#VACANT IN THE 21ST CENTURY

[aphicidi0]

i lovelovelovelovelovelovelove matt maltese

[arcielee]

Each Coming Night

Summary: Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2870 Warnings: Smutty smut, smidgen of knife play, fingering, oral (female receiving), some spanking, p in v.  Author's Note: Okay, this took a minute because I literally was unsure what the fuck to do next with this depravity. It was supposed to be a smutty one shot and now it is finding a full arc. Thank you for much to @f4ll-for-you because your feedback and editing has helped me with this entire series. There will be 5 parts and I hope you all enjoy!  Tags (kindred spirits): @glitterandgoldfinds @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @fan-goddess @welcometothelioncage​ @hueanhdang (it won’t let me tag you??)   Series:  Call It Dreaming

This cannot be happening to me.

This was your thought when the timer on your phone had gone off and you looked to see two pink lines glaring back.

This is a false positive, a defective strip, you reason, throwing it into the trash and retreating to the kitchen to refill the mason jar you were using to hydrate. 

At first you rolled your eyes when your roommate, Emma, made a comment about how your diva cup was only collecting dust as of late, but when you checked your calendar you realized that your cycle was, in fact, late. You purchased the test-a pack of three, actually-from the corner mart for peace of mind, reminding yourself that the only way for you to be pregnant would be to actually have sex or immaculate conception, which made the latter plausible since you were not fucking anyone.

Or fucking anyone within this reality.

You felt your chest tightened with the damn intrusive thought that spoke boldly from the back of your mind. Your sleeping schedule felt irreparable as of late, with you only having two solid nights of sleep that left you aching in the most delightful way the following day. 

You felt crazy and you were certain you could not speak it out loud to anyone-how would you even describe these lucid, sexy dreams? You assumed it came from the stress of the semester, these graduate level courses particularly grueling as you worked towards your masters; you used to appreciate being a recluse, the burden of your coursework and internship damn near suffocating, but you were finding it difficult to focus on anything as of late. 

There was a time when you were able to turn your brain on automation and be able to retain whatever your professors spewed, dive into assignments with an outline in hand, and be able to finish projects before their due date. 

Instead, you were consumed by this ache in your core that could not be resolved by any means available within the 21st century. 

Then you dreamed of him again, Aemond fucking Targaryen, and it was just as delicious as the first time, fulfilling a satisfaction that you were grieving the prior day, assuming it was lost forever. It was unlike any dream you ever had and you remembered a tone of sadness when he said the words, “I imagine you will leave me again.”

You had, of course, woken up in your bed with that same delicious ache between your thighs and naked. Damn, I liked that dress, your mind thought as you were quick to check yourself in your mirror, just like last time. 

There were love bites that trailed your neckline and you could see the bruises from his grip on your hips.

It did not make sense. 

Your mind was in a fog and you would tread through each day listlessly. Whatever the lie you convinced yourself of before had faded into nothing, your only motivation was to be done with your degree and even that was clouded by the impending student debt. At night, you pined for your subconscious to return you to Westeros but instead you had a few hours of a fitful sleep each night. 

There was an unexpected release when you found yourself returning to a passion you had not felt in years. 

It began one afternoon, during a particularly long lecture, when you were enticed by the vacant space on the lined paper you meant to use for your notes; your pen was intentional with every stroke, flitting across the page, desperate to capture the sharp angles of his face… 

“I appreciate your rapt attention, but class is over.”

You looked up to see the room was nearly empty, with a few students filling out, and your professor watching you, holding his bag and waiting for you to exit. 

You were quick to throw everything into your backpack and return to your apartment, to your room, where you dug out an old sketch book you purchased years ago. You retrieved the notes from the class and saw the beginnings of Aemond’s portrait peering back; you had been complimented often for your drawings, but your family was apt to remind you the impracticality of an art degree and had been appalled at your suggestion at having no degree.

You could not place the blame on them entirely; you eventually shelved your passion and enrolled in a university you knew would make them proud. 

And clearly the pressure of all this had cracked your brain entirely, since you suffered from a fucked up insomnia and found only a fictional prince from Westeros could get you off these days. 

You groaned when the timer on your phone brought your attention back to see the two tests on the bathroom sink, both with two lines of pink mocking you. You threw them in the trash and piled toilet paper on top to hide them. 

Fuck me. You sighed and washed your hands, peering at your reflection in the mirror. The love bites had faded away and you just looked tired, which was an understatement as you had not slept well this semester save those two nights in King’s Landing. 

You returned to your room and threw yourself on the bed, eventually moving to rest your chest on the back of your hand and looking to see the growing collection of drawings and sketches that you began to pin on your wall. All were different mediums, pen, pencil, and the occasional charcoal, but each one was the same subject.

Aemond. 

He had stirred your muses in a way you thought was lost to you the moment you signed your livelihood to this degree and the career it would entail. 

He has stirred more than just your muses, that fucking intrusive thought made your groan and you rolled on your back, grabbing a pillow to smother your scream. 

I cannot handle this, you decide, still unable to fathom the madness that you might possibly be pregnant from a sexy dream. Instead, you would sleep, wake up with a clear mind and some sort of idea of what steps to take, or maybe wake to find the news of a massive recall for store bought tests. 

You curled beneath your blanket and closed your eyes. 

And when you opened them, you were, once again, in his room.

He was not awake, from what you could see. The fireplace had a low, amber light that pooled out onto the stone hearth that stretched in front of the fireplace and towards the empty leather chair. The dark, velvet curtains were tucked in the silver tiebacks and allowed the sea breeze and moonlight to pour into the room. 

There were tapers that burned low on his nightstand, casting a golden hue that washed over the sharp angles of his face and highlighting his tranquil expression as he slept. You were slow with your steps as you approached his bedside, your eyes drank in his figure as he laid back against the mattress, the shimmer of his silver locks and how one arm up was tucked behind his pillow while the other rested on his bare chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing. 

He was beautiful and you were lost in the moment, your fingertips touching the bed edge and a small sigh that slipped from your lips.

Aemond was too fast for you to comprehend his movements, one moment you admired him as he slept and now he bound out of his bed like a white fury. He was pressed against you, his slender fingers wrapped around your throat and his other hand a white knuckle grip on his dagger, the blade against your throat. 

Your eyes were wide as you watched him; his silver hair fell disheveled on his shoulders, his chest heaved with rapid breaths, and as he blinked the sleep away, his lavender eye slowly widened with his comprehension of who he had his hold on. 

Aemond released you, throwing the dagger to the side with an echo of metal on the cobblestone floor, and his hands cupped your jaw, bringing you against him for a bruising kiss. Your name spilled like a fervent prayer from his lips, “I did not think you would come back to me.” He pulled back and his eye looked over your face, falling to the side of your neck.

You knew he had cut you and your thighs clenched from the sting, the sea breeze cool against the trickle of blood. You saw the flash of worry dance on his features and your hand rested on his hips, your nails biting into his skin and pulling him close again. “I’m fine, my prince,” you soothed, your face flushed when you dared to tease him. “This has become a part of our foreplay.”

