jake’s shoulders and their daughter sleeping on his chest. “No doubt, no doubt”, he says back. “For someone who has been awake maximum one hour of her outside-womb life, she’s pretty amazing.” “Yeah.” They share a quick but tender kiss, lips meeting for the first time as parents, and after that they both fall asleep. For thirty minutes, before they’re woken up by high-pitched crying.

[khalilhumam]

Trinidad & Tobago loses a fount of cultural knowledge with the passing of comedian Dennis ‘Sprangalang’ Hall

New Post has been published on http://khalilhumam.com/trinidad-tobago-loses-a-fount-of-cultural-knowledge-with-the-passing-of-comedian-dennis-sprangalang-hall/

Trinidad & Tobago loses a fount of cultural knowledge with the passing of comedian Dennis ‘Sprangalang’ Hall

“He was a […] repository of our stories and our history”

Comedian and cultural storyteller Dennis “Sprangalang” Hall on stage during the Kaiso Laugh Riot at Tropical Paradise in Brooklyn, New York, in 2016. Screenshot taken from a YouTube video uploaded by Gentle Benjamin.

Comedic genius and cultural historian Dennis “Sprangalang” Hall died on October 2, 2020, two days after his 71st birthday. He had been ailing for some time and his passing — which comes just five months after the death of his brother, Trinbagonian playwright Tony Hall, and about two weeks after the death of actor Nigel Scott, a stalwart of local theatre — leaves a gaping hole in Trinidad and Tobago's artistic community. Best known for his portrayal of Draxi, a character on the “Cultural Sprangalang” segment of “Gayelle”, a cultural magazine series that helped local television forge a strong Caribbean identity during the mid-1980s, Hall was passionate about passing on knowledge of the history and culture of Trinidad and Tobago. Upon learning of his passing, Wired868 republished a 1994 interview Hall did with journalist Vaneisa Baksh, which revealed the genesis of his most enduring character:

Hall was responsible for a quiz segment about Trinidad and Tobago [on ‘Gayelle’] and they had to find a name for it. At an arts seminar [several theatre stalwarts, including Dennis’ brother, Tony Hall] jumped out of a coffin to dramatise their grievances. At the same time, there was a midnight show called Dracula and the star was called ‘Draxie’. Gayelle’s quiz character became Draxie. He would step out of an upright coffin, dust himself and ask his questions—but the segment still needed a name. ‘One night some fellas […] playing basketball, tell me they in a party—they drink, they smoke, they eat till they head was sprangalang.’ The segment became Cultural Sprangalang until the character took over and was rechristened.

Though Sprangalang would become “a national figure”, Hall also starred in various theatrical plays and other productions, including director Frances-Anne Solomon's feature film “A Winter Tale” and the Canadian sitcom “Lord Have Mercy!” Although rumours about his death had been circulating online a few days before he actually passed, social media users were still shocked at losing him. On Facebook, media producer Nigel Thompson remembered Hall as a “great comedic mind [and] even greater intellectual and historian [who] embodied everything Trinidad and Tobago needed in this moment”. Photographer David Wears added also in a Facebook post:

He claimed [Trinidad and Tobago] as his home by teaching us WHO we are, and those who listened learned so much.

The value of Hall's contribution was not lost on actor and Rapso musician Wendell Manwarren, who noted in a Facebook post:

Cultural Sprangalang was a national treasure, a master storyteller and a philosopher of the highest order. He was a living walking repository of our stories and our history and he was possessed of a searing honesty and a sense of humor beyond compare. He dared to be true to himself and afforded us the opportunity to grapple with hard truths while laughing hard and shaking our heads in knowing. Thank you Dennis Sprangalang Hall for the example and the knowledge and wisdom over the years. A true hero, a real Griot and a Giant of a man. Rest In Everlasting Peace my brother

. Your stories will live on.

A griot is a storyteller in the West African oral tradition. The National Drama Association of Trinidad and Tobago (NDATT) also mourned his passing, describing Hall's cultural contribution as “vast and invaluable”. The Trinidad Theatre Workshop, meanwhile, recalled how Sprangalang could “tell a story”:

He had the facts, he articulated the ideas in a vernacular way of thinking and talking […] He was our identity, he was a creole griot. A historical raconteur who spoke the nation language in a way that was universal. A comedian who made us think. He was our [Richard] Pryor without the cussing. He lit up a space with an intelligent wit and a respect for our heroes.

