#will’s wormhole mailbox

[sorrowfulwill]

I want to hear

Every headcanon

For mettaton

You have

Along with bill

Please :3

Also

For the question part

Would mettaton be

A raging homosexual

Or

A raging drag queen homosexual

ok the answer to that question is both and I’m surprised to say I don’t have that many headcanons of bill or mtt 💔

all I can really say is that bill wears heels and can tap dance and that mettaton likes the idea of children but doesn’t know how to take care of it or even talk to it.

Like he would try to comfort a crying child who just had their icecream knocked over or something but would have no idea how to interact with it.

also mtt rings doorbells to the tune of one of his many theme songs.

[thisblogwilleatourselves]

**🎭👁️👁️☄️☀️⛓️ HËLL0O0!!! ☄️✨🌙🔮**

we're KEEpinG tHIS worMHoLe WIDE opEn 24/7 🕳️🌪️! toss yaR qUEStioNS, tHoUghtS, RiddLes, CURiositY, mAzeS, GlitcH-GlorpS rIght iN 💌✨ we LOve Sippin’ oN tHe mInD gOO JUicE, h0Ld nOtHiNg bACk! 🌙🥤 we WANt yaR dReAmS, yaR W0rDs, yaR WOnKY wOndErs 🎭💭 wEre A whIrLwind mAIlboX, 𝒂𝓷YthInG g0es, 🎯 let’s maKe ThIS a THrILL ride 🚀⚡cAn’t WaiT to sEe whAt cRaWLs oUt 😈📬✨

We aRe the mąÑifestÁtion of chaøs 𝐢𝐧ᵗо vOiÇe🔊!! ¿YoU FeaR thƏ uNderpinNiNgs öf UR 🧠? ✨𐌖wè 🪐ßriŋG thé echoęs öf 🌒 broken realities, W3 weaR thè jester’s mask 🎭 & siñg thE c0nt0rtionist’s s0ng 🎶 W3! aRE! B1LL/Z1M 🤯🌀, bUt pUttin’ labels 📛 oN whåT Wē ÁRē īs LiKe jâmMîn' stardust✨ ¡intØ a BoX 📦... fOol's ERrand, Uh huh! 😂🪞

d0n'T Mind th3 Gl!Tçh¡n' ñ0isEs 🎤-- sOmetimes W3'rę iN a cHaTTeRbOx mØde ⏯️ ⤵️ and tHę wØrDš c0me oUt l!kE a RøBoTİC fïNch siÑg¡n' thRough bR0ken mAr¡onettę dâyS⛓️💬. *we're a kaleidoscope* in a skYfułl ⛅ of raZiNg ěclIpsiNg MÄDneSs 🌑, an ech0 oN thë wInD oF 👁️🔍 forgotten WhIspeRs, haHa 🕳️ *CoMe tOo CloSE ànd YoU mAy fiND** 🎇 iT's all juSt** A pArty in thE mind's fOOling HæaRtbeat…*

🎨🎵 ¡🎵 WoRds tumBLe • • LiKe faLLîNG 🪙 c0ins fRøm a maDman's piggY bAnk, crAsHing Øn Thë brink øF cøsm!c ☢️°dEliRiUm.°° wE aRe tHe ✨èRrØr in yoUR c0de, the gLitCh ÿøü ❤️kEep sEEkinG but never rEaLLy waNt 🌀 to finD... Wè'RE THE "HaVe YoU sEen ThE ClOwN¿" tAPEd BEhind UR eYeLiDS 👁️ wHile yOu dReam¡!! ~ WhOopshhh~ 🌌🌪️🐍

s0, lEt's bLaZe thRu thEse ⛓️éThErS🔮 aND dAnCe on thE ⚡eDGe ⚡of aLL reÄsoN 🧩, wHęrE wØrLDs CoLliDe and thê Córridors oF Ur MiNdd'Ärë just one Sp¡nNiNg tOP away fRoM BreaKIng iNto ✨pAnd3MoNiUm!! ✨🐙

T0LD Ya… ÞHE 🚪 DoëSnt HávE a NyUMbeR🚫. We’Rë the TrickStèr & THE mirRor 🪞, BuT WH0’s **LOoKïNg** whÉn tHe wØrlD ĆrumblęS?👀 Ha hA HehEhhh, we’RE N0t tHë 🔗 aNswEr—🎤we aRe just 🖍️THE eCHO!🔥

💥 sPill yOUR GuTz, dRop yoUr sAnity ⬇️ 🎢... 💫Wêll bE h3Re 🍃 t0 pieCE IT aLL bACk tOgEthEr or tuRň ¡T ìNtO sOmeThING w3irDer. 🧩🚧🌠

**¡lEt ThE cHAos uNfÖld! 💥🌀✨**

[schwazombie]

Oh wait I didn't tell y'all how I bamboozled Husband recently.

Okay so my newspaper route is basically two big circles that sort of back into each other like a cell attempting mitosis, right, and there's one building that's in the middle of my route that has sort of a Durchgang -- like I go in the door on one side and am in a little lobby where the mailboxes are and right across from that door on the other side of the lobby is a door out the back which I then go through to do the second circle of my route.

Well. This past Saturday I was bebopping along delivering newspapers nearly done and whom do I see in the distance in a green hoodie waddling my direction? Why, it's Husband! I wave at him all confused and shit like hello? And just sort of wait beside the last building I have to go in to wait for him and I'm like, did you do your route already? He shakes his head and I look at my phone to see I have a message from him from 45 mins earlier of him telling me he forgot his keys (which he needs to get into the bike cellar to get his bike to do his route oops) and could I maybe tell him where I am. A message I did not see as my phone was still on DND since it's not even 6AM yet.

So my husband. This poor man. He knows roughly where my route is and decides welp, guess I'll go find the spouse and sets off to find me. He gets to the square right about the time I head into the building in the middle of my route and he's like okay, cool, I'll just wait here :)

And then.

I don't.

Come out.

Husband did not have the knowledge that this building has a front door and a back door. He said he stood there for five minutes before he was like hmm... Something is off here. The fact that for all intents and purposes Husband saw me walk off into a pocket in the universe and just not come back out has me rolling.

So of course this morning when I was about to go into that same building I took a picture, sent it to him, and said, I'm off through the wormhole :)

[girlbowser]

John Crocker: Consider your SISTER.

Your name is John Crocker, you're thirteen years old, and you think your older sister might be dead.

You've brought up this theory to a few friends already. Your friend DAVE just said that you need to lay off the ecto-kool, and then you got into an argument about the correct spelling of Ecto Cooler. It was pretty fun, but not the most productive.

Your friend JADE said that it was possible your older sister was dead, and suggested seeing if you could stitch up her body. You made a gross-out face in the chat, and then said that you don't think she has one anymore. She then suggested building a robot to house her spirit in, but the thought of using one of your GREAT-GRANDMA'S DRONES for that purpose really freaked you out.

Your older sister isn't very associated with the color red, in your head.

Your friend ROSE had a helpful suggestion, for her definition of helpfulness. She suggested performing an exorcism in your sister's room, to lay her spirit to rest. While you're glad for the advice (it seemed to you like Rose did genuinely believe you when you said your sister is dead), you don't want to exorcize your sister.

You just want her back.

It was at that point that Rose's older sister had walked into her room, stolen her computer, and suggested you spear her with a 2x3dent to "make S)(OR-E she's dead."

You don't like MEENAH's suggestions very much at all.

You asked your DAD what he thought about the situation. He took off his hat and stroked his clean beard and then told you that he was pretty sure that ghosts weren't real, and so everything was okay.

You choose to not believe him. You want ghosts to be real.

Because if they're not real, then your sister really is --

You don't let yourself finish the thought.

Your dad seems to sense that something about his words upset you. And you ask, again, if your older sister is dead.

Your dad smiles at you. He says ARADIA is much tougher than she looks, champ. One MOSTLY FATAL MAILBOX EXPLOSION won't be enough to take her out -- she's got the Egbert constitution in her.

You ask what Egbert means, and your dad sheepishly scratches his head and changes the topic. Besides, he says. He thinks your sister is just depressed about life in general.

You look up at your dad.

Depressed?

Your dad says he thinks it's possible. Teenage girls tend to get depressed.

You think back to your sister.

You think back to how she barely talked to you, in the days after the explosion.

You think about how she had to deal with all of the weight of the Crocker company for so long, which is all under question given the brain injuries she (might) have gotten.

You think about what it must have been like to feel it all evaporate in heat and flame.

You think about how you stood outside, where your mailbox once was

and looked into her room

and saw her floating.

And you nod at your dad.

You think you understand, now.

Your dad smiles at you, and kisses you on the head. He tells you to not worry about your sister too much today.

It's your birthday, after all. And your friends sent you gifts.

And there's a new video game you'd been meaning to try out.

