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wannabespacesmuggler · 18 days ago

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PLATONIC ➵ S. WILSON

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Bucky has no idea how two people who have known each other for two decades can be so blind to their feelings for one another. At first, it was somewhat comical, the two of you dancing around your obvious attraction for one another, but Bucky has grown tired of pretending that your relationship is strictly platonic.

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: FLUFF (some angst if you squint), mutual pining, mentions of Riley (CA:TWS), Bucky meddling in your relationship, mentions of the Blip, alcohol consumption, Reader and Sam being two oblivious idiots in love, no use of y/n

Word Count: 3.8k

Song Inspo: "Platonic" by Ryan Hurd

Author’s Note: So, I saw Brave New World in February and haven't been able to stop thinking about Sam Wilson since. The x Reader tag for my boy is absolutely lacking so I decided to write something for my cap. Hope you guys enjoy some good ole Sam Wilson fluff. Let me know what you guys think and if you have any Sam Wilson x Reader recs on tumblr. Please, I'm desperate.

“You know you could just ask him out, right?”

You choke down your beer, nearly spitting it out as Bucky speaks up beside you. The two of you have been quietly sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the shitty, hole-in-the-wall Irish pub that Sam insists on frequenting whenever all three of you are in D.C. at the same time. The little tradition had started as a coping mechanism after the three of you were blipped back into existence. You remember Sam begging you to accompany him to O’Malley’s the first time. And you remember sitting between your best friend and Bucky Barnes — it looked almost comical, an ex-Hydra assassin, a former Air Force pilot, and the newly named Captain America drinking a beer together. At first, you thought that Sam had asked you to come as a way to get you out of your house after everything that happened, but as the three of you sat in uncomfortable silence together, you realized that Sam brought you as a buffer. In all the years you’ve known the charismatic Sam Wilson, you never met someone he couldn’t talk to.

And then you met James Buchanan Barnes.

Unlike Sam, you quickly fell into a cordial friendship with Bucky once you broke the ice. He’s both headstrong and cocky but also observant and aloof. People who meet him in passing might comment on how quiet he is, but you know he’s incredibly opinionated — hell, you made the mistake of commenting about baseball during your trio’s second outing together and had to listen to the man complain about the Brooklyn Dodgers moving to LA for a good thirty minutes. But what really bonded you with Bucky was Sam. You know that when Bucky looks at Sam, he sees what Steve saw in him — the man that Captain America decided was worthy of his mantle.

He reminds you of Riley in many ways, and that’s why Sam had a more challenging time getting on board with the three of you hanging out together at first. Because for so long, it was just you, Sam, and Riley. You met Sam at boot camp, and then you met Riley shortly after. The three of you ran pararescue missions together — Sam and Riley clad in Exo-7 flight suits while you manned the C-130, which, thanks to a big government contract with Stark Industries, integrated cloaking systems and environmental blending. Then, on a routine mission, Riley got shot out of the sky, and suddenly it was just you and Sam. Sam became a PTSD veteran counselor, you got a piloting job with SHIELD stationed in D.C. to stay close to him, and then the two of you became regulars at O’Malley’s due to its proximity to both of your apartments. A part of Sam was afraid that he was replacing Riley by inviting Bucky into the space you share with him, but he had made a promise to Steve before he’d gone back in time with the infinity stones. And slowly but surely, the two became close friends, bonding over shared military stories, their musical tastes, and their deep respect and adoration for you.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Bucky scoffs at your question before taking another swig of his beer. He knows you’re playing dumb — the two of you have been participating in this same song and dance for the better part of a year now. Two months into regularly drinking with Sam and Bucky at O’Malley’s, you drunkenly confessed to Bucky that you harbor feelings for your best friend. He pretended to be shocked, but he knew about your little secret after first meeting with you and Sam. Bucky may be a tad out of touch with new social norms — the man hasn’t participated in the dating scene since the 1940s — but the act of pining hasn’t changed over the decades that have passed.

��We’re just going to pretend you haven’t been brooding all night after Sam got whisked away by those girls?”

You roll your eyes at Bucky’s question. The annoyance weaved into your expression doesn’t come from a place of malice but instead draws from your frustration at how well Bucky understands you. Sam will always be your best friend, but Bucky has become something like a brother to you over the past year — an empty role in your life since Riley passed away. And after all, Bucky is an older brother — a protector — at his core. He may have lost his little sister a lifetime ago, but the instincts were still there, buried deep down until you and Sam showed up in his life.

“Brooding is your thing, Buck.”

“Exactly. So, can you stop stepping on my shoes?”

A smile tugs at your lips as Bucky playfully nudges you with his elbow. You know he’s trying to lighten the mood, and his humor has made you feel a little lighter; however, there’s still a gnawing in the pit of your stomach as you watch one of the girls slowly slide their hand down Sam’s arm. Bucky follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh.

“Seriously, kid. What’s stopping you from just asking him out?”

“He’s my best friend, Buck.”

Bucky arches a brow at your reasoning. You say it as if it’s the answer to all of your heartache — as if it’s a valid excuse to hold yourself back from happiness. He has no idea how two people who have known each other for two decades can be so blind to their feelings for one another. At first, it was somewhat comical, the two of you dancing around your obvious attraction for one another, but Bucky has grown tired of pretending that your relationship is strictly platonic. He’s been trying to intervene, but whenever you think about confessing your feelings to Sam, you immediately talk yourself out of it. And Sam isn’t any better. Bucky’s tried to talk some sense into him at least a dozen times, but he’s sure you don’t feel the same way about him.

“I could always set you up with one of my friends.”

“I’m fairly certain you only have two friends, and they’re currently at this bar, Buck.”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he finishes his beer.

“Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of you and Sam.”

He places the empty bottle on the counter along with a five-dollar bill before layering his leather jacket over his long-sleeve t-shirt. It’s a mild spring day, but you know he doesn’t wear the extra layers for warmth. They’re worn for the same reason as his leather gloves — security that his shiny, metal arm is covered. Bucky spares Sam one last glance before turning his attention back to you. You’re nursing the beer in your hand, simply waiting for Sam to notice you again. He gently grabs your shoulder with his good hand, and Bucky’s heart breaks in his chest as you look up at him with sad eyes.

“Just think about it, okay?”

You nod at his question, and Bucky releases his hold before heading home for the night. With a sigh, you finish your lukewarm beer and order another while waiting patiently for your best friend. Sam Wilson has always been the life of the party — the man who shines like a ray of sunlight even on the darkest days. But the Captain America mantle came with a newfound attention that Sam seems to revel in. You, however, find yourself struggling with it — it had been just the two of you for so long, and now you feel like you’re sharing him with all of America.

But little do you know that even now, with the entire bar vying for his attention, Sam feels drawn to you like some invisible string is pulling him back. His eyes scan the crowd at O’Malley’s until they find you. He gives you a bright, genuine smile — the kind that leaves you grinning from ear to ear. You watch as he excuses himself from the lively conversation and approaches you. He slides into the seat beside you, shoulder bumping against yours as he leans into your space to grab the beer in front of you. You shoot him a playful glare as he takes a drink out of your beer bottle, and he winks at you in response. He places the bottle back in front of you before speaking.

“Bucky already left?”

“You know the old man — has to be home before bedtime.”

Sam laughs while throwing an arm back across your chair. You don’t even think twice about the action; Sam’s done it at least a thousand times at this point.

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

You give him an eager nod, desperate to get some fresh air. Sam laughs at your reaction before paying both of your tabs. Like in the bar, you don’t think twice as Sam slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you walk down the streets of the nation’s capital. Not even as he walks up the five flights of stairs with you to your apartment, unlocking the door with the key you gave him ages ago. Not even as he moves through your apartment as if it were his, opening your fridge to grab two beers and rifling through your junk drawer to find the bottle opener he knows is in there. Not even as Sam falls asleep on your couch again after a night of talking for hours. You don’t think twice because this is how it’s always been between you and Sam — it’s always been comfortable, domestic.

But, for some reason, tonight is different. As you sit on your kitchen counter, finishing your beer, Sam’s loud snores from your living room are drowned out by Bucky’s words from earlier this evening ringing in your ears. This is what your life has always looked like, but is this all it will be — waiting for your slice of Sam’s increasingly divided time? You’re happy for him. Truly. Sam deserves everything that the mantle of Captain America comes with — the attention, the popularity, the spotlight. You’re overjoyed that the world is finally seeing what you’ve seen in Sam all along, but a small part of you is jealous. And that jealousy is starting to eat you alive.

You sigh, downing the last of your beer before sliding your phone out of your pocket. Scrolling through your contacts, you find Bucky’s name. You listen to the phone ring twice before Bucky answers your call. Concern is evident in his voice as he says your name. You rarely call him this late, but you know you’d talk yourself out of this in the morning.

“I’ll do it, Buck. Set up the date.”

“It’s about time, kid.”

You spend the rest of your agonizingly slow week second-guessing that phone call. Hell, you almost call Bucky at least a dozen times to cancel the date altogether — to simply state that Bucky’s advice is ridiculous and you’re perfectly fine with your current situation. But, ultimately, you decide this is for the best. If your goal is to get over your absurd crush on Sam Wilson, then you actually need to start working on it. So, even though you’ve managed to worry yourself sick on Friday, you still manage to get yourself ready that evening and leave your apartment. A small smile pulls at your lips as you stand outside the address Bucky texted you several days prior. You’re thankful he chose a casual ramen spot for the blind date. It makes the whole experience a little less high stakes — like you could leave at any time with limited consequences.

With an exasperated sigh, you finally bite the bullet and pull open the door to the small establishment. The bell above you rings, and you’re greeted by a friendly man behind the counter, telling you to sit wherever you want. You turn towards the quaint dining room and, to your surprise, see a familiar figure sitting at one of the tables. Sam Wilson looks just as surprised as you feel. Your feet move on their own accord as you approach your best friend. He looks nice — clad in a maroon polo and his nicest pair of jeans.

“What are you doing here, Sam?”

You found it strange that you never received your weekly text from Sam asking you about your Friday night plans. But you concluded that either Bucky told him about your blind date or Sam planned a date for that evening as well. But this was an outcome you never expected.

“Bucky set me up on a blind date with one of his friends.”

Your brow furrows at Sam’s confession.

“Bucky set me up on a blind date with one of his friends.”

Sam looks at you as if you’re speaking a different language, and embarrassment washes over you as you realize that you’re right: Bucky Barnes only has two friends, and they’re currently looking at each other stupidly in a family-owned Ramen joint. Anger rushes through your veins as the realization sets in, but Sam still looks dumbfounded.

