#Sunshine Brownstone

[disneytva]

Development Art and Animatic for a Untitled Disney TVA Variety Sketch Comedy Series created by Audie Harrison (Cartoon Network Studios "Uncle Grandpa" and "Sunshine Brownstone").

The series would have featured the characters Chip 'n Dale ,Lilo & Stitch, Tigger from Winnie The Pooh & Cheshire Cat from Alice In Wonderland on different variety sketches ala Warner Bros Animation "MAD" and "Right Now Kapow".

Watch the full pilot here

[witchywithwhiskey]

tempting fate on the terrace

pairing: father's business rival CEO!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you're relaxing on bucky's penthouse terrace and eating ice cream when he tempts you into something more

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, creampie, come play, light teasing, light overstimulation, finger sucking, choking, light bdsm, semi-public sex, little bit of exhibitionism, dirty talk, light degradation, praise kink, pet names (darling), unspecified age gap, fluff

word count: 2,900ish

a/n: y'all have @biteofcherry to blame for this follow up, because i couldn't get her idea out of my head and i just had to write it 😅 i'm so so so so so happy with how this turned out. i kind of can't get enough of these naughty little lovebirds, i just love them so much!!! and i hope y'all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!! ♡

tempting fate in the park (part 1)

tempting fate on the terrace (part 2)

tempting fate in the CEO's office (part 3)

The spring sunshine was perfectly warm on your face, and you stretched your legs out, sinking further into the soft cushions of the outdoor sofa as you considered whether you should trade in your Brooklyn brownstone for a Manhattan penthouse. Specifically a penthouse with a terrace as pretty as the one belonging to Bucky Barnes. 

You licked your ice cream cone thoughtfully, gazing through the greenery that had been set up around the edge of the terrace to give it a sense of privacy. The whole of Manhattan seemed to sprawl beyond the edge of Bucky’s penthouse and you enjoyed the view almost as much as you loved the tree-lined Brooklyn street where you lived.

But your brownstone didn’t have a concierge to go buy ice cream and cones so you could have a delightful treat after being ruined by one of the most powerful CEOs in the city—who also happened to be your father’s business rival. That said, your apartment did have a bagel store around the block with the best bagels in New York City…

You were distracted from comparing the benefits of your home to Bucky’s by the door to the terrace sliding open with a soft sound. The man who had been nothing more than your father’s business rival—until he’d become much, much more—paused just outside the door, his hands slipping into the pockets of his lounge pants while he stared at you lazing about on his outdoor sofa.

You grinned, taking a long lick of your ice cream as you stared right back at him. He looked deliciously comfortable in his lounge pants and simple gray t-shirt, the soft cotton pulling tight across his broad shoulders. His brown hair was a little disheveled from how much you’d run your fingers through it, and his blue eyes sparkled in the golden late afternoon light. 

“Y’know, darling, I could get used to seeing you looking so comfortable in my home,” Bucky rumbled as he prowled over to the sofa, lifting your legs and sitting down so they sprawled across his lap. Since he was closer, you could better see the way his eyes darkened as he raked them along your body. “And I could definitely get used to seeing you wear my clothes.” He fingered the bottom hem of the button-up shirt you were wearing—the one you’d stolen off his floor and put on because it smelled like him. “In fact, maybe it should be a rule that you only wear my clothes when you’re here.”

You laughed, the sound bright and airy as you tipped your head back, and you were still smiling when you looked back at Bucky. “You already made it a rule that I can’t wear panties while I’m here,” you pointed out, kicking him lightly with your bare foot. “At this rate, I’ll have to walk around naked, and I love your terrace too much for that—your neighbors are going to see me and we’re actually going to get that public indecency charge.”

Bucky’s hands had begun to massage your calves, slowly working their way up your legs but he paused in thought, his gaze going distant as he stared out over the city. “Y’know, I don’t think you can get charged for public indecency if you’re naked on a private terrace,” he said, then turned mischievous eyes on you. “Why don’t we test it out,” he teased in a deliciously warm tone, his hands slipping up your thighs to push the hem of your shirt up, revealing your bare pussy to his gaze.

“Jamie—someone could see!” you cried, laughing and pushing him away half-heartedly with one hand while you tried to hold your ice cream cone stable in the other. But Bucky turned and wedged his body between your legs so you couldn’t close them, his gaze heating as he stared down at the apex of your thighs.

“Christ, your pussy looks pretty with my come spilling out of it,” Bucky muttered, almost to himself, his fingers trailing through your still sticky folds. Your hips stuttered up against his fingertips and you sucked in a gasp as he brushed gently against your sensitive clit. “So fucking pretty, darling.” 

“Jamie.” That time, when you said his name, it was more of a whimper, the sound so desperate it made heat flood your cheeks. You and Bucky had already fucked three times since you’d arrived at his penthouse, it was amazing that your body was still hungry for more. It felt like you’d be hungry for Bucky for the rest of your life.

Bucky looked up at you, grinning when he saw the needy look on your face. “You might want to finish your ice cream, darling, because I’m fucking another load into your pretty cunt the second you’re done,” he said, his voice low and gravelly and making you shiver as warmth pooled between your thighs. 

Grabbing the collar of Bucky’s shirt, you pulled yourself up to sit, your legs wrapped around his waist from the side and held your treat out to him. “Help me finish, Jamie,” you begged in a playful tone, giving him a sweet smile as if you didn’t hear the double entendre of your words. 

Bucky held your gaze as he leaned forward and took a big bite of your ice cream, chomping on some of the cone and making you laugh. But the warm spring sunshine was hot enough that the ice cream was soon dripping down your fingers and you quickly licked it up. Bucky watched you for a moment before he wrapped a hand around your throat and dragged you in for a messy kiss, the sweet taste of ice cream filling your senses just as much as the rich taste that was all Bucky.

Together, the two of you finished off your ice cream, laughing and kissing and tasting each other. When the cone was gone, you licked the sticky sweetness from Bucky’s fingers, your tongue teasing over his skin while you watched his blue eyes darken with desire. Once you were done, he tortured you in much the same way, his tongue sliding between your fingers in such an obscene way, you let out a soft moan as you imagined his warm mouth pressed between your thighs instead.

By the time every trace of ice cream had been licked from your skin, you were soaking wet and desperate for Bucky; you pulled him in for a kiss. He made quick work of unbuttoning the shirt you wore and pushing it down over your shoulders while your fingers dove beneath his t-shirt. You raked your nails lightly through the dark hair that decorated his chest, delighting in the softness of it against your fingertips. He groaned into your mouth, breaking away only to pull his shirt off. 

Then he was laying you down on the sofa and pushing his lounge pants off to pool at his feet before he climbed over you, covering your body with his broader form. His hips settled between your thighs, his hard length nestling perfectly between your slick lower lips. 

“Fuck, you feel good, darling,” Bucky rumbled on a moan, moving his hips back and forth, just enough to slide the hard ridge of his cock against your puffy clit. “Wanna be buried in this cunt every fucking moment of the day—you’re tuning me into some pussy-drunk idiot,” he growled, kissing and nipping at your jaw while his hand circled your throat, his fingers digging lightly into the sides.

You huffed a sound that was half laugh, half shuddering moan, your legs hooking around the backs of Bucky’s thighs and using the leverage to grind against his bare cock. “If it makes you feel any better, all I can think about is how badly I want to be your cockdrunk little slut,” you murmured in his ear, nuzzling your cheek against the scruff on his jaw and delighting in the delicious rasp against your skin. “I think about sitting under your desk in your office, your cock in my throat, keeping you warm while you work.”

“Oh fuck—fuck, darling,” Bucky groaned, rocking against you harder, his cock growing wet and slick with your juices the more he slid through your pussy lips. “When you’re not here and I’m stroking my cock, I think about fucking you at one of your father’s boring galas,” he rumbled, his words coming faster to match the speed of his hips. “I think about sinking my cock into you and pumping you full of come and making you go back out to the party with my load dripping down your thighs beneath your gown.”

You raked your fingers through Bucky’s soft hair, clinging to him while your hips kept rocking together. His hard cock was rubbing your clit and his words were spinning delicious fantasies and it was too much. You felt your release swelling within you, threatening to overwhelm you, but you didn’t want to come against his cock, you wanted to come on his cock.

“Jamie,” you cried on a gasp, babbling words that you hoped made sense so he’d know what you wanted, “I can’t—I’m gonna—please, inside me—come, please!” 

Thankfully, Bucky understood your nonsense and he chuckled against your cheek. “Remember to be quiet, darling,” he rumbled, the warmth in his tone telling you he was grinning. “Don’t want the neighbors to hear you and risk finding out about whether we can get a public indecency charge on my private terrace.”

Before you could even think to respond to his teasing, Bucky pulled back, the tip of his cock needing no guidance to find your dripping hole. He slid inside easily, stretching you out around his cock. Your cunt was so wet, and you were so close to coming, it felt like your body was sucking him in deeper, your inner walls clinging to him as he split you open with his cock.

Despite Bucky’s warning, you groaned loudly—not because you wanted to find out about the indecency charge, but because you simply couldn’t control yourself. No matter how many times Bucky fucked you, every time he pushed deep into your cunt, it felt so good your mind went fuzzy with pleasure. You never wanted it to end, you wanted him inside you all the time, always and forever.

When the head of his cock pushed against your cervix, he grunted in pleasure while you moaned your own delight. Bucky dug his fingers deeper into the sides of your throat, cutting off your sound of ecstasy while he lifted himself up enough to see you. His eyes roved hungrily over your face, eagerly drinking in the way your expression twisted in pleasure as he pulled back and thrust inside you again, his hips clapping against your thighs. 

“Dirty, filthy girl,” Bucky grunted, thrusting into you to punctuate each word. “Can never be quiet when I tell you.”

You tried to smirk up at him, but another hard driving thrust had your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open on a silent moan. With what you thought was a valiant effort, you mannaged to huff, “That’s because I like it when you make me be quiet, Mr. Barnes.” 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed on you and his mouth twisted into a determined snarl. “You know I prefer when you call me Jamie,” he growled, fucking you harder and faster, pressing his face close to yours so you could feel his warm breath ghost over your cheek. “You call me Jamie when my cock is deep in your cunt and I’m about to pump you full of my fourth load today—d’you hear me, darling?”

It was so much fun riling Bucky up, and you were enjoying the result of your efforts, your body lighting up from within as he pounded into you. But you knew he wanted an answer to his question, so you parted your lips and babbled, “Yes, sir, you feel so good, Jamie—love it when you fuck me hard, Jamie, please!”

“There’s my good girl,” Bucky rumbled, his tone as warm as the sunshine falling across your bare skin. He brushed a kiss to your cheek and pushed your thighs wider, fucking you in deep, grinding thrusts that had his pelvis rubbing perfectly against your clit. “Now come on my cock, darling, wanna feel your cunt choking my dick like I’m choking your pretty throat.”

As if you could resist an order like that. 

At Bucky’s filthy words, you came undone. The swelling pleasure in your core burst, and your body went taut as wave after wave of overwhelming sensation washed over you. Your lips parted in a scream that Bucky made sure stayed silent, his big hand gripping your throat so tightly, it made your entire being focus in on everything your body was feeling, every little spark and fizzle of pleasure that came from his cock, his hand—him.

“Good girl, so good, feel so fucking good, darling, fuck—fuck,” Bucky groaned, his hips thrusting wildly between your thighs until he pressed deep and let out a low grunt. His cock twitched and throbbed inside you and you knew he was coming, your clenching pussy milking every drop of his load from his balls. 

“Jamie,” you murmured when he loosened his grip on your throat. “Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.” Your chanting words were a plea and a prayer, which Bucky seemed to understand because his arms dug beneath your body so he could cradle you tight to his chest until there wasn’t a breath of air between you. You rode out your releases like that, your bodies writhing together, clinging to one another, unwilling to let the other move even a millimeter away. 

Slowly, eventually, the two of you settled, your body melting beneath Bucky’s while his cock softened inside you. His come spilled from your slit, sliding down between your ass cheeks. But you couldn’t be bothered by the mess the two of you had made, not when it felt too good to simply lay with Bucky, both of you naked and basking in the golden spring sunshine.

“Sooo,” you began, drawing out the word as you trailed your fingers through Bucky’s soft hair. He rumbled a short hum of acknowledgement. “D’you think any of your neighbors heard us?”

That had Bucky chuckling. He pressed a kiss to your neck, his lips finding the same spot where his fingers had dug in, making you shiver. “What’re they gonna do, tell me I can’t fuck my girlfriend on my own private terrace?” he grumbled. 

You went still beneath him and Bucky could feel the change in you, immediately lifting himself up so he could see your face. At his questioning look, you whispered, “That’s the first time you’ve called me your girlfriend.” You hated how small your voice sounded, but you were suddenly very afraid it was a slip of the tongue that Bucky would take back the second you pointed it out.

But he didn’t. Instead, his eyes went soft and he ducked down to press a sweet and firm kiss to your lips. “You’re my girlfriend,” he said resolutely, but then paused and gave you a look you couldn’t decipher. “Unless you don’t want to be.”

Your eyes widened and your fingers dug possessively into the back of his neck. “No, no, I want to be, I want to be,” you assured him quickly, smiling when he looked relieved. You pulled him down for another kiss, though it was difficult because you were grinning so hard. “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend, Jamie?”

“Of course I am,” he growled, nipping playfully at your lip and making you giggle.

