#i kinda imagine it like a brownstone or something

[erigold13261]

So what do Nova and J do for a living if they move away with 1010 in your FR AU? Do 1010 still do music? Do they all dislike the music industry now?

Well if/when Neon, Nova, and 1010 move away, they spend time at Nova's parents house while transforming 1010 to more human/advanced looking robot bodies that don't resemble 1010 all that much (still enough that you'd believe them if they said they used to be 1010, but not enough that you could tell by looking at them).

After 1010 get upgraded, along with Neon (he probably goes full cybernetic except he keeps a human-looking head instead of the radar like OG Neon does), they all go to whatever city that Ex-Jay live in since it is much more friendly to robots compared to Vinyl City (even if the re-revolution takes place, anti-robot sentiments are still fairly high).

Anyway, Neon J would open this like this kind of candy/bakery hybrid store that also had an attached electronics/woodcarving store. One half he would create pulled candies and other snacks with Silver (White) while Rosa (Red) would be making the baked goods.

Fern (Green) or Sunny (Yellow) would be the cashier or the cleaner/busser depending on the day. Then it would usually be either Fern or Sky (Blue) who work in the electronics part of the store. That would have hand carved clocks, sculptures, and other stuff along with non-invasive cybernetics and a service for fixing electronics.

When not working, Neon J, Sky, and Rosa would still make music. Neon and Sky would be making their own music for their own channels, with Neon finally releasing a lot of new songs he's had in the works for years but never felt they fit the 1010 vibe, while Sky makes demos and samples for games she is making. (None of them put it under the name 1010 or Neon J).

Silver, Sky, and I think Sunny would also be going to college. Silver would be going for a major in queer studies and a minor in photography. Sky is getting a major or minor in computer sciences. And I don't know what Sunny would be doing, probably just getting an associates degree (or whatever an equivalent of that is).

Rosa would be working full time in the bakery, probably selling wedding cakes/food as a good way to bring in money. And then make music as a hobby with her family.

Fern on the other hand just becomes a leach (affectionate). Its depression and trauma from NSR really has affected it to such a degree that it isn't really ready to go off and do something on its own. Usually he will just help his siblings, dads, or just bum around the house/stores.

He'll clean, help Silver set up photography shots, play-test Sky's games, help Neon and Rosa make music, probably stay away from Sunny since their relationship is strained from all the bullying (though Sunny is trying to make it up to him).

Actually, I'd say mostly he would be taking care of plants. They probably have a rooftop garden, or are close to a community garden, where Fern will go and spend its' time. Harvest fresh crops for the bakery and family, and just make the house feel more alive with plants and flowers.

As for Nova, I would say he probably does some moonlighting as a DJ still to help bring in money for the family and not feel like a deadbeat. They've been trying to find another teaching job, or any kind of structured job outside of music, but after so many years in a job like NSR it gets hard to try and conform back to regular schedules.

Honestly he'd probably make for a really good tour guide person at a planetarium or a science museum. I can see them doing something like that as a part time job. Otherwise they would probably help Neon manage the other two businesses and act as a manager whenever a shitty customer tried to pull some BS while Neon isn't around.

So yeah. For the most part I would say that Neon, Sky, Rosa, and Nova still make music while Silver, Sunny, and Fern don't make any kind of music anymore. None of them like the music industry as a whole anymore, which is why they now just stick to making music for fun on youtube or whatever platform they post to (Neon J gets a lot of followers really quickly because he is just really good at making music).

[sillygooseassociation]

Okay, imagine thinking that Jason is going to be away for Christmas and not bothering to decorate because it's not the same without him 🥲 but he manages to get the time off and surprises you by having the place decorated when you come home from work and getting cozy by the fireplace [wink wink nudge nudge ya know what I'm sayin? 😘] woooooweee yes

jason felt like such a piece of shit when he told you he wouldn't be making it home in time for your first christmas as a married couple. it was out of his control of course, he was in LA finishing up the last details of the season three trailer, how was he supposed to know the entire country would be shut down thanks to snow storms? but seeing the heartbreak on your face - even though you tried to hide it - when he told you he wouldn't be home in time for christmas? he hated himself for making you feel that way.

it worked out in terms of the kids, they were spending the day with olivia and then would be with you and jason on the 26th, so at least their holiday wasn't ruined. you told him it was okay, that it wasn't a big deal, but he knows that isn't the truth. milestones are so important to the both of you and here he was, missing your first christmas as husband and wife.

sure, you had the christmas tree up, but you hadn't decorated, you were waiting for jason to come home, but after finding out that he wouldn't be home until at least the 26th, the christmas spirit left you entirely. you wrapped the kids' presents of course and you knew you would need to decorate the tree before they came over, but it would wait. you would wait until the last possible moment, putting off the emotional feeling of spending your favorite time of year alone.

when you woke up on the 25th, you kinda sulked around the house, though you would never admit it. you got dressed, putting on some leggings, one of jason's sweaters, and a coat before leaving the house, heading down the street to a deli you loved, thankful that it was still open on the holiday so you could get a bagel. you passed the time by walking a couple blocks around the city, enjoying the snow on the ground and some of the lights, but your mood quickly turned sour again when seeing all the couples and families walking around. on a day all about love and giving to those in your life, your husband was across the country and the two most important kids in your life were elsewhere.

you headed back to your place, planning on drowning your sorrows in wine, ice cream, and sad movies, a plan you realize is eerily similar to ted's in season two of jason's show. you're so out of it, you don't notice the car parked in front of your brownstone, or that your door was unlocked despite you always making sure to fasten the deadbolt. it's not until you hear christmas music coming from the house sound system that you realize something is off. what the fuck kind of murderer puts on a soundtrack for killing and how did they get access to your bluetooth?

you pick up daisy's small plastic shovel, discarded next to the door after your snowman building from last week, holding it up, ready to strike, as you carefully walk to the living room. just as you turn the corner, you walk into someone's chest and scream, "PLEASE DON'T KILL ME." your eyes are closed tightly, awaiting the stab to your gut or hands choking you out, only to open your eyes after two familiar hands are placed on your shoulders, "jason?"

your husband looks at you with wide eyes, his brows furrowed as his mouth gapes open in a mix of shock and confusion, "what the fuck, babe?" you instantly drop the shovel, practically jumping into his arms as you wrap yours around his neck, burrowing your face into his shoulder, "oh my god, thank god its you, i thought i was gonna get murdered on christmas." jason chuckles lowly as he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly, "well, i would prefer you to not get murdered any day, but you're right, christmas would be especially terrible."

you pull away, giving him a soft eye roll before meeting him for a kiss, a reunion that soon turns hot, your week-and-a-half separation and its consequences both seemingly hitting you at the same moment. jason's tongue smoothly slips into your mouth, exploring one of his favorite places as you tug at the hair at the nape of his neck, bringing a groan from deep in jason's chest. he turns the two of you around, walking you back until you feel yourself being pushed onto the couch, jason then sorta straddling you, his left leg resting on the cushion while his right foot stays on the ground, maintaining his balance.

jason quickly moves down to your neck, licking and nipping at different spots along your throat, sucking deeply at the base of your neck, sure to leave a mark. you whine and whiter under his grasp before a thought hits you, wait, the fuck, "wait, jas, how are you here?" the brunette pulls away, his long hair messy with a few pieces falling down to where they almost cover his eyes, "geez, not exactly the welcome home i was expecting."

again, you roll your eyes at him, "no you shithead, i mean how did you get here? i thought all the flights coming to new york were canceled?" he nods while dipping his head back down, continuing his attack where he left off, biting at your collarbones, "mhm". you let out a whimper, appreciating how he was distracting you from your train of thought, but still wanting answers to your confusion, "okay, so then how are you here? la to new york must be a what, thirty-five, thirty..."

with a small groan, jason lifts his head back up to look at you, obviously perturbed that he was once again having to stop his exploration of your body, "forty hours. plus stops, but just for gas. don't drink the yellow gatorade bottles in the outside garbage bin." your mouth drops open, "wait, what? jas, you only told me about the cancelation like, two days ago, that leaves-" jason cuts you off as he works his sweatshirt up your torso and off your body, thanking every god above when he sees that you're wearing nothing underneath, "that leaves two hours for figuring out a rental car and getting on the road, the rest for gas station stops and a thirty-minute nap in nebraska."

before you can respond, jason leans back down to suck on your erect nipple, an action that causes you to moan and wiggle your legs, the latter of which kicked jason's right leg slightly and caused him to lose his balance, then falling off of the couch. having been holding onto your hips, jason took you with him, your body landing on his as his back slams onto the floor, "ah, fuck." jason winces as you softly giggle, not laughing at his pain but more so the situation, "too much on your back, old man?"

jason's reaction to your comment is more heated than his reaction to his body hitting the hardwood, "i swear to god, y/n, you will regret that." you lift your head up, wanting to egg him on, knowing both of you would enjoy any punishment that you would receive for that comment, but your attention is caught by the tree in the corner, "i'd like to see - did you decorate the tree?" jason tosses his head back, well as much as he can, as he groans, "i started, i was thinking we'd continue after i have hot christmas sex with my wife, but that isn't going to happen if someone doesn't shut up."

you giggle, moving so that you are straddling him, his erection against your clothed core, and then lean down to kiss him sweetly, "i'm sorry baby." you kiss him once more, pulling away just enough to speak softly, "merry christmas, mr. sudeikis." jason smiles softly, leaning up to kiss you, "merry christmas, mrs. sudeikis." a gasp and giggle leave your mouth as positions quickly flip, your naked back meeting the cool hardwood as jason hovers above you, a smirk on his face, "now, where were we?"

[katyobsesses]

Katy my darling <3 I have a very fun ask for you!! What method of arts do each glee characters prefer and what is their favorite thing to create?

oooooo this is a fun ask!

I'm gonna do S2 New Directions for now, but may add S3-6 ND or other characters later 💛 (warning... this is LONG)

Artie: Film. 100% film. He loves using visual media to tell a story, he also really gets into the sound design side too when he learns it in College. He loves making music videos and after Uni that's mostly what he does. He also directs a lot of movie musicals and musical TV shows. Basically he loves making visual media for songs.

Blaine: Performing - mostly singing. He also love writing songs, which we never see in the show but I can imagine him learning about songwriting in NYU and loving it as a way to express his feelings. it's like a step up from using someone else's words to express them.

Brittany: Obviously dancing! I like to think that after marrying Santana she either goes to college for Dance, or maybe owns a dance studio/goes on tour with Mercedes a lot (with Santana as a guest singer) She really loves teaching little kids how to dance, she knows how to interact with them on their level and the kids love her.

Finn: Singing? I honestly can't think about what he likes. Like singing is the closest thing. He sings in the shower a lot and obviously he loves singing on stage. But he's not that much of an art person outside of that. He likes consuming it but not making it.

Kurt: Sewing, obviously, as well as sketching clothes. He loves making accessories for friends - scrunchies for the girls, bow ties for Blaine, a dog bandana for Sam's golden retriver (because you know he gets one) etc. - but he also loves designing and making costumes for small productions. Maybe he volunteers/works with a small theatre troop and makes & designs all of the costumes while also performing.

Mercedes: Mercedes likes making cards for everyone for Christmas and Birthdays. It started because she'd forgotten to buy a card for someone but had some card and pretty pens on hand and it spiralled from there. She now owns a fancy die pressing kit and lots of card toppers and pretty glitter pens and washi tape and all of that. She has a small kit she brings on all of her tours, it helps relax her after a show - making cards for the crew as a thank you/maybe selling some for charity because she makes so much? When she finally gets back together with Sam they both work together to make Christmas cards from them with cute pictures of themselves in terrible christmas jumpers and their golden retriver in a Kurt made bandana and later their kids in matching outfits.

Mike: Like Brittany he's a dancer first and formost. That's his art. He later goes on to be a professional on Dancing With The Stars where he reconnects with Matt on set (maybe they even get together in the end and the DWTS fans love their relationship and their jokingly competative instagram stories) He loves creating a story with only movement and music. Mike also really likes doodling.

Puck: Photography. I don't know why but I see Puck loving to take pictures of places he visits in his travels. He also scrapbooks but only Quinn knows that - he has a whole scrapbook of pictures of Beth that Shelby sends them and later makes them for all of his other kids too, and he has, like, travel journals and scrapbooks of roadtrips he's been on. Basically he's a Bullet Journal guy. He really likes washi tape and pretty papers and stickers and what-not. He will never admit this.

Quinn: Quinn's a writer. In my head she goes on to write a book that's losely based on her high-school years and it becomes a best seller and is later adapted into a Netflix series directed by Artie. I just like the idea! Maybe Rachel plays, like, the Miss Pillsbury character... or Terri! Or maybe Shelby? I dunno one of the adult characters.

Rachel: Obviously her art of choice is performing. It's singing and acting and standing on a stage or a set and making the words in her script her own. Also scrapbooking/moodboard making.

Santana: Santana likes knitting. She won't admit it but she likes knitting little plushies for Brittany, her favourite is a little bi flag coloured bunny. She makes knitted plushies and blankets for all of her friends when they have kids but she never tells them she made them - everyone knows though, they're too perfect for the couple/person (a cat in a scarf or a toy poodle in a bow tie for Klaine, a teddy adorned with gold stars for St. Berry etc. etc.)

Sam: This could be an essay for me (and kinda is opps). Sam is the Art nerd of the group and tries every type of art he possibly can. Macaroni art, illustration, digital art, traditional art, crafts, pumpkin carving, glass blowing, handlettering, graphic design, knitting, crochet, rag rugs, sewing, card making, pyrography, etc. He will try everything he can in terms of visual art. He doesn't, however, write because dyslexia, and he can't wrap him mind around, like editing and film stuff - he does try though because why not. He also really likes songwriting and music arranging.

All of this i'm trying to do as close to canon as i can but going off of canon let's say Sam goes to Parsons for illustration because he's so good at art, he stays with Mercedes in her brownstone and they never break up, after graduating he becomes a comic book illustrator (which i believe is literally a minor at Parsons, so let's say he does a Major in Fine Art/Illustration with a Minor in Comic illustration) and illustrates a run of Young Avengers comics and becomes a fan favourite artist.

In canon, however, he loves teaching the new generation of New Directions but he misses art because he doesn't have that much time anymore (because being the teacher of the new directions is a full time job, apparently, judging by the lack of adult friends or hobbies Will has lol) he loves loves loves arranging music, however, and that becomes the type of art he does the most. He does doodle a lot during faculty meeting (also he does a music teaching certification during his first few years of coaching the nNDs) and goes all out with pumpkin carving at Halloween, and loves decorating his apartment and the choir room at Christmas. He loves doing sets for the musical (and has a lot of fun staging it too) and helps out with the decorations for Prom.

Basically Sam loves to be creative in any way he can. He loves making things, whatever they may be.