“So, Bucky set us up on a date.”

“Oh.”

You wait for him to continue, but he just sits at his empty table, at a loss for words. Usually, the silence between the two of you is comfortable; however, right now, it's excruciating. You suddenly feel about two inches tall as you stand before Sam. As the room gets twenty degrees warmer and the walls begin closing in, you decide it’s probably best if you get out of here.

“This was a stupid idea.”

You turn away from Sam, but before you can take a step towards the door, he grabs your hand. The contact causes you to look back at your best friend, whose gaze is surprisingly tender. Your body relaxes ever so slightly, and, against your better judgment, your hand tightens around his.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

His tone is genuine, but there’s still that voice in the back of your head gnawing at you. There’s no way that your best friend suddenly wants to go on a date with you. That shit doesn’t happen in real life. This isn’t a movie — he hasn’t been waiting almost two decades for this exact moment to express his feelings for you. You keep your expectations low because although Sam is a superhero, this isn’t a fairytale. Still, you let him gently tug your body into the seat across from him.

“You don’t have to do this, Sam.”

Sam’s brow furrows, and a look of genuine confusion washes over his features. He studies you for a moment before speaking.

“You think I don’t want to go on a date with you?”

You roll your eyes at his question. This whole conversation is ridiculous, and it’s beginning to feel like Sam and Bucky are pulling a practical joke on you right now. But Sam looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer, so you play along even though you aren’t happy about it.

“C’mon, Sam.”

Sam simply arches a brow at you with a bewildered expression, and for a moment, your resolve falters. What if this is real? What if this isn’t some stupid joke between Sam and Bucky? What’s the harm in just letting this moment play out? With a sigh, you look up at Sam, who is still studying your features.

“Sam, I’m pretty certain that if you were interested in me at any point in the last twenty years, you’d have asked me out by now.”

Sam huffs out a laugh at this, and suddenly, he looks embarrassed. This reaction confuses you. Sam is a confident man — he’s rarely self-conscious about himself or his decisions.

“Yeah, about that…”

Your heart lurches in your chest as he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he tries to find the right words. And as he meets your eyes, there’s an emotion in his gaze that you can’t quite place.

“What is it, Sam?”

Sam sighs before speaking.

“This isn’t just platonic for me.”

Suddenly, your world comes to a screeching halt. This feels like an out-of-body experience — like some sort of dream — and you’re pretty sure if you pinched yourself right now, you’d wake up alone in your apartment. But that doesn’t happen. You’re really here with Sam, having this conversation.

“How long have you felt like that?”

Sam looks away from you as he thinks for a moment, wanting to give you an accurate answer.

“After we helped Steve with Hydra in D.C., seeing you in the hospital put things into perspective.”

You were working as a SHIELD pilot for almost two years when Sam went missing with SHIELD’s two most wanted fugitives: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. Because of this, it didn’t take much convincing for you to ignore your orders and help Steve stop the launch of the helicarriers. Bucky, acting as the Winter Soldier at the time, had taken out most of SHIELD’s air support; however, you and a group of four other pilots managed to get your birds into the air. Although the stakes were high, a part of you felt like it was old times — watching Sam soar through the air in his Exo-7 flight suit from the cockpit of your F-35 Lightning II. The fight was going well until Bucky nailed your left wing with a large piece of debris, causing you to go into a downward tailspin. You attempted to stabilize your aircraft but ran out of time. So, you decided to pull your parachute, but to your horror, the cord was stuck. Sam, grounded due to his broken wings, watched helplessly as your fighter slammed into the Potomac River. You were found by search and rescue after the helicarriers were destroyed and woke up in a hospital bed three days later. Recovery was agonizingly slow, but Sam never left your side — except to check on Steve every so often in the room next to yours. The memory brings a small, sad smile to your face.

“That was ten years ago, Sam. What stopped you from telling me?”

“Other than everything that happened after that? You’re my best friend — I didn’t want to risk that.”

You suppose he’s right. There was rarely a moment of downtime after you recovered from your fall into the Potomac River. The two of you immediately threw yourselves into helping Steve track down Bucky, and just two years later, all four of you were wanted fugitives due to the Sokovia Accords. Between the years you spent living on the run and the years you lost to the blip, there was rarely a quiet moment until Thanos was finally defeated — until now.

“For me, it was after Riley.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up at your confession, obviously not expecting for you to have fallen first. But, despite his excitement at this revelation, he stays quiet, letting you continue if you want.

“After losing him, I couldn’t help imagining it being you who got shot down that day. The idea haunted me in my nightmares, and I realized that if I lost you, it would be a different kind of grief.”

Sam’s face softens, and he reaches across the table for your hand. He wraps his hand tightly around yours, grounding you back into this moment before speaking.

“You never have to worry about losing me.”

You scoff at his words, giving him an incredulous look.

“You’re Captain America, Sam. Running head first into danger is your job.”

“Okay, fair. But I have a very compelling reason to stay alive.”

You laugh, attempting to cover up how flustered you feel due to Sam’s words. It doesn’t work. Sam smiles as he notices the effect his words have on you. He could get used to this — flirting with you until you’re bright red and stumbling over your words. It’s undeniably cute, and he can’t believe it’s taken him this long to do it.

After your emotionally charged conversation, you both need something to eat. The two of you both order ramen, and Sam doesn’t let go of your hand until two bowls are set down on the table. You enjoy your meal while Sam occasionally nudges his knee playfully into yours under the table before offering you a flirtatious smile. The conversation that flows between you doesn’t feel forced or uncomfortable — it feels both familiar and somehow brand new. The two of you had been navigating the grey area between romantic and platonic for so long that it feels almost liberating to look at Sam and know his true intentions.

After Sam pays the bill, giving the establishment's owner a generous tip, the two of you fall into step with one another as you walk toward your apartment. The walk isn’t drastically different from the thousands you’ve taken before. Sam still slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side — except this time, you move your hand up and intertwine your fingers. He still walks up the stairs with you to your apartment, unlocking the door with the key you gave him ages again — except this time, he leads you by the hand up all five flights. And he still moves through your apartment as if it were his, opening your fridge to grab two beers and rifling through your junk drawer to find the bottle opener he knows is in there — except this time, as he places the beers behind you, he doesn’t move away. Instead, he keeps his hands on the counter, one on either side of your body, caging you in. His expression is soft, illuminated by the lone fluorescent light in your small kitchen. And there’s an adoration in his gaze that makes you feel lighter than air.

Steve’s words, from what feels like a lifetime ago, ring in your ears as you look up at Sam Wilson, who stands just a breath away: "As the world's expert on waiting too long, don't."

Tired of waiting, you grab Sam by the front of his polo and pull him into you, locking your lips with his as your chests bump into each other. It’s not a picture-perfect kiss; it’s a little sloppy and frantic, but it’s the type that makes up for the twenty years you spent dancing around your feelings for one another. Eventually, you break away from each other. Sam rests his forehead against yours, and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen graces his face — the man looks like sunshine incarnate as he studies your features.

“I should have done that ten years ago.”

The laugh that escapes you is melodic — a goddamn symphony to Sam’s ears. And he can’t help but kiss you again. And again. And again. In an attempt to make up for lost time and to prove to you, this was never just platonic.

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thealieninhiding · 11 months ago

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The Katie McGrath Archives (WIP)

A repository of my ongoing digital archeology & archival work please contact me if you have anything to contribute and buy me a coffee if you value my content

Updates

(last updated 2025-01-14)

2025-01-14

Scans:

2008-10 InStyle (LQ)

2009 DRAMA Magazine (LQ)

2009-10 The Sunday Times Style (Ireland)

2010-10 Tatler

2010-12 InStyle

2011-02 Instyle (LQ)

2011-07 Tatler (LQ)

2011-10 Sunday Independent

2012-03-14 Sci-FiNow

2012-03-23 The Lady Magazine

2024-07-03

Scans:

2014-02-07 London Times - Dracula sets

Audio:

(Un)likeminded 2x02 How to Survive The Apocalypse

2024-05-24

Video:

2017 Katie McGrath interview [CW|KMcGsource]

2017 Supergirl Season 3 Sweet dreams (are made of this) Music Video

2017 CW SDCC Promo Supergirl and Arrow

2019-01-01 The CW Promo Open To All

2021-04-25 Supergirl Season 6 Katie McGrath Lena Luthor

2021-09-15 Supergirl Season 6 Katie McGrath Reflecting on Supergirl

2024-05-22

Audio:

Interview - 2009-07-17 Katie McGrath Mr Media interview

Interview - 2009-10-15 Geek Syndicate Merlin BTS special

Video:

BTS - 2008-10-08 Blue Peter Merlin BTS

Events - 2009 TV Choice Awards Digital Spy interview

Events - Getty Videos of 2009 TV Choice Awards, 2010 Merlin Series 3 launch, 2011 W.E. premiere, 2017 King Arthur Premiere

2024-05-17

Archived interviews

2008-12-07 Tribune Magazine - What Katie Did

2011-10-14 What's on TV - Merlin's Katie McGrath- 'Bad girls have more fun!'