“OK good,” you said with a happy sigh, going back to raking your fingers through his hair. “Then as your girlfriend,” you began, a teasing lightheartedness in your tone. “I demand my boyfriend get me another ice cream cone—since he ate half of mine.” When Bucky cut his eyes to yours, you gave him your best innocent pout, even though you knew he saw right through you. 

“Anything for you, darling,” he rumbled, dropping a kiss to your lips before he extricated himself from your body and sat up. He pulled his lounge pants back on and then tugged his t-shirt on over your head, a pleased smile curving his lips at the sight of you wearing his clothes. 

When Bucky dragged you up from the sofa, you tugged the hem of his shirt down over your ass, not wanting to flash any neighbors who might be looking, even though the greenery around the edge of the terrace would likely block you from view. Still, if you ever happened to move into Bucky’s penthouse, you didn’t want to have a reputation for walking around naked.

Not that you could see yourself giving up your beloved Brooklyn brownstone. 

Probably.

Unless Bucky asked you to move into his penthouse…

Thankfully, you were distracted from what a future with Bucky would mean for your housing situation by the man himself pulling your favorite flavor of ice cream from his freezer. He turned to you with a happy grin, looking devastatingly handsome and at home in his penthouse kitchen.

Right then, you decided you weren’t going to be tempting fate on the terrace again. It had been fun to fuck your boyfriend where any of his neighbors could have overheard or caught a glimpse of you, but you didn’t want to risk it again.

Just in case you did end up moving into Bucky Barnes’ penthouse.

tempting fate in the park (part 1)

tempting fate on the terrace (part 2)

tempting fate in the CEO's office (part 3)

[nerdgal27]

Story Behind the Painting

Mikey and Me

Summary:

(Part 3), (It Happened Again Part 2), and (Don't Want to Talk).

Wether best friend, family, or in this story's case both. There are times when one would do anything to keep the darkness to protect the light and innocent.

Tags: Depression, Substance Abuse, and Flashbacks.

Mikey and Me

I am not much of a morning person. Would much rather roll in these sheets and hide from the sunshine. Maybe sleep Sunday away. Yeah that sounds wonderful. If a foot wasn’t digging into my back, dammit Mikey. 

Roll from one dead side to the other. Block myself from the brownstone windows. Warm by the sunrise. Breathe in the fresh cool air float, the familiar smell of turtles. Slide my hand out from under the covers. Cold hand in search of warmth. One pinky touches large fingers. The large fingers intertwine mine, drowning my hand in his large palm. Open my eyes, golden yellow rays beam behind me. Between thin lace curtains casts  the bedroom in sunshine and floral shadows. White dust floats in the dry air. 

A mutant turtle sleeps before me. Snug under a mess of covers. Brush the top cover from his head. Unveil, and cascade his green skin in the warm glow. How his soft splash of freckles  mottle his skin. No mask on, nor needed for now. 

From how much he wears his orange mask. I wonder how soft his skin is. In this light, the floral shadows. The most beautiful morning I ever woke up to. One hand drowning in Mikey’s warm hold. Slip a free hand from under the cozy covers. Feel the massive bed head hair under my head. Careful and slow not to wake him. Stroke his sweet face, indulge in curiosity. Soft, delicate, and angelic.Who would ever think someone who eats chewed up gum off of the subway, would feel like this. Caress his cheek, his temple where the mask hides. Enjoy this. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” 

Past Mikey whispers in my memory from last night. 

The lone turtle then. At my staircase, his fingers fumble each other as his puppy dog eyes ask the same question. His sleeping self now. Fumble fingers, quiet and holding mine now. How can I say no? But eventually questions will need to face reality. 

Can’t stay in this bed forever reality says. I’d say stay in this bed and watch Mikey sleep forever. Oh well. Innocent tight grip on my palm. Deep sleep breathing warms my smile. Lean in so quiet. Can’t resist it, I press my lips on his dear forehead. Watch his cheeks curve a smile even in deep slumber. 

Don’t ever stop being you Mikey. 

Alright. Up I get, much as I don’t want to. Leave the turtle snug in my bed. That is tucked in a brick corner. Don’t have to worry about him rolling off. 

Search through the maze on the bedroom floor. Uniforms from work, socks with no mates. I can relate to them. 

Ah ha! Bright orange fabric burns in the sun. Pull it out from the pile of clothes. A bright orange hoodie. The color that gives me a craving for apricots. Old stains litter the color. Over stretched collar, and sleeves worn by time. A bright white kitten cartoon on the front. Now in the color of creme from the sun. Take the old thing in my hands. Put it on top of the tank top. Gotta grab the collar, take a big whiff. Hmmm, home. Been so long. 

Step into a mix match pair of fuzzy orange and pink socks. To fight against the cold wood floor. Too early to be cold. Leave heaven in the bedroom. Out I go to reality. A small brownstone apartment. Creaky wooden floors, and old paint chips cabinets. Matches my selection of found used furniture. 

“Is everything okay Mikey?” 

My past memory self asks. 

Think back to all of it as I begin the day of making coffee. 

Mikey and I in the kitchen then over a cup of coffee and orange soda. Last thing I needed is a caffeinated Michelangelo at 1 am. 

“You know we can talk about anything.”

Memories dance on in my mind, as I dump the sweet bliss of coffee grinds in the filter. 

Think about everything last night. The dim kitchen lights that I haven’t fixed yet. My best friend for a turtle at the island counter. Bathed in that golden glow. Take a seat next to him. How those heavy eyes look away, deep down in the open soda can. A rare sight for someone who smiles in their sleep. My pinky brushes his. Let those large turtle fingers wrap around my small human hand. Palms rough from 15 years of battle after battle. On quiet nights light these. His thumb strokes my hand ever so gentle. 

“Can we talk about it in the morning? I want to be with you, like old times.” 

The reality me would have told him no and sort this out. Tomorrow is an early work shift. Yet, in the warm light. Bright green complexion is sheet white. His wrists clench quiet shivers his quiet hold. Matches the quiver of his small smile. Think back to his fading faith glimmering in the night. 

Lean in, same as always Mikey dips his head. Lean forward, his forehead meets my lips in the middle. Ease his quiet shivers snuggle into my shoulder for a starved embrace. 

Whisper to him, “Our times will never be old, Mikey, we can talk whenever you're ready.”

Old times. I miss them too. But this is life now. Have an apartment, a job. It’s not the greatest, the boss needs to take a chill vacation. Either way it keeps my apartment lights on. I’m happy about it. 

An old apartment in the warm sun. Create light for my dingy kitchen. Give my hanging plants some needed sunshine. Gonna have to ask Donnie when I can transfer these new herbs to my herb garden. A metal shelf in the living area, about half full of my collection. Hey, if there’s a way I can cut grocery costs in half, I’ll do it. 

Phone vibrates beside the coffee tin. Turn the phone over to see the screen. Speak of the devil. 

9:30 March 28, Donnie: Hey, Sweetheart. 

Just like old times. His nickname for me. 

Me: Mornin to U too Dee, those hangin planters r really workin.” 

Bubbles float on a white and purple screen. Set it on the counter. Press the hot water button to brew the coffee. Let the smooth aroma of rich coffee take me back to when I was little. When this smart turtle used to put coffee in my toddler mug. 

9:35 

Donnie: What’d I tell you, I’m a genius, they shouldn’t be ready to move for another couple weeks.

Me: Thanks genius

Bubbles float on the purple screen again. Boy must be busy working on something. Like that has never happened. Swear, if he didn’t have four brothers to keep him busy. Donnie would turn into a science crazy hermit. The kind that requires warning labels. Least some of us are still home. 

Take a look around my apartment. Squishy in size. Living room has enough size for one couch, one apple box coffee table, and a TV on my black shelf. Empty and quiet. 

9:40 

Donnie: Is Mike with you?

Run back to the kitchen. Fill my mug before the coffee machine drowns itself. 

Me: Yea he is asleep. Did something happen? 

Donnie: No 

Head over to my breakfast nook. Set the hot mug down on the bistro table. 

Me: Dee

Donnie: Nothing happened

Wow that text came fast. Nothing stops the brainiac’s work. Not even me. Not for a while anyway. 

Donnie: He misses you, that’s all, this is a big change

Oh, I see. 

Me: It’s a big change 4 me, when R U going to help me build those plant shelves U told me about?? 

Bubbles float. Hold the mug close in my hands. Inhale the memory of Donnie’s smell. His warmth then. 

Donnie: Soon, Sweetheart, I promise, it will be like old times. 

Bubbles float under Donnie’s message on my phone. A picture pops up. In a slender olive green palm. In a cool computer screen light is a rubik's cube. 

After all these years. He has that old thing. Hope he never throws it away. 

Donnie: I love you Sweetheart. 

Take one strong sip of coffee. Send Donnie one more text. I set the phone back into its place in my pocket. Relax in my chair, look out the large bay windows. Close my eyes to songs of pigeon wings fluttering by. The Mighty River of a city rushes. Feel the warm sunshine wake me. The streets are full of people below. Look back to my kitchen before me. No stove making smoke signals. Not a single orange skewered by a Sai. Nor the clashes and bangs of a family. Yet they say they are ninjas. An old kitchen. Quiet, clean, and bright in the sun. This is my life now. 

Warmth touches my back. No need to turn. Two freckle hands slither out between my arms. Wrap around my midsection. A soft cheek melts into my shoulder. Old life nuzzles me. 

“I’m starving.” 

“Morning starving.” I smirk on his freckle cheek. 

Squish the coffee sloshing inside me, he retorts. “Hey that’s my thing.” 

Take a sip of coffee, “And now it’s mine.” 

Set of arms recoils around me. Leave my shoulder cold. He opens the fridge. 

“No bacon for you then.” His shell faces me. 

Wait a bit for him to dig through. Swish the coffee in the mug.

 I answer his mutter, “And no bacon for anyone.” 

A turtle steps back. Hand clutch onto his plastron chest. Take heavy breaths, he gasps. “You, no bacon? Are you loco homie?!” 

“I know, I’m shocked too, it's been a couple weeks since my last pay cheque.” I answer.

And who knows when my next one will come in. 

“You’re Boss still giving you a hard time?” Mikey closes the fridge. 

An armful of something. Nothing stops him and his empty stomach. 

Get up for the second cup. I pause, stare down at the endless black liquid in the pink coffee mug. See my tired self ripple in the black reflection. 

I answer, “Not anymore, he switches the schedule pretty much to whatever he wants, I’m on casual for now, till something else pops up.” 

“New York, what a place.” 

“Work, what a concept.” 

He holds up my few selection of eggs. I answer his silent question. 

“No, those are normal, they won’t explode powder this time.”

Mikey raises an orange eyeridge, “last time you told me that, I had glitter in my shell for 4 weeks straight.” 

Chuckle at the old memory years ago. To prove him wrong I crack them on the pan for him. 

Murmur in the calm quiet. “See, no ninja smoke, nor glitter.” 

Soft shift of Mikey’s feet squeaks the old hardwood. He snorts, “Or ghost pepper powder ninja smoke bombs.” 

“That was one time.” I snicker. 

“My face still burns.”

“That was for the rubber spiders in my bed, you goon,” I giggle, “I can’t go to bed without checking the covers, because of you.” 

Toaster wires twang. Shake the proof of my old glitter prank out of his shell. 

Mikey chuckles, “Worth it.” 

One more person is here besides me. Another to make noise. Bring more light into the apartment. Hear their feet scuff on wood. Have someone help me clean. It’s nice. 

“Mike?” 

No answer. Place the dry dishes back in their cupboard. 

Dry the next, I ask, “Is everything going okay home- I mean the lair?” 

Freckle hands take the dry plate from me. He turns away. 

“Same as usual.” 

Awe come on buddy, there’s more than that. Toss the towel in the pile of laundry yet to be done. 

Wait for him to turn. Sometimes a look is needed for Mike to talk. This time Mikey doesn’t look. Nose points to the old pink mat. 

“The guys pick on you again? Did Donnie explode anything?” I ask on. 

Nothing. Turtle frame leans on the counter behind him. If only he smiles, the way he always does. Then the sunshine wouldn’t be the only thing that shines. 

Leave the sink. His three finger turtle hands lay dormant. Take his hands. Even now with great effort. Human hand can only hold his fingers. 

“Can we hang out today?” He asks my hand. 

Human thumb strokes the back of his hand. I murmur, “I would love that Mikey, but you have to remember it’s daylight now, and your brothers know where you are.” 

No need to ask who. Answer his quiet question.

“They know you’re safe with me, no one is coming unless you want them to.” 

Please let me see his eyes. Let his hand squeeze mine. Mikey whispers under his breath. “Just want to be with you.” 

Maybe that’s what is needed. No need to rush things. Nor chase anything away. The same way as it always has been. Hand in hand. Close our eyes. Lean forwards our foreheads touch. Warm each other, lean on each other. The apartment is quiet, and I am not alone. 

“Have any of those spiders left?” 

Life my gaze to him. We pull back. 

“No but I have these,” His hands pull out a handful of water balloons. 

Pull on a pair of jeans. Turtle follows me over to a window in the bedroom. A wonderful view of the next door apartment wall. The morning sun fades above the city buildings. 

“You know, Mike, this place does have a fire escape.” 

Lead him to the destination outside the bedroom window. On one window faces the main streets. Another faces the alley. In Between the black metal bars of the staircase. The two of us smirk. 