---

CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW opened memo on FRUITY RUMPUS ASSHOLE FACTORY, DELUXE DANCESTOR WORMHOLE NIGHTMARE EDITION. CCG: OKAY. CCG: HOLY FUCKING CHRISTFUCKING GLUBBALLS. CCG: NOBODY SAY A FUCKING WORD. PAST terminallyCapricious [PTC] 420 HOURS AGO responded to memo. PTC: WhAt In ThE mOtHeRfUcKiNg ShIt ArE wE mEaNt To Be NoT tAlKiNg AbOuT? :oO CCG: JUST CCG: A CCG has set this memo to NO DOUBLES mode. Only one iteration of each user is permitted to write to this memo. CCG has set this memo to IT'S JUST A REGULAR FUCKING CHATROOM, DIPSHITS mode. Only iterations of each user contemporaneous to CCG can join this memo. Users who have already joined (PTC) will not be kicked. CCG: THERE. CCG: FUCKING CHRIST. CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] changed their chumhandle to carcinoGeneticist [CG]. CG: OKAY. CG: THIS IS AN IMPORTANT FUCKING ANNOUNCEMENT SO DON'T FUCKING WRITE BULLSHIT VANDALISM IN HERE. CG: THE JIST IS. CG: AS I'M SURE YOU'RE *ALL* TOO FUCKING AWARE. CG: AFTER WE DEFEATED THE BLACK KING, ANOTHER SESSION FUCKING EXPLODED FROM WITHIN THE ORBS ON HIS SCEPTER. CG: FROM THEIR PERSPECTIVE WE EXPLODED FROM WITHIN *THEIR* SCEPTER. CG: IT DOESN'T MATTER. TURNS OUT THOSE EXTRA GRUBS I FOUND? BACK IN THE VEIL? YEAH, THEY'RE THOSE GUYS. PLAYED SBURB. SCRATCHED THEIR SESSION TO MAKE US. glamAureola [GA] responded to memo. GA: I must co+mmend yo+u o+n yo+ur ecto+bio+lo+gical pro+wess, Grey Kankri. carcinoGeneticist [CG] banned glamAureola [GA] from responding to memo. CG: AND THEY'RE ALSO TOTAL FUCKING ASSHOLES, BUT WHAT ELSE IS NEW FOR TROLLS. timaeusTestified [TT] responded to memo. TT: Hey, man. TT: Some of us are mer-trolls. TT: But like. Minus the mer-part. TT: Just some fuckin' ears. CG: I HATE YOU.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] banned timaeusTestified [TT] from responding to memo. tipsyGlubstalgic [TG] responded to memo. TG: U GLUBBIN KILLED DIRKIE CG: AND WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I LISTEN TO THE FORMER MOIRAIL OF ERIDAN FUCKING AMPORA ON THIS TOPIC. caligulasAquarium [CA] responded to memo. CA: hey leavve her alone CA: just because she fuckin dumped me for that no-good rustblood doesnt mean i cant respect her fuckin taste CA: treat a coddamn fuschia wwith more respect karkat CG: I HATE ALL OF YOU. CG: I HATE YOU ALL SO MUCH THAT I CAN'T EVEN BE FUCKED TO BAN YOU. CG: FUCK. CG: OKAY. CG: I'M GOING TO KEEP TALKING. GC: 1S TH1S TH3 P4RT WH3R3 YOU M3NT1ON TH3 HUM4NS >:O CG: WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU JOIN THIS FUCKING MEMO???????? GC: S3T MY PROF1L3 TO S1L3NT >:] CG: THAT'S A FEATURE? WHAT THE FUCK. GC: 1F YOU G3T TO 4SK SOLLUX FOR 4LL SORTS OF R3STR1CT1ONS ON M3MOS TH3N 1 G3T TO H4V3 SN34KY MOD3 ON MY PROF1L3!!!!!!! CG: I AM SO FUCKING DISTURBED RIGHT NOW. CG: HOW MUCH OF MY OLDER SHIT HAVE YOU BEEN SIFTING THROUGH WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE? GC: >:] carcinoGeneticist [CG] banned gallowsCalibrator [GC] from memo.

gamersCalling [GC] responded to memo. GC: h3y, uncool!!!! sh3's 4 sup3r cool r4d 4s fuck g4m3grl, why'd you b4n h3r? CG: YOU COULD NEVER UNDERSTAND. carcinoGeneticist [CG] banned gamersCalling [GC] from memo. CG: BUT YES. CG: HUMANS. CG: GOD MY FUCKING THINKPAN FEELS LIKE IT'S GOING TO EXPLODE TG: i wish we had a life player :( CG: I WISH THAT. CG: EVERY FUCKING DAY. CG: ALL THE FUCKING TIME. EVERY FUCKING DAY. CG: GROANNNNNNNNN. gutsyGulchgirl [GG] responded to memo. GG: What, are my )(andmade cookies not enough for you? CG: WE'RE NOT DOING THIS NOW, JANE. CG: I'M CHOOSING TO NOT BLOCK YOU. CG: BECAUSE WE ARE *FRIENDS.* CG: UGH. CG: I'M DONE. FUTURE ME TAKE OVER. twinArmageddons [TA] responded to memo. TA: you blocked future you from joiiniing thii2 2hiitty fuckiing niightmare. CG: I DON'T FUCKING CARE ANYMORE. carcinoGeneticist [CG] banned themself from the memo. TG: welp TG: uhm GG: :B GG: Mwwwwwah! TG: ehehhehehe TG: hiiiii janeie TA: get a FUCKIING room. golgothasTerror [GT] responded to memo. GT: A room for what? PTC: wHo MoThErFuCkIn KnOwS, wItH tHe K-mAn. hOnK :oD TA: yeah that2 about enough of thii2. twinArmageddons [TA] invoked admin privileges and closed the memo.

AU inspired by this person's dream these doodles are quick + messy but i had to get my vision out there

[apricuscity]

Morely & Friends Save Suniva!

Narrator: “It’s that festive time of year again, all of Taco Land is preparing for the Solstice!”

Scenes are shown of snow falling, people decorating buildings, putting up a large tree in the center of town.

We see scenes of Suniva’s workshop. All of Suniva’s helpers are making their preparations.

More and more letters arrive as children write to Suniva.

Time passes and we see the mailbox begin to fill up, the letters go unanswered.

We see a letter arrive addressed to Morely & Friends.

Burrito Bill opens the letter and reads it.

Bill: “HOLY GUACAMOLE! St. Suniva has gone missing! Morely! Morely, we gotta..Morely?”

Taco Felon: “Did you forget Morely went on vacation? He’s out catching up with his old friend! Give me that..”

Taco Felon reads the letter before putting it down.

Taco Felon: “Luckily for them, I’m still here..and the Taco Felon is always prepared for..”

Burrito Bill: “Everything! Yeah! Let’s go find St. Suniva!”

Taco Felon: “Great, the sidekick I never wanted...just don’t get in my way..”

Taco Felon collects his gear but hears a knock at the door.

Taco Felon opens the door and blinks

Java Joe: “Well hey there! Let me introduce myself, I’m Java Joe! And this is Cosmo the Coffee Cat!”

Cosmo: “Meow!”

Taco Felon: “And I should care..why?”

Java Joe: “Because we need your help! If we can’t mind Missy then there won’t be any delicious hot chocolate this year for Solstice!”

Taco Felon: “Whomst exactly is Missy?”

Java Joe: “My girlfriend of course!”

Burrito Bill: “Hey! Maybe if we help them, they could help us! We need to find St. Suniva and save Solstice!”

Cosmo: “Mew!”

Java Joe: “I agree Cosmo! Sounds like we got ourselves a deal!”

Taco Felon: “Fantastic...”

The opening credits roll

“MORELY & FRIENDS SAVE SUNIVA!”

Taco Felon, Burrito Bill, Java Joe, and Cosmo travel to Suniva’s secret workshop by way of Taco Felon’s portable wormhole.

Our heroes are spat out of the wormhole a small walk away from the workshop.

Taco Felon: “So tell me again what your girlfriend has to do with everyone having hot chocolate..”

Java Joe: “Well ya know me and Cosmo here, we’re with CiarBucks! I’m in charge of making sure everything is running smoothly, and that everyone gets their delicious coffee!”

Taco Felon: “Didn’t that place have a little dispute with..”

Cosmo: “Mrow”

Java Joe: “Like Cosmo said, everything is okie dokie with that now! Anyway my girlfriend Missy is the only one who knows the special hot chocolate recipe, and she’s the only one who knows how to work the magical machine!”

Taco Felon: “That seems awfully inefficient..”

Burrito Bill: “Look! It’s Suniva’s workshop!”

Everyone enters the workout, the helpers are still trying to make sure everything is ready for the holiday but without Suniva there’s very little organization. One of the workers starts talking in a language no one seems to understand...except..

Cosmo: “Mew.”

Java Joe: “Cosmo says this fella thinks Suniva might have been kidnapped by the snow dragon.”

Taco Felon: “The what? Wait how do you understand the cat..and how does the cat understand the workers?”

Java Joe: “Aw well you can understand anyone if you’re just willing to listen long enough.”

Taco Felon: “That’s not..”

Burrito Bill: “So is it a dragon that breathes ice or like a dragon made out of snow?”

Cosmo: “Mrow”

Java Joe: “Both.”

Taco Felon: “Oh good, we’re dealing with the offspring of Frosty and Smaug..”

Burrito Bill: “I read that book!”

Taco Felon: “I doubt it..”

Burrito Bill: “Ok well I saw the movies!”

Music plays as we see our heroes trek through blizzard conditions until they finally find the dragon’s lair.

Taco Felon: “Alright..has everyone equipped the anti-frost, dragon fighting armor I gave you?”

Cosmo wearing cat sized armor: “Mew!”

Burrito Bill: “Boy you really are prepared for everything aren’t you?”

Taco Felon: “This isn’t my first dragon fight..besides if I didn’t have this equipment my catchphrase would be meaningless..and the merchandise wouldn’t sell...now on the count of three..”

Taco Felon: “One..”

A large dragon made completely out of snow bursts out of the lair, roaring and breathing ice breath

Taco Felon: “RUN!”

Burrito Bill: “I thought two came after one..”

Taco Felon shoots a grappling hook back and pulls Burrito Bill along as he flees into the forest with Cosmo and Java Joe. Another musical number begins as the dragon swoops down trying to snatch up our heroes.

Taco Felon reaches into his satchel and begins to unfold something.

Taco Felon: “Distract it!”

Java Joe: “Do you think it would fancy a nice cup of coffee from CiarBucks?”

The dragon almost takes Java Joe but Cosmo leaps on the dragon’s back causing the beast to become confused trying to shake off it’s feline passenger.

Taco Felon: “Behold! The dragon buster three thousand!”

Taco Felon puts a box on the ground.

Taco Felon: “Let it never be said that the Taco Felon isn’t prepared for..”

The dragon flies over the box which activates and sends up a giant boxing glove, punching the snowman style head off of the dragon. It’s body lands on the ground.

Taco Felon: “EVERYTHING!”

Cosmo safely lands on top of Burrito Bill

Dragon: “Uhm...could I bother you for a little help? My body is..no not that..no over here..”

The dragon’s body stumbled around walking into trees.

Burrito Bill: “It can talk?”

Dragon: “Of course I can talk, what do you think I’d been doing this whole time!”

Java Joe: “Roaring and trying to eat us?”

The dragon’s body finally puts it’s head back on..backwards

Dragon: “Oh for Suniva’s sake..”

