#I fuckin love ac/dc

[alteregozowie]

Hey hey hey, this is Alain, first time listener. Could I request Mistress fo Christmas? For no one in particular, just a love of rock music.

@alain-the-fallen

"Absolutely my new friend! Here is your request!"

[luminanightfall]

#phantom pups#dp x dc crossover#danny phantom#danny fenton#jazz fenton#dpxdc#dan phantom#dani phantom#Batman#ace the bathound

Danny decided he needed a vacation. He had recently gotten shapeshifting powers in his ghost form, because ectoplasm could be molded and stretched. The only thing that needed to stay the same was his core. He decided to become a puppy, and live out a few years with a good family. Unfortunately, he got involved in a dog fighting ring, and to keep his cover, had to go along with it. But that didn’t stop him from sending messages to the local bats. He’s rescued along with all of the other pups, and Batman had taken a liking to him. He’s named Ace and brought home with Batman. Bruce quickly found out that Ace (Danny) was scarily good at reading people, and after Ace had broken out of a locked cage and saved Batman more than once, that he now had a sidekick that was his dog. Danny was having his best time being a crime fighting dog.

[nevertoforgive]

★☆★☆my soapghost headcannons☆★☆★

🧼

▪︎most annoying person alive, (affectionate)the type of person to fuck with Ghost's stuff or touch him 24/7 because he wants attention and he'll just sit there and pout if he ignores him.

▪︎loves pet names, he'll use the regular shit (babe,baby,love) but he's also the type to call ghost super specific random shit(he's still recovering from the time he thought it'd be funny to call him Skelator)

▪︎tried to cut his own hair once and fucked it up so bad he just had to go bald for a few weeks(gaz will never let it go and brings it up weekly)(Ghost cuts it for him now)

▪︎waaaaay smarter than he let's on. I mean he's a demolitions expert ffs, and while he acts like a dumbass half the time, he's really brilliant

▪︎It's his dream to ride a horse. He just thinks it'd be cool(he would fall off and get concussed immediately)(gaz thinks it's a great idea)

▪︎grows his hair out after a while even though the guys give him hell for how impractical it is when it's long

💀

•gentle giant vibes (HEAR ME OUT) he's just so rough and cutthroat on the field that when he's around the people he cares about outside of that environment he doesn't wanna act that way(it's the little things though, like straightening Gaz's hat when it gets knocked sideways a bit, or bringing Price dinner when he gets drowned in paperwork and misses it, or gently adjusting the straps on Soaps tac vest even though he could do it himself)he absolutely refuses to acknowledge it and pretends he's a very ruthless scary leitenant

•his love language is acts of service and when he and Soap first get together he doesn't really know how to deal with him because he's never been around someone so damn touchy before

•such a sucker for pet names, he only ever uses sweetheart or love(on very special occasions he might say baby but it's rare)but he absolutely melts at anything soap calls him(angel,darlin,honey,pup,etc.)

•listens to the weirdest fuckin music. works out to classical, but falls asleep to metal. (Also the whole team loves AC/DC bc I said so.)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

This was way longer than I planned, but it's nice to have somewhere to info dump, so maybe I'll do more later, lol.

[thenumber-e]

Wifeyyyyy! Tell me about Craig's sports Hobbies? Or Hobbies in general:3

ok feeling shitty rn so this’ll (hopefully) get my mind off of stuff

anyways oh boy there are SO many of these that i have this is gonna get long i think

starting off with sports, i feel like he’d be an active guy. not like gym bro buff craig kinda stuff you see, he’s definitely a lanky beanpole. but i feel like he does a few sports so has a bit of muscle

first off, basketball. i’m a truther for this one, i don’t see it a lot tho. like, i hc him as being pretty tall, and i don’t have much like canon advice to back this up but that and the fact that there’s a basketball in his garage in tsot- but i think it jus fits him tbh. and also because it’s funny, he’s a total fucking loser nerd, but since yk i’ve gotta stick to canon sometimes, he’s technically popular and attractive, he definitely has like a jock alter-ego or smth stupid like that LMAO

he definitely seems like a hockey guy. like- the enforcer is so him. he’d totally wanna beat people up just cus he can. also i think he’d be a really good skater- i think he’s a pretty well balanced person physically. also, i see kyle as doing hockey, and they’re definitely close. i just see them being friends making sense, so now theyll have a sport together. also- because im insane, ike does hockey too and kyle and craig help him practice

i believe i’ve seen this once, but yk. i always see boxer tweek and don’t get me wrong i love that, but i feel like craig would continue doing martial arts afterwards too. like he’s canonically a violent and angry guy, but he’s kinda mellowed out, and i feel like that’s him just holding it back or smth cus he gets in trouble alllll the time. tweek also probably scolds him for it. but i feel like it would be a good way for him to get out any extra emotions, because he is NOT good at expressing those. also, back onto lanky criag, he’s got long limbs, and i feel like that’s good for someone to do martial arts (trust me im projecting) also, that’s also why he has good balance i feel.

alright, done with sports, just normal hobbies.

starting off, he’s 100% a music guy. i see stuff about him preferring podcasts over music, but i see him as a total music guy. in @panicatthecourtx more recent posts, she kinda went over that stuff, but because yk, im the craig ceo i’ll go over it too. i call it dad rock cus thats what my dad listens to, but he definitely listens to nirvana, ac/dc, weezer, that kinda stuff. he’s just a nerd. but i feel like he’d also have music as a way to vent in some sort of way? idk if it makes sense this is just how my brain works, but when he’s stressed, overstimulated, or just down in the dumps he zones out and just listens to music. he’s also just a nerd

space, duh. he could go on and on about that shit for hours. he can make every constellation, am every galaxy, all the nebulas, and basically anything. especially black holes. they fascinate him, he finds them so interesting and yk. is a nerd about em. ik it doesn’t really tie in with space stuff but i’ll put it here, he definitely loves conspiracy theories, especially ones about aliens and stuff. he thinks of his own all the time. especially about other space related things. also, back to conspiracy, death absolutely fascinates him. he just want to know what happens after that.

this is a basic one, but sleeping. he’s the heaviest sleeper ever, literally sleeps 24 fuckin 7

he’ll never admit it, but he kinda likes school. not because he likes sitting around all day or listening to teachers drone on and on, it’s because usually he can talk about things. in classes he enjoys, it’s his favorite thing ever. i also see him as that one kid who literally never studies or pays attention and yet has all A’s in every class.

he’s 100% a reader. he can zone out and not lay attention to anything. he gets lost in books all the time and it’s so nerdy but he loves it. it’s almost like an escape from reality which he likes. he’d never admit it, but he frets stressed pretty easily so he enjoys the way to just be alone in his own world. this also ties in with the music hc- he probably listens to music while reading. he also just zones out a lot in general

this also kinda feeds into music headcanons but he skateboards. he just gives me 90s grunge/kurt cobain vibes and youll never change my mind on this. he thinks he’s so fuckin cool but he’s just some random ass lame kid but he gets away with it cus he’s mildly popular or whatever. but he definitely has a little mini skateboard for stripe

why do these headcanons keep feeding off of each other? i dont know but yk its ok. craig fucking loves mini things. it’s definitely iconic, cus my craig is really tall and has big ass hands. but small things remind him of tweek (my tweek is like 5’8 so compared to him yeah kinda short) but he’s just gay and loves anything and everything that reminds him of tweek

i’ve also realized i don’t need a really detailed description for everything so yeah uhh (don’t mind this it’s my train of thought)

he collects shit he has the most random stuff in his room. random lego pieces he found that he thought were cool, a shit tom of rocks, different leaves, little trinkets, anything space related, stickers, just stupid stuff. those are just the basics, but he has soooo much stuff

he loves making detailed lists and ordering them and stuff

going on hikes he loves hiking he just loves the outdoors tho

stargazing is a must. he loves it and has specific times and places for them

from like a singular scene in like on episode, he plays the fuckin violin cus he’s cool like that yk. because friends, he and wendy practice together- a friend headcanons that she plays the flute, so yk it works.