Tina: Tina writes fanfiction and draws fanart. She's a nerd 100%, she watched Supernatural, she was a SuperWhoLockian, she loves Merlin, she's loves Twilight but more ironically than, say, Mercedes, and prefers books like Morganville Vampires or PC Cast's series that I've forgotten the name of. She loves the Hunger Games and Firefly and Star Trek and Star Wars. She definately has a tumblr. She mostly writes all sorts of fanfiction and is a huge name in the Supernatural fandom. Only Sam and Blaine know about all of this becuase they found one of her Star Wars fanfictions and in an authors note she said something that they recognised - idk she ranted about Santana or Rachel or something.

This was so much fun omg, thank you for the ask Myle 💛

[harryspet]

sweet sister | peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x innocent reader, reader is extremely innocent, manipulation, male/female masturbation, somnophilia, stepcest, hj, vaginal sex but not really? 

A/N: This is based off a request I got for a innocent reader where Peter teachers her about sex. Reader is 18 and Peter is around 21. DARK THEMES SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

In which you’re May and Happy’s foster kid and Peter takes advantage of your innocence. 

Like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 2.9k

You came home from school like it was a normal day. Walking up the steps to your family’s brownstone, clad in your school uniform, and loud music blaring in your headphones, “May!” You shouted too loudly, walking down the hallway towards the kitchen, “Did my package come?”

You stopped in your tracks as you saw three figures standing in the living room. Happy, May, and … some kid you didn’t know. Your eyebrows raised in confusion at the young man standing with your foster parents. 

“Y/N, this is my son Peter!” May smiled, trying not to be awkward. She approached you, urging you forward. Now you recognized him and your eyes widened because of how easily you missed it. He was in all the photos on the mantle but, now, he looked a bit older. 

You were not what Peter expected, at all. By May’s description of you, he thought you might be a middle schooler. His eyes trailed over you, the way you filled out your uniform … Peter snapped out of it, moving forward to hold out his hand to you.

“Hi, I’m-” Interrupting him and surprising him at the same time, you went in for a hug. Peter hesitated for a moment before hugging you back. You noticed he had a strong grip. 

“She’s a hugger,” You heard May whisper. 

You pulled away and offered your hand for him to shake. He took it, smiling, but still a little confused by the long greeting, “I’m Y/N. You look just like May! I mean, you’re very pretty like her.” Happy always went on about how pretty May was and you always agreed. 

You watched as his cheeks reddened. Was it something you said? ''Thank you very much, I haven’t heard that one before.”

You looked back at May who seemed to improve the interaction. You smiled, worrying that you had made him nervous, “Peter finally has a break from his busy schedule to come see us. He’ll be here with us for at least a week. May and I thought this would be a good time for you two to get to know each other.” 

May had taken you in two years ago but this was the first time you were officially meeting Peter. He was always halfway around the world fighting crime and could only stop at May’s work every once and awhile. You never thought you’d ever have a full family like all the people on the television did. 

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” You heard Peter say and your heart did a little backflip. Your very own big brother.  “What’s this about a package?” 

“Oh,” Your face fell, “Uhm, they’re just books.”

Peter gave you a look of inquiry, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “You like to read? What kind of books?”

You opened your mouth to make up some excuse but Happy interrupted you, “I put your package on your bed, sweetheart. Why don’t you show Peter his new room?” Right, you had taken Peter’s old room. 

“Okay!” You perked back up, glad the subject of books was over, “Follow me, big brother!”

That was easy, Peter thought. She didn’t seem to give a second thought about accepting him which was endearing but scared Peter to a certain extent. How trusting was she exactly? May had warned him that she was a little eccentric … and a little emotional. 

Peter tried to keep his focus up as he followed you up the stairs. A part of him was a little let down that you were wearing shorts beneath your plaid skirt. 

“May says you have like a sixth sense. And that you can sense when danger is near. She talks about you a lot, you know? You call it a Peter tingle, right? I thought that was a really cute name but I’m not supposed to bring it up around you apparently-” You were rambling, as usual, and had passed your bedroom but you noticed that Peter wasn’t following you anymore. 

“You made it pink,” You heard Peter say as he peeked into your room. He adjusted the black backpack on his shoulder and you couldn’t help but notice his muscles. He was like the boys you read about in your books but … he was technically your stepbrother. 

You walked toward him, “May said I could decorate it how I wanted. Do you hate it? You hate it, don’t you? I’m really sorry. It’s just that it’s my favorite color and-”

“No way, I like it!” He quickly assured you, not wanting to see what happened when you finally ran out of air. Peter walked inside and you followed him. There was no twin bed anymore but a regular-sized bed with a white canopy. 

There was a pile of stuffed animals in the corner that Peter noted, “You have a lot of stuffed animals …”

“Those are the ones they give you in family court,” You explained to him before pointing over to your bed, “I keep the ones Happy and May give me on the bed, those are my favorite.”

“I see,” You spoke so casually about being in family court that it made Peter wonder what your story was. There were at least ten stuffed animals there, “Which one’s your favorite?”

You liked that question, smiling wide, as you walked over to your bed. Peter watched you carefully as you bent over to grab a gray penguin, “I like penguins a lot. My first Christmas here, May got me this and a penguin puzzle. I’ve done it a million times now but we could put it together if you wanted.”

“I can’t imagine anything better, Y/N.”

You were going to be very fun to get to know, Peter thought. 

+

The family had gone out to dinner that night and had been the rest of the evening putting together a hundred piece, penguin puzzle. It was one of the best days of your life and, as you expected, having a family was wonderful. Having Peter was just an extra bonus. You wished he didn’t have to leave. 

The next day, as you walked down the steps that lead from your school, you didn’t expect to find Peter waiting for you. You ran up to him and hugged him, of course, and you savored the moment when his strong arms were around you. Some girls you didn’t know gasped and practically swooned as they watched you two. 

“I have strict orders to take you straight home so you can start right away on your homework,” You frowned until Peter continued, “But I think we should stop for ice cream.”

You were practically bouncing with excitement as Peter grabbed your hand and lead you down the street. 

At the small parlor, you licked at a cone of chocolate ice cream while Peter stuck his spoon into his ice cream sundae. Peter’s eyes wandered over to your mouth, imagining your wrap your lips around his-

“You never said what you liked to read, Y/N.”

You blushed, your nose wrinkling, as the embarrassment filled you, “It’s silly … you don’t want to hear about it.”

“I do,” Peter insisted, “I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.”

You took a breath, “They’re … they’re romance novels. It’s a series one of my friends at school told me about. She thinks I’m too … too babyish. Apparently, there are scenes in it ... “

“Scenes like what?” You blushed even more. 

“Bad scenes,” you whispered and Peter pretended to think the subject was taboo, “She wants me to learn about … dirty stuff. These guys are taking us to prom and she wants … she wants us to have our ‘first times’ together. I don’t even know what that means! But I can’t tell her that or she’ll think I’m even weirder than I already am to her.”

Buried treasure. Peter had stumbled upon pure gold.

“Y/N, you’re talking about sex?” Peter narrowed his eyes at you. 

“Sex?” You spoke the word like it was completely foreign on your tongue, “I think that’s it. Sounds gross, right?”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle, “It’s kinda gross if you think about it too deeply but it’s not meant to be gross. It’s not as scary as you think. It’s quite beautiful, actually.”

Her eyes went wide, “You’ve done it a bunch, haven’t you?”

Peter shrugged, “A few times but only with special people. If the guy who’s taking you to prom isn’t special then you definitely shouldn’t give him your first time.” Peter would have to do some research on this guy and make sure he didn’t even think about coming near her. 

You looked solemnly at your melting ice cream, “I must be a total weirdo then …”

“You’re not, Y/N, trust me. Eighteen is still young.”

You leaned forward, whispering, “I haven’t even kissed anyone, Peter. People do that in middle school.”

Peter leaned forward next, entrancing you with his eyes, “Do you really want to get some experience? Because … I could help you. I’m probably better than those trashy books.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Do brothers and sisters normally talk about stuff like this?”

“Don’t you want to be friends too?” You instantly nodded, “Then I can help you out, as a brother and a friend. But if you want to read your books-”

“No, no, you can teach me!”

And you easily stepped into his trap. 

+

That night, Peter slipped out of his room clad in his pajamas. Your door slowly creaked open and you sat up in your bed. You rubbed the tired from your eyes as Peter peaked in, “My room is freezing … and I can hear Happy snoring through the walls.”

You pulled back your comforter, patting the spot next to you, “You can sleep in here with me,” Peter entered all the way before slowly shutting the door. 

“Really? I can sleep on the floor …” 

You shook your head, “It’ll be like a sleepover.”

Peter moved in the darkness, climbing in beside you. You pulled the covers over him and you both lay down. Peter watched as you turned over before tiredly murmuring, “Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Peter waited a good hour before moving closer to you. In a slow movement, he had pressed himself against you, taking in the scent of your hair, as he admired the lines of your body. It was a risk but he touched your waist, his hands trailing over to your stomach. He felt the soft skin of your back as well before reaching into his pants. 

He touched himself to the thought of you and he almost panicked as you moved. You turned to your other side, not facing him. Watching your sleeping face sent Peter over the edge and he muffled his grunts with a pillow. 

He wasn’t in your bed when you awoke the next morning. 

+

Happy had surprised May with a romantic dinner that night so Peter and you were left alone that evening. You were brushing your teeth in your jack and jill bathroom when Peter walked in suddenly. You looked over to see him only wearing a pair of basketball shorts. 

You blushed, looking back at the mirror before spitting out the foam in your mouth. He stalked closer to you and you noticed something different in the look in his eyes, “I was thinking something, Y/N, about what you told me at the ice cream shop.”

You put away your toothbrush, turning off the sink before wiping your mouth with a hand towel, “I thought you had forgotten …” 

Peter smirked, “Far from it, actually. I was thinking about how you said you want more experience. With kissing boys and things like that, right?”

You nodded slowly, growing nervous. 

“I think the first thing you should learn is how to pleasure yourself before you learn about pleasuring someone else,” He held your hand, rubbing soothing circles into your palm. 

“Pleasure?”

Peter nodded, “Sex is all about pleasure,” Peter held your hand it slowly brought it against his crotch. You felt something hard and flinched away, “It’s okay, don’t worry.” 

It was such a weird feeling. Only recently had you learned that boys and girls even had different parts. 

“Right here is where guys can feel pleasure,” Then Peter reached out to touch you. Through the fabric of pajama pants, you could feel his fingers brush against your folds, “This is where girl’s feel pleasure. Let me show you.”

He assured you that everything was going to be okay as he slid down your shorts. Before you could step out of them, Peter swiftly lifted you onto the counter and you yelped at the sudden movement. 

He took your hand and pressed your fingers against your crotch. He tried to guide you as best as he could, standing between your spread legs, “Oh my stars …” You breathed out, savoring the foreign new feeling. You wanted to run away from it and run to it at the same time. You looked at Peter with frightened eyes as he slowly moved his hands away.

“That’s it, good girl, keep rubbing,” He praised you, loving the sight of you discovering your own body. You kept going, rubbing circles over that sensitive area through your light pink panties. You leaned back, lifting a leg on the counter, so you could get a better angle.

“Is this good Peter?”

“You’re doing great, Y/N. Doesn’t that feel good?”

You nodded, practically whimpering. You looked at Peter differently than before, you didn’t see the boy you saw before. You thought about how handsome he was and how sweet he’s been to you all week. You felt the wetness growing beneath your legs and you blushed as you look down, “Peter, I-I  think I’m peeing …”

Peter gave you an amused smile, “That just means that you like it, Y/N. That you’re aroused,” Peter grabbed your hand and moved it away from your crotch. You found yourself missing the feeling and you watched as he slid off his pants and underwear. The sight of his manhood felt foreign but aroused you at the same time. 

Peter slowly palmed his manhood as he leaned into you. You practically froze as his lips touched yours. He didn’t even have to speak because as he slowly left soft pecks on your lips, you started to lean back into him. Your hands touched his neck as you started to move your lips against his. You liked it … No, you loved it, “Your lips feel squishy,” You gushed and Peter laughed, turning his head as the kiss became more passionate. 

You let your leg fall back over the counter and, as it did, Peter slowly slid off your underwear. Then suddenly, he lifted you. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you into your room. He sat on your bed, leading you to straddle him. 

“I want to try something,” Peter said before pecking your lips again. 

You were all in. 

He laid back on your bed, and you sat on his legs, “Touch my cock,” You thought the word was silly but you could tell what he meant. It felt harder than you expected and as you gripped it on your hand, a guttural moan exploded from Peter, “Spit on it.”

“Peter-”

“It’s okay, it’ll feel better that way,” He tried to assure you and you hesitated before pulling your hair back. The trail of spit fell onto his member and you felt gross for a moment until you saw his reaction. 

That sound he was making you even wetter. 

Peter grabbed your legs, pulling you up more until your private parts were positioned right over his, “I want you to rub yourself against me, can you do that?” Peter asked. With all his fantasies coming true, he wasn’t sure how long he’d last. 

You nodded. You held onto Peter’s chest as you slowly dragged your private parts against his. His cock was pressed against his stomach and your lips moved up and down his length. You felt it then. That pleasure and his pleasure mixing. You kept going, starting to feel something building up in your core. 

You bit down on your lips, liking the feeling of when his tip rubbed against your sensitive bulb. Your wetness acting as even more lubrication, you thought you were making quite the mess but Peter didn’t seem to mind. 

You moved faster, Peter’s groans encouraging you and your curiosity of that thing building up inside you kept you going. Your toes curled as you got the feeling of a waterfall rushing off a cliff. Your mind went blank for a moment and your body shook as that damn finally broke. 

You moaned, riding out the feeling and that's' when you felt Peter convulsing. You felt his cock twitch as white spilled from the tip of his member and onto his stomach. Peter’s head rested all the way back and you couldn’t help but smile as you realized that you had both reached your tipping points. 

“Well, was that it? Did I do sex?”

“Sort of,” Peter said, completely out of breath. The eagerness in your eyes wasn’t something he expected, “You have a lot more to learn, Y/N.”

“Then can we do it again, Peter?”

+

Hope you enjoyed this! Feel free to check out my masterlist for more Peter fics! There is a short sequel to this! 

PART TWO

[bionerd2point0]

Congrats on reaching 100 followers! 🎉

For the promptathon: How about a Tim sickfic?

Thank you lovely!! I was a bit lost on what to do for this at first, and then I realized - I've already technically written one! XD for those who are in RoR, this isn't new, but I figured this was a good place to post it!!

-

Tim frowned down at his phone, trying to ignore the pulsing behind his eyes as he typed. 

T: when you get here, can we just go home? Feeling kinda shitty

J: sure! Coming down with something? 

T: bad headache + upset stomach

J: gotcha. Hang in there babe  

Tim heaved a sigh and dropped his phone onto his desk. He felt like shit in more ways than one. He knew Jason had been looking forward to this date, but he just really wasn't feeling well. 

-

By the time Jason pulled up to the parking garage to pick him up, Tim was feeling significantly worse and was seriously debating triggering his gag reflex just so it would end. 

He resisted, barely, if only because he much preferred his own bathroom. 

Jason asked him quiet questions on the way to Tim's apartment, and Tim answered with an assortment of grunts, hyper aware of the plastic trash bag by his knee and grateful that Jason was the one picking him up from work. Heavens knew he was the best driver in the family by a landslide.