Mikey gives me his baby blue eyes. Narrow in an evil grin. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”  

“Always.” 

Open the window. Ladies first, his hands boost me to climb out. Wait for him, take his hand to pull him out. The turtle doesn't let go. Does he want to hold hands to climb the stairs?

He reads my mind. “We don’t need to climb that.” 

Of course we don’t. Throw me on his shell. Bind my arms around him in a death grip. Ignore his chuckle. One hop after a flip, and a hoist. Up on the roof. Wooden water tower, ducting systems. The only thing that is missing. Is them. I miss this. 

After endless hours of throwing water balloons at the innocent people down below. Watch them scream, shout, and laugh in cold water. Some may or may not have glitter and glue. No wonder so many become villains. 

Look over the edge down to a busy sidewalk. Wet sidewalk dried by the midday sun. Where dozens of people murmur. 

Tie off the balloon I ask, “This is the last one right?” 

Mikey’s hand waits for me to hand the balloon to him. Quiet, He mutters, “Yep.” 

His smile is here. Looking at me. This is the first time seeing him in daylight. Freckles burn in the light. A gentle breeze sways the clothes lines all around us. Sways his orange mask tails. A flame in the sun. Is it his smile? 

Reach the balloon to him. He ushers my wrist as well. Watch the balloon fall to its next victim. Neither one of us watches who the balloon hits. A turtle and human sit mid daylight together on a roof ledge. 

“Tessie?”

Hand holds human wrist. Run a hand over fair skin. Over old memories. Ones forgotten. Some are not. 

Stroke his thumb over dark bruises. Both of our freckle faces meet each other. Read each other’s silence. 

Slip my hand away, “I’m okay, it’s old.” 

A free green hand. Comb the long strands back. 

Soft words feather darkness, “You told me you were going to be okay, we made a promise didn’t we?”

A quiet nod. 

He takes both of my hands in his.

 Mikey asks, “Are you safe? Does anyone follow?” 

Pull the orange hoodie sleeve over the bruise. I chuckle, “Nope, just coffee machines falling apart on me.” 

Silence. Skin and shell shifts Mikey closer. Drown me in his shadow. Sinks my eyes further to my own hands. Draw along the old cracks that scarred this old building. 

A gentle push, he whispers, “Are you sure, that’s what happened? We don’t keep secrets, remember.” 

Stroke his hands, I murmur, “Mikey? What’s going on buddy?” 

He shrinks back. “Just want to know if you are okay.” 

Reach for him again, “Not just that, I know you why came over,” lift his chin to see me, burn the sun in my eyes, “did you think I wouldn’t miss you at all? We made a promise.” 

Nothing. Revert his focus. This is not the turtle I know. Please don’t change who he is. He slips away. No hop down the fire escape. He climbs down. Leave the fun. Hide from whatever sunlight there may be. 

Old memories mimic new. For as long as I can remember. I follow Mikey. Shell to me, saunter down the empty stairs. Back inside, the window curtains waltz in the slow air. Crawl back inside the bedroom. No turtle in the bed. Wander out to the kitchen. No turtle in the fridge. Out in the cold quiet living. Brown cold brick. One lone poster decorates the house. Green curtains drawn. Cover the room in floral shadows. One single blanket. Pink, fluffy, and covered in cartoon cats. All wrapped around a green ball of shell. 

No need to say words. Yells, whispers or anything. Not unless we break what we have. I’ve already caused enough damage before. Know what lingers in this apartment. A dark bitter blackness. 

Not now. Mikey is here. Curled alone in a ball in a dark corner of the couch. Only one person is allowed to do so in this apartment. Or deserves to be left like this.

 In pink and orange socks, given to me on Christmas from this special turtle. I climb down the platform steps. Weave around the coffee table. The shelf garden gives the room a fresh green smell. Controversial to the dark bitterness that darkens the room. Take a seat next to the fuzzy pink and green shell bundle. 

Whisper. “Mikey…” 

Silence. Fluffy white clouds roll over the golden sun. Hide away all the warmth of the morning before. Drape us in a cool gray shadow. 

“I know…what happened.” The fluffy bundle mumbles. 

Shade claps into black. Words shatter thin glass nerves. Fingers tingle, vibrate. Feet fizzle numb. 

“H-how…I-I…no nothing happened”- 

“I know everything, something did happen” Softness bitters a sharp growl. 

Uncurl himself from his tight ball. Cold ice shrinks me to look away. No, they swore they wouldn’t say a word. For his sake I never want him to know. He wasn’t there for any of it. How could he know? 

A free open apartment space all around us. Could get up and run from this if needed.Yet I am frozen where I sit. So close to his ice cold freeze. 

Memories of a storm roars. 

“That my boss is a jerk,” I smirk old news, “Most bosses are like that Mike”- 

“Stop hiding Tessie”- 

Heart leaps from the couch. Heels spin to run. Hands snatch mine. 

“Wait, wait, hold a sec.” Grip pulls me back. 

Heart thumps out all words in my throat a short scream. Run, scream all thoughts. Hide, shivers all joints. My turtle best friend. His gentle palm softens around my wrist. Yet this cold shiver. Clam all limbs to run forever. 

“…. P-please…” A child who died so long ago whispers, “L-let me go.” 

The child who found the other dead. His hand hugs mine, squeezes his plea. 

“I’m sorry sissy,” stops the pull, freezes the cold distance of what feels like miles apart.

Couch hinges creak behind. A shadow drapes over me. So many have curled me into a ball. Ready for what’s to come. This one, so many times before when I was small. 

Soft words reach nerves, “You’re alright,” 

Green freckle arms, Mikey’s arms slide around me. Drown out the cold in his warmth, he whispers, “breathe with me.” 

Wait for nerves to shiver, to breathe. His warmth turns me to his chest, to his racing heart to listen to mine. 

“It’s okay,” Michel whispers, “you’re safe.” 

Silence. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be normal? Every training spar, loud bangs, every click of the coffee machine. It’s always like this.

“I found it all in the garbage this morning.” 

Oh no, that was supposed to be gone before he’s awake. The bottles, the evidence, all of it. How could I forget that? How can I be so stupid? Of course he knows it all. No one was supposed to know. Especially Mikey. 

The turtle pulls me from his warmth. Enough for his palms to lift cheeks up to his sweet blue gaze. Those big round eyes. Burns bright in the midday sun almost as radiant as his permanent smile. All tucked away in the shadow. Nothing can shade away the sweetness in his gaze. 

“I don’t have any more if you’re wondering.” I mumble. 

“Good,” His cheek nuzzles my forehead, “We never keep secrets.”

Think back to when that rule was made so long ago. Nudge his cheek in a nod. 

He asks, “Why did you leave us?” 

Both of us sink back down on the couch.

 I explain, “it was time, I couldn’t stay refuge forever.” 

“But you weren’t, you’re not a refuge,” Mikey sinks his eye level to mine, “did the guys ever tell you that?” 

“Mikey, they’ve been looking for my family since day one.” Curl into those old thoughts. Close them away in these hands before me.  

Fold himself on the couch. Follow him. Lay side by side. One head on the other's thigh. 

Chin on my thigh digs, “I never looked.” 

“No,” I slide the pink blanket back over his shell, “You didn’t.” 

Green fingers fiddle with the elastic band of my socks. “We promised no matter what you and I will stay together, what made you want to leave?” 

Snuggle under the blanket and his soft skin. I answer. “For this, we are above service in broad daylight, it’s what we’ve dreamed of, another kitchen to blow up, we just spent a whole morning pulling pranks on other people other than the guys, said we would visit each other all the time…why haven’t you, Donnie, or Leo, or Raphie? I tried to call you.” 

Darkness clouds baby blues. Drops to the colorful butterflies on the blanket. Hand on my shoulder slides away. Hold onto the little butterflies. Should’ve known. 

“You weren’t ready to let go, that’s why you won’t return my texts” Green muzzle hides. I take his limp arm, hold it so soft “We were never siblings to begin with, you found me, remember.” 

Tears well, soak orange mask, he shivers. “But you were mine, you were ours, so tiny in my arms. I knew you were mine. For once I had someone who thinks my pranks are cool, can speak Donnie, can out punch Raph, and talk sense into Leo when he goes leader serious,” 

“You were small too Mikey,” I add in, holding his hand, “we’re only a few years apart, from different lives.” 

More tears fall with his words and clench teeth, “And that life threw you out to the street, they left you to die. How can someone be so cruel? They didn’t know you.” 

Both human hand and turtle hand lock together. 

Smile at the thought. 

“You never left me, none of you did, you saved me my friend, you didn’t know me then either. Raphael and the others were right to look for my family. To find a solution to give me a normal life,” lost in a fog of water, heat burns all. Swim through the water, find my orange clad turtle, “Mikey, you were the one that gave me that normal life, let me make a normal life up here for all of us.” 

Crystal clear blue eyes ripple in the waves. Green complexion red as mine. Our muscles are as weak as each other. Both of us sit up from our ball. 

His round innocence. Sweet, angelic as his soft face. He trembles under water. “S-So…you didn’t leave…B-because you hated us, or something we did? T-thought you were done with your old brother.” 

Hands travel up from his arm. Freckle skin soaks in the sun and tears yet to fall. In this cold looney living room. Sunshine seeps between the curtain shadows. Shine more golden light inside. 

“Mikey, there will never be a time where I hate you, this is the next stage of life to come, would never leave you for good. Want you all of us to be a part of it. Nothing has changed, what has changed is where we are.” 

Cheeks curve in a smile. A hand on his cheek. He takes the back of my hand. Hold it still for him to snuggle into my palm. Two green hands, hold both my cheeks. Warm thumbs rub the hot tears aside. Same way he always has since day one. 

I chuckle, “there were so many times, so many pranks I’ve wanted to punch the daylights out of and have, you were always there for me, my best friend, and a brother I’ve always wanted to have.” 

A wet tongue licks a cow lick on my already messed up hair. Send gross shivers down my spine. To run to the closest thing to a shower and drown in. 

The orange turtle doesn’t let me go. Mikey chuckles, “Least I have you.” 

“Always.” 

Lean forward and our foreheads meet. Lean on each other. Arms join as well. Wrap each other in a tight embrace. Leave each other's foreheads to our cheeks, dig out noses into each other's shoulders. What may seem so unusual to the real world. Perhaps ugly or wrong. Maybe my life may have been different without him. I don’t care what my life would have been. This is my life now. 

Michelangelo the freckled turtle in orange. Surround me in his warmth and love. His own sunshine. 

No matter where life takes us. Where we may be. Whenever there is a street that needs to be terrorized by pranks. Or to text and call a bunch of brothers to build a garden shelf on walls. When the time comes when we grow older and wiser. Maybe families of our own. Or just us still on and on. There will always be, 

Mikey and me.

[carajilloplz]

i. cowboy like me ₊˚⊹⋆ billy the kid

warnings: none really lol, just 1870s bs and low-key flirting

The lace fan in your hand and the spring breeze did little to soothe the flush caused by the early afternoon sunshine, making a light blush crawl up to your cheeks and small beads of sweat pool at the nape of your neck. It was pleasant to be out on the terrace of your friend’s townhouse, basking in the pleasure of not having to fuss over much before the season starts, but the imminent peril of your debut kept your mind elsewhere from the untouched tea and pastries laid out before you.

“Ada, do you suppose your brother’s guest will be handsome?” mused Josie, slumped over her chair turning to look at Ada

“Josie! Hush, don’t say things like that, I’d never be interested in someone who’s my brother’s age.”

“I’m just saying that if he’s going to be staying in your house, eating your food, and disturbing your peace he might as well be nice-looking”

“Perhaps Josie has a point, Ada.” you reasoned “Do you really know who this man is?”

“I barely just learned this morning that my brother’s coming back to New York, give me a break girls.”

“What I do know is that his friend’s a cowboy at his father’s ranch in colorado and that he’s looking for a change of scenery for a while, so my brother’s bringing him up here.”

A cowboy? You’d seen what they’re like on your trips to Texas— rough, rugged, almost uncouth, but there was something that intrigued you about a man that could ride in the ranges all day and never get tired of the landscape’s expanse. You saw a bit of yourself in that. A cowboy’s the furthest you’d expect to have in new york, especially attending the events of the social season.

“Just cross your fingers it doesn’t turn into a shitshow, Ada”

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The rattle of the carriage’s wheels on the cobblestone streets did nothing to help the unease in Billy’s stomach as they headed to Ash’s house in a side of New York drastically unlike the one he used to be familiar with. Is this really a good idea?

"Billy, while the people here can be greay gossips, they probably won’t think too deeply. As long as you keep a low profile and not cause any trouble, you should be fine. In due time you can return south," reassured Ash

“I couldn’t be more grateful Ash, really. It’s just going to be real hard to lie about everything.”

The carriage came to a sudden stop infront of a tall brownstone that matched all the ones next to it, creating a cookie-cutter row of houses that ran down the street until the eye could see. Finely dressed people walked down the sidewalks, conversing or walking their dogs, seeing and being seen under the spring sun. Billy stepped out of the carriage with Ash, giving a grateful nod to the driver and going up the steps behind his host. The door was opened by a maid inside, who greeted Ash with a smile, and as he and Billy walked in there was a rumble heard on the stairs as three young girls stormed down and an older woman walked behind them.