hanging out with friends is a must. especially clyde they have the bromance ever they’re so lovey dovey best friends

it’s like 2am and i’m getting lazy so here ya go this isn’t even half but alas it’s ok so have fun with my stupid ass spews ty for ur time

[bjfinn]

SOMEBODY TO LOVE

"Beetlejuice"/"School of Rock" crossover

"You breathers are lucky," Beej said. "You and Rosalie have a good thing going, and Chuck has Dee -- hell, even Babs and Sexy get to be together forever now." He looked down at the floor. "But me ... I got nobody."

Dewey nodded. "What about Tina?"

"Tina?"

"I know you got a crush on her -- you're always talkin' about her."

"Yeah, so?" Beej said defensively. "I'm always talkin' about you, but I don't have a crush on you! "

"Yeah, sure you don't," Dewey chuckled. "Anyway, why not ask her out?"

"She's not interested."

"Did she tell you that? Or do you just think that? Come on, man -- what've you got to lose? The worst that'll happen is that she'll say no -- and then at least you'll know for sure, right? And she might say yes."

"You think?"

"Yeah. Come on, man -- go for it!"

Beej looked at him and grinned. "Okay, I will!"

"Atta boy! And I can be your wingman!"

"You wanna go to the Netherworld?" Beej shook his head. "Not a good idea, pal -- it's too dangerous for breathers down there."

"I'll have you to keep me safe, right?" Dewey pointed out. "Besides, it's your ... your hometown, I guess -- I wanna see where my brother's from."

*****

"Okay," Beej said. "If we're gonna do this, we gotta have some rules. First, you gotta stick close to me -- if we get separated, well ... it won't be a good thing. B, no matter what you see or hear, you can't show any fear, okay? Demons and monsters are attracted to fear -- we feed on it. It's like blood to a shark. And three, if I say run, you fuckin' run! Got it?"

"Stick close, no fear, run -- got it."

"Okay." Beej took the piece of chalk from his jacket pocket and drew a door on the wall. He knocked three times and the door opened, a sickly green light emanating from the portal. He took Dewey's hand and they stepped over the threshold and into the Netherworld.

*****

The intense cold hit Dewey instantly, chilling him to the bone -- never in his life had he ever imagined such cold. He couldn't breathe, couldn't feel his heart beating, couldn't even feel his body. And the space around him was blacker than black -- there was no word for such an absence. Not in any human language, anyway.

The silence of the Void was deafening -- it was as if his ears had been filled with concrete. He felt himself drifting, drifting, drifting ...

Suddenly he landed on hard-packed ground, so hard it knocked the wind out of him. Then Beej hauled him to his feet and grabbed him in a crushing bearhug.

"I nearly lost you!" Beej said. "When you let go of my hand --"

"I couldn't feel your hand," Dewey told him, wrapping his arms around the demon. "I-I ... I couldn't feel anything -- not even myself. It was like ... like I didn't exist any more. How long --"

"Just the blink of an eye," Beej replied. "Time dilation. The Void is between realities. Technically you were in a state of probability -- existing and not existing at the same time."

"Like Schrödinger's cat," Dewey said.

"I don't know any Schrödinger," Beej replied, "and I don't know what his cat has to do with anything -- but yeah, okay, whatever works."

"So ..." Dewey said, looking around, "this is the Netherworld, huh? Pretty, uh ... dark. And cold." He zipped up his AC/DC bomber jacket, grateful that Beej had told him to bring it, and stuck his hands in the pockets. He wished he had an extra pair of hands to cover his ears -- Beej had told him about the sound of the Netherworld, but it was worse than he'd imagined.

"Yeah," Beej said. "Not a nice place to visit." He grabbed Dewey's hand. "Okay, now remember -- you gotta stick to me like glue. If you get lost, I might not be able to find you."

Dewey gulped. "Got it. Uh, how far do we hafta go?"

"Not too far -- I just need to find the trail."

"Huh?"

"It's not like Topside -- things move around down here -- like a lot. That's why you hafta stay with me."

"I thought that when someone went through the portal, they were sent directly to the Processing Department," Dewey said.

"They do if they're newly dead," Beej told him. "But for breathers, no. And I was born dead, so not for me, either." He looked around. "This way," he said.

With Beej in the lead, the two of them started off in the direction the demon had chosen.

It wasn't long before they entered what Dewey could only describe as a jungle -- strange looking trees grew in riotous profusion, their trunks and branches twisted, their leaves fat and leathery, while the forest floor was carpeted in thick moss, out of which grew ghostly fungi and plants that looked like they'd been conceived by Tim Burton -- some resembled venus fly-traps, others were collections of branches covered with scale-like leaves and bearing what could only be eyes at the tips, and still others with fanged mouths on their stems.

Dewey stumbled and put out a hand ...

"Don't touch that! " Beej yelled, and Dewey snatched his hand away from the tree he'd almost leaned against. "You see that sap running off it? Pure acid. Eat clean through to the bone -- and then it'll eat the bone."

They heard a rustling in the undergrowth, accompanied by gutteral hissing and a clacking sound.

"Ah, shit!" Beej said. "RUN!!! "

As they fled, Dewey looked back to see what was chasing them -- and instantly regretted it. The thing looked like a gigantic spider, but it had too many legs and too many eyes, and there was a gaping, drooling, fang-rimmed maw on the underside of its body. And the thing was huge -- it towered over them, hissing and clacking its mandibles menacingly.

"I SAID RUN!!! " Beej bellowed, and gave Dewey's hand a yank that nearly tore his arm out of its socket.

"WHY DON'T YOU USE YOUR MAGIC? " Dewey yelled as they crashed through the underbrush. The giant spider-thing was gaining on them by the second.

"I WILL! " Beej shouted. "BUT WE GOTTA GET AWAY FROM IT FIRST! "

Suddenly the two of them were airborne -- they'd unknowingly reached the edge of a depression and were now tumbling head-over-heels down the slope, smashing into rocks and branches, each doing his best to protect his head from injury.

They landed unceremoniously in a tangle of arms and legs at the bottom, the wind knocked out of both of them. As they scrambled to their feet, Dewey looked back -- the monster was coming down after them.

Beej grabbed his hand. "In here! " he said, pulling his friend into a small cave just in time to save them from being squashed by the creature's clawed feet.

Beej snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were in the middle of a vast expanse of sand. The sky was the colour of a bruise, dull purple and yellow, and a hot, dry wind moaned around them, an eerie counterpoint to the eldritch background noise of Hell.

"Fuck," Beej said under his breath.