Pleasure coils in your stomach when you see the curl of his lips; he leaned forward to capture your mouth again, his hot tongue pressing in and pulling a moan from the back of your throat. Your hands flitted across the rivets of his abdomen and stopped at his chest, his large hands covering your own and pulling you to the bed. He peels off your clothes, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass and lifting you onto the edge of the bed.

Goosebumps ripple over you when his warm palms lay on your stomach and move to your hips, pushing you further back on the bed so he can nestle between your thighs. His lips trails the inside of your leg towards your center, then he drags his tongue against your silken folds. 

You give a small gasp and can feel him grinning against your cunt, followed by the gentle prod of his fingers that curl into you. There is a wet squelch as the pads of his fingertips press further in you, searching until you mewl his name.

He hums his approval, “Sȳz riña.” 

Good girl.

He continues the rapid motion against that sweet spot within you, his head dipping forward and his tongue lavishes you, drinking you in as you become undone. Your hands clamp over your mouth to muffle the mixture of your moans, crying against your palms as his movement continues through your release and continues towards overstimulation. “Aemond,” you gasp and he stops at once. 

He is slow to stand, his gaze hard on you and you watch as he begins to unlace his breeches. “Do not cover your mouth when I fuck you,” his tone dark and he crawls on top of you, pushing you further up the bed. “Va jaelan ryptas ao,” his face nuzzles into your neck and you feel the burn of his tongue along the cut.

I want to hear you.

His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you towards the headboard, pulling until your backside is flush with his warm chest; his mouth is hot as he bites into your neck, sucking, and his tongue leading to your shoulder. 

You arc against him, your ass pressing against his cock; he groans, grabbing your hip to slip between the softness of your thighs, slick from your release, and rubbing his length against your swollen lips. You whimper from the friction, your head tilting back against him and his nose presses against your ear, his mouth chewing on your earlobe. His hands trail your side, his fingertips gentle to trail your curves before grabbing into your hip and pulling you roughly against him.

“Sīr rāpa,” he groans in your ear. So soft. 

His slender fingers palm your ass, lifting to press his swollen head into your wet warmth; his head falls forward between your shoulder blades and you let out a cry, arching against him again and allowing him to sheath himself fully into you. 

Aemond grabs your hip to pull you against him at a bruising pace from behind, hitting the same spot from before. Your thighs are slick and he slips out, but moves you on your stomach. He reaches for a pillow, nudging to tuck it under your lower abdomen, and propping your ass up when you lay back onto it. 

Your breathing quickens when you feel his warm hands, one on each cheek, and he pulls you apart slowly, allowing the breeze to tickle your wet heat. “Gevie,” Beautiful, he praises and you can feel the press of his cock against your soaked folds, the delicious stretch as he presses entirely into you. 

Your hands grip the sheets and his hands are pressed on your lower back, holding you in place, and you feel the tickle of his silver hair on your backside when he leans forward. “Stop clenching,” you can hear his smug smile. “I wish to enjoy you.” 

There is a satisfying wet squelch when he finally ruts his hips against you, hitting a depth within your velvet walls that curls your toes. You can feel his hip bones in the soft flesh of your ass and the crescendo builds easily from his overstimulation; you are breathless, your skin is aflame as you best brace yourself against his thrusts.

His hand moves from his grip on your hip, moving the curve of your ass before lifting his hand for a sharp slap that sends shockwaves of pleasure over your body, once, twice. The sound spills a wanton moan from your lips and a guttural groan escapes the back of his throat.

As your cunt begins to flutter, you bury your face against the mattress and he is quick to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling you back to all fours. You are a mewling mess, tears streaming your cheeks, and his other hand grabs onto your hip, continuing his brutal pace.

“Aemond,” you beg, but unsure what you are begging for. “Aemond, Aemond…”

Your crescendo of pleasure blossomed in your lower abdomen, your thighs shaking from the orgasm that rolled over and you clenching desperately at him. His thrusts grew sloppy and you felt the warmth of his seed spill into you, his cock twitching with his release. 

You fall forward and curl on your side, hugging the pillow he propped under your hips and savoring its new scent of sex. Aemond pushes from the bed and moves to an oak table with a basin on top, picking up a cloth and dropping it in. He wrings out the extra water and returns to the bed, sitting on the edge and nudging your knee. 

“Open,” he says and your legs spread.

The cloth feels cool in contrast to his touch and he is gentle to wipe you clean before pushing from the bed again. He uses a clean cloth for himself before he curls beneath the covers, eager to bring you against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. 

This gives you a sense of serenity, the feeling of being against the warmth of his chest and the comfort in his embrace. There was nothing comparable in your world to this moment and you feel the threat of tears at the thought. You swallow to hold them back, but he notices and says your name in a low whisper. “What is wrong?” 

His tone is genuine, gentle, and you cannot control the tears that spill. “I’m fine, I just wish that,” but what did you wish for? How do you explain that your reality is a suffocation of unwanted responsibility? That your only sense of pleasure is a hobby that your family begs you to forget and to just become another cog in the 21st century?

You blink away the tears, a small smile on your lips when you turn your head to look at him. “I only wish I was able to stay longer with you,” you finally manage. 

Aemond hums as he pulls you close, nestling you beneath his chin and his touch gentle as he draws small circles between your shoulder blades. The ministrations lull you to sleep and you wake up to your roommate walking through your bedroom door. 

“Hey, slut,” Emma is flippant with her greeting, mostly focused on grabbing her red hair to tie back. “I have to go to the store and I was checking if you need anything. Alex is making me go right now to buy him Pop-Tarts because he thinks I ate all of his, which I did but…” her voice trails off when she finally looks at you. “Holy fuck. Are you okay?”

Your eyes are swollen and red, there is a smear of blood on your neck under your jaw with love bites that decorated beneath and to your shoulders. Her eyes are wide with alarm and she moves to sit on the bed, unfazed that you are very naked. “Hey, did someone hurt you?” You are quick to shake your head. “No, I just,” you struggle with how to explain this, “I, uh, have been seeing someone and it is kind of complicated.” 

Emma raised her eyebrow. “How so?” She asks, peering over the marks from your night with Aemond. “Like, it seems whatever you have going on is very enthusiastic, if anything…”

“Emma,” you breathe. “I’m pregnant.”

