#my favorite is curly Roo

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Rooster Intruding On Your Me Time

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Mentions of nudity, bathing, steamy

Words: 1,072

(A/N:) I had to gals. And I’m not sorry! Happy reading! ~Countess

You had the house to yourself for a little while longer until Rooster came home. While you wanted to make dinner the thought of a hot soak in the tub was just too much of a temptation. You decided immediately that bath would come first and then you could start dinner. You knew you would have plenty of time since Rooster would be late getting home. Maverick had warned the Top Gun recruits that class would run late as he had some important things to go over. So you dropped your work stuff by the door to get the bath running. Starting the record player in the living room you went to your and Rooster’s bedroom to grab some comfy clothes (your favorite pair of shorts and sneaking one of Rooster’s shirts) before starting the water. You added some of your favorite soap while Walk This Way by Aerosmith permeated the air. Shutting off the water you sunk in the bubbly water up to your chin. All the stress that had penetrated into your bones from the day started to melt away to sink to the bottom of the tub. You leaned back closing your eyes as you hummed the lyrics to the Aerosmith album. Most of the music in the house was older records that had belonged to Rooster’s father. Newer music didn’t really do it for either of you so when you found out how many older records Rooster inherited you were ready to drop everything and marry him right then and there. He had laughed at your reaction that day but honestly deep down he found it really hot. You enjoyed a few more songs living in our own fantasy land.

Rooster unlocked the front door of his and your house. He couldn’t believe that Maverick had finished up in time where he and the others didn’t have to stay so late. He was ready to get home and see you but when you didn’t come to greet him at the front door he got curious. Rooster could see your work things piled beside the door, so where could you be? Then he noticed the Aerosmith record playing and the sound of you singing and splashing water from the bathroom. Smirking to himself he snuck to the open bathroom door to see that you had your eyes closed enjoying a relaxing moment. Stepping into the bathroom he knelt by the side of the tub watching you just chilling in your own little world. His wedding ring knocked against the tub before belting out the chorus to Sweet Emotion startling you enough that the water splashed out of the tub soaking Rooster’s flight suit.

“Dang it Roos don’t do that,” your chest heaved trying to calm down.

He laughed kissing you on the top of your head, “Sorry babe I couldn’t help myself. You know I get impatient when I’m being ignored.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you I didn’t know you were going to be home so soon,” you flicked more water his way. “I just thought I would enjoy a nice bath before starting dinner so you could come home to a warm meal.”

“Well I’m positive dinner can wait cause all I can think about now is joining you in this nice bath tub,” he grinned unzipping his flight suit.

  “Wait just a second this is my relaxing time,” you protested. “Shoo!” Rooster just ignored your whining continuing to discard clothing articles adding to your dirty work clothes pile.

“Scoot over Mrs. Bradshaw your husband’s coming in,” he laughed. You were defeated you made enough room where Rooster could squeeze in, the back of his head nuzzling into your breasts and his long legs awkwardly bent in the too small tub.

“This is utterly ridiculous Rooster,” you giggled giving a soft peck to the top of his soft curly mop of hair.

“No getting handsy,” you retorted. “Wait until after dinner.”

“Yeah pretty uncomfortable,” he agreed, “but I am laying against something really soft and warm.” He reached backwards and you slapped his hands.

“Awww you’re no fun,” Rooster pouted trying again.

“I’ll get out,” you threatened.

“Fine,” he relented finally behaving himself.

Rooster talked about his day while you massaged his scalp. You were so happy that he and Maverick were on good terms and that Rooster finally found some forgiveness in his heart. Maverick visited often happy to see Rooster had found somebody to take care of him and to come home to. It gave him more of an incentive to return to you and not try crazy things like Maverick had the tendency to do. Rooster paused in his conversation when he noticed that you were looking outside the door.

“What’s wrong,” he asked suddenly concerned.

“The music stopped,” you whined.

He laughed, “That’s one bad part of records, you have to turn them over.”

“Can you sing me something,” you asked fluttering your eyelashes.

“Only if I can make a deal,” his eyes gleamed in mischief before positioning himself above you. Your hair splayed behind you floating in the water as you looked up at him. You licked your lips taking in all the details of his face from his mustache beaded with water to his warm eyes.

“Fine,” you relented already knowing what he wanted.

“Lemme touch and I’ll sing you your favorite. I’m touched starved I haven’t gotten to see you much today.”

“You saw me this morning,” you retorted. “You’re looking at me now.”

“Keep being a smart aleck and I’ll up the deal to my favor.”

You reached up to flick his forehead but Rooster caught your wrist pressing kisses to your soaked skin.

“Fiiiine you jerk,” you relented. Rooster smirked leaning down to kiss you deeply. You tangled your fingers in his hair pulling him closer.

 Though you enjoyed playing hard to get, you also were touched starved and being away from him was the hardest part of your day. When you both parted he touched you tenderly starting to sing You and Me by Alice Cooper. He paused at intervals of the song to kiss you more while he explored your form and you doing the same. The water was cooling too fast so Rooster picked you up from the water not even breaking the kiss. He carried you to the bedroom. Needless to say you had to call in dinner that night. Not that either of you complained.

Taglist: @mads-weasley

[mjmacchio1991]

hello! i hope you're having a great day! <3 so... i was just wondering, which are your 80-90s hcs for the boys? <333

Hello! So sorry this is late! My schedule has been swamped but it is all good now! I do have some 80s-90s hc's for the boys and here they are:

80s

Ponyboy got a portable color camera and used it to take photos of nature and the gang.

Johnny would apply decorative pins to every shirt and jacket he owned.

Ponyboy is a giant Earth, Wind, and Fire fan and loves to pop a tape into his Sony Sports Walkman and roller skate to the funky music.

Ponyboys halloween costumes were those vinyl masks and trash bag-like shirts (Pink Panther and other characters).

Steve wouldn’t shut up about the first moonwalk for many weeks after it premiered at Motown 25.

Darry and Dallas were giant Prince fans (bought 1999 record at launch).

The gang saved up enough money to go to a Michael Jackson concert in Kansas City on February 23, 1988 and loved it.

Ponyboy was a big advocate for the “We Are The World” foundation and bought the 45 for it along with getting a “USA For Africa” shirt.

Steve jokingly subscribed Sodapop to all those cheesy teen magazine services (16, Tiger Beat, Teen Machine, etc.) and Soda thought it was strange that he would get those magazines that promised “HOTTEST BOYS OF THE 80’S! 6 COLOR PIN-UP’S!”

Darry really liked the “Rocky” movies.

Dallas really liked the album "Bad" and the music video for it.

Once, Ponyboy accidentally put copious amounts of Razzle candies on Darry’s tab.

Johnny unironically used “grody”.

Ponyboy and Steve stayed up to watch the premiere of “Beat It” on MTV in March ‘83.

Johnny used Garfield The Cat and Odie The Dog stationary.

The gang was really into the He-Man cartoon and Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

Ponyboy would rush to record songs off the radio with his cassette recorder.

90s

When crystal Pepsi was announced, Soda’s nickname for the whole year of 1992 was “Crystal Pepsi” and he was obsessed with both the name and drink.

The boys became fascinated with BMX biking and tried making their own at the junkyard with scrap metal (Steve broke an arm going down a trash pile).

Two-Bit would like the cartoons “Ducktales” and “Darkwing Duck”.

Two-Bit somehow redirected the schools satellite after throwing rocks at it and, instead of the Tulsa weather channel, all the televisions started playing the live OJ chase in 1994 (Two got suspended for 2 weeks).

Dallas was really into timberland boots and Biggie Smalls.

Dallas also got a single diamond piercing in his earlobe (Curly did it for him with a needle and ice cube) and this inflated his ego to the max.

The gang's favorite movie to watch was “The Sandlot”.

Ponyboy, Soda, and Johnny were Sega nerds.

Johnny started to watch “The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air” and dressed like Will (denim overalls with multi-colored and baggy striped shirts).

Steve would try to fight someone if they tried to diss the remixes on Michael Jackson’s “Blood On The Dance Floor” album.

Soda and Ponyboy were total Pokemon nerds when the show started and got the first movie on tape the day it was released.

Dallas would have his video cassette tapes stacked up in his living room simply because it felt “practical” to him to have them all in one place (Johnny pleaded with him to put them in a cardboard box or something of the sorts).

Johnny was the first one in the gang to buy a CD as they all could only afford audio cassette tapes (Motown Greatest Hits CD.)

Dallas started a secret business with Tim of ripping CDs and making cheap copies to sell.

Ponyboy's favorite snack were Dunka-roos (chocolate flavored).

When their local arcade got a Nintendo 64, they all went and played it for hours for several days a week.

Darry would keep a neatly organized bin in the living room of all his recorded tapes of various movies and talk shows (with Steve's copy of the 1993 Oprah interview with Michael Jackson).

Ponyboy and Two-Bit chatted in AOL chat rooms (Two-Bit usually got them kicked.)

Two-Bit refused to pay for music once Napster came onto the scene.

Ponyboy would get frosted tips like Joey Fatone and be made fun of until his hair grew out.

Steve would wear hammer pants and wouldn’t take any lip from anyone about it.

[horror-princess-2002]

Hey, hi, hello!! If you’re still doing the match ups this is my submission<3 I use she/her pronouns, I’m around 5’4/162 cm, and I have curly dark brown hair with some curtain bangs.. I used to have a split dye where it was red on one side but it’s already faded out and I think I’m going pink next time! I’m an ENFJ with a 4w3 enneagram(kind of a more introverted ENFJ to be fair). I tend to be a bit closed off to people I don’t know but I’m pretty good about getting people involved. I’m definitely the big sister of the group I’m in, I don’t exactly fit the mom friend because I’m more of the ‘wild child’ but I definitely take care of everyone.