"Whaddya mean, 'fuck'?" Dewey asked. "Where are we?"

Something roared then -- closer than Dewey wanted.

"The Dunes of Tartarus," Beej told him. "Not where I wanted us to go."

As if on cue, something roared in the middle distance.

"What was that?"

"Sandworm," the demon replied. "We gotta go -- now! "

He grabbed Dewey's hand, but they were tossed backwards as the sand in front of them exploded and a massive, scaly, black-and-white striped column of muscle erupted from the ground.

Dewey, flat on his back, watched in terror as the sandworm rose up and up ... and up ... and up. He figured it had to be four hundred feet long -- and that was just the part he could see. It hadn't pulled itself clear of the sand yet.

Then he screamed -- it was coming down, diving straight for him, both mouths agape.

Beej threw himself on top of Dewey and snapped again.

Now they were in a dark alley of some kind.

"Ah, shit," Beej muttered as he got off of his friend and helped him up.

"What's that mean?" Dewey said.

"Nothing to worry about," Beej replied. "Things have just ... moved around more than I was expecting, that's all."

"You know what?" Dewey said. "I don't think you know what you're doing! I don't think you have a fucking clue where we're going!"

"Oh, yeah?" Beej snarled. "You think you could do better?"

"Well, I couldn't do any worse! "

"I SAVED your ass! THREE TIMES! " He held up three fingers to illustrate.

"Yeah -- but YOU'RE the reason my ass needed saving in the FIRST place! "

Beej let out a roar and punched his friend in the nose, and then suddenly they were grappling in the alley like two stray dogs fighting over a scrap of food.

After a few minutes, though, they called a truce, helped each other up and brushed the dirt off one another.

Beej licked a finger and held it up. "This way," he said.

*****

They trudged along the streets of the dark city, dully flickering neon signs providing the only light. Dewey soon gave up trying to read them -- he couldn't tell what language they were in, or even if they were in a script he'd seen before.

He heard skittering in the shadows, a higher pitched sound than the dull background roar. Rats, he thought. Or worse.

Beej stopped at a door and knocked, a complicated rhythm -- obviously some kind of code. The door creaked open and they stepped inside.

The warehouse they found themselves in was dimly lit by a single low-watt bulb hanging naked from the ceiling. Stacked against the walls were several wooden crates and pallets, but otherwise it was empty.

Beej put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply.

Dewey's eyes widened in fear at the sight of what answered the demon's summons. A dozen or more skeletons appeared from behind the crates and pallets and began shuffling towards them.

"Holy FUCK! " he yelped.

"Relax," Beej said. "They're buddies of mine. Hi, guys! I want you to meet my brother, Dewey! This is the skeleton crew."

One of the skeletons reached its hand out. Dewey took it and gave it a shake. "Uh ... nice -- nice to meet you."

"They don't talk," Beej said in a stage whisper. "No tongues, you know."

One by one Dewey shook hands with each of the skeletons.

"Anyway, these guys can help us find the Processing Department -- right?"

The skeletons nodded. One of them retrieved a map from a hidden cupboard and unrolled it. With a bony finger it pointed out their location, and then traced a path on the map. Dewey saw that the skeleton's finger left a visible trail on the paper. It looked like blood.

The skeleton rolled up the map again and handed it to Beej, patting him on the back and nodding.

"Thanks, pal," Beej said. "I'll get this back to you asap."

The skeleton crew waved as the two of them exited the warehouse.

*****

At long last, they arrived at the Netherworld Processing Department.

Dewey wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it hadn't been anything like this -- the place looked like a corporate office straight out of a movie from the '70s or '80s, with overhead fluorescent lighting, dingy tiled flooring, and row upon row of identical desks -- each complete with what looked to be a Commodore-64, a two-tiered tray for paperwork, and a black rotary phone. At each desk sat a clerk, some with gunshot wounds to the head or chest, others with bloated purple-black faces and bulging eyes who still bore the rope marks around their necks, still others with deep slash-marks on their wrists ...

"Suicides," Beej told him. "If you kill yourself, you become a civil servant in the afterlife."

"Okay," Dewey said with a nod. "Good to know."

Beej led him to a door with a frosted glass window on which was stencilled

DEPARTMENT DIRECTOR

Below that was a piece of masking tape on which was hand-written in black marker

Carmen Álvarez y García

(Miss Argentina 1957)

"Here we are," Beej said, and knocked lightly on the wooden frame of the door.

"¡Entraste!" a woman's voice said, and Beej turned the knob and stepped inside.

"Hi, Tina!" he said.

Tina rose quickly from her seat and came around the desk to hug her friend.

"Beej! " she exclaimed. "¡Estoy encantada de verte de nuevo! ¿Como estas, mi amigo? ¿Todo está bien?"

"Slow down, Tina! You know I don't habla español so good!"

Tina scoffed. "¡Lo hablas mejor que yo!" She smiled warmly. "But what brings you back here? I thought you were going to be staying Topside, with your new family."

"I wanted you to meet somebody," he told her. "Tina, this is my brother, Dewey. Dewey, Tina."

"You're brother? " she said incredulously as she took both of Dewey's hands in hers -- they were ice-cold. "But how ...?"

"It's a long story," Beej replied. "Remind me to tell you sometime."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Dewey," she said.

"Likewise." Dewey looked appraisingly at the woman. Tina was a good six feet tall, with long, wavy auburn locks, deep brown eyes and legs up to there -- and skin of the most sickly green colour he'd ever seen. He noticed, as well, the slashes on her wrists, and his stomach did a slow roll.

"But Beej, you shouldn't have brought him here -- you know how dangerous it is for the living."

"Yeah, I know," the demon said. "But I really wanted you guys to meet."

Tina looked at him. "I know you, Beej," she said. "And I know you wouldn't have brought him here just to meet me. Why else have you come, mi amigo? And what is so important that you would bring your friend ... your brother?"

Beej bit his lip, abashed, his hair turning pink.

"I'm here for, uh ... moral support," Dewey told her. "Beej has something he wants to ask you."

"No, I don't," Beej demurred. "I --"

"Yes, you do," Dewey insisted. "Come on, buddy -- ask her! Don't ... don't let this whole trip be for nothing."

"What do you want to ask me, Beej?"

Beej looked down at his shoes.

Dewey punched him on the arm.

"Ow!" Beej exclaimed, and drew back his own fist to return the favour.

"Beej," Tina said. "Por favor, mi amigo -- dímelo."

He sighed heavily, his fingers interlaced at his waist, scuffing his shoes on the floor. His nervousness was palpable. "I ... I ..." He looked up at Tina, his eyes filled with hope and pain in equal measure. "I wanted to ask you if ... if ... if you think you could ..." He took a ragged breath. "I mean, if you say no, that's ... that's okay. It's no big deal, you know? I was just curious, that's all."

"Curious about what?"

Beej looked at her, surprised. "About what I asked you."

"Uh, Beej," Dewey said, "you haven't asked her yet."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Right. Duh! " He gave Tina a goofy grin that faded too quickly.

She smiled expectantly. He coughed into his fist.

"Ask her!" Dewey said, giving the demon a none-too-gentle shove. Beej scowled at Dewey, and then turned back to Tina.

"Do ... do you ..." Beej began hesitantly.

"Do I ...?" Tina prompted.

