#i love him in 1940s fashion

[inkedberries]

sanguineterrain left this tag from my previous art post about bruce being 40s heartthrob coded and they are SO right!!!!!! can't stop thinking about it!!!!!

men don't know if they want to be him or own him

this man is a single mother

[rayveneyed]

continuation of this au

cw: mentions of cheating/infidelity/disloyalty; vague allusions to sex

“so, like, what’s his deal?”

two months into your relationship with sukuna ryomen, you’re personal-assistant-turned-friend carries a bouquet of a hundred red roses into your dressing room. they’re so large that they eclipse her entire top half, and she pants as she sets them down on the table, cursing to herself.

it’s the first night of your mini-tour, your first performance in a good few months, and you don’t bother pretending that the sight of the flowers doesn’t soothe your nerves immediately. there’s a little note attached to the pale-blue cellophane that hugs the flowers; in his chicken-scratch, a love letter. i already know you’ll knock it out of the park. blow their minds, baby.

you read it over and over again, mind flitting between the set list for the night and where you’d been just days earlier — in his home, in his bed, in his arms. he’d sent you off well and truly satisfied, called you almost every day since, and hadn’t missed a single good morning text. and now, this. you fight a swoon.

hair laid — 1940s pin curls — and makeup done (a deep, oxblood red lip, really selling the whole vintage aesthetic), you lift your head to peer at her in the mirror. karmen really would kill you if you got foundation on your neckline — the first dress of the concert is white, glimmering with rhinestones and embroidery, a more virginal jessica rabbit moment. you force yourself to hold your chin up and away from it. “hm?”

“you know.” unscrewing the lid of her water bottle, nina waves it in a vague shape in front of her. “sukuna. ryomen, that is.”

“is there any other?” you joke. she sends you perhaps the most unimpressed look she’s ever bequeathed you with.

“i just never thought he’d be your type,” she continues, casual. “like, real oil and water vibes. i don’t know. but the roses are a nice touch.”

you hum. you’ve known her long enough to not take offence to most of what nina says -- she's wonderfully blunt, and you value that greatly. instead, you pick up your phone and open the camera app, zooming in and out to snap a couple of pictures of your flowers. exposure up, down, up, down -- should you take one at an angle? “oil and water?”

“yeah, i guess." there's a moment of silence, and then: "like — you’re always talking about how you wanna settle down and get married and, like, be loyal to someone, y'know? and he’s just — look, i’m not saying that he’s not loyal to you, i’m just—”

she makes a noise of frustration, and you snort. "he's just, like, a little bit of a whore, right? sorry, i don't mean to be mean -- but has he had a serious relationship in the past 10 years? and all of a sudden he’s talking about you to anyone who will listen — allegedly. allegedly.” she pauses. “how are you taking this so lightly? i'm literally bagging on your man."

finally, you set your phone down, and actually take a second to heed her words.

in truth, you had been extremely cautious when sukuna first showed an interest in you -- sat beside each other at a fashion show, never having met before. you'd be stupid to call it mere coincidence -- nothing in this industry ever really is, and the organisers had definitely gotten the photo op moment they'd hoped for. you're almost 100% sure they hadn't expected for him to stare at you like an idiot, or for you to shoot him your most demure smile, or for the actor to pull out his most casanova-esque moves.

you're not stupid, and what nina says isn't wrong. you're not into hooking up, or one night stands, or being another notch on someone's bedpost -- you weren't before you got famous, and you sure as hell aren't now, when there are cameras around every corner and gossips at every table. and sukuna isn't exactly known for his long-standing relationships or his monogamy -- it's almost like a rite of passage, you think, for a girl to have a shadowy nightclub picture taken with sukuna. if not a shadowy nightclub picture, then a steamy pool shot, or a sensual beach picture, with his hands up her t-shirt and her's down his pants.

despite his general bad-boy appearances in the media, you'd heard that he was quite… kind, if that’s the word. brash, but kind. a little hardheaded, but hard-working, and not too difficult to work with. you've met music video directors that had sung his praises and trusted producers that had called him a good friend. maybe that's why you'd spoken to him when you caught him staring, instead of sending him a smile and continuing on.

"is this your first time at a mugler show?" because it had been yours, and you didn't know what else to say. you wouldn't call yourself shy, but you're certainly not the most adept at small talk -- and you're not ugly, but sukuna is intimidatingly pretty for a man. and the tattoos, and the hair, and those smouldering eyes and long lashes...

"not my first,” he'd replied, seemingly unbothered that he had been caught staring. "y’know, i don't think we've met before."

"no, i don't think we have.”

and yet, there’d been no need for introductions. you were both aware that the other knew who you were.

"you, uh — you doin' somethin' after this?" the question had come out of nowhere -- at least, to you it did. what you didn't know is that he'd been repeating the question to himself from the moment he'd sat down beside you. and while his face didn't betray anything -- his jaw set and his eyes in their usual half-lidded state -- if you'd reached out and placed a palm over his chest, his heartbeat would have rabbitted against your hand.

you had allowed yourself a smile, and tilted your head. of course, his reputation proceeded him — but you were nothing if not a risk taker. maybe that’s why, instead of outright denying his invitation, you said: “i don’t do casual, darling. sorry.”

his eyes had been almost piercing. that wasn’t a no. “who said anything about casual?”

you’d quirked an eyebrow. “really? you want to go steady with me?”

“why not?”

“you don’t even know me.”

“i want to.”

and fuck. it wasn’t the smartest decision in hindsight, leaving the show so openly with him — but you did, arm in arm, and he hadn’t yet broken your trust. perhaps stupid of you, you didn’t believe he would.

“y’know,” you say, snapping out of your memories. you’re back in your dressing room, clutching his card in hand, staring at your reflection. “i don’t know what it is. i don’t know why he suddenly changed his tune. i don’t know why it was with me. and — well, i know he won’t, but if one day he leaves me for some waify scandi model, i’ll know he didn’t really change at all.”

nina nods, slow, like she finally understands. “you’re going in headfirst.”

“yeah, i guess.”

“that shit’s scary.”

“yeah.” you lift the card to your face again, thumb smoothing over where he’d scrawled your name, the little heart where he signed his love. your cheeks feel hot. you know there’s a facetime call waiting for you when you’re back at the hotel, tucked into bed and sleepy. “it’s really not so bad, at the end of the day.”

[batbabydamian]

I was reading some of your tags and I love the idea of Damian adding on layers of clothes to appear bigger lol because in my head Damian becomes more lithe and lean as he gets older so him doing that just makes perfect sense to me

it’s an idea that came from Damian’s fashion choices for some of his suits! he kinda gives off the vibe of wanting to appear bigger LOL

Batman (1940) #666 cover and Batman and Robin (2011) Annual 1

especially his Batman 666 suit’s flared collar and padded shoulders!! his child-sized version… he’s barely taller than Titus 😭

Batman Incorporated (2012) #4

his Redbird suit’s a bit of a stretch but the feathery neckpiece kills me, i like to think it fluffs up 🥺

Batman (2016) #106 backup

and then the pointy shoulders of his “Demon suit”! look at his lil cape flare 😭

[geeky-politics-46]

Party For Two

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky discuss what he wants to do for his birthday and what he wants as his present.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, light dirty talk, pet names, language, creampie, Bucky in his underwear needs a warning all its own

You could seriously just watch Bucky walk around in his underwear all day and be happy as a clam. You've told him before, and you'd tell him again. That he should just not wear clothes when you two were spending the day at home. 

It didn't matter if he threw on a shirt. Some days, having his arm and his scars completely visible bothered him. Sometimes he had phantom limb pain and needed the arm off completely, prefering to cover his scars as you tried to help with the residual nerve damage in his shoulder and back. 

Shuri did a lot, but she couldn't rewire the mess of his nervous system Hydra had left behind. Despite your assurance that you loved every inch of him, you would never push him to do something he didn't want to do. Some days were harder than others and you made sure he felt safe and loved even on his worst days. So your main rule was just no pants.

A man in his underwear should not turn you into this much of a hot horny mess, especially when you get to see him totally naked regularly. Although Bucky was an incredible specimen of a man.

Even now, you could see his lips moving, but your brain could not process the words he was saying. Not when those tight boxer briefs made his ass look like you could just bite into it. Not to mention how they perfectly cupped his bulge. The way you could just slightly see his cock and balls jiggle as he walked. It felt dirty but still kind of sweet. 

It made you just want to play with his cock. Not necessarily in a hand job sexual way, but just hold it and pet it. Tell him how pretty and perfect his cock was. Gently massage and rub his balls and kiss all over him. He did have the prettiest cock. 

You also loved how much he blushed whenever you told him how pretty his cock was. The old-fashioned boy from the 1940's was still taken aback by such words coming from your pretty little mouth. Even if it was a genuine compliment he still wasn't used to hearing a sweet pretty thing like you talk so openly about liking cock. Especially his. Especially when he wasn't already balls deep inside you.

Bucky agreed to the deal on the condition that you also wore no pants. You were allowed to throw on shorts or pj's on occasion, but only ones Bucky liked. Usually, you just went for an oversized shirt. 

Honestly, the two of you became quite the pair of hermits or homebodies. Your happy place was your apartment. Just the two of you, and Alpine, of course. You had all settled into your little domestic routine quite well. You couldn't help the little contented sigh that left your lips.

It was then that you realized Bucky had stopped talking and was staring back at you, trying not to laugh at your deer in headlights expression. You were caught red-handed, staring at him again. He couldn't be too mad about you not listening if you were gonna look so cute when busted.

"You know I think you have a bigger staring problem than I do, babydoll."

You could feel your cheeks blush as you both dissolved into little giggles. You knew he wasn't mad, but you still apologized anyway once you composed yourself. 

"I'm sorry, Buck. You are just too sexy sometimes for my brain to do anything but stare at you. I kinda like you, ya know." 

You gave him a teasing smirk punctuating your statement. Saying I love you was still new to the two of you, but Bucky would say it over and over the first few days. You couldn't help but tease him about it. All out of your own love for him though, and he knew it.

"Well, if you had been listening, you would know that Sam is inevitably going to try to throw me some sort of birthday party. He's been dropping hints for days, but if he asks please tell him we already have plans. I don't care what, but I really don't want a party." 

Of course, that's right. Sam had been after you about trying to do something for Bucky’s birthday. Sam wanted to go out and do something bigger. You knew all Bucky wanted to do for his birthday was be alone. It was hard for him think about all the birthdays, all the years, he had lost. He wanted to mark the day by enjoying the life he had waited so long for. 

He had waited so long to be at peace. Even though he still had missions to go on and work to do in the field, and in his own head, he felt a stability that he had always dreamed of. He had an apartment. Even if it wasn't the most put together. He had a pet. Alpine the fluffy white feline rescue who has helped him just as much as he helped her. 

Most importantly, he had you. He had an amazing girl that he wanted to settle down with. Create a home with. One day marry and have babies with. Assuming he could. He really didn't know if Hydra had done anything to affect his fertility. He didn't really want to know. For now, the 2 of you and Alpine was enough though.

That was what he wanted to celebrate, and he wanted to celebrate it by staying in with you. Just you, take out, tv or movies. Then, of course he planned to cash in his birthday points on dirty noise-complaint-getting loud sex. Some people may think it sounded boring, other than the sex part maybe, but that was exactly what he loved about it. 

You could see him planning out the evening he really wanted in his mind. He always joked about not wanting anyone else in his head, but he did love that you seemed to be able to read his mind. 

"What if I tell Sam that we are having a party and he just isn't invited? That it's a party just for two. Just you and me. I'll even let you pick dinner." 

He pretended to think about it as he walked over to the side of the couch you were on. Reaching across the arm of the sofa to help you up onto your knees so he could wrap his arms around your waist. Letting yourself slide up his muscular chest and link behind his neck. A mischievous smile curled up on his lips.

"I like the sound of that. I do still want cake though. Are you planning any party games?" 

You nodded at his request. Oh you were planning on cake, ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate syrup. Basically, any sort of dessert that could be enjoyed in both appropriate and inappropriate ways. 

"Well cake is a given of course. I'm sure we can find all sorts of creative ways to enjoy it too. As far as games, I do have a couple things in mind. Tell me how do you feel about naked Twister?"

He grabbed your waist a little tighter and growled a little at the idea of the two of you bent into all sorts of compromising positions. His blood starting to rush to his groin as you toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

"You know, I may need a little practice. Why don't we have a little practice party right now? Just so I know what to expect on my birthday." 

You smiled and shook your head at him, he knew you were a sucker for that look he got when he was feeling frisky. The crooked little grin, the way he would bite his lip, and the way his pretty blue eyes would sparkle. It was like your lips were pulled to his by a magnet. Moving closer on their own volition. 

Not that you mind of course. Your thoughts had already been in the gutter from watching Bucky strut around the house in those tight boxer briefs. Now you knew his was there too. The feeling of his bulge hardening against you, confirming that and making you wiggle your hips in anticipation.

He pulled back so his lips were barely touching yours, eliciting a needy little whine from you. You wanted more of him. You always wanted more of him. His hands started to slide down your low back to cup your ass cheeks, bending his knees a little so he could get a firm hold on you. 

"Mmm, can smell you, babydoll. You smell so good. Know you taste even better though. Taste even sweeter than that birthday cake will. I want a taste, baby girl."

He almost effortlessly scooped you up off the couch, your legs quickly swinging to wrap around his waist. Alpine had abandoned the couch to go hide under the table the minute you two started getting lovey. So without fear of stepping on her tail he practically sprinted to your shared bedroom, plopping you down unceremoniously onto the bed before lunging so he was on top of you. 