2012-12-03 Fanhattan Blog - Colin Morgan, Katie McGrath and Bradley James on Season 5 and The Series Finale

2018-08-01 The TV Junkies - Supergirl SDCC 2018 Interviews- Lena’s Impractical Lab Outfits, the Return of Reporter Kara and a More Grounded Season 4

Audio

HHush samples

Interview - 2009-2011 Sci-fi Talk rewind merlin the series specials episode 1

Interview - 2011? Merlin S4 Sci-fi talk byte katie mcgrath on morgana

Interview - 2013 BBC Radio 1xtra part 1 & part 2

(Un)likeminded 1x02 While You Were Dreaming

Trees a crowd- Irish folklore segment

Magazine scans

2008-09-20 Radio Times

2009-06-08 TV Week (Aus)

2010-09-05 Sunday Express

2010-09-30 Totally Merlin Magazine

2011-12 Total Film

2012-03-14 Sci-Fi Now

2012-10-06 Radio Times

2013-04-06 Irish independent

2013-09-02 Marie-Claire (UK)

2013-12 Instyle

2013-12 Total Film

Video:

Fans - 2012-04-16 Merlin4 [carlospyrrhus]

Fans - 2017-08-30 Supergirl cast together on set [Joyce Law]

Interview - 2009-09-?? Merlin S2 audio interview with Katie McGrath [BJsRealm] part 1

Interview - 2010-09-06 Merlin Series 3 - BBC Radio 1xtra Interview with Angel Coulby & Katie McGrath [BJsrealm]

Interview - 2011-10-14 Merlin S4 Colin Morgan, Eoin Macken Katie McGrath on The Late Late Show

Interview - 2012-07-15 Colin Morgan and Katie McGrath at SDCC 2012 - innerSPACE [merlinnetwork2]

Interview - 2012-07-18 Katie McGrath Talks Merlin At Comic Con 2012 [ThinkHeroTV]

Interview - 2012-10-25 BBC Radio 1 Breakfast - Colin & Katie part 1 & part 2 [BJsRealm]

Interview - 2012-12-03 Merlin S5 Katie McGrath interview international press day [BJsRealm]

Interview - 2012-12-03 Colin, Bradley, Katie phone interview [BJsRealm]

Interview - 2013-11-09 Katie McGrath on BBC One Saturday Kitchen [BJsRealm]

Interview - 2019-07-22 ENTREVISTA SUPERGIRL Elenco fala sobre a nova temporada [Warner Channel Brasil]

Interview - 2019-07-23 Melissa Benoist Teases Directing An Episode Of 'Supergirl' [ET Canada]

Interview - 2020-02-21 ‘Supergirl’ Celebrates 100th Episode [ET Canada]

Panels - 2011-07-28 Merlin Comic Con 2011 Panel [ThinkHeroTV]

#katie mcgrath #katie mcgrath interview #Katie McGrath archive #Katie McGrath filmography archive #wayback machine #media preservation

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cillianmurphysdimples · 1 month ago

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A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Forty Two)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Forty Two: Cillian is comfortable at home with his parents, and Y/N feels the love they have for their son. Being back in Cork, and waiting to share their news, seems to be a really positive thing for Cillian - and Y/N adores it. [Family Bonding/Sexual Scene]

@cherry-cilly @whatcjdidnext @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @strangeions @watermeezer @lavender-haze-01 @borntodiemp3 @meadowshelby

As it did last visit, too, it surprises you a little that Cillian knocks and then walks straight into the house. You wonder, for a moment, what that kind of familial ease feels like. A little nervy, you stay close behind Cillian as he holds open the door into the hallway. Once you're in, he pushes the door closed behind him. “Yo!” He calls out, setting the bag down onto the floor beside the stairs.

A moment later, Cillian's father appears around the doorway to the end of the hallway. He raises his eyebrows, smiles, and walks slowly down towards you both. “There youse are, so.” he says, in a thick, lilting Cork brogue. He opens his arms out to Cillian, who immediately returns his father's affections. “And herself,” Brendan says as Cillian releases him. You're warmed, if a little overwhelmed, when he gives you the same gentle hug. “Good drive then, yeah?” He asks as he releases you, and he immediately turns his back and starts walking back down towards where he came from.

“Ah yeah, grand.” Cillian replies, and you can already hear the firming up of his Cork twang. He takes your hand, jerks his head in the direction his father came from, and leads you down the hallway with him. “Mum not around?” Cillian asks.

“Down at Byrne’s; their youngest girl, Shauna, is after having a baby there.” Brendan explains, his back to both of you as he fills the kettle. “She's gone in there with a card and flowers, and wee… whatdoyoucallit, for the wee fella. Little boy, yeah. Eh…Jays, d’you, I think they called him Cillian, now.” He turns around, and offers his son a bright grin. He sets the kettle down and once again turns back to you both as you and Cillian stand near the doorway. “Sure, don't be standing about. Sit down there at the table and I'll get the tea going. Youse want tea? Or are youse on the coffee more now, up there in Dublin?” He's teasing, silly, and you can hear Cillian in his delivery of things too.

“No, tea’s grand for me but Y/N will have coffee. But here, I'll do it. Sit down.” Cillian says, and he gets back up from the chair he's just sat into.

“You're after driving since he morning,” Brendan tuts and waves his hand towards Cillian. “It's no bother for me to be making tea!” Cillian sits back down with his eyebrows raised comically, and you titter a small laugh, amused at the near scolding your close to forty-nine year old partner has just gotten. Cillian shakes his head, clearly amused. “I'd a call from your Aran last night there.” Brendan says suddenly, his voice mingling with the sound of rattling mugs and teaspoons, and the rumble of the boiling kettle.

“Yeah?” Cillian frowns.

Brendan mutters yes as he inhales, an Irish manner of speaking you've grown so intrigued with in your few years here, but he doesn't turn around. “Yeah,” he repeats. “He said he and Malachy had stayed the weekend with youse at the house.”

Cillian nods his head, “They did, yeah.”

“And he said Yvonne and yer man got engaged there.” He went on.

“They did,” Cillian nods his head again. “Over the new year there - they went to Paris, Yvonne and the fella, Adam.” He explains and you keep your eyes on his face and your ears on his tone. He looks and sounds fairly neutral, and you're hopeful that's a good thing.

“The boys stayed with you?” Brendan asks, and he turns suddenly with two mugs gripped in his hands. He walks towards the table, and sets them down before you and Cillian in turn. “When she was away in Paris?”

“Ah no,” Cillian shakes his head, “Sure they had the house to themselves with their mother away, why would they stay with me?” He laughs.

Brendan nods with his eyebrows raised, “I'm sure they were on the drink the moment she was gone.” He teases as he walks back to retrieve his own drink. Cillian chuckles, though you recall he'd said something similar! He walks back again slowly and takes a seat beside Cillian. “So youse are grand?” He asks, looking between you both.

You nod your head, “All good,” you smile. You still feel queasy, and the sickness tablets have made you feel exhausted, but your anxiety has settled with the warmth of Brendan's reception and you feel at ease here with Cillian.

“And how's the work, Y/N? You do be in court and all, yeah?” Brendan asks, then sips his tea.

You nod your head, “Yeah, occasionally. It's more preparing the paperwork for court, and transcribing statements. But it's okay, it's not easy at times but I wouldn't want to do anything else, I don't think.”

Brendan nods his head and turns to Cillian, “Sure we know how your work is, there's no need to be asking you.” He smiles cheekily and Cillian smirks, shaking his head. It falls quiet for a moment, but it isn't uncomfortable, but you're still a little relieved - if mixed with nervousness - when the front door opens and Mary calls our brightly.

“I'm back, so. Ah, Bren, the wee man is gorgeous. Is that Cillian's car there…?” You can hear her rambling as she moves around in the hallway, before you hear her feet coming down the small corridor behind you. You're sitting with your back towards the hallway door, and you can feel as Cillian's mother comes to a stop behind you. “Ah, son,” she beams, her tone just as melodic as Brendan’s, and you watch Cillian get to his feet with a doughy smile and meet his mother for a hug. “How are you, sweetheart? You lookin’ well.”

“Ah, grand. Are y’alright?” Cillian replies, standing just beside you, and he releases his mother. “Dad said Shauna Byrne's after having a baby?” He says, purely for conversation, as he returns to his seat opposite you.

“She is - wee thing came early, but sure they're both doing grand. Wee Colm, he is.” Mary says brightly.

“Ah, not Cillian then?” Brendan speaks up, and the habitual questioning inflection of the Cork accent only sounds exaggerated as he asks a genuine question.

“No!” Mary replies, so animated it sounds like she's singing the word. “Sure I told you that before I went out. Wee Colm.” She tuts, and turns to you with a smile. “Jays, Y/N if he listened to me there’d be more danger of him being flooded with intelligence.* You chuckle lightly, but you feel a little awkward. “You're well yourself, love?” She asks you.

You nod your head, “I am, thank you. How're you?”

Mary nods her head and stands behind Brendan's chair. “Oh, getting on the best, now.” She smiles at you. “I suppose the two of ye will be wanting some lunch - it's just gone one o’clock there,” she says, glancing at a delicate silver watch around her left wrist. “Will I warm that soup, or will we make sandwiches?” She asks, placing her hand onto Brendan's shoulder.

“Don't be going to any trouble, Mum,” Cillian says quickly, “We can fend for ourselves.”

“Ah, go away, poor wee girl looks so starved she's as pale as a sheet.” You grin as his Mum shakes her head at you.

“No, really, I'm fine.” You reassure her.

Cillian smirks, “She does get sick in the car, Mum, she's just feeling a bit delicate.”

“Ah, do ya? And the drive’s not short either. Poor thing. Well, when you're fit, youse may help yourselves, so.” She mothers lovingly.

The afternoon passes quietly, with Brendan and Mary going about their day but pulling you both into it occasionally. Cillian is calm and at ease, which you love, and you feel welcomed in just as lovingly. He's affectionate despite the eyes of his parents, and it makes you feel fully integrated into his family. You and Cillian help as Mary begins the evening meal and you're treated to stories of Cillian growing up as the three of you, with Brendan having disappeared, bustle around the kitchen.

“And wasn't he covered, head to toe, in the chicken pox? Every one of them sick at the same time, it was only Orla and Cillian who'd the spots all over, but. He drove himself mad scratching.” She giggles, and looks up from her chopping board. “I don't think the whole house got any sleep for a full week.”

“Oh, no!” You shake your head, smirking. Cillian is beside you at the counter and he rocks himself sideways, nudging you with his hip as you find humour in his plight. But he's laughing, and you giggle back and stick out your tongue.

By nine pm, you feel utterly exhausted and though it's cosy and comfortable in the living room with Cillian and his parents, you nudge him for his attention and offer a pleading look in the hopes he'll read your mind. While he doesn't seem to understand what you're silently begging, he does ask the question you'd hoped he'd ask. “Will we head on up?” He says, his hand on your thigh. You nod your head quickly and the smirk he gives you lets you know he was well aware of what you'd meant.

“Youse are away to bed?” Brendan asks, looking up at you from his armchair as both you and Cillian stand up.

“Yeah, sure we'll see you in the morning.” Cillian nods his head. “In the back room there, is it?”

“It is, yeah, I've the bed all made up,” Mary replies. “There's towels in there for youse, work away with the shower and all.”

You smile politely as you walk towards the door of the living room, and you love that Cillian is right behind you with the fingers of his outstretched hand against your back. “Goodnight then, so.” Cillian calls out, and the two of you leave the room and head up the stairs, with Cillian bringing the travel bag with him. The bedroom you've been given is exactly what you'd expected it to be - chintzy and old fashioned, but as cosy and inviting as can be. Cillian sets the bag down again in front of the door as he shuts it behind you both. Alone at last, he reaches up to his face and draws off his glasses - he sets them on the dresser opposite the bed as he walks across the floor to where you're standing, by the end on the other side of the bed, and cups his hands around your face for a deep and loving kiss. When he finally breaks it, you feel a little oxygen starved.

