#coney island lunch

[sunday-bug]

Speaking Through Dreams

Pairing: 40’s!Bucky x female reader

Word Count: <1k

Content: Reader & daughter believe Bucky is dead.

Synopsis: Reader and daughter discuss their dreams about Bucky.

“I’m James, but you can call me Bucky.” I smile and say his name.

———

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” I feel his breath on my skin and his hands everywhere.

———

“I don’t want to leave you here. I’ll write you every chance I get, doll. I promise. I love you.” Tears sting my eyes and my chest feels hollowed out.

———

I sit up with a start, clutching my chest, my entire body covered in a sheen of sweat. The bedroom is too warm, and the sheets feel itchy against my skin. Her small body shifts beside me and she stirs awake.

“Did you have a dream about my daddy again, Mama?” She croaks out, sleep invading her little voice.

“Yes, baby, I did.”

“Why are you crying, Mama?” She asks, pushing her dark curls out of her face.

I look at her with a tear-stained gaze and see those familiar steel blue eyes staring back at me under dark lashes - just like her daddy.

“I miss him, sweet girl. He would have loved you so much.”

“I have dreams about my daddy, too.”

My breath catches. “What do you mean? What kind of dreams?”

“He walks with me. He holds my hand, but his hand feels funny, like the lunch trays at school - it’s hard and cold.”

My brow furrows. “What else happens?”

“We just walk together and the dream always ends with him leaning down and telling me that he’ll find me someday.”

I choke back a sob. James never knew about his daughter. By the time I had written the letter telling him the news, we found out he was gone. I do my best to hold it together in front of my daughter by taking several deep breaths and holding one of her delicate hands in mine.

“He watches over you, sweet girl.” I assure her.

“He says one other thing, Mama.” She squeezes one of my fingers.

“What, baby? What does he say?”

“He says to tell my mommy to never stop looking for him.”

I close my eyes and swallow, doing my best not to fall apart in front of her.

“I see him in everything, love.”

“What do you mean, mommy?” She asks with quizzical look - another expression she inherited from him.

“When we walk to school together, I see him in the sunrise. When we play your favorite Ella Fitzgerald album, I hear him humming along. When we go to Coney Island, I smell him in the salty waves. When I hold your hand like this, I feel his hand there too. Does that make sense, sweet pea?”

“Yeah, Mama. That makes sense. It’s like you’re happy and sad at the same time, right?”

“Right, baby.” I assure her, rubbing my thumb across her porcelain cheek.

“It’s like when I laugh too hard and my nose crinkles. I think it makes Aunt Becca sad and happy like that.”

I swallow and nod. “Yeah, just like that.”

She lies back down in the bed and snuggles into me.

“Why don’t we visit Aunt Becca soon? We can spend an afternoon looking through pictures of him. Does that sound good?”

She nods softly and closes her eyes, nestling into the crook of my neck. I hold her and play with her hair, just like Bucky used to do to me.

-the end-

[candiedspit]

SARAH & THE GREAT BIG NOTHING

The world was against me that summer; all the worries hung on my back like a bag of rice, a monkey that kept banging his golden cymbals in my ears. There wasn’t much on my plate. A few numbers at work, an email or two. The parents calling from New Hampshire. The rosebuds are so delicate in the sunlight. And the garden, you’ve got to see the garden. I worried about the worms in the rain. I worried about the pollution in the skies. I worried most about the girl I was seeing who was lost in the dark woods. I felt zapped even saying her name out loud. 

Sarah, my statuette shrouded in deep mist. I loved her on the moon. I loved her in the wobbling Ferris wheel train at Coney Island. But she was lost, more than most. When I touched her, I was reading braille. I couldn’t explain it well when Edwardo–the only friend I had, the only person I felt comfortable talking to, everyone else was alien and couldn’t ward off evils as he could–asked about what she was like. Sarah was a man at dusk staring into the heaving bleeding sunrise. Sarah was a chandelier fallen to the ground, the shrieking and the clunks of glass. Sarah was a year older than I was and wore her age like a purse dog. There was a stock market crassness about the way she dressed. I saw her in long silk skirts and delicate dresses, golden bangles and purple tights. But when we spoke, she turned small. 

They would have put me in the freak show, I told her once as we laid on my carpet, naked and smelling of listerine and sex. If they could see me prancing in the fields, I’d be put in some kind of hospital. 

Sure, but you’re alright, she told me. I’m the one with the second head, the cranium sawed in half and screaming about comedians and smoking Cambodian scent out of a pipe. I’m barely alive. I can’t speak. I’d have to be thrown into a cage until the speech came back like starved dogs to a piece of chicken on the road. Do you know? That feeling?

What feeling? I asked, watching the fan spin in endless circles above us. 

It was Sunday evening, and the upcoming week mocked me. The burnt coffee machine and the quiet politics that came along with typing numbers in an office with other broken people. Anna hands me paperclips and winks. Anna is nothing. Anna is blonde dust. But during her lunch break, Anna turns herself on with fantasies of poking me with a pen, the blue crooked mark the pen might leave. 