“Ash!” exclaimed one of the girls, her face lighting up as she rushed to greet him, followed by the older woman billy assumed was his mother. The other two girls stayed on the staircase, offering ash a polite greeting and peering curiously at Billy. You particularly, wearing a soft cornflower blue dress with your hair pinned up caught his eye, but he knew it was rude to stare so he quickly bright his gaze back to his host.

“Everyone, this is my friend William Henry from Colorado. Billy this is my mother Helena, my sister Ada and her friends”

“Pleasure to meet you ladies, and thank you Mrs. Upson for allowin’ me to stay in your house for some time. I hope it’s not too much of a bother.” As he said this, Billy finally had the chance to take a look at you, his stomach flipping but now for a good reason. His gaze lingered momentarily, trying to piece together the intrigue you caused -- you were beautiful, undoubtedly so but there was lightness and grace about you that captivated him. You smiled softly and nodded as a greeting, and he couldn’t help but notice the lightly flustered blush of your cheeks or the small hairs fallen from your updo that framed your face and neck.

Mrs. Upson snapped him back to reality. “It is absolutely no trouble, Mr. Henry. Hattie will see to your belongings, but for now you can join the girls and I for tea if you’d like.”

Everybody moved to the terrace once more, Ash being whisked away by Ada to catch up, leaving Billy to sit with Mrs Upson, Josephine, and you.

When Billy had stepped through the front door of the Upson’s house, your breath left you for a moment. He was very much a cowboy, slightly rugged and stoic but a gentle demeanor about the way he carried himself that brought your breath back to your lungs. He towered over you just the right amount and his shoulders, which he carried with a humble confidence, were (weirdly) attractively wide. Josie was also right about something— Ash’s guest was absolutely handsome.

“So your father is a rancher, Billy?” Asks Josephine, sitting next to you and nudging you slightly, making you pay attention to the cowboy sitting before you. Josie’s bluntness made you blush, elbowing her and shooting her a warning glance. “I apologize, if you don’t mind us calling you Billy.”

“I don’t mind that at all, I quite prefer it actually.” He swallowed before continuing, a strain in his face that piqued your curiosity. “And yes, my father owns a few ranches along the Arkansas river.”

“How wonderful, must be a beautiful sight.” you mention absentmindedly, picturing the mountains and the rolling hills that you imagine as his home. A small smile breaking his face snaps you back into the moment and it makes your stomach warm and cracks a smile out of you too.

“It is, really. Y’all should visit sometime, it’s beautiful around this time of year.”

“That’s quite a nice idea, William we would love to see your father’s ranches.” remarked Mrs. Upson, “I know you must be tired from your travels, but will you be joining us at the soiree tonight?”

“I’d love to Mrs Upson, what’s the occasion?”

“The girl’s debut this season! It’s just something small with some family friends before the ball tomorrow.”

Billy was visibly confused, “Debut?”

“It’s a ball where the girls get paraded around in white dresses like cattle so they can get married off” interjects Ash, joining them. “Frankly it’s degrading, but it’s tradition.”

Your stomach churned. Degrading is the perfect word to describe it. You were not looking forward to the next few months of insipid suitors and the prospect of a proposal. It’s not like you were completely opposed to a proposal, but this culling process was not the way you wanted to approach it. Yet, as Ash said, it’s tradition.

“Sounds…grueling” Billy admits.

“Absolutely. The balls are quite fun though.” says Josie.

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Later that night, the Upson household was bustling with people laughing, drinks pouring, and conversation buzzing with excitement about the upcoming season. Poor billy looked like a fish out of water, dressed in one of Ash’s suits that he was visibly unnaccustomed to using. You looked at the interactions from afar, Billy charming but clearly feeling uncomfortable, as you could see with the tension in his sharp jaw. Josie, a little bit tipsy, comes up to you and leans in with a giggle.

“Have you noticed he’s been staring at you all night?” she whispers.

A blush creeps onto your cheeks and you try to hold back a smile “And what would make you say such a wild thing, josie? Is it the champagne?”

Josie placed her hand on her chest in fake offense “Gah! You offend me darling”

“What’d she do now, Jo?” Ada, also a few drinks in accuses cheekily.

“She doesn’t believe that she is the most stunning girl in the room and that Mr Cowboy here has been stealing a few glances.”

“Oh Josie is right, you’ve been the only one he’s looked at.”

You noticed that he had excused himself from the conversation across the room and headed to the drinks table where the three of you were located, a soft smile greeting you and making your heart flutter. You realized then and there that it was impossible to get tired of his deep, kind blue eyes.

“How’s the night treating you, Billy?” asks Josie. Billy lets out a small laugh and glances at you and Ada.

“She needs to start findin’ her way home don’t she?”

Josie scowls, and you and Ada are laughing at your friend’s cheeky behavior “Gosh, you’re no fun! I’m just getting started, Billy boy.”

“Oh she is, Billy. She always has a few too many glasses of champagne but she’s great fun” you say with a smile. You both meet eyes for a moment and you drop it after a second, a bashful blush painting your cheeks.

“All three of y’all seem like great fun, champagne or not. I’m lookin’ forward to my stay here.” he admits. Billy gives you a smile too, picking the eye contact back up and going to say something before Ada interrupts.

“We should cheers to that then!” she says, serving each one a glass of champagne and handing it to them. “To Billy’s fruitful stay in New York!”

You all clink your glasses together and you down yours mostly in a few sips.

“Josie, you should go play some music!” squeals Ada, grabbing Josie, who is also downing her glass and pulls her towards the piano at the other side of the room.

You and billy share a laugh at the antics of your friends, and you go to serve some more champagne for the two of you. The bubbly buzz of the champagne was getting to your head a little and you faltered a few drops onto your dress.

As you served some into Billy’s glass, you couldn’t stop yourself from commenting—“Your accent slips out a little more when you’re drinkin’ Billy.” you noticed. It was cute though, your time in Texas had made you fond of a southern drawl.

“Does it really? You’ve kinda got one too.” he points out with a laugh, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Do I? It’s probably the champagne, I apologize.” you laugh, a light smile covered by a laced hand spreads on your face and you look up at him. “I haven’t been down south in forever, I thought it’d gone away”

“You’ve been?” he asks furrowing his brow in question and developing a curious smile. He quickly dismissed the thought of how much he loved the way your eyes looked from below him. “Didn’t take you for a southern girl.”

You let out a shy laugh and looked down, “I am, grew up in Texas and moved here with my mother and sister when I was eleven. My father’s still down there. He’s got an oil field in the Panhandle and takes care of a few ranches in the prairie near Dallas.”

Billy nodded, slightly surprised but still, extremely curious and amused by your personal history. He’d wondered whether he’d seen the same prairies as you had growing up, fallen in love with the same nature.

“Well darlin’ I’m quite surprised,” his stomach churned at his lie— “My father’s ranches run along Colorado but I’ve been to Texas quite a few times and I can’t wait to go back.”

“Me neither,” you confess, staring wistfully at your cup. “My father comes up every once in a while but I haven’t been since I was fifteen.”

“I’d happily take you in as a guest if it’ll take that downhearted look off your face.” he said softly, taking your chin in his hand and bringing you to look at him with the most tender gesture, giving you the most comforting smile. All of this made your heart flip and your chest tighten the lightest bit in fear. You’d had one or two callers before that had caught your heart, but whatever Billy did to you was different. Speaking to him felt familiar and the slightly calloused feel of his hand on you was a commiserative connection back to the wild girl you had once been. Being in New York tamed you, but he had a look that took you right back home.

You couldn’t. With a polite smile, you leaned out of his touch after a few moments and tried to will the blush off your cheeks.

“I’d much like that Mr. Henry, I appreciate the invitation.” He nonned curtly in response, a little confused at your sudden distance. “I should catch up with my friends. Enjoy your evening.”

You walked away, your heart almost beating out of your ribcage as you made a beeline to your friends. Looking around discreetly to see if anyone had noticed your interaction with billy, you caught the curious eye of your sister and her fiance, giving them a dismissive stare and catching up to josie and ada, who were sitting at the piano.

The rest of the night you stuck to your friends, the drinks pouring and the conversation flowing through the bustle of people in the salon. As you stepped through the balcony doors to take a breath, remembering the feeling of billy’s touch and the way he made you feel, your sister followed you through. It was pathetic how he had affected you so much with a single touch.

Your sister, accompanied by her fiance Theo, stared at you teasingly.

“And what was that with Ash's friend?” She asks, “I know you have a thing for cowboys.”

With a rush of blood to your face once more, you dismissed her with a gesture of your hand.

“Stop it Clemmie, you know that stupid crush was forever ago, and there is nothing going on with Mr. Henry.”

“He looks awfully familiar, somehow.” Theo comments. “Feels like I’ve seen him before”

“Theo, my love, you know I adore you but just because we went back home last summer doesn’t mean you know everyone in the South.” Your sister says, giving her fiance a teasing tap on his cheek. “Well, from what i’ve heard through the grapevine he is truly an uncut gem so I say go for it”

You blush, impossibly even more, at her comment. “Shut it Clemmie, my debut is tomorrow and I cannot have you putting stupid things in my head.”

“But he’s quite darling isn’t he?”

Hesitating, you sighed, staring wistfully at the man inside, speaking with Ash and somehow stirring your heart from afar, “I won’t deny that.”

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a/n: HEY GUYS WELCOME so happy to be putting this out omg i've been working on this for forever i hope you enjoy :) part 2 is in the works but in the meantime if you have any ideas for any tom characters lmk jijiji i am very much taking requests (and look at my masterlist so you can see who else i write for !!)

[unfriendlyamazon]

i want to return to my original draft for vampire in brooklyn because i did have a strong idea i wanted to mess with, but i don't think i have the brain power for it currently. i will post it here because i love to receive validation. tw for suicide/suicidal thoughts, casual drug use, and vomiting

Bright lights flashed in Seto’s face. Pink and blue and orange and white made barely discernible patterns across the makeshift dance floor. Bodies moved and conversation built like a dull roar in his ears. He walked through the rooftop party like a ghost, blood drumming with drink and drugs numbing him from the skin. It didn’t stop him from feeling the core of his bones and pull of his muscle, the soft wet interior of a man drudging like an undead creature. He walked to edge of the party, where the roof access door and laid lovers in shadow. The enthusiastic couples had found their privacy and didn’t even look up as Seto walked past their throng. He found a metal pipe to cling to, and the shock of cold against his skin felt like a bath. He collapsed into it, and his stomach heaved. The brightly colored cocktails splashed across the concrete roof. The lights reflected back its medley of colors.

Seto lifted his head to the sky, felt the cool late October breeze. His feet moved of their own accord. The brownstone lip of the building was just high enough that it took some struggle to climb. He stood up straight, looking down at the street below. His body wavered in the wind, and he held his arms out to welcome it. The party didn’t stop. No one even noticed.

Today was Seto Kaiba’s birthday, and just like every year, he wished he was dead.

The thought brute forced its way to the front of his mind. It was a dull thrum at all times. Seto spent his whole life making the wrong decisions. Spent hours of work and dedicated his mind to causes he didn’t believe in. His head sunk as he thought of his brother, attending school in California. The one spot of sunshine in his life, Mokuba had texted a happy birthday message between classes that morning. Seto hadn’t expected a phone call. He hadn’t expected anything at all. Let Mokuba live his happy life somewhere far away from the pressures of the Kaiba heir. Let him be happy. Let Seto be the sacrifice. Every year the knife dug deeper in, and he had to wonder how much pain he could take before it finally pierced his heart.

It might’ve been easier if he wasn’t on the other side of the world, protecting investments abroad, spending his day with men in business suits that still treated him like a child. He’d taken the party invitation from another young executive as a way to pass the hours until the next day. Better than being alone in his hotel room, chest aching with each tick of the clock. His heart was a heavy weight in his chest, and as he wobbled where he stood, he imagined the weight pitching him forward, until his body collapsed on the concrete below.

That’s what losers deserve, a voice whispered on the wind, and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he realized he was no longer alone. Someone leaned over the stone edge, chin in hand, staring up at him with wide brown eyes. The lights of the party reflected against his face, casting odd shadows that made him hard to read.

“Do you mind?” Seto spat out.

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. A shredded jean jacket rolled across his shoulders with safety pins and badges sewn into it. A shag of bleach blond hair curled around the nape of his neck. Half gloves covered his knuckles, and his nails were black. It was not the look of a high class rooftop party, especially compared to Seto’s Burberry coat and custom boots. A party crasher, he surmised, and now witness. Fine, let him watch. Seto held his arms out again, lifting his chin. He wobbled where he stood. Every second he didn’t let his body weight fall forward, he felt instead the eyes of the stranger on him. Seto let out a frustrated sound and shot a glare his way.

“Are you gonna do it?” the stranger said.

A thick Brooklyn accent coated his words. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and they Seto off kilter more than the drink. Red seemed to rim the outer edge of the iris, or maybe it was the lights blinking across his face.

“Would it give you any satisfaction if I did?” Seto asked.

A grin stretched across his face. “Would it do for you?”

Heat flared from the tips of Seto’s ears down to his cheeks. Embarrassment tinged with anger. He’d been caught by this–this–lowlife punk deadbeat take your pick–in the midst of his ennui and now was being dared–dared–to take his own life. As though Seto Kaiba would plummet so easily for the entertainment of some goddamned idiot. How pathetic would it look too? Kaiba takes a swan dive with too many drugs in his system. They wouldn’t even call it a suicide. And then all the drama with the Americans to get his body properly cremated, and Mokuba would have to shoulder the headache. All for the tabloids to speculate wildly about every ounce of him, and leave the reputation of Kaiba Corp even more sullied. No, no thank you. Not tonight anyway.