[srcepiksla]

finally posting this zine i made at a trans oriented art workshop thing, its abt identity and like transitional periods.

english translation in alt

(id w english translation under the cut)

[ID:

first image: a zine cover with the title made up of different sized magazine cutout letters, some black and some red, saying "inter-states"; and a subtitle saying "a museum of transition"

second image: first two pages of the zine. the page on the left has vertically aligned text that says "white dot; grey dot; black dot" with appropriately coloured circles next to each line of text. the page on the right has a magazine cutout of a white shirt scribbled over with red pen, the text in the top left says "bloody shirts" and has blood dripping drawn under it.

third image: the middle two pages of the zine. the page on the left has a collage with a photo a person in a yellow raincoat lying face-down surrounded by cartoon-style hands holding microphones, the text under the person says "how do you see the future?". the page on the right has a collage of two women in black and white, one has short hair, a coat and is looking behind her; while the other one has long hair, a tight dress and is holding a gun pointed in the first woman's direction. the title on that page says: "communism" in all caps, and under it are various magazine cutouts saying "is there communism here in the 21st century?", "yugoslavia 2.0", "communism", "renaissance", "old and new: life and the universe", "communism" (again), and "a secret life".

fourth image: the last two pages of the zine. the page on the left features a blue quarter circle of a painting in the left corner; under it two ancient greek female figures lounging, with a question mark next to the one on the left and the female and male symbols added next to the one on the right; in the right corner there is a guy in a suit with his arms crossed and a scribbled on mushroom cloud replacing his head, on the left hand side is a blue cartoonishly drawn woman with something dripping from her mouth and a vacant stare. the text on the page says "artists and muses", "creative solutions", and "kill the original". the page on the right has the text "accepting yourself" and "emotional landscape / here's an emotional landscape", under the text are three cutout figures falling down and in distress, the background is scribbled on with black fineliner and red crayon.

/end of ID.]

[mariacallous]

The COVID-19 pandemic’s sudden onset in 2020 and its persistent impacts in ensuing years posed new challenges for large U.S. cities and metropolitan areas.

Some of the initial challenges were related to the specific nature of the coronavirus and public health responses. In March 2020, residents of cold, dense cities seemed at greater risk of contracting the airborne illness than those in more spread-out, temperate communities where people could spend time outside year-round.1 More persistent challenges are related to the rapid adoption of remote work technologies, which enable certain kinds of work to be done anywhere with a high-speed internet connection, and not necessarily in big-city downtowns dominated by what today are increasingly vacant office buildings.

In an increasingly hyper-polarized country, some of these dynamics intersected with partisan politics. Republican-led states such as Florida and Texas positioned themselves as refuges for movers seeking escape from “Covid lockdowns” in Democratic-led states. In response to these and other political factors, Elon Musk moved Tesla’s headquarters from Silicon Valley to Austin, Texas, and a prominent Chicago financier moved his hedge fund to Miami after his employees started working from a high-end hotel there during the height of the pandemic.

The housing market also played a role in fueling migration during this time. As more people worked from home, demand for homeownership rose, particularly for larger homes. For example, in San Diego County—which for many years had built little new housing—median home prices skyrocketed from $660,000 in January 2020 to $860,000 just two years later, according to Zillow. Prices also rose in more affordable, flexible markets, but much more modestly; in Houston over that same time, the median home price increased from $195,000 to $240,000.

My colleague William H. Frey was among the first to document significant migration away from big metro areas during the pandemic. His analysis of U.S. Census Bureau data showed accelerated domestic out-migration from large, coastal metro areas such as New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Boston, and Seattle between 2020 and 2021. Domestic in-migration, meanwhile, remained strong in Sun Belt metro areas such as Phoenix, Dallas, Tampa, Fla., San Antonio, and Raleigh, N.C. Frey’s subsequent analysis showed these trends moderated through 2022 and 2023 as the initial impacts of the pandemic subsided.

Even if they are temporary in some respects, these recent migration patterns could have lasting impacts. Richard Florida, for instance, points to the rise of “meta cities”—large U.S. metro areas distant from each other yet linked closely by the ties of remote work and Covid-era movers, such as New York and Miami (finance), the Bay Area and Austin (tech), and Los Angeles and Nashville, Tenn. (entertainment). The Economic Innovation Group chronicled a loss of high earners from major urban centers such as New York, San Francisco, and Washington, D.C. during the first two years of the pandemic. The home listing service Redfin, meanwhile, noted rising housing demand in affordable markets proximate to major metro areas (e.g., New Haven, Conn. outside New York; Richmond, Va. outside Washington, D.C.; Worcester, Mass. outside Boston), suggesting the growing prominence of hybrid (versus fully remote) work arrangements. How these dynamics play out could have significant implications for the economic and social health of cities, and for America’s urban hierarchy in the 21st century.

To better understand these dynamics, this report analyzes data from the Internal Revenue Service’s (IRS) Statistics of Income program on U.S. population migration at the county level. The data tracks individual income tax filers who changed addresses from one year to the next, and reports the number of tax filers moving between counties (a proxy for households), the number of personal exemptions among those filers (a proxy for individuals), and the total adjusted gross income reported on their returns (a proxy for household income). While the IRS migration data is only currently available through 2022 (versus 2023 in Census Bureau migration data), it has the advantages of tracking movements between specific counties and revealing something about the economic status of migrating households.2

This report uses the IRS county-level migration data to track movement before and after the pandemic’s onset among U.S. metropolitan areas, which are collections of counties that approximate regional economies and labor markets.3 The analysis assigns each county in the dataset to its corresponding metro area based on the latest Census Bureau metropolitan delineations.4 An important limitation of the IRS data is that it suppresses county-to-county flows of fewer than 20 tax filers to protect taxpayer privacy. In 2021-22, for instance, the data reflects a total of 7.6 million U.S. filers moving to metropolitan counties, with the source county indicated for 5.8 million of them. This means that the county-to-county data misses 1.8 million households (or 23% of all households) moving to metropolitan counties in 2021-22. Many of these households likely moved from small, non-metropolitan counties, but the flows among metro areas charted here inevitably miss moves occurring between smaller counties in metro areas of all sizes.

Despite this limitation, the IRS data is useful for answering basic questions about domestic migration and the possible impacts of the COVID-19 pandemic. Focusing on the nation’s metropolitan areas, this analysis specifically asks if and how the pandemic may have altered the:

Overall level of migration within and among metro areas

Key metropolitan origins and destinations of movers

Economic character of movers, and/or their sending/receiving communities

In general, the analysis confirms that the pandemic made an impact on metropolitan migration patterns, but also finds that these changes did not significantly alter the demographic or economic trajectory of metro regions. The analysis concludes with thoughts on the implications of these patterns as the economy returns to a “new normal” in the pandemic’s aftermath.

[its-tortle]

Hello dear ♥️

For the drabble ask I would love Stucky and Number 39 ♥️

Thank you ♥️

hi andrea!! this song is actually my shrunkyclunks anthem, so it's so wonderful that you requested this one. i think it's a bit tough to capture in a ficlet and i'm not quite happy with this one, but i hope you enjoy it nonethless! <3

Thought I wanted to forget my past

Tried to leave the pieces of a broken man

What it cost I ain't ever getting back

So I'm breaking the lines 'cause I wanna remember

Man I was feeling like I never was young

Followed a dream and a strange desire

You picked me up in the dead of the night

And gave me a chance to move on inside of your mystery

-

The 21st century is a lot.