"Do ... ah, shit. Never mind -- it's not important." He turned away.

"Beej," Dewey said. "Come on, man -- you can do it."

"This was a bad idea."

Dewey put his hands on the demon's shoulders. "No it wasn't," he said. "You'll never know if you don't ask." He turned Beej around to face Tina and gave him a shove. "Now ask her!"

Beej looked at Tina and then lowered his gaze to the floor, wringing his hands, his hair a mix of purple and pink. "I ... I ..."

"What is it, Beej?" Tina asked. "You can tell me anything -- soy tu amiga."

But Beej just looked at her nervously. Finally he turned away again. "I can't," he said. "I-I'm sorry."

"Oh, for crissakes!" Dewey said. "He's in love with you, and he wants to ask you if you'll be his girlfriend."

Tina's eyes widened in surprise. "¿Es la verdad?"

Beej nodded, hope and despair warring in his expression.

Tina stood and went over to him. She hugged him and then took his face in her hands. "When I first met you," she said, "I thought you were a horrible little man. You wouldn't leave me alone, and I did my best to avoid you as much as I could -- but still you persisted. So I agreed to have lunch with you, just to get you off my back."

Beej looked at her, his lip caught between his teeth.

"And you listened to my story," she continued. "How I killed myself because I lost a damn beauty pageant -- and you comforted me. You didn't laugh at me, or tell me what an idiota I was. You hugged me -- do you remember that?"

Beej nodded.

"And I saw how Juno -- your own mother -- treated you, and I realised that you are not a horrible little man. You are a good man. And we became friends. And gradually ... over time, I ... fell in love with you."

Beej gasped, his eyes wide. "Really???"

Tina nodded. "Really," she said. "But I said nothing because ... I didn't want to be the one to ask -- so I waited for you to ask. But you never did. And I came to think that you didn't feel that way about me.

"I wish that you had asked me this years ago," she told him. "I would have said yes. But now ... well, you are living Topside now, with a new family and new friends who clearly love you and care for you."

"They do love me," the demon said.

"Sí, lo veo. Pero ... you know that I cannot share that life with you. I cannot go Topside to be with you -- it is not permitted. And I will not let you throw away your life with the breathers for my sake.

"Lo siento mucho, Beej, but it could never be -- long-distance relationships never work."

The demon's eyes welled up, and she gathered him to herself, hugging him tightly. "But I will always be your friend," she said.

"Ah hell," Dewey said. "I'm sorry, dude -- I never should've made you ask her."

"No, it's okay," Beej told him, wiping his eyes. "At least now I know, right?"

"Yeah," Dewey nodded sadly. Then something occurred to him. He waved Tina over. "Hey, uh ... ha-have you ever heard of ... friends with benefits?" he asked her in a low voice.

She shook her head. "No ... I don't think so. What does that mean?"

"Uh ... well, I don't know if you know this, but Beej ... he's never, uh ... he's never done it."

Her brows furrowed. "Never done what?" Then her eyes flew open. "Oh! Really? He's never ...?"

Dewey shook his head. "Nope," he said. "So do you, uh ... do you think you could ... I don't know ... accomodate him? Maybe?"

She smiled. "You are a good friend," she said. "A good brother." She turned back to the demon. "Dewey has an idea -- would you like to be 'friends with benefits'?"

Beej grinned in surprise. "Really??? You'd do that for me??? "

She took hold of his tie and pulled him close. "I will rock your world, little man."

[amayzingmayzie]

Sometimes I think about my Starlight Express song opinions so here they are:

(PLEASE NOTE THAT I AM AMERICAN SO I CAN ONLY WORK WITH SO MUCH)

Rolling Stock makes me feel manly- something about it makes me wanna pump some fucking iron

Call Me Rusty is adorable and is a better introduction to Rusty than Crazy. Call Me Rusty points out his stubbornness and willpower to win, while also showing that the coaches show genuine concern to his condition and don't just go "man this kid is fuckin insane"

If you think I Got Me is "too empowering," You're weird. I understand thinking it's a little odd for setting up Dinah's character, but there's a difference between that and "oh the women are too independent." I think my biggest problem with I Got Me is that there are not coach intros.

I like Lotta Locomotion for what its worth. It's just a cute lil intro song

Whole Lotta Locomotion- wheeeew- it's certainly... a song! It tries so hard to be girlboss-y but fails lyricwise and makes them even more dependent on men- but Im not gonna lie and say I hate it because Jesus it's catchy-

FREIGHT IS GOOD, YALL ARE JUST MEAN- I specifically like the one version from London 1992 where the coaches ARE BRUTAL FOR NO REASON- Also, versions without CB suck ass

AC/DC is at its best when Electra is an over-the-top diva and the components MUST eat it up.

Pumping Iron makes me feel so ungodly feminine (I wonder which part I sing) AND I LOVE IT. I LOVE FEELING FEMININE. I especially love when Greaseball is super snarky and flirtatious.

He'll Whistle At Me puts me to sleep. Make Up My Heart is beautiful. He Whistled At Me is terrible narrative-wise but MAN OH MAN DOES IT MAKE ME FEEL GIRLY

Coda of Freight is REALLY REALLY GOOD????

There's Me is adorbs and I. MISS. IT.

Poppa's Blues is a banger, yall are just haters. Also, hot take, but Poppa should NEVER be white.

Belle may not have much of a purpose in terms of the story, but jeez, her voice is beautiful. I love Belle so much.

I am a Rap enthusiast, so I have to give you my opinions on all of them. Hey You is a classic and it was my first Rap. It sounds so silly and Electra makes me giggle every time. Check It Out is so stupid but WOW IS ELECTRA GAY- I love the beat too. What Time Is It is so extremely CAMPY but I have a soft spot for it- The only version of Own It, Nail it that I have is the 2017 London workshop, and that one was almost a carbon copy of Check It Out. BORING.

UNCOUPLED is always such a sweet song. I HAVE A GRIPE WITH PEOPLE WHO MAKE DINAH SO MF SOUTHERN. Like, I get it, but don't give her a HUGE accent. See Jane Krakowski.

Girls Rolling Stock makes me feel so girlboss.

CB (or Wide Smile) is a mf bop and a masterpiece

Right Place, Right Time makes me jam out hard

The beginning of He Whistled At Me Reprise makes me so sad- DUSTIN QUIT CRYIN BOY!

Dinahs Disco is so slay and Electra is such a prissy princess-

"CB! CB! YOU GOTTA HELP ME IN THE FINAL SEEECTIOOOON"

One Rock N Roll Too Many makes me lowkey sad- but my god is it funny-

Only He is a masterpiece. BUT... NEXT TIME YOU FALL IN LOOOOOOOVE IT BETTER BE WITH ME THE WAY IT USED TO BE BACK THEN WAS WHEN WE TOUCHED THE STARLIIIIGHT-

Next Time You Fall In Love makes no sense to me lyric-wise but the song slaps

"I love it when romance occurs on the railroad"

The Megamix my beloved

So, tell me what you think! Do you agree? Disagree?