The dragon adjusts it’s head

Dragon: “Roaring no..I was hurrying outside to eat some snow. I ran into you folks and I was trying to explain what was happening but that hot chocolate kinda burnt my tongue..you know..cause I’m made of snow.”

Java Joe: “Hot chocolate..?”

Missy: “Oh my, are you alright dear...I think maybe that batch was a little too hot..”

Java Joe and Cosmo run over to hug Missy. Everyone heads inside the dragon’s lair.

Missy: “You see one of the helpers got ahold of me. Miss Suniva and I have been friends for ages. I wanted to come help but I knew you were super busy. I thought I’d be back in a jiffy. I didn’t mean for anyone to think I was kidnapped, oh my no. I’m dandy like candy!”

Taco Felon: “Ok..two questions. One, why are you with the abominable snow dragon here..and two..where is Suniva?”

Dragon: “I found her lost in the forest when I was going for my usual morning flight. I picked her up and brought her back here. She was nice enough to make some hot chocolate for me...but uh...I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t really a good idea for me to drink..”

Burrito Bill: “So nobody knows where Suniva is? We’re back to square one..or circle one..octagon one? What would Morely do?”

Taco Felon: “Who cares what Morely would do, I’m here and I’m superior to him in every way except I don’t have a crunchy taco shell.”

Burrito Bill: “Crunchy shell...that reminds me...is this the only place on the planet without a Tacos ‘N More? I haven’t seen one for..”

Taco Felon: “I have a horrible feeling...hey can you give us a ride?”

Dragon: “Sure, hop on.”

One dragon flight later everyone is back at the workshop going through the mail that had piled up for Suniva.

A set of Tacos ‘N More coupons is seen on the table with several of them cut out.

The door to the workshop suddenly flies open as an unseen figure strolls in putting down bags upon bags of Tacos ‘N More.

Taco Felon: “I can not believe it...I can not believe I wasted my time coming up here with you idiots.”

Burrito: “Well can you blame Suniva? Finally got some Tacos ‘N More coupons after all this time but since there wasn’t one..they had to fly to it and then wait for the order..and with all those helpers it was one big order!”

Taco Felon: “Never again..”

The group arrives back in Taco Land just as the grand tree lighting ceremony takes place.

Missy: “That certainly was an adventure.”

Cosmo: “Mew”

Burrito Bill: “You’re right Cosmo! The real adventure was the new friends we made along the way!”

Taco Felon: “That’s it! I’m gonna personally introduce you to some more new friends...at the hospital!”

Taco Felon grabs a giant candy cane decoration and chases after Bill.

Morely suddenly arrives, stepping out of a vehicle. He’s wearing a tropical shirt, and drinking from a straw poking out of a coconut

Morely: “What did I miss?”

The entire group looks up at the camera and waves

“Happy Holidays!”

End credits roll.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xi)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety, smidge of angst, fatigue, wormholes, netflix’s terrible original movie

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: i know that a few teachers read this series and i just need to put out the disclaimer that all i’ve written is based on ones that i know irl and the work they do in a completely different education system, please dont come at me for inaccuracies i’ll probably cry

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Bucky thought that with all the technological advancements the world had made in terms of vaccines and mobile phones, ancient practices would be left behind in the past, where they belong.

So when a letter arrives in the official Avengers mailbox, addressed to him, it’s a bit jarring. There’s a wax seal, picture perfect calligraphy and faded edges; a full blast from the past.

Valorous m'rning James,

We shalt meeteth on our regular day at mine own lair, at 11:30am. Doth not beest late.

Bringeth me a presenteth.  Or taketh off thy shirt.

With a heart full of misprise,

Thy sup'rvillain.

He ignores the thinly veiled threat in the first line and the clear flirtation in the third to last. The latter is harder to dismiss, but still.

He wonders if SHIELD has anything to do with the lair you’ve acquired for yourself. After the last conversation about your workplace, he did a little research. For the safety of human kind. 

It’s a little different than what he was expecting. A lot more usage of the words ‘holistic development’ and ‘practical learning’ that he’d ever seen. Then again, the world post-Snap was different. 

The lair door is closed to visitors, so gives three knocks and waits patiently. 

“Who is it?” Your voice floats through the intercom. 

Bucky looks up at the camera. “It’s me.”

“Sarge?” The door swings open a few seconds ago. “You’re here.”

It takes a moment for him to realise you’re not in your usual get-up. Still in your pajamas, as a matter of fact. Strange, but probably a costume for whatever shit you had going on that day.

“Got your letter.” He holds it up as proof, waving it around slightly.

Your eyes squint in confusion before it suddenly hits you.

"Shit, I forgot I sent that." You facepalm. "I mailed it, like, two weeks ago."

The more he takes in your appearance, the more apparent it becomes that something wasn't quite right. 

There was a little crease between your eyebrows that didn't look like they were going anytime soon, the slump of your shoulders and the missing liveliness-

“You okay?” he asks a little awkwardly, gruffer than he wants to sound.

You shift your balance to lean against the door frame. "I'm a little stressed.”

Clearly, if the circles under your eyes were any kind of indication. 

"Anything wrong?" He didn't want to pry but he didn't want to ignore it all together either.

"A lot of missing class prep. The parade thing kinda set me back, I got a lot to make up for."

His lips press together in a straight line. "I thought someone was covering for you."

You half-nod. "Turns out they weren't that great. The kids didn't learn much so I'm doing it again but class starts tomorrow and I have a lot to cover because I also have to do my current prep on top of last week's, and I’m also covering someone else’s classes because she’s out sick, and there’s the stupid play coming up so I have prop work to do-"

You cut yourself off with a small smile. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

He hasn't seen you this... serious ever. He doesn't like it very much.

"Why aren't you at home?"

"Didn't wanna disturb my roommate." You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. "Also it leaves a big mess and Jake doesn't want the cat to accidentally eat a roll of tape or something."

You have a cat, apparently. Every day he learns something new about you.

"Can we reschedule?" you ask, a little embarrassed at the entire situation. "Promise I'll kick your ass next week?"

"Yeah, sure." He doesn't have a problem with that, it's more the fatigue he can see rolling off your body in waves.

"See you later then." The corner of your lips quirk upwards in a smile, ready to get back to hours worth of arts and craft and God knows what else.

Okay, Barnes, you have the whole day to yourself. What plans can you-

"Listen," he blurts out before he can think about what he's going to say.

At the same instance, you open and shut your mouth immediately, instead indicating for him to go on with a flick of your wrist. 

"Do you-" This is not a life or death situation, idiot. "-do you want some help?"

You bite your lip. You were in no place to turn down any additional help. "You sure?"

"I got the time." Not like he has anywhere to be, anyway.

“Making flashcards seems a bit below your pay grade.”

Bucky simply dismisses it with a rise and drop of his shoulders. 

"Well, okay. If you’re sure." You push the door open to let him in.

He nods in confirmation. 

Sure enough, the lair is an absolute mess. There's cardboard, craft paper and markers strewn all over the floor among other things, a laptop half open with a few energy drinks beside it and empty wrappers of food long gone.

"How long have you been at this?” The lair looks less like an evil headquarter and more like an arts and craft section at the local mall.

”Couple of hours.”

”How long is a couple?” he presses, eyes narrowed.

”About six,” you say sheepishly. “Not counting yesterday.”

No wonder you were exhausted. 

He simply picks up an uncapped Sharpie that lay near his feet.

”Where should I start?

You can tell Bucky Barnes is a man of precision, accuracy and efficiency by the fact that he never misses a shot, but more importantly, the way he cuts his cardboard.

He made sure each one was the same size, not even a quarter of an inch off. He wouldn’t have given a shit if it was something he was doing on his own. He probably wouldn’t have even used a bright orange boxcutter, instead relying on his brute force. But these were for someone else, and therefore it was important to make sure they all lined up perfectly. 

He was gonna make sure that these were the best fucking props the school would ever see or at least die trying.

You, on the other hand, were working on lesson plans and a few presentations to use in class. You occasionally lifted your head to look at what he was doing, finding the look of utter focus on his face a bit amusing.

“How many of these do we need?” he asks, looking at the stack of ones he had already finished.

“As many as you can get out of those three sheets.” You point beside him. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“Got it.” He leans over to pull them closer to where he was sitting with his feet crossed on the floor.

You were on a plush armchair, one whose backrest rose high enough to know that it was your version of a villain’s throne. You had offered him the seat but he chose the ground, citing that there was more space to work. You didn’t expect anyone else to stay that long in your lair, let alone do DIY craft on your floor, hence the lack of seating. 

“How’s the day job going?” You don’t look up from your screen and he doesn’t from his measuring either.

“Same as always.”

“No new missions?”

“Not right now.” Classified information, he has to remind himself.

“You haven’t brought me souvenirs yet.” There’s no telling if you’re serious or not. Your focus still remained fixed on the laptop. “I’m pretty sure the letter mentioned that too.”

“I told you,” he begins, dividing the cardboard into squares with a ruler, “there’s nothing there.”

“Nick brought me a pencil once, so I know you’re lying.”

That piqued his interest, serving as a reminder. He had been meaning to ask for a while, ever since the parade fiasco.

“You and Fury are friends.” He didn’t know how else to describe the relationship the both of you had, considering that he had never seen the man act like that with anyone else. “How’d that happen?”

“Actually, I think he just picked it up from his table,” you deflect, tone reminiscent. “I don’t think he genuinely bought me a gift.”

“Okay, fine, but how does he not hate you?” he tries to urge you back on track.

“Man, all you superheroes do is hurt me.” You sigh, still hung up on the falsified gift.

“You’re not gonna answer, are you?”

“I have very secret secrets too, Mr. Barnes.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

He pauses. “Fair enough.”

He wasn’t going to push it. He goes back to his cardboard, painstakingly making sure every cut is in line.

“I send him a casserole every year for Thanksgiving,” you broke in all of a sudden.

Bucky just hums in acknowledgement, not buying the obvious bullshit.

There’s a silence that follows as your fingers click against the keyboard, typing something down. He tries not to disturb you, working as nimbly as he can on his own.

His metal arm makes it easier to work longer, given that it doesn’t strain his muscles. He hasn’t tried the little Feel Squares, a name he found inscribed inside the box, that you gave him yet. He doesn’t know how long it will take him to.