Jason pulled into the driveway of Tim's brownstone, and Tim didn't even wait for him to park behind booking it into the house. 

Twenty minutes later he was hunched over the bathroom sink, teary, snotty, and missing everything he'd eaten in the last week. 

Jason appeared as if summoned, crawling out from wherever he'd been hiding while Tim threw up half his GI tract. 

"C'mon, babybird. Let's get you in bed."

Tim was absolutely capable of walking by himself—he was! But Jason was big and strong and easy to lean against as they tackled the long flight of stairs together. 

It wasn't until they reached the threshold of his room that he remembered the state it was in. That being the state of mass chaos. 

He spent exactly three seconds imagining himself trying to parkour his way over the boxes of winter clothes in a mad dash to the bathroom, then turned to Jason. 

"Could you grab me one of the little trash cans? Just in case."

A complicated series of emotions crossed Jason's face before he settled on determination. "You have a guest room?"

Tim nodded because oh. That was a much better idea. 

Jason let him brush his teeth and change into fuzzy pajamas Tim didn't know he owned but probably came from Dick, then shuffled him into the guest room. 

He practically pushed Tim onto the bed, then immediately stripped off the comforter and brought in an armload of blankets from... Somewhere. Tim could figure that out later. 

It wasn't until Jason started crawling into the other side of the bed with a glass of ginger beer that Tim started paying closer attention. 

"No, no. I'm sick," he protested weakly. 

Jason ignored him and pressed the straw against his lips. "You threw up because you have a migraine, not because you're sick. This room is fucking cold, and we both know you can't regulate body temperature worth shit, so hush up and let me cuddle you."

And if Tim fell asleep thinking about the spare key living in his sock drawer, well. Jason would find out soon enough.

[whump-town]

Fic idea for your consideration: somewhat non-cannon because I think Emily owned property before she bought that brownstone... but what if that brownstone is her first purchase and she feels kinda weird buying it without a partner the way she thought her first home purchase would be. Cue Hotch making her feel better about it.

[I’m fairly certain that I understood your idea but if I didn’t just let me know :)]

“Penny for your thoughts?”

It’s ten o’clock at night and the bullpen is cast in darkness aside from Emily Prentiss’s desk lamp. So, rightfully, she thought she was alone. That is until her stupidly tall unit chief comes stalking into the bullpen. Making no noise.

“We need to get you a collar,” she says with a shake of her head. Her heart is racing, pounding against the palm she presses to her sternum. “Jeez,” she grunts, letting her hand fall back down to her desk. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she chides with no real heat. 

More surprising than Hotch’s ability to sneak up on her is the smile he cracks. “I’m sure Sergio has one that I can borrow,” he says far too matter-of-factly considering what it is that he’s suggesting. 

Emily blanches at him, more than a little surprised. “Did you-- Did you just make a joke?” She chuckles dryly. He’s such a strange man. In the same breath that she feels off about his joke, she feels like she’s just seen a special feature film. Hotch’s jokes come so rarely and far between, often so dry that they crack and go unnoticed, that she’s afraid she’ll never see it again. So does she reward the behavior or tell him how odd it is to hear him crack a joke?

“Are you done here,” he asks, stepping up to her desk. He lifts the cover of her case, giving it an approving nod. “There’s a sandwich place downtown, I was gonna stop and catch a late dinner.”

Again, it’s ten o’clock at night. “What kind of sandwich shop is open at ten on a Saturday night?” However, after spending her week eating crappy food from vending machines it’s sounding pretty good. He’s convinced her and he hasn’t even laid out his best argument. 

Admittedly, he really doesn’t feel like dining alone.

Hotch takes her inquiry as a yes because that’s, essentially, what it is. “It mostly gets cadets and a few college students,” he admits. It wasn’t around when he was a part of either of those groups but he can still appreciate a good late-night sandwich. Especially, with the way, he forgets to take breaks. “I would understand if you’d rather go home though. It’s late and the kids at the shop have a tendency to be pretty nosey.”

Emily rises to her feet with an eye-roll. “Hotch, I didn’t die and come back from the dead to abide by societal standards on when I should eat my meals.” She smiles when he hands her bag to her. He can be a bit uptight but he’s a gentleman and she can appreciate that. “Besides,” she adds, “I’ve never said no to a sandwich in my life. I’m not going to start now.”

He lets himself laugh with her. Not all that long ago, he almost lost her. He wants to enjoy her company just as much as he wants to get to the bottom of whatever’s bothering her. And he plans to do just that. “I can drive,” he offers, knowing that she drove to work too. He’s really just buying time… time with her that he’s afraid is coming to an end.

Emily blows a breath out her mouth, slow but steady. She’s heavily considering it.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning,” he offers, “and we can stop for coffee.”

She snaps her finger, “sold!” She motions in front of her, comically allowing him to lead the way. 

While she’d hoped that a sandwich and some small talk would deter her spiraling thoughts. 

It doesn’t.

She just sits in his car and thinks about the family he had. Haley and Jack. His marriage wasn’t the world’s happiest but Haley and Hotch loved one another. He had someone to come home to. That’s more than she can say she ever had. 

These thoughts plague her past the car ride and she finds that he’s mumbled something to her multiple times now and she’s been too far gone to notice. 

As they take their seats at the diner, opposing sides of a booth, Hotch sighs. “What did I tell you?” He means, of course, the two other groups in the shop. One of the kids is definitely a cadet, there’s something spectacularly star struck about the grin on the young woman’s face. It’s hard to tell, which one of them is causing said reaction. 

While her name may be the stuff of urban legend, his comes with his tricky career. Cadets are taught about the woman who infiltrated a unit renowned for studying human behavior. The only person to ever have her name and face placed on the wall of the fallen and taken down. While they teach his name alongside George Foyet-- the gift that keeps on giving. Cadets know, in intimate detail, what Foyet did to Hotch. 

He’s a lesson.

She’s a legend.

“So,” Hotch brushes his hands off. He’d torn into his own sandwich while her own had garnered only a little bit of her attention. She can’t stop thinking about the cadets and the students watching them. There seems to be a median of reactions and she knows that has to do with their attire, their jobs, and their names. 

“Buyers regret,” he recalls, frowning as his fingers work to undo his tie. To her shock, she sits and watches as SSA Aaron Hotchner is torn apart leaving only Aaron with slightly tousled hair and loosened collar. “Dave thinks you’re planning on leaving. Morgan knows you’re stalling. Reid’s... He’s certain you’ll ask for reassignment.”

Reassignment?

She shakes her head. Profilers, man, they suck. 

Hotch sighs, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. “I think they’re probably right,” he surmises. 

Emily winces. Now, she can’t lie to him. She pops a french fry in her mouth, buying herself time but looking incredibly guilty in doing so. “It’s about the brownstone,” she admits, playing with another fry so that she doesn’t have to look at him. “I just… It feels wrong, you know?”

He wishes he understood. He wants to offer her that comfort but he doesn’t understand. Her emotions, everything concerning her lately, has been pulled away. She’s guarded, even to him and JJ, and he can’t say he blames her. “I’m afraid I don’t,” he replies. “I’m willing to try, though, if you’re willing to explain.” 

Emily keeps her eyes lowered to the table, unable to meet his eyes knowing that they’re going to be burning with compassion. To think there was once a point in their lives that they hated the simple sight of one another. Only to end up here. 

The only thing holding them together these days. 

“I’m almost forty years old,” she admits sheepishly, rubbing at her cheek. She knows that he’s not a misogynist. So he’s not going to think it’s silly or childish that she planned out her wedding before she was even ten and thought she had her life planned out. 

Yet, when she meets his eyes all she can think about is that he probably had plans for forty-five too. 

Probably thought he’d still be married to his high-school sweetheart with three or four kids. Things wouldn’t be perfect but he’d have a family too. He’d have more to come home to than his dead ex-wife’s sister and his son. Not that he ever complains.

Now he’s raising an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to fill him in. Informing him of her age isn’t connecting the dots and he’s starting to think he’s missed something. Her birthday isn’t for a few more months. So, he knows that’s not it.

“I thought I would have a family,” she whispers, grimacing when she blushes. “I thought I would be married and I’d have kids.” She’s afraid to see his reaction to her words. To her surprise, the corners of his mouth have fallen into a deep frown. His eyes have moved to the table but he’s not mad. He’s not even upset, he’s just thinking. 

She sucks in a breath, fumbling to amend whatever she’s said to throw him for a loop. “I mean, it’s kind of selfish--”

“It isn’t.” His voice is deep, thick with the emotion he means to punch into the statement. “It’s not selfish to want a family, Emily.” He manages a small smile her way but his eyes are still pulled down by the weight of the topic at hand. Reaching up he rubs at his jaw, shaking his head as he thinks of something to say. “What does that have to do with the brownstone though?”

She grimaces. She was kind of hoping he’d put that together by himself and spare her the explanation. Clearing her throat and pulling her hands under the table to hide any tells he might see she manages. “I’ve never bought a home before,” she glances up for his immediate reaction before dropping her eyes back down. “I always… I just let myself down, Hotch. I just bought my first house but I don’t even have a partner to move into it with.”

He can see her tears swelling up in her eyes so he reaches across the table, resting his palm upright on the table for her to take. She looks up at him and then down at his hand and back at him again. He raises an eyebrow, silently waiting for her to take it. 

Hesitantly, she places her hand over his. 

“Emily,” he says softly. “There’s no right way to do any of this.” He motions vaguely around them, meaning not just her brownstone problem but life in general. He gives her hand a soft squeeze. “If it did, I imagine…” his immediate thought goes to Haley. If things had gone down as he planned… Well, things wouldn’t be as they are now. He shakes his head clear of that thought. “Things wouldn’t the same,” he decides. “We probably wouldn’t be a sandwich shop at eleven o’clock at night, that’s for sure.”

Emily nods her head. Good point. She’d be at home with a husband and kids to spend the night with. Not hanging out with her boss-- who doubles as one of her few friends-- and the only person waiting for her being a spoiled cat. “Rossi would probably still have his handful of divorces though,” she says with a shrug.

Hotch chuckles, “oh yeah.”

Pulling back to their respective sides of the table, Hotch turns his attention back to his food. He’s starving and he looks up to find Emily’s going back to own food as well. 

“I can-- I can put together IKEA furniture,” he offers lamely, after a moment. “I mean, I put together Jack’s crib and toddler bed…” Not to mention the half-dozen times he’s had to move over the last decade. He’s assembled his share of furniture.

She laughs as his weak offer to help but appreciates it none-the-less. “Morgan already promised he’d do that,” she tells him. She’s smiling but his shoulder’s drop a little as his only chance to help is kindly brushed away. Quickly, she adds, “but you and Jack can come by and I can bastardize one of Dave’s recipes to better suit the tastebuds of a five-year-old?”

He smiles, nodding. “I’ll bring wine and promise not to tell Dave you messed with one of his recipes.” 

Emily rolls her eyes. Dave loves her but he might also beat her if he were to find out she regularly adds and takes things out of his recipes. She smiles at Hotch, already excited to have Jack over. “It’s a date then.”

He nods his head, a date indeed.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 44

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Non-violent character death, feels

A/N: Who doesn’t want to peek into Bucky’s journals? I know I do--especially after the reader gave him fresh ones for Christmas 😘

Thanks to @wonderlandmind4​ for convincing me that this wasn’t a stupid idea. 

Tags are open!

Bucky’s Journal - Love

For once I can’t sleep and it’s not because of something horrible. I’m just happy. 

It’s been a year since she slept in my bed that first night and never left. A whole year. 

Never thought this could happen, didn’t even think about love or happiness when I decided to keep living—to fight back. Too hard to think about those kinds of things because they seemed so impossible. But here she is, still in my bed, sound asleep and happy. Or at least I hope she’s happy. I think she is. 

This morning I made her breakfast, like the first morning we spent together. Y/N hadn’t realized the day, didn’t expect her to. I wrote in another journal the date so I’d remember (like I do everything haha). She had that smile on her face that scrunches her eyes, and her hair was all over the place from sleep. She was radiant--she’d roll her eyes if she knew I wrote that. It’s true though. 

I suspected it for a long while but now I think I really know that I’ve never felt this way for someone before. Sure there were dames I liked, I remember some of ‘em. Good women, a few I even wondered about marrying--wouldda made Ma happy to see that. But none of ‘em came close to Y/N. Maybe it’s everything we’ve been through but I just don’t think it’s only that. There’s a spark in her. She’s different. 

And goddamn she’s mine.

Bucky’s Journal - Present

Mr. G has been on the up and up. Says the fall always makes him feel like a new man even if it makes his bones ache. Wonder if I’ll ever be an old man with achy bones. 

Y/N watched the shop and he and I went for a stroll in the park close by. He had his little motorized scooter, even though he hates the thing said he’d feel bad not using it after his daughter got it for him. 

Told me in his old age he’s realized something he wished he knew when he was young, I’ll try to get it down just as he said it.

“Life is just a series of brief moments, happiness, joy, pain. We look at everything like a big portrait but it’s the moments that matter, in the end. We only have each thing for a moment. I wish I’d known that. I would have paid closer attention to the good moments and let the bad ones rest.”

He looked so tired after that, like the bad ones were winning out in the battle for his attention. I wanted to tell him I knew, understood what it was like to have so many bad ones that it’s hard to focus on the good but he thinks I’m young enough to be his grandson. Seems strange to say I understood. 

But he’s right. All these journals all this time spent just trying to catch even a fraction of a moment I’d forgotten. Piecing myself back together with them, bringing myself back to life with nothing but moments. I know how valuable they are, but the bad ones they matter too, can’t let them rest. 

Bucky’s Journal - Future

I wonder what our future could be. It’s hard to imagine too far ahead. Just not knowing what may be right around the next corner. It makes it hard. But she wanted me to think about the future when she gave me this. Maybe she meant just mine but there isn’t a future for me without her in it. 

I just wish I could get an idea of what that would look like?

If this was 1945 I know exactly what I’d want. I’d marry this woman in a heartbeat. Take her dancing, maybe at that real swell place in Harlem--bet that’s long gone. Go to the pictures with Steve and Peggy—they would have been good together if they had a chance. (Hope he’s found someone.) Maybe try to get us a brownstone, always wanted one. Fill it with a couple of babies. A little girl with all her momma’s moxie and those bouncy curls—a little girl with enough backbone to make her aunt Jo proud and me worried. 

But that doesn’t matter. Can’t have what doesn’t exist. 

When I think about the future now all I see is uncertainty. Only thing I know I want is her to be safe and happy—no matter what that means.. I’m thinking the first step is to move on from here. Been here too long, longer than I planned. I just don’t know how to tell her, don’t want her to feel like she’s losing another home. 

Bucky’s Journal - Love

I fell in love with her again today. Is that possible? 

She was baking (scones and biscuits, they’re some of the best things I’ve ever eaten I swear) wearing nothing but one of my tees—it had flower dusted on it but she didn’t care. Her headphones were in, listening to something she clearly liked a lot 'cause she was bouncing around the kitchen, curls spinning, body floating up from time to time, mouth moving to the lyrics, just smiling. That spark, my god it was just brighter than I’ve ever seen it. I think this must’ve been what she was like before—bold and confident and happy. 