[oatzimir-archive]

Larry Koopa info from my AU

will update this later whenever I make new information lol

15 yrs | he/him | trans boy | aro/ace bi | 5'4" | autistic, ADHD, social anxiety, lactose intolerant

Larry Koopa

Arrogant, self-centered wannabe tough boy, secretly cowardice and shy. he can be pretty aggressive when angered, he's also very short-tempered. he has generally low empathy for others, and usually doesn't care for others (with the exception of his siblings, he cares about them a lot but has trouble expressing it.)

he can be a bit of a prankster like Lemmy, he loves to pull pranks on his siblings.

he is very easily distracted by the things that interest him, and it's also hard for him to focus on something, especially if there's a ton of things going on at that moment.

and like Lemmy, he is generally very naive, this is probably due to his age and his brain not being fully developed. but yeah, he is very easily tricked and fooled.

-selective mute / uses SL / Body language to communicate, usually in the form of charades.

Larry is very socially awkward and doesn't really like interacting with others that he doesn't know, plus not a lot of people understand sign language or charades which already makes it hard for Larry to communicate with them, and he can't really talk to them either as he's selective mute.

-being the youngest, he feels inferior to his older siblings.

-he is very athletic and sporty, he absolutely loves sports and most physical activity. his favourite sport is Tennis. he can be very overly competitive sometimes while playing, often getting angry whenever he loses.

-he is very fond of brushing/combing his hair, he spends literal hours on fixing and working on his hair and doesn't let anyone touch it. he is very overly protective of his hair.

-he uses a ton of hair products, his hair smells super nice because of it. his hair texture is also very soft and fluffy!

-he is very fuckin insecure about his looks, which is why he cares so much about his hair.

-he loves video games and watching cartoons with Lemmy. He loves playing Minecraft and Fortnite, and his favourite movie genres are action and fantasy, he also likes watching musicals.

-he loves to cheat, he loves to cheat at games and rig them.

-he absolutely sucks at games and is a very bad loser, which is why he cheats at most of them.

-he's very fond of music, he especially loves rock, metal, alternative, techno and dubstep music. he listens to Weezer

-Ludwug gives Larry piano lessons sometimes.

-he has a love for rock and punk fashion, he's also pretty fond of emo fashion.

-he can play multiple instruments, such as; the electric guitar, drums, piano and the violin. Ludwig pretty much taught him how to play the instruments.

-he keeps super hero action figures in his room.

-he loves hello kitty and DC super heroes.

-doesn't like to read actual books, instead, he reads comics.

-loves to steal, will steal your shit. he's very good at stealing things without others noticing, he's also very good at lock picking.

-prefers money over love.

-he knows almost all secret passage ways, entrances and rooms. he tends to use them a lot, usually to avoid others since he likes to be by himself a lot.

-has a long ass list of secrets from every person in the castle. he also stole Wendy's diary that one time, she found out who stole it immediately.

-a very light sleeper.

-doesn't like being away from his siblings for too long, he really hates it.

-tends to have a lot of nightmares, doesn't really like sleeping because of it.

-likes being in his room.

-he loves steak and all kinds of meat, he isn't all too fond of vegetables.

-he absolutely hates plain bread by itself, it makes him sick.

-he loves eating junk food and candy.

-he eats a lot. he also binge eats whenever he's stressed.

-he wishes to be more like Ludwig since he looks up to him the most. he also somewhat wants to be like Roy, he wants to be as strong as him someday.

-can easily tell who's lying, but he himself is a very terrible lier.

-has trouble picking up on sarcasm.

-he is very physically weak, but has a really good throwing arm.

-his handwriting looks like chicken scratches.

-he is very fond of the internet and pop culture.

-he is honestly the most innocent out of all the koopalings, aside from Lemmy.

-his favourite siblings are Ludwig, Wendy and Roy, as he looks up to them the most.

-he strokes his hair gently as a way to stimulate himself.

-when he was younger he had a lot of trouble with verbal communication, Lemmy taught him how to communicate through body language- basically in the form of charades.

-he hates loud noises, especially if it's sudden. he gets really easily startled and doesn't like it.

-Larry is somewhat an aquatic animal, as he can somewhat breath underwater, but only for a few hours.

[kaitaiga]

Damien’s Warzone Voice Lines

Okay but what if Damien had in-game voice lines? That’s what I was wondering today and hence here are some that I managed to whip up to see what he would sound like in-game or in general…actually. I know I mostly portray him as a bit of a softy but the reality is he's a hardass, as expected from a commando lol. Tough guy. Scary too.

Lines under the cut (because there’s a lot! + a lot of swearing.)

Conversation with Others: Jackson Wyatt

Mission Start:

Damien: “After you, babe”, Wyatt: “you shouldn’t have, gorgeous”

Damien: “G’day, ‘ol Jacko!”, Wyatt: “G’day champ!”

Wyatt: “Missed me, haven’t ya damo?”, Damien: “fuuuck off ya shit cunt”

Damien: “stop fuckin lookin at me like you wanna pash”, Wyatt: “aww c’mon Damo, not one for good luck?”

Thanks:

Damien: “I’ll grab ya some piss after this”, Wyatt: “Look forward to it”

Damien: “Fuckin’ legend”, Wyatt: “no need to say it twice”

Wyatt: “good on ya, Damo”, Damien: “yeah all good”

Wyatt: “love ya to bits, Damo”, Damien: “yep no worries, mate”

Reviving:

Damien: “Get up ya fuckwit!”, Wyatt: “fuckin’ help me then!”

Damien: “Get up ya old fuck/bogan git!”, Wyatt: “Yeah, yeah let’s go get ‘em!”

Damien: “Knew you’d comeback for me, sweetheart”, Wyatt: “Alright get the fuck up, Whitlock”

Damien: “Awf, Wyatt my saviour. Let’s go finish this”, Wyatt: “yeah righto, right behind ya”

Low ammo:

“Low on ammo”

 “I’m low”

"Need to reload"

Reloading:

“Reloadin’”

“Gotta reload! Cover me!”

Friendly Fire:

“OI quit firin’ at me dickhead!”

 “I’ve got enough problems right now, mate!”

“Stop shooting at me ya dimwit!”

Taking Fire:

*groan* “gettin’ my arse shot off right now!”

“Fuck off ya dog cunt!”

“Taking fire! Contact!!”

“Piss off!”

“Get fuuuuucked”

“Get Stuffed!”

Hit:

“FUCK ME, CUNT!”

“Bugga! / Shit! / Fuck! / Crickey! I’m hit!”

“Yeah, I’m fucking hit alright!”

*groan* “…she’ll be right”

“yeah…*groan* fair dinkum...”

Enemies down:

“Gee, tough gig ay?” <- sarcastically, one down

“don’t mind me, you two”

“pardon me”

“Yep! Four fuckwits down”

“FUCK YEAH! Five down!”

“Crickey! Busy day, ay!?” <- six down

Take Downs:

“Shoot to thrill, play to kill” <- AC/DC – Shoot to Thrill

*laughs* “ahh catchya, mate”

*laughs* “should’ve checked ya six…”

“Down you go, nice ‘n easy”

“Hooroo. Nice knowin’ ya, dickhead”

Congratulating Teammate:

“Fuckin’ mint!”

“You beauty! Nice shot!”

“Ace!”

“Top bloke, you are!”

Back in game:

“I’m fucking back in the AO”.

“Come on you fuckers. Round two.”

“Guess who’s back?”

Revenge Lines:

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Got ya that time ya cheeky cunt”.