Niala Maharaj, who worked with Sprangalang on the “Gayelle” programme, paid tribute to him on Facebook:

Our show had launched him onto the national stage. He was brought in to do a regular feature, named it ‘Cultural Sprangalang’, and the rest is legend. […] He saw and perceived things in a completely original way. We often had to stop a Gayelle shoot because the cameraman was laughing so hard he couldn’t keep the camera straight. Funny things poured out of Dennis’ mouth in a constant stream, like water out of a natural spring. Dennis’ very life has been a challenge to conventional wisdom. He seems to completely inhabit the quasi-vagrant, slippers-dragging, towel-shouldered Sprangalang persona he invented. But he comes from an educated middle-class family: his father was vice-principal of Naparima College, its Classics master, teaching Latin and Greek. And Dennis himself draws on a rare store of knowledge he carefully garners. You can’t predict which direction his mind will take at any given moment.

Maharaj confessed to always being a bit intimidated by Hall, but when, on one occasion, he defended her in a production meeting, she realised that “inside the vagrant persona was a knight in shining armor”, ready to stand up for whoever and whatever he thought was right. His mind was lightning quick: he would silence hecklers as easily as he would take clever swipes at cultural promoters who profited off of artists like himself, but never gave them their due. In that vein, writer and activist Tillah Willah wrote of his passing:

The full story of Sprang’s contribution has not been told and so we grasp the few fragments of his genius that can be found online. And in the absence of a nine nights we seek out those timelines that have stories of encounters with this giant of a man. […] Imagine, if models like Gayelle and Banyan had been given the support to thrive, what could have been. Every death is an unknowing, every loss is a library burnt to the ground by our piecemeal and contemptuous approach to legacy preservation. How many young people under 20 know Sprang’s name or see the connection between their generation and people like him? Who cares about finding new ways to make this information accessible? Who is paying to digitise the archives? What a wealth of information that is at risk, under threat, that we continue to deem unworthy of our oil and gas millions. Meanwhile the same institutions that refuse to invest in heritage preservation are circling cobos [vultures] wailing about lost icons. […] It’s like losing him twice.

Those who did understand the full measure of Sprangalang's legacy, however, deeply mourned the loss. His longtime friend, sound engineer Robin Foster, posted a tender farewell:

Thank you for the pure joy of all the laughs, all the roaming Trinidad talking shit and limin’ [hanging out]. Thanks for all the Kaiso [calypso] and cultural stories. Thanks for single handedly keeping T&T [Trinidad and Tobago] sayings and language alive. Thanks for the archiving of Trini music and stories. Thanks for keeping up all the Oral traditions and the social [commentary]. But most or all Thank you for being my friend. Keep Looking up Dennis, Walk Good.

< p class='gv-rss-footer'>Written by Janine Mendes-Franco

[eckshecks]

BrooklynVegan

HomeMusicMetal RapDanceComedy TVToursListings Chicago Austin Contact FOLLOW ON FACEBOOK FOLLOW ON TWITTER SUBSCRIBE ON YOUTUBE FOLLOW ON INSTAGRAM FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYSUBSCRIBE VIA RSS trending:contestswhat’s going on today in nyc?bv presents eventsbest of 2018 Mary Timony, Alec MacKaye & more DC vets formed Hammered Hulls, touring (watch live video) By Bill Pearis December 19, 2018 1:19 PM SHARE TWEET EMAIL REDDIT Hammered Hulls: from top left Chris Wilson, Alec MacKaye, Mary Timony and Mark Cisneros (photo via Mark Cisneros) Hammered Hulls: from top left Chris Wilson, Alec MacKaye, Mary Timony and Mark Cisneros (via Mark Cisneros) DC band Hammered Hulls are new — they only played their first show in September as part of The Black Cat’s 25th anniversary — but their members are well known vets of the scene: frontman Alec MacKaye (brother of Minor Threat/Fugazi’s Ian MacKaye) was in Untouchables, The Faith, Ignition and The Warmers; bassist Mary Timony‘s CV includes groups Autoclave, Helium, Wild Flag and her current band, Ex Hex; guitarist Mark Cisneros has played in Des Demonas, Kid Congo & The Pink Monkey Birds, and The Make-Up; and drummer Chris Wilson has spent time in Ted Leo and the Pharmacists and Titus Andronicus. “Our songs started out punk, straight ahead, super Black Flag,” Mary Timony recently told The Washington Post. “Now they’re getting a lot more complicated, more proggy.” MacKaye added, “Even though we know each other so well, we don’t really know what’s going to happen until it’s happening. As we’re making these songs, they seem to be assembling themselves.”