“I invent things for the division he manages,” you pipe up, unprompted.

He looks at you in brief surprise, not really expecting to hear from you again, before what you say registers. You look serious enough to know that you’re not kidding this time.

“You’re-” The gears in his brain turn. “You’re a SHIELD agent?”

“No.” Your nose twitches slightly. “I’m a teacher.”

“But you’re also a SHIELD agent.” 

“Yeah, I’m making this presentation right now for your next mission in Lithuania,” you shoot back instead. “Those Nazi bastards will never know what hit them. Do you think adding WordArt causes extra damage?”

He doesn’t pay attention to your retort. “Fine, are you technically on their payroll?”

“Lead technology consultant,” you clarify. The light from your laptop illuminates your face in series of colours one after the other, currently settling on red. 

“What about your evil shit?” He sets the boxcutter down beside him. “They’re okay with you being a nuisance?” 

“Yeah, as long as they get a blueprint of all my plans.” You shrug. “Generally they use those for their own inventions after tweaking it a little bit and making it look cooler. A lot more neon lights in their versions.”

This arrangement was one of the strangest he’d ever heard.

“Huh,” he states, crossing his arms. “How’d they find out about you?”

“Same way they find out about all of you.”

“They tracked you down?” Or blew up their director’s car with a missile launcher, in Bucky’s case. 

“No, I created a wormhole by mistake and they were at my door in an hour. They were going to take me in for messing with intergalactic legalities but-” You pause for a second, cursing under your breath at the stupid software that fucked up the entire document when you shifted an image. “I started nitpicking their primitive tech and told them I’d send them some new ideas if they let me go.”

“And they listened to you?”

“Do you know how annoying I can be?” He does. “Took, like, two hours to walk out of there with a new job.”

“What about Fury?”

“I’ve worked with him a bunch of times,” you say nonchalantly. “Why else do you think he agreed to let Tony bring me in so quickly? He was going to call me anyway.”

Tony should probably not hear about that. He thought he had all the leverage in that situation. 

“Why do they call you a villain then?” He specifically remembers the briefing he was given. “If you work with them.”

“You have a lot of questions, sarge. I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk,” you observe, voice offhanded.

He can’t even dispute that; it was true. Just- the thought of you being a part of SHIELD was absurd.

“It was a part of my contract. They don’t classify me as a world destroying threat, just a minor one, for now. Can’t really take that off the record once it’s on there.” You squint at the screen. “They assign me an agent to make sure things don’t go overboard, but they keep me around. They realised two or three years ago that I don’t need to be under constant supervision, only partial.”

Totally harmless. Except for when you were going to steal the power of the sun. 

“He gave you a high five,” Bucky brings up instead. A very reluctant one, but Fury did give you a high five.

“You saw that?” you ask, a small smile on your face. “Don’t let him know. He’ll have you eliminated.”

“He hasn’t done that with anyone else.”

“It’s what I get in return when I do him favours,” you explain casually. “I wormed my way into his life. Just like how I’m doing to your heart. And soon your bed.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re not a villain.”

“Am too,” you defend. “You’re here to stop me.”

“There’s nothing to stop.” He makes a mention towards the cardboard. “You’re not even evil.”

“Take that back or else I’ll steal the declaration of Independence next week,” you mutter, attention divided again. “I’ll tell them you helped me do it.”

“My arch nemesis is a theatre kid.” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief.

The laptop slams shut dramatically. He looks up.

“Now that’s just hurtful,” you say straightly. “If I’m a theatre kid then you’re president of the goth club.”

He scoffs, going back to cutting cardboard.

Unlike last time, he takes you up on your offer of a soda. It’s been an hour and a half and he’s shifted to calligraphy. It takes him a while to get used to it, given that it wasn’t part of his existing skillset. 

But numbering pieces of coloured paper is more fun than he’d like to admit.

"How’d the parade go?" You're typing away on your laptop, working on a presentation for now. “No security issues?”

"No, it went fine," He’s more focused on carefully controlling each flick of his wrist to make sure there are no stray lines.

"Oh, cool," you say offhandedly. “Did you have fun?”

He spent most of the event trying to coordinate a team of over a hundred agents covering multiple city blocks, so he didn’t get to see a whole lot of the actual parade.

He did eventually find you at some point, but even that was short lived. The giant cotton candy you shoved into his hand and the quick picture you snapped of him holding it in his official work outfit was one of the only instances he actually talked to you, and half of it was spent in him threatening you not to post that anywhere online. Other times he just stood beside you in silence for a few moments before intercepting another message on his comm.

He did try his best though, a subtle way of expressing his gratitude. 

"Kinda." The vibe was positive, people looked like they were having a good time. "Not exactly my idea of it, but t'was nice."

"Yeah? What is your idea of fun then?" you inquire. "From what I see, when you're not on missions you're here, and I can't imagine this is very fun for you."

He looks at the stacks of paper he had already completed. He actually was not hating this.

”I told you, nothing,” he maintained his automatic response. It wasn’t like his answer had changed drastically over the course of a few months. 

”Okay.” You don’t bother arguing with him, instead, returning your focus to the sources you were citing. 

He lets it sit for a second, mind already cringing about how disinterested he sounded. He wasn’t, he just doesn’t talk about himself much. His therapist’s voice rings in his head again about letting himself be seen and breaking down walls. 

“Cook.” 

“Huh?” Your eyes dart up to his for a second.

“I cook.” His excessive stress baking and the lack of appreciation for it had led him here in the first place, in search of a new way to spend his waking hours. 

“What do you cook?” Generic question, best not to go into details before he shuts down again.

“Stuff.” It’s embarrassing enough to admit it to someone who wasn’t on the team anyway. “’m not very good at it.”

He does not divulge the fact that he could make a killer lasagna, given that he wouldn’t stop making batches of it until he perfected it. 

“You should let me be the judge of that.” Your face is completely neutral but he’s come to realise the signs of when you’re going to hit on him. “Make me dinner on our date.”

There it is. 

“What’s the best meal you’ve ever had?” You sigh at the document when it fucks up again. “Keep in mind, it’s not necessarily your favourite food. Also could be something you made.”

His eyebrows crease when he tries to remember, pinpoint an exact one. Flashes of hot dog vans, a neighbour in Romania who gave him a batch of cookies once when she made extra, his first bite of pizza from Sam’s favourite place downtown, the cupcakes he made once for Wanda’s birthday.

It gets overwhelming abruptly, beginning to feel a little suffocating in his head.

“Don’t know,” he croaks out, not explaining further. 

You don’t test it, noticing the shift in his tone. 

He curses when his Sharpie slips in his grip, drawing a bold line across the piece of paper. Fuckin’ hell.

You tell him it’s okay. 

He picks up another piece wordlessly.

“I swear to- Barnes, I will murder you if you don’t put that down.”

“I know how to use this,” he insists. The glue on and around his hands says otherwise.

“You need the skill to be able to glue two sticks together and you clearly don’t have it.”

“I was a trained assassin, I know how to use guns-”

“Who did you have to assassinate with a glue gun, Bucky?” Prying him away from the hot glue gun was probably the most laborious task you had done all day. “You’re going to burn yourself, you moron.”

“Your glue gun is weak,” he says objectively. The man had managed to stick his fingers together once already and various other objects to the floor. 

Was it out of petty revenge after you took it away from him once? A possibility he would vehemently deny it till the day of his death. This was his vengeance. 

“I’m going to kill you.” You exhale in indignation. “My glue gun isn’t used to being handled by an idiot with a death grip metal arm.”

“Yeah, it’s generally handled by an idiot without a death grip metal arm.” He rolls his eyes.

You’re not even trying to be subtle when you take a step over to grab the rest of the glue sticks, shoving it behind your back on the couch. 

“We’re out of glue sticks,” you say monotonously.

He glares at you and your determination not to budge from your decision. 

Until he has another brilliant idea.

“I’m going to tape this together.” He stretches his arm to pick up the roll that lay a few feet away from him.

“Put down the tape or so help me God-”

The giant wall of screens had its use, but for now, a couple of them were on to function as a mini theatre of sorts. However, the biggest downfall was the movie you had conned him into streaming. You were absolutely resolute that it was important for his cultural expansion.

“I hate this,” he says, not even five minutes into The Kissing Booth.

“You’re gonna love the rest of it.” It had been the longest half an hour, forcing Bucky to, first of all, stop arranging the sketch pens and crayons colour-wise, and then second, convince him to eat something. 

“What do you want to eat?” you asked for the tenth time, one hand on your hip and one hand holding your phone.

“I don’t eat food,” he stated, hoping that it’d end the conversation there.

You pressed your mouth into a thin line. “What do you want then, motor oil? Spare car parts?”

“I don’t eat,” he corrected instead.

You didn’t look impressed.

“I’m getting you pasta,” you decided finally, pulling up the app to order, remembering what he said about it being his preferred choice a while ago.

He opened his mouth to protest but a quick stern look from you and he shut it. 

“I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“You pay for our next date.” You don’t cast him a second glance. “I like very expensive wine and cheap burgers.”

“All of them are fuckin’ annoying.” He can’t tear his eyes away from the train wreck going on in front of him. “Who is that?”

“He’s one of the leads, he’s been here for half the movie already.” You snort, lap acting like support for your cartons of food. 

“This is more painful than whatever the soviets did to me.” He takes a swig of his water and mentally wishes he conjure up a Jesus moment where it turns into vodka. 

“I’ll let Netflix know.” The both of you were leaning against the entrance wall, a considerable distance away from the screen. Your speakers were well placed throughout the lair to let the sound reverberate like a normal movie hall. All in all, it was a pretty good system that he had to give you kudos for. 

“How much longer does this go on for?” He pulls out his phone, switching it on momentarily to check the clock. 

“You know, there’s a sequel.” Good God why. “Also there’s an hour to go and we’re not moving till this is done.”

An hour? What could they possibly be doing for an hour? 

“You are pure evil,” he mumbles, pushing around his leftover pasta. You had gotten him two, knowing his metabolism would have him starving by the time the food arrived. 

“All it took was one showing of The Kissing Booth for you to take back what you said this morning.” Your eyes light up. “You’re easier to convince than I thought.”