The feeling that the room might shatter beneath you, Sarah said. That the drinks might spill and you’ll be the clown everyone knew you were. And through the windows the sun is dark and depressed, hardly hanging there. That everything is black? That you can try and slash through the trough of green, the huge leaves, the warfare. But you’ll be left alone in a field, dumbly holding a gun you don’t know how to use. And the nation doesn’t know your name. That someone is smoking in the theatre? That everything is delicate and you might make the wrong movement. 

What do you do with that feeling? I asked, removing an eyelash from her cheek with my fingers. 

She was a red-head. She had long arms. She played piano in clubs, sometimes. And did makeup for stage actors other times. She had her things. I had my things. I liked the time we spent together, but I never wanted to leave. What’s another day? A couple? The numbers could wait. The numbers would always be there. I wanted to keep her with me on a keychain, in my coat pocket. I asked her for a piece of her hair and I kept it in a love box on my coffee table. Sometimes, I smelled it when I needed peace. It was often that I needed peace. My little red princess. Only she could dial the sound down. Only she could win the game. I needed her like I needed seasons. 

I like to drink about it, she said. It’s awful but I love the wobbles, the holding of walls, the dribble of flavorful laughter about nothing. I love anything like that. I tried being a monk. I held myself in the apartment for twenty one days eating nothing but saltines and tuna, writing down what I felt in a notepad, meditated and waited for the rush of elevation. 

Did it come? I asked. 

That’s the thing, she said. I did my best and nothing happened. I couldn’t defeat the beast. So, I tried the opposite. I went to bars and fucked in Times Square, in some green-lit bathroom. I drank until I couldn’t see. I did pills that made me forget days. I let someone stick a needle in my arm. But the beast would not leave. I have a beast and I must live with him. And Frankie? 

I looked into her eyes, the color of a clean pool table. I was touching her stomach and felt her voice travel through her skin. 

Yes? 

I think you have a beast, too. 

I thought about this. The nothing I felt. I went to Japan once. And felt nothing among the bright, dirty lights and the live squid in my mouth. And felt nothing most of the time. An ailment?

Hm, I said. What are we to do about this? 

Things like this need patience. And acceptance. Have the moments. Go to the lake when it’s frozen and worry that you might fall through. Go to the woods and run your hand over the wild moss. Go to Russia and listen to the foreign, beautiful language. But understand that it is not within you to feel these things. You are a glass. You are meant to be filled and then emptied again. It is painful. It is a ring of hell. But there’s beauty in it, too. 

I love you, I said. That is one thing that I know for sure. 

And I do too, she said. But we’re going to live long and empty lives. Are you ready? 

I nodded. And kissed her chin and kissed her stomach and legs and ankles. I loved her scent, like marmalade and a cold sweat. 

In the years ahead, we made snow angels and broke mirrors and swam in the black oceans and dressed like royalty and begged on the street and watched the neons of every sunset and lived in a farmhouse and ate lollipops in South America and saw plays and took cabs and dressed like clowns at funerals and I loved her and I loved her and we never beat the beast but we gave him a rough time. At the end, I buried her first, then went home and ate a bullet. 

It was the best thing I ever did.

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC: Poisonous Rivalry

I know we like to comment on how Sam would probably idolized Poison Ivy, but would they actually get along?

They're very alike. They're headstrong, determined, and willing to cross lines to accomplish what they think is right. Also can be a bit abrasive, especially when you're on the other side of an argument

They're too alike

They would hate each other. Not like in a kill each other way, but I can't stand this person and need to one up them kind of rivalry

so imagine if you will, Danny and Sam (also Tucker if you want Eternal Trio) moving in next door to Harley and Ivy's place in Coney Island. Danny and Harley? They get along great. Thick as thieves and invite each other over all the time, have lunch together, and cause chaos the likes of which make even the gods tremble. Ya know, regular besties stuff

Sam and Ivy? They try to be civil for the sake of their spouses, but can't stand each other. It comes out as petty one-upmanship and they're constantly competing. "I helped raise this much for charity" "I killed the CEO of Polluters R Us" and their gardens? Beautiful! Stupendous! Amazing! They're gorgeous and it drives them both crazy

[alexihollis]

I Love You

"What?" Mercy's voice was quiet. Shell-shocked almost, eyes wide as she stared at Swan from the bed.

Who now felt incredibly awkward, hand going up to rub at the back of her neck as she repeated, haltingly, "I love you?"

It wasn't meant to be a question. It hadn't been, the first time Swan said it, pulling on her vest, untucking her hair from its confines and looking at Mercy. Sleepy, morning-drunk Mercy, dressed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt, the blanket resting around her waist and arms curled around Swan's pillow that Mercy stole as soon as Swan rolled out of bed. The curtains on their window let in the smallest beam of light that fell over Mercy, bathing her in gold and making her hair shimmer like something precious. Swan felt like her heart might actually explode.