Hammered Hulls don’t have any recordings out yet, but you can watch a few live videos from that Black Cat show below. They have more shows coming up, including tonight in DC at The Black Cat, and then dates in January with SAVAK, including another DC show (1/12 @ Comet Ping Pong), Philly (1/11 @ Boot & Saddle) and Brooklyn’s Union Pool on January 10 which is also the live debut of Fake Names which includes members of Minor Threat, Refused and more (tickets).

All tour dates are listed below.

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Hammered Hulls – 2018/2019 Tour Dates Dec 19 – Washtington, DC – Black Cat (w/ Bad Moves, Clear Channel) Jan 10 – Brooklyn, NY – Union Pool (w/ SAVAK, Fake Names) Jan 11 – Philadelphia, PA – Boot & Saddle (w/ SAVAK) Jan 12 – Washington, DC – Comet Ping Pong (w/ SAVAK)

FILED UNDER: CHRIS WILSON | DES DEMONAS | EX HEX | FAKE NAMES | HAMMERED HULLS | HELIUM | IGNITION | IGNITION AND THE WARMERS; BASSIST MARY TIMONY'S CV INCLUDES GROUPS AUTOCLAVE | KID CONGO & THE PINK MONKEY BIRDS | MARK CISNEROS | MARY TIMONY | SAVAK | TED LEO AND THE PHARMACISTS | THE FAITH | THE MAKE-UP | THE WARMERS | TITUS ANDRONICUS | UNTOUCHABLES | WILD FLAG CATEGORY: MUSIC NEWS | TOUR DATES SHARE TWEET EMAIL REDDIT

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[jazzworldquest-blog]

USA: Pianist Anne Sajdera Celebrates Creative Renewal with "New Year," Due Nov. 2 on Bijuri Records

Anne Sajdera Celebrates Creative Renewal,

Cross-Cultural Inspiration with

"New Year,"

Set for Release Nov. 2 on Bijuri Records

    Long-Awaited Follow-up to "Azul,"

Acclaimed 2012 Debut by San Francisco Bay Area

Pianist/Composer

CD Release Shows at Piedmont Piano, Oakland, 11/3;

Cafe Pink House, Saratoga, 11/9; &

Other Bay Area Venues 

        September 12, 2018

  Anne Sajdera's remarkable acumen as both a pianist and a composer finds rejuvenation on New Year, set for November 2 release on her own Bijuri Records. The album hits close to home for Sajdera -- her ancestral home, that is, of the Czech Republic and its storied capital, Prague. A 2014 trip to Europe's "Golden City" was the catalyst for the album's creation.

  Sajdera's journey wasn't planned as a musical one. While in Prague, however, she encountered trumpeter/flugelhornist Miroslav Hloucal and alto saxophonist Jan Fečo, who became her chief collaborators on New Year. In addition to supplementing her working San Francisco trio (bassist Gary Brown and drummer Deszon Claiborne) and other special guests with their sparkling instrumental work, Hloucal and Fečo brought in four of the album's nine tracks.

  "What electrified me was the tremendous skill level," explains Sajdera (pronounced sazh-dair-uh). "I don't think there are many Czech jazz musicians who want to say, 'This is Czech jazz' the way Brazilian musicians would refer to 'Brazilian jazz.' They're influenced by the same players as we are." Indeed, New Year's music is firmly in the vein of acoustic post-bop: sophisticated, straight- ahead, and thoroughly swinging.