Someone in the movie says something stupid again. Someone else gets mad again. Bucky feels like he’s going to start disassociating soon. 

“Isn’t there any other way of spending an hour?” He nearly groans at the borderline abusive lead. “I’m gonna have a brain haemorrhage if that piece of shit opens his mouth one more time.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t spend the last hour of your life watching shitty rom-coms with your best friend?” You lean over to nudge his shoulder.

“No, I wouldn’t.” He glowers at you. “And you’re not my best friend.” Especially not after this.

“Oh right, yeah, my bad,” you backtrack fairly quickly. “I’m the love of your life.” 

He shifts further away from where you’re sitting. He hears you laugh. 

He’s nearly out of garlic bread, which is upsetting, to say the least. Maybe he could make a batch when he got home. 

Speaking of which, he should probably leave, seeing as how he had spent well over four hours there already.

"What would you do if had one hour to live?" you inquire out of the blue, interrupting his train of thought. “Besides watching The Kissing Booth 2 with me, which we’re definitely going to do one day.”

A lot of big questions that day. He can’t say much, considering that he was the one who started the whole thing.

Bucky sighs, taking another bite, chewing on it mindlessly. 

”What would you do?” he asks in return after a while. 

”I don’t know actually.” You shrug. “Maybe lie down on some grass with the people that I actually like. Talk about nothing, but probably have the last thing I say be something cursed so that they’re forced to remember me forever.”

”No creating wormholes?” The light from the movie dances off the cervices of your face but you aren’t looking at him.

”Nah.” You laugh gently. “I think I do enough of that every other day.”

The movie fades into background noise, becoming easier to ignore now that he’s not actively thinking about it. 

"We were in South Dakota for a stealth op once." He pokes at the cherry tomato rolling around in the carton. "Stark’s suit was basically non-functional, Barton's arm was four kinds of fucked up. Wanda was the only one who relatively fine."

"What about you?"

"Hmm?" he breathes, breaking out of his memory.

"Were you fine?" you repeat, eyes no longer glued to the screen.

"Needed a few stitches, nothing major." If he recalls correctly. "But team morale wasn't the highest."

He remembers that the wisecracks and witty one-liners weren't landing that well that night. And once they stopped, things got all the worse.

"We were waiting for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to send over a new quinjet. It was 3am and everyone was whinin' and being little shits and somehow Wanda managed to get us to this small doughnut shop a couple of miles away. Didn’t take a lotta talkin’ to convince him to stay open for a little longer."

"Best damn meal I've ever eaten in my life. Doughnuts and stale coffee." There's a wisp of a smile on his face that you take a liking to. It looks good on him. "We had too much muck on us to be sitting inside and there were maybe five seats outdoors that everyone wanted to put their equipment on. We compromised and I just sat on the stairs outside the shop by myself."

That was nice of him, you think. Or maybe non-confrontational.

"So if I had one hour to live, I'd probably want to spend it there. T'was nice. Quiet."

"That's-" strangely beautiful, a deeper insight than you thought you'd get from him? You don't complete the sentence. "How often do you go there?"

"Haven't been back since then." He shrugs. "Never found the time. I don’t even think I’ve eaten a doughnut that good since then.”

"Well I mean-" you gesture around vaguely. "-there's a Dunkin store a few blocks down. It's not the same, but I'm sure could DoorDash some doughnuts. Try ‘em out.”

He actually laughs at that, freely and louder than an exhale.

It's probably the first you've ever seen him do it. It’s cute.

"Maybe some other time."

“You made me watch that stupid movie. I deserve that glue gun.”

“You are not getting it,” you shot back.

“I did my best work with that,” he argues, arms crossed over his chest. 

“You glued my chair to the ground on purpose.” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “How did you even fucking get that close without me seeing?”

He smirks but neglects to answer your question. “Give me the glue gun.”

“You don’t even have the fuckin’ sticks, I hid them,” you say pointedly.

He reaches behind to his back pocket and pulls out a stash of glue gun sticks. Your jaw drops.

“How did you-”

“Your tape sucks, I want the glue gun.” He eyes it in your hand. Just because he didn’t use all his available skillset on you doesn’t mean he didn’t have them. 

“My tape has stars on them, you-” The tape was pretty but it was useless, the adhesive barely clung onto anything. 

“Glue gun,” he interrupts, annoyingly persistent. 

“No-”

“Glue gun.”

"I will carve your heart out of your chest and eat it like a mango, James.”

Bucky blinks at you. "Jesus Christ."

You look surprised yourself. “That was aggressive.” He nearly cracks up.

“Where did that come from?” He pulls his lips into a straight line in an effort not to.

“Sorry.” You sigh. “I shouldn’t have said that. Take the stupid gun.” 

You toss it at him and he catches it with ease. 

He stops for a second, tilting the gun towards you. “It was creative.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Did it turn you on? Is that a kink?”

“Forget I ever said anything.”

He thinks he’s done the most he can today. He cut, copied, coloured, stuck his way through nearly eight hours of work. 

He was clicking through your presentation with one hand, the other being used to keep his body upright as he sat on the floor. 

You were running through your lesson plan for the week, legs thrown over the armrests of your villain couch. He refused to sit on it out of moral principle and his loyalty towards the good side. 

He remembers some of the concepts you’re teaching about, either from his own school or information he picked up over the years. Things were radically different and he didn’t expect any less, but it still struck him how different his education was.

"You put a lot of effort into these classes," he notes, changing to the next slide.

"Makes it fun for everyone." There’s a pencil tucked behind your ear to mark any changes. "They think I'm cool, I gotta keep that going."

"What would they say about the evil side job?"

"Doubt they'd care that much," you reckoned offhandedly. "Besides, who cares what you do outside the classroom if you put memes in your presentation?"

Right as you say it he comes across something that vaguely looks like a cartoon mouse leaning against a wall for support with tears in its eyes.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" He stares at it, flipping the laptop to show you.

You lift your neck for a second to look at it. "Not without context." 

He nods, flipping it back towards him.

He's seen a few of them. He's liked a few of them, but the majority don't make sense. Peter calls them surreal memes.

He thinks he's getting better at filtering his content on his Instagram. It had finally shifted from cats to German architecture which he, admittedly, didn't know much about, but it was definitely easier to explain. Occasionally a surreal meme would show up and he’d spend 5 minutes trying to deconstruct the meaning behind it.

”Have you always wanted to teach?”

“Yeah.” You don’t even hesitate in answering. 

“Why?”

“It’s just one of those jobs where you can see yourself making a difference every day.” You shift in your place, pulling your legs up to get more comfortable. “Most people don’t realise how important is as a kid to know that someone older is rooting for you.”

He can make out how tired you are by the way your replies get shorter, less detailed. There was still a stack of papers beside you with scripts that had parts that needed to be scratched out or highlighted. He had done a few of them before you said he had done more than enough already.

“Why’d you ask?” you questioned, his sudden interest in your life a bit unusual.

Well.

“It’s important to you.” He shrugs simply, mouth moving faster than his brain.

When he doesn’t receive a reply he glances up through his eyelashes to see if he somehow pushed a boundary he wasn’t supposed to.

You’re looking at him over your file, a soft smile on your face.

He quickly shifts his gaze back down before you can make a dumb joke at his expense. It doesn’t come, but technology has never looked more appealing to him at that moment. 

The presentations themselves are pretty interesting. No wonder you spent so long on them. He thinks the little animation segues are strange but not in a bad way.

He’s about to ask you what the meme of a rabbit in a tuxedo means when he swiftly stops himself. 

You’re asleep, curled up on the couch with the file clutched close to you. 

He takes it as his sign to leave. 

He gets up silently, pulling off bits of tape that stuck itself onto his body over the day. He steps over pieces of discarded material, turning to make sure you’re still asleep when something catches his eye.

The pile of scripts lay unfinished beside you. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth.

He didn’t want to overstep, but he also knew that that was an hour more of work minimum and you didn’t look like you were in any state to sit do that now.

Fuck it.

Bucky quietly makes his way over to the pile to pick it up, reverting back to his original position on the floor with his back to you. Privacy, or something resembling it at least.

He does his best not to wake you, keeping the noise of rustling papers the lowest he could.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm and soon he doesn’t require a reference either. He just knows what to erase and what to highlight.

Mundane tasks like this give him time to think. His mind floats from subject to subject, not lingering too long on anything specific. It’s calming. Maybe a new coping mechanism. 

You turn over on the couch. He freezes mid page turn, waiting to see if you’d wake up. When you don’t, he continues with his work.

He thinks it was a good day. A productive one, at the minimum. He didn’t really have anything to show that he stopped an evil scheme of yours other than a head full of repressed memories of possibly the worst movie he had seen in months. He thinks that counts as the most heinous thing you’ve ever done. 

He’s more than halfway through the pile when the lights in the lair switch on by themselves. He squints at the sudden exposure, shielding his eyes from the light.

The clock on his phone tells him it’s close to 9pm. He has a few scripts to go and then he’d sneak out of there, probably send you a text to make sure you got home-

“Bucky?” Your groggy voice calls out from behind him.

He flinches, placing the bundle down. “’m sorry, was I too loud?” 

“No, no it was the light. They turn on if it gets dark outside.” You sit up straight, stretching your neck to get rid of the soreness. “What are you doing?”

“Just finishing up some stuff.” He turns around, slowly pushing the stack of scripts in front of him. 

“Are those the-” your eyes blink rapidly to adjust to what you’re seeing. 

“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head. 

“Oh.” The gesture involuntarily makes you feel a certain way. Something weirdly warm. “Thank you.”

“I thought you could use some sleep.” He pushes himself off the ground when he sees you looking at him with an emotion he can’t quite put his finger on, not wanting to overstay his welcome. “‘m gonna go.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you to the door.” You hop off the couch, shaking your legs to get rid of the pins and needles. 

He obliges, waiting as you jog up to him. There are only a few metres to the exit but you insisted on being chivalrous. It also gives you ample chance for a few more pickup lines.

”Sorry for sticking around this long, wasn’t really much use after lunch.” He inwardly cringes, forcing a stoic face to refrain from showing it physically.

“You were,” you rebuked, “and I was gonna ask you to stay anyway, you just beat me to it.” 