“Not that it should matter to you,” Seto said, trying to gracefully climb down while still being very drunk. “I don’t need any heckling from the peanut gallery–ah!”

He tripped, stupidly, and for a single jolting second he swung towards the concrete street below. A hand gripped the back of his coat and pulled so he fell backwards. His balance was off completely, and he crumpled into the waiting arms of the stranger. He held him beneath the armpits so Seto’s long legs draped in front of them, and he looked down. The pinks and blues framed his golden hair, and in Seto’s spinning vision he seemed to pulse with the music, like a 3D picture he couldn’t figure out.

“I’m Joey,” the stranger said with his same smile.

Seto grit his teeth down and shoved off him. It took him a heartbeat too long to find his own footing. Wiping off his coat, he said, “Then I know who to send my dry cleaning bill to.”

Joey laughed, a loud rancorous laugh that echoed over the music. “You’re kind of an asshole, ain’t ya?”

Seto didn’t bother denying the claim. He picked at a piece of lint and tossed it aside. “You can leave now.”

Joey didn’t. He stared at him with his damned gaze, pupils stretched wide, like a cat who saw his mouse on the other side of the room. Seto felt the same heat pulse in his chest, that shame at being caught in a moment of weakness.

“You know,” Joey said, nodding his head toward the roof door, “I was about to ditch this party. And I figure you got your schedule cleared for tonight.”

“It wasn’t exactly planned,” Seto grumbled.

“There’s this bar,” Joey said. “I hate to drink alone.”

“I’m not–”

“And if you’re that determined to die,” Joey said, “I can think of a lot more pleasant ways to go.”

Seto stared at him. His eyes betrayed nothing but amusement. He walked back towards the stairway, and like a gnat in the allure of a lantern, Seto followed.

Seto was used to introducing himself with his family name, but he made no mention of it as they walked to the ground floor. Neither of them said much at all, not until they pushed open the door to New York’s evening streets. Joey stood against the brownstone and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped the box in his palm and pulled out a stick with his teeth, glancing at Seto as he did. He must’ve seen the bob of Seto’s throat when he said, “You want one?”

Seto nodded mutely. He removed a second stick, placing them both between his lips, and he flicked the lighter. Once they were both cherry red, he passed one to Seto, who took it with shaking hands. Anything in his belly had been exorcized when he vomited, and the remains of what lurked in his bloodstream had him shivering in the autumn chill, despite his coat. 

[anincompletelist]

“Don’t make it into a big deal.” FirstPrince

xoxo MJ/kiwiana-writes

HI FRIEND! :D

+

Mornings have quickly become Henry’s most favorite part of the day. 

He denotes ‘most’ because there are a lot of favorites now that they’re both fully moved into the brownstone and Alex is here full time, stealing his covers and talking through his favorite television shows. But the early mornings, before either of them have any obligations, when Alex’s hair is all smushed to one side of his head, his cheek red from resting against Henry’s shoulder all night and his words soft and slow, might just top the list. After being gone the entire week prior to London, Henry’s extra eager today. 

Alex makes it downstairs to the sitting area first, curled up in his armchair with their knitted blanket draped over his folded legs when Henry emerges from the hallway. He stops in the kitchen to grab the freshly made mug of Earl Grey that Alex had left him moments ago, still steaming as he brings it to his chest and moves to the den to take up his seat across from him. 

Unlike Henry, Alex is decidedly not a morning person. He grumbles more than he speaks pre-caffeine, a pinch between his brows that Henry has soothed many times with his lips and his hands. He steps forward to do it now, accustomed to the smell of coffee beans and cinnamon like muscle memory at this point, and pauses beside the chair when it’s noticeably absent. He glances down at Alex’s mug in his lap, a familiar cup of Earl Grey staring back at him. 

“Alex, that’s— are you drinking my tea?” 

“Your tea?” Alex scoffs, reaching under his glasses to rub the sleep from his eye. “Oh, so when you said ‘what’s mine is yours’ I guess you were just—” 

“Alex.” 

His lip drawn up between his teeth, Alex avoids his eye. “So what if I am,” he mutters, running a fingertip around the rim. “Started making it when you were out of town last week out of habit. Wasn’t gonna waste it. I’m sure I’d never hear the fuckin’ end of it.” 

Henry’s heart stutters inside of his chest. “You made it while I was away?” 

Chin dipped to his chest, Alex inhales, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Smells like you.” 

“Oh, love,” Henry sighs, finally bending down to smooth his lips over the wild curls at Alex’s forehead. 

“Don’t make it into a big deal,” Alex warns, pushing him toward his own armchair with his foot. His thick glasses do little to hide the flush blooming on his cheeks in the morning sunshine, Henry’s own beaming grin a fixture between his ears. Before he sits he leans across and seals their mouths together, just to taste it on his lips. 

“I love you,” he says. He goes to pull away, only to be drawn back by the front of his sleep shirt. 

“Love you too,” Alex presses into his mouth, bergamot and citrus and happiness thick on his tongue. 

+

[on ao3 here]

[send me a line of dialogue and I'll write something fluffy!] :D

[sillygooseassociation]

Another Year of Us

Description: Jason surprises you, once again, on New Year's Eve with an idea of how to celebrate.

Warning(s): pregnancy, references to smut, o*ivia, jason is so cute i may stab my eyes out

Pairing: JRU, Jason Sudeikis x reader

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: y'all, it's happening, my favorite dumbasses 🥺

-

Your eyelids flutter open as sunshine enters the room through the window, the cold air outside no match for your personal heater known as Jason Sudeikis. It wasn’t often that you were able to wake up naturally next to Jason with no blaring alarm or excited child drawing you out of your sleep. While you enjoyed sleeping in, even if it was a struggle for Jason, you were missing the loud whispers and giggles of Daisy and Otis waking you up in the morning. After a week of sleeping with no interruptions, you were ecstatic to pick up the kids after their time with Olivia. Your smile grows as you feel yourself being pulled back against Jason’s chest, the freedom of no kids meaning neither of you redressed after the previous night’s activities. 

Jason places a soft kiss on your bare shoulder, placing kisses in a line from there to just under your ear lobe, “Good morning, beautiful.” Your cheeks warm at his compliment as his arm wraps around you, his large hand resting on the side of your stomach where you feel a small kick against his palm, “Oh yes, I’m so sorry, little one. Good morning to you, too.” You giggle at his greeting to baby Sudeikis, who thankfully wasn’t moving around too much during the night. Turning your head just enough, your eyes soften as your gaze falls on Jason, his stubble grown a little more than the day before and the gray peeking out in the middle of his facial hair, “Hi”. 

Leaning forward, Jason meets you in a kiss, his tongue running over your bottom lip before you grant him entry, his plan soon thwarted when you lightly bite down on the tip of his tongue. With a painful exclamation, Jason pulls back and looks at you with a humorous look of confusion, “What the fuck was that for?” You just laugh and shrug, pulling out of his grasp slightly so that you have enough room to roll and lay on your back, “Dunno, just wanted to see what would happen.” Jason raises his eyebrows in challenge, sitting up and throwing his leg over your thighs, straddling your body just under where your bump lays, “I’ll show you what happens.” 

Jason’s hands slide up from where they rest on your hips, making their way to your breasts, though you stop him before they can reach their destination. With a roll of your eyes, you push Jason off of you, “You horny fucker, stop it. We have kiddos to pick up.” Jason groans, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow as you carefully sit up, sliding off the bed, as you hear a quieted muttering, “I wish I was a fucker right now.” A loud laugh echoes throughout the room, “Get a hold of yourself, Jas.” Bringing his face out of the darkness, Jason watched you walk to your bathroom, a small smile on his face at the domesticity of it all.

Leaving the brownstone hand in hand, you and Jason head to the car, careful to not slip on any of the ice on the ground. Opening the door for you, Jason has a firm hand on your lower back as you slide into the car, “Jason, I do know how to get in a car, ya know?” Jason rolls his eyes at you, closing the door once you’re in and rounding to the other side. You put on your seat belt, making sure it's secure around your bump as Jason gets settled, “Yes, I know that you know how to get in a car. But I’ll be damned if you slip and fall while getting in the car. Nothing is happening to you or the princess on my watch.” You smile at Jason’s words, resting a hand on your bump as he began your quick drive to Olivia’s place, “You know, Daisy is going to be really disappointed if her “little princess sister” turns out to be a prince.”

When you watched Frozen for the first time after telling the kids about your pregnancy, Daisy let out a loud gasp about halfway through the movie, “Wait! Does this mean that I’m Elsa and the baby is Anna?!” You tried to explain that the baby could be a boy but your warnings fell on deaf ears, Daisy insisting that your family was Frozen come to life. Otis yelled in offense, though the two quickly decided that he was Kristoff (“without the kissing, that’d be so gross”), also assigning Sven and Olaf to you and Jason, whatever the fuck that meant.

A small smile appeared on Jason’s face as he shook his head, glancing to you before looking back at the road, “Nope, she won’t be disappointed.” You sigh, understanding the unsaid implications of his response, “Bubs, you don’t know that it's going to be a girl.” Jason just shakes his head again, “Yes, I do, Y/N. It’s going to be a girl, I’m telling you.” Yeah, you know he’s telling you, he’s been telling you for the past four months. Of course you’re worried that Daisy will be disappointed, she’s so excited for a little sister, but she’s only eight, and you know she’ll be just as happy with a little brother. But really, you’re worried about Jason being disappointed if it’s a boy. You know he’ll love your child with his whole heart no matter their sex, but he has been so excited for his “second baby girl” ever since he declared you were having a girl two weeks after you told him you were pregnant. You would be heartbroken to see him not get his wish, “Mhm, okay, well we’ll find out in only a few more months, okay?”

You were filled with excitement as Jason turned down Olivia’s street. Sure, she wasn’t your favorite person, and she certainly wasn’t a fan of you either, but she was the kids’ mom, which meant you were forever grateful for her. Your thoughts quickly shifted from her as you saw two of your favorite people standing on the porch of Olivia’s townhouse. She was standing in the doorway, of course, a mug of coffee in her hands as she made sure her kids were safe until you arrived, but her presence was no match to the love that flooded you at seeing the kids, your kids. It took you years to feel comfortable calling the Sudeikis children yours and even now, you don’t often do it besides menial conversation like telling the pharmacy you are picking up a prescription for your child. Jason reaffirmed your role in the lives of his children, reassuring you that you were a parent to them just as much as he and Olivia, but it was still hard sometimes. 

As soon as Jason put the car in park, your door was flung open before you jumped out of the car, well, more like slid out thanks to your bump, “Mama!” The sound was like music to your ears. Two small bodies wrapped their arms around you, Otis diving into a story from the week with his mom while Daisy greeted her little sister with a different story. Coming around to join the three of you, Jason jokingly scoffed, “All right, geez, I get the message. Guess I’ll just head home then.” The kids squealed with laughter as they hugged their dad, Jason greeting them with a large smile before looking up at you with a smug grin, acting as if he won even though they definitely cheered louder for you. 

Jason gave a brief wave to Olivia as you ushered the kids to the car, making sure they got all the way buckled as your fiancé loudly wished a happy new year to his ex. With all of you now situated in the car, Jason begins the drive back home as you partially turn in your seat to see Daisy and Otis, intently listening to their stories filled with sound effects and intense hand gestures. Jason looks in the rearview mirror, smiling brightly at the sight of his kids doubled over in laughter, then glancing to see you wearing a smile similar to his, seemingly on top of the world just from listening to Daisy and Otis’s nonsensical stories. With a backdrop of the winter city passing you all by as tourists make their way to Manhattan and Mumford & Sons quietly playing, Jason’s life of the past three years seems to come full circle. Seeing an open parking lot to his right, Jason quickly pulls in and parks the car, looking to you with a serious expression on his face. You turn to him in confusion, but he speaks before you can ask him what he’s doing, “Marry me.” 

Distracted by a family of snowmen in the parking lot, the kids are sharing laughs as they look out the window, but you just stare at Jason. You’ve never seen him look so serious before, his eyebrows raised in hopefulness and his cheeks pink, though you’re unsure if that’s due to the chilled air or his moment of vulnerability. You raise your left hand, showing your ring to Jason as you slightly tilt your head, “Um, yeah, Jas, you already did this part, remember? Got down on one knee and everything.” At any other moment, Jason would roll his eyes at you and call you a little shit or something similar, but right now, all he can do is look at you, “Today. Marry me, today.” Your breath hitches in your throat, the serious tone of Jason’s words catching the attention of the kids, who now watch the two of you intently, “Jason, what? I-I don’t have a dress, our families aren’t here, we haven’t even set a date.” 

Grabbing your hands, Jason looks at you with eyes filled with love, seemingly pleading that you will see this how he does, “Exactly, sweetheart. We haven’t even set a date, and I can’t wait any longer. We’ll have a reception after the baby comes, we’ll celebrate with everyone, but my family, our family, is all right here.” With tears pooling in your eyes, you turn to Otis and Daisy who are practically jumping in their seats, apparently sensing the seriousness of the situation enough to know to be quiet. You turn back to Jason, who has a small smile on his face, a couple of tears running down his face, “Three years ago today, I picked you up to go to a party as friends and I acted like an idiot, and it was one of the best decisions I ever made. We drove through the same city, we listened to the same music, and we passed the same annoying tourists. I meant every single thing that night and I mean every single thing now. I can’t stand the idea of beginning another year where you aren’t my wife. So let’s go to the courthouse, let’s act like annoying lovesick teenagers. Let me marry you while you wear clunky snow boots and leggings and my sweatshirt. Marry me, Y/N.”