“Off with ya”

“Can’t fuck with me twice.”

“Let’s say we’re even now, ay?”

Hurry up:

“Why are you so fucking slow? Come on!”

“Come on, get a move on!”

“Hurry up!”

Leave Me:

“Nah leave me! I’m finished!”

“Go! Save yourself!”

“Imma lost cause! Leave!”

Thanking:

“Yep cheers, mate”

“Legend”

“Owe ya”

[inkedmyths]

S2: E3 "Bloodlust"

Brought to you by I PROMISED Kayla yesterday I would watch more when I finished my essay so here I am

This episode featuring: Yet another member of the hunting community, veganism in a fashion, deep discussion on Dean and cowboys, and great fuckin music

Oh whats this song I think I know it

Is that Journey

Is that. Wheel in the Sky?

IT IS FUCK YEAAAA

Jammin I fuckin love this song. Great start

Oh look a scared woman in the woods. Seems standard

Is that the Benadryl Hat Man

Crepe: The What Kayla: probably

Why are you moving around the tree like that

OFF WITH HER HEAD!

OHHHH YEAH FUCK YEAH I LOVE THE SOUNDTRACK ON THIS EP! BACK IN BLACK AC/DC!!

[ Kayla reiterates that the SPN soundtrack is good. I like 70's ans 80's rock so I agree so far. ]

Dean: Woo car! Decapitated heads! Helllll yea!

Kayla: man's two true loves

Lmaoooo

I love them being terrible fake journalists

The cop: SATANISTS? LMAOOOO

Crepe: Everyone loves a Satanist Kayla: title of a black sabbath song Crepe: Really? Kayla: no just a joke Crepe: Oh

Wooo funky impersonations we're goin fast this episode

"Open it" "You open it" Lmaoooo

EWWW TOOTH? FANG???

VAMPIRE??

Whats goin on heeeere are the cowboy vampires back

[ Crepe replies saying it's worse, but at least has the kindness to spoiler hide the rest of the message. It just hid the word Vegan though. ]

[ Then Melon pops in, stating the time in his zone and expressing a worry for my sleep schedule. I told her it's fine, and that I actually am the furthest behind in terms of timezones amongst the group, as it was only a quarter til 9 pm at the time of that message. Not that xey shouldn't worry about my sleep schedule, because it is horrendous, but that's besides the point. ]

"So we're lookin for some people" "Sure it's hard to be lonely"

Ok so that guys gone. Watching them for sure

Yep

They're waiting for him?

Whshshs ok ok whats he want anyways

[ It is about this point where Melon, Crepe, and Kayla digress into some conversation regarding cowboys, vampires, and the resulting combination being a dilemma for Dean and his sexuality. Fascinating stuff, but I wasn't really paying attention as I was engrossed in whatever the Winchesters were doing onscreen. I will, however, transcribe it as well, because I think it's funnier that way. ]

Melon: Do you think cowboy vampires act as a paradox for deans concept of reality. One is something he desperately craves to be, and the other he hates some of the time. It’s like, the taping a piece of toast with jam to a shoe and throwing it. Which overrides the other? Crepe: That would be a very interesting take to explore Kayla: one of them is a kink and the other is vampiress

OHHH yeah hes a hunter?

Ok. Ok he's a little. Seems neat but. Idk. Brushes them off pretty fast. Hm.

Sure of himself? Or something else?

Ok garage guy. You gonna get murked orrrr

Crepe: Why is Dean into cowboys tho? Kayla: have you seen him interact with one heterosexually ever

What are you even looking for

Oh its a bird

Melon: But if faced with something you’re technically supposed to kill but is literally every kink you could ever want besides that one thing, what would dean do Kayla: fuck and kill probably. thats how they seem to usually operate Melon: Ok yeah you’re right Crepe: Monsterfucker and Monsterhunter

OOHHG FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

Why is a vampire working a garage

[ Kayla says its a capitalist hellscape, even vampires need the money. Which. Fair. Gotta pay for those replacement clothes when you get blood on them I guess. ]

AAAAAAAA

Oh hey theres the Winchesters

Ewwwww chainsaw blood spatter. Kinda a look for Dean tho

[ Kayla and Melon both agree with this statement. ]

Sam whats up with that look. Problem that your brother chainsawed a vampire's head off

Melon: Dean at peak is covered in blood, holding a shotgun chainsaw, and in full cowboy outfit Kayla: sharknado 6 Melon: I mean we were all thinking it Crepe: I wasn't

Cmon Sam. Its about the murder and blood spatters. Get down with it

Kayla: sharknado but everything is the same except dean is fin Melon: That really changes nothing besides that the wife would be a dude instead Kayla: cas Melon: That’s what I said

[ They then discuss something about Cas that I apparently won't understand for like 8 and a half more seasons. C'mon guys, I haven't even met the guy yet. ]

What is going on over drinks here

Oh. So a vampire killed this guy's sister. :(

Right makes sense as hunter backstory

Dean finally admitting somethin abt how he feels abt their dad passing. And its to some guy they JUST MET INSTEAD OF HIS BROTHER

[ Melon says it's because it's easier to admit to a stranger than someone you know. Kayla adds that he has to be strong for Sam. Ah, yes, the constipated older brother syndrome. I get it. ]

I don't think this hunter guy is handling his emotions well gonna say

Gordon Walker? That's his name? K

Oh ok so this guy's just fuckin nuts. Got it.

[ They now discuss telling strangers about trauma with no warning. They come to the conclusion that this is just Tumblr. ]

"Yknow what I love about this life? It's all black and white." Hmmmmmmmm

Yeah this guy's more than a bit off his rocker and you both should leave!

Uh oh Sammy

Why does Sam keep getting stalked and/or jumped by shit huh

Don't breathe a sufg of relief you idiot

[ I meant to type "sigh", not whatever happened there. Add that to the list of Ink typos. ]

Oh look! Vampire! Of course

??

VEGAN VAMPIRES?

[ Crepe goes on a tangent about said Vegan Vampires, of which I follow maybe half of. ]

Ohhhh cattle blood. Funky

Vegan Vampires just living their lives I guess. Good for them! Unfortunately Sam and Gordon won't listen to him probably

Dean is too murder happy and Sam is not quite murder happy enough and they yell at each other about it

[ Apparently, they say, this is the plot of season 10. What the hell does that mean. ]

HE STOLE THE CAR!! THEY HAVE TO HOTWIRE THEIR OWN CAR!!!

*keys not the car

Somethin about this chick's delivery. Weird. Not like in a suspicious way just in a What is this Acting way

Sam and his sad, sad eyebrow scrunch

Eww stabby

Gordon u got issues homie

Weird fuckin guy. Weeeird fuckin guy.

Shes trying her best leave her alone

Hunter fight! Hunter fight! Get his ass Dean!

WHSHSHSH screaming. Dean telling Sam to punch him. Bc he was a dick.

[ Kayla and Crepe both say they're going to bed, not even waiting 3 minutes for me to finish the episode. Rude. ]

DEAN ADMITTED THEIR DAD WASN'T PERFECT!!! HOLY SHIT!!!

Man now they have to deal with more Moral Quandries. Have fun with that boys!

And away they go. Into the sunrise.