“What was that for?” You chuckle, and you curl your fingers around his wrists.

He grins, “I dunno - something about you being here,” he raises his eyebrows. “It's been driving me crazy all day. So...”

You open your mouth in shock, “No!” You shake your head. “Cillian, no! We cannot have sex in your parents house!” you pull his hands down from your face, shaking your head again, but you can't help smiling. As soon as you release his hands, he reaches out and grabs your hips. He pulls you in against his body; his eyes are wide and his pupils are large.

“We can,” he says in a whisper. “C’mon, I'm fucking straining here.”

“Cillian!” You swipe your hand against his chest. But you're not going to say no - not really - and he knows that by your grinning expression.

“I've the bag in front of the door - nobody’ll get in. Ah, c'mon, don't make me masturbate at my parents house like a horny fifteen year old,” he smiles, laughs at himself, then steals another kiss. He pulls your hips against his again, and it isn't difficult to notice he's already anticipating his next moves. And you're putty in his hands…

It seems to take seconds for him to have your cardigan and tunic removed, and his hands are behind your back, fighting the clasp of your bra. You push him back, breaking his huffing kiss, and unfasten the bra yourself. He strips himself of his tops as he watches you, and his tongue runs across his bottom lip before he pulls you back again for another feverish kiss. Not breaking your locked lips, he walks you awkwardly to the side of the bed and carefully ensures your legs are aligned before he pushes you down to the mattress with his whole body over yours.

“This bed better be quiet…” you giggle as he breaks the kiss, looking down at you with a sex-drunk smile.

“Could give a flying fuck!” He replies, husky, and he leans down again, touching his nose to yours, mouth open.

He stands suddenly, and unfastens his jeans. You can see the look of relief on his face as the tight fabric is loosened around his crotch. Before he drags them down, however, he bends at the waist and grabs at the waistband of your leggings and knickers together and unceremoniously rips them down your legs. For a moment, you lie naked and exposed as he removes his jeans and boxershorts. You take the opportunity to move back further onto the bed - you're not sure his poor legs will hold him up once he gets going. You giggle as he moves back towards you again, all but crawling up the bed to you. He is hard, so much so his penis almost flat against the nest of dark hair, and you do feel a little for him as you wonder how long he's been fighting against that! Surely it must tip from desire into just being painful after a while? You resolve to ensure he uses it as nature intended to get the relief his cock is clearly screaming for.

Once he's close enough, you cup your hands around his arse. “Come on then,” you whisper low and edge up your chin to kiss against his open mouth. You pull his body to yours and his penis slides up against your groin. Clearly it allows him some friction-related feedback as he groans into your mouth. He repositions himself a little and, with no preparation for you, he pushes the head of his cock against your open cunt. You shift a little, your hands still against his backside and, whilst the intrusion is a little uncomfortable, it lasts mere seconds as he pushes slowly inside. As he gets deeper, your mouth falls open - all kisses abandoned - and he begins his slow, deep movements in the way he likes, in the way you like. Intense, controlled, and angled just right. His whole body moves against you, his right hand cupping at your breast gently, and his face close to yours, though he can't keep his mouth closed for long enough to keep a kiss locked in. You move your hands up over his back and hold him tightly as he moves. You can't deny that, despite your reservations, there's something incredibly hot about knowing his parents aren't too far away and yet he is this turned on and this eager to fuck.

His body pressed so close to yours works its magic as it so often does, and you soon find yourself feeling the familiar build of intensity in your abdomen. You bite down against your lip, and he too seems to be nearing the edge of heaven by the shortening in his breaths. You hold him tighter, sighing his name with a firm frown of pleasure in your face, as you cum. It isn't an earth shaking orgasm, but you feel warm and relaxed as he continues to rut his entire body against you. In a rare move for him in this position, he begins to snap his hips against you whilst keeping his body held tightly against you. He needs extra stimulation, the harder fucking feeling instead of the sensual depth missionary usually provides him. Horniness wins out as he gasps against your cheek, hips slamming, and he cums with a shuddered breath. He holds himself still, cock twitching inside you, as he spends himself entirely. You run your fingers through the growing hair at the nape of his neck as he hums his relief at the release. His muttered ‘fuck’ close to your ear proceeds him lying against you, sweaty and weak limbed, for just a moment before he shuffles back slightly and lays beside you, breathing hard.

“Who knew fucking in your parents house was such a turn on for you?” You laugh quietly. "Though, it is a little freaky."

He reaches up his heavy arm and drops his hand against your breastbone with a breathy laugh. “It's just you, us, being here…” he sighs heavily. “But fuck, that was good…” he croaks. You giggle as his fingers move against your warm skin. The Cork air clearly does the good things to him!

#cillian murphy #my fic #my fic: we got issues #cillian Murphy fanfic #Cillian Murphy fanfiction #reader fic #y/n fic #female reader #female y/n #reader x Cillian Murphy #y/n x Cillian Murphy #female y/n x Cillian Murphy #female reader x Cillian Murphy

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fbfh · 8 months ago

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thinking about getting rescued by Connor and Murphy Macmanus. you're making ends meet, living in a shitty apartment in boston when some jackass in the russian mob decides that extorting your landlord isn't enough anymore. you come home to find huge, scary thugs roaming the halls of your building, banging on doors and demanding money. they try to shake you down, but you... you're not going to give up, and you're certainly not going to let them win without a fight. thankfully, god doesn't hate you quite as much as you worried he might, because you live in the same building as Rocco's girl. she sees what's happening out there and makes a call. the russian mob doesn't find your plucky attitude as endearing as you'd hoped, and you're about to pass out when two mysterious figures burst in, shooting up every gangster in the place. they get closer to you, muttering something to each other you can't make out, and one of them gently picks you up before everything goes black.

you wake up hours later just before dawn in... the shittiest, crustiest apartment you've ever seen. you're still a little out of it, and two guys - who you can only assume are the same ones from before - crouch next to you, speaking in gentle voices and comforting irish accents.

"You're alright sweetheart." the first one says. you think he's the one who carried you out.

"You're safe here." the other adds.

"Those assholes got you pretty good-"

"Put up one hell of a fight though," the second one chuckles, earning a smack on the back of the head from the first.

"Just try to get some more rest, and we'll check on you soon."

you try to agree, but you're exhausted and out like a light before you know it, managing a "hmmmf" in response before you pass back out.

you wake up properly a few hours later, and it takes you a few moments to orient yourself, to realize you're not in this apartment because of a drunken one night stand. you stretch stiffly, still achy and sore from the fight, and stand up to quietly look around. the apartment is empty, but it's worse than you thought it would be. this place is... a dump. a bachelor owned dump, based on the comical lack of furniture or decorations. you don't know what you're supposed to do until those guys get back, but you don't... not trust them. not yet, anyway. so you tidy up a little. you throw out the trash and wipe down the counters and tables. you spray a little lemon cleaner on the windows and make their beds. you find a pile of pillows and blankets on the ground, and realize they slept in the other room so you wouldn't be uncomfortable.

when Connor and Murphy return in their bathrobes pajama pants and work boots, hang their rosaries up on the nails by the door, and set down the breakfast foods and ingredients they just got from the corner store, they pause. something feels... different. there aren't any coffee rings in the kitchen, or tumbled piles of beer caps from their numerous contests seeing who can make the highest stack. things smell fresher, feel... nicer. you walk into the kitchen, hanging up a fresh dish towel over the oven rack when you notice they're back. you startle a little, and they both smile.

"Oh!" you exclaim, "Sorry... I didn't know when you guys would be back, so I just tidied up a little. I hope you don't mind." you say, almost sheepishly. they share a look, then turn their attention back to you.

"You did all this?" asks Connor, then he nudges Murphy. "We got ourselves a regular snow white."

Murphy laughs, looking at your handiwork.

"I didn't know it was possible." He says back to his brother. "The kitchen floor is white. Did you know the kitchen floor was supposed to be white?"

The Macmanus brothers like you. they find you sweet, and charming. they want to protect you and keep you safe from the scum in this city. since your apartment building is still a mess and crawling with members of the russian mob, you let them convince you to stay for a few days. of course it doesn't end up being just a few days, and no matter what a rough day they have cleaning up the city, they're always excited to get home, flop down on the couch (the one you got them, and the only thing tying the interior look of their apartment together) crack open a couple cold beers, and spend the night with their best girl.

#boondock saints #boondock saints x reader #boondock saints drabbles #drabbles #connor macmanus #connor macmanus x reader #connor macmanus drabbles #murphy macmanus #murphy macmanus x reader #murphy macmanus drabbles #poly boondock saints x reader #connor x reader x murphy #macmanus sandwich #I love vague undefined overly affectionate realtionships #a macmanus sandwich with y/n filling truly is the best way to describe living with the boys #rewatching boondock saints btw #they're so!!!!!!!!#i wanna pinch their cheeks and bite them

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darkmaga-returns · 2 months ago

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Watch the video here.

Several egregious USAID and State Department grant awards include:

$15 million for condoms to the Taliban through USAID.

$14 million in cash vouchers for migrants at the southern border through the State Department.

$7,071.58 for a BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) speaker series in Canada through the State Department.

$3,315,446 for “being LGBTQ in the Caribbean” through USAID.

$3.2 million to help Tunisian migrants readjust to life in Tunisia after deportation through the State Department.

$2.5 million to build electric vehicle charging stations in Vietnam’s largest cities through USAID.

$1.5 million to promote job opportunities for LGBTQ individuals in Serbia through USAID.

$1 million to boost French-speaking LGBTQ groups in West and Central Africa through the State Department.

$446,700 to promote the expansion of atheism in Nepal through the State Department.

$425,622 to help Indonesian coffee companies become more climate and gender friendly through USAID.

$80,000 for an LGBTQ community center in Bratislava, Slovakia through the State Department.

$70,884 to create a U.S.-Irish musical to promote DEI in Ireland through the State Department.

$55,750 for a climate change presentation warning about the impact of climate change in Argentina to be led by female and LGBT journalists through the State Depa

$47,020 for a transgender opera in Colombia through the State Department.

$39,652 to host seminars at the Edinburgh International Book Festival on gender identity and racial equality through the State Department.