By now, tears are rolling down your face as you nod your head, pulling Jason in for a sweet kiss, your tears mixing as the kids cheer before groaning in disgust at your affection. You and Jason pull away, both of you wiping away your tears before you swat at Jason’s arm, “What’re you doing? Come on, let’s get a move on. You can’t say all that and expect me to wait another minute.” Jason chuckles at you, pulling you in for another quick kiss before peeling out of the parking lot, and heading to the closest New York City courthouse.

After waiting in line at the marriage clerk’s office, the kids so excited that they thankfully don’t complain, the four of you wait outside the office of a judge. You sit on a bench, the kids both tucked into your sides as they talk to the baby, Jason watching as he leans against the opposite wall, absolutely obliterated with love. A door opens before a booming voice fills the hall, “Y/N L/N and Daniel Sudeikis?” You and the kids stand up, Jason joining up and intertwining your fingers as the four of you walk to the judge’s chambers. The woman looks up, surprise across her face, “I was wondering from the name but Daniel, really?” Jason chuckles as the kids giggle at a face you make in their direction, “Yes, ma’am, surprising, I know.” The judge smiles, both at Jason’s midwestern manners and your interaction with the children, leading you into her chambers. 

Daisy and Otis sit down in the large chairs facing the desk, yell-whispering to you about their “thrones”. You smile at them, giving them a thumbs-up before bringing your finger to your lips, reminding them to be quiet. They giggle in excitement, watching as Jason brings you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist while the other rests on your bump. The judge sits down and motions to your clothes, “Last minute decision?” Jason looks down at you, a bright smile on his face, “This has been three years coming Your Honor, I couldn’t make it another year.” You look up at Jason with a similar sized smile, giving him a small kiss before you’re interrupted, “Okay, lovebirds, I haven’t said that yet. Wait a minute or two.” 

The kids holler with laughter at the teasing words of the judge, though you can’t judge them, you and Jason both laugh as well, though partly from embarrassment. The judge gives the two of you a tight-lipped smile, “All right, you two have filled out all the required documents, so now it’s really just the fun part. Please turn to each other.” You and Jason turn to face each other, standing as close as you can with your bump, “Do you, Y/N M/N L/N, take Daniel Jason Sudeikis to be your lawfully wedded husband?” You look up at Jason, a small smile on your face as tears run down your face, Jason’s expression mirroring yours, “I do.” You hear small giggles from the side, but you don’t look away from Jason, how can you? “And do you, Daniel Jason Sudeikis, take Y/N M/N L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Jason squeezes your hands three times as he looks into your eyes, “I sure do.” A breath that you weren’t consciously holding left your lungs. There was no doubt in your mind that Jason would say yes, but you still needed to hear it, and now that you have, you’re pretty sure it’s one of your favorite sounds in the world. With a smile on her face, the judge closes her folder containing your documents, “Then by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Now, you may kiss your spouse.” You don’t miss the teasing tone of how the judge finishes that second sentence but it doesn’t really matter, because all you can focus on is Jason’s lips on yours, your heart beating in your chest, the kicks of the baby in your belly, and the cheers of your kids. 

The two of you pull apart, resting your foreheads together as you feel the kids wrapping their arms around your legs. You’ll look at them in a moment, you’ll all celebrate, but right now, you’re looking at your husband. His eyes sparkle as he looks at you, a smile on his face, “We doing this? Another year of us?” You smile back, nodding your head as you lean in to give him a small kiss, “We’re doing this. You and me, Mr. Sudeikis.” Jason smirks at your response, both your phrase and the name for him, him kissing you once more before the kids can interrupt, “You and me, Mrs. Sudeikis.”

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Hello, Sunshine, December 1964

She takes a cab across town and when she arrives at the lavish brownstone, juggles the basket of gifts and her Pyrex dish out and up the stairs, briefly considering using her foot to ring the doorbell, but nor completely sure she can kick that high after giving birth four months prior.

She's about to give it a shot when the door swings open and Gordon Ford pokes his head out, looking exhausted but amused.

"You were gonna kick the doorbell."

Midge purses her lips. "Maybe. You look like hell?"

"My son is two days old," he reminds her, rubbing his unshaven chin. "I'm not exactly camera ready."

He lets her in and leads her into a cavernous living room. She's been here for parties, when it's teeming with people, but when it's quiet and empty like this it feels vast.

"How's the baby? How's Neena?" She asks, setting her things down.

"Both are perfect and sleeping," Gordon grins. "Thanks for stopping by. There's a few things I wanted to discuss."

Midge nods. "But first." She lifts the Pyrex dish and hands it over. "Potato kugel."

Ge groans and cradles it in his arms. "Bless you. We got five tuna casseroles. I think I have mercury poisoning."

She laughs and then gestures to the well-appointed basket. "Blanket, diapers, pins, powder, breast pump and bear."

"Hey, useful stuff," Gordon lights up, setting the Pyrex down to look. "Aw. Good bear."

"Right? Kitty and Esther picked him."

"Good choice."

"Now," Midge huffs. "Do I get to hold the baby?"

"Business first."

She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. "Okay. Business."

"So...I'm taking a month off," he tells her. "I think I underestimated baby stress."

Midge nods. "First time parents often do. We're going on hiatus?"

"Well..."

She blinks. "Guest host?"

"Yeah," he nods. "You."

Midge freezes. "Me?"

"If it's okay. If you can juggle your four-month-ol-"

"I can."

"If you're-"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then the boat is yours," Gordon nods. "I cleared it with corporate. You're popular enough, you know how to work with the staff and handle guests. So. One month. It's the Midge Maisel show."

She looks about ready to burst. "I can't scream because you have an exhausted wife and a two day old but fuck do I want to."

Gordon laughs. "Okay. Baby time."

"What's his name?"

"William Delaney Ford."

"The most goyische name I've ever heard. I love it."

[justforbooks]

Though most of us have only seen the posters, Edward Hopper's paintings have become icons of 20th-century American life. But what are they like in reality?

It feels as if you've always known them, the paintings of Edward Hopper. America seems unimaginable without them. Lone souls, empty sidewalks, baking brownstones, raking sunlight, the drug store at four in the morning, usherettes, clerks, the solitary salesman, hotel rooms on sluggish afternoons, heat sizzling outside, misery shut up indoors. People and places and the human condition: this is the genius (or cheap music) of Edward Hopper as everyone knows it.

Or is it? The flash of recognition, so crucial to each painting, is easily confused with familiarity. Unless you have travelled to America the chances are you may never have seen a Hopper in reality. There is only one in Britain (in a very private collection) and there hasn't been a show here in almost a generation. Even if you've seen a few originals, and survived the shock of finding them more rough-hewn and awkward than reproductions imply, and infinitely stronger, this retrospective at Tate Modern may amaze. It is a revelation in so many ways.

Reproduction shrivels Hopper. It turns his paintings into illustrations. Which, in turn, abets all the old clichés about his works: that they are theatrical tableaux, or film stills, for which you write the script, that they are enigmas waiting to be solved. Or that there is a narrative to each painting, a backstory to each loner, that can somehow be deduced from the details of clothes, props, mise en scène: a mystery fit for Hammett or Chandler.

People who write about Hopper like to float theories. The stenographer who longs to comfort her unhappily married boss in Office at Night. The once hopeful out-of-towner waiting for the bus back home in Automat. You could make a story out of any of his pictures, runs the line (a whole anthology exists, in fact, filled with just that). But I'm not sure his art needs or demands such interpretations. 'I hope it will not tell any obvious anecdotes,' fretted Hopper, with foresight, 'since none are intended.'

Take a work such as Sunday (1926). Condensed on a page, it would seem to show nothing more than a clerk in his shirtsleeves sitting on a deserted sidewalk nursing one elbow. Behind him is a shop front, before him the blank street. It seems to be morning. Perhaps he never went to bed or is forced to work Sundays; who knows? The man is a model, not a narrative.

What strikes is the painting itself, so drab in reproduction, so magical face to face. The way Hopper's sunlight pours through the window, scouring the emptiness of the shop - is there a more vacant room anywhere in art? The ambient distance it measures between the man and the world around him. The beautiful colour harmonies between shutter, boardwalk, blinds and street that shut him out, their subtlety contrasting with his brusque shirt, the only white in the picture. Everything isolates him, the lone worker, lost in thought, stark in the careless sunshine.

There are no trash cans, no signs, not even a spent butt in this image. It is pared to the bare epiphany. Elimination, rearrangement, cropping, distancing, angle: it's usual to think of Hopper in terms of cinematography. But as an editor he is on a par with Degas, and no sort of standard realist, representing the view with dogged fidelity. As Degas wrote, 'One reproduces only that which is necessary.'

Hopper studied Degas on one of the three trips he made to Paris in his youth; but the rest of his file is pretty thin. Born in 1882, the son of a dry goods salesman in Nyack, New York, he was a sometime illustrator and part-time painter who stopped painting for almost 10 years and didn't find form until his forties. Taciturn, frugal, gallingly self-contained from his wife's point of view, he lived in the same cold-water apartment in Manhattan from his marriage at 41 until his death in 1967. She was his only model.

Flipping through a book of Hopper's pictures might give the sense of lives snapped, scenes glimpsed, from the street or the El. But it would be wrong to think of him simply skimming images of strangers through windows as he rides the subway by night. Of course he caught what we catch - the freeze-frame behind glass, people who are outsiders to one another, seen from outside - but this is both more and less than he shows.

A great Hopper, in the paint, is all stillness, silence, solidity. Not the stillness of Vermeer, of stopped yet reverberating time, but a stillness all of his own: the hiatus, the lapse, the longueur, the moment between significant moments. A man staring out of the window while a girl sleeps beside him. A woman seated in the dead light of a theatre during intermission, blank as the safety curtain.

You don't hear the waves of Cape Cod in Hopper's seascapes or the cicadas in his landscapes. There are no crowds or sirens in his cities. All is silence; the mind turned in on itself, thinking, or not quite thinking, the only action. How implausible it would be to enter a Hopper and hear actual sound.

And the clock strikes 13 in any painting where motion is represented - such as the hopeless attempt at the nanny's fluttering headdress in New York Pavements. Hopper's pictures are not movies; the best of them have monumental solidity. In the architecture - his absolute gift, to make buildings as poignant and fascinating as people, if not more so; in the sunlight, pressing against houses, carpeting floors; even in the skies. Hopper's clouds never scud.

The cumulus hangs paralysed above Manhattan in Williamsburg Bridge (1928). I thought the painting would make me think of A Streetcar Named Desire - apartments rocked by incessant traffic - but it doesn't. It fairly scintillates with silence. Brownstones blaze against the pale sky: heavy stone, bright heat. Windows blink, or frown, or shutter against the light. At one of them, way up high, a trademark figure sits on the sill, on the threshold between within and without, dreaming, looking out, observing the world. Like a painter: Hopper's surrogate.

Except that this would be totally anomalous. Hopper never forces himself upon his art. There is no sense of his personality - aside, perhaps, from a steady empathy with the subjects - and any sign of his presence immediately deactivates the drama.

For there are weak paintings, even in a tremendous show like this. When the buildings become flimsy, for example, or the colour is ostentatiously over-keyed. When the woman turns into a glib dollybird, when the figures get clumsier and more caricatural in later years. When he repeats himself: all those people gazing off-stage, into another world, another life. When even the light houses face off into the distance, eyes averted. Hopper can be just too plangent.

Which feels fatal, along with everything else that limits the emotional complexity of his art, makes it seem 'expressive' of loneliness, sorrow and so forth. Such as the presence of more than one figure. Two and the scene becomes a dialogue, however mute or fractured; three and all sorts of too-obvious anecdotes present themselves, especially in the film noir works of the Forties. Even one person looking directly out of the frame, or just with a directional gaze, and the spell, the reverie, is broken.

A masterpiece such as Early Sunday Morning hasn't a single figure in it (Hopper judiciously deleted the hint of a face at a window). But it's one of the richest works he ever painted. The dawn light casting immense shadows down the long avenue, peopled only by a hydrant and a barber's pole; the intense colour of the brick facades; the many windows, with their separate characters; the hint of menace in the tall building edging into the picture. It's not portentous, like de Chirico City; it is the world seen anew as surpassingly strange and beautiful.

And crucial to its effect is the curious absence of Hopper. You see where he might have stood to make sketches but there's no sense of his watching presence; no directing of focus, attention. The corollary is also the case - that your own viewpoint is somehow vacant as well. Nobody is looking at this street, nobody is looking back: and how much more so with his paintings of people. That pensive woman in the third floor apartment? You don't think for one moment that Hopper has a ladder propped at her window; rather it's a kind of floating observation: so real, and yet like a dream.