His lips hurried back to connect with yours in a frenzy of playful, passion filled kisses. Letting your hands wander up and down each others bodies, rubbing and touching any bit you could grab. Slowly working to get your hand down to rub over his cock. Straining against the soft fabric of his underwear. Still getting harder as you massaged him. 

You pulled your lips away from his so you could admire his cock in your hand. Even though it was still hidden behind the dark fabric, you couldn't help the way you licked your lips and moaned at the sight. He was just so perfect and thick. You knew the serum hadn't changed his height and size near as dramatically as Steve, but it did effect his muscle mass. You had a little bit of a hope that it had made his cock this thick. Otherwise those girls in the 40's wouldn't have survived.

"Starting to think you might be a little obsessed with my cock, babydoll." 

He teased you as he started kissing and sucking at your neck. Letting you enjoy your view as he let his hips occasionally roll and rut into your hand. You hummed in agreement as he began teasing his vibranium hand up and under your shirt. 

"Can't help it, baby. It's just so fucking perfect and big. Fills me up so good. So much better than any of my toys. Plus I kinda love the man it's attached to." 

He nuzzled his face into your neck before you felt him grin against your skin. He whispered an "I love you too baby…". Suddenly moving quickly and knocking your balance out from you as he in one smooth move threw off the shirt you were wearing and rushing to get your panties off just as fast. Leaving you suddenly naked underneath him. 

"... I'm also kind of obsessed with this pretty pussy. So I guess we're even." 

His body dropping to the bed and your legs thrown over his shoulders as he descended on you. Wet kisses along the crease of your inner thigh, just shy of where you desperately wanted his lips. Jumping to the other side and letting his warm breath dance across your dripping sex.

You could feel his bright blue eyes on you as he placed his first long lick up your slit. Making sure to cover every inch from your tight light hole up to your clit. Stopping to place several small kisses and kitten licks on the bundle of nerves. Hearing your breath already starting to falter.

Bucky loved eating you out. It wasn't something he remembered doing more than maybe once or twice before you, and he can't remember enjoying it nearly as much back then as he did now. Maybe he was more selfish back then. Maybe those women had just been less secure and open about what felt good. Women being so vocal about enjoying sex was pretty taboo in his day, but the way you reacted to his mouth on you made him obsessed. 

Each time you moaned as swirled his tongue around your clit. Each time you would grind against his face as he thrust his tongue inside you. Each time you would pull his hair as rubbed his whole face farther into your wet cunt. It all made him want to spend the rest of his life wirh his head between your thighs. Not even caring that he usually ended up so worked up he would start humping the mattress underneath him in an unconscious effort by his cock to get some sort of attention. 

He didn't even want to stop after he heard you whine and moan his name when you came. Why would he stop when he had the opportunity to lick up even more of your sweet nectar from your orgasm? No, he only stopped when he had his fill of  feasting on your cunt and your cum. Leaving you teetering on the edge of overstimulation. 

"Definitely my favorite treat. Hell fuck the cake, I just want your pussy as my birthday treat. What you think, doll? Can I have your pretty slutty little cunt as my birthday present? Can I eat it and play with it and fuck it whenever and however I want?" 

By now he started working his way back up your body as you clung to sheets arching into his mouth as he moved. Pressing your breasts against his face as he reached your chest. Greedily encouraging him to take one of your nipples into his mouth as his metal fingers pinched at the other. The contrast of his warm mouth and the cool vibranium making your skin prickle into goosebumps. 

After switching sides, making sure to give both perky pebbled nipples the attention they deserved, he made it back up to your lips. Kissing you once before nipping at your lower lip playfully. 

You had already wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull his pelvis to yours. Your fingers now tangled and tugging at the fabric of his boxer briefs trying to get them down. Desperately trying to get his cock free so you could feel him against your still soaked and needy cunt. 

"I'm waiting for an answer baby, tell me and then I'll take these off. Fuck you nice and hard. Can I have your perfect tight little hole as my birthday present? I want to spend my party making you scream and cum all over my cock." 

The sound of his filthy birthday wish pulled a deep groan from your chest. You wanted to spend his party doing that too, and what the birthday boy wants the birthday boy gets. You let your body go lax so he would be able to easily position you however he wanted you as you answered. 

"Yes, Bucky, holy fuck yes! My pussy is all yours, birthday boy. Use it however you want, James. All for you." 

"That's my good girl." 

He got back up on his knees and shimmied his underwear down and kicking them off. You eyes glued to his cock before it even sprung free from the fabric. A whimper falling from your mouth when a dribble of pre-cum dripped from his swollen flushed cockhead onto your low belly. A string of fluid running from his cock and starting to make a mess on you. He knew by the look in your eyes that he had you in the palm of his hand. So you promptly obliged when he told you what he wanted next. 

"Spread your legs farther, babydoll. Pull them back and hold onto your ankles for me. I want to see every little bit of my present." 

Quickly you worked to fold yourself in half as best as you could. Opening you up even more to Bucky’s gaze. His eyes raking over your body as be stroked his length a few times. Stopping only when you started to wiggle your hips, trying to urge him to touch you.

"Impatient, aren't you baby?" 

His tongue darting out to lick his lips, still swollen for having his face buried in your pussy, before a faux pout crossed his face. Cooing lightly at you as he started slapping his cock on your sensitive cunt. 

"God you look so fucking good when you get all needy for my cock baby. Saw you get that look in your eyes earlier. Knew that smart little brain had stopped thinking of everything but my cock. It's all yours baby." 

He placed his tip at your entrance and slowly started to push his hips forward. Sliding himself into you one inch at a time. Letting you feel every little bit of stretch he gave you. The feeling making you both moan in pleasure. Stilling in place once he had bottomed out inside you. 

"Fuck darlin', that's the prettiest thing I've ever seen. Look so beautiful getting fucked with my bare cock baby."

You gave him a seductive look and bit your lip. 

"Happy early birthday baby." 

With that, he gingerly drug his hands from the backs of your heels all the way down to the backs of your thighs. Gripping onto the flesh there and bracing you for his next move. Bucky slowly started to pull his hips back and started building speed with his first thrust back in. 

A feral look in his eyes as he watched where his cock was impaling you. Hypnotized by the sight. The image of your pussy stretched tight around his cock. The way his cock shined, wet with your arousal. It tipped him over the edge when he started hearing the wet squelch of your pussy as he thrust into you spurring him on to fuck you harder. 

The headboard starting to thump against the wall under the force of Bucky’s thrusts. A litany of swears falling from both of you. Your moans and squeaks as he pounded you accented by the sound of his full balls slapping against your ass. Each of you getting closer to climax with each sound the other made.

When he could feel his balls starting to tighten and he knew he was close to blowing, he let his flesh hand dip to rub at your clit. Smearing your wetness around to make his action smoother.  

After a moment of him touching your clit he found the perfect speed and spot. Feeling the fire start burning in your belly you let your eyes roll back in your head. 

"Oh fuck Bucky, right there! Don't stop, baby please don't stop!" 

His hips only sped up even more at your reaction. 

"Oh don't worry, dollface. I'm not stopping until I make a mess in my birthday present. You want that babydoll? You want to cum in you pretty girl? Let me hear it baby." 

Few things could throw you over the edge quite like Bucky when he talked dirty. It fueled that fire in your belly and sent it boiling over. As you came undone on his cock you practically cried for him to cum inside you. Your pussy squeezing and fluttering around his cock, practically milking him.

"James!!! Cum in me please, fuck I'm cumming for you baby. God you make me cum so good. It's your pussy daddy. Fuck it and fill it please, please!" 

By the time you had finished cumming, you felt his cock start to throb as he climaxed. Your body still jerking from your own orgasm with each stream of cum you felt him shoot into you until you were nearly overflowing. 

After a few minutes of basking in each other's afterglow, Bucky eventually pulled out of you with a groan and rolled over. Promptly grabbing you up in his arms again and pulling you over to cuddle. Pressing kisses into your hair as you drew little patterns on his chest. 

"If this is what I can expect for my birthday party, then happy birthday to me indeed." 

You gave him a wicked grin as you looked up at him. 

"Oh no, Buck, this was just practice. Remember? Your actual birthday party is going to be even more fun."

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

Back to main masterlist

[ineffableigh]

The costume details in Good Omens never cease to amaze me

I was working on cosplay research and looked up 'men's dress shirt rounded collar' since I noticed Aziraphale's blue dress shirt collar is rounded, not pointed:

So it turns out...

"The rounded collar was part of Eton College‘s dress code beginning in the mid-1800s. Because men wanted to be perceived as belonging to this exclusive club, the rounded, or “club” collar was copied by the masses." (Source)

Between that and the fact that Aziraphale's waistcoat, from what I can find, most closely matches shawl collar waistcoat designs from the 1830s, and his waistcoat at Saint James Park in 1862 is the first one we see him wear that most closely resembles his 'modern day' one, it's safe to say our lad is stuck at the start of the 19th century.

Which COULD be hilarious given undergarment styles of the time:

Through the late 19th century - union suits! Lovely for cold London winters.

1907...

However, I suspect 1940s style to be most likely, as it seems to be what he emulated when pretending to be Crowley at the end of Season 1.

1940s undergarments:

Anyway this has been your fashion history dork brain dump LOL

[m4rv3l-girl]

an idea for “You made a List?”, a roleplay where she dresses up as a 40s housewife. I love your stories, if you could do it I would be very grateful

“You made a List?” - Part 5 (40s Roleplay)

Bucky x Y/N

Y/N made an interesting to-do list, Bucky wants to tick them all off..

Warnings: Smut. Roleplay. Fingering. Oral f!receiving. Unprotected p in v sex.

Bucky had no idea what he was walking into.

That much was clear from the moment he stepped into the apartment and inhaled the scent of something warm and buttery drifting from the kitchen. It wasn’t the usual kind of dinner Y/N whipped up after a long day, though. No, this smelled… old-fashioned.

The second thing he noticed was the sound of a record playing softly in the background—something classic, something he hadn’t heard in decades. His brow furrowed as he set down his keys, gaze flicking toward the soft golden glow filtering in from the dining room. That’s when he saw it.

Y/N.

Standing in the middle of the room, wearing the most perfect little 1940s number he had ever seen. A delicate, powder-blue dress cinched at the waist, the fabric hugging her just right before it flared out in a swirl of nostalgia. A dainty apron was tied around her middle, and—Jesus, did she really have her hair pinned up like that? Like a real doll straight out of his memories.

“Welcome home, darling,” she said sweetly, her voice laced with playful charm as she turned from the table, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, a warm smile on her lips.

Bucky blinked.

His mouth opened, then shut again.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers flexing at his sides as his mind struggled to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.

“Doll…” he started, stepping closer, his voice a little hoarse. “What—?”

Y/N’s smile turned coy. “You work so hard, sweetheart. I thought I’d take care of you tonight.” She stepped forward, offering the glass to him with both hands, tilting her chin up to look at him through her lashes. “Go on, sit down. I made dinner. Your favorite.” Bucky exhaled a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. “You serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

A slow, warm grin pulled at his lips. His heart was pounding, and he wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was the effort she’d put into this—the way she had transformed their apartment into a portal to his past, just for him. Maybe it was the way she looked, the way she said sweetheart like it belonged to her, like it belonged to them.

“Doll,” he murmured, his voice softer now. He reached out, curling a hand around her waist, pulling her in. His vibranium fingers traced along the fabric of her apron, feeling the warmth of her beneath it. “You really did all this?”

She nodded. “I wanted to do something for you.” Her smile faltered just slightly, turning a little shy. “I know sometimes… you miss it. I thought maybe, just for one night, we could bring a little bit of that time back.”

His chest tightened, something deep and unspoken settling in his ribs.

He thought about the war. About Brooklyn before everything changed. About how, once upon a time, this kind of life had been all he wanted—a warm home, a loving wife, a soft place to land after a long day. He’d buried that dream decades ago, along with the boy who had it. But somehow, in the way Y/N was looking at him now, it didn’t feel so distant.

It felt real.

“Come on, soldier,” she teased, stepping back, tugging his hand toward the dining table. “Eat first. Then, we’ll see what else I can do to take care of you.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, but the way his grip tightened around her waist told her exactly what he was thinking. “Doll,” he murmured again, voice lower now, almost reverent. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what you’ve just started.”

She giggled. “This…may have been on the list.”

The list.

That’s what it was. The list she’d been following for weeks, her little collection of ideas to spice up their life together. He’d caught her scribbling things down as ideas came to her, her cheeks always going little pink when he asked what she was adding. Knife play, temperature play, role play—each one more surprising than the last. And now this, a step into a time that was almost as much a fantasy to her as it was a memory to him.

He took the whiskey, the warmth of the liquid spreading through him as he sat down, his eyes never leaving her as she swayed back to the kitchen, her hips moving to the rhythm of the music. The apron strings swished against her legs as she walked, and he couldn’t help but feel a swell of something in his chest that was equal parts fondness and desire.

When she returned with a platter of steaming meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy, Bucky felt like he’d been transported.

The way she served him, with such gentle care, reminded him of the moments of peace he’d stolen in the chaos of his past. It was a stark contrast to the cold efficiency he’d been taught, the way he’d learned to survive in the decades that followed.

“Dig in, darling,” she urged, placing the plate before him with a flourish.

The food looked and smelled heavenly, but Bucky’s gaze remained on Y/N. He took in every detail of her transformation—the pearls around her neck, the red lipstick that matched the color of her nails, the way she’d even put on stockings that reveal a hint of her bare thighs. It was like watching a movie, one he’d seen before but hadn’t realized he missed.