$32,000 for an LGBTQ-centered comic book in Peru through the State Department.

$20,600 for a drag show in Ecuador through the State Department.

$16,500 to foster a “united and equal queer-feminist discourse in Albanian society” through the State Department.

$10,000 to pressure Lithuanian corporations to promote “DEI values” through the State Department.

$8,000 to promote DEI among LGBTQ groups in Cyprus through the State Department.

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w1yre · 8 months ago

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you know what im putting ALL my eddie dear headcanons here before i go study for a fuckass math exam i have to take to get into a higher class (im being forced 😞)

- he’s asthmatic

- he puts way too much gel in his hair and it gets so fucking brittle and sticks up

- he smells like a reuben sandwich(don’t ask me what this is i don’t fucking know)

- he’s cajun and irish

- he screams like peppino from pizza tower

- he cries at romance movies

- he would piss himself if he watched five seconds of a horror movie (they’re his favorite kind of movie…)

- he likes to twirl frank around for no specific reason

- he likes to stand in front of the tv at the asscrack of dawn with a comically large cup of coffee and watch the news

- he’ll say shit like “oh, fiddlesticks!” or a classic white saying like “let’s blow this popsicle stand!” OR “i tell you what” OR “look who the cat dragged in!” and it’s so stupid

- he celebrates 4th of july (welcome HOEme version obviously) and burns all the fucking food when he tries to cook on the grill

- he can play the violin AND the banjo. 🪕 (i’ll defend this one forever)

- he can shove a whole hoagie sandwich into his mouth no problem/hj

- when he does drag he always does some kind of like cupid/valentine’s day theme because i think that would be adorable!!! :D

- he’s bad at math…really bad at math

#welcome home #welcome home headcanons #eddie dear #eddie welcome home #headcanons #comment your headcanons too i wanna see !!!

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ambafaerie · 4 months ago

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Tate McGucket and Shandra Jimenez Headcanon

Tate moved to Gravity Falls to look for Fiddleford but talked first about it with his mom. The conversation was long and emotional. Emma May was very reluctant to let her son go but eventually relented and wished him luck. Tate keeps in touch via post cards and telephone calls and visits his mom during the holidays.

He was angry at Fiddleford for abandoning his family and sending a robot pterodactyl after Emma May when she divorced him, but still tries to reach out to him and jog back his memory.

Several failed memory restoration attempts with little success + Fiddleford’s increasingly embarrassing and dangerous antics considerably soured their relationship leading Tate to cut off contact, but when someone goes too far insulting Fiddleford, Tate is quick to defend his dad.

Applied to the job of lake ranger after the last one retired. He is great at managing the finances of the shop and advises people the best days to visit or avoid Lake Gravity Falls based on the weather patterns he predicts.

Hobbies: Hand making the fishing supplies he sells at the shop, reading bi monthly magazines, and styling his own hair.

Sometimes uses his ability to correctly guess the Oregon State lottery winning numbers and anonymously collects the winnings, splitting them with one half to keep the fishing shop afloat and the other going to his mom.

Shandra was born in Gravity Falls. Half Filipino - Mexican on her Dad’s side and Irish - American on her mom’s side. She was raised in a multilingual household and can still speak and write in several languages, sometimes switching from one language to another in the middle of a conversation and has a diary full of entries written in English, Tagalog, Spanish, and Gaelic.

Shandra likes to keep up with the trends and started her high school’s newspaper club but she was the only member so she covered every school event. At college, the newspaper club had only three members, so Shandra still did most of the work. She was also a member of the radio club and hosted the morning announcements.

Hobbies: Comic books, dancing, collecting scrunchies, and scrapbooking monthly magazines and newspapers. Fav comic characters are Lois Lane and Linda Park.

Very professional and passionate about journalism and so looks down on Toby because he is a gossip reporter with no real credentials.

Shandra’s first job was at the local newspaper. Her breakout story was covering one of Fiddleford’s robots he unleashed on the town which helped boost her profile in becoming a tv news reporter.

Frustrated there isn’t much that happens Gravity Falls, but Shandra remains determined to scoop out anything interesting that shakes up the town.

Has never been caught and memory erased by the Society of the Blind Eye.

Shandra and Tate met when she was covering one of Fiddleford’s latest robot attacks and tried to interview him for his opinion, but he refused.

Two weeks later they meet again at Gravity Falls Lake when Shandra was substituting for the sick weatherman and was reporting on the hail storm when the weather suddenly started cycling from rain to sun to hail.

Tate provides her and the news crew shelter in the fish shop from the dangerous weather. He informs Shandra about the weather patterns and allows himself to be interviewed for once to explain to viewers the unpredictable weather and safety precautions to take.

Once the weather subsides, Shandra asks Tate out for coffee as thanks for his help. Their conversation started off nice but nothing much until they get to the topic of hobbies. Shandra enthusiastically tells Tate random comic lore he nods his head to, raptly listening and discussing with her scientific facts, especially marine biology ones that comic writers got right, beginning an unlikely friendship.

They spend months having lunches together, scrapbooking their magazines, solving crossword puzzles, and even taking hikes along the mountains. Their relationship grows naturally but the day they realization clicks their affection for each other might be more than platonic puts them in an awkward tension. Shandra and Tate have dated other people before, but they don’t want to risk their relationship ending on bad terms, but they they really like each other so it is a conundrum. Their parents notice the moping and take them aside to give them love advice, but even though their words, especially Emma May’s, reassure them, Shandra and Tate refuse to confess, remaining oblivious to the others’s feelings.

One day, Shandra is reporting outside for Pioneer Day when one of Fiddleford’s homicidal robots runs amok through the town. Tate rushes to her rescue, and in the midst of the attack, he confesses he cares about her more than a friend, so much he is willing to throw logic out the window and rush into danger just to protect her, and Shandra shouts amidst the chaos and noise she loves him too.

The day after the robot attack, things are awkward but one look at each other’s faces and Shandra and Tate fall into a laughter which gives them the sign to start their relationship.

Although not many are aware they are dating because they are not that big on PDA.

Fiddleford is out here playing cupid for his son and he doesn’t even know it.

#gravity falls #tate mcgucket #shandra jimenez #fiddleford mcgucket #emma may dixon #headcanon

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irish-coffee97 · 2 months ago

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Irish Coffee #10 (2-2-97)

(English translation under the cut)

Presidential elections of 1999. One of the candidates is a vampire. Coffee knows this but no one believes him. The nightly creature is preparing a plan to destroy our hero, with Mary Bloody as the bait.

Irish: I don't get your little giggles, Gino. If Mary Bloody kinda fainted in your house at midnight, where's the joke?

Gino: She was dizzy thinking of you, you bonehead. And you know what? She wants me to prepare a date for you two. But of course, you can't because you're with Clarita, heh

Irish: Yeah I can, Clarita works tonight.

Gino: Ah right, she was studying to be a social worker when I stopped... ehmm... seeing her. Where does she work? At a hospital?

Irish: No, she does strip-tease in Armonio, a club in Santa Fe street.

Gino: Ah.

Irish: So Gino tell me something, Mary Bloody had marks on her neck, like little bites, no?

Gino: N-no, I didn't see anything... Armonio you said the place was called?

Clarita: Are you still watching TV, blondie? It's almost midday, your head is going to blow up. I'm going to gym, then to my mom's house in Banfield, from there I go to Armonio, can you pick me up around 3am? Oh, and another thing

Irish: What?

Clarita: Take a good nap, I want you wide awake by midnight, eh~?

Click

-The re-reelection of Menem can also be considered a masterpiece that repeats itself, like Fernando Fader's landscapes taken in the same place at different times; this could be the same but in an ominous twilight with the worst of storms approaching, get it?

Click

-I'm young, low-class and unemployed, what hope do I have?

-Don't you worry, The Model has you in mind. Sooner or later you'll become old.

Click

-...continuing with the auctions of Great National Memories, here there are two jewels essential for understanding recent argentinian history: Coppola's Vase and the famous paper napkin written by the hand of Minister Cor-

Irish: I'm going to take a shower for the date with Mary Bloody

Mary: Ay, it's almost time for my meeting with Irish Coffee

Averna: my new coreligionist is going to hand me that loudmouth in a platter

Next Sunday: Cold Fangs

#ic irish coffee #ic gino tonic #ic clarita waters #ic mary bloody #ic julian averna #irish coffee comic #irish coffee 1997 #irish coffee clarin #argentina #argieblr #argie tag #diario clarin #comic argentino #comics #carlos trillo #carlos meglia

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glendylucast · 4 months ago

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Daydreams and Nightmares (ENG ver)

Call of Duty WWII Robert Zussman x Clifford Wildblood (My OC), 2741 words Summary : Robert Zussman was struggling, caught in the chokehold of PTSD and reeling from his breakup with Suzie. He could probably use a helping hand.

Story Version, Short Comic Version Here

Chicago, United States, February 1947

"Fucking winter..."

Robert Zussman adjusted his vision, felt like his headache got worse from the hangover. He couldn't remember he walked home from the Irish pub, but at least he got to his apartment safe.

Thank God it's weekend so he didn't have to work.

Still lying on his bed, he glanced to his side, to the empty side where Suzie used to sleep beside him.

Zussman was in rough shape after his breakup with Suzie. He didn’t talk much about it—never really did—but a big part of it was tied to how much the war had changed him, both physically and mentally.

Physically, he’d come home as little more than skin and bones, scarred and bruised in ways that would never fully heal. Mentally, his mind was haunted with PTSD. He constantly fights the daydreams of being on the battlefields and the nightmares he endured at the hands of the Germans.

Perhaps it was Zussman who hated himself for showing weakness—he had never been the one. Perhaps it was Suzie who couldn't bear with how much Zussman had changed, how different he was from the man who had captivated her with his grin and stories.

In the end, Suzie left the door, never looking back...

... And she left a gaping hole in Zussman's life, making him stranded then adrift, floating in an ocean of darkness.

The man lost without his anchor.

Zussman tried to replace the gaping hole Suzie left with other girls, but none of them stayed long. They left as soon as he started to scream or raise his voice.

He pulled the blanket, wrapping it tighter around his body. He was so done for being weak, and he was tired of being disappointed. He just wanted to close his eyes.

---------

Meanwhile, a few miles away in Bloomington.

Clifford Wildblood stepped out onto the porch of his family home. Morning air blew his face as he walked toward the red mailbox near his family fences. Retrieving the contents, he carried the small stack of letters and a folded newspaper back inside.