I almost got up and grabbed her, wanted to kiss her so bad but I just couldn’t. My mouth was dry and my right palm felt sweaty. Felt like a nervous kid just gawking at her. So I just let the moment play on until she noticed me. Took a while thankfully, she was so caught up. 

When she kissed me she tasted like coffee and some of the dark chocolate chips she’d snuck while baking. She almost always tastes like coffee. Fuck, I love it. 

This is one of those good moments. There are so many with her. But the more I have the more I know that a million moments won’t be enough. 

Bucky’s Journal - Future

I finally told her.

Almost a year and a half in one place is too long. For now anyway. One day, hopefully, we can find a place to stay. To make a home. 

I laid out that the longer we stay the easier it is for someone to identify us—didn’t say I really just meant me. Even with her record I have no doubt there are more people sniffing for me than her.  

She’s reluctant to leave Mr. G. He’s back to his old self pretty much though. They have his condition stable and his kids are checking in more often. I haven’t met them, best to not, but she says they’re good people. Makes sense given who raised ‘em. 

Ultimately, though she said home was where I was, she didn’t care where we went. I don’t know how I became such a lucky bastard.

I’ll figure out where will be best, safest. Or safer anyway. 

Bucky’s Journal - Present

This woman. This incredible woman. 

I’m sure she’s sick of me by now but I can’t stop telling her how goddamn amazing she is. 

Yesterday we were heading back from the market and this piece of shit left arm just went ape shit. Couldn’t move it beyond weird twitching it was doin’ on its own and the pain. Fuck I thought I was gonna die, truly, thought it would stop my heart. Dropped everything I was carrying and doubled over. 

If she was panicked I never noticed. It’s kinda fuzzy but she got me behind a building away from people and used her gift to try to figure out what was happening. I know I didn’t make it easy judging by how torn up my shirt and hoodie were, must’ve clawed at them—done that in the past I remember, tried to claw the damn thing off. But she found something loose that seemed off, shoved her belt between my teeth for me to bite down on and fixed it. Just like that. 

Nearly passed out. Honestly not sure how she got me home exactly but when my head cleared she was wrapping my shoulder in hot towels—the muscles still hurt from the tension but would be worse if not for her. 

I don’t know what I did right to deserve this one. But I’m grateful. 

Y/N’s First Journal Entry

Bucky suggested I start this, said writing helps for the things you can’t find the words for. Maybe he’s right. I haven’t had a journal since I was 17. Keeping one when I was with mom was too risky and even after I didn’t want to write down things, it was like writing it made it real. And I just didn’t see the point.

Still feels like writing this down will make it too real. But I just can’t--I don’t want it to be real ya know? I can’t say this out loud either though ‘cuz if I do I think that’ll do me in, I’ll break and idk if I’ll get it back together. I can’t do that. I need to be solid for Mr. G for Buck too. 

He’s dying. Mr. Goldstein that is. Fuck. It just… I’m just tired of losing people. I know he’s lived a long full life but I’m selfish I’m not ready and I just. Can’t. 

This isn’t helping. 

Bucky’s Journal - Present

She begged me for more time. She didn’t have to. I feel bad that she thinks she did. Leaving now wouldn’t be right, not after everything Mr. G has done for us both. Wouldn’t even dream of it. 

She’s looking after the shop, I’ve been spending most days there too. Sure she thinks it’s just to be close to her which is nice but I think we both feel closer to him there. I try to avoid the hospital, don’t want too much face to face with his kids—too risky—but I’ve made it by a few times. He’s still him but he seems… smaller maybe? 

I feel guilty. Hearing about his kids from Y/N and just seeing him. Kinda glad I didn’t have to watch my own Ma and Pa go but that means the girls went through this without me and I — well I just never thought about it. Should have. 

New Years was last week. It wasn’t a happy one but we were together—sometimes that’s all we can hope for. 

Thought I knew what the future would be but now… just can’t tell. 

Y/N’s Journal

He’s gone. 

He knew it would be soon and asked Bucky and I to come by. He said he didn’t want us to be there at the end but wanted to remind us to take care of one another and that we’d made this last stretch a damn good one. Said this wasn’t goodbye, in fact he said he wouldn’t hear it. He’d see us later. 

He’ll never know. I hate that he’ll never know. Not who I really am not what he’s done for me for both of us all this time. I hate it. I hate that he’s not going to come in here today with a pretzel and coffee not gonna sit on his stool with Victor. Hate that he’s gone. 

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Other than my mouth just doesn’t want to work.

Feel like we’re both just stuck in our grief. Not withdrawing though. No. Just hard to put this into words. Out loud. 

I suppose I should be grateful, happy this sweet old man took two weird people in without question. Not a damn word when I went from looking like a boy to clearly presenting more as a woman. Never cared. Just cared that we were ok. 

I am grateful. 

I just wasn’t ready. 

His kids are closing the shop. Makes sense. They’ll take care of Victor too because we said we couldn’t. This is my last day in this shop. 

I’m so tired of losing people.

But I’ve got Bucky. He makes me wonder if there isn’t some kind of god out there, maybe trying to make up for shitting the bed by giving me him—giving us each other. I know he’s hurting too but he seems so unshakable. I’m lucky to get to love him. I just have to focus on that right now. We have a future to look forward to and a promise to keep to Mr. Goldstein—to take care of one another. 

That’s a promise I swear I will never break.

Tag List:

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[bigtittyhimmler-blog]

Who Goes Nazi? Brooklyn Edition

If you’re anything like me, a twenty-something Twitter leftist with an advanced degree in the humanities, you hate absolutely everyone around you and badly want to kill them. You live in a brownstone playground of Timorese food and adult coloring books, and you want to suicide bomb the L train but leave a note blaming it on manspreading or whatever, so people don’t think you’re one of “those” random mass murderers (the bad kind). You hate having to tell people at parties that you “work in content,” and you hate the fact that they all also work in content. You hate that they all make content for outlets that are slightly cooler and more prestigious than the outlets you make content for. You hate that none of them have even fucked you for like thirteen months. You hate that you can’t even hate them for the ways in which they’re different to you, because there aren’t any. But fear not! There’s one thing you’ve got that nobody else does: you know that you’re definitely, 100% Not A Nazi.

But what about them? Imagine if the Nazis took over America and it was suddenly cool and prestigious to be a Nazi, and there were trendy Nazis on the TV the whole time, and they once again sold soap with slogans like “Dove: The White Pride Soap for Hating QTBIPOC and Not Amplifying Their Voices.” But also don’t imagine, because that’s exactly what’s happening.

 This game was invented by Dorothy Thompson in her classic 1941 Harpers essay Who Goes Nazi?, in which she presciently pointed out that intellectuals are definitely more Nazi than aristocrats, but not nearly as Nazi as union leaders. But she set her essay at some dinner party in the Hamptons or wherever, and last time I went out there I went swimming in the sea and a wave hit me and I lost my bikini top and a bunch of bros in boat shoes started laughing and pointing at me in a way that despite my white privilege I still feel was somehow like imbued with racism, and then afterwards I just stayed inside for three weeks writing content and ordering groceries online, so the setting needs to be updated. Let’s look at your group DM. Which of these Twitter creatives who live in Brooklyn would go along with it and become a Nazi? (All of them.) And who never, ever would? (Me.)

 Mr A isn’t actually in your group DM, and you’ve never encountered anyone like him irl, but you literally can’t stop talking about him, so he gets included anyway. Mr A is a short ugly loser, and he’s already a Nazi. He doesn’t even live in Brooklyn, he lives in his mother’s basement, and eats chicken tenders, and he doesn’t get laid, but in a different way to the way you don’t get laid, which has to do with patriarchy. Mr A is a Pizzagate. Mr A is a Gamergate. Mr A is a segregationist. Mr A opposes the reforms of the Emperor Diocletian (284-305). Mr A won’t shut up about the superiority of a “free silver” bimetallic monetary system over gold specie, and keeps on talking about the “gold shills” in a way that doesn’t really make sense until you realize that your own name is Goldschmidt, and yeah, he doesn’t really care about expansionary monetary policy at all, he’s talking about the Jews, and specifically you. Mr A is basically a pathetic worm whose life sucks and nobody likes him, but also he represents the whole of the repressive forces of society and he’s at the top of the social hierarchy. Everyone you’ve ever met is actually Mr A, wearing various masks. He is the source of all your problems. He must be killed, and once we kill him, we need to find more people like him to be the source of any problems we have left over.

 Mr B is in your group DM, but you also have a separate group DM with everyone else except Mr B in it. He keeps trying so hard to be nice, and says stuff like “so how is everyone’s day today” with a smiley emoji, and when you’re talking to him you get this airless feeling like you’re about to suffocate in his treacly good-natured presence. Every time you see Mr B at a party you’re afraid that he’s going to blurt out that he loves you, but you can’t keep your distance too much because he’s so clearly autistic, and you don’t want to be ableist. Anyway once in the group DM he said that while he obviously thought divining for water with Y-shaped copper rods was good and important and valid, he didn’t understand what it had to do with socialism. That made everything better, because clearly he’s a Nazi. The whole group DM expended hours of emotional labor educating him about how dowsing is part of LGBTQ+ culture and how his dismissive bro-y attitude was reactionary and gross, and eventually he posted a video of himself crying and begging for forgiveness and promising to do better, because you guys were the only friends he had. This was classic white fragility, but in the end you let him stay. You just have the other DM now, where you make fun of him and it’s ok, because if the Nazis came and he had license to start being cruel and sadistic to other people, he’d definitely do it.

 Ms C is one of those women who doesn’t like other women, and you know this about her because you can’t fucking stand the bitch. Plus she says stuff that’s really not ok, even though it costs nothing to have empathy and be kind. You’ve personally heard her use the D-word, the H-slur, and the L-pejorative, all while laughing and holding a glass of white wine by the stem, like she doesn’t need to consider the harm this does to others, just because she’s “funny” and “an artist.” She’s the Cool Chick. She makes nude self-portraits (the bad, skinny kind), and she’d throw you under the bus in a second for male attention and approval. She’d definitely go Nazi. But the worst thing about her is that she has the impudence to be bisexual and Asian, which makes it really hard to call her out. But then you realized that all Asian people are collectively responsible for the long history of anti-Blackness and misogynoir in their communities, and you’re thinking of holding her collectively responsible for the Rape of Nanking too, once you’re certain she’s a sushi Asian and not the dim sum kind.

 Ms D’s boyfriend works in finance, or like accountancy or something, or I think I heard he was a musician? Maybe a drummer or possibly he used to bartend at a place where they had live music. Anyway they definitely have vanilla cishet sex in the missionary position and you can’t stop thinking about it, his body, her body, naked, moving, breathing, together, almost silent, tender, disgusting. She says she’s a socialist but doesn’t devote every minute of her waking life to getting mad about people online. This means she’s just vaguely following a trend, and if the trend were being a Nazi (which it is), she’d be a Nazi (which she therefore is). You can’t imagine yourself actually hitting her but it’d definitely be punching up to maybe poison her food?

 Mr E used to be a comrade, but then he did a tweet that got 38.6k RT’s and now he’s moved to Los Angeles to spend his whole time in writers’ rooms. Last you heard he was pitching an animated show for adults about a snail with borderline personality disorder. It hasn’t even been greenlit yet, but you’re already thinking about all the ways in which it will be a missed opportunity and do harm and perpetuate tropes. Mr E will definitely turn out to have been a Nazi, and then you can start an anonymous petition to get the show cancelled so he has to move back to New York. Once he’s back you can send him a long email about how much it sucks his career burned out and how (even though you won’t say it in public) sometimes people do actually take the social-justice thing too far. That way he’ll be a comrade again, which is good, because we believe in rehabilitating people who have a genuine change of heart.

 Mr F probably thinks he’s better than you. He’s a union organizer. So are you (you added “#Unionize” to your Twitter name), but his union stuff involves workers who aren’t in tech, content, or grad school, and he probably thinks that makes him more in touch with “the real workers,” who he probably thinks are just a bunch of cis white males in a factory, who are probably all racist and probably have thick, heavy dicks that intrude on your mind in a kinda #MeToo way a lot of the time. He talks about class, and you agree that class is important because you’re not a lib (you support Bernie, you just want him to Do Better). But from the way he says it you’re certain he doesn’t acknowledge all he/him lesbians as part of the working class. He’s trying to save a tiny sector of the workers from a necessary and important socio-economic shift that will impoverish them and make their lives worse, and that’s what being a Nazi is. This is why his union needs to stop dragging their heels, change all of their rules and priorities, and let you get him fired.

 Ms G (me) will never go Nazi, because she is beautiful and kind and pure, and has all the good opinions instead of the bad ones. Because of this she’s allowed to do things that other people can’t do. She can totally fail to understand what having an authoritarian personality actually means, and construct a version of the Who Goes Nazi? essay in which the people who go Nazi are just people who are already right wing, having confused politics with personality, probably because she herself has no personality other than her politics. She can minimize, ignore, or even encourage the infliction of actual suffering when it happens to the wrong kind of people. She can write that “nothing that terrible has really happened” since the publication of Mark Fisher’s Exiting the Vampire Castle, even though Mark Fisher himself is mysteriously not around to appreciate that fact. She can do some shit with threatening to leak an unedited draft that I don’t even want to go into. She knows that the Nazis don’t come promising hatred but promising to be your friend, but it’s ok because she doesn’t really have any friends, just mufos. She’s doing great. She’s building a better, kinder world. She will never, ever be the Nazis.

[samscns-blog]

      *    𝖎𝖋   ur  ready  to  two  step  into  some  absolute  BULLSHIT  tomfoolery  ,  ya  girl  𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧  is  ready  for  u  with  my  lil  firecrotch  son  ,  𝖘𝖆𝖒𝖘𝖔𝖓  .  strong  silent  type  ,  ABSOLUTE  buffoon  ,  barely  keeping  it  together  so  hopefully  by  the  time  we’re  done  w  him  he’s  still  in  something  resembling  one  piece  :’)  all  my  love  to  u  and  u  cute  asses  !  i’m  so  excited  to  get  this  all  poppin  !

⋆  ╰  another   year   at   hollingsworth   ,  another   year   of   the  big   six rivalry   .   i   hear   that  SAMSON  MAILOTO   is   ensuring  SIGMA  ALPHA  NU   gets   a   solid   pledge   class   and   stays   at   the   top   of   the   ranks   .  oh   ,   you’re   not   familiar   with  HIM  ?  SAM   is   the  KJ  APA   look   alike   from  THE  BRONX   ,   NEW  YORK   .   a  part   of   PC  ‘16   ,  he  is   majoring   in  KINESIOLOGY   and   has   plans   to  ENTER  THE  MMA  AND  ESCAPE  FROM  THE  PUBLIC  EYE   after   undergrad   .   it   makes   sense   they   pledged   their   house   ,   their  PHLEGMATIC   &  SOLICITOUS   attributes   make   them   perfect   matches   .   however   ,   their  TREPIDATIOUS   &  AUSTERE   attributes   keep   their   name   alive   on  greek   rank   .   if   you   don’t   catch   them   dancing   to  BLEACH   -   BROCKHAMPTON   at   a   fraternity   band   party   this   year   ,   you’ll   be   sure   to   catch   them   nursing   their   morning   hangover   at  THE  SNU  HOUSE   .  cheers   to   another   wild   semester  !