'One was aware,' wrote a friend, 'of a slight displacement in his experience of his own person ... as when we are strange to ourselves, and become objects of our own contemplation.' That quality is crucial to the power of Hopper's art, as to the minds of his men and women. They are absorbed, abstracted, almost hypnotically disengaged from the world around them: and Hopper's gift goes outwards too. After a while you become one with them, rapt, still, solitary in your absorption as the people in these spellbinding pictures.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[liaromancewriter]

New York Moment

Premise: Max and Sienna get cast as extras on a movie set, and funny antics soon follow.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 1,425

A/N: This fic was requested by @trappedinfanfiction from @creativepromptsforwriting Meet Cute list (prompt 15). Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills. I'm using @choicesflashfics week 29, prompt 3 (in bold). Submission for @aprilchallenge prompt "dance"

The streets of Manhattan were teeming under the steaming summer sunshine. Native New Yorkers walked determinedly about their business, and tourists ambled on sidewalks, smartphones in hand, ready to capture their New York moment.

Cars honked, buses wheezed, and people yelled. It was noisy and exciting, annoying and fascinating. It was New York.

Sienna Valentine watched the drama unfold from the relative peace of a shaded sidewalk patio in Greenwich Village, and thought, “I’ve missed this.”

She’d attended medical school at Columbia, and this city had been home for four years. She had so many memories here. Studying in Central Park on a warm spring day. Taking the A Train downtown for a night out with her friends. Ice skating at Rockefeller Center.   

Sienna had enjoyed her life in Boston and loved living in DC now. But whenever her husband Max needed to visit New York for work or family, she tagged along if her work schedule allowed.

Luckily for Sienna, Max had no issues making non-work trips either. An overnight trip to watch a Broadway show, a quick day trip to go shopping in Midtown or a romantic weekend getaway.

Life with Max was never dull, Sienna thought dreamily, looking away from the view outside to watch him walking toward her.

“Sorry about that. The guy just wouldn’t stop talking,” Max said, sliding into the chair across from her. He started to reach for his wine glass but suddenly stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to drag me to the nearest restroom and have your wicked way with me,” he grinned lasciviously.

“I’d rather wait until we get back to our hotel,” she countered with a wink and a smile. “And then I’ll have my wicked way with you. So you might want to load up on carbs.”

“Good plan,” he chuckled. “Check, please!”

Sienna burst into laughter. Definitely not boring, she thought again.

They finished their lunch, talking and just enjoying each other’s company, lingering over their wine. While Max settled the bill, Sienna quickly called their nanny.

“Noah okay?” Max asked, clasping her hand in his as they left the restaurant.

“Yes. Mrs. Banks said he was still asleep and to take our time.”

They started walking east toward Washington Square Park for an open-air concert, passing leafy residential streets lined with brownstones and avoiding the crowds on Bleeker Street by cutting through Cornelia Street.

They were two blocks from the park when they saw steel barricades and a clump of trailers and trucks lined up along one street. Security guards held back crowds as a film crew set up for a shoot outside the park; light stands, cameras and film equipment were everywhere.

“Now what?” Sienna said, disappointed at having their afternoon plans disrupted. It would take time to go around the barricades and crowds.

She turned toward Max, but he was standing a few feet away, reading an information notice taped to the side of a tree trunk.

“Hey, Si? Wanna be an extra in a Hollywood movie?”

When Sienna glanced at him in confusion, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to his side, pointing at the sign.

Intrigued, Sienna read the words block printed on bright yellow paper. “Extras wanted. Couples only. Report to Production Office.”

“Well?” Max smiled, a hint of adventure in his eyes. “It can be our New York Moment.”

“I thought our New York Moment was that extravagant proposal on The Highline?”

“Who says you can only have one?” he challenged, arching his eyebrow.

Intrigued by the idea, Sienna found herself nodding, her apprehension about being on camera carried away by Max’s enthusiasm.

They were outside the production office a short while later, standing in a queue with other couples. A production assistant collected their details and directed them to a trailer for a wardrobe check. That done, they joined the others in a closed-off waiting area near a fountain.

“What kind of movie do you think this is?” Sienna said, craning to see if she could spot any stars.

“Definitely not a porno, given the location,” Max teased, his lips quirked in a half-smile. “I was really looking forward to seeing you in a leather catsuit.”

Sienna snorted. “I don’t have time for your prurient fantasies, Valentine.”

“You say fantasy, I say, meet me at midnight.”

Max took her hand and twirled her into an impromptu dance, their hips swaying to the jaunty tune drifting from a street musician behind the barricade. He tightened his grip on her hand; his other hand splayed across her lower back.

Well used to their rhythm, Sienna readied herself for the backward dip, confident he wouldn’t let her fall. Suddenly, Max tugged at her, and she tripped over her feet, falling against him.

Sienna giggled at her clumsiness, but his smug look and hands cupping her ass made her think it was on purpose.

She locked her hands behind his neck and leaned in, kissing the open space at the base of his throat where he'd left the buttons of his shirt collar undone. She felt his breath hitch before he pulled back slightly. But she wasn’t done.

Sienna stretched on her toes and drew his head down to place her lips against his ear.

“Are you trying to seduce me in public?” she whispered.

He chuckled. “What a thing to say? I’m just rehearsing. For all you know, my character is a suave international spy trying to throw the assassins off his scent by dancing with a beautiful stranger in the park.”

She scoffed. “We’ve both seen that movie, and it usually ends with the spy seducing the woman before jumping out the window.”

“Maybe in this movie, the beautiful woman is the seductress,” he said, amused. “And hopefully she has handcuffs so the spy can’t escape her bed.”

He said the last in such a deadpan manner that Sienna burst into laughter. She laughed so hard she had to wrap her arms around her stomach and gasp for air.

The production assistant walked over, still talking into a headset, clipboard in hand.

“All right, folks. Thanks for your patience,” he said hurriedly. “The AD’s just finishing setting up the shot, and then we’ll escort you to the set. Just some house rules….”

Sienna tried to school her face to pretend interest and attention. It didn’t help that Max moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and leaned down to speak in her ear, cracking jokes.

“Don’t feed the pigeons? Why would we do that?” Max murmured, deliberately twisting the production assistant’s words about not disturbing the actors.

Sienna covered her mouth with one hand so people couldn’t see her laughing, but there was no hiding the tears spiking her eyelashes.

“Wait? I thought this was a family feature. Why would we be dancing naked in the square with a clown?”

Sienna guffawed, and the production assistant stopped to stare at her. Embarrassed, she pretended to cough and waved a hand in apology. The man continued his instructions, squinting suspiciously at her.

She could feel Max’s body shaking in mirth behind her. As soon as the coast was clear, Sienna slapped the arm around her waist and hissed in annoyance.

“Are you trying to get us kicked off the movie? And you know he didn’t say anything about naked dancing. The extras are supposed to be couples dancing in the park to a summer concert.”

She shivered as Max kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

“Tomayto, tomahto,” he said, voice smug. “Want to go back to our hotel for naked dancing?”

Before Sienna could tell him to behave himself, the production assistant announced it was time to head out.

They took their places on discretely placed x-marked spots on the floor. After listening attentively to the director’s instructions, they turned to face each other.

The more it dragged on, the technicians adjusting lighting and whatnot around her, the more nervous Sienna became.

Max placed her hand on his shoulder and put his arm at her waist, ready to swing her into an impromptu dance on a beautiful sunny day. The setup was so similar to what they’d been doing in the waiting area earlier that Sienna’s nerves vanished.

“It’s a good thing we rehearsed earlier,” Max said, a winsome smile hovering on his lips, reading her thoughts perfectly.

Sienna kissed his jaw. “Don’t worry. If you mess up, we can keep practicing back in our hotel. Clothing optional. One more New York Moment.”

“And cut!”

Bonus

------------------

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Max & Sienna only: @aallotarenunelma @storyofmychoices @kyra75

[coatedinhoney]

Sweet Bribery

Will Ezra manage to win over his work rival and get promoted?

Transcript under the cut

Erika: This is my thinking spot Brownstone Ezra: AH FUC- Jesus Erika do you own the land or something? Erika: I do actually. Ezra: Oh- Well surely you have it in your lovely heart to share? I mean I'm due to Facetime my girls in about five minutes. Erika: What's in it for me? Ezra: Someone told me that you're a fan of Sunshine Bakery. I'll give you my family discount for a truce. How's that sound? Erika: Hmm tempting.

[words-are-fireproof]

Sweet Summer Child: Coffee + Contemplation (Dieter Bravo x fem!reader)

(*gif by @pedropascalsx)

Chapter Summary: Dieter Bravo is a bookshop owner with a secret. He's surprised you stick around for the next morning.

A/N: I don't have a Masterlist yet, but here is my Dieter as Death fic. I've been sitting on it long enough.

Warnings: In this chapter, there are none. That I remember. 😆

Rating: M but no smut.

Word Count: 1.7k ish.

[Masterlist] || [Series Masterlist] || Part Two

-----

Soft rays of sunshine shimmered over Dieter’s tawny skin as he shifted in bed, languishing in the fuzzy warmth between sleep and awake. He rolled over and instead of being met with a solid body, he was met with cold sheets, no longer warmed from the heat of skin.

The emptiness of the bed is what woke him up fully, blinking in the light of the sun as he finally pulled himself from his slumber. As he yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he mused on the fact that his normal nightmares hadn’t plagued him that night, a rare occurrence in his life, and he wondered why. Had the gods decided to smile upon him? Or did he just get lucky?

Luck had nothing to do with it, and he knew that as he slid from the bed into the coolness of his bedroom. A shiver ran down his spine and he grumbled as he searched bleary-eyed for some scrap of clothing, thrown haphazardly in the excitement of the previous evening. He could still feel the soft touches of the pads of your fingers as they skimmed over his back, pressing into the hard curves of his muscles as your body arched under his in pleasure. The deep frown etched on his lips slowly softened. Tendrils of warmth spread down his limbs as he found a pair of silk pajama bottoms and lazily pulled them on. Forgoing a t-shirt in the hopes of feeling more of your touch, he padded down the stairs to the sound of glass clinking and the smell of fresh coffee emanating from his coffee pot.

In the light of the morning, you looked even more beautiful. Your hair glowed in the golden rays of the sun, your eyes catching the light as you focused on your task. Bits of coffee grounds lay scattered on the white granite countertop. your soft voice issued into the silence, humming a song he couldn’t place as he brushed those specks of coffee grounds onto the floor. Little pangs of annoyance shot through his chest, but he didn’t say a word. He just kept watching you, absently wondering how he’d managed to charm you and why you stuck around. He showered his women in charm, but them sticking around his luxurious Brownstone rarely happened often. Mornings after were spent drinking leftover wine in a silk robe, stretched out on his leather sofa as he listened to some pretentious album on his record player. Alone. Left to his own devices and left with the memories of fleeting pleasure and phantom touches.

Those tendrils of warmth made his limbs feel heavy as he leaned against the doorframe into the expansive kitchen, his strong arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you. The coffee pot finished dripping, and he took a deep breath in, savoring the smell, letting it linger and mingle with the faintest smell of you. You smelled of cherry blossoms and hints of vanilla, and even from his perch at the opposite end of the kitchen, you were intoxicating.

Delirium-induced dizziness made him lightheaded, and spurred him forward.

“You’re still here,” his smooth voice intoned, hand brushing down over your arm as he leaned his back against the counter.

“I am. It took me a bit to figure out your coffee pot.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about that.”

“I might have made a mess,” you murmured sheepishly.

“I know. I watched you brush coffee grounds onto my floor.” But he didn’t speak those words with malice.

You laughed, reaching over to grab the carafe and pour him a mug of coffee. He took it gingerly and took a drink, letting it wash over him, shaking the heaviness from his limbs.

“Do you know, you have a little dimple,” you said, gently brushing your fingers over said dimple in his right cheek, “right here?”

He tilted his head into your touch. “I’ve been told that a few times.”

“By your many girlfriends?”

“I’ve not had as many as you think I’ve had.”

You lifted your eyebrows at him.

The admission surprised even him, brief flutters of confusion snaking through him as his brows furrowed in thought. His reputation preceded him. He knew this. He’d seen the magazine articles, the stories that he’d wined and dined the best of the best, the debutants, the leggy models with blond hair and no personality. He’d met plenty of women with brown and red hair who didn’t have a personality either, but the media continued to be unnecessarily biased toward blonds. Even now, settling beside you, amber-eyed gaze raking over you, he felt calm. It was a calm that he’d never felt before, not in at least a few hundred years. His job stressed him in a way he could never, ever, share, not with anyone. Especially not you. Not unless he wanted you to run.

The last thing he wanted was for that to happen. While he’d never told his secret to anyone–and he currently didn’t plan on it–he knew he couldn’t hide forever. Death had a way of crowding out life, no matter how hard he tried to prevent that from happening.

“You know, I don’t think I believe you,” you said playfully.

He took a long drink of his coffee, letting the hot liquid scald his throat.

“You’ve seen the magazines and the articles, haven’t you?”

“It’s hard to ignore,” you admitted truthfully, watching him closely.

He shivered under your gaze, letting the heat of arousal slide down his spine. Memories of the night before flicked through his mind like a lazy movie projector, lingering on the way you moved over him or the way you brushed your touch over his chest, tracing the light outline of his muscles. A lopsided smile spread across his lips.

“I’m friendly,” he began with a shrug, finishing his coffee, “what the magazines don’t say is I never took them home.”

Your brows furrowed at him curiously. “What’s so different about me?”

He palmed the back of his neck with a large hand.