  Even "It Depends on That," Fečo's stellar arrangement of a Roma folk song, feels perfectly at home in the 21st-century jazz repertoire with its deceptively jagged rhythms and sumptuous harmony. Likewise, Hloucal's trio of melodic delights -- "Pictures," "Butterfly Effect," and "Changeling" -- positively simmer in straight-ahead seasoning. In the case of the urgent, album-opening "Pictures," tenor sax luminary Bob Mintzer's vital, muscular work adds an extra ingredient to that seasoning.

  Sajdera's five original compositions naturally provide the backbone of the album, and rival Hloucal and Fečo's contributions in their freshness and craftsmanship. Her haunting romantic ballad "Treasure" also highlights Sajdera's ambition: It doesn't include the Czech musicians, but does expand her trio to include flugelhornist Erik Jekabson, alto saxophonist Lyle Link, flutist Rita Thies, and violinist/cellist Joyce Lee. Link and Jekabson also appear on "Bright Lights," a bare-bones platform for improvisation that's both taut and joyful. The album also includes a live rendition of "Azul," the dreamy samba reggae title track to Sajdera's 2012 debut album, here balancing sensitivity with astonishing rhythmic assurance.

       Born in Portsmouth, Virginia in 1965 to a military family, Anne Sajdera grew up in San Diego. Piano lessons as a child led her to form a tight circle of musical friends who often gathered to play together. She maintained a steady diet of Chopin waltzes, Bach inventions, and Beethoven sonatas in her piano studies, but at the age of 13 became intrigued by Chick Corea's My Spanish Heart. After relocating to the Bay Area in 1985, she auditioned at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music and was accepted as a piano performance major, switching to a composition major at the end of her sophomore year.

  Sajdera's investigation of jazz took off when she began a relationship with an accomplished jazz guitarist, with whom she was soon playing casuals. A class at Berkeley's Jazzschool with the great Brazilian pianist/composer Marcos Silva sparked her enduring passion for Brazilian music. Before long she was gigging around the Bay Area with her own band Pelo Mar, and as an original member of Bat Makumba.

  Her debut album, 2012's Azul, also reflects this deep and abiding passion, mixing her ravishing original pieces with classic tunes by the Brazilian masters. It received a place on one of Jazzizmagazine's 2012 Critics Polls and was named one of Latin Jazz Corner's Great Latin Jazz Albums that same year.

  The six-year gap between Azul and New Year reflects Sajdera's ongoing evolution as an artist looking for new expressive avenues. "I was writing new music all along and I could see it was rapidly changing," she says. "By 2015, the Prague musicians' influence was coming in." Shortly thereafter, the musicians themselves came in, too, to join the music making. (Sajdera's next recording featuring this same ensemble has been awarded grant funding from Intermusic SF.)

  It was in 2015, in the spirit of International Jazz Day, the project launched by Herbie Hancock in his role as UNESCO Goodwill Ambassador, that Sajdera began to connect the Czech jazz scene to the Bay Area scene. After she produced a pair of pilot concerts featuring sax virtuoso Karel Ruzička and organ maestro Ondre J, two Brooklyn-based musicians who originally hailed from the Czech Republic, the plan to collaborate in the studio with Jan and Miroslav began to take shape.

  Anne Sajdera will be performing a series of CD release shows, all featuring Miroslav Hloucal (above left) and Jan Fečo (at right), in November: Fri. 11/2 Savanna Jazz, San Carlos (8pm); Sat. 11/3 Piedmont Piano Company, Oakland (8pm); Mon. 11/5 Luna's Café, Sacramento (7:30pm); Fri. 11/9 Café Pink House, Saratoga (7:30pm); Sat. 11/10 Hotel Healdsburg, Healdsburg (6:30pm).  

      Photography: Davis Digital Design (Anne), Phil Hawkins (Jan & Miroslav)   

          NEW YEAR -- a new CD from Anne Sajdera (EPK)

           Web Site: annesajdera.com Follow: 

Media Contact:

Terri Hinte 510-234-8781 hudba@sbcglobal.net terrihinte.com  

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