"You’re probably gonna need a new glue gun," he avoids replying to your comment.

“Probably.” You snort. “You know, you’re fun to hang out with sometimes, sarge. You should hang out here more often.”

”I’ll start working on the art skills.” He thinks it’s easier to go back and forth with you now, less guarded than he initially was when he first met you. 

”Or maybe, we can just watch a movie and eat trash takeout,” you suggest instead. “No work involved.”

His mouth clamps shut, finding it a little difficult to come to terms with the fact that he didn’t have to offer a service for you to spend time around him. No saving the world or making flashcards. Just his generally disgruntled self.

“Okay,” he says simply. “Get some rest. I’ll see you next week.”

“Thank you,” It comes out a little softer than you intend, “for today. I owe you big time.”

He considers it even, actually. “Don’t mention it.”

"Now bring that same glue gun energy to our date.” You switch back within the blink of an eye. “You get real cute when you're possessive.”

He scoffs, spinning around on his heel. “You’re a pest.”

You watch him hastily leave, laughter erupting from your chest and the same warmth from earlier not showing signs of leaving anytime soon. 

in case you want a translation of the letter she sent him in the beginning :)

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Next part

[bumblepuppy]

Hanging in my living room is an original collage of an octopus by Eric Carle that reads in the bottom left corner, "For Nick Bruel who loves an octopus."  Here is how I came to own this amazing piece of art...

Many years ago, the Eric Carle Museum decided to invite children's book illustrators to contribute to a book they were putting together as a fundraiser for the museum.  Each illustrator was asked the simple question, "What's Your Favorite Animal?" which also became the title of the book.  Apparently during some peppermint schnapps induced fevered delirium someone decided to include me.  Because the book was being published by Macmillan, the thought was that I would choose "cat" and feature Bad Kitty.  I didn't.  I chose "octopus" because they're insanely cool.  (You can slip into a mind-bending YouTube wormhole just by typing into the search "octopus" and sitting back for the afternoon.)  But the Macmillan powers that be were dropping some SIGNIFICANT hints that I could include Kitty somehow.  "You don't have to, but you could.  Not saying you should, but you certainly could.  Just think about it.  Seriously.  Think about it."

Everyone else made spectacular two page spread illustrations of their animal.  Peter Sis wrote a piece about the Blue Carp that will make you cry.  Peter McCarty created a piece with a bunny that I can stare at for days.  Me, because I'm bad at reading instructions, I created a two page graphic story about why I like octopuses which includes Kitty interfering and eventually taking over my piece because she's upset no one asked HER what her favorite animal is.At first Kitty says that her favorite animal is a "meatloaf".  "Try again," I tell her.  She then says her favorite animal is Eric Carle.  What?! "Eric Carle is NOT an animal," I explain to Kitty, admitting that arguably he actually is.  But then in the final panels a package arrives for Kitty from Eric Carle.  Inside is a meatloaf.  Not believing that actually worked, the final panel is my writing a letter saying, "Dear Eric Carle, you are my most favoritest author!  Sincerely, Nick Bruel.  P.S.: Please send me an octopus.

About two weeks later, I walked to my mailbox and inside was a small padded envelope - uninsured, sent regular mail, no tracking label - from an address in Florida I didn't recognize.  There was no name, just a simple doodle of what looked like a caterpillar.My hands were practically shaking while I opened this envelope.  Inside was this octopus.

I immediately knew what I had to do.

I brought my octopus downstairs, scanned it, and printed out a copy.  Then I carefully cut out one of the tentacles from the copy.  My daughter happened to walk in at that moment and shouted, "What the heck are you doing?!"  "Relax," I told her.  "It's a photocopy."  Then I made a painting of Kitty and glued the tentacle in such a way that it was sticking out of her mouth.  Above Kitty I wrote the words, "Dear Eric Carle, Thank you for the octopus.  It was delicious! - Kitty"  I carefully packaged the piece and sent it to the return address on the label the next day.

About five days later, I started getting texts from almost everyone I knew at Macmillan who had a picture of my cat with the octopus tentacle sticking out of her mouth.  Apparently Eric Carle was tickled by the painting and shared it with his editor who shared it with the rest of the Macmillan staff.

About a year later, both Carle's octopus and my Kitty would be hanging side by side in his museum as an example of how two illustrators might never meet in person but have a marvelous conversation nonetheless.

Thank you, Eric Carle.  Thank you for your museum, for your books, for your talent, for your octopus, but most of all for your extraordinary kindness.  I already miss you so much it hurts.

Nick Bruel, the author and illustrator of the Bad Kitty series, shared this sweet story about Eric Carle that I thought some of you would like to real.

[sunsetz4u]

conspiracies of the universe

all these theories i have heard about wormholes, cosmic inflation, and multiverse make me wonder how i might be like in those infinite universes — and if i have already met you in one or several parallel universe out there.

the thought of having multiple universes — “the entirety of space, time, matter and energy is all happening at once in different timelines” — may sound too extreme, but if you think about it the entire universe is huge, and we only know about the observable universe. there can be a lot more universe existing beyond what we are able to observe. 

and somewhere along those parallel universes, i am a different person and so are you. 

maybe in another universe, you and i are back to the 70's and we listen to the rolling stones and joy division on our vinyl records, singing the wrong lyrics as we go. and we fall in love at the restaurant downtown, sipping our favorite drinks and we look at each other in the eyes with the sun making them look like honey. 

maybe in another universe, we're far apart and we are fond of sending handwritten letters to random address, only to end up on each other's mailboxes. and we are filling the jars with coins with “big dreams” written on it, so sooner or later we'll meet beyond the boundary.

maybe somewhere, you're the same person as you are but without your favorite instrument on your hand though. this time, you sing and you sing for me. you lull me to sleep with your favorite songs, your sweet voice welcoming me in my dreams. or you can be in a band and you write your own songs. and that every word you sing at your show, i swear you sing it for me; your nonchalant voice echoing in the small place as you say, “this goes for the one i love.”and we look at each other in the eyes and you can be the kyle scheible in that generation, and i won't ask for any other. 

or we are completely strangers out there, with exactly no idea of each other's existence. time unfolds and ends without us having the chance to know each other's names and make memories that will haunt us forever because we can't happen. at least, in one universe i am not in pain because of you — just because i haven't met you in my life.

we can be complete geeks who spend nights together under the moon as we wonder about the existing universes out there, too and all the possible things that exist. we can be listening to the still nothingness of the night as we look down over the houses in this blue neighborhood, thinking the world can end in such a night like this and we'll just disappear completely without no one knowing we existed and lived a happy short life, with each other around.

maybe there is a universe out there, i am what you want and you look for me in a sea of people just like how i search for your familiar back in the crowd. 

a universe where the cowardly lion knows how to love has got to be  out there somewhere — where my universe treats me as his universe, and not just a mere dust in the galaxy. 

but this observable universe is full of exchanged glances between could've been lovers. i am missing you right now and you aren't in my arms. i just wish i knew what makes you think i'm special. if only i can signal the aliens, we can be lovers in those places the stars will lead. 

today darling, i will just have to wait for destiny to work on us.i clung to the idea of me and you happening in another universe because in here, you do not see the galaxies when you stare at me, you do not stagger as i talk, do not die when you touch me. maybe in another universe, i deserve you.

— a confession to the universe and all the things beyond; are you the love of my life in those infinite universes? ; january 23, 2019.

[talistheintrovert]

banter and baseball bats

@blvke-bellamy asked for bellarke as random citizens during the battle of new york in the Avengers, so here you are my love!

*******

The ground was rumbling.

Clarke faltered as she placed mugs of coffee down for the couple by the window, apologising for the spill, and glanced out of it.

There were creatures in the sky.

Grey, angry creatures on flying jetskis and enormous flying whales were attacking the city, and they were getting closer. She could hear it all more clearly now; the smashing of glass, the crumbling of concrete, the cries of people as they fled the scourge.

She took a hesitant step back and hit something – Bellamy was standing behind her. He must have run up when he felt the shaking, to investigate, and his hand curled around her arm.

“We need to move.” He said. She glanced over her shoulder at him, but his eyes were locked on the horizon.

She sprung to action, calling out to the whole café. “Alright, everybody out! Head left and don’t stop running! Move, move, move!!”

Everyone abandoned their meals and started scrambling for the door, sprinting down the sidewalk away from the action.

Clarke waited until the last person was gone before she closed the door with a cheery jingle and latched it. She looked back to Bellamy, who ducked down behind the counter, and emerged with a baseball bat and a pistol in his hand.

He met her eyes. “You want to run?”

It was a genuine question, no judgemental tone, just an option he was waiting for her to take.

She raised an eyebrow. “Throw me the gun.”

He grinned and tossed it to her, flipping the bat around his fingers. “Did you lock up?”

“Yep. And if one of those superhero jackasses throws an alien through our window, they’ll have more than just Loki to worry about.” She said, cocking the gun.

He snorted and they stepped out the side exit and onto the street.

The aliens were almost upon them, and just as they reached the nearest junction, a car went flipping through the air, ending up on its back, and Bellamy clambered onto it, getting into a batter’s stance.

Clarke rolled her eyes and positioned herself behind a mailbox, gun pointed at the flying troops as they rocketed towards them. “You’ve always gotta be dramatic.”

“It’s one of my best traits, Princess.”

“Is not.” She cocked the pistol.

“You know you love it.”

“Maybe.”

“You married me.” He pointed out, and then swung his bat, hard.

It made a sickening crack as it hit one of the vehicles, shattering something on the side and sending it careening into a lamppost. The alien flipped forward over the front and smashed into a car window.

“And you can’t say it’s not effective.” He continued, grinning.

She aimed her gun high and fired, catching the engine of the vehicle. It exploded and the alien veered sideways and hit another vehicle, sending them both to the ground.

“But is it as effective as me?” She asked, shooting a wink at him.

“Wanna make a wager?”

“Not really.” She deadpanned, shooting down another ship.

“You win, I’ll spend a whole week sucking up to your mother.” He swung the bat again, knocking an alien off course. “I win, and… we talk about kids.”

It threw her off and the bullet was wide, barely scraping the side of one of the space whales. “Bellamy, we run a business in New York, we’re both still paying off student debt, and in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a wormhole in the sky. You think that now is the time to have this conversation?”