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and gentle teasing that felt both familiar and fresh. Y/N had done her homework, peppering her speech with 40s lingo that made him smile, and Bucky found himself slipping into the role without even trying. It was as if the walls of their modern apartment had thinned to let in the warmth of a bygone era.

The whiskey helped, too. It burned a smooth path down his throat, reminding him of the whiskey rations they’d had in the barracks, a rare comfort in the cold nights before a mission. But here, in the warm glow of the candlelit dinner, it tasted different—sweeter, richer, because it was shared with her.

He watched as she cleared the dishes, her hips swaying to the music, her smile never once slipping.

“You really had this all figured out, huh?” he said, his eyes lingering on her, his voice filled with a soft awe.

Y/N turned to him, her smile widening. “I just wanted to make sure it was perfect for you, darling.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, the affection in her tone resonating deep within him. This wasn’t just a game to her; she truly wanted to give him a taste of what he’d lost. And for a moment, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, it was possible to reclaim a piece of that life.

As she cleared the last of the plates, Bucky’s gaze trailed over the living room they’d converted into a 1940s dream. The couch had been rearranged, now with a small, round table between them, a vintage lamp casting a soft glow over the scene. He could almost see himself and Y/N as they would have been in that time—she, a housewife with a heart full of love and strength, and he, a man just trying to hold on to what he had left.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what it was like back then,” Y/N said, placing the last plate in the sink before turning back to him.

Bucky’s smile grew, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “It wasn’t all like this, doll. But the good parts—this, us—it’s something I’d give anything to have had for real.”

They moved into the living room, the record spinning a slow, romantic tune. Y/N took his hand, leading him to the couch, her touch gentle and sure. They sat, the cushions sinking beneath them, and she placed his hand on her knee, her eyes shimmering with a mischievous excitement.

“How about we take you all the way back, honey?” she suggested, her voice low and sultry.

Bucky’s pulse quickened as he looked into her eyes, seeing the spark of excitement. He knew what she meant—the role play was about to take a turn, and his mind raced with the possibilities. He swallowed, his throat dry.

“What do you have in mind, darling?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, slipping into the character she’d painted for him.

Y/N leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. “Well, my hubby’s been at work all day. So, I’m gonna help him de-stress.” She outlined the story of her well thought out roleplay.

The room was now their stage, the couch their intimate corner in a 1940s movie.

Y/N’s hand slid up Bucky’s arm, her grip tightening as she leaned closer, her breath warm and tantalizing against his cheek. “You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?” she murmured, her eyes shimmering with anticipation.

Bucky’s heart thudded in his chest as he nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. He felt a thrill at the thought of the intimate scenes they were about to play out, scenes that would bring him a bit of comfort, a bit of warmth from a past that had been so cruelly stolen from him.

“Oh, I have,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve missed you all day, doll. What’s a man to do when his best girl’s not around?”

Y/N giggled, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink. “Well, I’ve got just the thing to help you unwind, darling.” She reached for his tie, her movements slow and deliberate as she untied it, her eyes never moving from his.

The air grew thick with tension as she worked, her hands shaking just a little. Bucky could see the nerves playing across her features, the anticipation making her pupils dilate. She was so earnest in her desire to give this to him, to make him feel alive in a way that she knew he hadn’t in a very long time. It was a gift, and he was going to cherish it.

When she had the tie free, she let it hang loosely around his neck, her fingertips grazing the collar of his shirt. “Let’s get you out of this monkey suit,” she whispered, her voice a seductive purr.

Bucky felt his body respond to her touch, the years melting away as he allowed her to help him out of his jacket and unbutton his shirt. He hadn’t felt this alive, this human, in so long. It was like she’d reached into his soul and pulled out the man he’d once been, the man he’d thought he’d lost forever.

Once his shirt was open, she straddled him, her dress hiking up just enough to expose the tops of her stockings. Her hands roamed over his bare chest, exploring the contours of his muscles with the feigned curiosity of a woman discovering a new lover, despite knowing him better than anyone. The soft fabric of her dress brushed against his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

“You’re so strong, darling,” she cooed, tracing her finger around the edge of his vibranium arm.

Bucky’s chuckle was warm and rich, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled her closer. The weight of his arms around her felt like home—like safety, like everything good he’d ever known. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the dress, the softness of her body pressed against his.

“Is that right?” he asked, playing along, his voice thick with desire. “What is it you want from me, dollface?”

Her smile grew, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, I want to make you feel like you’re home, darling.” She leaned in, her breath a warm tickle against his neck. “I want to make you feel like you never left.”

Bucky’s grip tightened around her waist, pulling her closer as he felt his heart swell with affection. This was a side of Y/N he hadn’t seen before—softer, more vulnerable. It was intoxicating, a lovely blend of passion and tenderness that made him want to protect her as fiercely as he wanted to claim her.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me, dollface,” he murmured, his voice a low growl of desire.

Y/N’s eyes lit up with excitement as she slid her hand up to the back of his neck, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “You’ve been such a good husband, working hard for your country, for us.”

Bucky felt the weight of her words, the acknowledgment of his past, the acceptance of the man he had been, and the love she had for the man he was now. It was a balm to his soul, a gentle reminder that he wasn’t just a relic from another time, but a cherished part of hers. “Thanks, Doll. You know what else a good husband does?”

Y/N’s smile grew grew, her eyes dancing. “What’s that, darling?”

“A good husband makes sure his wife is satisfied,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, the vibranium hand on her waist sliding up to cup her cheek. The fabric of her dress was like silk under his calloused palm.

Y/N’s eyes darkened, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Is that so? Well, I’ve had quite a day myself, darling. Maybe you should show me how you take care of a lady after a hard day’s work around the house?”

Bucky’s smile grew as he leaned in, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw before sliding around to the back of her neck, his grip firm but gentle. “I’d be more than happy to show you, Mrs. Barnes.” He dipped his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that was a promise of everything to come. Her mouth opened for him, welcoming him with a soft sigh, and the world outside their apartment melted away, leaving only the two of them and the rich taste of whiskey on her tongue.

The kiss grew deeper, more demanding, and Bucky’s other hand slid around her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there. Y/N’s breath hitched, her body arching into his touch, and she felt a thrill at the heat. She had been worried that the role play would be awkward, that he would feel uncomfortable with her playing the part of a woman from his past, but as their bodies melded together, she could feel his tension dissipating, his shoulders relaxing as he gave in to the fantasy she’d crafted for him.

Bucky’s hand moved up her back, finding the zipper of her dress, and he pulled it down slowly, feeling the fabric whisper against her skin. The dress pooled around her, leaving her in a delicate lace slip that left little to the imagination. He took in the sight of her, his eyes dark and hungry, and she felt a rush of power at the desire she saw reflected in them. She was giving him this, bringing him a piece of himself back, and she reveled in it.

He slid the slip off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, and his eyes took in the fullness of her breasts, the softness of her belly, the curves of her hips. His touch was delicate, his fingers tracing the lines of her body as if he was discovering something precious. She shivered under his gaze, her skin coming alive with every brush of his thumb.

“You’re so beautiful, doll,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Always were, always will be.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his words. She had never felt more cherished than in that moment, her body laid bare before him, her soul laid bare in the way she’d tried to bring a piece of his past to life. She leaned into his touch, her breath shallow as his vibranium hand skimmed over her skin, leaving trails of electric warmth in its wake.

With a gentle nudge, Bucky stood up, lifting her off the couch with surprising ease, and carried her to the bedroom. The role play was more than just a game now—it was a tether to a past he’d lost, a bridge to a time when love was simple and fierce and all-consuming. He laid her down on the bed, the softness of the comforter enveloping her.

He hovered over her, his gaze lingering on her curves, his hand trailing along her side, feeling the heat of her skin. “You’re my best girl, doll,” he murmured, his voice a mix of affection and possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine.

The bedroom was a sanctuary from the outside world, the heavy curtains drawn, the only light coming from a single lamp casting a warm glow across the room. It was as if they’d stepped into a time machine, the modern world forgotten. The sheets were soft and cool beneath her as Bucky settled between her legs, his weight pressing her into the mattress.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her gasp. His vibranium hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, teasing it into a tight peak. The sensation was exquisite, a blend of pain and pleasure that made her arch into his touch.

“You’re the best little housewife a man could ask for,” he murmured against her skin, his voice gruff with desire. “Always waiting for me with dinner on the table, looking so pretty for me to come home to.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she felt his vibranium hand slip between her thighs, the coldness of it a stark contrast to the heat building in her core. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her eyes fluttering shut as he began to explore her with a gentle but firm touch.

“Best little wife for me,” he whispered against her skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. “Taking care of me, making sure I’m happy. You know what happens to good little wives who do all that, don’t you?”

Y/N shivered, her eyes fluttering shut as Bucky’s hand continued its journey down her body, his vibranium fingers skimming the waistband of her panties. “What happens?” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

“They get what they deserve,” he growled, his teeth sinking into her earlobe just enough to make her gasp. His hand slipped under the fabric, finding her wet and ready. He groaned in approval, his thumb circling her clit with a precision that sent waves of pleasure crashing through her.

Bucky’s touch grew more demanding, his vibranium hand moving faster as he whispered sweet nothings about how good she was, how much he needed her. Y/N’s hips rolled, meeting his hand with eager movements that spoke of her own desire. She could feel herself building, her body tightening around the promise of his touch.

“Love you so much, Sweetie,” he murmured, his breath hot against her neck as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin there. “The best thing that ever happened to me.” His voice was a mix of reverence and need.

Y/N’s eyes rolled back in pleasure as she felt his vibranium fingers slide into her, his thumb still circling her clit with a maddening rhythm. It was as if he was trying to reclaim every lost moment, every touch that he’d missed out on. His movements were firm, sure, like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was to make her cry out his name, to feel her come apart in his arms like a satisfied wife.

Bucky’s eyes searched hers as he moved, watching her face as if it was a map to his own pleasure. He whispered sweet things in her ear, calling her his good girl, his best little housewife, his everything. The words were a caress, a gentle reminder of the love that existed between them, even in the heat of the moment.

Her body responded to his, arching and writhing under his touch. She could feel his need for her, the way his heart raced against her chest, the way he gripped her hips as if she was the only thing anchoring him to the present. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him closer, her nails digging into his back as he thrust his fingers into her with a passion that was fierce and tender.

And then, as if reading her mind, he stopped, his hand stilling, his breath ragged. He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers, and she knew what was coming next. He’d done his research, knew what she liked, and was eager to pretend he was more than just her soldier. He was her husband in every sense of the word.

With a gentle nudge, he moved her thighs apart, his vibranium hand sliding away to be replaced by the soft press of his lips against her stomach. She watched in wonder as he kissed a trail down her body, his eyes never leaving hers, the intensity in his gaze making her squirm with anticipation. His mouth reached the junction between her thigh and core.

Bucky took a moment to breathe in the scent of her arousal, his eyes fluttering closed as if savoring it. He’d always enjoyed going down on her, but tonight was different. Tonight, he wanted to worship her, to show her just how much she meant to him, how much he appreciated the care she’d put into this. He parted her folds with his index and middle finger.

When he finally brought his mouth to her, Y/N’s hips jerked upward, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. His tongue was warm and wet against her clit, sending pulses of pleasure through her body. He’d never done it like this before—so focused, so intent. It was like he was trying to memorize the taste of her, the way she quivered and gasped under his touch.

Bucky took his time, his mouth moving against her with a gentle urgency that was almost painfully sweet. His tongue traced her folds, exploring every crevice, every sensitive spot with a tender thoroughness that had Y/N’s toes curling in her heels. He’d always been good at this, but tonight, it was like he was trying to claim a part of her that no one else had ever touched.

Her hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as she held him to her, urging him on with her breathy whimpers.

Bucky's movements grew more confident, more possessive. He knew exactly what he was doing, his tongue flicking and swirling in a dance that had her back arching off the bed. She could feel the tension building within her, a tight coil that was threatening to snap at any moment. He alternated between stroking her clit with the tip of his tongue and sucking on it, the gentle pressure and the warmth of his mouth sending her spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

Her moans grew louder, filling the room, and she knew that he enjoyed the sounds she was making. It was like he was feeding off her pleasure, using it to fuel his own desire. She could see the hunger in his eyes, the way he watched her with an intensity that was almost feral.

Bucky’s tongue delved deeper, licking and lapping at her with a primal need that had her panting his name. He was sloppy, messy, unabashed in his worship of her body—like a starving man finally given a feast. And she was the banquet laid out before him, ready to be consumed.

Y/N’s eyes rolled back in her head, her body tightening with each stroke. She’d never felt so desired, so cherished. His Vibranium fingers grazed her inner thigh lightly, the coolness sending shivers up her spine. He knew exactly how to play her body, each touch a masterpiece of sensation. He suckled on her clit, his tongue flicking and swirling in a delicious rhythm that had her hips bucking against his mouth.

The wet sounds of his tongue against her flesh filled the room, punctuated by her breathy moans. Bucky’s grip on her thighs grew firmer, his eyes never leaving hers, as if he was daring her to look away from the passion he had for her. But she couldn’t—his gaze held her captive, a silent promise of the climax to come.

And then with a sudden, deep slide of his tongue, he buried it in her completely, and she shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, a peak of pleasure that made her back arch and her eyes roll back in her head. She screamed his name, the sound echoing in the room, a declaration of the intensity of her release.

Bucky’s eyes never left hers as he felt her clench around his fingers, her thighs tightening as she rode out the wave of pleasure. “So His heart swelled with love and pride, feeling the tremors of her body beneath his mouth, knowing that he’d given her that.

Slowly, tenderly, he made his way up her body, kissing a trail of heat along her stomach, her breasts, her neck, until he reached her mouth. He took her in a deep, soulful kiss, tasting himself on her, her sweetness on his tongue. The passion between them grew with every second, the lines between past and present blurring until all that was left was their love, their connection.