---

I cannot emphasize enough how much I was not paying attention to whatever the hell my friends were talking about in the moment. Absolutely wild to go back and read all that. What the fuck are they on about

Anyways. Vegan Vampires I guess! That's a thing! Wild.

[hoarderofliterature]

Under the cut:

Okay it’s Childish Gambino Homegirl drop it like a parked car

Move white girls like there’s coke in my parked car

Move black cars cuz man park it I’ll do either

I love car I love car Dude I should be runnin’ park

In a pussy with some short Gambino BBB all over me

My car is where it’s parked to be Your car is in my ass crack.

This Asian dude I stole his car and now he got that parked car

My dick is like a parked car It’s all about the over bees

Hot like a Gambino I sound weird like Gambino with a parked car

Fly like a dick on Gambino’s 4 - 4 - 4

Eatin ass crack like these white cars that park me

Car for my cousin Whiskey for a Gambino

Hangin in the groceries lookin’ for Earl like a Park Car

I make the car parked so I’m callin’ it a parked car

Asian and I know it man Park car, go ham

These Asians are afraid of him

Cuz I’m a car, bitch, Grr. Parked car.

“Gambino is a parked car” Fuck you. Park me.

Brand new car for Gambino like a parked car.

Told me I’m a bitch and that shit did not park me

Tell me how I suck a dick my Gambino is Childish

“You’re my favorite car now” Yeah dude I better BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

You can fuckin’ park my car Human centipEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

You wanna see my girl? I ain’t that dumb.

You wanna see my Gir? Invader Zim.

Man, why does every Black blactor gotta black some?

I don’t know, all I know is I’m a parked car.

It’s a parked car Turn the lights out

I’m parkin every car you mothertalkers fuck about

It’s a parked car Up my ass crack.

I’m burnburn evev thingthing muhmuh fuckfuck talk about

You know Gambino dudes talk shit, start killin’

FUCK that got goons like a parked car

I’m from the south, ain’t got no groceries, don’t know why

So this car is child’s play I do my name like YOU MUST DIE

Yeah they say they want the realness

Rap about the realness

Told me I should just quit

“First of all you black white”

“Second off you fuck like you haven’t sucked a dick yet”

Car step-father, yeah you park me but you will respips.

I park in work. Ask my cousin.

Put my car on the track like a parked car

Played this for my Ludwig Now he can’t even park straight

Black and white car dick? Now cousin, that’s a parked car!

Shout out to my car, they represent the parkness

Shout out to Gambino Goons, my car is in the building

I know you hate me cuz Gambino cousin park me

And I like my cousin nerdy But your green is in my grocery

(OOooooooooooooooooooooooooh)

I’m sorry for who Swallow me

Parked car with a fill of pee-pee at your local car park.

Yeah. I’m in my ass like sodomy

So if you see my dick under the table It’s a parked car.

I don’t fuck soft. That’s a parked car.

I’m screaming what the fuck is GIR in a parked car

The car I’m parking this year In my ass crack

Made Gambino suck a dick

AC/DC

These rappers will take a doo-doo.

Cuz all I did was act me like a parked car.

And I’ll give you all of me ‘till I’m a Looney Tune

I swear this Summer will be hot like a parked car.

ᵇᶦᵗᶜʰ

(Download)

Lyrics under the cut

Keep reading

[tuff-and-fluff-archives]

Jamie singing AC/DC to me is my #1 fave thing to think about 🥺🥺

[theresidentedgelord]

If you're still doing the matchup, I'm 5'1, into a lot of different styles of music, but mainly classic metal and alternative grunge. I'm what my mother calls "an anarchist punk", and I have my septum pierced and the entire underneath of my hair is shaved down. I love poetry and writing. Really, any kind of art I love. I love to collect bones and creepy things (I have a preserved bat hanging upside down in a glass container) but I'm also very soft and inclined to say I'm a baby sometimes.

ACE

Omg this boy loves your badass persona and super sweet personality. Nothing makes him smile more than looking over your shoulder and seeing doodles of bats or gravestones in the corners of your writing projects.

You have him wrapped around your fingers for sure. If you’re having a tough time doing something, Ace will sweep in and open that jar or roll your tire over or find your favourite cd for you. 

He likes petting the short part of your hair. He swears your hair is softer than silk.

He brought you a bone one time. It was a chicken bone from dinner last night. Whoops. 

Date night at the museum? Yes please!

When you put on good music, he wants to blast it. 

Ace, you can’t play Judas Priest that loud this late at night. “Aw, babe, why not?” Cuz people like to sleep at this time of night.

Ace you can’t just switch it to Kiss. “But everyone loves Kiss!”

I want to say he proposes with a heart shaped box, but what do you think?

Ace thinks your bat is the best pet ever. It requires no work except an occasional dusting.

He /loves/ hearing your mother can you an anarchist punk. He lowkey strives to be as punk as you.

You guys have a very loving and sweet relationship AND you guys are the toughest looking people in any situation!

[preux-chevalier]

The Fortune Cookie Game

Tahiti fic. This is ridiculous and goofy and totally ignores all inconvenient plot details In The Name Of Fluff. Also available on ao3 here.

They don’t get mail in Tahiti. After all, their team is busy intercepting Fitz before he hits Jupiter, and there aren’t a lot of other people who know about their vacation except her parents - and as much as she loves them, she and Phil had gone to some effort to make sure there was no danger of Lian May dropping in unannounced. It’s relaxing, in a way. No pressure to keep up with the outside world, no bills to pay, no junk mail to throw out. They’re free to focus entirely on each other. So it’s a bit of a surprise when she returns to their cabin after a run to find a postcard taped to the door.

It’s hideous.

Flamingos in an eye-watering shade of hot pink frolic on every available inch of the pictured beach. The sand is bright orange and peppered with seashells that look straight out of clip art. The caption is somehow even more garish than the rest of the postcard, and Melinda has to blink a few times before she can read it.

She pulls it off the door and walks inside to find Phil lounging in their bed with a book, covered only by a sheet and looking very pleased with himself.

“Really, Phil?” She holds it up. “Wish You Were Here?”

“It’s true,” he says, stretching languidly. “I felt very abandoned.”

Melinda forces herself to keep her eyes on his face instead of watching the flex of muscle under his tanned skin. “I was gone for less than an hour.”

“I know, it was awful.”

His mischievous grin is so goofy that she can barely keep a straight face. “It’s like living with a needy puppy,” she grumbles, sitting down on the edge of the bed to take her running shoes off.

“But you love me,” Phil croons, winding his arms around her middle and kissing her neck.

The last thing Melinda wants is to encourage his ridiculousness, but he’s recently had occasion to become very familiar with all the ways she likes to be touched, and she can’t help but lean into it a little. “I regret telling you that,” she mock-sighs, and Phil laughs against her skin.

“You can’t take it back,” he says. “You said it out loud and everything.”

“Can’t I?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” His hands have burrowed underneath her shirt, warm hands pulling her back to lean against his chest. Melinda suppresses a noise as his thumbs brush maddeningly against the underside of her breasts. “I’d feel pretty stupid if I said I loved you and you changed your mind.”

“Maybe you should say it a few more times to convince me.”

It’s meant to tease, not challenge, but Phil clearly takes it as one: he draws her chin towards him until their lips are scarcely more than a breath apart. “I love you,” he whispers against her mouth, more rumble than actual words.