⋆ ╰   𝑺 𝑻 𝑨 𝑻 𝑰 𝑺 𝑻 𝑰 𝑪 𝑺  .

𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍    𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 :     samson  ioaleki  mailoto

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬     :    sam  ,  sammy  

𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆    /    𝒂𝒈𝒆 :    february  4    ,    twenty

𝒛𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒄     :    aquarius

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓    𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒚    /    𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔     :     cismale  identifying    with    he  /  him  /  his  pronouns    

𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏     :     heteroflexible  and  pansexual  ;  he’s  never  actively  considered  himself  as  lgbtq+  but  has  also  never  given  it  much  thought  ddjdjdjdkjdk

𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏    :    kinesiology  major  at  hu  ,  aspiring  welterweight  mma  fighter  ,  us  olympic  representitive  for  men’s  boxing  in  the  2020  olympics

𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔    𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆    :    gryffindor

𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏    𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅    𝒃𝒚     :     eliot  alder  from  mr  robot  ,  kylo  ren  from  the  new  star  wars  series  ,  detective  elliot  stabler  from  law  and  order  svu  ,  steve  rogers  from  the  mcu  

𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔    :    -    trepidatious  ,  austere  ,  apprehensive  ,  hesitant  ,  antisocial  ,  hostile  ,  bellicose  .

+        phlegmatic  ,  solicitous  ,  benevolent  ,  rational  ,  stalwart  ,  loyal  ,  reliable  ,  optimistic  .

𝑃𝐼𝑁𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑇  located  here  !

⋆ ╰    𝑨 𝑵 𝑻 𝑬 𝑪 𝑬 𝑫 𝑬 𝑵 𝑻 .

bullet  points  for  the  win  bc  who  has  time  for  all  the  tomfoolery  i  could  spew  from  my  ass  !

sammy’s  mom  was  a  housekeeper  in  upper  manhattan  for  some  fancy  dancy  homes  who  needed  their  gold  toilet  seat  covers  sanitized  3x  a  day  ,  u  know  the  type 🙄

samson  grew  up  in  a  run  down  apartment  in  a  small  samoan  community  in  the  bronx  and  has  always  been  a  lil  antisocial  weirdo  since  those  warm  dark  eyes  came  into  the  light  .  he  rlly  minded  his  own  business  n  wasn’t  really  curious  about  literally  anything  besides  running  and  wrestling  w  his  cousins  .  his  mom  struggled  to  keep  him  fed  and  housed  and  dressed  and  worked  relentless  hours  but  never  left  sam  needing  anything  ,  a  literal  fucking  legend  of  a  woman  and  he’s  proud  to  carry  her  last  name  !

sammy  always  felt  the  weight  of  never  wanting  to  be  an  extra  burden  to  his  mother  and  learned  to  really  be  self-sufficient  ,  likely  explaining  his  satisfaction  with  being  so  alone  

he  vaguely  remembers  the  night  his  life  changed  in  middle  school  ,  the  hushed  strained  whisper  from  the  living  room  ,  he’s  your  god  damned  son  too  ,  think  about  him  for  once  in  your  fucking  life  .  it  hit  like  a  fucking  train  once  the  story  picked  up  ,  5  time  nfl  superbowl  champ  father  to  secret  love  child  .  think  arnold  schwarznegger’s  secret  son  level  scandal  !  suddenly  his  shithead  of  a  dead  is  trying  to  salvage  his  image  ,  fighting  for  split  custody  arrangements  ,  telling  the  press  how  much  in  child  support  he  payed  ,  anything  to  save  his  ass

this  is  the  first  time  samson  remembers  being  fueled  by  rage  in  his  life  ,  as  a  relatively  well-tempered  child  ,  the  injustice  of  having  this  near-stranger  try  to  be  a  “  DAD  ” to  him  while  shitting  all  over  his  mother’s  name  made  his  fucking  blood  boil  and  becomes  a  theme  for  his  future

he  spends  the  next  chapters  of  his  life  going  to  the  fancy  private  schools  in  new  york  his  dad  picks  for  him  and  tearing  his  tie  off  on  the  ratty  bus  ride  into  the  bronx  to  go  home  to  his  mom  .  he  hates  having  to  haul  ass  back  and  forth  ,  wishing  he  could  stay  with  the  only  family  he’s  actually  given  a  shit  about  ,  but  bears  it  for  the  sake  of  not  causing  his  mom  any  more  torment  .  his  father  is  as  awful  as  could  be  imagined  ,  and  samson  hates  every  second  of  existing  with  him  ,  the  snarky  little  comments  at  school  and  in  the  ritzy  wealthy  circles  that  make  him  feel  more  of  a  black  sheep  than  he  ever  asked  to  be

this  becomes  the  root  of  his  anxiety  ,  bearing  the  weight  of  the  world’s  expectations  on  his  young  shoulders  and  repressing  his  own  needs  and  desires  as  a  result  .  he  goes  into  every  sport  imaginable  ,  his  father’s  DNA  being  increasingly  difficult  to  deny  ,  but  finds  a  particular  talent  with  fighting  and  takes  on  as  many  fighting  styles  as  he’s  able  to  master

turning  18  should  mean  freedom  for  sam  ,  but  nothing  is  ever  as  simple  as  he  could  ask  in  his  life  .  in  order  to  keep  the  child  support  payments  that  admittedly  help  keep  his  mother  afloat  ,  his  father  asks  one  more  thing  of  samson  :  hold  off  on  his  pro  mma  dreams  for  just  a  little  longer  in  order  to  attend  his  alma  matter  ,  hollingsworth  university  ,  as  a  publicity  move  and  then  he’ll  be  out  of  sam’s  life  in  every  way  except  financially  .  with  the  dream  of  completing  college  like  his  mom  always  aspired  for  him  ,  sam  agreed  and  went  on  to  appease  the  man  one  last  time  ,  joining  his  former  fraternity  to  sweeten  the  deal  (  and  secure  a  lovely  brownstone  in  his  childhood  neighborhood  signed  in  his  mother’s  name  )  and  is  a  year  out  from  graduating  and  letting  mma  be  the  only  reason  his  name  would  ever  appear  in  the  tabloids  .

⋆ ╰    𝑨 𝑵 𝑨 𝑳 𝒀 𝑺 𝑰 𝑺 .

personality  wise  ,  i  describe  sam  as  the  stupid  bitch  w  big  npc  energy  ,  if  u  want  him  to  talk  u  gotta  talk  to  him  first  and  even  then  he  might  just  give  u  that  hostile  stare  and  just  .. . .  remain  silent  KSDFSDF

he’s  about  as  NOT  a  people  person  as  physically  possible  ,  would  really  be  content  just  sticking  to  his  inner  circle  for  like  the  rest  of  his  life  without  concern  .  he  seems  like  this  rude  stand-offish  dick  but  the  truth  is  he’s  PAINFULLY  SHY  and  has  a  p  severe  case  of  generalized  anxiety  disorder  so  interactions  ?  w  new  ppl  ?  are  a  HARD  pass

did  i  mention  he’s  on  steriods  bc  that  def  adds  to  his  anxiety  and  hostility  !  lmao  !  he  started  juicing  in  high  school  when  his  dad  kept  pressuring  him  for  football  and  how  he  was  “  twice  your  size ”   at  that  age  ,  n  he  HATES  the  dude  but  he’s  also  lowkey  insecure  abt  his  lack  of  a  father  figure  so  ?  used  daddy’s  money  to  start  his  first  cycle  and  pay  off  to  test  clean  and  now  he’s  been  hooked  on  and  off  .  he’s  currently  starting  a  new  cycle  to  bulk  up  for  the  new  season  and  prep  for  the  2020  olympics  but  swears  he  wont  be  on  them  forever  :/

they  make  him  SUPER  aggressive  when  set  off  ,  it’s  a  decent  thing  that  sam’s  so  monotone  and  shy  that  he’s  also  pretty  laid  back  and  kinda  hard  to  rile  up  .  he  really  doesn’t  take  much  personally  and  won’t  do  a  huge  “  chest  pumped  bro  lets  do  this ”  show  bc  he  ?  thinks  all  those  guys  who  do  that  are  tools  LMAO  but  find  the  right  button  to  push  n  he’ll  become  the  very  thing  he  despises  !

if  u  can  get  past  the  literal  awkward  silence  and  resting  bitch  face  ,  sammy  is  actually  really  well  known  for  being  just  a  generally  decent  guy  .  the  perception  is  often  that  he’s  a  dick  bc  he  think’s  he’s  better  than  a  lot  of  ppl  ,  but  the  truth  is  he’s  just  too  nervous  to  start  conversations  n  most  ppl  assume  its  an  ego  thing  vs  a  “  i’m  about  to  piss  myself  thinking  abt  all  the  ways  this  convo  can  go  wrong  so  i’ll  just  not  talk  and  glare  @  u  instead  ”  thing

if  he  had  his  shit  together  he  would  definitely  qualify  as  a  dad  type  ,  but  since  he  doesn’t  ,  he  won’t  SSHSHSHSH  but  he’s  really  just  a  softie  deep  down  ,  he  has  a  stupid  as  HELL  sense  of  humor  and  is  really  objective  and  level  headed  .  the  gryffindor  in  him  is  DEEPLY  loyal  ,  like  to  the  death  ,  but  he’s  got  lots  of  hufflepuff  in  the  sense  that  he’s  really  willing  to  get  his  hands  dirty  to  help  those  in  need  .  u  need  help  moving  ?  someone  to  keep  u  company  while  u  babysit  ?  feel  nervous  walking  alone  after  class  at  night  ?  sammy  might  leave  u  on  read  if  u  text  him  bc  he’s  a  Dumb  Bitch  like  that  but  he’ll  show  up  on  the  dot  ,  hands  in  pockets  ,  exactly  where  u  asked  him  to  be  ready  to  do  what  u  asked  him  to  do  .  the  mans  is  a  super  hard  worker

he  def  still  feels  kinda  weird  at  uni  ?  he’s  p  smart  but  some  of  the  classes  unrelated  to  athletics  and  anatomy  have  given  him  a  REALLY  tough  time  (  dance  appreciation  for  his  fine  arts  credit  almost  tanked  his  gpa  LMAO  )  and  he’s  not  top  of  his  class  or  anything  but  ppl  still  try  to  talk  to  him  bc  of  the  whole  “  famous  dad  ,  future  olympian  ”  thing  ,  which  he  can  pick  up  from  a  mile  a  way  and  makes  him  super  uncomfortable  .  even  being  in  a  frat  w  a  bunch  of  old  money  rich  boys  makes  him  DEF  feel  like  the  odd  one  out  ,  and  he’s  just  counting  down  the  days  until  he’s  OUT  OF  HERE

in  conclusion  :  i  love  u  all  .  lets  suffer  together  .  :~)

[drivingsideways]

for the fandom meme questions, if you're still taking them: F, G, W, and Y. (you don't have to do all of them, just whichever ones you wanna answer)

I answered most of those here, so gonna do the remaining one

W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships

OH NO WHERE TO START HOW TO PICK THIS IS TERRIBLE 

I am such a multi-shipper at heart, i ship everyone/everything so picking a few is AGONIZING. 

under the cut ‘cause uh, i got carried away. No particular order of fave, and mostly restricted to ships from the last few years

Miranda Barlow/James Flint/Thomas Hamilton (Black Sails) - OT3 of PAIN omg, the fact that they barely had a chance to be together, and so much of their story  as a trio is basically one or the other NOT BEING THERE AND THE REMAINING TWO BEING DEVASTATED AND WANDERING AROUND THE WORLD LOST WITHOUT THEIR MISSING THIRD. UGHHHH. I yell a lot about James/Miranda here but internally I yell a lot about Thomas/Miranda pre and post James and James/Thomas without Miranda and basically every time I see their faces I’m *crying *, and honestly, my only kink for them is to literally be in the same room and the same time, like, my needs here are very basic. 

Dean/Castiel (SPN): I know, I know. Everybody and their grandmom ships these two, AS THEY SHOULD. I gave up on the show a long time ago, but every now and then a gifset crosses my dash and I’M UNDONE BY THEIR FACES WHEN THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER WHEN THE OTHER IS NOT WATCHING (THERE’S A REASON SEASON 6 IS WHEN I REALLY STARTED SHIPPING THEM) AND I’M LIKE IT’S BEEN 15 YEARS AND SEVERAL RESURRECTIONS PLEASE KISS NOW. Hmm, kinks for this ship- lbr, fandom has written Every Possible Kink for this ship, and I’m happy to roll with most of it, but anything with true-form/eldritch horror Cas and a very human, very mortal Dean is probably THE BEST. Well, that and OMG ARE THEY HOLDING HANDS OMG OMG OMG (I can’t help it, I’m a marshmallow)

Superbat (DCEU) : I’ll be honest, I didn’t give a fuck about Batman until Ben Affleck ran onto the screen with with his fucking three piece suits and Emotional Trauma and Weird Psychosexual Dreams and I couldn’t believe the pit of shame I’d let myself fall into, but BvS was Something (yes, amidst a whole lot of Objectively Bad Somethings, yes I’m looking at you Jesse Eisenberg) anyways, i closed the tab where the movie had been playing, opened another tab for AO3 and fell straight into one of @susiecarter‘s fics, specifically THIS AMAZING FAKE DATING POST BvS ONE and it was basically over for me. This subset of Superbat fandom has some amazing writers and artists so honestly it wasn’t really even my fault, i just wallowed in all the hard work being done by someone else. PINING! CONTROL ISSUES! Emotionally Traumatized Man with a Death Wish meets literal Ray of Sunshine who can ALSO actually kill him with his little finger and has FEELINGS HE CAN”T IDENTIFY MUCH LESS TALK ABOUT. I love pining (is that a kink?) and like this is the otp where one half is/was literally dead while the other is dead inside AND IT WAS ALL TOO MUCH FOR ME. I REGRET NOTHING. Seriously, this version of an older, weary Batman meeting a young(ish) Superman who’s still trying to figure out how to be Superman, with both of them having control issues while being absolute rubbish at communication is perfect for a lot of d/s stuff but like my bulletproof kink in this ship is probably them...talking about their feelings? YEAH.