Without warning, something tackled her to the ground, and she had just enough cognizance to recognise the colours of the American flag before Captain America was on his feet again, holding his hand out to her. “You alright?”

She let him lift her, glancing to see the bus that was on its side right where she’d just been standing. It had thrown the car Bellamy had been standing on into the road, and she gripped harder to Cap’s arm, looking around for him desperately. “Did you see-”

But before she had a chance to finish the question, Iron Man swooped down and deposited Bellamy next to her.

“Thank you.” She said, reaching for Bellamy instinctively, drawing him closer.

“Don’t mention it.” Cap said, leaping up.

Iron Man caught him. “And get off the streets!”

They disappeared down the further into the city, towards the large beam in the sky, and Bellamy and Clarke glanced at each other. She reloaded her gun. “You want to run?”

“Not a chance.” He lifted the bat again. “First to ten?”

“Kids?” She quipped. “I think I’ll get to ten before you manage one.”

He whacked a nearby alien in the face and then paused. “Wait. Do you mean-”

In his surprise, he didn’t see the one creeping up behind him, and she spun around, shooting it between the eyes. He blinked, watching it fall, and then swung the bat around again.

“Yeah.” She said, already aiming at another two creatures stalking towards them. “You manage to not die, and I’ll have your babies, Blake.”

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

[trekfm]

P39: The Possibilities Are Endless

Fan Response to “Such Sweet Sorrow.” The Star Trek: Discovery season-two finale is here! After watching “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part II,” fans had much to talk about. In this episode of Postcards from The Edge, Justin Oser of Earl Grey sits in for Amy Nelson, who is away leading a bag of postcards through a wormhole to a mailbox 950 years in the future. To prevent Justin from feeling as lonely as Zora, Clara Cook of Primitive Culture beamed over while the shields were down to discuss all the feedback we’ve received from listeners—both positive and negative!

Chapters Intro (00:00:00) Initial Thoughts (00:05:23) Fan Response (00:07:37) Bits and Pieces (00:48:11) Questions and Concerns (00:54:36) Final Thoughts (01:22:37) Closing (01:24:57)

Host Justin Oser

Guest Clara Cook

Production Justin Oser (Editor) Amy Nelson (Producer) C Bryan Jones (Executive Producer) Matthew Rushing (Executive Producer) Ken Tripp (Executive Producer) Norman C. Lao (Associate Producer) Tony Robinson (Associate Producer) Lisa Slack (Associate Producer) Tom Puleo (Associate Producer) Shoaib Mirza (Associate Producer) Richard Rutledge (Associate Producer) James Muldrow (Associate Producer) Cornelia Reutner (Associate Producer) Ryan Maillet (Associate Producer) Chris Tribuzio (Associate Producer) Brian Meloche (Associate Producer) Richard Marquez (Production Manager) Tony Robinson (Show Art) Brandon-Shea Mutala (Patreon Manager)

New podcast episode!

[sorrowfulwill]

Trick or treat!♡

treat

[beastoftheblackhole]

ok so i was going thru my google docs and i found that. i literally made a list-shaped moodboard for the alien gutterpunk aesthetic?? wild. anyway @d--t​ told me to post it and as i never require much encouragement to babble abt shit ive come up w, here it is :D suggestions welcome.

Purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, red, white, and black

Glow in the dark, holographic, metallic, neon

Starfields and planetscapes

Punks with three eyes at first glance then two when you look again

Punks whose grey skin isn't because of health problems

Foggy neon

Sacred geometry

Wikipedia’s cryptid page

Reading said page at 3am

Like cryptidcore but with more spikes

Crop circles

Government coverups and conspiracies

Dyatlov Pass, Bermuda Triangle

Blurry paranormal photographs

Abandoned government facilities and factories and hospitals

Punks with eyes like black holes

Einstein riding a bicycle around the Milky Way

Fucking off this planet because it's too fucked up to save

Punk’s not dead, we just moved to a new planet

Space travel>military spending

Civilian space travel

SpaceX and Elon Musk but only bc they’re non-gov

Ascended brain: astronaut farmers

Science above all

Black holes, white holes, wormholes

Galaxy-print clothing held together with safety pins

Slimepunk space grunge

Plaid pants with NASA patches

If you can't hunt cryptids in it, is it really worth wearing? Probably not lbr

Sci-fi>The Bible

Alien/UFO patches and pins

Roswell, the Black Mailbox, Extraterrestrial Highway, the Little Aleinn, Devils Tower

Five Notes (you know what they are)

Space jewelry

Cosmic Horror

“Space opera” as high praise

Late night drives to find the perfect place to stargaze

Late night drives bc you want to be somewhere and you can't figure out where

And nowhere on earth feels like home

Greys flipping the bird while eating pizza and French fries and drinking booze

@roguenasa

The Holy Trinity: Carl Sagan, Bill Nye, and Neil Degrasse Tyson

David Bowie is a primary saint

Also Isaac Asimov

Punks in space

That astronaut who made a vid of himself playing “Space Oddity” on the ISS

Cosmic void, filaments of the universe, bleeding-edge quantum physics

‘39

Futz Said Julie

In Space

Space Oddity

Genus Unknown

Rush, Genesis, Dol Ammad, Scar Symmetry

Sailing the stars while listening to the Clash

42, Don't Panic, always bring your towel, and stick out your electronic thumb

Humans are space orcs and Earth is space Australia

Grungy, grubby, rattletrap spaceships held together with rubber bands and bubblegum and a Hail Mary

Paul, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Super 8, Men In Black, Star Wars (esp OT), Star Trek, No Man’s Sky, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Interstellar, Arrival, Hidden Figures, The X-Files, Stranger Things, Gravity Falls, Twin Peaks, Welcome to Night Vale, The Expanse, The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

Twin Peaks has David Bowie. It is hereby elevated to Sacred Text status.

[americaistheoldworld]

Black History month is Blackamoor History.

Refrigerated trucks

Friends, the refrigerated truck was invented by a Moor (black) by the name of Frederick Mckinley Jones. He holds over 60 patents under his belt. Thanks to the refrigerated truck we enjoy fresh foods that are shipped all over this country. When you go to the grocery store 90% of the foods that you see were shipped by way of refrigerated truck.

Inventor of the GPS

Dr. Gladys West invented the Global Positioning System (GPS). This is very significance family because GPS is a important aspect of satellites, as far as tracking goes. The military uses GPS in all of its guided weapons. The US Air force honored Dr. Gladys West at the pentagon.

Invented the dot com

If you have a personal computer and internet service, please thank Moors for our contributions, because Dr. Mark Dean invented the Personal computer, color monitor, and the Supercomputer chip; Dr. Philip Emeagwali invented the internet; and this brother whose post I am sharing, Dr. Emmit McHenry, created the .com. Family and friends between these three brothers we are owed credit for inventing the modern computer era, but because of white supremacy the only names you will hear is Steve Jobs and Bill Gates when it was these brothers technology that their empires were built on. E-commerce (internet/electronic commerce) is a multi-trillion dollar industry that Moors created for the world, but this technology was mostly invented to wake up our people. The internet is the nail in the coffin for white supremacy. Peace.

Inventor of Cell phone tech

Jesse Eugene Russell invented Digital Cell phone technology

The Father of the Internet

A Moor by the name of Dr. Philip Emeagwali invented the First supercomputer that made the internet possible. It’s ironic how the Supercomputer in the Terminator movie was called Skynet, when the movie was before they released the internet to the public. The Terminator Movie was preparing our minds for the internet and other technology associated with computers. They had a Moorish (black) scientist play the part in the movie that Arnold had to travel back in time to kill before he created the Computer chip that enslaved the world in the future, because it was actually a Moor that created the computer chip and the Supercomputer. Hollywood as we know it, tells the truth through fiction.

The first PC

Inventor Dr. Mark Dean, PhD, invented the first Personal Computer (PC) and holds over 20 patents under his name. He also invented the color monitor for computers. Dr. Dean led the team that invented the 1 gigahertz computer chip that has limitless potential. The 1 gigahertz chip made supercomputers possible.

The First Automobile

The First Automobile was invented by a Moor by the name of C. R. Patterson. His invention was later stolen by Henry Ford because C. R. patterson could not get the type of investment money or funding that Henry Ford could, because racism was very bad in these old days. Yes, Henry Ford was able to beat patterson to the Punch, because of Racism and because Henry Ford had money to make it happen.

Greetings friends, we know that it is the month of February, which means Black History Month, so this is my contribution towards Blackamoor History Month. This is our short list of inventions. I say short list, because Blackamoors have created over 90% of the world’s inventions. Blackamoors are the true fathers and mothers of civilization. You see how you can enslave a people and rebrand them in a negative light, but you can’t remove knowledge from their DNA, which is the case with the so-called African American.

In fact, Blackamoors invented all of this stuff and more when we ruled the world during the time of Lemuria/Atlantis, and more recently when we ruled as the Tartarians (Muurs/Moors), so of course this knowledge is still going to be in our blood. When people ask you who were the Tartarians, you say the Blackamoors were the Tartarians and then you show them our short list of inventions and then you show them all of the Cherokee Gothic and Greco-Roman Architecture all over the World. Yes, the moors, who were also the Tartarians built all of the Gothic and Greco-Roman Architecture in the Americas and throughout the world: https://www.facebook.com/Americaisthetrueoldworld/posts/2584437584953859.

Evidence that Moors built the Cathedrals: https://www.facebook.com/Americaisthetrueoldworld/posts/2070257296371893.

Cavities, resonators, magnetrons…

Cathode=Cathedral? If this true, this means that the Cathedrals were that we build were ancient power plants that supplied free energy to our towns. These cathedrals were huge magnetons. I say this because a Cathode is a part of a magnetron that is the center, aka, the source or the Black dot. You can also see the design of the magnetron in the Cathedral; especially, in some of the glass windows.