I love art; whether it’s photography, sketching, performing, or writing. I’m kind of a collector when it comes to vintage, dolls, stuffed animals, and vinyls. As of now I have thirty six vinyls and god knows at the stuffed animals and dolls. I tend to hyperfixate and info dump on DC Comics(typically the Riddler, Harley, and the Batfamily), the 60s, 70s, and 90s, Monster High, and the overall history of classic rock. My favorite band is definitely dependent on decade. 60s has to be the Mamas and the Papas and the Shangri-Las, 70s is Fleetwood Mac and ABBA, and 90s is Nine Inch Nails and Alanis Morisette.

As for love language I tend to be acts of service and words of affirmation because I have sensory issues so sometimes touch isn’t the best thing for me- I’m one of those that I probably have to initiate touch first and then I’ll be clingy for a little while.

Alrighty-roo, have fun!!

Hey love, sorry I took a while but here it is

I ship you with chop top Sawyer

[widowsofchaos]

The Wolf, The Widow, & Their Angel

Writing’s Game created by the baddest, Roo! @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ *screams like a feral banshee* tHe BaDDesT BiTcH sHE iS!

~my given prompt~

Pairing: dark!BuckyNat x black!Reader

Summary: You start to dissociate looking through windows, and it concerns your captors.

Warnings: ddlg relationship, forced age regression, mentions of spanking, water sports, and kidnapping, eventual Stockholm syndrome. a dash of yandere behavior.

a/n: hiii, so glad im finally into the swing of writing, and I really wanted to dive into this writing challenge made by Roo! Trope: Snowed In // Item/Location: Windows. Seems really fun, and gives a chance for people to explore different kinks and scenarios given to them! So I hope you enjoy! There has been things changed for sake of the story, like cause fuck canon sometimes, right? Muahaha💋

do not repost my works!

Snowflakes hit against the windows, sounding like tiny BB bullets as the bellowing winds harshly beats against the bullet-proof glass.

Ever-growing thick piles of snow surrounded the Avengers compound, as New York City is under attack by one of the worst snow-storms the city has ever endured in years.

Airports are temporarily shut-down, so are local businesses, the streets deserted with no sign of life. Nature’s cold wrath forces citizens to self-quarantine, and celebrate Christmas indoors, snowed in for perhaps a few weeks.

So much for your grand escape.

Six months you have been held captive, and forced to prance around like a living doll. A toy to satiate your captors’ sexual appetites and deep-rooted needs to protect ‘an innocent angel like yourself.’ As you sit here on the cold floor of the living room, battling boredom, and your solemn thoughts, mindlessly chewing on the pink paci in your mouth, you didn’t hear one of your captors and one of their accomplices walk in.

Fidgeting in your white onesie that had multiple crayon drawn rainbows printed on it, as you try to find some comfort - your buttocks still stung from this morning’s spanking. Your coco-brown buttocks peaking from your onesie, your diaper peaking from the edges, deep purple and yellow bruises painting your skin were apparent. That’s the abuse a metal prosthetic can inflict.

Your bronze skin now shiny with lotion to soothe the burgundy raw welts. You can barely sit still, rocking back and forth to relieve some tension. Sniffling trying to zone out in your mind.

Your hair was in two split curly pigtails, each split of massive hair clipped with two pink bows. Your index finger twirling in your chocolate curls, as the other hand was toying with the fabric of your white booties, with tears in your eyes, trying to imagine time spent with your real family.

Are they okay? Do they miss you? Have they been searching for you?

You can still recall the day you were kidnapped, it was a blur, it was so quick,

As the two perpetrators waltz silently towards you, as your back facing them, suddenly one of them playfully pull on your pigtails.You gasp, your eyes wide as saucers, as your mouth opened, your paci fell on your lap. Your day-dreaming shattered, as if you were high in the clouds then held by the calf and dragged right back to reality.

“Hey baby.” A husky velvety voice spoke against your ear, your heart hammering harshly against your chest. It’s him, the former Winter Soldier, his close companions call him Bucky, but you’re forced to call him daddy.

“Uncle Steve told me that you have been sitting here for hours” he brought his thumb to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize began to fall. You glanced over your shoulder to see Steve standing by the door-way smiling adoringly at the sight of a daddy and his baby, leaning against the door frame, with his strong hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

You felt menacing cerulean blue eyes burn a hole in your skull, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from yours even if he tried. To him, you were perfect. You were a gift from God, an angel sent to ease his burdens along side his wife, Natasha. You couldn’t bare looking into his eyes, too intense, too suffocating. A flash of affection beamed across his eyes.

You whined, shuffling as best as you could away from your captor, “Baby, you dropped your paci.” Bucky plucked your pacificer from the floor, bringing towards your chapped lips, “Now it’s dirty, my sweet baby can’t have a dirty paci ...” he trailed off, the rims of your eyes slightly red, glossy from the forthcoming droplets.

He knows why you’ve been crying, he had to punish you this morning. You were trying to act like a big girl, and refused to be bathed, insisting you can clean yourself as an adult.

A smirk slowly crept on Bucky’s bearded face, he noticed you was leaning forward, preventing any bodily pressure to increase on your sore ass. “Is my baby’s cute ass sore?” His nose brushed against your cheek, a guttural moan vibrated in his throat, inhaling your scent; his hot breath fanning over your tear-stained face.

His pink lips hairs away from yours, growing agitated that you didn’t respond, he gripped one of your pigtails with his flesh hand.

You yelped in pain, your button nose scrunched, brows furrowed deeply; the prickly pins and needles sensation scorching throughout your scalp, as Bucky held your hair in a death clutch. “Answer your daddy! Is my baby’s cute ass sore?!” Bucky snarls like a beast.

You choked back a sob, forced to look into his cerulean blue eyes, clouded by grey storm clouds. His pupils dilated, his nose flared, not to further infuriate the former soldier, “Ye-yes, daddy -” your throat tightened in fear, “my butt is sore.” Satisfied that you answered sweetly, Bucky relinquished his hand, kissing away your tears with feathery pecks, “Don’t cry, my angel.” His voice lowered softly.

His stubble tickled you, but you resisted a chuckle in your throat along with your untamed bile, he shushed you, “Don’t cry, baby. Daddy’s sorry he had to get loud.” Bucky cooed, talking to you like you were a toddler.

Your sobs quieted down, now simmering to hiccups, as he pulled you flushed against his broad chest. Even when he cradled you, his physicality reminded you, that you can’t escape.

Bucky is at least, two hundred pounds lean, built into massive biceps, and sculpted abs. You can’t fight him, nor her. Natasha’s physique is slender, but she’s toned.

Enquiped to defeat any enemy, a master in trickery and slealth, able to disappear within thin air like her husband ... many have fallen for sadly mistaken the Russian for beauty over brains ... don’t underestimate the former assassin. You already learned your lesson.

Your delicate fingers gripped his red Henley shirt, the cotton fiber bunching between your brown fingers, as you whimpered, your cheek squished against his frame.

Bucky sported a smug smirk on his stubbled jaw, glancing to his oldest best friend. A chuckle was breathed out of Steve’s nose, knowing the breaking down method was slowly progressing.

Steve knows that this is what Bucky, and Natasha needs in their life. Something innocent to protect, the couple hasn’t had a pure light in their life for years, so it’s understandable that for the first time they encountered you, they had to have you.

It was fate.

Indeed the meticulous harsh punishments was working. No matter how hard you tried to fight back, and resist the urges to succumb to their sexual pleasures, your mind was betraying you.

There has been moments of your compliance, calling everyone by their designated names. Natasha as your mommy, Bucky as your daddy, and the rest of the Avengers as your uncles and aunt. Letting your uncles and aunt baby you, feed you, play with you, and punish you if needed too.

Let’s just say, the punishments were just as equally barbarous. Wall-seats, harsh spanking, knees on raw rice, gas lighting, slight choking, knees resting on raw rice, electrical nipple clamps as your head will be dunked in water, that’s Bucky’s go-to if his patience runs dry.

And a few slaps here and there if you cuss everybody out.

Natasha’s favorite is clit cream, it causes severe itching on your pussy, you would rub your mound on any solid surface to relieve yourself to the point of your vagina being raw, and irritated.

How does the sadistic couple help the itching and burning stop? Take turns squirting their piss directly on your clit.

Shame and humiliation has become your constant demons.

Bucky’s red shirt had a strong but subtle smell of mint, and oak. You rubbed your nose into the shirt, it’s calming your frightened senses, as numerous flashbacks of pain came flooding your shattered mind.

“Awh my baby, loves holding her daddy.” Bucky spoke into your brushed curls, you didn’t realize you were practically clinging to Bucky like a baby kola. Bucky nuzzled his nose into your curls, his eyes closed, relishing in this rare moment.

Bucky’s strong biceps slithered around your petite waist, you involuntarily clutching your arms around his neck for support. His open palms calmly rubbed circles under your thighs, but close to your painful bruises.

You flinch at the close proximity of his fingertips grazing your abused flesh. It was his reminder of how quickly his temper can switch.

Don’t misbehave.

You prefer to seek his approval, to fall on his good graces. 

“D-daddy?” you crooked into his now tear-stained shirt, the dampened spots now a deeper shade of red, you sniffled, scared to look him in the eye, “Yes baby?” Bucky’s smirked.