Joan/Sherlock (Elementary) : OH NO MY SUPER HAPPY CANON PLATONIC SOULMATES THEY ARE EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED AND NEVER IMAGINED I’D GET TO SEE ON AN ACTUAL SHOW AND THEY’RE SUPER GREAT AND I LOVE HOW THEY ARE LIKE RIDE OR DIE FOR EACH OTHER AND THE WAY SHERLOCK ADORES HER AND THE WAY SHE’LL LOOK OUT FOR HIM AND TELL HIM COLD HARD TRUTHS BUT ALWAYS WITH KINDNESS WHY ARE THEY SO PERFECT WHY IS THIS SHOW ENDING AND HOLY HELL UNDYING KINK IS SHERLOCK SAYING ‘I’D MAKE ADJUSTMENTS FOR YOU’ AND JOAN’S FACE WHEN HE SAYS THAT THIS SHOW HAD BETTER END WITH JOAN ADOPTING A BABY AND LIVING IN THEIR BROWNSTONE WITH CLYDE AND THEIR BEES AND DOING DETECTIVE THINGS

*deep breath *

and current fave

Ning Yi/ Xin Zi Yan (The Rise of Phoenixes) : Ok, look, I basically ship Ning Yi/everyone and mostly Ning Yi/ happiness, homicidal woobie that he is, BUT the show just like WENT THERE with these two. Xin Zi Yan is Ning Yi’s mentor/friend/ally in the fight for his life within his batshit insane royal family and he is a cold, ruthless fuck who can hold grudges FOREVER and they flirt with each other (the show is particularly unsubtle about the flirting) and lie to each other and protect each other and STICK THE KNIFE INTO EACH OTHER AT THE SOFTEST POINTS BECAUSE THEY KNOW HOW TO. Like their fights are EPIC, blood on the floor everywhere and I’m like YES YES but also NOW FUCK. Like, canon just gave me this intense, competitive, kinda unhealthy dynamic and I’m like they’d be so bad for each other, BECAUSE LOL WHAT ARE BOUNDARIES XIN ZI YAN YOU CONTROL FREAK AND  NING YI YOU ARE ONE ABYSS OF NEED THAT YOU TRY TO HIDE BEHIND YOUR NONCHALANCE AND MURDER BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER OMG I LOVE THEM A LOT LET ME WRITE 100K ABOUT THEM BEING THE ABSOLUTE WORST FOR EACH OTHER AND THE WORLD, SO I DID. Did someone say rarepair hell? I’m literally writing the only fic there is for them that’s how much i love them (its such a rarepair that the tag isn’t even searchable on AO3 yet). Uh, as for kinks for these two I CAN’T BECAUSE I’M NOT READY FOR THE MORTIFICATION OF BEING KNOWN. 

[morethanonepage]

thoughts on Keanu Reeves Constantine?

y’know this is an interesting question bc i actually have a lot of….if not affection for the movie, at least respect for some of the adaptation choices made. Like the most common line in re: film!Constantine is that it’s a good movie but it’s not a good Hellblazer movie and in a sense that’s right, it’s not – but it’s interesting. A noble failure, definitely.

What I think it hinges on is that it’s an American setting so they went full blown American with it – which is a mistake in my mind bc the point of Hellblazer is that it’s a quintessentially English story, and that’s why every run with an American writer in the comics is meh for me – but in the sense of “American AU Constantine” I think there were some really interesting/clever choices made.

Like starting with their John – Keanu is all wrong for original brand Constantine. His John is broody, he’s brunet, he’s Good At Magic. And comics!John is the opposite of all those things. And while comics!John can be broody, the important thing is the comics themselves tend to undercut that – there’s a lot of kind of snarky takes about John being in a sulk for whatever reason, some of it even from John himself. You get very little of that in the movie, and the movie itself is very TAKE THIS MAN’S PAIN SERIOUSLY about it, so. BUT in a sense that loner self flagellating thing is an American Male Archetype the way comic John has a very English & self deprecating sense of humor, so: ok, I can kinda see it, more as a translation (to American audiences) than an adaptation. 

[READ MORE BC OMG WHY DID I CARE SO MUCH???]

They make John Catholic in the movie, which is another kind of interesting choice – in the comics he’s not anything specifically though I would imagine he would’ve been raised Church of England as likely as anything else. But they kind of commit to John’s Catholicism in the movie, most likely because it has more ~mysticism~ (and the association with exorcism in general) behind it. But it also kind of sets John up as An Other, because it’s the religion of a lot of the second class immigrants (like, the Irish initially, then Latinx Americans, etc). White Catholics have a bit of a different rep, but given that the film is set in LA in the late 20th century, for me it set up more of those associations than anything else. It’s also so much more about the SUFFERING and the MARTYRDOM and the REDEMPTION NARRATIVE, which is not so much a thing in the comics (where John often does/tries to do good things but usually NOT for the explicit purpose of ~cleansing his soul~, so it’s kind of notable/interesting that both American-based adaptations [TV and Movie] focus on that a lot more. It’s may also make more sense as an arc for the medium but y’know) but IS notably a big thing in the movie. 

And the thing about John, even in the comics, is that he’s an Other but Normal Passing – with comics he presents in a very Proper English Man (which is why it’s SO IMPORTANT for me that he starts off on his adventures with his shirt properly done up and his tie right, and then as the day/his bullshit unfurls he gets sloppier) way, he’s white, he’s blond, he’s handsome etc, but he’s also a bisexual mess/working class disaster mage with a progressive bent, and in the movie he’s kind of a traditional American anti hero but also has his own stuff going on. It’s not as well executed as it could be – there’s not a lot of subversion in the film version, which is kind of the point of John – but at least you get hints of his potential sexuality and they go into his mental health issues (suicide attempt, etc) and his smoking, etc. 

So John is an interesting translation – not perfect, but interesting. I would even argue that he’s the weakest point in the movie as a translation-not-adaptation (tho lol baby bear Chas Kramer is up there), bc he’s very basic supernatural protagonist with no flourish. Which is not the case for the rest of the film, which COMMITS to the genre it is and does it honestly very well.

For instance I love their conception of Ravenscar, the mental hospital John has A Bad History with – in the comics it’s got an old, spooky, mad house aesthetic from the 19th century, which fits the comics and John’s history and vibe really well. The movie version goes what I feel is a very modern American direction with it: one of the 20th century industrial monsters, a huge grey building, with the fear of mental health coming from that very specific post-war fear of anything ABNORMAL (including sexuality but y’know). 

The setting of LA is great – a couple of (American) comic writers have given John’s arcs there, probably for the irony of CITY OF ANGELS etc, but I think it’s a really interesting choice/contrast to everything London (where John’s mostly based in comics, tho he does sometimes roam the countryside fucking things up) represents: superficial, modern, bright days, beauty, opulence vs the grey gritty grunginess of John’s London life, etc. So for that to be movie!John’s homebase is kinda neat, frankly, esp because of the cases John gets to work on there. The set design is also great – very colorful, very willing to pull in the florescent glare of a modern city, with the Latinx Catholic touches on the streets (look the votive candles and shrines are SUCH an easy go to for ~creepy urban flavor~ and it’s probably at least a little problematic for this film featuring some other really questionable racial choices I will get to later, but) in general it LOOKS great. Their conception of hell is also fascinating and very well executed imo. 

I also think there’s ONE (1) thing I think the movie does better than the tv show: the setting is WAY more dug into the working class/legit poverty of LA behind the shiny surface Hollywood stuff. The show really only hit that point in the New Orleans ep and even then….didn’t fully commit to it, but it’s SUCH a key part of the comic universe. Like Chas himself (in the show) is pitch perfect but in the ep about his family they’re LIVING IN A BROOKLYN BROWNSTONE which, real talk, is worth millions of dollars. Literally millions. On a cab driver’s salary???? Ridic. Still mad about it w/e w/e. Baby Bear Chas Kramer with his shitty cab and probably shitty apartment, following John around like a stunned duckling, is way more comics canon accurate, probably. 

Rachel Weiz’s character has a lot of potential – they make her Catholic too, to have some sort of connection with John, which is eh, and they also make her a twin, whose sister kills herself at Ravenscar. Given how much John’s early backstory issue are focused around HIM being a twin (whose birth killed both his mother and his (theoretically stronger) brother) that could’ve been a cool thing to allude to, but they don’t touch on it. And Angela (ANOTHER ANGEL THING) is p cool as a character – she’s unconvinced about the ~spooky shit~ stuff until she sees evidence of it, and then believes it, as a normal average human likely would. She’s brave, she asks questions, etc. She’s not just Love Interest tho there’s a bit of that. And anyway I love Rachel Weiz generally, she’s great, could’ve had more to do though.

Tilda Swinton shows up a lot in the gifs and it was a cool choice to cast her as Gabriel – they play up the androgyny and make her less obvious of a dick than comics Gabriel is (though she ends up being…probably more of one, or at least more effective). I think their Lucifer is good too – oily and weird and creepily gentle at times. He also doesn’t get a lot to do, but he doesn’t need to – he doesn’t in the comics, usually, either. 

BUT the racial stuff – the supernatural macguffin that’s supposed to bring about the end of the world is found IN A MEXICAN DESERT and then SMUGGLED OVER THE BORDER to LA to bring about the end of the world, like, who wrote this, Donald J. Trump?? – is generally #bad. But this is something it shares with the show (GOD THOSE MEXICO EPS, I LEGIT ALMOST QUIT THE SHOW BC OF IT), tho at least they had an actual Mexican actress to temper that nonsense. NO SUCH LUCK from the movie – just lots of creepy zombish brown people trying to bring around an apocalypse, super cool.

And not only is meh as a metaphor, to impute such a conservative metaphor into a the Hellblazer Verse, with its infamous/classic DEMON YUPPIES FROM HELL and in general tips toward the progressive/pro immigrant ethos, is BAFFLING to me. I mean maybe more in tune with American sentiments about everything, which I have argued above is an interesting choice, but still, boooo.

Also the fact that John quits smoking at the end of the movie is such Hollywood garbage it almost outweighs the positives. I mostly imagine he and Angela date for like a month, he’s such a bitch when going through withdrawal that she dumps his ass, and then he goes back to smoking/sulking around LA doing bad exorcisms. That’s the real John Constantine, babey!!!

[meucaoscriativo]

One for the road WIP

“Hey, I’m sorry, but we are closing.”

Guys drinking by themselves weren’t a rare sight. But that guy was an interesting specimen to study. He sat at the stool as soon as the bar opened and he still didn’t show the least intention to stand up and leave.

It took some minutes for him to admit the girl’s presence and raise his ice-blue eyes.

His gaze pierced her soul and caused shivers to travel down her spine. It had been a long time since she last got that feeling. He looked handsome but forbidden with the perfectly unkempt hair and the spotless black suit, the tie knot loosen just a bit. It was impossible not to like what she saw, but at the same time she knew there was more to his moody expression than simply unfriendliness.

There was a heavy cloud surrounding him with what she sensed as regret. His eyes resembled window panes, clear and empty glasses framed by sad dark circles produced by a restless night.

“Rough day?”, She kept talking since he remained silent. All her words had a ring that made them sound like an unobtrusive music.

He looked around and noticed he was the last customer there. The radio had already been turned off and she had washed all the glasses while waiting for him to close his tab.

“What time is it?, His question sounded monotonous, the husky voice cut the air and added to thrill she felt while near him.

“Almost two a.m.” Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall behind her before informing. He followed her movement and saw for himself it was one-fifty. He let a long sigh escape, as if the fact irritated him.

“What about one for the road?”, She suggested, a persistent smile shining in her eyes.

Mumbling a dispirited “whatever” was his way of accepting her offer. Under his careful watch, she refilled his glass with the whisky he was drinking.

“So… were you waiting someone?”, She was aware most of the sentences she directed at him were questions, but she couldn’t help being intrigued. The truth was that anything she spoke would unnerve him. However, the look on his face indicated she had just chosen the most off-limits topic of all.

“Nevermind”, and she left the counter to finish her tasks.

The bell at the door rang then and when she looked over her shoulder, she found the spot he once occupied vacant. On the counter top, there was what seemed to be a wad of notes. Getting closer to examine the money, she got outraged by the amount. It covered the price of the entire whisky bottle but he hadn’t drunk that much.

She grabbed the bunch of bills and ran to the exit.

“Hey, mister!”, Shouting, she raced to the sidewalk, looking around and not seeing anybody. The street was desert and not even a car rolled by.

“What’s the matter?”, Startled, she turned around after listening his voice. He was close to the frontage of the bar, the arms crossed in front of his chest, partially because it was cold. His raging eyes glistened like sharp cut jewels.

“Gee, I almost had a cardiac arrest!”, But she laughed while complaining, getting close to him.

He simply looked annoyed.

“See, I can’t accept all this money”, she counted the bills taking only the appropriate amount and giving the rest back to him.

“Just keep it”, he avoided her hand, walking away, looking a little too aggravated. He stopped under the lamp post. There was a mysterious halo of fog around the lamp that only added to the atmosphere of the man’s sadness.

She didn’t understand him and that was what drew her to him one more time:

“Are you drunk?” He didn’t look a bit tipsy, but maybe that was the reason of his crankiness and dismay.

“No. Can you just leave me alone?”

She opened her mouth to rebuke him but then closed it without a sound. He could be stubborn all he wanted, but there was clearly a problem there.

“I’m just going back inside to turn off the lights… if you don’t mind, would you walk me home?”

“What?” He turned to face her, unable to believe his ears.

“Yes, you know… I live just two blocks away but… it’s kinda late… and… please?”

He twisted his brows but ended up agreeing.

Ten minutes later she was locking the bar door. She put her hands in her coat’s pocket and approached him:

“Let’s go in that way.” She pointed the right with her chin and they started walking. “You aren’t by car…”

“No.”

“Were you waiting your lift?”

“I was about to call an Uber.”

“So you live far away from here…”

“I’m not from town.”

“Really? And what has brought you here?”

He glared at her again. Oops, she had just bumped into the wrong subject.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry…”

“But what?”

“You look like someone who needs to talk.”

He didn’t say anything but at least he didn’t contradict her.

“What do you do for a living?”, She stole a glance from his face but for the most time, they only looked forward and walked in a natural fast pace.

“I work with network security.”

“Are you a kind of hacker?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. Well… we’re here… thank you”, she took her keys from the small purse, stopping in front of a brownstone building. “Why don’t you enter and wait your ride?”

“What are you trying to do?”

“Help you, why can’t you see it?”

“I’m not interested.”

“That I know. But insisting won’t hurt. Come on, step in. It’s so cold.”

He shook his head but followed her because it was easier than arguing. She didn’t look like someone that gave up easily when finding an issue to solve, obviously being the protective type. He let himself take a good look at her now that they were under the bright light of her apartment. She was a pretty girl, with lovely grey eyes and her red hair looked so soft, it begged him to run his fingers through it. She was not only beautiful, but also kind and cheerful and that caring disposition warmed him even against his permission.

“I’m Cathy Bloom. What’s your name?”, she brought him a cup of instant coffee. He had sat on her sofa and was toying with his cell phone, looking very far away from the room.

He took the cup and sighed:

“Heero Yuy.”

She sat on the armchair opposite to him and took a sip from her mug.

They exchanged glances, the situation suddenly awkward.

“What hotel are you staying?”

“At the Star of the Pleiades.”

“Right. Great place, by the way. You aren’t here in a business trip, I imagine.”