It feels bright and loud, and full of images and references and products Steve doesn’t quite understand. Even if he gets the hang of how things work rather quickly -- he does actually know how to send a text, thank you Tony -- it all still feels so alien that Steve can’t quite get comfortable with it. It feels like everything in this century moves so fast -- the cars, the billboards, the technology, the people wearing headphones that zip past Steve on the sidewalk because everyone always seems to have a place to be.

Steve doesn’t, not really. Between SHIELD briefs and studying bursts to try and catch up on the history of the last 70 years, Steve has time. 

He takes a lot of long walks. His feet take him up and down Manhattan and then over the bridge through the Brooklyn streets, searching for anything familiar. He doesn’t find much beyond the odd building or rare establishment. Even what’s still there feels different.

He recalls what the Red Skull had said to him, on that last fight on the airplane. ‘A man out of time’ he had called Steve, and the strange villain-speech nickname sticks to Steve now like some middle school bully taped it to his back.

Steve feels like an alien, overwhelmed with the world and overwhelmed mostly, he thinks, with loneliness.

He thinks he wants to just forget his past, as much as he can, leave the pieces of a broken man behind and start anew in the 21st century. Sure, he’s Captain America -- a science experiment gone right, an iconic war hero who saved New York not once but twice now -- but the cost of that is something he’s never getting back. Maybe he should try just being Steve

It’s all playing on Steve’s mind again as he walks through the streets now, observing that ‘the city that never sleeps’ has reigned true in this century, too. It’s just after 3 AM, and Steve is only out because he couldn’t sleep, but he finds company in the giggly girls in sparkly dresses that emerge from nightclubs and the deli employees sharing jokes over a cigarette at the street corner. Taxis are still honking at each other, and Manhattan is still alive with colorful lights and loud voices and the mingling smells of exhaust fumes and 24/7 Kebap stands. 

As he approaches Grand Street, Steve looks up to watch two figures chase each other around the steps of the subway station, laughing and shouting in a language Steve can’t understand. One of them leaps down the stairs and the other follows until they’re no longer visible and their voices dissipate in an echo underground. They looked like students, Steve thinks mildly, like they were barely twenty, and Steve doesn't think he’s ever felt that young in his life.

He certainly doesn’t now.

The street before him is emptier than it was an hour ago, and Steve thinks he should probably head back to his apartment to at least try and get some rest. The sidewalk before him is vacant when he makes a left turn, and he watches the remnants of the evening rain glisten on the pavement.

Then, out of nowhere, he bumps heavily into another person.

Immediately, he starts to apologize, holding his arms out to steady the stranger.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells the discernable waves of dark brown hair. “Are you okay?”

When the stranger looks up, the hair falls aside to reveal steel blue eyes and the prettiest face Steve thinks he has ever seen in his entire life. He has sharp, rosy cheekbones and a wide jaw that’s half hidden by the bright red scarf he’s wearing. The color makes his lips look all the pinker, like strawberry stains on linen. The man before him looks like a dream. 

Where did he come from?

“I am now,” the stranger says with a little quirk of his strawberry lips.

Steve huffs a surprised little laugh at the line and wishes to God he was anything other than a blubbering idiot around attractive people. “Good. I mean, I- I’m glad.”

The stranger seems to find Steve’s flusteredness amusing. He regards Steve with a little smile, and something about the look in his eyes that Steve is unable to look away. Or maybe, Steve thinks, it’s the eyes themselves that are so captivating, but something about the man before him robs Steve of any rational sense of explanation.

He’s a complete and utter mystery, and Steve wants to uncover it.

“Can I walk you home?” he hears himself ask before he was even aware he opened his mouth.

The stranger’s smile widens, and his eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that Steve wants to trace with his fingertips. “I don’t even know your name,” he remarks. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“That is a very valid point.” 

Feeling incredibly dorky as he does it, Steve holds out his hand. “I’m Steve. Rogers. And I’m not a serial killer.”

The man acknowledges Steve’s name with a subtle widening of his eyes, and his eyebrows quirk for a moment, but his reaction is minimal. Steve is so grateful he kind of wants to kiss him -- although maybe he also wants to do that for other reasons.

“Well, then,” the stranger says, holding out his arm, “my name is Bucky Barnes, and we are going on a little walk to Williamsburg.”

Steve takes his arm and can’t help the grin he feels on his face. Bucky, he thinks. He wants to write the name up on his wall.

“Why Bucky?” he asks as they begin to make their way down the street.

Bucky smiles conspiratorially. “That, Steve Rogers, is a story you have to earn.”

Steve laughs, and the thought crosses his mind that he would work years to win it. Maybe, he can find a way to move on inside of the mystery that is Bucky Barnes.

[aaknopf]

broadside artwork by Min Goto

This January, we lost the Serbian-American poet Charles Simic, born in 1938 in Belgrade. Over five decades and dozens of books, this winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the Frost Medal was a compelling ambassador of the uncanny. He lingered before dusty pawn-shop windows, conversed with hoot owls, and crystallized the oddities of living in the late-20th- and early-21st-century as an experience of essential otherness. But he also suggested that we could find wonder in it, if we happened around the corner at just the right moment.

Summer Dusk 

You’ve been the love of my life,  Light lingering in the sky  At the close of a long day  Over the roofs of some city  Like New York or Rome,  As streets empty in the heat,  And shadows lengthen  And darken every room,  Occupied or still vacant,  Where some turn on the lamp  And others step to a window  To savor this fleeting moment  When everything stops  As if stunned by its own beauty.

. .

More on this book and author: 

Learn more about No Land in Sight by Charles Simic.

Browse other books by Charles Simic.

After Charles Simic’s passing, the poet Carolyn Forché published an essay on Simic, their friendship, and their shared connection with Central Europe. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[krispyweiss]

EP Review: Ringo Starr - Crooked Boy

Linda Perry is the best thing to happen to Ringo Starr’s music in quite some time.

Perry wrote and produced the four songs that make up Starr’s Crooked Boy. And while it’s not big-“f” Fab, the EP represents Starr’s best studio collection of the 21st century.

I speak of love/I speak of peace/it’s what’s I believe and what I keep on fighting for … a sickly boy that found his own way, Starr, whose voice is displaying the creakiness and raspiness that comes with 83 years, sings on the biographical title track that closes the collection.

It opens with the first Starr song in ages that might be welcomed by a contemporary concert audience. “February Skies” is set to grinding guitars sounding from the 1990s as the weathered Starr evokes gritty optimism, singing:

Gonna stand up, rise above the rain/start a revolution in these dark days/find the missing pieces that are vacant to the eye/well, I’ve had enough of February skies

The midsection consists of the reggae-flecked “Adeline” and the 1980s-influenced “Gonna Need Someone.” These are Crooked Boy’s soft spots but would’ve been standout cuts on Starr’s recent releases.