“I wanna look at the windows more. The snowflakes are pretty.” You hated how your voice was trembling, and trailing into little space.

You’re conversing with Bucky as if you were a toddler. One discovery you stumbled on during this ordeal is that deep inside the crevasse of your mind, there’s a little girl.

Sub-space, or little space ... you knew you had it, which in turn, helped you adapt to your new environment from time to time. Catching yourself enjoying being pampered, no longer being burdened by of the problems that come with being an adult. No longer do you work, you hated your office job. You gracefully fall into a space of hazy clouds.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, a bit befuddled, as his eyes pleaded with Steve’s, who in return shook his head, no.

Steve brought this new found habit of yours up to Bucky and Natasha earlier, whenever you were punished, you hide away to look out the windows.

Steve realized that you were probably dissociating. That worried everybody, it means you were suffering from not accepting your new life, clinging onto your old one, and if you’re in pain, Bucky and Natasha are in pain.

You’re more than their little girl, you’re their missing third. Their companion, their angel, and even if you rebuke it, your best friends. Many occurrences, Nat and Bucky has confided to you about their dark pasts, revealing secrets not even their close team mates are aware of.

To gain your trust, and your sympathy, to show despite their cruel punishments, they are broken humans emotionally dependent on you. In any bond between lovers, that’s your best friend.

Out of love — tough love, but love nonetheless.

Bucky’s lip formed into a thin-line, “No, baby. Uncle Steve told me you do this a lot, you know he’s worried about you? So is everybody else, you haven’t even eaten since this morning” Bucky’s voice got stern, but it was contrast to his facial features softening. His brows now slanted in-ward, demonstrating his distress.

It’s the truth, you’re co-dependent on bullet-proof glass. You can observe the outside world. It helps you escape to your imaginary getaway. Whatever your heart desires, your brain creates unabashed scenarios of being surrounded by your family, and friends.

But more recently, you imagine poppy fields, sleeping in high-end stocks of flowers — but soon the demons roam in search of you, and the sky darkens.

“No, baby. No more windows. Ever again.” Bucky’s eyes squinted, you gasped. You were ready to beg, plead to stay on the floor just a little while longer, “Now it’s lunch time. I can hear my little angel’s tummy growling.” Bucky patted your belly gingerly, with no hesitation, he scooped you in his arms lifting you in the air.

Instinctively you locked your legs around his waist, your eyes never wavered from the frosty chilled windows. Your body began shaking, choking back pitiful sobs, as you ducked your head in Bucky’s neck.

“Maybe she needs a nap, she’s been crying all day.” Steve recalls hearing you sniffle since this morning, after getting a spanking. Bucky’s thumb rubbed circles into your shoulder blades, cooing you to settle down.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bucky kissed your scalp, “she’ll feel better when she wakes up.” As the two soldiers discussed about you as if you weren’t present, you just went limp, your legs dangling. If it wasn’t for Bucky’s inhuman strength, you would’ve fallen.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Your body is worn, and your brain is fried. There’s no escape, for years you thought so highly of the Avengers, but you learned that they were not so righteous.

Steve noticed your eyes were dull, it’s blank. Steve subtly caressed your cheek, as he walked by Bucky’s side. A small lopsided smile curved at your lips, but Steve was still worried.

Finally reaching Bucky’s apartment, Steve helped open the door as Bucky was pre-occupied holding you, “Steve, can you wash her pacifier for me?” Steve nodded, taking the pacifier from Bucky.

As Steve reached the kitchenette, to wash the paci in the sink, Bucky went to your bedroom. A custom made state of the art bedroom, the walls covered in white wallpaper with multiple printed teddy bears. Fuzzy pink carpeting, stuffies galore spilling out of the bin, toys ranging from blocks, puzzles, coloring books, barbies -- you name it, they spoiled you.

Bucky cooed in your ear sweetly as he laid you down in your custom crib, the plush mattress welcomed your body. You whined a bit, a few tears falling, “Hush, baby, it’s okay. Uncle Stevie is bringing your paci.” Bucky caressed your arms, and face trying to cal, your nerves.

Your eyes were droopy, mental exhaustion overpowering you, but you were resisting sleep. You started rubbing your eyes, as if you were a restless toddler refusing naptime. 

Bucky and Natasha also has been popping sleeping pills, bladder weakening pills and birth control pills in your milk. To set your body on schedule, so you can learn to adapt using a diaper. Fall sleep at proper time during the day. 

Steve entered the bedroom, to see Bucky trying to stop you from your agitated state. “She’s fussy.”Steve’s tone was laced with concern, he quickly gave Bucky the paci, and you shut your mouth. “It’s okay, baby. It’s your paci, say ah.” Bucky was trying to persuade you, you hated that you were becoming dependent on it.

You pouted, Bucky sighed. Once again, he had to resort doing it the hard way. Bucky pinched your nose shut, preventing any oxygen, after a few seconds, you had no choice, but to open your mouth for air.

You gasped, and Bucky took advantage, quickly popping the paci in your mouth, shutting your mouth with his palms. You whined, as Bucky kissed your forehead. Bucky tucked you in, “I love you, angel.” With that Bucky and Steve started leaving the room, turning the light switch off, and closed the door behind them.

Darkness and silence looming over you, your eyes drooped shut, drifting into a dreamless slumber.

***

It’s been over an hour of naptime, and finally Natasha returned from training. She entered the apartment to see Bucky sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” He lifted his gaze up, and Nat saw tears in his eyes.

Nat dashed to her husband’s aid, sitting next to him on the couch. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Nat was growing increasingly worried, “Our angel hates me.” Bucky croaked, his voice was hoarse. Natasha pulled Bucky into her arms, Bucky sniffled as he sunk himself into her chest.

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s still learning.”

“You didn’t see the fear in her eyes today. Her eyes looked dull, as if she wasn’t there. Even Steve saw it.” Bucky wailed in Nat’s arms. “It’s okay, she’s not broken. It’s not a quick procedure to get our angel. She will realize this is what’s good for her.”

“I just want her to be happy with us.”

“I know, Bucky. Me too.” Natasha kissed his head.

What Natasha didn’t realize was that you heard their conversation, as you awoke from your nap.

***

Was life with these people really that hard? They spoil you to no end. Yes, their choice of punishments aren’t ordeal, but after punishments they soothed you as if you were the most fragile treasure in the world. Can you learn to love them? Perhaps. Do you feel bad for them hurting? A little, and that’s what scares you.

You care, and it’s been bothering you.

For weeks, your hatred towards the Avengers has been simmering down. You did enjoy no longer having responsibilities, enjoying little space, you were slipping into the headspace more and more.

As thoughts were swirling in your mind like angry bees, the door opened, you quickly closed your eyes again. The light turned on, and their footsteps sounded quiet, not wanting to disturb your sleep, towards your massive crib.

Natasha and Bucky were hovering over you, watching you sleep, as if it’s their favorite view. So obsessed with you, vowing to kill anyone who will try to take you away from them.

Both Nat, and Bucky brought their fingers to your face, caressing your tear-stained cheeks. It was like this for a few moments, until they slowly shook you awake. Tenderly they coaxed you awake, your eyelids fluttered open.

“Hey pretty girl, time to wake up.” Natasha softly ruffled your curly ponytails. You don’t know what snapped in you, maybe your brain has given up, or maybe it’s the way these two are affectionately staring down at you.

Beyond the misty darkness that clouds their eyes, is love. Moments of good moments of playtime with them, or how they touched you giving you cummies, your body coming alive to their touch, or how your heart ached at their sadness flashed in your mind.

Maybe you do love them.

“Mommy. Daddy.” You mumbled against your paci, you made grabby hands outward to them. Natasha’s and Bucky’s eyes widened, their breaths hitched in their throats. At last, their little girl wants them - on her accord.

Natasha quickly took you out of the crib, holding you in her arms in an air tight hug. Bucky engulfed both of you in a bear hug.

At last.

***

It’s been a few weeks of you being the perfect angel, and quite frankly, you were happy. Stress of freedom slipped away, you were taken cared off. Adulthood was hard on you until Natasha and Bucky took you. It was unorthodox at first, slipping into your old apartment in the dead of the night, but it was worth it.

You were sitting on Bucky’s lap, as he sat on the couch watching cartoons with you. Your back against his chest, Bucky hugging you in his arms, your arm reaching behind his head, as your hand played with his hair. Bucky melts every-time you do that. You were sucking on your paci, and Natasha was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The peaceful atmosphere was soon disrupted, as an urgent news broadcast flashed on the screen. You whined, and Bucky started looking for the remote to change the channel.

The broadcast flashed a picture of you, explaining that you were still declared missing, and your family was looking for you. Bucky’s whole body froze, as your silence was making him nervous. Natasha slowly peaked her head out from the kitchen.

You were unfazed, but you’re not dumb. You knew you had to reassure them, “Daddy, change the channel! I want cartoons.” You bounced a bit on his lap, to show your bratty impatience. Bucky picked up the remote, and put cartoon network on.

Both Nat’s, and Bucky’s heart fluttered, you didn’t care about your old life anymore. You took your paci out for a moment, and kissed your daddy. “I love you, daddy.” You put the paci back in your mouth, and watched the cartoons.

Bucky had tears in his eyes, and so did Natasha.

Their angel didn’t hate them, their angel loves them, and they love you.

Extra A/N: sorry that this was trash. This was beyond trash, I’m so sorry! This was rushed, and I’m bothered by it.