And the whole time, Mercy mumbled about stupid early morning meetings and that she would probably be gone to work before Swan got home, but that she hoped Swan had a good day. Reminded Swan to grab her money clip from the dresser drawer, because she always forgot, and that if Ajax told Mercy Swan didn't get lunch, Mercy would be making her bagged lunches for a week. Which was an interesting punishment choice, if Swan did say so herself.

Somewhere, in all of that, the words tumbled out.

Now, Mercy sat ramrod straight in bed, the blankets pooled around her hips. Swan's pillow landed on the floor.

Fuck. Swan fucked up. It was too soon and her heart now raced in a bad way and her skin felt clammy and her face felt way too hot.

"You love me?" Mercy repeated.

Swan's throat tightened and she could only nod.

"You love me," Mercy said, again, more to herself, the words somewhat hazy and her eyes trailing away. Like she couldn't believe it. Which started to make Swan calm down a bit and focus back, because...

What?

"You love me," Mercy said, again, but forcefully and looking at Swan, again. Swan was starting to get whiplash.

"Yes." Swan said. Because...Yes?

She loved Mercy. It was a fact about Swan as true as any other. Swan had dark hair and eyes. She was a Warrior and Cleon's number two. She lived in Coney Island and hated heights, which made the Wonder Wheel interesting. She loved Mercy.

"You said it first," and, now, Mercy's voice was simply filled with awe.

"...yes," what was Mercy expecting here, exactly?

And, then, a new fear, because those were tears welling in Mercy's eyes and rolling down her cheeks and-

Swan all but threw herself onto the bed as Mercy dissolved into tears. Except, she hesitated, hands fumbling as they could not decide whether to hold or wipe away tears or do nothing because Swan still wasn't sure what Mercy's reaction meant and now she was crying-

Mercy fixed that by tackling Swan down onto the bed. Plastering their bodies to each others in that way she did, burying her face into the junction of Swan's shoulder and neck. Her body racked with sobs as Swan held her tight, feeling the tears hitting her skin.

Swan said nothing, but held her. Rubbed circles into her back. Pressed kisses into her hair and tried to not feel like the world's biggest asshole. Telling your girlfriend you loved her had a couple outcomes, but Swan never thought complete and utter devastation would be one. Had she, she wouldn't have sprung it on Mercy when she needed to leave in fifteen fucking minutes to go on a job with Ajax, of all people, the least patient of literally anyone Swan knew. Goddamnit.

"I love you, too," Mercy mumbled into Swan's neck as her sobs lessoned. As her breathing evened and her chest stopped heaving so violently. "I love you. I love you, so much."

"Oh." Swan said. Ever the eloquent one.

Mercy snorted, a soggy, but happy sound. "No one's- No one else has said it first. Before."

Oh.

...oooh.

"Yeah, well. They are stupid," Swan said, decisively. "And don't matter. I love you."

"I love you."

...

"I still need to leave, Mercy."

"No."

Swan did, eventually, escape.

She was five minutes late, though.

Ajax did not shut up about it for the rest of the week.

----------

I wrote this. In the middle of the night. Because I cannot sleep and I am hoping this will help me sleep somehow I guess??

But also a prompt from an anon! that I hope they enjoy!!!

[xoxomirrorball]

coney island

Hawaiian!Percy Jackson x fem!reader

part 2 to Arcade Boy, can be read as a standalone :)

It was Percy’s idea to spend the day at Coney Island, lounging at the beach until the late afternoon. Then, once you had gotten sick of the salt water, the two of you decided to head up to the boardwalk and get a late lunch, ride some of the rides, and play some games. 

Percy absentmindedly swung your intertwined hands, humming to himself as you ate your final piece of cotton candy. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the world and making Percy’s eyes shine. His closeness in proximity to the water had put him in a peaceful state, calming his usual fidgeting, and highlighting the coloring of his eyes. You could get lost in those eyes any day, any time. 

You sighed, licking the sticky cotton candy remnants off your index finger before coming to a complete stop when something caught your eye. Percy didn’t notice your cease of movement, so as he stepped forward he got jerked back by his hand connected to yours. 

“Whatcha doin’ Angel?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and looking down at you. 

“I have an idea,” you said, walking a few feet to the left, Percy trailing behind you.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Percy replied, taking in the large building in front of him. He knew that building all too well.   

“I’d like to play some games. I’ll pay!” you turned to face Percy, holding both of his hands and widening your eyes as you looked up at him, batting your eyelashes. 

“Ugh. You know I can’t say no to you. But I’m not letting you pay.”

You smiled and threw yourself into Percy’s arms, kissing him hard. Percy eagerly reciprocated, whining when you pulled back. 

He smiled as you led him into the arcade, knowing damn well he’d do anything for you even if it was returning to his place of work on his off day.

You and Percy made your way through the arcade, game tokens in hand and copious amounts of tickets stuffed in his pockets. Apparently, working at the arcade gave Percy lots of time to figure out how to get a lot of tickets without spending a ton of money. 