With trembling hands, Bucky reached for the buttons on his own shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. He watched as she took in the sight of him, her gaze traveling over his muscled chest with a hunger that mirrored his own. He shrugged out of his shirt, his vibranium arm gleaming in the soft light. For a moment, the metal was a stark reminder of his past, but then she reached out, her fingertips grazing the cool metal, and it was just another part of him she loved.

Her touch was gentle, as if she was afraid to break the spell that had been woven between them. Her soft palm slid over his heart, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the cold metal of his arm. His own hand moved to cover hers, pressing it closer, feeling the steady beat beneath his skin.

“You’re so warm,” she whispered, her eyes wide with wonder, and he felt a swell of affection for her, this woman who had brought him so much peace in a world that had been so cold and unforgiving.

Bucky’s eyes searched hers as he lowered his body onto hers, his weight a comforting presence that grounded him in the here and now. He kissed her softly, their tongues dancing in a rhythm that spoke of their shared history and the promise of what was to come. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, his back, her nails digging into his skin.

He reached for her hips. His eyes never left hers as he positioned himself at her entrance, his cock aching for the warm embrace of her sex. Y/N’s thighs fell open, welcoming him in with a soft sigh. He pushed inside her, inch by inch, watching the way her eyes widened and her breath hitched with each gentle push. Her walls clenched around him, a sweet embrace that made his heart ache with the intensity of his longing.

As he filled her completely, Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he was coming home—to a place that was warm and safe and his. He began to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that had her arching into him with a need that was almost desperate. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his ass as she urged him deeper, her nails scoring down his back.

Her moans grew louder, the sound of them a siren’s call that had his blood singing in his veins. He’d missed this, the raw passion that came from a place that was untouched by the horrors of his past. Y/N was his beacon, the one who had brought him back to the light, and in that moment, as he claimed her, he knew that he’d do anything to protect her, to cherish her.

Their bodies moved together in a collage of desire, their limbs tangled, their hearts beating in time. The bed creaked softly beneath them, the only sound in the room other than their mingled breaths and the faint crackle of the record playing in the background. Bucky’s vibranium hand gripped her hip, guiding her movements, his other hand cradling her head, holding her close as if she might vanish at any moment.

He felt himself growing closer to the edge, the pressure building, the pleasure winding tighter with every stroke. He could see the need in her gaze, the want, the love, and it was all too much.

“Fuck…My pretty little wife…” He grunted.

Bucky’s hips began to move faster, his strokes more urgent as he chased his release. Y/N’s legs tightened around him, her heels digging into his lower back, her nails scoring his shoulders as she matched his rhythm, her own desire building to a peak.

And when he finally came, it was with a roar that seemed to shake the foundations of their home.

His cock pulsed with the force of his release, filling her with a warmth that was as much emotional as it was physical. Y/N’s eyes widened, her body clenching around him, her own climax rushing over her in response to the intensity of his. Her nails dug into his back, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she felt her walls being coated with his cum.

They stayed there, panting and tangled, the aftermath of their passion hanging heavy in the air. Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest, the beat of it echoing in his ears, as if trying to remind him that this wasn’t a dream. This was real. This was his life. Well, most of it.

And then it hit him, like a bolt from the blue—or rather, a whisper from the heart that had been beating for her since the moment they’d met. He pulled back slightly,. “Marry me, doll,” he blurted out, the words surprising even him.

Y/N’s eyes went wide, her breath hitching as she searched his face, looking for any hint of jest or doubt. But all she found was love - deep, unshakeable love that had been building between them despite the chaos of their lives.

“Bucky?” she whispered, her voice trembling with hope.

He took a deep breath and kissed her softly. “I know this isn’t how you pictured it. Hell, I know it’s not what I had planned. But here we are, in our own little slice of the 40s, and it’s just hit me, I…I want to spend every moment with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning, come home to you every night. And grow old with you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes brimming with tears. She’d never seen this side of him, never knew he could be so open, so vulnerable. She nodded, her voice shaking. “Bucky, honey..yeah, I’ll marry you. Of course I will.”

——————————————————————————————————

Hope this is what you had in your amazing brain, anonymous reader! I really enjoyed making this one. 🫶

[patriottruth]

Every male trump voter in the United States is about to learn the truth about the deeply-rooted genetic rage that all living American women and girls of all ages have toward any and every male who voted, or who even would vote, for donald j. trump...

Luke 11:51 from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zechariah, who was killed between the altar and the sanctuary. Yes, I tell you, this generation will be held responsible for it all.

Every generation of American women have been victimized by trash like donald j. trump, nick fuentes, and every worthless piece of shit like them. It's like in Kamala Harris' presidential campaign vs. donald trump's presidential campaign:

Is her laugh perfect? Are her hair, clothes, and makeup flawless and has she avoided wearing a similar-looking outfit and/or fashion accessory more than once? Is she physically fit and pretty? Is she perfectly spoken at all times while being simultaneously pleasant and non-offensive? Is she enunciating perfectly at all times? Is she presenting herself in a refined, sophisticated, and high-class manner at all times, while simultaneously coming across as a lady of the common folks, without sounding fake, forced, condescending, or patronizing?

But donald trump? Lazy, fat slob with caked and greasy spray-on fecal application, wearing the same thing every time, and then there's all of that no-class, low-class, low-IQ, no-IQ, uneducated, boorish, word-slurring, mindnumbingly boring, retarded screaming-at-clouds, hateful Nazi grandpa routine showcasing extreme cognitive decline...and he and everyone like him in the United States gets a free pass, patted on the back, congratulated, awarded, rewarded, glorified, and celebrated as the living avatar of "American Exceptionalism" and genetic perfection while calling any women they work with their "work-wives" and expecting them to dress and act as a 1930's, 1940's, 1950's, 1960's, and 1970's wife should for her "loving" husband (whom she's entirely dependent on and thankful for).

Kamala Harris is being brutalized and treated as if she's the worst failure in American history, yet, if we can actually trust the swing state results, it's possible that trump may have only won each of the swing states by tens of thousands to less than 150,000 in most cases; and at this time, donald trump only has around 3,000,000 more popular votes than Kamala Harris nationwide (Hillary Clinton beat donald trump by 3,000,000 popular votes in 2016 with 5,000,000 less votes than Kamala Harris received in 2024). Why wasn't donald trump brutalized in all the same ways for losing to Hillary Clinton by 3,000,000 votes in 2016?

And then there's the lie that no one showed up to vote for Kamala Harris because of a whole host of reasons you normally hear coming out of the mouths of male domestic abusers; but it's coming from men and women talking heads at the main media outlets. And let's not forget about how those domestic abuser insults include being incapable of managing money (a man's job, a breadwinner's job, but never a woman's job or entitlement). Kamala Harris is receiving massive 1930's, 1940's, 1950's, 1960's, and 1970's misogynistic abuse from every possible outlet that was cordial to her until the last poll closed on November 5, 2024.

American Women Have Only Had a Legal/Constitutional Right to Vote to Advance the Human and Civil Rights of All American Women and Girls Since August 26, 1920 (104 years).

American Women and Girls Have Only Had Access to Real Financial Independence Since October 28, 1974 (50 years).

American Women and Girls Have Only Had Access to Real Business Ownership Since October 25, 1988 (36 years).

The entire American story of real human and civil rights for American women and girls is only as old as most living American grandmothers and their daughters, granddaughters, and great granddaughters.

American males of all ages are about to be tested for their character, qualities, truth, and honor; and the ones who fail the tests they'll never realize they're taking won't be reproducing more donald trumps, nick fuentes', and trump voters.

There are stories all over Reddit about American Thanksgiving and Christmas get-togethers being cancelled and people cutting trump-voting family members and former friends out of their lives for voting to end their human and civil rights, freedoms, privileges, and entitlements that American women and girls of all ages have only started to really enjoy for the last 50 years.

American women in their 90's and 80's placed all their hopes and dreams in their daughters who are now in their 60's and 50's; and those daughters placed all of their and their mother's hopes and dreams into their daughters who are now in their 30's and 20's; and those daughters placed all of their hopes and dreams into their daughters; but because of every last trump-voting male in the United States, all of those American women and girls' hopes and dreams are in the process of being completely and permanently destroyed; and all of those pre-K and K-12 daughters now have less rights than their great grandmothers.

You can't treat other human beings that way and think they're not gonig to feel certain ways about it.

I really wouldn't want to be a male trump voter right about now...

After nick fuentes made his little "Your Body, My Choice," "Men Win," and "There Will Never Be a Female President...NEVER" speech, women doxxed him, showed up at his house, he pepper-sprayed one and kicked her down a flight of brick stairs, police and EMS showed up to care for the woman, and now little nick fuentes is hiding in his mommy's basement so she can protect his "Alpha Male" self.

Fool around and find out is definitely the phrase of the day.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 4 - Le Rideau Tombe Avant La Fin

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is reader and Eloise's farewell to Paris. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Paris, September 1939

The next three days are a blur, fleeting but at once memorable, lived on borrowed time. 

Knowing the inevitable is happening - that you will need to leave Paris soon - you give notice at work; so sad to have only been there for a matter of weeks rather than the planned months. On a brighter note, however, you are able to spend the days with Benedict, showing him all you have learned about art in the city in the short time you have had. Many a happy hour is spent in galleries. Both of you tripping over your words to share what you know about the art and the artists in a breathless, excited fashion. Kindred spirits in your appreciation of the works. Sometimes lost in a reverie as you stand in front of a canvas as large as your entire living room, the scale and complexity literally dumbfounding. 

And, of course, a little of your heart is stolen with each moment together - the first person you have ever met who truly seems as enthused as you about the subject matter. That it's all wrapped up in that handsome face adds more complexity and confusion. You can't deny the skip in your pulse when he looks at you, weighted, a touch of reverence, so focused as you speak passionately on the subject you love. And you are certain your face is a picture of devotion as he waxes lyrical, too. You know you are getting swept up into the almost cliched romance of it all - the city of love, a handsome stranger, the no doubt impending invasion giving a sense of urgency and finality to every hour- it's a powder keg that feels dangerous as it is intoxicating. 

—

Early evening of the second day, as you wander back from the Louvre, you pass by the offices of the cruise company you came from America with. 

“Oh! I should speak to them about swapping my return ticket,” you comment, seeing the men standing outside in the smart red livery of the company, speaking in English to crowds of people inquiring about escaping France.

“See if you can move it to the day after tomorrow,” Benedict counsels. “That is the day we are due to set sail. We can all go to the coast together on the train.”

“That would be nice,” you admit, realising it will be lovely to have someone to wave farewell to, even if there is a little stab in your chest at the idea you may never see Benedict again. Or, of course, darling Eloise.

So, a couple of hours later, after an early dinner, you are back on this same street, your ticket in hand, waiting patiently to speak to one of the young men in uniform. 

“Mademoiselle?” he beckons you forward.

“Good evening. I have a ticket to New York for eleven months, hence, 12th August 1940. I am hoping I can swap to a sailing in a few days? Ideally, the day after tomorrow?”

The men exchange glances, and there seems to be a swirl of excitement as they crowd around you.

“A real ticket?” one of them pipes up, an excitement in their tone which strikes you as rather odd.

With a nod, you hand it over, and they all seem to confer, then grab a pad of tickets and transfer some details. 

“Not a problem at all, Mademoiselle. Here, this is for a sailing two days hence. Thank you for travelling with us!”

They seem inordinately pleased as you walk away clutching your new ticket, a mix of emotions swirling. The finality of your time in Paris suddenly so real, the date on the newly issued ticket, ink still drying, sinking in.

—

When you push open the door to your apartment, still with a tinge of melancholy, you are taken aback by the whirlwind you encounter.

“How did I amass this many mugs?” Eloise decries, standing amidst a complete bomb of possessions scattered all over the surfaces of your apartment.

“Well, you can't take them all home,’ Benedict points out wearily, “you have your case, and that trunk there, Eloise, and that is all.”

Eloise rolls her eyes. “Well aware of that brother…” holding a blue and red mug in each hand, assessing which she likes more.

“I suppose I'm lucky I've only been here a matter of weeks,” you pipe up as they both turn to look at you, Benedict shooting you a lopsided grin as Eloise barges forward and loops your arm in hers, dragging you across the room.

“Just the person I need!” she declares. “Help me! What mug screams, ‘I had a life in Paris once, and it was amazing’?” She gestures to the array of drinking vessels she has pulled out to the cupboard.

You ponder the question with a thoughtful pout. “Why not just leave them all for the next tenant? I'm sure Solene would appreciate the ability to rent out the apartment with kitchen supplies?” you try to be diplomatic.

“Yes, I know that,” Eloise sighs, “there were mugs when I got here. That, of course, got mysteriously broken after a few days, which is a blessing as they were all hideous…”

“You broke some perfectly good mugs?” Benedict frowns disapprovingly.

“Do you live here?” she shoots back pointedly, raising an eyebrow, “I am only seeking the counsel of those who live here… not a squatter,” she sniffs.

You share a look with Benedict -  yours contrite, his bemused - as if this is just another day with Eloise. Which, to be fair, it sort of is.

“If I had to choose one…” you point to the cherry red earthenware mug that looks French in a way you can’t quantify; it just does.

“You’re right as always,” Eloise grins, seizing it. “Much better help than that one,” she adds, sticking her tongue out at Benedict as she wraps the chosen item in yesterday's newspaper.

“Packing going well?” you breeze, your eye again meeting Benedict’s as he pulls a face that makes you giggle hard.