[bastardtetsu]

{day 03} people will say we’re in love | kuroo x reader

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x f!manager!reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, confession

wc: 1.2k

warnings: f!reader, a tiny bit of swearing, soft k*roo being a jackass as usual

⍋⋆*❅｡. 25 days of fic-mas mlist .｡❅*⋆⍋

don’t sigh and gaze at me your sighs are so like mine your eyes mustn’t glow at mine people will say we’re in love

—people will say we’re in love; oklahoma! (music & lyrics by rodgers & hammerstein)

the first few times it happened you just played it off. people assume incorrectly all the time, and you honestly couldn’t blame them for assuming that the handsome young man you seem to be around all the time is your boyfriend. besides, it was easy enough to explain that he’s actually just the (incessantly annoying) captain of the boys volleyball team you manage, whom you have no romantic feelings for whatsoever.

that is, until that stopped being entirely true.

you’re not sure when it started, but you began to realize when you noticed that benign misunderstanding starting to fluster you more and more each time. there’s a reason people always mistake you for a couple, after all: kuroo not only dotes on you, but he is shamelessly flirting every moment he’s around you, even when you negate his flattery with exasperation - which just makes you seem even more like an old married couple

of course, being flirty and teasing is just a part of kuroo’s personality, so it’s not like that makes you special, and what might look like fondness towards you is actually just him sucking up to his manager for extra gym time. but, it’s enough to get you thinking about what it would be like if you were really together like that, and once you start thinking about it, you find it hard to stop.

you still try, though, reminding yourself that getting romantically involved with the captain of the team you’re managing is messy and unprofessional, and you don’t even know if he has any feelings like that anyway. this is all just a joke that’s been blown way out of proportion.

at least, that’s what you try to tell yourself when the same convenience store clerk mistakes kuroo for your boyfriend the 3rd time this week.

“why does she keep doing that??” you huff in frustration once you’re out the door, “how many times am i gonna have to explain that we’re not dating?”

“people sure do that a lot, huh?” kuroo muses, “i wonder why.” your face burns at his provocative tone.

“well it’s not my fault,” you retort defensively, “you’re the one who’s always doing shit, like—“

“like what?” he challenges, smirking down on you with an entertained look in his eye. you glare back at him.

“well first off, maybe don’t throw flowers at me in front of the entire cheering squad at a game.”

“those were from the team!”

“hush. you could also lay off sucking up to my family—“

“whoa. if you’re trying to get between me and your mom’s cooking right now we’re gonna have a huge problem.”

“that’s not the—ugh,” you groan, your exasperation mounting, “just stop acting so in love with me, okay? don’t laugh at my jokes or look at me all lovey-dovey like you do, just cut it out so people will quit suspecting things!”

there’s a brief pause as your words hang in the air. kuroo cocks his head.

“who laughs at your jokes?”

you deliver a hard smack against his chest with your bookbag.

“hey!!” he cries, “not fair! you know, some might say that you’re just as much to blame as i am.”

“excuse me?” you glare at him.

“what about the time you went out of your way to bake my favorite dessert?”

“i made that for the team,” you protest.

“or the time you made me carve our initials into a tree like we were a couple?”

“ok yeah, but i didn’t ask you to draw a HEART around them!”

“well what other shape was i supposed to draw?? an octagon!?”

“GOD you’re hopeless,” you groan. just then, you begin to feel raindrops start to come down. kuroo notices too.

“i’ve got an umbrella,” he says, pausing to rummage through his book bag. you stand there waiting for him as the rain begins to fall, dampening your hair and jacket.

he finally finds the umbrella, popping it open and holding it out for you first.

“you shouldn’t wait in the rain for me if you don’t want people suspecting things,” he purrs.

“shut up,” you jab, subconsciously taking his arm as you attempt to fit both of your bodies underneath the small umbrella.

“probably shouldn’t do that either,” he grins impishly, glancing down at your hand gripping the crook of his elbow. you just roll your eyes, trying to hide your embarrassment but keeping your hand firmly in place.

as the two of you continue your walk home together, the breeze picks up as the rain continues. you rub your hands together, starting to feel chilly. kuroo notices, just like he always notices everything.

“here,” he says, moving his free hand to wrap it around your cold fingers. you can feel your face flush and your heart speed up at the loving gesture. ordinarily his hands aren’t much warmer than yours, but this time you could swear you feel some sweat on his palm as he heats you with his touch.

“i guess this should probably be off limits too,” he says, “you know. if we don’t want people saying things.”

“it— it’s ok,” you mutter hesitantly, “this feels nice.”

“yeah,” he almost whispers, hoping you don’t notice the heat rushing to his own face as he musters up the courage to say what he’s thinking next. “i don’t mind when people say those kinds of things, you know.”

“huh?” you look up at him, stunned.

“like when they think that we’re dating,” he says, “i don’t mind— i guess, um, i wouldn’t mind—if it were true.”

your heart skips a beat. you can see the flush of pink dusting his cheeks now that you’re looking at him straight-on, even though his own eyes are currently glued to the pavement. your hand is still enveloped in his, the warmth now permeating much more than just your hand.

“i… don’t think i’d mind either,” you utter in the smallest voice possible.

it’s loud enough to get kuroo’s attention, though. his head jerks up to meet your gaze, eyes incredulous.

“what was that?” he presses.

“i— i wouldn’t mind either,” you repeat a little louder. his eyes are practically glowing now.

“y/n,” he breathes, “you… want me to be your boyfriend?”

holding your breath, you gather the strength to look him in the eyes. all you can manage is a tiny nod.

this is enough for him though, his face lighting up in an uncontrollable grin. he takes a deep breath, then, lifting his head up and out,

“HEY!!! IF ANYONE OUT THERE CAN HEAR ME, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT Y/N IS MY GIRL!!!!”

“tetsu—“

“SHE WANTS ME TO BE HER BOYFRIEND!!!!”

“KUROO!! shut the hell up, they’ll hear you all the way in miyagi!”

“let ‘em.” he turns his gaze back to you, grinning as his strong hand squeezes around yours, having never left its place.

you can’t help but smile back at him. despite your embarrassment, the feeling of that hand intertwined with yours is enough to assuage any concerns of what other people might say.

as long as you can keep holding onto him, nothing else matters.

a/n: aight this was absolutely one of my favorites to write for multiple reasons: the first is obviously that i am a big simp for the rooster head man. but i am also a big simp for the sexy 2019 oklahoma! revival and its entire company - ESPECIALLY damon daunno, whose interpretation of curly fits kuroo’s character so well it makes me sick, and could also make me c*m untouched with just his voice. seriously. i am begging you to click on the linked songs at the top of the post (i kinda combined the song with its reprise in act ii for this fic - i suggest listening to both for the full experience) you will thank me i promise. if you want visuals i like this concert performance they did - there’s no staging, but you’ll get to see damon daunno (warning: he is as hot as he sounds) and rebecca naomi jones (equally hot, unfortunately) and that should be enough to ruin your life for now. i’m not even gonna bother linking any performances or recordings that aren’t the 2019 revival, no other version of oklahoma! exists in my mind. n e wayz sorry this author’s note was so long lmao i am very passionate about this one, but i hope you enjoyed it too <3

taglist: @izagraceee @musicgetsmeoutofbed @azo-musxas @tsumurai

[boleyn-falcon]

Unlikely Shepard

So here it is! i finally finished the one-shot for @moan-jeutas with the prompt “you’re bleeding” with reluctant caretaker Jane and Joan!

synopsis - Joan is sick and the Ladies in waiting call in a very reluctant Jane Seymour to handle it while they are doing the show for things to just take a bad turn. 

Trigger warnings - Vomiting, illness, blood/pus, open wound, skin picking/scratching - tell me if i need to add anymore!

words - 3012

 Joan had been insisting that she was fine for about a week, that was clearly a lie. For the past few days she's been running fevers,aching, having headaches, all of those kinds of things but still came to work as if she was right as rain. She was about as “right” as a category five hurricane on a small island. Joan thought if she didn't show up to work they would fire her and everyone would hate her, so she had never missed a day of work. She woke up around 7 as normal, but right as she began to get out of bed a searing pain shot through her abdomen. She was taken aback by this, literally and metaphorically and fell back onto her bed. ‘Shit that's not good’, the pianist thought, she tried to stand once more but all she managed to do was fall face first onto her carpet. All that came out of her was a low grunt and pained “Ow-damnit”. She laid there for a solid five minutes to see if the pain would subdue but it just got worse and worse.

She eventually, but very slowly, made it to the kitchen to see Maria making her morning coffee. She stumbled past her and to the cabinet to grab some ibuprofen but was stopped by the drummer in her tracks. “Are you okay Palomita? You don’t look well, should we call in the-”, Maria was stopped mid sentence by the blonde. “No no! Heh don’t worry, im fine, yep completely okay to work”, right as she finished her sentence another wave of sharp pains hit her like a truck, causing her knees to give out. She hit the tile with a small whisper-like attempt at a shriek that just came out as a pained squeal and wrapped her arms around her torso. Maria was quick to grab her bridal style and get her to the couch with the pain killers and a glass of water.

Right as Joan is settled onto the coach Bessie and Maggie finally decide to come down stairs. “Shit is Joey okay?”, Maggie said worriedly as she picked up her pace and found her way to her friend’s side on the couch. “No, i'll call in and say that me and her need to stay home today”, Maira stopped as she heard a groan to her side, “No i promise i'm fine just-”, “No Joan, your staying whether you like it or not”, Bessie said firmly. Bessie turned and walked into the kitchen as she began to call someone. “Hey Seymour you know how you have a lot of free days saved up?... Yea so do you mind coming over for a  day and watching Joan?.. Okay thanks, she was just ill and all, yea text me when you're on your way over”. The rest of the ladies looked to the black haired bassist with confusion, waiting for her to explain. “Jane is going to stop by for the day to take care of Joan while we are at the show”, Bessie said nonchalantly. “Wait”, the drummer started. “ how’d you convince her to do that so easily?”, “Well she owed me one so yea she was hesitant but she didn't really argue it” .