This had become part of his morning routine since returning from the war. Each morning, after jog around the neighborhood, he’d check the mail, sift through bills, local circulars, and the occasional postcard. Sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee, he carefully shuffled through the pile.

"Nothing..." He whispered himself, sounded disappointed.

It had been months since he’d received a letter from Zussman.

The two had kept up a steady correspondence after returning from the war, exchanging letters at least twice a month. They wrote about everything—little updates on their lives, stupid jokes, even stories about the old squad. Zussman had always been the great storyteller; he just loved to talk about his squads, especially because they're also still actively exchanging postcards and letters.

Wildblood had come to cherish his letter. He never felt so close to him.

But then suddenly, without warning, the letters stopped.

His mind wandered to the last one he’d received months ago. Zussman had mentioned that he was no longer with Suzie. The words were casual, as though he were shrugging it off, but Wildblood could read between the lines. He knew Zussman had been with her for a year and a half now.

It must be devastating.

The letter was closed with Zussman insisting that Wildblood shouldn’t worry, that he’d bounce back in no time.

“Don’t waste your time and energy on me, Brick,” he’d written. “I’m a catch. I’ll have another girl in no time. Meanwhile, how about you?”

The confidence felt hollow, though. Wildblood could sense it even through the ink.

And lately, Wildblood never felt so restless and uneasy.

"Maybe I'm overthinking it." Wildblood muttered.

Wildblood sighed, setting the letters aside and unfolding the newspaper. He tried to read a few articles before the words blurred as his thoughts circled back to Zussman. The unease crawled in his mind.

If only that jerk had a telephone line in his room. Wildblood cursed in his mind.

Without a second thought, Wildblood pushed back his chair and stood. If Zussman wouldn’t send a letter, maybe it was time to pay him a visit. Wildblood thought his parents wouldn't mind for him to take a small trip for one or two weeks.

After talking to his parents, Wildblood packed his bags and took a bus to Chicago. On the trip, he remembered their brief time together in the medical tent back in France, where he’d seen how Zussman struggled with panic attacks, how he tensed up unexpectedly, and how deeply he hated being alone. Wildblood understood his friend’s pain and knew he wouldn’t want to face it alone.

If there was something Wildblood could do as a friend who had faced the same hell, he would gladly offer his help.

----------

Zussman wasn’t expecting a knock at his door one quiet afternoon—not from someone from his past.

When he opened it, there stood Clifford Wildblood, solid and calm as ever. He wore a baseball hat, a beige scarf, and a few layers on his clothes. For a moment, Zussman could only stare, disbelief flickering across his face. It wasn’t every day that someone from First Platoon showed up unannounced.

“Brick?” Zussman said, blinking as if he didn't believe. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was worried,” Wildblood replied bluntly, his tone as steady as the man himself. "You all right?"

Zussman let out a surprised laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“Oh my God, buddy! You’re crazy!” He stepped forward and pulled Wildblood into a hug, his grip firm and warm. “Can’t say I’m not glad to see a familiar face.”

He stepped back and motioned for Wildblood to come inside.

“It’s good to see you, but at least tell me if you’re gonna drop by! Bloomington’s a hell of a long way from here!” Zussman talked as he closed the door.

"Not really, it's just a couple hours." Wildblood replied, his eyes glancing around Zussman's room. "I don't know... Maybe if someone didn't stop writing, I will tell him."

Zussman frozen for a moment, his grin faltering.

“I... Yeah… Sorry about that," he muttered, struggling to find words, and kept glancing at his room.

"It's ok, life happens." Wildblood nodded, tried to cheer him up. "I don't mind."

"Sorry." Zussman murmured again, his fingers rubbing at his temple, glancing at his room. “Don’t mind the mess.”

"Still tidier than our camp in Hurtgen," Wildblood grins.

Zussman groaned, his smile return. "God, don't remind me."

Wildblood’s gaze lingered on Zussman for a moment. His green eyes were still sparkling as ever, but he noticed the dark circles under those eyes. The man’s smile was there, but his body betrayed him—hands fidgeting, shoulders tense.

Zussman he knew had always been good at masking his emotions. A man with a poker face, if Wildblood knew one.

But this time, it felt like he wasn’t just hiding his feelings; he was barricading himself in.

Breaking the tension, Wildblood raised the pizza box in his hand like a peace offering. “Brought dinner.”

“Great. I, uh…” Zussman hesitated, his smile nervous but genuine. “I’ll grab us something to drink.”

Thus, they both sat down and caught up on some stories. Wildblood didn’t stay long that day, but he told Zussman that he rented a small apartment just a few blocks from Zussman’s. He was there for a family visit for a few weeks; of course it wasn't entirely a lie. It was a modest place with a personal telephone line in the room, unassuming but close enough that Zussman couldn’t help but notice.

At first, Zussman treated it all lightly, joking about Wildblood playing guardian angel. But deep down, he felt a strange sense of comfort he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t something he’d admit, not even to himself, but the familiar presence eased something restless inside him.

They started hanging out more. It was all casual—meeting for a beer at the local pub, walking around the city, or catching a game on the radio. Wildblood had a way of being there without being overbearing, of offering quiet support without prying. He was just a good listener, always down to do something, and a dependable friend to have around.

And over time, Zussman greatly appreciated it, though he kept his gratitude buried under layers of jokes and banter.

Still, Zussman drew a line, even if only in his mind. Friendship was all he could give. Anything beyond that felt too dangerous, too complicated.

He wasn’t blind—he knew how deeply Wildblood cared for him and the reason why. Wildblood loved him in a way that went beyond friendship. It was there in the way by the way Wildblood looked at him, and he didn't need Wildblood's word on that.

Zussman knew it had always been there, even in the darkest days back in Germany, when they had leaned on each other in ways that had felt more than friendly.

But those days were behind them now, and Zussman couldn’t bring himself to entertain the thought of something more.

Not again. Life had already shown him enough pain, enough loss, to last a lifetime.

Friendship, he told himself firmly. That’s all it can be.

And then there were the practicalities—the cold, hard truths of the world they lived in. A world that didn’t look kindly on men who are different—even he couldn’t quite bring himself to say the word aloud.

How could that kind of thought pass his mind?

For the love of God, life was hard enough as it was. He muttered in his mind.

The thought of adding discrimination or criminal charges to the pile of struggles was enough to make him shudder.

----------

Time passed.

Then, one night, the memories Zussman buried came flooding back, suffocating him. He woke up screaming, feeling swallowed by darkness despite all the lights in his room that he’d left on.

The memories were vivid—too vivid. The sound of distant gunfire, the sharp crack of orders barked in German, the stench of blood and sweat. It was all there, as if he were back in that hellish place.

He gasped for air, his lungs refusing to cooperate. The darkness wrapped around him, and for a moment, it felt like he was drowning.

But then, slowly, painfully, he swam his way back to the surface, his breaths shallow and ragged.

It took every ounce of strength he had to drag himself out of bed. His legs felt heavy as he stumbled down the hall to the payphone in his apartment building.

-------

The phone rang at an unusual hour...

Wildblood answered to hear Zussman’s unsteady voice on the other end. Without hesitation, Wildblood came over.

The knock at Zussman’s door came sooner than he expected. When he opened it, Wildblood stood there. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand explanations.

"They came back, huh..." Wildblood talked, almost to himself. Almost if he already knew the problem.

Wildblood sat down beside him on the worn couch, close but not too close, letting his presence speak louder than words. He didn’t try to fix anything, didn’t offer empty reassurances. He just stayed, grounding beside Zussman.

-----

The minutes stretched into hours. Wildblood stayed through the night, his steady breathing became a quiet anchor in the silence. Zussman followed its rhythm and tried to control his own breathing.

Deep in his heart, Zussman cursed his own weakness. He always want to look tough, strong. Yet the toughness wall inside him crumbled, leaving this hollow and desperate soul trapped in his vessel. He barely could hold the water that almost fell from his eyes.

And it wasn't a good sight. He hated it. This wasn't a side he wanted to show.

So as soon as Zussman felt his heart steady, he mustered some strength to raise.

"I think it's gone now." Zussman whispered, forcing himself to smile.

"Are you sure?" Wildblood didn't believe him.

"I'm fine." Zussman's voice started to sound normal. "Sorry, I maybe overreacted. I just bothered you."

"It's kinda too late for that." Wildblood tried to sound grumpy, but he just tried to make a joke. "For God sakes, you can always ask me for help and don't ever mention it."

"Don't get used to this." Zussman smiled, his voice low and hoarse. "Won't happen again."

"You better." Wildblood raised and stood. "Won't you just continue the meds? It really helps me, you can..."

"Brick, It's all right, really." Zussman cut his sentences. "I'm fine, you can leave."

Wildblood looked like he was thinking of something, but then just muttered, "All right then..."

Both of them then walked towards the door.

Before reaching the door, Wildblood offered a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll come by later today, check on you.”

As the man walked away. Zussman realized that deep down he didn't want Wildblood to leave him. He was the one who was there on his lowest. They already saw each other's breaking point.

Zussman was there to hug the stoic Wildblood when he was screaming in desperation, while Wildblood was there to hold the tough guy Zussman's hand when he was shivering from the thought of die alone.

Why would he feel embarrassed for being vulnerable?

What else do I need to hide from him? Zussman words ringing inside him like a bell.

“Brick…” The words came out hesitant, almost a whisper. "Brick, you don’t have to go."

Zussman's hands reached Wildblood's, stopping him. Wildblood paused, staring Zussman for a moment. Something unspoken passed between them in the quiet room.

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

Play this song if you want to, for a mood booster

youtube

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

So, it's probably nothing But it's been on my mind sometime and I can't let it go I know there's gotta be something That I could say in time, but I can't find the words Keep me, keep me on fire Keep me, keep me on fire Novo Amor - Keep Me

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

In that quiet moment, something shifted. Wildblood had always known his feelings for Zussman ran deeper than friendship, but he’d kept them buried, convinced they were one-sided. Being his brother in arms already enough for him.

But now, sitting there in the night until the soft light of dawn crept through the window, hope flickered in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, he could be more than a friend or brother to Zussman. Perhaps he could be the one to fill the emptiness, to offer warmth and understanding where the world had given cold indifference.

Maybe he could be Zussman’s “rebound girl,” someone to fill the gaping hole and offer him the warmth and understanding he needed.

Maybe he could be the one to hold him through the hard nights, to be there until Zussman found the peace he was searching for.

Or someone new.

Even if Zussman would one day move on, Wildblood was willing to be there until that day came.