Grade card: Ringo Starr - Crooked Boy - B-

5/15/24

[cha1cedony]

Hi I think you’re very cool and your fanfics are amazing! Anyways this song reminds me of Grant

https://open.spotify.com/track/58SvbpXjfZdKeRzxoBMR72?si=UdwLSgYYTJinLB7tAUk1tg

OMG this is so sweet??? :'D Thank you so much! I waited for a lil bit to answer this until I got the chance to listen to this song, and omg it's so lovely... tysm for sharing it!

(Btw, for anyone reading this who's not anon, here is the song!)

[lingshanhermit]

Lingshan Hermit: A Tale from the Borderlands

In the planet we live in, there are hundreds and thousands of cultures. These cultures vary in levels, some being of high moral standard while others low; some are good and some are bad. In recent years, the most preposterous story I have read regarding cultural differences is this: A person migrated to Polynesia in the Pacific Ocean. One day she took a public bus to go shopping in the city. After boarding the bus, she found there were no vacant seats left. A local girl stood up and offered her a seat. After sitting down, the girl looked around and then casually sat on a man's lap in a natural manner. At first she thought the man was the girl's boyfriend, but then more and more women got on the bus and each of them chose a suitable man and sat on his lap. Both the women and men seemed comfortable with this and showed no discomfort. Only then did she realize this was part of the local culture. However, the author did not criticize this practice. On the contrary, she even admired this culture, feeling that as an East Asian, she carried too much cultural baggage and was far less unrestrained compared to these natives. I'm not surprised by this. I'm just curious whether she would be affected emotionally if one day she saw her own husband intimately holding a strange woman on a public bus.

In recent decades, people all over the world have been bombarded by all kinds of media and self-media. So it's not surprising they have developed this kind of mindset and way of thinking. To demonstrate their tolerance, modern people tend to respect all kinds of trashy cultures. (There are also many such "goddesses of mercy" in Buddhism. They say everyone should be equal and non-discriminatory. Although they have an ordinary person's body, they speak like a saint. Remember, if you are still an ordinary person on the path of cultivation, speak like one, from the perspective of an ordinary person, based on the truth of causality, and be clear about what is good and evil, what should and should not be done. Do not spout nonsense about non-discrimination. Unless you can casually chop off your own leg and feed it to a tiger, don't speak words of the saintly state.) But I have never been this kind of person. Those familiar with me know I look down on white leftists very much. So I don't intend to respect this custom or culture, nor do I want to exhibit broad-minded tolerance. The reason many people are tolerant of this culture is because they do not see its impact on your life and cultivation. If they could see the consequences it would bring, their tolerance would vanish instantly.

Now it's the 21st century. You can fly from Beijing to New York in just over ten hours. So this is no longer the time of Mirror Flowers and Moonlight in the Tang Dynasty. In those days, how those distant islanders lived their lives was irrelevant to you, because they would not appear in supermarkets near your home. Their children would not go to preschool with your children or marry your children. But now the situation is completely different. Every day, hundreds of thousands of people cross borders into the United States. They come from South America, Africa, the Middle East, all over the world. In the past decade, Guangzhou, China has added over 500,000 African immigrants. These people bring their lives, cultures, eating habits and worldviews to their new countries. When there are enough of them, their cultures will influence or even replace yours.

I have never been a supporter of multiculturalism. I've always said it's a scheme of the demon king. The confusion of values multiculturalism brings makes right and wrong no longer right and wrong. Perhaps in the not-too-distant future, you'll see the scenes on Polynesian buses happen on subways and buses in Guangzhou. Some say those islanders act that way because they are carefree, but that's not carefreedom, that's shamelessness. If you want to cultivate, you must first know what is shame. This is not only the foundation of cultivation, but also a standard for defining your humanity.

In recent years I have seen multiculturalism running rampant around the world. Through movies, music and media, they reshape mindsets worldwide and slaughter the traditional cultures of nations. The biggest victim is women. Thirty years ago, if a woman with a boyfriend had a male friend, she would be condemned by many. But now this is no longer unusual news. Many women righteously proclaim it is their right. And many support this claim. This is the result of the intrusion of backward cultures. If multiculturalism continues to develop, it's not impossible that one day you'll see the Polynesian bus scene happen on subways and buses.

We are all victims of multiculturalism. Although that shocking Polynesian scene has not occurred, other things are slowly happening, greatly impacting your life and cultivation: They make you unable to find a husband, unable to truly trust others, unsure of how to get along with people or communicate, unsure of how to be a disciple. Multiculturalism, under the guise of inclusion and equality, is causing you to gradually degenerate into a barbarian, crumbling the foundation of cultivation built by sages over thousands of years.

Written by Lingshan Hermit on September 3, 2023.

Copyright Notice：All copyrights of Ling Shan Hermit's articles in Simplified and Traditional Chinese, English, and other languages belong to the natural person who owns "Ling Shan Hermit". Please respect copyright. Publishers, media, or individuals (including but not limited to internet media, websites, personal spaces, Weibo, WeChat public accounts, print media) must obtain authorization from Ling Shan Hermit before use. No modifications to the articles are allowed (including: author's name, title, main text content, and punctuation marks). We reserve all legal rights.

灵山居士：关于边地的一个故事

[reasoningdaily]

A shocking 70% of the nation’s 1,036 majority-Black ZIP codes are considered “distressed,” while only 19 — 1.8% — rank as “prosperous,” according to one analysis. Two of those prosperous ZIP codes are in Fort Bend County.

If you weren’t familiar with the lengthy list of disparities that exist in America, you’ve likely been brought up to speed by the pandemic, which has provided a frightening crash course in the nation’s inequalities. The large and widening divide between “prosperous” and “distressed” communities since the turn of the century was seen clearly in the quick economic recovery experienced by those with higher-paying jobs and better educations following the Great Recession. Meanwhile, many less fortunate Americans were still struggling to recover when the pandemic hit, bringing with it an even greater recession and hardship. And like the disease itself, the COVID-19 economic downturn has splintered the lives of those who are the least resilient — both physically and economically — while those whose jobs allow them to work from home have remained largely insulated from the virus and financial troubles.

Approximately 50.5 million Americans live in a distressed community. But what exactly does that mean?

Distressed communities are characterized by widespread poverty, high rates of unemployment and low levels of educational attainment. They also face stagnant or negative economic growth, which means little to no change in the prospects of those who live there.

To examine how economic well-being is spread across communities and regions in the U.S., the Economic Innovation Group (EIG) has released its Distressed Communities Index (DCI) each year since 2016.

“Economic inequality in America translates into opportunity gaps for too many communities,” said Steve Glickman, cofounder and executive director of the Economic Innovation Group, when the inaugural index was released. “Unless policymakers in both parties reframe their priorities, economically distressed communities will continue to experience a downward spiral that results in a loss of faith in the American dream and less healthy and fulfilling lives.”

Communities are defined at the ZIP code level and scores range from 0 (most prosperous) to 100 (most distressed). Based on the score, communities were placed into one of five tiers of economic well-being: prosperous, comfortable, mid-tier, at risk and distressed.