“You try cramming nine months of freedom into a teeny trunk,” Eloise grumbles, heading towards her bedroom.

“I am just taking my clothes…” you admit. You only have a few additional items you purchased since you arrived in Paris that should all fit if you pack smart enough.

“That’s yours, by the way…” Eloise gestures to Benedict’s painting on the wall before she disappears out of sight. “I have no room for it, and it seems strange to carry a picture of a house I'm headed to…” she calls out down the corridor.

“I would love it…” you inhale, looking at the artist imploringly as if somehow you need his permission.

“Y-you want it?” Hesitant, disbelieving almost. 

“If you will permit me,” you confess, clasping a hand over your heart.

“It is yours,” he replies, his face a mixture of pleasant surprise and humble acceptance.

You rush forward and take the painting off the wall, reverentially cradling it between your hands. 

“Thank you, Benedict,” you sigh, a little fizz in your stomach at the idea he wants you to have it. Like you will always have a piece of him with you once you are apart.

“I can paint you others...” he offers quickly, in a rush of exhaled breath. “Whatever you want…”

Something in the tumbling sincerity of his words has your heart beating fast.

“I can think of nothing more appealing than a wall full of your works…” you confess while trying not to think that room would be thousands of miles away.

He blushes adorably, casting his eyes down until suddenly, his head jerks up again. “Wait I…I have something I want to give you, actually,” He scurries across the room and gathers a sketchbook. “I'm sorry it's not framed, but here…”

He carefully tears out the page from his pad. And your heart stops.

It's you from two days ago. Sitting on a bench overlooking the Seine, the Eiffel Tower over your shoulder as you read a book. You wondered what he was doing sitting a few feet away that day as you took a lunch break. Now you know. It's a perfect pencil rendering of the scene, each sketched line a wondrous recreation of that sun-soaked afternoon.

“Benedict….” all other words fail. 

“I want you to have it,” he murmurs, “your time in Paris may have been unexpectedly brief, but you deserve a memento of the happiness you found here, however fleeting it had to be.”

Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes; you want to rush to him, to throw your arms around him, thank him profusely, but you are scared to. Scared that in the moment you would get carried away, press your lips to his…

“Thank you...” is all you can struggle out, inadequate and awkward.  

“De rein…” Again, that perfect accent has you practically swaying

But the spell is broken when Eloise reappears, complaining loudly about the size of her trunk, and part of you is grateful for it. Guilt floods your being as you think how bad of a person you must be to covet your best friend’s brother when you have a fiance back home. One you will, in fact, likely see in a matter of days now… tamping down that disquiet, you excuse yourself to your room, placing your ticket on the mantel and refusing to look at it as you pick up a book to read.

—

Solene’s hug is so tight you feel like she is crushing your ribs. Or perhaps it's that you feel a little too fragile today.

“I shall miss you, ma cherie,” she mumbles into your hair before pulling back and seizing your jaw. “You will come back when this is all over, oui?”

“Oui,” you agree, knowing it’s more of a wish than a promise.

Once again, she pulls you in for a tight hug before turning to Eloise and clinging to her just the same, lingering longer.

“Souviens-toi, ma sœur,” she reminds Eloise, having told you the previous night that her sister lives just outside the port city of Le Havre should you need a place to stay for any reason.

It's two days later, the day of your departure, and your eyes ping around the now-tidy apartment, only furniture left where once there was a jumble of life. It looks much less like home, making handing over your key a little less painful. One final wistful glance at the Eiffel Tower out of the window is all you can manage before picking up your case and walking out, scared to look back.

Benedict is loitering in the corridor outside and shoots you a sympathetic glance as you exit, eyes glassy.

“You will return,” he offers solemnly, even as you both know it's just a platitude, before turning his attention to the apartment door. “Hurry up, Eloise, we need to get to the train…” he calls.

You start to move towards the sweeping staircase, preferring a long amble down its winding loop than the lift, your case feeling much heavier than when you arrived mere weeks ago…

—

You watch the puffs of steam float past the window as the train picks up pace, pulling out of Gare Saint-Lazare. Perhaps aptly, it begins raining soon after, streaks of water lashing the glass as you rest your head back into the seat.

“I can't bear to look at it,” Eloise sighs, closing her eyes so as not to see Paris slipping away.

You reach over the table between you and grasp her hand, and her eyes open to give you a nod of thanks before closing again. 

“Why do you have to be American?” she whines. “I would do anything to have you come to England. We could get a little place together in London…” She winds her feet around yours like a vine, needing the connection in your last few hours together.

“If only…” you agree, a weight akin to a heavy boulder settling in your stomach at the idea you will soon be back on Long Island, a world that seems so…. staid to you now.

Benedict shoots you a sympathetic look across from his seat next to Eloise on the aisle but says nothing, going back to reading his book as it's your turn to sigh, the city now a blur outside the window as you speed towards the end of your time in France.

–

Half an hour later, Eloise is sleeping, her head lolling lightly on the glass with the gentle rocking motion of the train, now following the meander of the Seine just outside Poissy.

“She didn't sleep well last night,” Benedict observes, looking up from his book and following your line of sight. “I don't think she wanted her last night in Paris to ever end.”.

His words take you back to just hours ago, a rousing evening in your favourite local bistro filled with wine, camaraderie and song. Benedict didn't accompany you and Eloise, preferring to stay home and read, he said, but part of you wishes he was there to help commiserate and toast your final night chez Paris.

“You should have come out,” you opine with a slight pout, which makes him chuckle.

“It's not me who had to have the fitting farewell,” he points out with a sympathetic smile.

“Still, it would have been nice if you were there…” The idle thought is out of your lips before you can think about how that might sound, and you know you are blushing when his mouth opens a fraction in surprise, a dot of colour on his cheeks, too.

“I'm sure you still had a wonderful time,” he placates demurely.

You smile and nod, feeling a little twinge in your ankle from all the dancing you have done.

“Are you excited?” he asks, changing the subject.

You frown. “Why would I be excited to leave Paris?”

To be reunited with your fiance?” he answers slowly, a look of puzzlement on his face that it had not occurred to you.

“Oh…” you pause, your mind recalling Stanley’s smile, although somehow it seems faded now, like an out-of-focus photograph, as if you cannot wholly remember it now.  “I… I suppose…”

His face is a picture of concern again. “You do not sound certain…” he hedges.

“I am not, to be honest,” you sigh for what seems like the hundredth time today. “These few weeks have… shown me so much of the world,” you explain, “I have had so many novel experiences, met so many wonderful new people…” you can't help but let your gaze meet his as you say it. “It makes my life before seem… small? Parochial?” you are clutching for the right words as his hazy eyes track your every facial move.

“Like an old shoe that used to be comfortable but now suddenly feels too tight?” he offers a metaphor that is so apt you can't help but nod.

“Exactly!’ you agree, enthusiastically waving your hand. 

There is a quiet moment where your eyes meet again, a tingle over your skin, a pulse of energy so enlivening.

“Do you feel there is perhaps something out there better for you?” his ask feels loaded, a quiet murmur that carries so much hidden meaning but is nearly lost in the rhythmic sound of the train clattering over the tracks. So much so you could likely pretend you didn't hear, but you don't. 

“I just might…” you answer softly, even as you are unable to look away. Something about this man makes you daring, unwilling to do anything but be bold.

Long, elegant fingers reach out over the table and are about to brush the back of your hand when Eloise suddenly startles awake between you. His hand disappears rapidly, pulling back as if burned. All you can concentrate on is the ashy taste of regret at your best friend’s timing.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[greml1nb0i]

THE HAZBIN LEAKS SHOW THAT S2 WILL ONLY GET WORSE: Characters

OK so my first gripe,

Emily's song is ear bleedingly annoying. Idk who her VA is but omg, idk if she's tone deaf or if they just have her mouth directly into the mic but my gods woman. STEP BACK you are assaulting my brain with these nonstop high sopranos.

Also the literal shot of Sir P trying to kill himself cuz of how either how annoying Emily is being or the fact he misses his friend, regardless it was a WILD fucking scene to show. Suicide isn't off the table for Viv's jokes, i guess.

Speaking of Sir P, his reason for being in Hell is so fucking stupid.

How tf is being scared of Jack The Ripper a sin?! His sin is just being scared of being murdered if he spoke out.

THAT'S JUST NORMAL HUMAN BEHAVIOR, WHAT?!

I hate to break it to you Viv, but not everyone is going to act like a macho hero when they see a damned murder!! Most people fucking run and hide! Why? CUZ THEY DONT WANNA DIE! They don't want to be targeted if shit goes south.

Also what is the thought process here in making his sin being just "cowardice"?? Viv are you trying to say that people who have most def been in Sir P's shoes, [witnessing a murder] are cowards that deserve to go to hell?? What's the motive here? Am i missing something?? Is being too afraid to be murdered, a sin??

Also apparently he was sent to Heaven for "saving Cherri Bomb"

save her from what?

Last i checked, in the final ep; he just kisses her as she's about to through a bomb and then says "i love you, remember me" only to have one of the most anti climatic "deaths" in the show. She wasnt even being attacked or threatened in anyway. So where tf does the plot point of "i saved her" come in??

Also can we talk about these fuck-ass human designs for Sir P and Alastor??

I don't mind Sir P's as much as i hate Alastor's. Its the fact Viv doesnt know wtf she's doing when she makes these designs.

Sir P just looks like a generic guy. One look at him and you cannot tell what time period he's from, same goes for Alastor. They could easily be frickin neighbors in the early or late 90s but no, they're supposedly from different timelines.

Alastor iirc is from the 1940-50s, and Sir P is from the 1800s, [Jack the rippers final kill was 1863-1888]

Why, Viv, cant you do any research for the time periods YOUR characters come from??

Why do they both look like cartoon barbers; not a radio show host and not a genius inventor?? Like did you even look at the differences in fashion and culture for any of these characters?!

Men fashion from the late 1800s looked like this:

This is [white] Men's fashion in the 1940-1950s:

See Viv, their fashion styles are different and shouldn't look the same at all. Why does every character have pinstripes, if it doesnt even reflect that time period in an authentic way??

And to add a cherry on top, this is what African American men would wear in Alastor's time period:

Do you see the difference in styles Viv?

Black men were not given the same nice everyday casual wear that white men did. They often wore hand-me-downs or had to work their asses off to just afford 1 nice looking suit.

you wanna know why?? Cuz Viv, the Jim Crow laws were still in full affect til the late 60s and early 70s. They were not seen as people, black men and women were still heavily discriminated against and were even still being victims of-

[MAJOR TW FOR RACISIT STUFF]

lynching's. Alastor would feel lucky, he only got mistaken for a deer and shot; he could have, and probably did, go through much much worse in his actually living life.

Tell me you didn't do any research for your characters without telling me you didn't do any research for your characters.

TLDR; So not only is Viv using more gross jokes in her next season, but the character designs have gotten even worse.

Lmk what you want the next topic to be about, if i missed anything you would've liked mentioned here, lmk in comments or asks and i'll reply. I reply to everyone as long as you arent being a jerk.

EDIT:

I've been made away that Alastor didn't in fact live in the 1940s and 50s but the 1930s. i will say most of my points still stand, but here the men's fashion for his time period.

also that makes his radio show even more of an impossible achievement, in the 1930s majority, if not, half of the black men in America were out of work cuz of racism, discrimination and segregation, ya know, cuz the Jim Crow. White people called for African Americans to be fired from any jobs as long as there were whites out of work. Racial violence again became more common, especially in the South.

Tell me again Viv, how tf did Alastor even thrive??

[blood-red-ocean]

The Soul Always Remembers.

Warnings: angst, death, angst, sad lesbians, angst (but hopeful ending??)

Tagging @winterfireblond because I know you love your angst bestie

1940's.

The small, quaint yet elegant bar was alive with the sound of music and laughter, its dark oak interior almost glowing with the light of several lanterns. You slid your glass across the bar, catching it as it slid back, refilled anew with golden liquor. You raised it to the bartender with a nod of thanks before turning back to tonight's main attraction - another lively performance by Lady D and The Pallboys. Everyone was enraptured by her - because of course they were, who wouldn't be? - but you found that her eyes were only trained on you. As if she had been singing solely to you. It had been this way the last few nights, but you had yet to get a chance to introduce yourself to her. As soon as she finished her set, she would disappear backstage, only to reappear the next night.

Not tonight, however.

Tonight, you would get your chance.

It went how every night went. The last notes of their final song were drawn out, her lilting voice wavering at the very end in her own unique fashion. Then, one by one, they took a bow and disappeared behind the silky red curtain behind the stage. The bar patrons started to dwindle after this, those who did not immediately leave choosing to request one more drink. You took your chance, now. You slunk along the side of the room, to the edge of the red curtain. You peered inside, breath hitching as you saw her. As she bid the last of the Pallboys goodnight, it was now or never.

You took a step behind the curtain.

"Alcina?"

Damn, those eyes were even more intense from this proximity. With a sly smile, she strode to you and took your hand, pulling you with her.

1950's.

You wiped the sweat off your brow as you stood up, your back aching from moving bags of dirt around. Your father had employed you to help him with his gardening business, thankfully sparing you from the nightmare of factory work. The feeling of cool metal against your face reminded you of the golden ring that lay on your finger, and you couldn't help but blush.

Alcina had slid it onto your finger after several endless nights of passion. A reminder, she said it was, of her love for you. A reminder that wherever she may be, she'll always be yours. And that, of course, was followed by her hands once again exploring your body in the candlelight. You'd be lying if you said you didn't dream of those nights every night since.

Your father told you that you'd have a special client come to visit today, a VIP client. Someone of high status who wanted to get some information for landscaping their abode. When you asked why someone so wealthy would be asking about his humble gardening service instead of hiring someone privately, he just shrugged.