As the sky turned dark and the stars came out, you and Percy made your way to the prize desk to redeem your tickets and get some prizes. 

“Oh, hey y/n, Percy. Spending your day off at work, huh?” Carter, one of Percy’s coworkers who you had met a few times before, said, scanning the slips of paper that you received for putting your tickets into the machine that counted them up

“Yeah man, y/n and I spent the day at the beach then came up here. I don’t mind, I love making her happy,” Percy told him, smiling at you and kissing your cheek. 

“Well, I decided a giant stuffed shark would make the bedroom decor ten times better, and where else to get a giant shark than the arcade. Percy’s been longing for that shark since you guys got it in!” you said, laughing and squeezing Percy’s hand as he laughed too. 

“Looks like you can afford to get it, too. 15,046 tickets.” Carter whistled lowly. 

“Yes!” Percy cheered, pumping his fist in the air. You laughed, taking your phone out to snap a picture of Percy holding the shark that was probably as tall as you as Carter handed it to him. 

Carter turned to you, telling you the remaining balance of tickets, 46. You decided to get two plastic rings and some candy. He handed you the plastic bag of items and bid you goodbye. You and Percy made your way out of the arcade and to a bench, sitting and looking out at the water lapping against the sand. 

“Worth it,” Percy said as he slipped an arm over your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. You hummed in agreement, pressing your head against his arm and soaking in the moment.  

[floridakilo]

what books are on your must read beat generation list

on the road (1957) novel

naked lunch (1959) novel

howl and other poems (1956) poetry

junky (1953) novel

the dharma bums (1958) novel

queer (1985) novel

desolation angels (1965) novel

mexico city blues (1959) poetry

interzone (1989) letters and essays

the yagé letters (1963) letters and essays

kaddish and other poems (1961) poetry

a coney island of the mind (1958) poetry

big sur (1962) novel

the subterraneans (1958) novella

gasoline (1958) poetry

[sagesolsticewrites]

pookie!!!! from the prompts could I have ⁷⁾ thighs imprinted from plastic deck chairs for Vika x Benny and ²¹⁾ ice lollies melting down hands for Jules x Brady 💕💕💕

bestieee!! I had so much fun with these omg 🤭 so much so that I’m toying with an alternate ending to the second one 👀 hope you like them!!

summer prompts

⁷⁾ thighs imprinted from plastic deck chairs, Vika x Benny

“Really?” Benny says incredulously, “You’ve never been on a rollercoaster?!”

Vika just shrugs and shakes her head, shifting a little in her chair to remain in the shade of the porch. “Jules invited me on a trip to Coney Island for her birthday once and tried to get me on one then, but I wanted no part of it. I still don’t.”

“But they’re so fun!” Benny insists, “Like— like—”

“Like flying?” Vika can’t resist a grin. He may not like talking about the war, but there’s no hiding the sparkle in Benny’s deep brown eyes when the conversation turns towards flight training.

“Honestly, yes.”

He turns a grin of his own on her, turning only his head, the rest of him utterly relaxed in the chair next to hers.

“I’ll take you one of these days; flying or rollercoaster, whatever you want. You haven’t lived ‘til you’ve experienced at least one, and you’ll have me to keep you safe.” His gaze softens for the briefest moment, “Promise.”

“I… I think I’d like that.”

Then, through the crashing of waves and the squawking of seagulls, comes a new sound.

“Alright, lovebirds!”

Olive’s cheerful yell shatters the peaceful silence around them as she bounds up the porch, grinning in her wet swimsuit and sunglasses. There’s no time for Benny or Vika to protest the lovebirds remark as she turns her shaded gaze on Vika.

“Vika, you haven’t been in the water at all today, it’s time we fixed that.”

“Oh, but—”

“No buts! Benny, you can have her back later. Come on, chicken.”

It’s with some effort that Vika peels herself from the warm chair, and when she looks down she’s alarmed to see imprints on her legs from the frame beginning to poke through the fabric. Surely she and Benny hadn’t been sat here talking for that long…?

“Come on, girlie!”

Olive grabs her hand and tugs her over the sand towards the water, leaving her only enough time to wave at Benny.

Benny, who’s now far enough away that she can’t tell his gaze is fixed on the rare sight of her legs exposed in her swimsuit.

²¹⁾ ice lollies melting down hands, Brady x Jules

The sun beat down on the concrete back patio of the Forest Inn, where the Book Club Girls and their male counterparts had congregated. When Vika had been unable to join their last few get-togethers thanks to the hotel’s busy season, her friends had decided to bring the get-together to her. So now— after some pleading with her mother— here they all were, lounging in chairs in the shade or in the patch of grass nearby, soaking up the sun.

Darling Vika had taken it upon herself to dig up some popsicles after the lunch her friends had brought, every one of them grateful for the cold treat in this heat wave.

“I wonder if you could make a martini popsicle,” Jo asks aloud, to eager sighs all around.