What was so different about you? He couldn’t put his finger on any one thing. Well, he could, but the previous point still stood: he couldn’t tell you, even if he wanted to.

He shrugged his broad shoulders elaborately, dropping his hand and pouring himself another mug of coffee. “You’re just…different.”

You laughed. “It doesn’t inspire much confidence.”

“It should.”

You snorted, seemingly content to drop the subject as you turned to rinse out your mug. “So, I was thinking we could go out today. It didn’t snow too much and I have the day off.”

Dieter turned to look out the window above his kitchen sink. The bright white expanse of his tiny backyard greeted him, marred only by bird’s footprints and the tell-tale sign of squirrels hopping around and digging little holes to find long-buried acorns hidden for this very reason. He might not like the chill of winter mornings, but the beauty of a world blanketed and quieted in snow was something he never got tired of. The smile on his lips deepened as his amber eyes settled on you.

“Sure. I don’t have anything to do today.”

“Or tonight?” You asked curiously, settling your mug on a clean towel beside the sink, their gazes meeting.

He chuckled. “Or tonight.”

“Are you sure about that? You don’t have some sort of benefit to go to or something like that?”

He shakes his head. “No benefits. No charity dinners. No gallery openings. Nothing. Tonight, I’m yours.”

You smirked, sliding over to him, brushing a gentle hand over his bicep, settling on stroking his forearm thoughtfully. “That’s a dangerous thing to admit.”

His own smile shifted devilishly, the dimple in his cheek deepening as his other arm wrapped around your lithe body, tugging you closer to him until you stood flush against him.

“I’m up for the challenge.”

He bent down and slanted his lips against yours, licking into your mouth. The sweet taste of sugar and cream exploded against his tongue. He tried not to let his mind wander too much, but the taste of you, mingled with the taste of the way you took your coffee was too much for him. He wanted to explore you more. He wanted to drown in you and the tranquility you offered him. He wanted to ignore the world, ignore the things he dealt with every minute of every day. He wanted relief from the never-ending cycle of decay and he wanted to find that relief in you.

But you pulled away from the kiss before he could deepen it even more. He couldn’t ignore the way the darks of your eyes bled into the color of your iris, pupils blown in desire. How did a macabre angel like him land such a sweet summer child? He could ask that question all day every day and he still couldn’t possibly conjure up a response. Maybe, just maybe, the gods decided to shine mercy on him. But even then, he didn’t believe it in the slightest.

“Let’s go before I keep you here all day.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” he murmured in a voice honeyed with desire.

“Yeah,” you began, standing on tiptoe to press you lips to his again, “but I would.”

“Why?” The question rumbled lowly in his chest.

“Because maybe I want to throw a couple of snowballs at you today.”

You winked, and giggled, pulling from him and shooting up the stairs with a peel of laughter, wordlessly inviting him to follow, wordlessly inviting him to toss away his cares and find happiness in you, if only for a moment. He shook his head, swallowing one last bitter mouthful of coffee, washing away the sweet taste of her. He accepted the invitation without a second thought, thinking maybe, just maybe, he could find happiness in you for far longer than a moment.

[cha-melodius]

First Lines

Rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

I was tagged by @cricketnationrise and @rmd-writes, thanks! Fortuitously, I was just looking back through old tumblr posts and happened across the last time I did this (that one also included the directive to "look for patterns"), which as it turns out was almost exactly a year ago. Also, turns out I wrote a BUNCH of fics in the intervening time. Like, 32! What! I guess that's what happens when you decide to write a bunch of one-shots and accept prompts, lol. Anyway, here are the last 10.

Nova, Baby Agent Henry Fox-Mountchristen is an asshole.

All for a Taste of the Honey “Abso-fuckin-lutely not.”

It's Been a Bad Day Lately “Up and at ‘em, sunshine!” someone nearly shouts at him, jolting Loki to alertness where he’d apparently fallen asleep on a table in the archives. 

True Hollywood Romance “You cannot tell me you’re intending to wear that,” Loki blurts, in lieu of a greeting, the moment he opens the door and sees Mobius standing on the other side of it.

Love is a Deserter It’s just a party like any other.

How’s About Cookin’ Something Up With Me? The memo shows up in Illya’s mailbox on a fairly unremarkable Wednesday in early December.

May Your New Years Dreams Come True It’s a confluence of unfortunate events that sets the whole thing off.

Another Christmas Song (This Time I’ll Sing Along) In the six months since Illya’s new neighbor moved into the brownstone next to his, he has learned a few things about him: 1. he’s ridiculously good looking (he learned that on the day he moved in); 2. he’s a very proficient chef (that one, a few weeks later, when he invited Illya to his extremely well-provisioned housewarming party); and 3. he sings.

In the Morse Code of the Brake Lights This can’t be happening to him.

The Spirit of Giving Here’s the thing: Alex is pretty sure Henry can’t even cook.

I still use the snappy one-liner in its own paragraph pretty frequently, but if there are any trends to see here, it's that I definitely have started occasionally writing longer intro sentences. The one for Another Christmas Song is particularly funny to me.

Tagging @clottedcreamfudge, @mirilyawrites, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening (so you can do a year retrospective too lol), @heytheredeann, @ikeepwatchinghelicopters, @treluna4, @indomitable-love

[groovytimes]

doll, baby, sunshine, wild thing, bubba, my love 🌸

Grazie mille!

doll - what’s your favourite outfit? 

Hmm. Cozy black jumper, black jeans, and my Rometty Doc Martens!

baby - what makes you feel better when you’re down?

Reassurance from loved ones. It has saved me more times than I’d like to admit. And tiramisù.

sunshine - what’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever gotten?

When someone said I reminded them of my dad. It reminded me no one is ever truly gone.

wild thing - what’s something about you that surprises people?

That I can’t sing. For some reason a lot of people assume that I can sing. I can barely hold a tune, but I think it has to do that a lot of the biggest pop stars around have my skin color…

bubba - tell me a funny story from your childhood. 

I got a crush on a boy because he played basketball with me and my friends for one afternoon.

my love - what would your dream home be like?

It would be a brownstone-like house with a Nancy Meyers kitchen and a room filled with books and records. And the most cozy living room I can dream of.

Thank you for these one! 🥰

[deadpools-baby-knife]

Memories.

This is mostly just lore dump for Sonne.

The apartment grew cramped quickly, Sonne had underestimated just how much space three people needed, plus the neighbours were beginning to snoop more that she liked.

So she bought a brownstone house, four levels, including attic and basement, everyone could have their space, Wade got the basement, Sonne had the attic, Logan had the second floor, hopefully it was enough.

They stood in the living room, the couch and TV were the first things to be unpacked, boxes were piled high, Sonne was looking through a box of artwork, planning on what paintings would go where, once the walls had been repainted.

“This yours?” Wade asked, holding up a medium sized oak box “It looks old as shit.”

Sonne was crossing the room and snatching the box from his hands before she even realised 

“Its private.” She clutched the box close to her chest 

“Come on, Sunshine, there’s no such thing as secrets under this roof.” 

Sonne thought for a second, Wade was right, there was no use keeping secrets from him or Logan, they deserved to know something about her, they didn’t even know her real name yet they had never pushed the subject.

She owed them the truth.

“Leave it Wade, if she doesn’t want to-” Logan started

“No…Wilson’s right…”

She sat on the couch, the men copied, flanking her, no one had ever seen inside this box, they would be the first.

The box opened with a soft click, it smelt like old books, and dried herbs, inside were letters, photographs and at the very bottom, inside a small velvet bag was the most important thing of all.

It felt fragile in her fingers, two thin planes of glass, containing a cutting of dark brown hair.

Sonne was shaking, her breathing barely under control.

“I-I had a daughter…before…before I became this…”  

Big brown eyes staring up at her, a small crying leaving her plump lips

“She’s beautiful…look at her.”

“Her name was Elze..she was born on the 16th of February..” She smiled at the memory “She screamed like a banshee and woke up the entire village, the old women were all crowding around me trying to see her..” 

“What happened to her?” Wade asked, his voice unusually quiet 

“She lived a long life, married a nice farmer..” She chuckled, tears building in her eyes “They had six sons and a daughter, she named her daughter Gisila..”

The tears ran down her cheeks, blurring her vision “My name, she named her only daughter after me even though I abandoned her..”

“Gisila?” Logan almost whispered “That's your real name?”

 She placed the glass back in the velvet bag, barely able to see or use her shaking fingers

“Gisila died…she died a long, long time ago.”

“When did you start going by Sonne?” Wade was still speaking softly 

“About seventy years later…I went home, I saw my own name on a tomb, my husband had given me a grave..he was buried next to me.”

Slowly she could breathe again

“I met my great-grandson, I told him I knew his grandmother, I didn’t say how of course, he told me she had just passed a few days earlier..” She shrugged “He asked me my name, I told him Sonne.”

She took a deep breath. “That was in 1567.” 

Logan and Wade both exhaled in shock 

“You’re over 400 years old?” Wade laughed “Jesus fucking Christ I hope I look that good at your age.”

“I was born in 1499..so I’m actually 519.”

“And I thought I was old..” Logan rubbed at his chin “You still have the accent..”

“I only left Germany in the 50s to come here, I have lived in most of Europe but Germany was always calling to me, my village became a town, it's small enough to where people would notice if I stayed there the entire time.”

She rubbed the velvet bag under her finger

“Every sixty years or so I’d go back…place flowers on the headstones…”

“You mentioned a husband?” Wade asked “How many of those have you had?”

This question earned him a glare from Logan

“Just the one..Zacheus, he lived for sixty years without me, he never remarried, I made a promise to do the same.” 

“You must have really loved him.” Logan placed a hand on her arm “He must have loved you too.”

“I met him when our family bull chased him up a tree, we were thirteen…he was an orphan from the next town over whose parents had died of fever, My Father hired him as a farm hand and we married when we were seventeen, a year later Elze was born.” 

“You must trust us a lot to exposition dump all of your past to us.” Wade placed a hand on her opposite shoulder “I for one appreciate it.”

Sonne closed the lid on the box, there were more memories inside, but they were too much, already she was overwhelmed with emotions: Sadness, guilt, love.

“How…how did your powers manifest?” Logan asked after a silence 

It was strange to hear the word ‘powers’ she always viewed what she was as a curse, an affliction, a burden to carry.

“I woke up one night, starving, a hunger that felt like death…It didn’t ease until I killed a rat and drained it of blood.”

Nachzehrer.

A ghoul, something that dragged the living to death, a monster.

“I left straight away…didn’t even say goodbye.” 

“Would Zacheus have killed you?”

She’d asked herself that question so many times, in the end she decided it didn’t matter.

“You can’t kill what isn’t alive, Logan.” She shrugged “The village would have burnt down our house, killed us all…I might have survived but Zacheus and Elze didn’t deserve that.”

“Sixteenth century Germany does sound like a tough crowd.” Wade added “Lots of spikes in places spikes shouldn’t be.”

“They had their reasons, there were things in the woods.”

“More like you?” Logan squeezed her arm 

“Mutants aren’t an invention of this century, you know that.” 

Sonne stood up “But I’ve never been a pack animal, I prefer solitude.” 

“Of course you do, which is why you just bought a new house for us to live in.” Wade interjected, “And have not just one, but two boyfriends.” 

“We’re always here if you want to talk ‘bout your family.” Logan got to his feet “Come on, we should unpack the kitchen shit, We’re gonna need a kettle and microwave at least.”

“Can we order take out later?” Wade stood up “We deserve it, and Sonne needs something to cheer her up.”

“Anything but fucking mexican food again…We need to talk about your diet.” Sonne replied 

She glanced at the box, feeling like she had just bore her soul to the two men, No one knew her birth name, her mortal name.

She’d referred to herself as a mutant, someone like Wade and Logan, a genetic outlier who’s DNA had changed, something explainable, but she had her doubts, was she something less scientific? 

Nachzehrer.

Something cursed by God.

“I’m going to put this away..” 

As Sonne climbed the stairs to the attic she thought about how she hadn’t considered her catholic for over 500 years yet here she was considering the idea that she was cursed by a divine being, something created by the devil.

It had been a long time since she had thought about her condition that way, religion still had its hold on her, she’d had her daughter baptised, She and  Zacheus had been married in a church, she never thought to do anything else, it was such a different time.

It was oddly comforting to know that her old self still existed, somewhere, even if it was to spend her spiralling into existential dread.

The attic was dark, Sonne had fully leaned into the stereotypical gothic aesthetic, her wardrobe was made of large dark red oak, she opened it and placed the box on the bottom, behind a few pairs of shoes.

Maybe it would see the light of day again, maybe she’d share the polaroids with Wade and Logan, show them the letters.

Then again, perhaps not.

[westwingsolo]

“  i know you’re awake.  ”

The thing was, Alex didn't want to be awake. He had come back to the brownstone so late it was almost early after organizing a research party for his L1 friends back on campus. He sneaked in as quietly as he could so he wouldn't wake Henry, and as soon as he was snuggled against his sleep warmed boyfriend, he instantly fell asleep.

Now said boyfriend was gently caressing his side, and sure, he body reacted as soon as he felt Henry's touch but he was so tired that he also wanted to just sleep a little longer. Though he knew he couldn't pretend for much longer, and peaked open an eye.

Alex let out a sigh when he saw the sunshine filter through the window, making Henry's golden hair shine like a halo or crown in the morning light. "It's annoying how handsome you are even this early in the morning..."