Thankfully, you didn't need to wonder about it much longer when the VIP client arrived. When you saw Alcina's eyes peering at you from across the garden, a smile on her face.

This time, you wouldn't let her slip away. You were going to make the most out of the very few years left that the Sickness had afforded you.

1980's.

You were different this time. Different hair. Different smile. Different eyes. Different voice. But the same soul. She could tell.

Alcina could always tell.

She spied you walking across your college campus one evening after classes, laughing with some other people your age. At first, she didn't want to believe it was you. She didn't want to believe that the one person she had loved most, the one loss that had affected her most, that had led her down the chain of events she had experienced, was here again. Especially not since the last time she saw you, you were frail and deathly. She took a drag of her cigarette and breathed out slowly.

Just like you had taken your time to work up the courage to see her after her show decades ago, so she had taken her time to approach you after classes. Every night she had the chance to, but every time, she just walked away.

Not tonight.

Tonight, as she watched you and your friends part ways at a fork in the path, she extinguished her cigarette. The path you were following curved towards her, and it would be so easy for her to approach you... But she couldn't. How could she lay her hands on you again, knowing they'd been swimming in the blood and viscera of her victims? How could she even look in your innocent eyes after all that she had done, waiting for a death that would never come, waiting to come back to you in another life? How--

"Wow, I love your dress!"

Alcina snapped out of her thoughts and looked towards you. Her eyes met yours, and something akin to primal recognition flickered through them. Her dress was dark scarlet, trimmed with golden thread, not quite appropriate fashion for the decade. Alcina smiled and stepped forward, taking your hand in hers and bringing it to her lips. She was surprised that she held her trembling back long enough to kiss the back of your hand.

"Thank you, draga," she murmured.

"Have... Have we met before...?" You shook your head, laughing at yourself. "Sorry, it's probably crazy, I just--"

"Not crazy." She smiled. "I feel the exact same way."

1990's.

"No! NO, DAMN YOU!"

Alcina could only watch as her creator held her beloved by the throat in a single hand. So close, we were so close this time-- "Let her go!" Alcina roared.

"This? This is what has been distracting you, this is what has been causing you to disappoint me again? This... This... Mortal?" Miranda sneered at you as you clawed at her hand, trying futilely to free yourself. "I thought you were better than this, Dimitrescu."

"Let her go, damn you!" Alcina attempted to leap up to Miranda, but her mutation hadn't quite finished yet, and her wings were as effective as a baby bird's. "Damn it, Miranda, she did nothing wrong."

"I don't care." Miranda's cruel laughter cut off and she looked directly at Alcina below her. "We have one goal. I created you - all of you - with one goal in mind. And you have forgotten it - for a mortal?"

A flick of Miranda's wrist had you flying through the air, slamming into a nearby wall with a sickening crunch before falling to the floor. As Miranda scoffed and turned away, Alcina ran to you, dread and panic in her every heartbeat. You were barely alive when she reached you - but barely. You whimpered, reaching for her, coughing feebly.

"Shh, I know, draga. I know. I'm so, so sorry." She brushed strands of hair from your face with the back of her gloved fingertips, shushing you gently. "I know." She did know, as she felt your pulse fluttering. She knew. "You can rest. It's okay. I've got you."

She remained bent over your lifeless form for some time, unable to move, shoulders trembling out of anger. You two had almost made it. Almost.

"I'll find you again. I promise."

2020's.

The coffee shop was unusually quiet for this time of day - and semester. To be fair, it had been raining, so maybe nobody wanted to come out in the drizzle. The round table before you was covered in textbooks, each open to a certain page as you tried to study them all at once. There were numerous empty coffee cups to the side, another one warming your hands. With a heavy sigh, you pulled your phone out of your pocket, hoping a quick peruse of social media would help clear your mind.

There was a rattle as a teacup and saucer were set down on a small, non-textbook covered portion of the table. You looked up at the sound, smiling at the waiter. "This is from the rich as fuck lady in the corner," He said. "She says that you need to drink something that won't make your heart explode for once."

"Rich as fuck?" You enquired, eyebrow raised.

He shrugged. "She's elegant, so I just assumed. Anyway, she's been here at the same time as you for weeks. I think she wants to get to know you."

"Oh then by all means, bring her over here!" You exclaimed. You gestured to your textbooks and added, "Anything would be better than this right now."

Admittedly, you had been feeling eyes on you for some time, but you were too concerned with your studies to try and discern who it was. The chair on the opposite end of the table pulled back with a scrape, the rustling of clothes signalling that whoever it was had come to meet you.

"Hey, thank you for the tea, you really didn't have to do... That..."

You trailed off as your eyes met her golden ones. She looked like someone who should be at a glittery socialite party, not at a humble little cafe on your campus. She quite literally took your breath away - it took you a moment to realise that she was much taller than she should've been, and her skin far too pale. But you didn't care. While all eyes were on her, she had eyes only for you.

"I-- Have we...?" You shook your head, cursing at yourself inwardly. "Have we met?"

She smiled then, reaching her hand out. Without thinking, yours found its way into hers, and she responded as she stroked her thumb across the back of your hand, "I know exactly how you feel, draga."

All notions of studying were forgotten, then. The two of you sat in that coffee shop until the sun began to dip below the horizon, talking about everything and anything. You were almost sad to see that it was time to go home. The rain had stopped by the time the sun set, though, so the two of you stood outside in the street for a while longer. Beneath the glow of an old streetlight, she looked even more beautiful, hauntingly so. There was something in her eyes, something ancient, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

There was a lull in the conversation, and you found yourself lost in her gaze. She reached up and gently caressed your cheek, murmuring, "Different again, but..."

"W...What did you say?" You asked, eyes flicking between her gaze and her lips.

She simply shook her head. "Nothing, draga." She whispered with a smile. Her other arm snaked around your waist and, in an instant, her lips were upon yours, your hands in her hair. You melted into her as she did into you, and the same thought ran through your heads - hers with purpose, and yours for reasons unknown to you.

This time, we'll get it right.

[captainsophiestark]

Oldies And Goodies

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Bucky's not a fan of modern dating conventions, until Sam sets him up on a date with a good friend who shows him the potential of the modern world.

Word Count: 1,543

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

My eyes scanned the restaurant, trying to make out Bucky through the dim lighting. After a moment, I caught sight of him at a table by the window. I smiled and started heading his way. As soon as he noticed me, he shared my smile and stood to greet me. Always the perfect gentleman. My heart skipped a beat, and I made a mental note to make Sam some cookies or something as a thank you.

Sam Wilson, a good friend of mine even before he'd taken up the superhero mantle, had recently introduced me to the second supersoldier out of time that he'd befriended. Bucky Barnes, the reformed Winter Soldier, was a little different than the Man With A Plan Steve Rogers, but he'd been different in a way that I liked. We'd hit it off pretty well, and with a some meddling from Sam, we'd set up a date within a few weeks of first meeting each other.

I'd spent an hour and a half making sure my outfit looked just right and trying to convince my nerves to calm the hell down. It was just a first date, with someone I was already friendly with. And I knew Sam wouldn't steer me wrong. Tonight was going to be fun.

Once I got close enough to the table, Bucky pulled a small bouquet of roses out from behind his back, holding them out to me with a lopsided smile. I gasped, taking them from him with a slightly disbelieving look.

"I've been told the flowers are a little old fashioned, but... it seemed like the right way to go," he said. I gave a little laugh, taking a moment to smell the roses (literally) before beaming back at Bucky.

"I love them," I said. His shoulders seemed to relax a little, the smile spreading to cover the rest of his face as he took a few steps closer to me.

"I'm glad. Here, let me get your chair."

He pulled my chair back from the table, gesturing for me to sit down. I nodded my thanks, trying to ignore the butterflies exploding in my chest as he scooted the chair back in for me like it was nothing. I gently laid the roses down on the table as he took his seat across from me again.

"Thanks for finding this place," I said, scanning the restaurant to take in the ambiance this time, instead of just searching for Bucky. "It's... really nice."

"Yeah, no kidding," he said, huffing a small laugh. "Honestly, I'm... a little out of my depth here. A lot's changed since the last time I asked somebody on a date."

"Well, for what it's worth, you've been doing pretty damn well so far."

We shared a smile, but then a silence settled over us that wasn't entirely comfortable. As much as this night seemed perfect, I couldn't help agreeing with Bucky. This place wasn't totally my scene, and I was starting to feel a little out of my depth, too.

"So..." I said, taking a deep breath and meeting Bucky's eyes again. "What exactly did dates look like back in the 1940s? One of the handful of times I talked to Steve, he said you set up a pretty cool double date to... some kind of expo?"

Bucky's eyes fell to the table even as his mouth pulled up in a smile. He nodded, talking as much to himself as to me.

"Yeah. Despite how it ended, I was always pretty proud of the Stark Expo one. We got to see a car fly long before any of that should've been possible. Walking around, looking at all the exhibits and experiments... honestly, it was incredible." He looked back up at me, the soft smile still in place. "Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of major, groundbreaking expos happening tonight for us to swing by."

"Damn. That would've been fun," I said, gently reaching across the table to take Bucky's hand in my own. I bit my lip, then looked up at him with a smile. "You know, Steve also said you're kind of a nerd."

Bucky snorted. Clearly, that's not what he'd been expecting me to say. He shook his head, but when he looked back at me, he had a smile on his face.

"Steve's got quite a few stories of his own that he should keep in mind when he says things like that."

"Well..." I took a deep breath, hardening my own resolve. Bucky and I were friends, and for whatever reason, this restaurant didn't feel right for either of us. I needed to trust him and our relationship so far, rather than pretending for norms or anybody else's approval. "Look, I don't know about you, but... this restaurant is lovely, but not exactly my usual vibe."

Bucky sighed, shaking his head and pulling his hand out of mine.

"I know, it's not really mine either. I just-"

"Hold on. I have an idea for a solution that might suit us both. And I think it'll be super fun."

Bucky stared at me for a few moments appraisingly, the faintest ghost of a smile appearing on his face.

"You know, I'm not used to letting the other person plan the date. But I guess I can make an exception."

I grinned. "Good. Because I have an idea that didn't exist in the 40s, but is the kind of modern thing I think you'll be able to get behind. You trust me?"

"...Yeah, I do."

"Good." I took Bucky's hand, grabbed my roses, then stood from the table. "Then follow me."

****************

"...and in the original, Gollum volunteered the ring as a prize for Bilbo winning the riddle contest!"

I beamed at my date as he raised out of his chair, the few beers we'd had and his passion for Tolkien pushing him to make his point loudly after being called on for the bonus question of this round of trivia. The host grinned, ringing a bell and pointing at Bucky.

"Aaaaand that's correct! Mark that down as three points for Oldies and Goodies! Hang tight everybody while we update the scoring, and we'll be back with our final round in ten minutes."

With that, the bar dissolved into chatter again as everyone went their separate ways for the break in trivia. Bucky settled back down into his seat with a sigh, then carefully cut his eyes towards me.

"So... was that a dealbreaker for you?"

I laughed. "Are you kidding? You got us three points, all while schooling the rest of the bar on some nerdy shit! It was hot."

Bucky laughed at that, shaking his head even as a smile stayed in place on his face.

"Alright, I've done a lot of complaining to Sam about how much dating's changed since I last did it, but I'll admit... I like this."

I grinned. "I'm glad. And for the record, I like it too. As far as I'm concerned, being able to have fun and kick ass at bar trivia with someone is one of the best green flags there is."

"Well, good. Because that table over there is right behind us in the points, and after they shouted out the worst string of horseshit about the Hobit I've ever heard with complete confidence, there's no way I'm letting us lose to them."

"Hell yeah! I'll go grab us another round, and then we'll make them wish they'd never come to this trivia night."

I jumped down from my seat and started heading past Bucky to the bar, but he caught my arm before I could get very far, his expression more serious than I'd seen it all night.

"Hey. Thanks. For getting a round of beer, for agreeing to come out with me tonight, for bringing us here... it's the best time I've had in a while, and you've been pretty much the entire reason for that. So thank you."

I smiled, my heart speeding up in my chest as I took a half-step closer to Bucky and softly kissed him on the cheek before leaning back.

"You're welcome. Thanks for being willing to try out something as new and chaotic as bar trivia. Maybe we could even make it a weekly thing?"

Bucky beamed back at me. "Sweetheart, I would love that."

"Okay, good. Then start getting ready for the next round, because if we're coming back here next week, I want it to be in defense of our title. This is the beginning of the trivia power couple Oldies and Goodies."

"I like the sound of that," Bucky said, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned into me a little. I smiled, and he pulled me into his side, squeezing me tight before letting me go so I could get us both another round.

My dopey smile stayed on my face even as I got to the bar. I'd always had butterflies in my chest when I was around Bucky, but now, it was more than that. Being around him made me happy. I felt comfortable, and I didn't want the night to end. And luckily for me, he apparently felt the same way.

Destroying our enemies at trivia was just the beginning for us. And with no ending in sight, I truly couldn't wait to see what came next.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

Marvel Taglist: @valkyriepirate @infinetlyforgotten @sagesmelts @gaychaosgremlin

[dcdreamblog]

What are your top 5 favorite mystery men costumes?

Oh this one's a breezy little thing to work on over a Saturday evening. Let's see...

#5. Wesley Dodds, AKA the Sandman

(From the Sandman's original official JSA portrait, 1940) This is an entry that writes itself. Wesley Dodds' original Sandman attire is overwrought in just how cool it is. A kind of pulp chic that makes it look like he stepped right off a yellowed detective novel page, the direct line drawn between the shadowy vigilante he once was and the superhero he became. One can only imagine how much thugs and gangsters back in the bootlegging days pissed their pants at the THOUGHT of him, much less the sight of him. I can appreciate his paternal and wholesome reasons for eventually changing said costume but there's a reason even his young ward echoed this look in the modern day.

