#should i tag this to make it easier to find?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Man Called Danger 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You avoid drama, you avoid confrontation, and overall, you avoid men. But some men can't be denied. ~ short!late 30s reader

Characters: biker!Bucky Barnes

Note: I saw a photoshoot and lost my mind.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sigh and set the phone down, tilting your head back as you close your eyes. Exasperation, frustration, helplessness.

This is why you never had kids of your own. Your own teenage years were tough enough. Well, life has continued to shout that lesson in your face; things don’t always turn out how you expect. Or how you want. 

Let her make her mistakes, you tell yourself. No, no, you can be passive in your own life but you took on this responsibility. You can’t just wait and see how it turns out. Not like your mother did. She only got lucky you didn’t end up on a corner or like her. 

You take a deep breath and run your hands over your face. Your mother taught you many lessons without meaning too. Men, kids, all that domestic stuff is just a trap. You’re better off without having to figure out the mistakes of others.

That’s why you did this right? Because you want your sister to learn the same thing, to avoid the consequences of youth and short-sightedness. To escape that family curse that keeps you so cautious. 

You grab your jacket from the front door. She’s nineteen. Nineteen. An adult. You’re not her mother. No, but you won’t let it happen. Not to her. Not to that baby you spent your nights bottle-feeding as your mother spent her stipend at the bar or drove around with Robbie from down the street. 

It’s underhanded. Not what you should do. Not respectful at all but after the last time, you couldn’t let it go. You open the app on your phone. The dot that is your sister’s phone pings in the map. You zoom in and squint as you stand on the doormat. Really? 

You lock the front door and come down the front steps. The deep blue evening is starless as only the yellow street lights offer clarity. Oh, everything is clear. The apple is not falling very far. 

You drop your phone in the cup holder and turn the engine. The grumpy old Honda chugs to life and the stick cranks loudly as you put it in reverse. You don’t have much but you have the one thing you always craved; stability. You manage with what you have. 

You ease your foot off the pedal as you catch yourself speeding down the forty zone. You idle at the sign before turning onto the next street. You make a zigzag onto the main road. Your nape itches with impatience. How the hell did she get all the way out there, anyway? 

You grip the wheel and snarl at the windshield. You’re not a mother. You don’t have a maternal bone in your body. You were raised to be wary. By the time your sister came around, your mother wasn’t present enough to make much of an effort or impact. You suppose neglect can be just as lingering as resent. 

You keep one hand on the wheel as you chew your thumb. For all your attempts to avoid this fate, you find yourself where you didn’t want to be. Maybe not technically or even legally, but you’re stuck cleaning up this mess. 

You pull up to the bar at last. Take a breath. You are not an angry person. Not like your father. Yes, the surge comes from time to time but you control it. You repress it until it’s only a flicker in your stomach. 

You get out and lock your phone. You pocket your keys as you approach the door. Nearly wenty years since you’ve been in a bar, never of your own volition. You stare up at the marque. 

You were the same age as your sister then. The place was glowing and hazy. You entered to the clink of bottle and the buzz of the old juke box. Darts pounded into the bullseye and cues clacked on solids and stripes. Your mother was there hanging off a greasy man in flannel. She was too drunk to answer your question as you held her child on your hip. 

“Mom, where’s the money?” 

It fades away with the voice from your left. The man stands with arms crossed, “ma’am, you can go in. I don’t needa see ID.” 

You shake your head and make yourself enter. Your reluctance slows you along with the overwhelming wall of noise. Voices all around, music, glass meeting each other and tabletops, laughter, coughing, and snarling. The dim is lit only by the bulbs beneath the black shades, hanging from the ceiling. You squint to see through the glazed din. 

This isn’t your place. This is never what you would do for fun. Drinking, talking to strange men, spending what free time you have rotting away in this pit. 

You hear a familiar octave. Eva trills with laughter. Not that sardonic snort she gives you when you try to offer her some sense, no, that tinkling noise she uses when she wants something. It’s not a surprise, there aren’t too many reasons for a girl her age to be here. 

You find her along the bar. She sits sideways on a stool, one leg draped over the other. She’s everything you’re not old. Young, slim, and tall. You never grew much after eighth grade and you can’t do anything to stop time from its work. 

You cross the bar as the man next to her chortles and winks at her. His hand is on her stool, just by her hip. He looks about your age. You grit your teeth. 

You’re not brave or bold. You learned to survive by staying out of the way but you can’t just walk away from this. You know what older men want from women half their age. 