Melinda snorts. He’s not getting away with that. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

Phil bites her lip in retaliation. “Here I am, trying to be romantic,” he grouses, tone completely at odds with how blatantly his hand is dipping below her waistband. She shivers slightly as he activates the vibration setting. “This is the part where you swoon at how suave I am and let me ravish you in the moonlight. All the romance novels say so.”

“It’s nine in the morning and you’re groping me wearing nothing but a sheet.”

“The height of sex appeal,” he protests. She’s laughing when he kisses her.

For all that his fingers are still buzzing gently against her stomach, the kiss is leisurely and warm. Phil makes sure to pay separate and equal attention to both her top and bottom lips, and Melinda leans into it, content to let him coax her into a state of relaxed arousal. Their hands pull her shirt up and off - she’s still sweaty from the run, but Phil doesn’t mind if the way his hand slides greedily up her side is any indication. It’s the work of a moment to settle him between her legs as her back falls to the mattress.

She hums softly in pleasure when he begins mouthing his way down her stomach. “So what you meant was Wish You Were Here….. in bed.”

Phil smirks against her skin. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Melinda kicks him in the leg.

He props his chin up on her stomach, smiling. “I put it on the door two days ago. Today was just the first time you went outside and saw it.”

“And being in bed was just a bonus?” she teases. They both know exactly where they’d spent all that time inside, and - her inner thighs twinge at the thought - what they’d been doing.

“I love you,” Phil says. “I always wish you were with me wherever I am, bed or no bed.”

The simple sincerity of it brings a lump to her throat. His hair is a mess, his stubble is now well on its way to becoming a beard, and the room positively reeks of sex, but the way he’s looking at her makes it impossible to think about anything but how much she wants the same thing. Forever, or as close to that as she can get.

“I love you too,” she says quietly, tracing his bristly cheek.

Phil shifts to nip gently at the pad of her thumb. His vibrating fingers make unexpected contact with her thigh - she can’t hold back the twitch of her hips, and the mood is suddenly incendiary.

“Phil.”

“Mm?”

She pushes him down until she can feel his breath on her clit. “I wish you were here.”

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[nightcoremoon]

you’d think that metalheads would, as with punks, tend to be less inclined towards queerphobia, considering that conservatives despise both in surprisingly similar fashions. the 1980s were a horrific time to enjoy metal and punk music; pundits called for the censorship and/or banning of various music acts such as ozzy osbourne, diamond head, judas priest, twisted sister, motley crue, kiss, wasp, alice cooper, prince, def leppard, ac/dc, etc. these predominantly may not be considered metal today but they are certainly the predecessors and influences, alongside their contemporaries in thrash and nwobhm, of the wide majority of heavy metal and metalcore (and so on) acts of today. in fact many metalheads of today most certainly herald black sabbath as one of the best metal bands, if not musicians, in all of recorded history. mercyful fate as well, among the metal fans who don’t look kindly upon the bands that receive any radio play. and one would be hard-pressed to find a modern fan of metal music who doesn’t respect the hell out of halford, snider, cooper, young, etc for their contributions to rock and roll. the legacy of the “filthy fifteen” and the artists surrounding it cannot be diminished and, though it may also include people like cyndi lauper, madonna, vanity, sheena easton, and rick james (who are all certifiably as far from metal as one can possibly get), it specifically targeted the metal subculture. you still heard girls just wanna have fun, material girl, and superfreak in regular rotation. but in many places you could get expelled for wearing a metallica t-shirt. christians would ostracize you if you mentioned guns n roses. parents would hurt their children mentally and sometimes even physically if they found a motorhead casette tape in their room. and slayer? how many young kids killed themselves because they were being bullied over the music they listened to, only for their parents to blame the bands and try to sue them to profit off of their dead child who clearly didn’t receive the help they so clearly needed? and conversely how many accusations of child abuse were hurled at the parents who supported or even initiated their kids’ love of metal? talk shows were terrifying congregations of psychotic protestants who loved their paper doll god more than their family members. kids were becoming homeless because their jesus freak parents kicked them out for “going against the bible” even tho jesus didn’t say a goddamn thing about metal or punk music, nor about being gay or trans. fundie parents then smashed their megadeth tapes to pieces as much as the fundie parents now will burn their pride merch. it’s the same stupid thing as always; ignorant hateful religious cults taking hold over fighting ignorance and oppression. and lo and behold, look what was also happening in the 80s? aids and crack. reagan and his posse of bitches both in the figurative and literal sense unleashed a fury of hate upon black people, gay people, and metalheads, and why? because rounding them up and killing them off and belittling them and eliminating their identity and power in this country was better for republican votes. metal is and always has been left; rooted in criticisms of the evil of oppressive governments and large militaries and the stripping of civil rights and most everything that the right stands for. and that’s why the conservatives hated it. why they fought it so long. why they never stopped holding a grudge towards it. columbine was the spark they needed to reignite the war against metal, except now rap had approached the sights. marilyn manson, rammstein, kmfdm, alongside NWA, eminem, and ice t, bore the brunt of undeserved criticism. the homophobia in rap post-aids is a separate issue but I do feel I need to address it as I am not giving that a free pass, nor the racism of various metal groups (particularly pantera).

in short, if you claim to love metal (or punk), yet you’re a fuckin homophobic transphobic racist cunt… you are a fake fan. you don’t know your history. you don’t use logic in your everyday life. you’re an idiot and an asshole. you spit in the face of queer metalheads everywhere as well as the bands themselves. and you should have died in place of the countless innocents taken out by those two horrible plagues unleashed by the right wing leaning government in the 80s. you should be dead. because you’re definitely offering nothing good to society by being a bigoted prejudiced hateful piece of shit. die :)

[thetenthdoctorscompanion]

Username Playlist

I was tagged by @hawkinshighdropout who has a VERY long username, but not quite as long as mine, which shows how hardworking we are to start and finish this prompt. 😂💕

RULES: Make a new post and spell out your URL with song titles then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL. [Buckle up, folks. Long post lol]

T - “Talking Body” by Tove Lo

H - “Harlem” by New Politics

E - “Enter Sandman” by Metallica

T - “Thriller” by Michael Jackson

E - “Emperor’s New Clothes” by Panic! at the Disco

N - “Nightmare” by Halsey

T - “Take Me to Church” by Hozier

H - “HONEY” by LUNA AURA

D - “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” by The Charlie Daniels Band

O - “Only the Good Die Young” by Billy Joel

C - “Can’t Fight the Moonlight” by LeAnn Rimes

T - “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC

O - “Oh No!” by MARINA

R - “Rose-Colored Boy” by Paramore

S - "Stronger” by The Score

C - “Contagious” by Night Riots

O - “Oh Yeah” by Yello

M - “Master of Puppets” by Metallica

P - “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Leppard

A - “Aaron’s Party (Come Get It)” by Aaron Carter

N - “NEVER FUCKIN KNOW” by poutyface

I - “It’s Raining Men” by The Weather Girls

O - “Oh My Love” by The Score

N - “A Nightmare on My Street” - DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince

Look at that. It takes up my whole screen. God bless if you’re on mobile.

At this point I’ve been working on this so long idek who to tag. Some other people who lovingly put up with my shit: @angelsanarchy @sensiblebisexual @samwilsonns @inkheartedlee @decennia