#4. Greg Saunders AKA Vigilante

(Vigilante's official All Star Squadron portrait, 1941)

Speaking of heroes who look like they jumped right out of the dime novel page, we can't forget the beloved Rider of the Purple Sage. Like a cowboy off the silver screen with the lasso skills, dead eye aim and cozy accent to match. He's the kind of man who can set a whole room at ease with the pluck of a guitar or silence a bar of lowlifes with the click of a hammer. Simplicity here is the name of the game.

#3. Alan Scott AKA Green Lantern.

(A modern portrait of Scott, donated to this very museum)

If you asked me to sit back, close my eyes and ask me to create an image the exudes power, strength and majesty. Hell, ask 100 renowned artists to do it for a week and they wouldn't conjure the imagery in my mind that I associate with this man. There is a reason his contemporaries referred to him simply as "The Big Guy", the closer, the one who made everyone know it was gonna be alright. The billowing cape, the deep brow of the mask, chunky belt and boots that scream old fashioned tough guy. When the battlefield lit up green, the bad guys dove for cover.

#2. Kent Nelson AKA Dr. Fate

(The museum's modern portrait of Nelson) Talking about majesty, you have a character that between his look and his voice convinces you that he's EXACTLY as powerful as he says he is. While the Helmet of Nabu might be a malicious entity in many respects, the ability that Fate's enemies look THEMSELVES in the eye against its polished surface before he blows them away is priceless. And I've never seen a single cape that looks better billowing in the wind. He's an arch mage, and he carries himself like one.

#1. Roy Lincoln AKA The Human Bomb

(A colorized newsreel image of Lincoln, circa 1943) Where my loves of simplicity and majesty collide. The Human Bomb's outfit was almost mundane when he was actually wearing it back in the Golden Age and it gave the whole world one warning, if you're around me, something bad is about to happen. Heavy boots that make a loud thud with every step, a visor that shows glaring eyes from behind a thick, dark glass. He looks like a man who could flatten a block just from taking this many precautions. Roy Lincoln is one of my favorite mystery men period and his outfit is a big part of why.

[chaifootsteps]

tbh one thing i liked about the instas that i dont think the series will bring back is him wearing casual clothes outside of work. the concept of a gay male sinner from the 1940s embracing modern day fashion from the current era because of how cute it is without anyone caring because its hell, (with the implication he mightve been doing this for decades beforehand before he came to the hotel,) is just really cool concept to me :3 it gave him a fashion identity outside of his sex work (something the show really doesnt do at all,) and it let him explore a more cutesty side to his character, but in a really natural way! i also just liked it because most of the sinners we saw tended to stick to dressing from their era, which made angel stand out more.

but this isnt present at all in the series, and even weirder, the one time he has a chance to put on pajamas in episode 2 like the girls have, where hes alone in his room with fat nuggets, he doesnt. maybe we wouldve had time for that if there wasn't a joke dedicated to showing how tone deaf and christian charlies morals are for the bisexual daughter of lucifer morningstar.

all the clothes he wears, there's more of a focus of his outfits from posion rather then anywhere else. i hardly see as much fanart of that stupid ugly ripped finale suit, as much as i see fanart of the latex suit angel wears while singing about being unable to help swallowing poison. either that, or the outfit he wears while dancing with val. love the fluffy spider butt, but cmon. we can get an angel dust design thats more spider in a natural way, but we can't see him wear casual clothes when he isnt working? or even see him in a full suit? (i really miss the purple suit from the instas, no stupid pink stripes, full suit for both arms, and his boobs were out w his tie instead of being hidden away like they are in the finale, which was perfect for his character </3)

him wearing clothes separate to his identity as a pornstar also helped him reclaim some of his freedom under his contract, obviously being unable to choose what val makes him wear on set. that's what angel dusts actions reflected in the instas and the comics too. (the "work shit" box comes to mind, i hate that borderline on screen rape is fine for an amazon funded show, but a box of dildos is too much,) even the addict mv shows this, with angel wearing just a pink sweater and some purple shorts when laying with cherri. or even just the casual, but cute outfit he wears when he blows up that club with her.

its just one of the few things that made him feel human, especially when fashion is bound to change in so many ways when youve been in hell for 77 years like he has. this part of his character being missing (along with the implication he even has a life outside of his work in the series; pilot ad was coping with work with hard drugs, being an teasing asshole as a defensive mechanism, getting into turf wars and murdering mafia goons. but still dresses cute and gets to be cute w his friends in his own time! series ad is coping by self destructing and letting people drug and fuck him so he'll be "broken" but then gets better by going out once after being waterboarded at work, only to not relax and be a mom to a joke character at a club called fucking consent,) is one of the reasons im still bitter about the instas being nuked. but not the only reason.

viv will always takes the credit for them anyway, no matter if she feels they do or not, because her fanbase isn't smart enough to realize someone else wrote these stories they still love. even if theyll be the first one to remind you they arent canon, because the creator said they arent. but my honest to god confession is that sometimes the instagrams feel more like the canon hazbin hotel to me, even months after s1 dropped, simply due to the nuance and detail it has compared to the actual series. it wasnt perfect, but you could tell there was passion there- passion that now, only the leads are allowed to put in hazbin so their favorite character can get more screentime and attention.

Thank you, Anon, for this absolutely beautiful writeup. It was true, seeing the difference between the outfits Val forced him into versus the outfits he chose to wear on his own time was one of the most interesting aspects of Instagram Angel Dust. It was a more safe-for-work extension of the "work shit" dildoes that didn't make it to Amazon Prime (while his graphic on-screen gang rape did) and it was powerful.

Of course, there are practical logistical reasons why cartoon characters wear the same outfit, but if only one character in HH was going to have a big wardrobe, it absolutely should have been Angel. But of course it wasn't, because as far as Viv and Raph were concerned, the only Angel outfits that mattered were the ones that fed into their shared fetish.

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 36

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 2,430

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THAT'S F'D UP MAN

...Bucky used to have this image in his head - one of a worn-down but cozy house located somewhere far from any crowded city, at the end of an obscure dirt road that winds through country fields and hilltops.

It was one of those old white homesteads with withered color and creaking floors boards he'd promise to fix up someday, but only after the door that hangs off its hinges, letting in all the warm summer air. There would be this brown porch with a swing and hand-carved balusters - the perfect spot to sit during late evenings while watching the sun set over a freshly harvested field. The songs sung by chirping crickets and croaking toads could lull anyone asleep.

Come the holiday season, there would be a shift in peace. The entire property would transform into a winter wonderland disrupted by tiny boot prints, snow angles, and snowmen. The halls would almost always smell of some sweet treat, and the rooms would be lively with the added addition of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins - so many cousins.

It was a vivid image for the longest time. His sisters fussing about in the kitchen, his parents and in-laws sharing stories by a fire, a handful of rambunctious children counting boxes under the tree...and a lovely wife at the center of it all.

Your entrance would be grand as you'd gracefully step down the stairs to greet guests. You'd wear this beautiful long green skirt and white blouse with a Christmas pin tacked to the front, your hair curled and pinned back after much effort that morning. The silver on your finger would catch the light perfectly as you accept your husband's hand, allowing him to guide you through those last few steps of your descent, right into his lips so that he can steal a quick kiss before anyone else can divide your attention.

...But this was only ever an image -a simple��dream to keep him going during the war. Some of the other guys would fantasize about finding ‘the one’. Not Bucky. He already had a gal, and he already had a ring, too. All he needed was that worn-down but cozy house located somewhere far from any crowded city…

He'd be lying to say he hasn't still thought about it, even all these years later, however it can't exactly be called a hopeful dream anymore - not when it feels so unattainable. Now he's only reminded about all those promises he can't make, the quiet sunsets you'd never get to see together, all the holidays neither of you will celebrate. He already had the gal, but he lost her...Now he only has a ring.

It's become an annoying habit for Bucky to reach into his pocket to twirl the cold metal around his fingers. If in private, he'll even find the strength to take it into his hand and observe it closely, desperate to remember how it came to be. Did he see it in a store window once? Was it similar to something his mom or grandmother wore? What made him so sure you'd say 'yes' to this and not a more impressive diamond? …And does it even matter?

You left. You’re gone. At long last, you’ve turned your back to him, giving up just as you should've a long time ago. He should be happy. This is exactly what he wanted, isn’t it - The reason why he gave you the cold shoulder, practically ripping out your heart and stomping on it for good measure despite everything you've sacrificed to be by his side.

Without him in your life - without you constantly feeling the need to run to his side or concern yourself with his self-destructive tendencies - you'll be able to move on. You'll find an amazing partner who will treat you right and keep you safe; someone who won't put a target on your head or risk losing control of themselves and harming you.

With them, you'll be able to live a long, happy life this time around. You’ll be able to take full advantage of your miraculous reincarnation by enjoying all the wonders stolen from you in the past. They'll be there to carry you inside your dream home, to be your warm shoulder during chilly evenings, or the hand you take at the bottom of the stairs, all the while showering you with all the love you're deserving of...

"Bucky, I have loved you ever since I could remember who I used to be. Every second we've spent together - Everything I've ever done and said - It was never an act, it's always been me."

He tries to drown it out, squeezing his eyes shut with his hand clenching around the ring, yet your sorrowful voice is all he can hear.

"I've only ever wanted to see you be happy and doing well - that's my ultimate goal. While I'd like you to be that way with me - While I'd like to be happy together, if you don't -...If you don't see me as her then..."

...Damnit…What has he done?

"- Slacking on the job?"

Bucky startles all too easily, practically leaping in his own skin while stuffing the ring back into his pocket. It’s a rather suspicious reaction from someone found sitting completely isolated on the edge of a dock, however Sam’s nice enough to not draw attention to that - not immediately, at least.

"Relax. I bring refreshments," He instead takes some pride in being able to sneak up on the super soldier, smirking as he holds up two chilled bottles of beer. Passing one to Bucky, he invites himself to sit down and hang his legs over the water in a similar fashion, “‘least I could do in exchange for all your help today.”

“...Will it be enough to help your family out?” Bucky asks after a moment of silence. With ease, he flicks off the cap of his bottle before wordlessly reaching over and doing the same to Sam’s drink when the other man clearly struggles.

“This was only half the work,” Sam snorts before taking a drink, “It’ll still be an uphill battle from here, but once business takes off - which I’m optimistic it will - we’ll have a stable enough income to cover the rest of the repairs, maybe more, after all, most of what we did today is only a temporary fix…Of course, I’ll need to put in some hours of my own to help Sarah get to that point - assuming we ever get this Flag Smasher crap taken care of…

“I spoke to Joaquin,” He continues, dropping into a more serious note, “He’s been doing some digging on their movement since Latvia. Looks like they’ll be targeting the GRC conference next.”

“When’s that?”

“Two days.”

Bucky hums uncomfortably. He wants to say that doesn’t feel like enough time, but really, aren’t they already prepared? Sam has Steve’s shield. He’s been practicing with it nearly every spare second they haven’t been working on the boat - And isn’t half bad at it either. Paired with that new flight suit the Wakandans made for him, he should be able to hold his own against the Flag Smashers…Maybe it’s Bucky who isn’t prepared.

His mind doesn’t feel like it’s in the right place. Despite having put an end to John Walker’s shameful antics and making amends with the Wakandans by returning Zemo to their custody, he still feels distracted; anxious. In fact, he only half listens to Sam’s plan. The words about what Joanqin exactly said or their next course of action merely rumble against his ears as he fiddles mindlessly with his bottle and the precipitation that coats its glass. His thoughts are anywhere but on the mission.

“...Have you heard from (Y/n) at all?”

Sam suddenly jolts his bottle away from his mouth before he can even fully tilt it back. This causes a small wave of liquid to pour out which he manages to at least prevent from hitting his clothes thanks to the guard of his free hand, although he's only temporarily distracted by this inconvenience. His attention quickly sets upon Bucky through a glare, "Are you serious? You're really asking about them now after how you treated them for weeks?!"

To his surprise, Bucky doesn't attempt to argue nor does he show a single ounce of offense. Instead, he bows his head in shame while redirecting his gaze out to the sea, "I know. I'm an asshole."

"...Then why?" Sam gives an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head, "I really don't get it. You have someone who cares about you enough to literally be reborn remembering you, yet you threw them aside despite clearly loving them back - and don't give me that bullshit ‘I don’t’ excuse. Everyone can see it. I see it. Sharon saw it. Hell, even Zemo made his comments, so why? Why play this stupid game, treating them like shit which makes you both miserable as all hell when you could just be together already? When you could both just be happy?"

"It's not that simple...They could do better," There’s a brief pause where neither of them say a word, however there’s a thick judgment in the air as Sam stares daggers into the side of Bucky’s head, eventually forcing him to explain his point after a distressed sigh similar to Sam’s previous one.

"...I'm scared...I'm scared that if I let myself love them again, I'm going to end up losing them again. I'm the reason Hollie's dead. I'm the one who killed her regardless of what she or anyone else says. I’m the one who pulled that trigger.

"And - And I know the Winter Soldier is gone. I know I ended that nightmare - That it’s supposed to be over and done with, but even if that’s true, it doesn't mean that part of my past is erased! At any given moment, someone from that past could show up. They could come looking for me - Looking for revenge, and God forbid Hollie gets wrapped up in the consequences. She already has been with all this damn super soldier serum crap and look what happened! She could’ve been killed back there! One wrong move and it would’ve been her instead of Lamar.