“That would be divine,” Jean agrees, “Unfortunately I think you’d have to add quite a bit of water to get them to freeze. I could always run in and whip us up some fresh ones…”

“We’re alright, but thank you Jeanie,” Jo assures her, “But next time, maybe…?”

“Next time.”

Jules watches this interaction happily from her place tucked next to Johnny, grinning around the lemon popsicle melting in her mouth. A martini does sound wonderful right about now…

“Ah, darn it…”

Her attention is pulled towards her husband as the orange popsicle in his hand begins to melt, leaving streaks of bright orange down his palm and fingers. Jules reaches for a napkin to shove into the hand currently searching blindly for one as her husband

transfers the popsicle to his other hand and drags his tongue over his palm and between his fingers, trying to keep it from dripping anywhere else

She rolls her eyes, shoving a handful of napkins towards him.

“Honestly darling, you’re as bad as Livvy sometimes.”

An affronted look crosses his face— their sweet toddler was notorious for making a mess of her meals, no matter how neat they tried to make them.

“Hey! Blame the sun, not me, sweetheart,” John retorts playfully, trying his best to save the rapidly melting dessert in his hands as Juliet neatly finishes hers off.

“I think this may be our cue to head inside,” Vika laughs, “I can see if there’s space in the lobby or the bar, Mammi should be alright with us staying there as long as we’re not too disruptive.”

“You heard our host, boys,” Jules says, turning a stern eye on them as the group begins gathering their things, “Best behavior.”

To her amusement, she hears Dougie and Curt audibly gulp.

“She’s scary when she does the teacher look,” Curt stage-whispers to Val.

“She won’t be as scary as I will if you don’t behave,” she hears Val whisper back, “Remember Thanksgiving?”

“Yes ma’am.”

[cainightfics]

What are your thoughts on Elliot's mother? She's barely in the show both as the actual person or the alter, but she is still very important.

hmmm.... good question. i think we only know JUST enough about her to figure out what elliots mommy issues are all about lol

she was clearly emotionally and physically abusive to both darlene and elliot. like, almost comically so. the bit in red wheelbarrow where elliot tells us about the childhood cat their mom tries to put in a bag and drown in the lake is so over the top she almost comes off as a disney villain at times. i think it's also likely she knew edward was assaulting elliot given how she blames him after elliot jumps out the window. i can only assume this added to her resentment. i suppose her and edward were a situation where two horrible people get together and have kids they can be horrible to.

in the narrative, she's constantly pitted as "the evil one" against elliots kind, meek, doting father. ofc the clues that elliots memories of his dad are carefully selected show up early... he ignores the fact elliot is being bullied in school and uses it to increase elliots dependence on him for company, for example. he also appears to not care for darlene much at all... from the sounds of darlenes kidnapping story, she was left totally unsupervised at coney island while edward and elliot went on rides without her??? A+ parenting. however, from the way elliot lovingly refers to his father, and disparagingly refers to his mom, it's kind of hard to know if she was horrible all the time or not.

i think what's important to elliot about his mom is that she's strict. to him, she represents order and control. in his constructed f corp world, she's totally the opposite; this stereotypical dress-wearing and lunch-making mother figure who frets over his weight and stays at home all day gardening. this is obviously the total opposite of how she was. his prison delusions represent perhaps a more realistic ideal version of his mother--strict and controlling, sure, but also literally "guarding" him, keeping him locked away. note the similarities here to elliot trying to lock himself in his room at night and hiding the key so his dad can't get to him. i think elliot always wished his mother's violence would become something that might protect him from his dad, but this never happened. tho we don't see much of the persecutor personality, the few scenes we get show that she IS this: strict, mean, constantly policing elliot, yet still invested in his wellbeing enough to want to "guard" him.

[thirst2]

After finding out where I was from a woman on the train in Boston smiles and tells me not to worry she hears that in the next five to ten years Detroit is going to be the Midwestern New York I in turn worry for obvious reasons the rats in New York are tall enough to drive taxis the people in New York are all seemingly allergic to saying excuse me those are problems we do not want three years later I pick up a paper and the headline reads welcome to the new Detroit and I'm quickly reminded of something my grandmother once said you can sell a house a hundred times but the walls will still tell stories on the first family that owned it you can't throw soil on top of a land of living people then try to convince the outside world that their home was graveyard before it began to blossom bike lanes and fine dining this is not a city attempting to transition into another city it's Detroit it's churches in old buildings that lean like drunk lovers but still open every Sunday for worship it's Coney Island hot dogs and Faygo pop on the days when you wanna feel like you were the only one told the secret It's what up doe and water shut offs a woman planting flowers in potholes a line straight out of a tupac poem it's still here because we didn't change our zip codes when our schools started shutting down our sports teams started losing and our air started smelling like gun smoke and new money it's Motown it's a homeless man in bright colors on the corner of Selden and Second in bright colors and music-less headphones always dancing like his imaginary check had more money on it than he expected and yea sometimes the suburban folks treat the city like a party they weren't invited to leave trash start fights then exit before the police show up sometimes the police don't show up it's not perfect but it's a city that held its place in line until God returned from an extended lunch break a place where any person on the streets will still politely give you directions even when they themselves feel lost it's a beast that swallowed my brother along with countless other friends and family members long before their time but home is wherever the most of your loved ones are buried it's the place that's found the perfect balance between breaking your heart and layering your skin it's the factory that you were built in on the nights when you feel defective it's the safest space for you to return to so to the woman in Boston who thought that I was worried to the couple in Seattle that wanted to know if my skin has ever tasted bullet to the people trying to figure out which Detroit to believe It's a complicated story with more semi colons than periods on its best day it's still broken but it works it grinds it is ours still