You would think the timid blonde would love the idea of Jane coming over to take care of her right? Well sort of, Joan loved to idea of spending time with Jane, but she doesnt wanna be clingly or say somthing stupid to make Jane hate her. The anxiety bubbling in her stomach only got worse a few minutes later as she heard knocking at the door, she knew exactly who it was. All Joan could really do is curl up in a ball with her blanket over her head like a child hiding from a monster under her bed. She thought if she just imagined Jane wasn't even there it would make things better, she was wrong.

Maggie got up from her friend’s side to answer the door, she only hoped the Queen could help. She opened the door to see the Blonde queen with a duffle bag and an unreadable expression. “Heh heeey Jane, come on in..”, the burnette opened the door more to let her in. Jane immediately went over to the bassist who was sitting on the floor next to the couch. “So what symptoms does she have? Anything like fever or vomiting?”,Bessie got to her feet to get eye to eye with the taller women, “All we really know is that she’s in pain and as pale as an egg shell”, a small groan came from the mound covered in blankets on the couch from being compared to an egg. Jane just tilted her head and gave a confused look to the raven-haired woman. “ Wait wait, so you called me over to skip a day of work to take care of some cramps and her complection?”, Jane asked with an unamused tone,looking over to the pile of pianist on the small couch. Bessie gave a disgruntled look to the queen, “well she’s obviously in pain and needs to be looked after so nothing bad happens and you have the most vacation days… and remember the streetlight Seymour”. Jane gave a defeated look as she set her stuff down on the floor near the coffee table. Maira and Maggie just gave confused glances but decided not to question what ‘the streetlight’ was.

The next few minutes was just the Ladies in Waiting, minus Joan of course, getting ready for the day and Jane setting up the living room for the day. Maggie slyly shuffled into Bessie’s dimly lit room and gave out a small ‘ahem’ noise to signal her presence in the room. The shorter girl turned around and shot her friend a small smile, “Hey Mags what's up? Need a hair tie or something?”. Maggie gave a worried look to her bandmate, “Do you think Joey will be okay? I know Jane will be here and all but I'm still a bit worried..”, the bassist walked forward to put a reassuring hand on the guitarist’s shoulder, “Don’t worry yourself Mag, she’ll be okay, trust me okay?”, Maggie gave a slight nod and a small smile as she left the room to continue changing.

Maria was having her own little bit of worry. She finished her hair and clothes as soon as she could so she could check on her little dove. She knew how Jane and Joan’s relationship was, Jane was cold towards the clingy girl most of the time but she knew there was some part of the queen there that loved the girl dearly, she just had to let it out. The drummer also hoped Joan wouldn’t get too anxious and make herself even sicker and make things worse. She saw it before on Cathrine’s deathbed, the more worried she got, the more her sickness consumed her. She just didn’t want a repeat of what happened all those centuries ago. She quickly walked down the stairs to find Joan still in her small blanket caccoon and Jane in thier pantery. Maria walked over to the pantry where Jane seemed to be searching for something. The curly haired woman reached over and shut the door to the pantry and guided the queen over to the fridie and pulled out a container of soup. The taller woman gave a confused look as she was handed what she was looking for, “It’s broccoli and cheddar, her favorite” Maria then  grabbed a lone spoon from the counter and handed it over. “Huh funny, it’s Anne’s favorite too”, Maria cut her off slightly, “Maggie’s too, I guess Anne and her ladies all had a similar taste in soups”. Jane poured the container as the gears in her head started to turn, ‘oh yea Joan was one of Anne’s maids of honor’, she finished warming up the soup and walked into the living room to find the rest of the band waiting. “So”, the Bassist started, “We are off but make sure to take good care of her Seymour, if not you know what will happen”, both women gave a knowing look, still leaving the other two muscians confused as ever.

Maggie bent down to the bundle of blankets and gave it a nudge. A mess of blonde hair popped up from the blankets with a grumpy look that quickly changed as she saw who had disturbed her. “How you feelin’ Joey? Any better?”, Joan only gave a small huff and a sad look back at her friend. Maggie then revealed what she had in her hand to her sick comrade, a teal hoodie with a black guitar on the front. She handed it out towards the sickly girl who quickly grabbed it. “We’ll be back soon, little Roo”, Maggie gave a smile as Joan held the hoodie close with a barely audible ‘thank you’.

The band finally left with a choir of ‘Love you’’s and ‘get better’’s. Jane finally got a chance to sit down and assess the situation. She sat the hot soup bowl down with a napkin and a spoon on the coffee table in front of Joan, ready to get to work. “Okay Joan, how are you feeling? Can you let me feel your temperature so I can see if I need to give you anything for a fever or not?”, Joan anxiously sat up from her blanket cocoon to finally address Jane. She bit her lip shyly as she decided to actually speak to her queen. “W-well I've been having waves of really bad pain in my stomach a-and I’m kinda nauseous, oh yea-yea you can check my temperature”, the pianist gave a worried glance to the older woman as she leaned forward and touched her lips to her forehead. Jane’s head shot back in surprise, “Joan you're practically on fire! You gotta take all of those blankets off, and go change out of those fuzzy pajamas and into a tank top and shorts”. The pale girl got up carefully and slowly made her way up the stairs to her room so she could change.

‘Jeez’ Jane thought, ‘It can't be that bad, I mean colds happen all the time she could have probably handled this herself, yea she completely could’. Jane places all of her cold medicines on the coffee table and walks into the kitchen to find an ice pack to put on the younger girl’s head till her fever let up. Right as she reaches the freezer she hears a large ‘thunk’ come from up stairs. Jane first thought nothing of it till she got back to the living room with a mickey mouse ice pack in hand, realizing Joan has been changing for 8 minutes now. She put the ice pack down and walked up the stairs to Pianist’s room to find the girl sprawled out on the carpet. She had only some navy athletic shorts on and a sports bra with a white tank top a few feet away from her body. As Jane bent down to get the girl up she noticed she had begun shivering like it was below freezing. She quickly scooped the girl up in her arms and speedily got her to the couch to lay her down. Her eyes were half open but also seemed pained. The now concerned caregiver put the small ice pack on the girl’s burning forehead and nodged the girl’s shoulder. “Joan..? can you talk to me at all?”, the sickly girl only gave a small whimper as she closed her eyes and dozed off. The motherly queen was originally very reluctant to help the clingy young girl, but her worsening state made her a lot more concerned for the poor girl’s health. She was slightly glad Joan could get some rest for that would surely help.. Right?

About 3 hours passed and the pale MD was still passed out. Jane had eventually put the soup back in the fridge and started reading a book on her phone, waiting for the girl to wake. The queen finally took a break from her novel and started to give the sick girl a good look to find anymore concerning symptoms she may have when she spotted something odd. She got closer to get a better look to only find a gnarly scab right above the girl’s hip. The area around it was raw and red, with even a hint of green and white showing infection. A lightbulb finally went off in her head, ‘This isn't a normal cold, it's an infection caused by this wound, but how did it happen?’. The older woman was put out of her train out thought by Joan stirring in her sleep. The stirr soon turned into thrashing as her legs started to kick and silent tears streamed down her face. Jane quickly jumped into action, she took the sick musician by the shoulders and shook her. “Wake up Joan! C’mon wake up!”, Joan’s eyes shot open and she started to trash even more to break out of the blonde’s grip. Her hands found their way to her damaged hip and began to scratch relentlessly.

Jane quickly grabbed the girl’s wrists and pinned them above her head, but it was too late. “You’re… bleeding”, the wound on Joan’s hip had been reopened by the scratching and started to bleed and ooze pus. The MD began to sob uncontrollably and hyperventilate. The blonde queen finally let go of Joan’s wrist to grab some antiseptic and large plasters. Before Jane could stop her, Joan got up and attemped to get to the bathroom but collapsed half way there and threw up onto the wooden floor. Jane was extremely overwhelmed, she set the medical supplies down and walked over to joan and tried to sit her upright so she wasn't lying next to her own bile on the floor. She grabbed the napkin in her pocket and cleaned Joan’s mouth, she carried the ill girl over to the toilet in case she needed to get more out. The older blonde quickly walked back to grab the medical supplies so she could clean up the infected wound as soon as she could.

The choked sobs of the pale girl continued until she felt arms wrap around her. “It's okay Little Lamb, you’ll be okay just calm down for me”, Jane’s soft voice made Joan’s sobs slowly diminish and just turned into a silent cry. The pair sat there for a solid ten minutes, all Jane did was whisper comforting words and keep her hold on Joan, making sure she had time to calm down.

The queen carried the MD back to her spot on the couch and handed her Maggie’s jacket to hold while she cleaned up the bile from the floor. When she returned she had a bottle of antiseptic and a towel in her hands. Joan gave a confused and worried look to her caregiver. “Okay Joan can you turn on your side for me sweetheart?”, the pianist hesitantly obliged, Jane put the towel on the couch and Joan’s lower back area and sighed. “This is going to hurt a bit Little Lamb.. I promise it’ll be over soon but i have to do this ..”, the concerned woman poured the antiseptic on the infected gash and Joan let out a heart wrenching shriek that shook the house. The wounded girl squirmed and held tightly onto the teal hoodie in her arms as she tried not move even more than she already was. Jane continued to clean the bloody and pus covered wound to the best of her ability and finished it off with a large plaster.