He only stared into the distance, drinking. Heero actually didn’t hear what she said, for if he had, he wouldn’t be feeling that comfortable. It was the first time he felt good that day. The coffee, her presence, her attention… all of that brought him some welcome reassurance.

Maybe if he talked to her he could feel even better. Would he trust her? He directed his eyes to her heart-shaped face. Would he be able to tell her?

It hurt so much he started to think he was exaggerating and that was another reason for him not to open up to anybody. He didn’t want to seem silly. He didn’t want to look weak. He didn’t want to cry. Those thoughts lacerated his core because they proved how much he was missing and betraying her.

“There’s something I must do here.”, he spoke low and slowly.

Surprised by getting an answer after so long, Cathy left her mug on the side table and hugged her knees.

“And were you procrastinating it at the bar?”

“Are you a certified therapist?”

She snorted, again too startled for a proper reaction.

“Of course not!”, And her melodious laugh filled the spacious room, echoing inside his heart.

“So what’s with all these questions?”, He dared to show a subtle smirk.

“I’ve told you. I can see you need to talk. And I’m willing to listen… so start spilling everything.

“You don’t need to go through this trouble for a stranger. I’ll call the car and leave.”

“I see. You know where to find me.”

“Thanks.”, He parted with Catherine using this solitary word. She smiled and nodded, watched him enter the car and closed the door.

“Who knew Catherine Bloom was inclined to casual trysts?”

“Hilde! Did I wake you up?”

“Yes, with your ridiculous cute laugh.”

“You ditsy!”

“Who was here? I know it was a guy, and I know it wasn’t your brother.”

“You are right. We met at the bar…”

“So it really was a one-night stand.”

“Stop it already”, Catherine gave another sample of her ridiculous cute laugh. “It’s not like that but I wouldn’t complain if he had decided to give me some kisses… he was damn hot.”

“So tell me what was more important than making up with this guy?”

“Talking. He looked so sad, Hilde.”

“All guys that drink alone at bars look like that… defeated, lonely, messed up…”

“Yeah, of course I know that! I’ve been working at the bar since I was… well… I wasn’t even legal for this kind of place when I started helping dad there… but Heero was looking much worse than all these things you mentioned.”

“Uh-oh, so he’s already got a name… you know what people say about giving stray puppies a name.”

“Had you saw him, you would understand. He looked miserable. Agressive, but miserable. Anyway, I’m calling it a day. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

“No problem… I’m going to the bar with you this night, just in case he reappears. I’m curious to check him out and see if I approve him.”

“I’m not sure I trust your taste in men.”

“How come? Don’t you like Duo?”

Cathy shrugged, not knowing what to answer.

::::::::

At the same time it was expected, it also was pretty shocking to see Heero again the next night.

“Look, there he is”, Cathy came cleaning the counter top with a white cloth and whispered to Hilde, who was sat at the together with Duo, drinking beer.

Both turned to the door and saw him stride to the counter as an Arabian horse pulling a filthy cart.

“Looking good…”, Hilde murmured, but she couldn’t ignore the sorrow he brought with him. She had never saw somebody wearing their despair as an armour with such grace and intensity.

Heero stopped short in front of the small stage where a couple was singing. The bar hosted an open mic night every Saturday night. He was aware of that, but it didn’t help diminish his suffering. The duet was pretty, but since it didn’t include her, it was only a distasteful reminder that she would never be heard again.

He shook his head, dying to cover his ears with his hands. But that unbearable sound came from his memories which he couldn’t escape.

He leaned on the counter. Cathy's brother, Trowa, was working that night at the crowded bar too.

“What’ll it be?” He asked with a helpful look on his eyes.

“Whisky. Neat.”, Heero didn’t need to think twice.

“Hey, Heero! You are here…” Cathy approached and greeted him with cautious. “This is my brother, Trowa”, then she introduced, keeping her expression cheerful and light.

That new data Cathy offered didn’t agree with him and the distortion of displeasure in his face told about how poorly had he digested it.

“Heero, please…”, the scorn in his eyes hurt Cathy, taking his pain as her own.

Her frowned face was a mirror for the frustration and pity in her good heart.

Trowa’s glance traveled from Cathy to Heero and he didn't like how his sister seemed entangled in the guys tantrums.

“Cathy, no… just leave him alone.” She deserved better than being lashed by the proverbial proud wounded beast.

“You don't understand…”, she whispered. And even though she obeyed her brother, going back to work, Catherine’s thoughts stood by Heero as in an effort to soothe his pain.

[praximeter]

holiday season head canons for Bucky + the barnses? pre/post war

Hi @nakapple​! Thanks for writing in! 

In terms of Barnes holiday traditions, my absolute favorite one actually made it into the December 19, 1943 entry (in bold):

What I want of course is all of us crammed around our table on Christmas Eve with Ma’s bread and a turkey and mamaliga and wine and all of it, and Curly bouncing in her seat so excited to go to Christmas mass and then for it to be Christmas tomorrow, and for Dad to toss me an orange he wrapped in paper and tell me to “guess!” and for me to say, “is it a baseball, Pop?” like I did every year.

George Barnes doesn’t appear in The Night War too often, but I find him a really fascinating, difficult, and complex character. His relationship with Bucky is definitely complicated, but ultimately loving, and this idea--that every year George buys his son an orange, actually wraps it, and pretends it’s a baseball is just... so extremely sweet and kinda funny, in my mind.

The other nice thing about the Barnes family is that while Winnie stopped rigorously practicing her Jewish faith when she married George (and likely converted to Catholicism), the family is still a blended one, and there are some holiday season traditions that Bucky grew up celebrating, mostly related to food (when possible):

Winnie often made sufganiyot (a kind of Jewish jelly donut) several times through the holiday season--and on Bucky’s birthday, because it was his favorite treat. It’s normally eaten during Hanukkah.

Bucky often helped Winnie braid challah. Jack wasn’t to be trusted, Becca wasn’t interested (and she was an annoying little thing in the kitchen), and by the time Ted might have helped, it was Bucky’s job. The family ate challah fairly regularly, but certainly at holiday meals.

Rosh Hashanah takes place in the fall, not during the holiday season, but it’s one of Judaism’s most important holidays. Winnie would again celebrate it with food, by serving her children candied fruits and fruits dipped in honey. This one also made it into The Night War, on September 30, 1943:

Ma had a friend who worked at the green grocer’s and she’d come over around this time of year with a jar of honey and also whatever fruits she could get her hands on and ma would candy them. Only time of the year she’d do it, not even Christmas.

Post-War Traditions

One of the major changes in Winnie’s life after losing Bucky, Jack, and Steve -- and then in 1948, her husband -- was that she reconnected with her Jewish faith. She began more rigorously celebrating the Jewish holidays, including Hanukkah, and she passed that on to her grandchildren, Andrew and Veenie, for whom she was the primary caretaker. At the same time, she also celebrated Christmas - and I would say the single most important tradition in the post-war Barnes holiday season was that everybody went home to the Barnes Brownstone for Christmas.

It wasn’t always possible, but because Ted’s wife Alice’s parents passed away early, they rarely had other family obligations. Rebecca had James in 1955 but didn’t get married until 1959 to an older man whose parents had also passed away. In the 60s, her family moved in to the Barnes Brownstone. Over the years, the holiday season became a bigger and bigger affair, especially as sons and nephews and daughters and nieces moved away from the city. Even once Winifred passed away in 1996, Rebecca continued the tradition of hosting the entire extended family - as many that could make it - in that house.

I like this tradition because of something Bucky wrote in January 1944:

I cannot imagine even owning a whole house much less two of them. I remember when we moved into our apartment with three bedrooms when Curly was eight or so and she asked me so seriously, “Bucky, are we rich now?” Hah! What a laugh. Although if things go south for me here I have written Ma to use the death benefit for a house, so maybe I will “own” a house one day after all.

Of course, Winnie used the money from his death benefit to buy that house, just as he asked her to. And so I really love the idea that though Bucky never got to go home, he was a part of the home that his family went home to.

[buckybarnesappreciationsociety]

“Coffee and Brooklyn”

Summary: Bucky meets a woman who would change his perspective on relationships. And they meet in the strangest of circumstances; coffee, a chocolate muffin and Brooklyn.

 Warnings: A few cuss words

 Words: 1,636

 Pairing: Bucky x Character of Color

 A/N: While sitting on a cruise ship this past weekend, this story came to mind. I’m thinking about  Part Two. I’d love to continue their blossoming romance. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!

________________________________________________________________

For some people, love is a given. You meet, date, fall in love and so on. But, for James Buchanan Barnes, he never imaged love would come his way. At least not until Y/N.

 The coffee shop he frequents, “Coffee, Tea & Muffins Galore,” is two blocks from the Tower. Sure there’s a plethora of coffee at HQ, Bucky needed a change of scenery and in Y/N, he found it.

 She’s a mocha chocolate woman with a cute, short pixie cut, hypnotic Y/E/C, and a body to die for. When she smiled, Bucky swore he heard angels singing.

It began as subtle conversation. He’d come in, sitting specifically in her section, ordering the same thing; a cup of black coffee! Y/N found it strange he only ordered coffee and suggested trying a muffin.

 “Well hello,” Y/N smiled at Bucky. “Would you like something else with your coffee?

“What do you recommend?”

Y/N tapped an ink pen on her chin. “How about a chocolate chip muffin? They’re really delicious.”

“Hmmm, a muffin sounds good, along with another cup o’ joe.”

She giggled at Bucky’s choice of words and refilled his cup.

 Bucky noticed her name tag. “Thanks Y/N.”

“You’re very welcome. I’ll be right back.”

He noticed her hips swayed when she walked. She displayed class, beauty and poise.

If his eyes were fire, she’d be burnt to a crisp.

 Coming back with his muffin, Y/N sat it gently on the table.

“Enjoy Mr. Barnes.” Bucky was taken aback because she’d never mentioned his name.

“So you know who I am?”

“Sure! I have so much respect for you. After all the crap those horrible things you endured, look at you now.”

Bucky shook his head, “Truth be told, I’m still fighting a battle.”

“Hell, we all are. Look around this place. These courageous women and men have been given a second chance at a productive life.”

 Turning his gaze to the other waitresses, a smile crept on his face.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Your boss is a really swell guy.”

Mr. Gerard, the manager, hires women and men with Down’s Syndrome because his daughter was born with it. Relentless bullying caused her to take her life. He vowed to make sure what she endured didn’t happen to anyone else, if he had anything to do with it.

“Yes he is. I believe strongly in what Mr. Gerard is doing and couldn’t pass up an opportunity to work alongside these wonderful human beings.

“Wow, you’re beautiful inside and out! Where do you keep your wings?”

“In the closet silly with my halo.” Laughter erupted.

 “I’d really love to sit here and talk wit’cha but duty calls.”

Y/N slid a blank receipt to him and winked. “Just in case.”

Bucky was surprised as he turned it over and saw her phone number.

He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t utter a sound.

Standing up, Y/N noticed how handsome he was. Striking blue-grey orbs, chiseled jaw, and a kick ass body.

“Talk to you soon doll.”

“I’m counting on it.”

 Bucky swore his feet weren’t touching the ground walking back to the Tower. He whistled a happy tune and grinned like the chesire cat. Back in the day, a friendship with Y/N would be taboo but he was grateful things had changed! Yep, life was looking pretty darn good.

 Y/N’s POV

The end of my shift couldn’t come quick enough. I cannot believe how bold I was. Here’s this gorgeous specimen watching me. It actually was kinda hot. I’ve never been a bold woman but James Buchanan Barnes is intoxicating and I’d love to have a drink! I really hope he doesn’t think I’m too forward. He’s old school. Oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained!

 Bucky’s POV

She gave me her number. Damn, what a beautiful dame, er woman. Of all the men in New York city, Y/N’s interested in ME!

Hell, I ain’t nothing special. My demons come and go. Yet, she knows WHO I am and still wants to get acquainted. How lucky am I?

Time to bite the bullet and call. You know, make sure she made it home safe.

 Y/N quickly changed out of her uniform and slipped on a big night shirt and fuzzy slippers. Her phone was on the table. It startled her when it buzzed. Oh my gosh, it’s Bucky.

 “Hello Y/N, this is Bucky.” She knew he was nervous by his tone.

“Hello yourself. How are you?”

 “I’m much better now that I hear your voice.”

 “Why Mr. Barnes, are you flirting with me?

“Doll, I ain’t done that in a long time. Not sure I remember how.”

Y/N chuckled, “You’re doing a good job sir.”

 Bucky wanted to see her again, so he threw caution to the wind.

 “Would you like to meet and have a hot dog with me?”

 “I’d love to. When?”

 “Well, what are you doing tomorrow?”

 “As it turns out, I’m off. Where and what time?

 “How ‘bout Central Park West, 45th Street? Say around, 2:00?”

 “Cool. See you then Y/N.”

 “Goodnight Bucky, pleasant dreams.”

 “Goodnight Doll, pleasant dreams to you too.”

 Y/N smiled from ear to ear; so did Bucky. This was the beginning of something good. He could feel it.

 ***********

It was a beautiful afternoon in New York. The flowers were in full bloom and the smell of fresh cut grass greeted Bucky’s nostrils.

He arrived 10 minutes early only to discover Y/N was there waiting.

 “Hey there. I snagged us a bench. It’s private and near the famous Nathan’s Hot Dog cart. Best dogs in the city.”

“Really? Can’t say I’ve ever had one. Are they good?”

 “You’ll see in a minute or two.”

**********

 Y/N and Bucky strolled arm in arm to the hot dog stand and ordered 3 hot dogs with mustard, ketchup and chili, along with an ice cold Coke. Sitting on the bench, Bucky took one bite and fell in love.

 “I don’t think I’ve ever had a hot dog this good.”

 “Told ya so. They’re my favorite.”

 Bucky “inhaled” two more hot dogs and patted his belly.

“I’m gonna have to work out extra hard in the morning. I can’t get enough of these delicious dogs.

 “Oh honey,  you won’t have a problem working off those calories.”

 Bucky really wanted to get to know Y/N, thus began their “chew and talk.”

“So, Doll where’ya from?”

 “I’m a Brooklyn girl. Born and raised. Jamaica Avenue. That’s where my adopted parents lived.” Y/N’s tone was somber.

 “M’sorry. Are you alright?”

 Wiping a tear from her eye, Y/N continued talking.

 “Forgive me. Yeah, I’m alright. I lost them 5 years ago to a drunk driver. It hurts like hell.”

 “Awwww Doll, I’m so sorry. C’mere.”

 Bucky pulled Y/N into his strong arms as the waterworks flowed. He gently stroked her head. If he had only one weakness, it was seeing a woman cry.

 ***********

“Thanks. My biological mom was an addict. She left me home one night to get drugs and I wandered outside alone. This nice couple who lived down the block, saw me and took me inside. It was cold out and I was starving. Anyway, Child Services came, took me away. They found my mom dead in an alley; overdosed. The McAllisters adopted me. I was an only child.”

 “Hey, I’m sorry that happened to ya. Glad they were there to take ya in and all.”

 “Kids can be so cruel sometimes. I was bullied because of the color of their skin.”

 Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, then figured out what Y/N was saying.