—"Detroit", Natasha "T" Miller

[thelegofamilyau]

The 100 yard stare

For all the fun of Logan, for every bad song, every punch in the arm, every laugh there was something beneath the surface.

Logans 100 yard stare.

It was quiet often the dream chasers found Logan's stare and it never failed to chill them to the bone.

For Cooper, the frist time he saw it was at coney island.

Cooper had steped away to take Mateos phone call. It was the fight that almost ruined there friend ship. As Cooper yelled into the phone he walked over to where he saw Logan on the dock.

Cooper froze seeing him.

Logan, leaning back with his hands in his hoodie pocket. He stared into the sky. Cooper fallowed his gaze and looked at the lightning that flashed in the sky. He felt the wind pick up as Mateo hung up on him.

There was a flash before Logan turned his head to Cooper. It was almost like Logan had to flip a swtitch before he put on a grin.

"So what did that loser want?" Logan laughed as he wrapped his arm around Coopers shoulders.

And while Izzie is the most hyper active person on the planet she saw it too. At lunch.

There was on day a week where she thought none of her friends had the same lunch as her. That was until she found Logan sitting alone in the cafeteria. It was the strangest thing. Seeing him frown. His eyes locked onto a cup of ice. Just ice. And he just sat there staring, no, watching, watching ice melt. She almost saw tears well up in his eyes.

That was until Logan saw her. He quickly jumped onto his seat and yelled- "Izzie! Over here!"

Logans smile had always been infectious so she forgot about it immediately as she ran over.

Zoey thinks when she discovered Logans 100 yard stare was the scariest. They where on a mission in the dream world when they fell into a cavern made of dirt. Not even anything fun like chocolate dirt or a cave of crystals, just dirt.

"We have your signal, we'll be there in 5 minutes dont move" Albert said over the coms. Zoey dream crafted a purple light to fill the cave and that's when she saw it.

Logan was staring at his feet as he dugg the toes of his shoes into the dirt. His stare hard and cold but Zosy could see longing in his eyes. But to her it was terrifying. And it was terrifying because she knew that look. She had that look when her mom died and her dad left. The look of having someone important ripped away from you. And also the determination to do whatever it takes to get them back.

But as soon as the rope dropped down into the cave Logan shot up and cheered. "Finally! What took ya guys!?"

And the last dream chaser to see Logans stare was Mateo. The two had been partnered on a mission and surprisingly Logan hadn't complained. Which Mateo felt weird about. They had decided to take a break, the part of the dream world they where in was dark so they made a fire. About 10 minutes had passed when Logan caught Mateo's eye. Logan was staring into the dancing flames of the fire. And Mateo doubted Logan even felt the tears run down his face.

"Mateo. Promise me something." Logan stare didn't break, and at this point Mateo wasn't even 100% sure he was taking to the real Logan. "Promise me. Promise me you'll kill the nightmare king the frist chance you get." And Mateo had no idea why Logan would ask him of such a thing. And he especially didn't know why he said. "I will."

But he's glad he did. Because as soon as Mateo stabed the Nightmare king to death with his pencil and the former king turned to sand a door appeared and opened.

Logan fell to his knees infront of the dream chasers as they watched 4 men walk through the door.

The ninja of Lightening.

The ninja of Ice.

The ninja of Earth.

And the ninja of Fire.

Logans eyes never left the ninja as he sobbed.

"Logan?" The Fire ninja asked with a broken voice.

Zoey went to Logans side and the others fallowed. She grabed his arm and Mateo grabed the other. And with the help of Izzie and Cooper they lifted Logan up.

Logan sniffed, breathing in all his snot. He looked around him at his friends before he wiped his face.

"Are....are you the ninja? Are you Kai, Cole, Zane and Jay?" Logans eyes finally turned back to the ninja. "Are you my fathers?"

It wasn't even a second later Logan was in there arms.

Logan had known it was prophecies that a powerful dreamer, with the ability to create life in and out of the dream world would kill that nightmare king. And Logan had known that when the Nightmare king was killed, the portal to home would open to him. And home he was taken from at not even a month old.

Logan looked at Mateo through the limbs of his fathers. He smiled as he stared at his friends. "Thank you" was all he managed.

Thank you.

Thank you for seeing me.

Thank you for understanding.