You clear your throat as you come up next to them. Eva ignores you as the man sends you a sneer, “can I help you?” 

You cross your arms. You’re not good at confrontation. Not with strangers and definitely not with men. 

“Eva,” you focus on your sister, “I’ve been waiting for you--” 

“Don’t pay attention to her,” she flutters her fingers. 

“Eva. You said you’d be home at eight--” 

“Ugh, you’re not my mother, okay? We both know where she is so just go away,” she snarls. She’s drunk. When she’s a few deep, she gets mean. 

“She’s grown,” the man insists. 

“She’s my sister, I’m talking to her,” you turn so your back is to him and you’re almost between them. “Eva, I got that job lined up for you--” 

“She said fuck off,” the man growls. You tune him out. 

“It’s good. You can take the year to build the reference then apply to the community college--” 

“You’re embarrassing me,” she hisses. 

“Would you get out of here?” The man pushes you so hard you stumble. You hit a table and gasp as the edge jams against your ribs. The people sat their grumble at you for spilling their drinks. 

“Johnny!” Eva cries out. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“You told her to get off,” he sneers. 

“Yeah, but you can’t just do that,” she whines. 

You steady yourself and apologise to the patrons at the table. You hug your middle and swallow down the pain. You swore you would never be pushed around by another man. 

You turn and march up to the creep. “You feel big picking on women? Huh? You feel like a man going after teenagers? Cause a woman your own age wouldn’t put up with you?” 

Eva tugs on your arm and says your name, “please, don’t. What are you doing?” 

“Do it again,” you goad. The words come out naturally.

You’re shocked by yourself but your reticence is dulled by that hereditary spark. That flame you’ve been tamping out for decades. Not like him. You are not him. 

“Pfft, don’t be a bitch. You already cockblocked me.” 

“No, you want to pick on me, pick on me.” You spit. 

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you here?” Eva snivels. 

‘Why are you here?’ Your mother drunkenly slurs. ‘I’m just having some funnnnnn.’ 

You stare at her. Eva wriggles and cries on your hip. You hush her, trying to comfort her. She’s hungry. You don’t have anything left in the can. 

‘Mom, that money was for her. Mom, where is it? Give it back.’ 

She chuckles and caresses the head of the man she sits on, “go talk to Chuck at the bar, he might give you a refund.’ 

Your name draws you out of the past. Eva shakes you as you snarl at the man. Your hands ball to fists. 

“There a problem?” A gravelly timbre undercuts your rage. 

Eva babbles again. 

“Walker,” footsteps stomp closer and Eva pulls you out of the way. 

You watch as a dark-haired man pulls the blond from atop the stool. He has him by the scruff, “what’d I tell you about fighting?” He glances at you then the foamy spill leaking onto the floor from the table as a server tries to sop it up. “You hitting women in my joint?” 

You quake with anger. This man thinks he’s a saviour. You don’t need him to defend you. In here, they’re all the same. 

“You better not come back,” the brunette growls and hurls the blond onto the floor. “This is the last time I’m tossing your ass out.” 

You watch the man’s shoulders strain the leather of his jacket. He’s broad, taller than you, like most, and about your age. He faces you. His hair is pushed back, the tails winging out behind his nape, his beard is thick and laced with silver, and he wears a golden medallion around his neck. His blue eyes scour you and Eva. 

“You alright?” He asks with a stitch in his forehead. 

“Just fine. Leaving,” you say as you twist your hand around to grab Eva’s arm instead. 

“I don’t put up with that in here. I saw that man up on your daughter and I shoulda stopped it earlier,” he intones. 

You scoff. 

“Look, you can have a drink on the house--” 

“I don’t drink,” you show your palm. “Excuse me.” 

You step around him and drag your sister with him. Under the ripple of anger, is fear. These men are dangerous. You forgot that at some point. Don’t ever forget that. You just wish Eva could see the same. 

You take her to the car as she stumbles in her heels. You open the passenger door and let her go. She gets in and you resist the urge to comment on her outfit. She can wear short skirts and crop tops, she’s an adult, but it’s too cold to not have a sweater. 

You go around and get in the driver seat. You sit there and stare at the wheel. You close your eyes and inhale. 

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 

“Eva,” you snip and open your eyes. You brace the wheel as you look at her. “You saw what that man did. I’m a woman with no value to him, so when he loses interest, what do you think happens to you?” 

She mopes and looks at her lap. She twirls her thumbs round each other and sniffles. “I was only having fun.” 