“...I -...I can't lose her again, Sam…” Bucky’s free hand rips through his hair, gripping at strands as he lets out a stammered breath that’s barely choking back a sob, “Fuck, I can't live with that all over again. (Y/n) was the only reason I was able to the first time around. I can’t do it without either of them..."

Sam frowns, wordlessly watching his friend’s breakdown in quiet contemplation. He had a feeling that something like guilt would be Bucky’s motivation behind rejecting you. Seeing his reaction to your injury back in Latvia only seemed to confirm it, but this is much worse than he thought.

Returning his drink to his lips, he hesitates for a second before committing to a response, “...So you decided to avoid her, causing her all this heartbreak and stress in the moment to avoid the possibility - not even a guarantee, just a possibility that she could get hurt in the future if she keeps associating with you?"

"...She already wasted a life on me. I thought that if I could push her away - If I didn’t give her a choice in being together, maybe even make her hate me and leave on her own - that she'd be able to move onto better things. Find someone who could actually give her what she de -"

"- That's fucked up, man," Sam remarks harshly while finally taking that sip of his beer.

Bucky groans at the lack of sympathy he receives, however he voices no arguments for his own defense. Instead he takes full responsibility for his actions, dropping his head into his hand in defeat. Sam’s right. It is fucked up of him. He’s a complete asshole and his ‘buddy’ doesn’t stop himself from rubbing it in further:

“You know, there are guys out there who would kill just to have a girl look at them once with the amount of love and respect as they did you. You had a girl who was so whipped for your sorry ass that she chased you around through not just one, but two lifetimes, yet instead of considering yourself lucky, you decided to punish the two of you for basically no reason…And I’m gonna take a wild guess in saying you never once told them any of this, did you?”

“You know what they’re like, Sam. If I told them the truth, they’d just find all the more reason to hold on tighter and dig their feet into the ground…There’d be no convincing them to leave even if for their own good.”

Sam snorts, "Yeah, you're probably right about that. It seems that Stark stubbornness is strong enough to bleed into different lives…but you know, stubbornness like that isn’t always a bad thing. It just goes to show how much you mean to them and how much they're willing to fight for you.

“...I think you need to just be honest with them. Don’t you think you at least owe them that? I mean, in your own scrambled logic, they’ve already sacrificed a lot for you, right? Might as well pay back some of that debt by facing them like a man and saying what’s on your mind. Otherwise they’re just gonna go on thinking that they were somehow the issue while you’ll be left moping around in self pity with no resolution in sight for all this drama you created.”

Bucky huffs at Sam’s pointed blame, although he does still contemplate his advice. You probably hate him by now - No, you definitely hate him after the way he’s been treating you. Would you even care to give him the time of day to explain things? You’ve already tried that to no anvil. It’s a little too late to apologize, but like Sam said, if he doesn’t, will this feeling of guilt ever go away?

Sam sighs again, this time setting his bottle down on the dock with a 'clink' before standing up, "...Tell you what: you can stay at my sister's house with us for the night. In the morning, I'll make a big o' breakfast which you'll use as fuel to get your ass to (Y/n)'s place where you'll both talk things out like the grown adults that you are...Deal?"

Bucky rotates his grip on his bottle, glancing through the corner of his eyes at the hand Sam holds out towards him before at last taking it, "...Deal."

Next Chapter [coming soon]

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Taglist:

@arunabrak

@lovemesomevesey

[kitspindles]

I’m in no way bashing on people who have already finished TSatS and say they hate it, are disappointed, etc., because I myself have not gone past chapter seven. My friend let me read some today, but I won’t have my own copy until Thursday, so maybe my opinions will change. I will say, however, that if you read 400+ pages in less than a day, maybe give yourself some time to process the entire plot first?

In any case, I can’t help but wonder how many people went into this book expecting one version of Nico and Will, only to be hit with something else entirely. And I mean like... expecting the fandom’s versions of these two, rather than what canon has previously shown us up until this book.

It’s my personal opinion that the PJO fandom’s worse enemy is their own mischaracterization of the characters at times. And I don’t mean like little head canons and stuff. Everyone has done those at some point. There’s usually no harm in those. I’m talking about people who created their own versions of Nico and Will and have been running with these visions for years through different fan fictions and what-not online.

For years we’ve known basically nothing about Will aside from the fact that he’s sarcastic, likes Star Wars, his mom is a country singer, he can glow in the dark, and he’s better at healing than fighting. (And he has questionable fashion choice at times). Like, that’s all we’ve had since his initial introduction in The Last Olympian over a decade ago. Everything else? Online and fan speculation. And again, there is nothing wrong with that! I just feel like a lot of people went into this book holding onto their own pre-conceived visions of what Will Solace was and ended up disappointed the authors made him... different? But not really different, because he didn’t have a lot of in-depth personality or backstory before this.

Me personally? Yeah, I’m not that far into the book yet but I’m loving how Will is portrayed so far. He’s still sarcastic, but he’s shown his fair share of level-headedness as well as frustrations just within the first couple chapters. He is in no way the overly-optimistic sunshine-y boy who only exists to help Nico that the fandom has portrayed him to be all these years. His character arc is already headed in a way deeper direction (more on that when I finish the book). The whole bit where Will had coffee spilled on him and spent the next couple paragraphs in the scene trying to be unbothered while actually giving off “This is fine” fire dog energies? I loved that.

As for Nico, can I just say I adore how he’s written in this book? Aside from his PoV in Blood of Olympus, this is the first time he’s had his own narration. And it’s actually about him and more in-depth than previous times. I’ve heard people say that he’s “out of character,” and while I can see a little of what they’re all saying, I just want to know... what version of Nico have you all been reading? Did I miss something?

Up until this book, what exactly did we know about Nico? That he’s displaced in time, his sister and mother are both dead (and he feels alone), he harbored repressed gay feelings from his upbringing as a Catholic guy in 1940s Italy, and he’s been through the ringer more than once (so, trauma, basically). Oh, and he’s a bit of a nerd (Mythomagic and knowing all kinds of ancient creatures). That’s... about it. Everything has been speculation and projection from fans.

In previous books he’s always been portrayed from first- or third-person point of view (usually from people who don’t know him well and just think he’s “creepy”), leading to the idea that he’s distant and low-empathy based on some interactions he’s had with demigods who weren’t thrilled to be around him, during a time of great pressure. But he’s not exactly uncaring. He’s been shown to care a lot, actually (Bianca, Hestia, Bob, everything he’s done for Percy, his friendship with Reyna, Hazel, etc.)

But what about when he was ten? He was an excitable, curious kid who liked to have fun. And what did we see briefly in Trials of Apollo (before Jason died, at least)? We saw some of that energy return, particularly in The Hidden Oracle.

So, yeah, I’m personally thrilled to see him making cringe-y jokes and have some self-deprecating humor. It’s very “#OnBrand” for a traumatized teenager who’s just trying to cope and live life without any godly wars forcing him this way and that. Can we really say it’s “out of character” if we’ve never seen more than one side of Nico? (The under pressure side, from other character’s PoVs, in books not about him where he’s basically been a side character?) I’m just glad to see him cracking jokes, laughing, and acting more like a normal kid.

Now, is this book different from Rick’s other ones? Uh, yeah. I won’t say it’s not. But it’s not bad. It’s supposed to be different. It has slightly different intentions than the other books (re: explicitly working through trauma and relationship bumps). Also, it’s co-written. Co-written books always read slightly off from the original author’s work, but dam if it isn’t hard to meld writing styles and copy another author’s particular voice. But I think Mark did a very good job at imitating Rick’s style (again, from what I’ve read so far).

Will I change my mind on all this the farther I get into the book? Maybe. There’s a lot to read and take in. All I’m saying is don’t let the negative reviews warp your opinion of the book if you haven’t read it yet and are on the fence if you should or not. Wait for the PDF to drop, or for a library copy, and read and see for yourself.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Since you smashed my other request👏🏻 I was wondering if you could do this one as its nearing Christmas🫶🏻

Reader keeps asking bucky what he wants for Christmas but bucky keeps saying nothing, reader is stuck for ideas then she comes up with this idea; https://www.facebook.com/share/r/AS8RZtHRrSf9KTre/

She's gets all dolled up like she's from the 40s and does a photoshoot and puts a picture in a pocket watch for him and bucky opens it and is shocked and tears up alittle because its part of his past and future all in one🥹🫶🏻

A Timeless Christmas

Warmings: None, just utter fluff.

The first flakes of snow dusted the streets of Brooklyn. Y/N hustled through the shops, her scarf pulled snug around her neck.

Christmas was around the corner, and while the lights and music filled the city with cheer, she felt a pang of frustration. For weeks, she had been trying to coax an answer out of Bucky about what he wanted for Christmas, but his responses ranged from vague to downright unhelpful.

“I don’t need anything, Doll,” he’d said the last time she asked, his steel-blue eyes soft but unwavering. “You’re all I need.”

Sweet? Absolutely. Helpful? Not in the slightest. Y/N loved Bucky with all her heart, but the man was impossible to shop for. He wasn’t materialistic and didn’t care for modern gadgets. She wanted to give him something meaningful, something that bridged the gap between the man he used to be and the man he was now. The question was, what?

Later that evening, she flopped onto the couch with her phone, scrolling aimlessly through social media. A video popped up in her feed: a woman dressed in vintage 1940s attire, complete with pin curls and a red lip, posing for an old-fashioned photoshoot. Y/N paused, her heart skipping a beat as an idea took root. It was perfect. A tribute to the time Bucky grew up in, combined with a personal touch just for him.

Y/N’s mind raced as she began to plan. She’d need the right outfit, hair, and makeup to pull it off. And a photographer who could capture the look she was going for. Excitement bubbled in her chest as she realized how much he’d love it—a reminder of his past, but with her in it, blending their worlds together.

The next week was a whirlwind. Y/N scoured thrift stores and online shops for the perfect 1940s-style dress: a deep emerald green tea dress with a nipped waist and a flowing skirt. She paired it with seamed stockings and vintage kitten heels. A delicate pearl necklace and matching earrings completed the look. She booked an appointment with a local salon that specialized in vintage hairstyles and found a photographer whose studio was decked out with props from the era.

The day of the photoshoot, Y/N felt a mix of nerves and excitement. The stylist pinned her hair into perfect victory rolls, and the makeup artist gave her a classic red lip and winged eyeliner. When she looked in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. She looked like she’d stepped out of a time machine.

“You look incredible,” the photographer said as she adjusted the lighting. The studio was set up with a retro armchair, an old phonograph, and a small Christmas tree adorned with tinsel. “This is going to be stunning.”

Y/N posed shyly at first, but as the session went on, she grew more comfortable. She laughed as the photographer encouraged her to twirl in her dress, the skirt flaring out around her.

By the end of the session, she felt like a Hollywood star.

When the photos were ready, Y/N selected her favorite: a shot of her sitting in the armchair, one leg crossed over the other, her hands delicately holding a wrapped gift. Her smile was soft, her gaze slightly averted, as if she were waiting for someone—waiting for him. She had the image printed and carefully placed inside a vintage-style pocket watch she’d found online. The watch was silver, with intricate engravings on the outside. It was timeless, just like the gift.

Christmas morning arrived with a blanket of fresh snow covering the city. Y/N woke early, the nerves from her surprise making her stomach flutter. She and Bucky exchanged small gifts by the tree, the living room glowing with the warm light of the fairy lights. He’d gotten her a soft cashmere scarf in her favorite color and a book she’d been eyeing for months. She couldn’t stop smiling, but she kept glancing at the small box under the tree, waiting for the right moment.

Finally, after their second cup of coffee, she handed him the box.

“What’s this?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he took it from her.

“Just open it,” she said, unable to keep the grin off her face.

Bucky unwrapped the box carefully, his large hands surprisingly delicate. When he opened the lid and saw the pocket watch, his breath hitched. He ran his fingers over the engravings before pressing the clasp to open it. The photo inside made him freeze.

“Y/N…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His thumb brushed over the image, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was real. “Doll, this is…” He trailed off, blinking rapidly as his eyes glistened.

“Do you like it?” she asked softly, her own heart in her throat.

He looked up at her, his expression a mixture of awe and tenderness. “Like it? I… I don’t even know what to say. It’s perfect.”

Bucky closed the watch carefully, holding it in his hand as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “You didn’t have to do all this for me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “But I… Thank you. It’s like… it’s like you took my past and made it part of my future. I don’t know how you do it, Doll. You always know exactly what I need, even when I don’t.”

She smiled against his shoulder, tears pricking her own eyes. “You deserve it, Bucky. You deserve everything.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the pocket watch resting safely in his hand. Later, when they went for a walk through the snowy streets, he carried it in his coat pocket, his thumb occasionally brushing over it, a silent reminder of the woman who had brought light and love into his life.

As the day went on, the watch found a home on the bedside table, right next to a framed photo of the two of them. Bucky caught himself glancing at it often, the image inside grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in decades. The lines between his past and present blurred, leaving him feeling whole for the first time in years.

That evening, as they curled up on the couch, Bucky tilted his head back to look at Y/N. “You really are somethin’ else, you know that?”

She laughed softly, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re worth it.”

His hand found hers, fingers intertwining. “You gave me more than a gift today. You gave me a piece of myself I thought I lost forever. I’ll never forget this, Doll. Never.”

She squeezed his hand, her smile widening. “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

“Merry Christmas, My best girl.”

The snow continued to fall outside, filling the city with a peaceful silence. But inside their small apartment, the warmth of their love filled every corner much like the man who held it so dearly in his heart.

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Hope you enjoyed this one too, Dear! Have a great Christmas! 🎄🎁