The seven metrics used to calculate a community’s score on the index were no high school diploma, housing vacancy rate, adults not working, poverty rate, median income ratio, change in employment and change in business establishments.

Between 2000 and 2018, the share of the U.S.’s Black population living in distressed ZIP codes dropped about 10% — from 45.6% to 35.3% — according to the report. Nationwide, 70% of majority-Black ZIP codes are distressed. By comparison, 20% of all ZIP codes and 16% of majority-white ZIP codes in the U.S. are distressed.

Of the nation’s 1,036 majority-Black ZIP codes — where 32.5% of the Black population lives — only 19 rank as prosperous on the DCI. Of those, 11 are in the Washington, DC, metro area, and two — 77545 and 77489 — are in Fort Bend County.

On average in prosperous ZIP codes, 5.2% of adults aren’t high school graduates, the poverty rate is 5.7%, 15.4% of adults are unemployed or not in the workforce, 4.7% of housing is vacant, the median household income is $90,800 and, from 2014–2018, the number of employees “in the geography” increased 20.8% while the number of businesses grew by 11.8%.

Sprawling Sun Belt cities like Houston and Phoenix, the report points out, experienced a lot of economic prosperity in the first two decades of the 21st century, but the benefits “were channeled outwards and did little to lift many chronically distressed urban neighborhoods.” Suburban ZIP codes form a ring of prosperity around the distressed core of Houston.

These include 77545 and 77489 in Fort Bend County, which as a whole has the low, low distress score of 2.3 and is one of Texas’ largest suburban counties. It’s also one of the most diverse counties in the nation. Between 2000 and 2019, the county population went from 62% white to 31%.

The population of the 77489 ZIP code in Missouri City, which has a DCI score of 15.5, is 70.5% Black or African American. The median household income is $66,400 and about 60% of residents are employed in management and professional or sales and office jobs. In 2000, the “distress score” of Missouri City’s 77489 ZIP code was 9.6, also in the prosperous quintile.

Fresno has a DCI of 17.2 and 60.3% of residents are Black or African American. Fresno’s “distress score” has improved significantly since 2000, when it had a DCI of 45.9, which is the mid-tier category of economic well-being. Most residents work in management and professional, sales and office or service industry jobs, and the median household income is $79,900.

But even within prosperous communities, there’s a gap in the average median household income between Black and white households, and it has widened in the past 20 years, from $4,987 in 2000 to $6,832 in 2018.

There’s also a gap in homeownership in prosperous communities, where the percentage of Black residents who are homeowners is 53.8%, compared to 77.7% of white residents. The gaps in household income and homeownership exist across all five DCI quintiles.

Today, 27% of Fresno residents and 23.7% of those in 77489 who are 18 and older have a bachelor’s degree or higher. That’s far lower compared to all prosperous zip codes in the nation — 47.2% of residents hold a bachelor’s degree or higher. However, among Black residents of Fresno, 37.7% have a bachelor’s degree or higher. In Missouri City’s 77489 ZIP code, that’s true for 28.8% of Black residents.

In November, voters in Fort Bend County elected Eric Fagan sheriff, the county’s first Black sheriff since the Reconstruction era. Walter Moses Burton was elected sheriff in Fort Bend County in 1869. He was the nation’s first Black elected sheriff. Walter Moses Burton Elementary School — one of the three elementary schools in Fresno — is named for Burton. The other two are named for Rosa Parks and Lula Belle Goodman, an African American educator who taught in the Fort Bend Independent School District for 41 years.

[schistcity]

god tier backrooms levels are the ones where it's like "this is an endless array of twisting, vacant corridors that echo the aesthetics of a late 20th/early 21st century corporate architecture. there are no windows. there are no doors. the sick fluorescence buzzes. you are trapped forever in a labyrinthine monument to late-stage capitalist white-collar culture. you will never see the sun again, but did you ever really see it much anyway?" but unfortunately most of the backrooms levels the total dinguses over on reddit come up with are like "big bouncy castle room where the Smiley Man tries to Get You!!! oh no look out!!!!!!!"

[missingn000]

oh WOW where do i even begin with this chapter. okay maybe higuruma and nobara because you've gotten me all invested (again) in a pair that's never actually met in canon. pfpk will get their turn later in this ask lol so dw!

so higuruma and nanami finally meet again!! fuck yeah!! the "you talk all high and mighty" was a nice throwback, but that domain expansion joke was AWFUL. like... "lighten up" ?? um?? higuruma ?? all that aside, i found his description as a "dark figure" that "eclipses Nanami like a silhouette" really neat - it goes really well with their roles as each other's foils! no better way to hammer it in than with a symbolic image from another person's perspective :D

Nanami is the type of dad she’s always wanted, but Higuruma is the one she has. 

i hope u know i reread their fight in ch34 as a refresher and wow i need to write a separate analysis for that one sometime... anyway, it's just really interesting to me how nanami, higuruma's character foil, is the one who manages to earn nobara's respect! both of them have seen the worst of what humanity has to offer, but where higuruma came out of it disillusioned and despairing, nanami was lucky enough to have encountered yuuji & toge before the bleakness of it all could truly set in. the same can be said of the reverse! on the other hand, nobara and higuruma found each other at what was quite possibly the lowest point in their lives; higuruma was grappling with the crippling emotional aftermath of his and nanami's ideological clash, and nobara's grandmother literally just died. they may not realise it yet, but they're reliant on each other to make it through

also the parallel you drew between nanami holding back from killing nara & higuruma murdering the village sheriff Hit me like a fuckin truck. one of nobara's main arguments against higuruma is that he's a literal murderer, which is a very valid and fair thing to be upset over, BUT, and this is an important distinction, while nanami may come off as the ideal parent (in nobara's eyes), higuruma is the one she does have - and needs. and vice versa. also:

Toge expects her to ruminate, but almost immediately: “Thanks, but no thanks,” Nobara declares. “He said to come home whenever, right? That guy can’t cook for his life. I gotta make fun of his shitty dinner.”

he gave her a home!! got it in (...verbal?) writing and all!! the fact she's willing to acknowledge this in front of the ff is so significant too. higuruma says that "she'd be the first to tell you she's not my daughter," but her actions say otherwise! even if unconventional, lol. higuruma wasn't allowed past the threshold this time, but it's obviously just a matter of time and i can't wait. wonder what she has against toji but i'm not gonna dive into that rn. speaking of which - nobara's main issue (with regard to her fighting style) is that she tries too hard, which holds her back, right? i feel like that's also applicable to other parts of her life as well, so of course it'd seep into the way she approaches combat. clever, i like that!

megumi saying to gojo that "sometimes I wish I’d told you sooner that I love you too" absolutely ruined me, esp considering his silence in ch13. which i just read yesterday. don't do this to me. anyway, it's such a small thing, but it really shows how far they've come and it means the world to me! i would elaborate but this """ask""" is getting long enough as is </3

AND NOW

PFPK TIME

alternative title: reincarnated sorcerer tries to navigate the 21st century with a whimsical curse as their sole guide, it goes about as well as you'd expect

really fascinated by the descriptions of mahito's exaggerated imitations of human behaviour, btw. these are my favourites:

Mahito bursts into a jarring cackle.