“You can’t find someone your own age? Or maybe a hobby. Try the library,” you run your hands over your forehead. “I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to act like your mother, I want to be your sister. I want you to do better.” You slap your hands down on your legs. “You can make your decisions however you like but I just want you to think before you do.” 

“I’m sorry--” 

“You’re sorry. Again. You keep doing it,” you relent and slacken against the seat. “You’re not a kid. We both have to accept that.” 

You jam the keys in the ignition and turn. You sit up and peer around the lot. Your eyes snag on the figure standing in the glare of the marquee. That man in leather with the medallion. He watches calmly. 

You lean on the gas and steer around the lot. As you come closer to the bar, he waves with two fingers and winks. You frown and put your attention ahead of you. You just want to go home and go to bed. 

[samwontshare]

@ao3org The entire Sam Wilson fandom showed up to tell you this is bad and racist and you have sidestepped the elephant in the fanfic archive.

I’m sorry, I just can’t be polite when the Orange Menace is trying to dismantle democracy and the fan fic site decides DEI also has to go. You want to be willfully ignorant of the particular racist context of this particular subset of Marvel fandom. This isn’t happening with a white actor as a hypothetical ‘we don’t see color’ straw man, this is happening with a Black actor and Black character that exists within the specific context of a racist fandom history in a racist society, you silly gooses. There was never a real world where Seb or Wyatt were getting the mantle for you to even consider this.

Also you didn’t address that everything got collapsed into Evans’ tag.

If people want to focus on Sam’s movie to find Sam’s content, there is already a movie tag. If I want to find Cap 1 or Cap 2 or Cap 4 fanfic, I can do that already.

This does not to address our mutual concern of making Sam Wilson fanfic easier to find, particularly because the entire fandom has been collapsed into the Evans tag, forcing only Sam Wilson fans to retag everything. This makes continuity extremely confusing when writing about Cap Sam post Endgame. I don’t even understand how we are supposed to categorize the correct fandom when a fic is set between Civil War and Brave New World, one of the most popular timelines to write Sam. This was easily solved with one movie fandom but now throws all of these fics into a canonical limbo where by this tagging system we should be using The Avengers movies (maybe??? Tfatws???) - but this would be convoluted for how the fandom actually uses tags. Even if you’re writing about Steve coming back from Endgame to idk still be Cap, where do you put that fic?? Where would AUs even fit into this? I genuinely don’t know how to tag my Sam fics now.

The Marvels is a crossover of three separate storylines featuring three main characters originating in different mediums in the canon (akin to The Avengers movies fandom). The Peggy Carter short was always intended to be a stand alone story - it was the basis for, but is not part of, the TV series. They are by design separate works. Not to mention the continuity conundrum faced by early Marvel TV shows.

However, Captain America 4 is literally the fourth film in a continuing story arc about the evolution of the Captain America mantle, not just Steve Rogers’ character arc. It is intended to be a continuation, not a stand alone work. There is a reason Steve’s final appearance is in an Avenger’s movies, not the Cap movies - Captain America is more than Steve Rogers. This is why Sam is getting a movie in the first place!!!

My friend got a "response" to the whole splitting the Captain America tag bullshit and wow they just don't care. Literally twisting themselves in knots to justify inconsistent tagging and how they lazily shoved every fucking fic into the Chris Evans tag for no goddamn reason and saying this is actually for the Sam fans when this was never a fucking complaint. The timing is so bad too still. They didn't explain why it happened now instead of when Sam immediately became Captain America. He's been cap for years and you do this shit now? Love how they'd rather pretend they're helping us and try to make excuses so they don't have to exert effort fixing a problem they caused than actually acknowledging the structural racism they just created, whether or not it was intentional. Also? Splitting the Captain Marvel and The Marvels tag smells of bullshit too. They didn't split The First Avenger and TWS into different franchise tags. They didn't split Ironman 1 and 2 into different franchise tags. I wonder what the fucking common denominator is there, huh?

[thriftybruce]

practicing drawing their older versions, ill keep at it

[shepscapades]

Why does Ren have 4 ears? Are they all real or is one set fake?

Hehe I’ve gotten this question a lot actually! They’re all real— I like to think hybridization isn’t always a clean balance of traits, so Ren just unfortunately ended up with two sets of ears— his Dog ears being much more receptive to sound, naturally— and sometimes when the extra intake of sound is too overwhelming, I imagine he wears earplugs in his human ears to help adjust :> it’s a bit weird, but idk! i like to make designs funky and nonconventional! I liked the idea that Ren had hearing struggles due to wonky hybridization and just kept the concept :>

[virgothozul]

I-

hum.