After a few minutes Jane sat next to the ill girl and put a comforting arm around her,“I know that you probably don’t wanna talk about it but i'll ask anyway, but why Joan? What caused you to do this to yourself?”. Joan shuffled uncomfortably but she figured she might as well tell the queen the truth, she did just clean up her throw up after all, she deserved the truth. “I...I just get so sacred and so anxious, it just happens I guess, it's an outlet of sorts”, Jane gave a concerned glance, “But why are you so scared and anxious? Is something going on Little Lamb?”. The pianist paused but decided to spill her guts, “Everyone hates me i just know it, I’m too helpless and too clingy… and if i can’t do my job right people are gonna hate me even more then they will fire me and then i'll be useless…”. Jane stared silently at the girl next to her for a moment and thought, ‘Had Joan really been suffering this much? Was her coldness making this all worse? This needs to change and it needs to change now’.  Jane wrapped Joan in a bear hug as the sick blonde began to silently cry again.

“Joan”, Jane started slowly, “You need to listen, no one hates you, I promise, not any of the queens and especially not your girls. We all love you very much Joan, we care about you so very much, we will always be here for you”, she finished with a soft smile. She held Joan tight and kissed her temple as the ill girl began to calm down. “So how about we watch some movies? Will that help at all Little Lamb?”, Joan nodded and looked up at the queen, “Can we watch Aritocats..?”, Jane nodded and turned on the Tv and put on the movie. They laid back comfortably and started to watch. Joan moved to lay on Jane’s chest and that's how she stayed till her bandmates came home to find her sleeping while Jane continued her book.

“Good job Seymour, thank you”, Bessie whispered as she moved the tired blonde from Jane to her room. The Taller women gave a small smile as she left, thankful that she helped the ill girl when she needed it most.

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

wow okay I stayed up till 5AM to finish this while also drugged up on adderall and I think it actually turned out kinda good, i mean i still suck at writing but hey what can’ya do? and its my first angsty kinda fic so it prolly sucks more lol

[the-griffin-green-blakes]

tag game

@lameblake tagged me like 3 days ago but i’m slow as shit soooo happy birthday Ali lmao

favorite month: October. Spooky. Leaves cronch. Scarf weather.

favorite number: 41! My dad’s firefighter number

favorite color: olive green, high key obsessed

nickname: Rissa, Riss, Roo

current outfit: “on your left” tee with a plaid shirt over it, ripped black jeans, paint-splattered converse

hairstyle: my hair is curly as FUCK and a little bit longer than my shoulders

dream job: veterinary surgeon specialist

favorite song: oh Jesus uhhhhh Believer by Imagine Dragons probs if I HAVE to choose one

favorite music artists: the list is endless...Imagine Dragons, p!atd, fob, MAX, Quinn XCII, Barns Courtney, the 1975, Bastille, Matt Maeson. I’ll stop now

do you prefer to do work laying in bed or at desk: desk or I’ll fall asleep

left-handed or right-handed: right

Winter or Summer: winter, summer here is hotter than shit and I don’t enjoy hell

Autumn or Spring: autumn as fuck

Phone Screen: my screen has been Iron Man’s arc reactor since like 2012 whoops

tagging @thatwanderingwriter @lightofadrianslife and anyone else that wants to be tagged bc I’m lazy as hell sorry

[channiechanchan]

Nicknames I might have called Chan and will probably call him if I ever went to a SKZ fan sign or concert

Dimples (this one is my favorite tbh)

Sunshine

Channie

Channie Chan Chan (as you can tell by my URL lol)

Christopher

Christopher Bang Chan 

Chris

Roo Roo (from Kangaroo lol)

NatuRAL cURLY hAIR!!

[bbyholland-blog]

✨ get to know me ✨

rules: tag 20 followers you want to get to know better!

((i’ve been tagged in so many of these so i’m gonna do it in honor of 1k followers💞))

tagged by quite a few people!!

name/nickname: alexandria - alex, lex, Daria whatever you wanna call me!!

gender: female

star sign: taurus

height: 5′4"

sexuality: straight

hogwarts house: gryffindor !

favorite animal: panda

average hours of sleep: maybe like 5 if i’m lucky

dog or cat person: both

blankets you sleep with: one and if it’s cold then like 3 lol

dream trip: london, ireland, australia, hawaii

dream job: i’m not sure tbh

when I made my blog: i wanna say 3 months ago?

followers: 1k 💞

why I made a tumblr: to share my love for tom obvi

reasons for my url: tom is my frickin guy and i love him

tagging: @purelyparker @lovelyimagines @curly-haired-holland @spidey-roo @dreamyholland @tomsh0lland & anyone else who wants to do it :) (I know I didn't tag 20 and if I did tag you, you don't have to do this I just tagged off the top of my head!)

[texting-an-alien]

The Welders: Chapter One

Chapter One: Boys are Sensitive Too

A/N: I’ve wanted to share this for a while, I’ve been working on it for ages. I hope you enjoy. I was actually really encouraged to post this and start writing more after @the-solar-surfer_surfer drew the main character and my OC, so thank you! FEEDBACK IS ENCOURAGED

It was musty.

Most attics typically were but this one definitely won the “#1 musty, dusty, gross, hack your lungs out from coughing because you can’t breath without dirt going down your throat” award. Unfortunately, it was for a school extra-credit assignment in a class I had been failing since third grade.

I was pretty sure I had found 3 spiders, 20 dead flies, one old moth bit wedding dress, and a mouse trap that explained the current stench in the cramped room. But of course there was no box of photos. The supposed photos were of my long dead family members for my doomed assignment in history.

“Get to know your family, Amy." Mr. Gilbert said.

“You’ll learn so much," he said.

The only thing I was learning was that grandmothers don’t always keep tidy houses. Sure the downstairs had floral wallpaper and embroidered pillows with inspirational quotes, but it was like all the dust had hibernated from downstairs to the attic… which didn’t help my allergies.

1 hour and a hundred sneezes later, I was down the ladder sitting on the stiff couch surrounded by said pillows with one, musty, dusty cardboard box full of photo albums and something that would rattle every time you took a step.

My grandmother sat next to me, her wrinkled frail hands clasped in her lap.

Unlike her attic, my grandmother was the stereotypical, rosey cheek, wrinkles as deep as the grand canyon grandmother. Her pale skin stretched across her face and she was quite short, with a slight curve to her back so she waddled around like the hunchback of Notre Dame. She had tight grey ringlets that, unlike the other seniors of Yachats, Oregon, she refused to dye purple or blonde. Her nails were always a gut wrenching “Rose Blush” red and the only thing in her wardrobe was polyester pastel dresses in every shade of pink and yellow.

“I never realized the attic actually contained stuff," I said as I pulled apart the criss-crossed cardboard flaps.

“Where do you think we put the rest of your crap when you moved in?” a voice said from the kitchen and I immediately placed it with my year older cousin, Patrick.

“Well sorry I never thought of climbing through a bunch of cobwebs in my freetime," I replied sarcastically and rolled my eyes. He fully appeared from around the corner of the kitchen, a half-eaten banana in his hand.

My cousin was like the brother I never had nor had I ever wanted. He had short, blonde, curly hair that took 3 different brands of combs to tame. He was much taller than my grandmother and I, and acted as if everything was made of glass. “The gentle giant." seemed appropriate. He was currently wearing his black button up shirt for his catering job and his favorite pair of hotdog boxers.

“Well maybe if you didn’t spend so much time in your roo-” he started.

“Hush now, I’m learning," I interrupted and returned back to the box. I heard him move behind me and lean over my shoulder.

“You know all that stuff Mr. Gilbert says is crap so the board doesn’t get suspicious and find the bottle of Jack in his classroom," he whispered low enough that my grandmother wouldn’t hear. I smirked and waved him away. He chuckled, took another bite and went back to the kitchen.

Back in the box, there were two photo albums and polaroid pictures crammed around in the empty space. My grandmother's face lit up at the sight of the pictures and fondly stroked each one like it was a living thing.

I picked up a picture of a small boy sitting in a pile of snow. He was wearing a red fleece hat and a puffy blue snow jacket. He was squinting into the camera, his cheeks red from the cold.

“That there is Patrick when he was about 5. Boy did he love that hat," my grandmother smiled, looking over my shoulder to see the photo.

“I heard my name," Patrick said and reappeared from the kitchen, the banana gone.

I held up the picture and looked over my shoulder and said, “Awe, Patrick remember when you were cute? What happened?”

He glared at me and snatched the picture from me. He studied his 5 year old self. He cocked his head then said, “What are you talking about? I’m still extremely handsome."

“Maybe if you wish really hard it will come true. Or at least you will know how to dress," I mumbled that last bit as I snatched the picture away. He looked down at his shirt and hot dog boxers, before narrowing his eyes at me.

“Shut up. I have to leave at 3:30. I’ve got time," he frowned and walked up-stairs.

Patrick and I always bickered. It drove my grandmother insane but at the end of the day he was the one helping with my homework because he had already gone through all the classes or trying to slip me a test from last year. I never accepted of course… okay once.

My grandmother and I sorted through pictures for nearly an hour. We chatted about baby pictures and prom photos.

“And this is of your mother," My grandmother said, turning the page in one of the photo albums. I had moved closer to her and now looking at the picture, I felt too close.