He folds his arms with a vacant grin.

They wish he wouldn’t laugh like that. It sounds so real. 

all of it feels so staged. artificial. because it is - he copies what he sees humans do, to varying degrees of success. sometimes his attempts are hollow. sometimes they're startlingly... accurate, and blur the lines:

Mahito says, wiping a tear duct, and that’s just wrong. Only people should be able to laugh so hard they cry.

even though mahito actively messes with humans, he's... simultaneously deeply fascinated by them, going so far as to observe and copy their mannerisms AND retain a humanoid form. considering he's able to modify his body, it's not a stretch to assume he quite literally has to maintain his appearance-- but why bother putting in that much effort? if everything he does is a mimicry of the original, why does he bleed red? why does his name mean true person? the parts of himself that he has no control over are unsettlingly, undeniably human. really, he's doomed from the beginning, even though he tries to use his 'curse instincts' to distinguish himself from them.

AND - WAIT FOR IT - that's exactly he's so afraid of making a digestive system!! if he succeeds, he'll be crossing that invisible (and self-made, imo) line that differentiates curse from human. imitate the latter as he might, he still holds himself as separate from them, and he's not going to do anything that threatens that belief. on a subconscious level, he probably knows the truth, which is why he doesn't even try to prove kashimo wrong.

“Then I’ll fight you,” they murmur, beneath the booming crackle of pyrotechnics going out in a final blaze of glory, sacrificing themselves in the victoryless war raging in the heavens above.  “So look forward to it.”

wow. y'know, fireworks in chinese & japanese culture are apparently symbolic of warding off evil. fitting kashimo would talk about trying to kill mahito then, huh? :)

you already know what i think about the gojo-kashimo character foil but i'm putting it here again for easier reference in the future:

something gojo and kashimo share in common is strength (supposedly) being their defining trait, but there're some subtle differences here, namely in how they use it: in gojo's opinion, there's no point in being strong if you can't protect the people who matter most to you. in kashimo's eyes, though, it’s completely reversed. having an emotional crutch is "embarrassing," a hindrance more than anything else, the complete opposite of gojo's mentality. to them, you discard human bonds to become strong. to gojo, you become strong to preserve the people you've formed those bonds with.

the third time gojo and toji tried to kill each other, it was for highly personal reasons. but in kashimo’s and mahito’s hopefully hypothetical future fight ("Then I'll fight you"), it seems to be less about a personal vendetta than being the one to decide how their dearest person’s story will end.

There’s so little you can hold onto, in this world. If you can’t cherish something, maybe it’s enough to decide how you have to let it go.

KAY OH MY GOD. HI

ive already said this to you BUT this comment is everything to me. your analyses are always so insightful and on point dude, it's SO flattering that you put this much time, effort, and consideration into the themes & symbols in this monstrosity 😭❤️️ warm and fuzzies. like my heart is next to a fireplace

OKAY NOW FOR THE COMMENT ITSELF. more below cut!

nanami & higuruma meet again!! yes!! i just had to give higuruma a weird, off-putting joke, considering that "i'm a lawyer, so talking to me costs ¥5,000 every half hour" quip he gave yuuji during his introduction. his dynamic with nanami is so interesting to me, because out of all character foil duos they're definitely the most alike. which is why it's so interesting that you pointed out how nanami is the one who managed to earn nobara's respect; that "Nanami is the type of dad she’s always wanted, but Higuruma is the one she has" line physically hurt me to type. OW. the angst. they totally met at rock bottom, and i don't think they can climb back up without each other, either: you got it totally right that higuruma is the dad she needs!!

they're both already growing. higuruma now realizes nanami was actually lucky to not have to kill toge's aunt, because he saw firsthand the damage murdering the sheriff caused to his relationship with nobara. and nobara realizes she has a home!!! she's wanted!! even though she thinks he "probably didn't mean it like that," the fact that she's willing to hope already speaks volumes to how much she's grown in her short time with him.

dfghjk that megumi line...ive also mentioned this to you but gojo & megumi have one of my favorite canon found family relationships of all time. they're everything to me. i will put gojo & megumi fluff and angst wherever possible. this is a threat

ANYWAY.

PFPK.

i feel like im just gonna repeat what weve talked about in messages but YEAH, that constant sense of "off"-ness about mahito where he's just close enough to seeming human to give someone pause, but inhuman enough to show that he's dangerous. how much of it is an act and how much of it is real? it's a line unclear to even mahito sometimes. you can only pretend for so long before you either get too tired to continue or it genuinely becomes a part of you -- if it wasn't a part of you all along, and you just didn't know how to express it. mahito's "human" act is never one he's continually had to play, because he had some semblance of alone time to go off and commit atrocities.

but he's around a human 24/7 now. he constantly has to figure out how to react to external stimuli in the most human way possible, and i don't think he wants to admit how naturally it comes to him. mahito is born from human hatred: but the thing is, hatred goes so much deeper than just animosity towards others. it's self-hate, it's hate towards your own weaknesses, hating feeling a certain way and not being able to do anything to fix it. i think this is why mahito has such a wide emotional range in canon: hate is a multi-dimensional emotion. hate is fear, grief, anger. i always joke that being a hater fuels me, but to an extent it's actually true -- it's cathartic, y'know? it's fun to hate. you can love to hate. and you can hate to love.

GOJO AND KASHIMO...i was looking in our chat at for my response to this analysis and it was something along the lines of "RATTLING THE BARS OF MY CAGE" which is really in character for me but not great for, uh, actual analytical responses. of all the character foils, i think kashimo and gojo are the most different -- polar opposites, but with that one disturbing, awful similarity about dooming their own partners. it fucking sucks to care about who they each respectively care about, and kashimo won't even admit it, so gojo's really got his work cut out for him. poor guy, dude's dealing with enough already without having to instigate inconvenient realizations in some guy over 20 times older than him

GOD. of course you'd call attention to that last line. i won't lie, "There’s so little you can hold onto, in this world. If you can’t cherish something, maybe it’s enough to decide how you have to let it go" is definitely one of my favorite things i've ever written. it fucking HURTS and represents so much about this story. i need to lie down

THANK YOU FOR THIS MESSAGE!! i seriously have parts of it memorized. i'm sure we'll continue to discuss/screech over all these things and i greatly look forward to it

[oceancentury]

Aldborough House, Dublin, built 1795 for Edward Stratford, 2nd Earl of Aldborough.

It was the last great Georgian Mansion built in Dublins inner city before the 1801 Act of Union. Today it is the largest Georgian residence in the city after Leinster House (original home to the Dukes of Leinster, the White House is modelled after it, and now home to the Irish Parliament.) Vacant for most of the 21st century. 2021 ‘Top 10 Most-at-Risk' in Ireland.