[daddyplasmius]

reread edited what currently exists of my DP Wolfwalkers AU fic. here are all my favourite lines in no particular order & lacking context

[petrichoremojis]

IDs in alt

'talk', with communication cards!

[romans-empire]

I enjoy drawing Siffrin because I can avoid drawing their hands due to his coat.

[iceclew]

*licks tablet* I love this thing. :D

Since I've been struggling with colours, I started to try some stuff like webcomics/manga and it was very addicting and satisfying :)

I already see so much progress and change between page 1 and 3, and that I really haven't settled on a certain style yet haha

The skript's not mine, it's @mechazushi's wonderful contribution to our Kaiju Fantasy AU, we've been working on the past few months..

I sorta neglected the Ref sheets project, but I still can't bring my mind to move on from this story. It lives in my head rentfree <3

YOU CAN READ ALL OF IT HERE ON TUMBLR

I wouldn't have come up with a good skript/story myself, since words are sorta my weak spot, so I hope it's okay for you, that I'm taking your idea and literally your words xD..

I feel like the sentence's length is not exactly fit for manga, - naturally, since it is originally a fanfic.. therefore I altered a few things, but I feel like it would've needed some more adjustment.. I dunno..

[oneknightstand-if]

And here's the replies to the original Ask about "what stat makes it to where you can follow merlin at the gas station?" for those who weren't following the comments that the post was picking up.

[larabar]

For the Actually Dead au, it seems sonic comes back according to one doodle. How on EARTH do they bring him back this time??? Also, how does he die again? Is it still Espio with the dart gun, except he doesn’t know it actually killed him? Thanks!

quick-ish answers!

um idk how he comes back. one thing we've come up with is he just respawns which creates two endings: whether he has an extra life or not (breaking the fourth wall kinda deal) otherwise thats not really been figured out lol. i mention more here -> X

as for how he died in the first place, it was a combination of being beat up by the train arms in the conductor car and a toxic dart. either way it was the train, espio's innocent i swear

[lumenera]

New hobby just dropped (new hobby has been brewing for the last 3+ years)

1: 64mo blank book, aka 1/64 of a letter sized piece of paper. Total 1.5 sheets, dimensions ~1x1.5 in.

2: progress pic, the 64mo textblock. second binder clip is an attempt to make something even smaller than a 64mo

3: progress pic, the 64mo cut and folded signatures, ready to be punched and sewn

4: sticker of my bindery logo, which I designed myself :) + quarto notebook bc I made the textblock forever ago as practice, started using it as a notebook, and then figured if I was gonna use it, I should put a hard cover on it. It currently serves as my reference guide (paper size, suppliers, margins, etc).

Anyways it's so over. I'll see you in hell (WIP list)

[quackity1999]

A ram.

[ quackity raises a brow. he's heard this already. ]

what you don't understand is that schlatt was out publically executing citizens for simply breaking the law. he drank constantly, raised taxes to an astounding degree, and dismissed any opportunity to run his country fairly— and i would know that. i was his vice president that was treated more like a promiscuous trophy wife.

i don't treat citizens with scorn or mistreatment, and at least i'm not on fucking steroids, either. don't make the mistake of comparing me to my ex-husband again.

[srapsodia]

Ooo 8, 9, and 14 if they havent been asked yet? <3

artist asks! 🌃

8. do you draw professionally, or just for fun?

professionally! im a storyboard artist at a local animation studio :>

9. how much time do you spend drawing on an average day?

about 8 hours monday-friday! plus whatever time i spend drawing for myself. on weekends it varies wayy more, it can go from 10 minutes to also 8 hours hahah

14. do you ever collaborate with others?

i do! i enjoy drawing with friends- I've done drawpile sessions, trading sketchbooks back and forth, each drawing one half of a composition for a piece, stuff like that!

I've also collab'd with my writer friends, drawing art for snippets or fic ideas they've had, they've written stuff based on my art too. it's always lots of fun! :>

[imfeelingfunngly]

i need a dictionary to talk to her

[marlynnofmany]

Someday I'll illustrate the kids' book I wrote as a prequel to Spectacular Silver Earthling. I think kids would like it (and adults too). There will be robots in the background doing amusing things, and a main kid character you can care about.

Someday I'll look into indie publishing it, and see what options are there for fully illustrated kids' books, instead of just the text-only adult novels I'm familiar with. Someday.

(Until someday comes, it'll be a Patreon exclusive for the higher tiers. Ooh, exciting!)