--------

Zermatt, Switzerland, July 1952

"What're you thinking?" Zussman's low voice disrupted his mind.

Startled, Wildblood blinked and turned to face the man beside him. The warm sunlight played across Zussman’s face, highlighting the lines etched by time and hardship.

“Nothing…” Wildblood replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

Zussman’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “You're a terrible liar.”

Wildblood chuckled, "Just... good memories.”

He glanced at the breathtaking view before them—the towering peaks of the Mountain Alps, as the sun shimmered between the clouds.

But it wasn’t the mountains that held his attention, not really.

Who would’ve thought?

It was 1952, and here he was in Switzerland, standing beside the man who held his heart for years: Robert Zussman.

Who would’ve thought that what had started as a desperate bid to help a broken friend would lead to this?

Zussman’s “rebound girl,” as Wildblood had jokingly called himself, had become something far more. The relationship they're hold onto now was the longest they've ever had.

What began as support and comfort in the aftermath of war had grown into something undeniable, something neither of them could let go of.

Wildblood glanced at Zussman again.

The man beside him now had found pieces of himself again, pieces Wildblood had feared might be lost forever. It took a lot of restless days and nights, but now the storm had passed.

Zussman never had a panic attack anymore.

The nightmares had still come by from time to time, but it hadn't bothered him too much. They were there to embrace each other.

Their relationship wasn’t perfect—far from it. They had fought through waves of doubt and fear, wrestling with questions neither of them had answers to. They had learned to navigate a world that still didn’t understand or accept what they shared.

But through it all, they knew they'll survive together.

Wildblood’s feelings for Zussman had always burned steady and true, like embers glowing quietly in the dark. Over time, though, Zussman’s own feelings had caught up, growing in strength until they burned brighter than either of them could have imagined.

It wasn’t just love. It was trust, companionship, and the quiet certainty that with this person, you didn’t have to hide.

Wildblood had fallen first, but it was Zussman who fell harder.

“So.” Zussman broke the silence again, his smirk now a full grin. “Who’s ready for the Alps?”

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jammerskrik · 7 months ago

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honestly I’ll never have a job as funny and wild as old 1950s cumbies. I think that’s probably the top silliest stupid job I’ve ever had. I had a coworker named kilfeather who was a late thirties obese literal fedora’d neckbeard, who unfailingly made the various (East Asian) women of Boston uncomfortable by being on brand to the point of addressing them as ‘M’lady,’ and split his time between manga and atheist reddit boards and masturbation. He gave his entire savings to The Occupy Movement, then rebuilt it only to then give it all to Bernie Sanders… he was Irish white trash from one of the most depressed towns in western mass, his parents were farmer-descended biker gang ppl that he dropped out of nineth grade to caretake once the cigarette genocide got them. He used to give me impassioned speeches about how the most important issue of our time is centering black and brown voices, and then, without fail, partially magic and partially because our boss was a black lady from Cali that hated most other African Americans, something beautiful and so fucking ironic and hilarious would happen.

Best was when we had to run down inventory to shut the gas station down around January 2019, our boss interrupted one of Kilfeather’s woke speeches about worshipping ppl darker than him to tell him to go clean out the little cup shed with me and Rokon, a banglandeshi indo-muzzy immigrant who at the time didn’t speak any English yet. Rokon began tossing all the spare foam coffee cup rolls out of the shed to me so I could bag them up, as Kilfeather waddled up through snowfall that was beginning to accumulate to watch us and, perhaps if the opportunity presented itself, resume his anti-racist speech.

About a minute later, Rokon had run out of cups and was suddenly madly pulling up endless flattened layers of shipping cardboard that had formed the flooring beneath the cup rolls, and I mean like decades of layers of flattened cardboard, the station was original from 1951 and the bottom decade or two had become dust and dirt. I stopped helping at my disgust threshold and just stood beside kilfeather in the snow watching R manically pry out every layer and heave it into a comically large pile as if his life depended on it until he suddenly froze. He stood there for a few moments, turned and looked at me n kilfeather, then smiled wide, disappearing into the small old shed like laughing, but a strange rare laugh to hear from a man like that; he squealed with absolute delight then vanished. Kilfeather looked at me like, what? does this mean??

But I didn’t get to reply because Rokon had emerged from the shed holding some kind of giant frozen tangled black disk about a meter in diameter. Kilfeather and I were both immediately instinctually repulsed though neither of us could really process what the disk was in that moment, as Rokon stood there dusted in snow and beaming… but we realised right as he spun around like a discus thrower, launching a massive frozen-solid City of Boston Real Life Rat King into Kilfeather’s face and chest.

There were two black crackheads from Kentucky who would stand outside the gas station like Jay and Silent Bob -style and by this point they were watching in the background, as was our boss. The Crackheads began heckling/roasting the fuck out of Kilfeather and calling him a faggot, and he let out a whine to our boss lady, to see if she could please make the addicts of colour stop calling him the f-slur. she was super Christian and super racist and she gracefully walked to Kilfeather through the snow and was like ‘well baby, I am worried that you never stand up for yourself, if Rokon hadda thrown that at me I wouldda whooped his ass to Death on the spot!’

idk cumbies was super funny

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brookstonalmanac · 14 days ago

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Holidays 3.17

Holidays

Buy Women Owned Day

Camp Fire Girls Day

Children’s Day (Bangladesh)

Day of Comics & Comic Books (Spain)

Day of the Snipers

Doctor-Patient Trust Day

Ennensaii (Kyoto, Japan)

Evacuation Day (Suffolk County, MA)

Glider Day

Kustonu Diena (No Planting Day; Ancient Latvia)

Mobilization Employee Day (Ukraine)

Muckraker Day

National Children Day (Bangladesh)

National Muay Thai Day (Thailand)

National SBCD Day

National Slime Day

Patrick Star Day (SpongeBob)

Psyche Asteroid Day

Ramon Magsaysay Memorial Day (Philippines)

Rubber Band Day

Sheikh Mujibur Rahman Day (Bangladesh)

Social Care Day of Remembrance & Reflection (UK)

St. Patrick's Day (a.k.a. ...

Corned Beef & Cabbage Day

Green Ribbon Day

Irish Coffee Day

Irish Stout Day

Lá Fhéile Pádraig

St. Catrick’s Day

Submarine Day [also 4.11]

317 Day (Indiana)

Vanguard I Day

Wood Anemone Day (French Republic)

World Shale Energy Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Irish Car Bomb Cocktail Day

Irish Coffee Day

Irish Stout Day

National Corned Beef and Cabbage Day

National Irish Beer Day

National Irish Food Day

St. Carl’s Day (Sacrilege Brewing)

World Halal Day

Nature Celebrations

Bean Flower Day (Happiness Will Definitely Come; Korean Birth Flowers)

Violet Day (Viola odorata)

World Maritime Day

Independence, Flag & Related Days

North Albania (Declared; 2009) [unrecognized]

Republic of Abrus (Declared; 2018) [unrecognized]

Republic of Texas (Constitution Adopted; 1837)

Venice Republic (Declared; 1848)

3rd Monday in March

Act Happy Day [3rd Monday]

Benito Juarez Fiestas Patrias (Mexico) [3rd Monday]

Dangerous Dan's Annual Coffee Cup Washing Day [3rd Monday]

Dribble to Work Day [3rd Monday]

Labor Day (Christmas Island) [3rd or 4th Monday]

Manic Monday [3rd Monday of Each Month]

Meatball Monday [3rd Monday of Each Month]

Meditation Monday [Every Monday]

Monday Musings [Every Monday]

Motivation Monday [Every Monday]

Wellderly Day [3rd Monday]

World Folk Tale and Fable Day [3rd Monday]

Weekly Holidays beginning March 17 (3rd Week of March)

Agricultural Week [3rd Week]

Culpeper Downtown Restaurant Week (Culpeper, Virginia) [thru 3.23]

National Wildlife Week [3rd Week]

Festivals On or Beginning March 17, 2025

New Orleans St. Patrick’s Day Parade (New Orleans, Louisiana)

NYC St. Patrick’s Day Parade (New York, New York)

Feast Days

Agricola (Christian; Saint)

Alexius of Rome (Eastern Church)

All Snakes’ Day (Church of the SubGenius)

Bacchana'lia (Festival of Bacchus; Ancient Rome)

Damballah’s Day (a.k.a. Damballay Weddo; primordial snake of life Iwa; Vodou)

Dave the Dog (Muppetism)

Feast of the Blessed Leprechaun (Church of the SubGenius)

Gertrude of Nivelles (Christian; Saint)

John Sarkander (Christian; Saint)

Joseph of Arimathea (Western Church)

Kate Greenaway (Artology)

Liberalia (Ancient Roman festival of Liber Pater)

The Martyrs of Serapeum (Christian; Martyrs)

Noah Entered the Ark Day (Middle Ages Christianity)

Patrick of Ireland (Christian; Saint) [Ireland] *

Paul of Cypress (Christian; Saint)

Shabbat HaChodesh (שַׁבָּת הַחֹדֶשׁ) [25 Adar]

St. Patrick’s Day Excuse (Pastafarian)

Tacitus (Positivist; Saint)

Trefuilnid Treochair (Feast of Triple Bearer of the Triple Key; Ireland)

Withburga (Christian; Saint)

Lunar Calendar Holidays

Chinese: Month 2 (Ji-Mao), Day 18 (Yi-You)

Day Pillar: Wood Rooster

12-Day Officers/12 Gods: Destruction Day (破 Po) [Inauspicious]

Holidays: None Known

Secular Saints Days

Sammy Baugh (Sports)

John Boyega (Entertainment)

Harry Clarke (Art)

Nat ‘King’ Cole (Music)

Billy Corgan (Music)

Danny DeVito (Entertainment)

William Gibson (Literature)

Francois Girardon (Art)

Kate Greenaway (Art; Literature)

Clare Grogan (Music)

Patrick Hamilton (Literature)

Mia Hamm (Sports)

Paul Horn (Music)

Jean Ingelow (Literature)

Bobby Jones (Sports)

Kate Ledecky (Sports)

Rob Lowe (Entertainment)

Ken Matting (Science)

Patrick McDonnell (Art)

Hans Namuth (Art)

Rudolf Nureyev (Dance)

Jean Baptiste Oudry (Art)

Gene Pitney (Music)

Lloyd Rees (Art)

Kurt Russell (Entertainment)

John Sebastian (Music)

Gary Sinise (Entertainment)

Mikhail Vrubel (Art)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sensho (先勝 Japan) [Good luck in the morning, bad luck in the afternoon.]