My breath hitched in my throat as I saw my mother in her prom dress. I heard Patrick freeze on the bottom of the stairs. The entire room went silent and I couldn’t take my eyes off my mother.

“I’m sorry darling," My grandmother said, trying to flip the page.

“No, no. It’s okay. This is the kind of stuff Mr. Gilbert wants me to know about. He wants a report on the entire family, including mom."

The truth was I didn’t want to know more about my mom. I already knew everything. She had never had a lot of money, she worked two jobs and was still home every night to make me mac & cheese. She was kind and gentle, if she had the chance she took me to every county fair. Her porcelain face was worn from no sleep all the time and her hair had been cut short because she never had anytime to brush it. And she had died 5 years ago from a hit and run.

I had been living with my grandmother for about 6 years. I say 6 because my mother and I had moved in 7 months before the accident. Afterwards my grandmother legally adopted me. At the court the issue of my father came up, which I wish to no longer speak about for the remainder of this story. The courts offer about my father was turned down and I had been with my grandmother since.

Patrick was here because his parents had kicked him out when they found out he was dating a boy. The boy then broke it off, but my aunt and uncle refused to let him back in the house. He had been here since he was 12 which meant he had been here 4 years and counting. Honestly, my grandmother had already disowned her daughter and the anger only strengthened when Patrick was kicked out of the house.

But it was nice here. Patrick and I went to the same high-school so I always had someone to sit by on the bus. He was like and older brother to me. My grandmother was soft spoken and continued to take pity on us even after Patrick had broken nearly every window in the house and I had brought the police to the house… twice.

Innocent shoplifting. Okay I was 13 and it was a pair of sunglasses and some chapstick.

Still, we had 3 meals everyday and tea before bed. It was one of the many odd things my grandmother required us to do after dinner. It supposedly cleansed the soul and we were shunned if we missed it.

“Your mom was a good woman, more a mom to me than that other woman," Patrick said and fake shuddered. “Alright, I’m going. I should be back by dinner."

“Bye darling," My grandmother said as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. He patted me on the shoulder before suddenly remembering something and running back up the stairs.

I moved back to the box and moved a few rolls of film out of the way, revealing the source of the rattling noise.

It was a brown wood box, the size of a generous jewelry box. As I removed it from the cardboard box and set on my lap, I heard my grandmother go still. I paid no attention and opened the box. Inside was a strange assortment of items.

There was a small glass case with a white butterfly pinned to a piece of cardboard, a broken ballerina that could have fit in a music box, a locket with a clip of black hair, a glass or crystal orb, and you guessed it- more dust.

“What is this a time capsule? You know you’re supposed to bury these right?” I joked and dug through a few things. I pulled the crystal orb out of the box and examined it in the light coming from the window. It distorted everything on the other side, like you were looking into fun house mirror. It was about the size baseball and it cas cold, clear, and heavy.

“Not exactly," My grandmother and I looked to her, expecting a sad smile and wise story. Oddly enough, her face was grim and serious.

Patrick appeared behind her, staring at the orb in my hands. He had only barely put on his backpack and it dangled on his shoulder. I glanced back and forth, between my two very eerie relatives before quickly putting the ball back in the case and slamming it shut.

“I’m guessing it’s not a good memory?” I said and they seemed to come out of a trance, their eyes snapping up to me. “Assuming it is a memory box," I continued.

“Of course it’s a memory box dear, what else would it be?” My grandmother said and Patrick’s grip tightened on his brack pack strap. He looked angry, but not at me.

“Because if it's something else…” I trailed off and glanced back to the box, slightly opening it.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a glass ball, an over-sized marble," Patrick said angrily. He was staring at the back of my grandmothers curly gray head. He seemed to be more focused on the galls orb than anything else in the box, he was clarifying that the ball was nothing even though I hadn’t specified anything.

I put my arms up in defense and set the box on the floor. I looked away but from the corner of my eye I could see Patrick still glaring at my grandmother. He has never looked at her this way, it was considered impolite and he was always kind to her.

“Whatever I have to go," Patrick said, and quickly left the living room. The door slammed with such a terrifyingly angry force that multiple hanging pictures rattled from their places on the walls.

I didn’t bring the small memory box back up. Not when I sealed it back in it’s cardboard tomb. Not even when it was 5 minutes to tea and Patrick still wasn’t home even though he got off of work three hours ago. My grandmother and I sat on the couch, she already adorned her blue bathrobe and I was wearing my Harvard sweatshirt.

“Was it about his family?” I asked finally, breaking the obnoxiously thick silence. Setting the steaming cup of orange and cinnamon tea on the coffee table. “Like a family heirloom or something?”

“Something like that. Patrick is very sensitive. You having nothing to worry about Amethyst," My grandmother replied.

I suppose this is the moment when I should mention my full name. Amethyst Cecilia Preston was not the name I wanted. Even though I have a feeling my mother gave it to me as a very deep meaningful soulful label, I also had a feeling it was a joke that she was playing even from beyond the grave. It sounded like some 50s pin-up girl that had only signed up for the posters because Victoria’s Secret hadn’t been founded yet.

As soon as those words left my grandmother's mouth, the term “speak of the devil and he shall appear." became very useful.

Patrick burst through the door, once again slamming the door and rattling the pictures on the walls. He quickly ran to the kitchen, poured himself a cup, and sat down across from us in the over stuffed floral pattern chair, his coat still on. My grandmother and I were still so shocked about his dramatic entrance that it took awhile for her to say something.

“You’re late for tea," My grandmother mumbled and took a sip of tea, not making eye contact with him.

“Right sorry, Annaleise showed up late. You know how she is," he chuckled, mimicking my grandmother and casually sipping the tea as if his tantrum hadn’t happened before.

“3 hours late," I mumbled into my glass and Patrick shot me a glare.

It fell into an awkward silence which usually didn’t happen. Usually it was Patrick not shutting up about some boy from school or my grandmother asking if I had found a guy yet in which case the answer was always no. I wasn’t used to a guardian encouraging me to date.

“Come now Amy, there is always a guy for every socially awkward, friendless 15 year old," Patrick has said one night.

He wasn’t saying anything now.

“Well," I suddenly exclaimed causing my grandmother to jump. “I am going to go to bed, there is only so much awkward family time that I can take."

My grandmother sat down her cup and looked up at me with a look that I couldn’t quite describe before saying, “Oh alright then, goodnight dear."

“Goodnight Amy," Patrick said and gave me the fakest, cheesiest, “I’m-actually-a-secret-murderer” smile that I have ever seen- and I have known him for most of my life. I looked back at him and crinkled my nose (he was giving me the shivers).

I slowly walked backwards up the stairs, Patrick's maniac eyes following me the entire time until my door clicked shut. I turned around, taking in the darkened room before sitting on my bed.

Most 15 year old girls have pretty much figured out what they like and have stuck with it. Decorating their rooms with boy bands and filling their closest with ungodly clothes that would make Lady Gaga weep. Unlike the other girls, my room was littered with Van Gogh posters and journals that I never actually wrote in. My duvet didn’t match my curtains or pillows causing my grandmother to go crazy. Other than that, it was pretty normal. I had a closet, a bookshelf, a bed, and a window. Basic human habitat.

I was about to actually consider going to sleep when I heard bickering from downstairs. I kneeled down and put my ear to the vent that fortunately lead into the living room like in all the spy movies that just happened to have vent that lead directly to where you needed to go.

“...was gone! We can’t have that here!” Obviously Patrick.

“Do you know how difficult, not just physically but mentally, it is to get rid of an ampoule!? It’s not that simple. That was her entire life Patrick. Even Barney had trouble getting rid of his wife's!” Now it was my grandmothers turn.

I quickly made a mental note to look up what the heck an “ampoule” was.

“We can’t have a spare rolling around here, literally! It’s dangerous for everyone," Patrick said.

“Why because Amy is just going to go and take a over sized marble and-” her last few words were cut off by the tea kettle whistling. There was shuffling and I quickly opened my door and sat at the top of the stairs hoping I could hear everything.

“I’m thinking we should tell Amy," Patrick said, slightly quieter.

“Patrick don’t you dare bring that girl into this, like you said, it’s dangerous," My grandmother said from the kitchen.

“It would be more dangerous if we didn’t tell her," he replied.

“You will not tell Amy a thing. Have you not been listening to yourself? You’re shouting at me while you want to tell her everything about… well everything!”

“You kept the ampoule here! Where she could find it and now that she has she’s not going to give it up. How many times did she ask about it while I was gone?”

“Once!”

“Her mind was probably screaming about it the entire time. grams she will not give up we have to tell her something."

“I will not tell you again Patrick Preston, you do not tell Amethyst anything about the ampoule and if you do…”

“Fine! Whatever. She’s going to find out and when she does don’t go looking to me or Barney for help."

There was a grunt, shuffling, more movement before I heard the first step creak. I quickly jumped up and ran to my room. I tried to close the door a quietly as possible, something I had learned from Patrick himself, and dove under my covers.

My door swung open, the light from the hallway bleeding into my dark room. Through my squinted eyes I could make out the outline of Patrick’s body, he was still wearing his coat. I tried to slow my breathing as he came and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Amethyst, you came up here like 7 minutes ago, there is no way you went to bed. Not without contemplating the meaning of life and that usually takes 10 minutes," he chuckled and I opened one eye. He looked down at me and smiled.

“I’m sorry if I upset you earlier," I whispered and sat up, my back against the metal bar headboard behind me.

“You sound so formal," he joked but then turned serious. “You didn’t."