 “Oh I get it now. That must’ve been really hard on ya.”

 “Yes it was. They’d call me the “zebra” rich kid. The McAllisters were wealthy and left me set for life. But, I’d give all of that up just to have one more day with them.”

 Tears pooled in Bucky’s eyes. He saw the love you have for your parents and the hurt in your eyes.

**********

 Wiping her eyes, Y/N regained her composure. “Okay, enough about me. I know you’re from Brooklyn also. You and Captain America are bff’s aren’t you?

 “Yeah. I pulled his ass outta so many scrapes. That is until he beefed up and all. I thought I’d lost’im years ago and he thought I was dead. You know the story.” He looked away, wringing his hands.

 Y/N gently turned Bucky’s head towards her and looked him in his eyes.

“I want you to listen to me and listen good. What happened to you wasn’t your fault. You died over and over again, exploited and tortured. I don’t care what was said in the media or anyone else, I see the real James Buchanan Barnes and THAT’S the man I see before me.”

 Bucky smiled and shook his head. “How did I get so lucky?”

 Y/N laughed. “I am an angel you know.”

 “Yes you are. Can I walk you home?”

 “I’d love that Sarge.”

*********** 

The walk to Y/N’s brownstone was filled with laughter and talk about Brooklyn.

Bucky suggested going to Brooklyn and paying his respects to her parents. And as weird as it sounded, she wanted to pay her respects to his mother and sister, Rebecca.

 Their friendship started with coffee, a chocolate chip muffin and Brooklyn. As strange as that combination is to some, worked just fine for James Buchanan Barnes and Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.

Special thanks to: @erisjade (You already know) and @omalleysgirl22, beta extraordinaire. 

TAGS:  @goody2shoessmut @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @sgtjamesbuchananbarnes107th @theimpossibleg1rl @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @cant-stop-the-fandoms @gingerbatchwife @gaybybirth @papi-chulo-bucky @the-witching-hours12-3 

@the-girl-without-a-face @flirtswithdanger @readerwinterbarnes @soldatbarnes @this-kitty-has-claws @mcuimxgine @buckywintersoldierbarnes2017 @promarvelfangirl @marvelous-imagining

@vvintersouldier @eve1978 @a-tale-of-two-comics @goodnightwife @sebbybooks @amrita31199 @not-moose-one-shots @bolontiku

@james-bionic-barnes @supersoldierslover @tatortot2701 

@thewinterswimmer @anbanananna @senselesssamii

[winterhawkwips]

spoopy!AU 1

Clint dumps the box next to the stack by the window and takes a second to stand back up. He arches his back, hands pressed in the small of it, and groans, cursing for the fifth time this morning that he couldn’t have chosen a place with a goddamn lift. 

He’s nearly done, though, just a couple more loads in the van our front, and the apartment is nice enough to make up for the inconvenience. 

The building’s falling apart a little now, not exactly the kind of area with pristine upkeep, but it’s a brownstone from the ‘20s, maybe the ‘teens. It’s kinda settled into itself, floors hardwood and a little uneven with time. Out in the hallways they’re covered over with grimy carpet, but someone’s taken good care of Clint’s new place. The walls are bare brick and there’s an iron staircase in one corner leading up to a loft bedroom that’s stacked over the low ceilinged bathroom. 

If he’s honest, it’s a little too fancy for him, and he suspects money laundering to explain the rock bottom rent. But it’s not like his history’s the cleanest, and so long as it doesn’t impact on his coming and goings he’s willing to take it. 

His cell chirps cheerfully and it only takes him a couple seconds to trace it to the kitchen counter, hiding under the sweater he’d shed after his first trip up all the goddamn stairs. 

“Hey Coulson,” he says, without stopping to check. He’d chosen the brightest, chirpiest tone he could for the man, just for the imagined look on his face if he ever hears it. 

“Agent Barton,” Coulson acknowledges, tone cool and smooth like a stone from the bottom of a river. “I was forwarded your change of address forms.” That’s it, nothing else, and Clint still feels the need to defend himself, to explain why a nearly thirty year old man might want a little more privacy than living on base affords. 

“You gonna send a card?” he says instead, and there’s the bare, near-silent huff of breath that signals that Coulson’s amused. Clint finds himself grinning stupidly in response. 

“You have, I assume, taken all due precautions?”

Clint considers a moment. 

“I was... thinking about getting a dog?” he says, and the exasperated huff in response is far more familiar. 

“I’ll send round a tech with an appropriate alarm system,” Coulson says, and Clint rolls his eyes even as a little clutch of pleasure clenches in his stomach. 

“Aaw,” he says, “you do care.”

“Goodbye, Agent Barton,” Coulson says, still river-cool, and Clint laughs and hangs up, dropping his phone back on the counter before bracing himself for another load. 

The place came furnished, and he’s helplessly grateful for it when he finally sinks down into the perilously soft couch that night. He’s aching an exhausted, covered in a fine layer of grit from the subway after he’d returned the van he’d borrowed to haul his stuff. It’s a corner apartment he’s taken, and there is enough of a cool breeze with all the windows open to let him put off the shower until morning. Clint kicks off his battered Converse and crosses his feet at the ankle, nursing a beer and resolving to hook up the TV first thing. His eyelids are getting heavier and he unbuttons his jeans, wiggling enough that he can kick them off the end of the couch. As he sinks into sleep he barely registers the smell of someone smoking on the fire escape. 

*

He’s not sure what wakes him. When he’s not on a mission he’s always been able to sleep through practically anything, but something startles him up and out of sleep fast enough to disorient him, to leave him wondering for a second or two where the fuck he is.

“Tasha?” he croaks, but he knows instantly that’s not right; sirens in Romania hadn’t ever sounded like home. The floor creaks by the window and he shoves up onto his elbows, squinting through the darkness and shuddering in the sudden chill. 

“Who -” but the question dies in his mouth. There’s a wash of flashing red from the street below that distorts the edges of the shadows, and something that’d looked like a silhouette in the darkness is nothing more than a haphazard stack of boxes that retreats back into dimness as the sirens from the street below die away. 

Clint shudders again, caught up in the dregs of dreaming, and hauls himself to close the windows before collapsing on the couch again, ignoring the settling creaks of the building that sound a little like footsteps crossing the floor. 

[birdofdoom]

Cinderella pt.2

This is a continuation of Cinderella. Michael and the reader meet in the Eden Club to a rough start only to have friendship and romance kindle later on.

Michael x Reader

The sweetness of his clove cigarette hung in her mouth and stained her clothes. She couldn’t help but love the way it tasted and hugged her senses with the smell of him. [Y/N] felt as if she had been played. The beautiful boy with jade eyes was dishonest. It was easy to fall for the princely type; all looks and class. His charm had bought her trust in the moment, leaving her feeling foolishly naïve. She was put off and angered that she was the punch line to some crude joke, but it didn’t stop her from wanting him to follow her out of the lively club. In spite of herself, the liar sitting in her former booth still fascinated her. She knew it was childish, running away just to be chased, but remembered there was nothing wrong with wanting to be wanted. As she retrieved her oversized woolen coat from the check, she saw him make his way to the crowd of men he arrived with. To preserve her pride she refused to look back, but could hear a fist slamming against the table. Soon voices were raised, and she could make out the brassy tambour of the mustachioed man in conflict with that of Prince Charming. Undoubtedly dissatisfied with his inability to land a one-night fling, the green-eyed boy was throwing a fit. [Y/N] smirked at the thought of his childish irritation.

“Delightful,” she silently mused.

The winter air was a sharp contrast to the heat of the club. She wrapped herself snuggly in the hand-me-down coat, bracing against the frigid chill. She stood in the portico entrance of the lounge pondering a plan of action. Although [Y/N] was new to the city, she was no fool. She knew she wouldn’t be safe walking alone at that hour. Unfortunately, her splurge from earlier in the night had eaten into her cab fair. The wind was piercing, and the London streets were heavy-set with fog. The milky darkness of the night was enveloping, enchanting the streetlamps into ghoulish forms. She bristled against a villainously cold gust of air. Her nearly spent cigarette bobbed in the wind, the cherry’s light casting oddly dancing shadows on her face. The cold breeze licked her stocking legs with goose bumps. She sniffled. Her nose, red and numb, was beginning to run. The illusion of [Y/N] as a posh girl from a wealthy home had dissipated with the glow of the stage lights. In an old jacket, two sizes too big, shivering, snot dribbling from her nose, she could feel the ache of the clock striking midnight. A jazz princess no more, [Y/N] knew she would return to her dull, working life early in the morning, most likely to never hear from Prince Charming again.  

In her icy discomfort, she ruefully decided to bite the bullet and walk home alone. Crossing the puddle lined street, she shoved her hands into her pockets. The cool metal of her apartment keys jangled in the lining of her coat, and her satin covered T-straps made a satisfying clack against the aged cobblestones. She had barely begun her journey when the beautiful boy ran out of the club in a huff.  

“HEY MISS…” he hollered after her. She continued to walk, keeping her head down, indulging her growing pride and ignoring him “POSH GIRL…! Oi!...  …Cinderella?” he implored. “C’mon, you can’t go alone. Let me walk you home.”

She smiled to herself before retaining composure and turning to face him. He had left the club in a hurry and was without his coat. He sighed with relief and hustled to meet her across the street. He shivered in the sharpness of the winter air. Cupping his hands, he blew into them attempting, fruitlessly, to generate heat. In spite of herself, [Y/N] was staring at him again. Feeling her eyes on him, he laughed nervously. She felt her mouth curl into a smug smile. They walked down the empty streets hearing only the echoes of their shoes hitting stone. 

As time past, she [Y/N]’s curiosity festered. She could no longer keep her questions bottled up. “So, Mr. Man With a Thousand Faces, care to explain yourself?” Sarcasm dripped from her tongue. “I’m sure your name slip up wasn’t some juvenile bet or attempt to woo the pants off of me after coercing me into a drunken stupor.” Her tone had shifted from playful to accusatory. “Is that why you bought me a drink? Is that why you’re walking me home? What are you playing at?” The horror of the thought gripped her and she couldn’t hide the disgust on her face. They had been walking for only a brief while, yet they had covered a few blocks’ distance. She looked worriedly around the familiar street. It was empty, save for her and the liar. Her stomach lurched, and adrenaline rushed through her as she imagined what was to come. “My brother’s waiting for me at home. He’ll notice if I’m not back soon,” she said unconvincingly. [Y/N] briskly took two steps in front of the charmer as to distance herself from a possible attack. She aggressively threw her spent cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with the heel of her silver shoe. Her lie was obvious; the show of hostility with the cigarette, the too-fast delivery of words, each one tripping over the other in a rush to leave her mouth. He could see the familiar pattern of panic setting into her eyes.

“Michael…” he breathed. “My name’s Michael…” he sounded defeated; the admission a conciliatory attempt to assuage her fears. Michael opened his mouth as if to speak, but fell silent. His throat was dry and he felt embarrassed that he had been caught in a lie. His pride was wounded from his failure to court her in the lounge, but his cheeks seared even more deeply with shame as he thought over his reasoning for lying to the young girl. She was pretty and innocent looking, and he didn’t want to taint something so pure with the mention of the Shelby name.

He internally questioned when he had become so jaded. He was accustomed to his work with Shelby Brothers Ltd. In his role as Chief Accountant, he had dealt with more than just numbers. In the moments that he had taken lives or given beatings, he gleaned an understanding of fear. Always the clever boy, Michael had learned that lies and terror manifest into ghosts in peoples’ eyes. He knew the way people looked before they died. He knew how their eyes became accusatory and hurt, how they stammered and searched for words that never came, how they implored mercy from a god that he knew didn’t exist. In spite of his small attempt to calm her, the ghost in [Y/N]’s eyes lingered. Hurt to be accused of such villainy, Michael’s beautiful face contorted. He knit his eyebrows up into a concerned expression. “Right, I know it doesn’t look good…” 

“Damn straight!” she jabbed.

“I’m a Shelby!” he snapped. “Happy? That’s why I couldn’t tell you.” He pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it. Taking an excessively long drag, he exhaled the smoke exasperatedly.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means I’m a member of the Shelby family.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to matter to me, but it doesn’t. Who the hell are the Shelbys? You landed-gentry or something?”

He snorted. The thought of the Shelbys as lords and ladies was ridiculous. “No, pet, definitely not.” He smiled, pushing the thought of his mother at a high society gala out of his mind “You really are new around here, Cinderella.” 

She was growing fond of the pet name. “So what if I am? Enlighten me. What does it mean to be a Shelby?”

“It means…” he paused for consideration. “It means we are involved in some sensitive business of an unsavory sort. We have money, but we worked for it. We fought and clawed our way through the muck for our standing.” [Y/N] could sense the duality of pride and shame in his voice; the pleasure of rising to good fortune, and the guilt of doing so through cruelty.

“Oh, so you’re a gangster,” she posited bluntly.

“Chief accountant actually,” he corrected.

She laughed. “Oh well, that’s fine then. As long as you’re good with numbers, it's not really criminal.” He laughed in turn. The fear and tension that had fallen so thickly upon them seconds before were beginning to ease.

“Jesus Christ, it’s cold,” he shivered. “How far did you walk for a drink?”

“It’s not much further,” [Y/N] promised. “I just wanted a change of pace for tonight, something special.”

“What’s so special about tonight?”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I know you’re miffed, but to be fair, Henry is also kinda my name.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Middle name or something like that?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m sorry for overreacting then, it’s just…”

“No, if I was a girl, I’d be fucking scared of me too.” His mouth curled smugly into a smirk.

“I wasn’t afraid of you particularly, just the idea of men. It’s not as if you’re terrifying. I mean, Christ, you’re such a pretty-boy. Probably never done a day of honest labor in your life or even been in a real fight.” His cheeks peaked with color at being called pretty, but irritation soon followed.

“I’ve fought plenty…” His tone was flat and cold like the night air. She nodded in acceptance and knew to drop that particular line of conversation.

They continued silently through the opacity of the London smog. Her feet ached in her seldom worn T-straps. She could feel the beginnings of blisters brewing on the back of her heels along her Achilles tendon. She paused, bending down to rub them gingerly. The stylish silk slippers had eaten a hole in her left stocking and a run inched its way up her calf as they finished their walk. She sighed with disappointment, more money down the drain. She looked up with relief recognizing the building to the left. 

“Well, this is me,” she gestured to the dilapidated brownstone.

“Huh.” He blew out a cloud of smoke.

“What?”

“It’s just not what I imagined.”

“Well it’s just me so this is what I can afford.”

“What about your brother? Doesn’t he help out?” Her eyes widened, remembering the emptiness of her earlier lie. He laughed. “I knew it was a fib, just wanted some payback from how you strung me out in The Eden.” She blushed.

“Look, I know you’re cold. Would you like to come up for some tea to warm up? I don’t have much, but it’s the least I can do to thank you for walking me home.”

[Y/N] unlocked the creaky oak door. Light spilled out of the entrance and Michael could feel the heat of neighboring furnaces from other apartments call his name.

“Just the tea then,” he accepted.

... TBC