Very Unlucky Day (Grafton’s Manual of 1565) [16 of 60]

Premieres

The Agony and the Ecstasy, by Irving Stone (Novel; 1958)

Aloha Oe (Fleischer Screen Songs Cartoon; 1933)

American Hot Wax (Film; 1978)

The Animated Grouch Chaser (Barre Cartoons; 1915)

The Bastille (Paris Opera House; 1990)

Batman & Mr. Freeze: Sub-Zero (WB Animated Film; 1998)

Beezus and Ramona, by Beverly Cleary (Novel; 1955)

The Black Duck (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1929)

Bound for Glory, by Woody Guthrie (Autobiography; 1943)

Bowery Bimbos (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Cartoon; 1930)

Break Like the Wind, by Spinal Tap (Album; 1992)

Breathless (Film; 1960)

The Champion of Justice (Super Mouse Cartoon; 1944)

Circle of Friends (Film; 1995)

The Cop’s Bride (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923)

Dial “P” for Pink (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1965)

Erin Brockovich (Film; 2000)

The Fable of the Glider (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923)

Final Destination (Film; 2010)

Fletch Lives (Film; 1989)

Fraidy Cat (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1942)

Goofy and Wilbur (Mickey Mouse Disney Cartoon; 1939)

Gym Jam (Fleischer/Famous Popeye Cartoon; 1950)

I Only Have Eyes For You (Blue Ribbon Hit Parade Cartoon; 1945)

Iron Fist (TV Series; 2017)

iZombie (TV Series; 2015)

Ko-Ko’s Tattoo (Fleischer Inkwell Imps Cartoon; 1928)

Krazy Kat & Ignatz Mouse at the Circus (Hearst-Vitagraph News Pictorial Cartoon; 1916)

Le Quiet Squad (The Inspector Cartoon; 1967)

The Little Princess (Film; 1939)

The Magician’s Elephant (Animated Film; 2023)

Maiden Voyage, by Herbie Hancock (Album; 1965)

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV Series; 2017)

Minx (TV Series; 2022)

National Association of Professional Basketball Players (Sports League; 1871)

National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. (Museum Dedicated; 1941)

Naughty Number Nine (Multiplication Rock Cartoon; Schoolhouse Rock; 1973)

Old Mother Hubbard (ComiColor Cartoon; 1935)

Patriotism (Pathe News Cartoon; 1915)

Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Minor, by Frederic Chopin (Piano Concerto; 1830)

Plane Crazy (Mickey Mouse Disney Cartoon; 1929)

Purple Haze, by Jimi Hendrix (UK Song; 1967)

Renegade, by Styx (Song; 1979)

Rock ’n’ Roll Fantasy, by Bad Company (Song; 1979)

Shazam! Fury of the Gods (Film; 2023)

Songs That Live (Sing and Be Happy / Cartoon Melodies Fleischer Cartoon; 1952)

Son of a Son of a Sailor, by Jimmy Buffet (Album; 1978)

Spring Festival (Columbia Favorites Cartoon; 1949)

The Story of Philosophy: The Lives and Opinions of the World's Greatest Philosophers, by Will Durant (Book; 1926)

Thank You for Smoking (Film; 2006)

This Year’s Model, by Elvis Costello (Album; 1978)

Traffic Troubles (Disney Cartoon; 1931)

Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky, by Patrick Hamilton (Novel; 1935)

V for Vendetta (Film; 2006)

William Gibson (Writerism)

William Tell, by Friedrich Schiller (Play; 1804)

With Russia from Love, by Little Big (Album; 2014)

Yakety Yak, recorded by The Coasters (Song; 1958)

Today’s Name Days

Gertraud, Gertrud, Patrick (Austria)

Domagoj, Gertruda, Hrvatin, Patricija, Patrik (Croatia)

Vlastimil (Czech Republic)

Gertrud (Denmark)

Gerda, Gertrud, Kärdi, Kärt, Kerli, Kert, Kertu, Ruta, Ruuta, Truude, Truuta (Estonia)

Kerttu, Kerttuli (Finland)

Patrice, Patrick (France)

Gertraud, Gertrud, Patrick (Germany)

Alekos, Alexios, Alexis, Gertrude (Greece)

Gertrúd, Patrik (Hungary)

Patrizio, Teodoro, Wanda, Vanda (Italy)

Gerda, Ģertrūde, Karīna (Latvia)

Gendvilas, Gertrūda, Patrikas, Varūna, Vytė (Lithuania)

Gjertrud, Trude (Norway)

Gertruda, Harasym, Jan, Patrycjusz, Patryk, Regina, Rena, Zbigniew, Zbygniew, Zbyszko (Poland)

Alexie (Romania)

Ľubica (Slovakia)

Patricio (Spain)

Gertrud (Sweden)

Oleska (Ukraine)

Paden, Pat, Patrice, Patricia, Patrick, Patsy, Patti, Patty, Trish, Trisha (USA)

Today’s National Name Days

National Rob Day

National Rudolf Day

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 76 of 2025; 289 days remaining in the year

ISO Week: Day 8 of Week 12 of 2025

Celtic Tree Calendar: Fearn (Alder) [Day 20 of 28]

Chinese: Month 2 (Ji-Mao), Day 18 (Yi-You)

Chinese Year of the: Snake 4723 (until February 17, 2026) [Ding-Chou]

Coptic: 8 Baramhat 1741

Druid Tree Calendar: Lime (Mar 11-20) [Day 7 of 10]

Hebrew: 17 Adar 5785

Islamic: 17 Ramadan 1446

Julian: 4 March 2025

Moon: 89%: Waning Gibbous

Positivist: 20 Aristotle (3rd Month) [Tacitus]

Runic Half Month: Beore (Birch Tree) [Day 10 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 87 of 90)

SUn Calendar: 16 Green; Twosday [16 of 30]

Week: 3rd Week of March

Zodiac:

Tropical (Typical) Zodiac: Aquarius (Day 27 of 30)

Sidereal Zodiac: Pisces (Day 3 of 30)

Schmidt Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 24 of 27)

IAU Boundaries (Current) Zodiac: Pisces (Day 6 of 38)

IAU Boundaries (1977) Zodiac: Pisces (Day 6 of 38)

#Holidays

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abandoned-mars · 2 years ago

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humanstuck names + more ! :]

john - ivan greenfield; korean/english; comic book store employee + shifty mom & pop restaurant waiter/support staff

rose - lavender buchanan; vietnamese/dominican?; sells custom clothes on depop + nsfw tumblr writer/artist

dave - dominic santiago; puerto rican/dominican; audio tech store employee + local club dj + aspiring rapper

jade - dahlia flores; pacific islander; unemployed, works for family farm

aradia - gabriella diamanté; japanese/mexican; texas road house type restaurant kitchen expo/dishwasher

tavros - antonio ‘tony’ noquez; spanish; works at dad’s animal shelter

sollux - niko park; korean; probably unemployed or sells nfts or some shit

karkat - donnie santos; black/colombian; mexican restaurant busboy + movie theatre employee

nepeta - june bernard; french/irish (white); dairy queen employee lol + volunteers @ pet shelter

kanaya - harper norris; african; sells custom clothes

terezi - quinn nephus; greek/italian (white); unemployed

vriska - viktoria ‘vikki’ huffman; russian (white); rue 21 cashier (is about to be fired)

equius - sterling rudd; black/native american?; training to be a mechanic at dad’s auto shop

gamzee - jordan scott; black/mixed; little caesar’s cook

eridan - cory reynolds; russian/scottish (white); unemployed

feferi - josephine galette; black/indian?; diner waitress + volunteers @ pet shelter

jane - janet greenfield; korean/english; pastry shop employee

roxy - macy buchanan; vietnamese/black; shitty dive bar bartender

dirk - diego santiago; puerto rican/dominican; burger king window worker/cook

jake - fletcher flores; pacific islander; texas roadhouse waiter + works on family farm

hal - alex santiago; puerto rican/dominican; thrift store cashier + furry tumblr artist

damara - anastasia ‘ana’ hoshi; japanese/mexican/filipino; hotel maid + fancy-ish restaurant waitress

rufioh - richard ‘richie’ noquez jr.; spanish; works at dad’s pet shelter + grocery store bagger

mituna - tatum ‘tate’ park; korean/welsh?; pizza delivery boy + aspiring twitch streamer

kankri - marcus santos; colombian/egyptian; diner waiter

meulin - lauren ‘laurie’ bernard; french/irish (white); coffee shop barista + tumblr writer/artist

porrim - elle norris; african; high end fashion store employee

latula - presley nephus; greek/italian (white); bowling alley attendant + dive bar bar back

aranea - leah huffman; white; restaurant hostess + interning at mom’s job

horuss - kade rudd; black/native american; dad’s auto shop mechanic + welder

kurloz - jesse scott; mixed; mexican restaurant dishwasher/cook + drug dealer

cronus - trent reynolds; white; works at dad’s company

meenah - natasha galette; black; new wave fashion store + aspiring hair braider

handmaid - hanna hoshi; japanese; house cleaner

summoner - richard ‘rich’ noquez sr.; spanish; owns the local pet shelter + personal trainer

psiioniic - jonathon park; korean; data entry manager + fixes computers for extra money

signless - derrick santos; colombian; preacher/missionary?

disciple - lizette bernard; irish; elementary school teacher

dolorosa - rosa norris; african; interior decorator?

redglare - monroe nephus; greek; lawyer

mindfang - marina huffman; russian; runs her own business (it’s a cover up for some illegal shit)

darkleer - darius rudd; native american, owns an auto shop + army weapons coordinator

ghb - grant scott; black; club bouncer

dualscar - dylan reynolds; russian; chief of surgery at hospital?

hic - cora galette; black; ceo of large cooperation (somewhat in cohorts with marina + dylan)

dad - david greenfield; white; 9-5 sales businessman

mom - lorelei buchanan; vietnamese; retired (used to be a scientist but found the cure to something and retired at like 35)

bro - drew santiago; dominican; club bouncer/dj/bartender + drug dealer + probably has an only fans

grandpa - jake flores; pacific islander; retired air force

calliope - caroline ‘callie’ umbridge; mixed; librarian assistant + stage manager at local theatre

caliborn - caleb umbridge; mixed; unemployed (reddit sub moderator)

i might go back and edit some of these bcus im not in love w all of them but i also don’t give a fuck abt most of them

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