I rolled my eyes and said, “Yeah because disappearing for three hours screams ‘I’m not upset’."

“Just some family past I thought was over and done with," Patrick informed me, resting his hand on my knee.

“Okay first of all, the knee thing is freaking creepy. Second, you and grandma aren’t good at whispering. And third, you gonna tell me or not?” I said, moving my knee away from him. He smiled again and I couldn’t help but smile back.

It was like his smile was infectious. He didn’t have perfect teeth, not even close. His two front teeth had a large white spot from heaven knows what and his bottom front teeth had slightly twisted behind each other. But when he smiled you knew whatever on earth he was looking at was worth smiling for.

“How much did you hear?” He asked

“Enough that I want to know more," I replied.

"Grams will kill me.”

“I heard you downstairs. You want to tell me even though grandma is against it. I, on the other hand, am all for it."

“Huh."

“Well are you gonna tell me?”

He seemed almost convinced. I was using his own words against him, another thing I had learned from one of our pointless arguments in the past. He pursed his lips, looked everywhere but my eyes, and wouldn’t stop picking at his fingernails.

“Patrick please? I bet it would look great on my history essay," I pleaded, my voice sounding way to desperate at the end.

“Well if, and I mean if, I was to tell you, you couldn’t put it in your essay. Or tell anyone," he said, sounding suddenly deadly serious.

Now this was getting mysterious.

“I swear on my life. Now spill," I said and crossed my heart with my finger, sitting up straighter to get the juicy details on our crazy family.

As those few final words left my mouth, footsteps were heard coming up the stairs. We both glanced at the door and I prayed Patrick would just hurry up and tell me. Judging from my grandmother’s tone of voice from their argument, if she found out Patrick had even agreed to tell me, he would probably be dead.

“Better yet I can show you," he said hurriedly, already getting off my bed. “Tomorrow if I can get off in time. Chances are Julia won’t show up by 4:30 like she’s scheduled for."

Good to know the only thing standing in between me and my dark family secrets was the 18 year old newbie.

“Why not just tell me?” I asked.

“Later," he hissed, kissed my forehead, then ran to the door and closed it as carefully as possible, mimicking my actions from about 2 minutes ago. The door clicked close as the side of my grandmother's face appeared around the corner. Their two voices were once again muffled but a few words slipped.

“What… in there?” my grandmother whispered.

“...night," Patrick replied.

“Don’t… her." The floor creaked implying my grandmother stepped forward.

“...swear… won’t."  I could imagine Patrick putting up his arms in defense, backing away. There was three creaks, a click, six more creaks then another click- both had gone to their rooms.

I layed on my back, staring up at the slightly twirling black and white light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. I nearly considered slipping out of bed and down stairs to get my phone that I had stupidly left charging in the kitchen to look up the world “ampoule” when sleep betrayed me and I was plagued with dreams about a ginormous crystal ball hunting me down like a bad remake of Indiana Jones.

[deadideaspod]

http://media.blubrry.com/deadideas/ia601505.us.archive.org/34/items/bestofthebestpulpfictionmashup/Best%20of%20the%20Best%20Pulp%20Fiction%20Mashup.mp3

  It’s another best of the best for you! This one has it all: romance, plunder, mimes – and it all ends in a bloodbath! This was our first mashup and it’s still one of my favorite episodes. What are your faves? Let me know at deadideaspod@gmail.com or on Facebook at @deadideaspod.

Also, an update on our upcoming show The History of Sex: we’re looking at a release date in October! It’s coming up fast!

This episode features a rockin’ soundtrack by Brooklyn band Twin Guns.

Be sure to support the show at www.patreon.com/deadideaspod to get your portrait drawn!

Maps, pics, references, and more at http://www.deadideas.net. Music and graphic design by Rachel Westhoff. Map by Adam McKithern.

Co-hosts: Nick and Anna

Time/place: Ireland, composed 6th-10th cen. CE

Dead Idea: Geis

A Map of Medieval Ireland, by Adam McKithern

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Glossary of Irish Words and Spellings

Note: “KH” should be pronounced like the ending sound of “Bach”

Aífe (EE-fuh) – a warrior woman in the Táin bó Cúailnge, rival of Scáthach

aire (EYE-ruh) – lordly class

brat (BRAT) – cloak

Caier (KEYE-ur) – king of Connacht in the story Caier and Nede

coibche (KWIV-khuh) – bride-price

Conall Cernach (KO-nul KAIR-nakh) – curly blond-haired warrior and favorite of Conaire in The Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel

Conaire (KO-na-ruh) – king of Tara in the The Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel

Connacht (KON-akht) – a kingdom in the middle west of Ireland

Connla (KON-luh) – son of Cú Chulainn in the Táin bó Cúailnge

Críth Gablach (KREEH GOW-luhch) – a law-tract featuring 7 ranks of lords, 7 ranks of farmers, and 7 ranks of kings

Cú Chulainn (KOO KHUH-lun) – hero in the Táin bó Cúailnge

cúlán (KOO-lun) – men’s hairstyle with shaved front, long back

cumal (COO-wul) – unit of measurement roughly equal to 34 acres of land or 3 cattle; lit. “slave girl”

dairt (DEERCH) – a heifer, as in “from a needle to a dairt”, the honor-price of the lowest level of farmer which varies from a needle to a heifer

Diarmuid (JAR-muhj) – hero in the story of Diarmuid and Grainne

Drogheda (DRO-hay-duh) – site of a battle against the Vikings in 902 CE

Emer (EV-ur) – woman wooed by Cú Chulainn in the Táin bó Cúailnge

féni (FAY-nee) – farmer class, subdivided into 7 ranks according to the Crith Gablach law-tract: 1. 1st fer midboth (FAIR MEE-vuh) lit. “man between huts”; 2. 2nd fer midboth; 3. ócaire (O-keye-ruh); 4. aithech (EYE-chuh); 5. bóaire (BO-eye-ruh); 6. mruigfher (MREE-khur); 7. fer fothlai (FAIR FO-lee)

fidchell (FEE-khel) – an Old Irish board game, often called “Irish chess”

Forgall (FOR-gul) – father of Emer in the Táin bó Cúailnge

fuba and ruba (FOO-buh and ROO-buh) – military service; lit. “attack and defense”

fuidir (FEE-jur) – transitional slave

geis (GAYSH) / pl. geassa (GAYSA) – mystical personal injunction

Grainne (GRAH-nyuh) – woman in the story of Diarmuid and Grainne

léine (LAY-nya) – tunic

Mac Cécht (Mak KEKHT) – warrior and right-hand man of Conaire in The Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel

Nede (NAY-thuh) – a satire poet in the story of Caier and Nede

rath (RATH) – a loan taken from a lord in a clientship contract

rosc (ROSK) – a nearly untranslatable type of poem with multiple meanings, often signaled in English by ellipses where parts are left untranslated

Scáthach (SKAH-hakh) – a warrior woman in the Táin bó Cúailnge, mentor of Cú Chulainn

senchléithe (SHEN-khlay-huh) – hereditary serf

sét (SET) – unit of measurement equal to 4/5 of a cow

Táin bó Cúailnge (TOYN bo KOOL-nee) – epic featuring Cú Chulainn; lit. “The Cattle Raid of Cooley”

Tara (TAH-ruh) – traditional capital of the high kinds of Ireland

Togail Bruidne Dá Derga (TO-gul BREEJ-nuh da JAIR-guh) – epic featuring King Conaire; lit. “The Destruction of Dá Derga’s Hostel” or “…of the Red God”

toinal (TEE-nyul) – joint conjugal fund

Uí Néill (oy NAYLZ) – one of the most powerful clans of medieval Ireland

Ulster (UHL-stur) – Anglicized name for a kingdom in northeast Ireland

Main Sources

Ambient Mixer. “A Lively Night at the Tavern.” Ambient Mixer. (Audio Clip). Used under CC license. Downloaded Dec. 18, 2016, from: http://rpg.ambient-mixer.com/bustling-tavern

Barrett, C. (2006). “Early Gaelic Dress: An Introduction.” Downloaded Nov. 18, 2016, from: http://coblaith.net/EarlyGaelicDress/EarlyGaelicDress12bw.pdf

Dwyer, F. (2010-2017). Irish History Podcast.

Dwyer, F. (2013). Witches, Spies and Stockholm Syndrome: Life in Medieval Ireland. Dublin: New Island.

Kenny, G. (2013). “Anglo-Irish and Gaelic Marriage Laws and Traditions in Late Medieval Ireland.” Journal of Medieval History, 32(1): 27-42.

Kinsella, T. (1969). The Tain Bo Cuailnge. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Mallory, J. P. (1992). Aspects of the Tain. Belfast: December Publications.

MacCulloch, J. A. (1911). The Religion of the Ancient Celts. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark.

O’Connor, R. (2013). The Destruction of Da Derga’s Hostel: Kingship and Narrative Artistry in a Medieval Irish Saga. Oxford: University Press.

O’Leary, P. (1988). “Honour-bound: The Social Context of Early Irish Heroic Geis.” Celtica, 20: 85-107.

Patterson, N. (1994). Cattle Lords and Clansmen. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press.

Stokes, W. (1862). Three Irish Glossaries. London: Williams and Norgate.

Wyatt, D. R. (2009). Slaves and Warriors in Medieval Britain and Ireland: 800-1200. Boston: Brill.

Best of the Best: Pulp Fiction/Da Derga’s Hostel Mashup – Irish History It's another best of the best for you! This one has it all: romance, plunder, mimes - and it all ends in a bloodbath!