Thank you for bringing me home.

Thank you for being my home.

[justcallme-bucky]

Were you ever scared that you would lose Steve in the War?

I lost Steve every time we went somewhere back in the 40s. The movies? Outside getting his ass handed to him because he told someone to be quiet. Stark Expo? Off forging documents for the umpteenth time to join the Army. Coney Island? Off in an alleyway vomiting up his lunch after the coaster. That man needs a goddamn tracking chip.

Oh...you meant....right. Nah, he seemed pretty indestructible and it was more about feeling useless since he no longer needed my protection and losing him to a new life without me. Thanks for bringing back those rough memories. But hey, I didn't have to worry for too long, i fell off a fucking train and was left for dead and experimented on for 70 years.

@cap-steverogers

[spartansuttons]

Quick trip downtown to set up some new chairs in my office. Lauren and G with a little downtown exploration, a stop at the Nike Store, and then American Coney Island for lunch!

[lnsfawwi]

it started with an anniversary gift.

"95th anniversary of the first time we met." steve said, shoving a bento box his way.

"you mean the first time I saved your ass." bucky took the lunch box, opened it, and stared. "what is this?"

"bento box. lunch. it's rice with..."

"I know what it is, steve. but what the hell is this?" bucky pointed at the heart-shaped rice, the lemon slices on top of the salmon that were also put together like a heart and the vegie salad that shined suspiciously. there was also a stick-it note on the inside of the box that just said 'love, steve'.

steve actually flushed. "I saw this on the internet. apparently women in Japan do this for their husbands to show affection."

"first of all, women in Japan deserve better. second of all," bucky smirked, "are you saying you want to be my housewife, stevie?"

"shuddup, jerk, I was trynna be romantic."

"it is. I love it. actually, lemme show you how much I love it."

oh bucky loved it.

the presents just kept coming, and getting more random as the occasion got more random as well.

bucky got a bunch of hair ties for international women's day ("they are on sale, buck!"), all the different kinds of hotdogs from the nathan's in coney island for international children's day because they loved that as kids, a bottle of artisan moonshine (which bucky refused to believe was a thing, like what the hell was so artsy about moonshine?) on george barnes' birthday because even during the prohibition old barnes always had some stash, a nice custom-made pistol on the 10th anniversary of the day steve peeled off the mask from bucky's face ("this's twisted, rogers."), a beautiful bouquet of flowers just because.

bucky never expected to get something for international mother's day though.

bucky was wakened by a series of kisses and greeted by a nice breakfast in bed. it was lovely, but also weird. "are you pregnant?"

"I hope not."

"then what's all this?"

"it's mother's day."

"so?"

"so you are the mom friend of our little friend circle!" steve said cheerfully. "happy mother's day!"

"why do I tolerate you?"

"cus you love me."

"unfortunately."

[carewyncromwell]

Just because they've been in my sketchbook a long while and I haven't done anything with them since they didn't really turn out the way I wanted...here are a few unfinished doodles I've done over the last year!

Starting with the top left, we have Carewyn and Merman!Orion, as referenced in that one short Mermay AU I did a year ago with Carewyn as a performer on Coney Island --

In the midst of Carewyn singing this song, however, the other four members of the Circle of Khanna were startled to realize that the Manta – who’d been curled up out of sight in the tank at the far corner of the stage – had actually gotten up off the ground and floated up to the top of the tank, sticking his head out above the water and resting it down on his arms perched on the edge of the tank so he could listen. His eyes had even drifted closed while Carewyn was singing, as if relaxing. And when Carewyn stopped singing and actually looked up at him, his black eyes softened noticeably, and he nodded slowly and approvingly.

On the top right, we have an unfinished 10-year-old!Jacob, 2-year-old!Carewyn, and the old Bach family cat Ella under the Christmas tree, as referenced in this one short fic I did earlier this year around Father's Day --

As Jacob told the story [of Hansel and Gretel], he took every opportunity he could to make Carewyn laugh, putting on his best imitation of his snippy English teacher when reading for the woodcutter’s wife and a cackling, “old-lady” voice for the witch. It entertained both Carewyn and Jacob greatly. Carewyn liked the first story so much that Jacob went on to read two more – Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella – after which Carewyn started to nod off. Her head drooped down onto her brother’s shoulder, and Jacob smiled fondly down at her before, taking care to avoid Ella the cat, he slid both himself and his little sister out from under the tree and scooped her up so he could carry her upstairs to bed. The old Siamese cat proceeded to follow Jacob and Carewyn upstairs, only breaking off once Jacob had put Carewyn to bed and closed the door.

Next, on the bottom left, we have Jacob's usual look while working as a barman for the Three Broomsticks, as referenced in this drabble I set during Carewyn's seventh year. (I didn't finish this one because seriously, Jacob, your muscled arms will be the death of me.)