[themculibrary]

Airport/Airplane Masterlist

Airport Adventures (ao3) - Iggysassou steve/tony G, 4k

Summary: Single dad Tony and Steve meet at the airport, fall in love, then find each other again.

All I Want For Christmas Is... (ao3) - HalcyonFrost loki/tony, steve/bucky T, 25k

Summary: Loki's stuck in a frustrating situation in a frustrating place. Messaging his friends is of little comfort, but he does have the minor fortune of sitting across from an attractive stranger in the airport terminal. No one else will know if Loki goes a little overboard on his fantasy, right?

Crash Landing (The Mile High Club Remix) (ao3) - wynnesome steve/tony E, 6k

Summary: Steve wants to join the mile high club, so he and Tony take Tony's new jet prototype for a private test flight. An alien craft crashes their private party. Steve goes down -- and not in the sexy way.

Flying (ao3) - PinkPandorafrog darcy/thor, background darcy/tony E, 3k

Summary: Darcy needs to fly to Sweden to offer Jane a job. She doesn't go alone, of course, but Thor doesn't exactly feel comfortable flying in a jet. Distraction? Distraction.

Go Fish (ao3) - notlucy steve/bucky M, 2k

Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man stuck in an airport, in possession of an iPhone, must open Tinder.

got a whole lot of history (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor G, 600

Summary: Bucky meets Wanda at the airport for the first time before the big fight. His first instinct is to protect her with all his might.

Hate doesn't even describe it (ao3) - elcapitan_rogers steve/natasha E, 153k

Summary: Steve hated Natasha. Natasha hated Steve. Everything was fine until their parents decided to fuck shit up for them...

if only in my dreams (ao3) - MusicalLuna T, 3k

Summary: It's Steve's first Christmas in the 21st century and he's stuck in Michigan airport.

It's The Snow (ao3) - postmodernmulticoloredcloak steve/bucky E, 44k

Summary: A snow storm, cancelled flights, one last vacant hotel room, only one bed in the room. Steve Rogers is forced to share the space with the one coworker he cannot stand - unsufferable, presumptuous Bucky Barnes, who very much reciprocates Steve's loathing. He expects to have a terrible time. But sometimes things don't turn out like you expect them to, people are not what you think they are, and there's always something to learn about intimacy, pleasure and love.


Stranded (ao3) - imafriendlydalek thomas hammond/steve E, 59k

Summary: TJ and Steve. Two strangers, unaware of the other's full identity, snowed in for a one-night stand. It was supposed to be easy. Complication-free.

But when has that ever worked for either of them?

They meet again, and their attraction is as undeniable as their mutual fame. With the Mandarin making trouble and neither looking to make waves, complicated is all they've got left. Is it enough?

That Time Peter & MJ Got Caught in a Public Restroom (ao3) - Machiavelien mj/peter T, 2k

Summary: While their class waits for their checked luggage at the airport after FFH, Peter and MJ sneak off to enjoy their new relationship and get caught in the act.

Unclaimed Baggage (ao3) - imafriendlydalek bucky/tony E, 9k

Summary: Tony Stark was not made for flying commercial. What the heck did his luggage look like?!

Luckily a friendly stranger is willing to help him find his bag (after Tony almost takes his). Tony repays the favor with coffee. A few misunderstandings and some fun at the hotel ensues.

While you were Skyping (ao3) - Emyrldlady clint/phil T, 12k

Summary: It's a cliche wrapped up in a trope. Meet by chance, be my fake boyfriend, maybe fall in love when you're not looking.

Z to A (ao3) - memoriaeterna wanda/vision, pepper/tony T, 88k

Summary: The moment of disorientation was nothing compared to the next thing he saw. He was standing in the midst of an airport, looking directly at a girl with the familiar red leather coat. The mutual recognition was instant. Leipzig. Or, Peter and Wanda sent back in time to stop the inevitable. Good news: they are not alone. Bad news: who and from when.

[lulfi]

ranking matt maltese albums(and ep’s) bc i want to!

7: quiet recordings

i love this ep. it’s vibe is amazing and i love matt’s more acoustic recordings, but compared to the other ones, something had to take the bottom place

6: madhouse

i enjoy this ep, but i don’t listen to it a lot. queen bee is really really good and is the only reason it’s ahead of quiet recordings.

5: vacant in the 21st century

I KNOW THIS JS NOT ANYTTHING, but it’s so good. the only reason it’s so low is because it’s technically a single, just having 2 songs. both of which are some of my favorite songs by matt. i love his fuller songs and strange time and vacant in the 21st century live up to that full feeling.

4: krystal

krystal is probably my least favorite of the albums. it’s really beautiful and i love the more indie pop bedroom pop vibe in the album. there’s also a lot of cuter songs in this album, but i adore his other ones a little more than krystal. not to say that krystal is a bad album. hell no, it’s got bangers like when you wash your hair, krystal, Jupiter, and wish you’d ask me. it’s so good but there’s others i like more.

3: in a new bed

this ep doesn’t have a single song that i don’t listen to on the daily. it’s so good and i love the acoustics. god this is such a good ep. in a new bed has to be my favorite, it’s been on repeat for weeks. not much to say because it’s one of his earlier music so there’s not much to it.

2: good morning it’s now tomorrow

this has we need to talk. it has mystery. it’s just so good. i love the MV’s and it’s so well rounded. i love the album cover, it’s my favorite in all the albums. the vibe is so beautiful and i just sotra feel like im on cloud 9 when i listen to it.

1: bad contestant

mortals, as the world caves in, less and less, strange time, greatest comedian, misery, like a fish, sweet 16, bad contestant. this album has all of those songs in it. all the music videos are wonder and this is my favorite era is matt so far. the acoustics are heavenly and this is the album that introduced me to him. it’s also his saddest, with less and less. less and less is so well rounded and beautiful. it captures that yearning feeling of a breakup and healing from it so so well. when i ended things my ex, that song was on repeat. then it’s got greatest comedian. it’s fullness sets it apart from other songs on it. the album has like3 different genres and they’re all done so beautifully. i will never recover from this album.

[raincitygirl76]

The exact opposite of the beloved “there was only one bed” trope. Gotta love it. Also, Lisa, Rojda and Co are creative types who are surely aware of that trope. It’s especially beloved in fanfic in the 21st century, but it’s been a go-to plot device for romantic scenes in plays/novels/movies/TV shows for centuries. And not just in English.

The headmistress arbitrarily moves Wilhelm from a single room to a double room with no roommate in 1.04 when he returns to school from Erik’s funeral. I strongly suspect that was (at least in part) an in-joke by Rojda (who directed 1.04) or Lisa about the “there was only one bed” trope. Because in Wilhelm’s old room, there was indeed only one bed. In his new dorm room, there are two beds, one of which is vacant and available anytime. But he and Simon sure as hell only bother to use one bed whenever they’re in there.