The bottom middle obviously is Ghost-Bride!Carewyn from my Haunted Mansion AU, featuring the infamous clock featured in the original ride -- I'd been visiting Disneyland on one of my days off work that day, and while re-riding the Haunted Mansion (my personal favorite ride), I started drawing her in the queue and then finished her up while eating lunch at the Golden Horseshoe. I actually got a few families looking over my shoulder both in the line and at the restaurant watching me work, which made me blush! XD

And finally, thanks to some asks and prompts earlier this year making me remember how much I love him, the bottom right is my Marauder Era boy Ed Rosier and his OTL Regulus Black, back in their school days. Ed's face claim is Sebastian Stan, and when Ed was young, he used to dye his hair blond the way Seb has in some of his lesser-known non-Marvel-associated films (such as I'm Not Here). Ed did this as to better set himself apart from his older brother Evan, who Ed was constantly confused for, due to the two brothers' strong visual similarity, as well as constantly overshadowed by. It was only after losing Regulus, being disowned by his family, and learning of his brother's death that Ed went back to his natural hair color, making him much more resemble Seb as Bucky Barnes. Regulus's inspiration for this sketch was everyone's favorite fancast for him, Timothee Chalamet, even if personally I imagined Regulus having straight hair and looking much more like Skandar Keynes while originally reading the books.

Much love, all! Hugs and kisses! xoxo

[jxncywarrior]

Stranger Things characters and ships as Taylor Swift albums

Part Nine: evermore

*Disclaimer: I’m tagging all the ships and characters featured. I’m gonna try not to be biased. MOST of these are strictly based on canon. No hate to ANY ships or shippers.*

willow: Steddie (Eddie’s POV)

“They count me out time and time again. Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind. But I come back stronger than a 90's trend”

champagne problems: Stancy (Nancy’s POV)

“Love slipped beyond your reaches and I couldn't give a reason”

gold rush: Byler (Will’s POV)

“I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush”

‘tis the damn season: Ronance (Nancy’s POV)

“You could call me babe for the weekend. 'Tis the damn season, write this down. I'm stayin' at my parents' house and the road not taken looks real good now”

tolerate it: Will to Lonnie

“Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow. I know my love should be celebrated. But you tolerate it”

no body, no crime: Stancy (Steve’s POV)

“Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen. And I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene. Good thing Este's sister's gonna swear she was with me ("She was with me dude"). Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

happiness: Byler (Will’s POV)

“When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt? Ihope she'll be a beautiful fool. Who takes my spot next to you”

dorothea: Byler (Mike’s POV)

“The stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo. And if you're ever tired of being known for who you know. You know, you'll always know me”

coney island: Byler (Mike’s POV)

“The fast times, the bright lights, the merry-go. Sorry for not making you my centerfold”

ivy: Byler (Will’s POV)

“I wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed. He's in the room. Your opal eyes are all I wish to see”

cowboy like me: Stancy (Steve’s POV)

“And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up. And the old men that I've swindled really did believe I was the one. And the ladies lunching have their stories about when you passed through town. But that was all before I locked it down”

long story short: Elmax (El’s POV)

“'Cause I fell from the pedestal. Right down the rabbit hole. Long story short, it was a bad time. Pushed from the precipice. Clung to the nearest lips”

marjorie: Jonathan to Will

“What died didn't stay dead. What died didn't stay dead. You're alive, you're alive in my head”

closure: Stancy (Steve’s POV)

“It wasn't right. The way it all went down. Looks like you know that now”

evermore: Jancy (Jonathan’s POV)

“I thought of you (all the things that will be lost now). In the cracks of light (can we just get a pause?). I dreamed of you (to be certain we'll be tall again). (If you think of all the costs). It was real enough (whether weather be the frost). To get me through (or the violence of the dog days). (Out on waves being tossed). But I swear (is there a line that we could just go cross?). You were there”

right where you left me: Byler (Will’s POV)

“Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? Time went on for everybody else, she won't know it. She's still 23 inside her fantasy. How it was supposed to be. Did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? Break-ups happen every day, you don't have to lose it”

it’s time to go: El to Brenner

“15 years, 15 million tears. Begging 'til my knees bled. I gave it my all, he gave me nothing at all. Then wondered why I left. Now he sits on his throne in his palace of bones. Praying to his greed. He's got my past frozen behind glass. But I've got me”

Links to other parts of this series: Debut, Fearless, Speak Now, Red, 1989, reputation, Lover, folklore

[oldbaton]

nobody wants performance to be messy or provocative or gross anymore. like... what are these people doing in a mosh pit.

i go to these punk/goth rock shows in coney island once a month for most of the year and theyre amazing. dirty grungy. people spitting and stripping and putting shit up their ass. its such a release! ive had a drag artist completely naked make out with my ear. during ladies who lunch one time in the east village. it was amazing.

and im not trying to be dismissive of conversations that are important! i wanna be clear about that!

but like. art is societally transgressive sometimes. (note the word societal meaning violating societal norms, it should never be personally transgressive to you or violate you). and what about it. people spit in their hair at punk shows and shotgun beers and throw it in the crowd. lol