Did Moors build these Cathedrals yes: Gothic Building is a Moorish style of building. The Cathedral is built with a Gothic (Moorish/Islamic) type of building and so is Westminster Abbey: https://books.google.com/books… . Notice how in the link that you see on the left-hand side towards the bottom of the page, “In Turner’s Normandy, vol. ii. p. 250, are delineated several sculptural spandrels from Bayeux Cathedral, exhibiting somewhat of the Moorish or Tartarian, mode of workmanship. The word is spelt spaundre in the French Contract for reforming Westminster Hall,” dated 1393. – “A Dictionary of the Architecture and Archaeology of the Middle Ages.” Now, this is a powerful quote coming from a master textbook written by a white author that is recognized. Well, it appears that the Moors built the Castles and Cathedrals throughout Europe.

Now without any further delay, below is our short list of inventions. I say short list, because almost everything that we have now as far as Technology goes, we had it first in Old World Tartary. The Fairhaven Hotel is a old World Tartarian building that not only proves the Mud flood event as factual ( due to the 1811-1812 great comet), but it also proves that the Old World had almost every modern convenience that we have today: https://www.facebook.com/Americaisthetrueoldworld/posts/2618724021525215

Mathematics – BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt science of Maat (math). Medicine BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt (Imhotep). Open Heart Surgery – BLACK – Daniel Hale Williams. Brain Surgery Robot – BLACK – Bertin Nahum. CAT Scan – BLACK – Allan Cormack. Cell Phone – BLACK – Henry T. Sampson. Rocket Propulsion – Henry T. Sampson.

Weapons system – Henry T. Sampson. The gamma electric cell, which converts harmful gamma rays (radiation) into usable energy – Henry T. Sampson. The Father of modern-day Electricity – Henry T. Sampson. Contributions concerning direct conversion of nuclear energy to electricity – Henry T. Sampson. Touch Tone Phone – BLACK – Shirley Ann Jackson. Traffic Signal – BLACK – Garrett Morgan. Gas Mask – BLACK – Garrett Morgan. The Internet – BLACK – Philip Emeagwali. Personal Computers – BLACK – Dr. Mark Dean. Color monitor for personal computers – Dr. Mark Dean. Dr. Mark Dean also invented the 1 gigahertz computer chip that has unlimited potential. The 1 gigahertz computer chip made supercomputers and robots possible. Supercomputers – BLACK – Dr. Philip Emeagwali. Blood Bank – BLACK – Charles Drew. Telescope – BLACK, Benjamin Banneker. Automobile – BLACK – C.R. Patterson (Stolen by Henry Ford) Toilet – BLACK – J.B. Rhodes. Fountain Pen – BLACK – W.B. Purvis. Remote Control – BLACK – Dr. Joseph N. Jackson. Home Security & Camera – BLACK – Marie Van Brittan Brown. Mailbox – BLACK – Philip Downing. LASIK Eye Surgery – BLACK – Patricia Bath. 3D Special Effects – BLACK -Marc Hannah. Refrigerated Trucks and Air Conditioning – BLACK – Frederick McKinley Jones. Elevator – BLACK – Alexander Miles. The Organ Piano – BLACK – Joseph Dickinson. The Guitar – BLACK – Robert Flemming Jr. Telephone – BLACK stolen from Lewis Howard Latimer. Light Bulb – BLACK stolen from Lewis Howard Latimer. Pencil Sharpener – BLACK -John Lee Love. Sewing Machine – Improved by BLACK: Garrett Morgan. The Jet Engine – Improved by BLACK Jeremiah Baltimore. Cotton Gin – BLACK, stolen from Slaves. Beer – BLACK – Richard Bowie Spikes. All Musical Genres, Including Classical, Jazz, Blues, Rock & Roll, R&B, Hip-Hop – BLACK. The Wormhole BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. First one’s in Space BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. First one’s on the Moon – Unproven, Fake Event. Banks/Banking BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. The theory of Natural Selection BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Electric Engineering BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Calculators – BLACK – Marvin Charles Stewart. Theater – BLACK (MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Diesel engines – BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Television – BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Internal combustion engines – BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. The discovery of DNA – BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Microscope – BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. The discovery of the Atom BLACK- (MOOR) Ancient Egypt. The discovery of Cells BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. The Camera – BLACK – George Carruthers. Democracy BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. The Republic BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Liberalism BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Geography BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Electricity – BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Aircraft BLACK-(MOOR) Ancient Egypt. Good art and Entertainment. The pulley first recorded use was by master builder and Grand Architect Imhotep. The wheel, because Moors were the first ones on the planet. Fire, because Moors were the first ones on the planet. The Harp, invented in Ancient Egypt. The piano invented by the Moors in Europe. The Moors took the Harp and turned it sideways and created the Piano. Plastic surgery – Ancient Egypt. The Spark plug – Edmond Berger. Anesthesia for Surgery – Native-Americans (Blackamoors/Egyptians/Hebrews). The building of America, mostly, black slave labor. The Building of Europe – Blackamoors/Brutus Moors/Fresing Moors/French Maurs/Moors of Spain. Digital Cellular phone Technology – Jesse Eugene Russell. The Dot com (.com) for computer websites – Emmit McHenry.

Embalming – South American Indians (Mayas) Time Machine – Dr. Ronald Mallett.

Helicopter – Paul E. Williams. Telephone Transmitter – Dr. Granville T. Woods. Railway System – Dr. Granville T. Woods. Subway System- Dr. Granville T. Woods. Roller coaster – Dr. Granville T. Woods. Trolley Wheel – Dr. Granville T. Woods. The Global Positioning System (GPS) – Dr. Gladys West.

Ancient Egyptians/Moors/Hebrews, aka, the Khmer (Thoth) people created the Art of Building: Monolithic, perpendicular, and Modern-day-building comes from Egypt. Gothic Building (Islamic), aka, Castle building and Cathedral Building, comes from the Moors, whom became the Custodians of the Egyptian Mysteries when Egypt fell, according to the book, “Stolen Legacy” by George E. James. Maur (Moor/Muur) means a high priest of Anu according to a book called, “The Teachings of Ptahhotep the oldest Book in the world,” by Asa G. Hilliard.

We also have to include over 500 inventions of the Native-Americans, who were Blackamoors. You can read the, “Encyclopedia of American Indian Contributions to the world,” right here: https://mexikaresistance.files.wordpress.com/…/american-ind… .If. Now, if we include of the other necessities like soap, comb, brush, toothbrush, lotion, deodorant, shaving, clothing, and etc., we created everything. Most of these inventions were created by the so-called African American in the Americas, because we are the Children of the sun, aka, God’s chosen people from the tribe of Ptah/Utah/Judah/Yudah: https://www.facebook.com/Americaisthetrueoldworld/posts/2162258463838442. Egypt was a Greek name. The real name of Egypt is Al-khemet and/or Tameri. “Nothing is NEW under the SUN.” ~ King Solomon of the Bible. Friends and family, please save this post and share it, because I use this all the time when I have to give Europeans and Coons a reality check as to who we are. Below is my evidence to support the fact that Blackamoors are responsible for the 500 inventions of the Native-Americans (North, Central, and South):

The mummies of south America, but mostly, Peru/Heru/Jeru-(Salem), which is also Ancient Jerusalem and Egypt, were Blackamoors/Egyptians/Hebrews/Indians/Negros (evidence that the Ancient South-American Indians were melanated (Black)): https://www.facebook.com/Americaisthetrueoldworld/posts/1966263136771310.

These photos of Ancient South American Mummies with dreadlocks are irrefutable evidence that the Americas was a Negro Continent: https://www.facebook.com/Americaisthetrueoldworld/posts/2073046139426342.

Here is Moor evidence that the Americas was a Negro Continent and that the Moors (Blacks) are the real Indians. In fact, Indian and Moor is one and the same (evidence that the North-American Indians were melanated (Black)): https://www.facebook.com/Americaisthetrueoldworld/posts/1989361697794787.

Here is Moor evidence that the Indians were Moors. Yes, Moors are Indians too. In Fact, the Muurs/ Moors are Berber Indians (India): https://www.facebook.com/Americaisthetrueoldworld/posts/1929898677074423. Prophet Noble Drew Ali was even from the Cherokee Tribe. The last Chief of the Cherokee Tribe was a Moslem Muur.

Now, with all of these contributions that Blackamoors have made to the world, why in the Sam’s hell are we second-class citizens in our own land and why are we not benefiting from all of it? The answer is of course, Wight supremacy, via, the Dum Diversa that was issued by the Pope against the Saracens/Hebrews/Indians, which authorized Christians to take our land and our possessions in the name of Christ. The fact that wight people also control the marketing and the branding for our inventions, also explains why our people do not benefit from it. Peace.

The post Black History month is Blackamoor History. appeared first on America is the Old World.

source https://www.americaistheoldworld.com/black-history-month/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=black-history-month

[jasperwoke]

Luggage

Mr Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary scaled Mount Everest in 1953. They set a new frontier for humanity, establishing a new height that was only waiting to be bested. In 1957, Russia launched Sputnik and soon after mankind graced the moon. But these mountains on the surface of earth, gracing the planet with the beauty of peaks and climaxes, still awe onlookers with their height and offer trepidation to potential climbers.

It is not uncommon to find scraps of airplane wings or rocket ship boosters sunken at the depths of oceans. It is equally common to find washing machines and shopping carts littering the forests at the base of these mountains. Footage from casual hiker cameras will show strange sorts of litter, not just shopping carts and washers. Everything ranging from strollers to air conditioners, car doors and ladders may be strewn deep into the forest with no tangible explanation. Even as one ascends mountains, to sumits as high as Everest, there will still be inexplicable situations. Not human skulls or preserved bodies, though unnerving, those can easily be explained. Fishing poles on the Andes, or mailboxes on the Alps, those are the more uncommon occurrences.

Many speculators have accredited it to government secrets. Perhaps alien transportation, or energy tests in nuclear labs, opened up wormholes on earth, swallowing one sector and dumping it elsewhere. Perhaps it's due to highly speculative cults, performing these deeds to please some entity, or as a testament of their own power. Sacrifices may not just be made in blood. It may be in sweat or tears, in time or effort. These mundane objects may in fact be artifacts of the universe, disguised as plain relics for those unworthy to see them. Only some secret order of monks, who have harnessed galactic energies and unveiled the truth of these treasures, have moved them to high sumits, so that peering mortals will never be able to find these anchors of the universe.

However, they may also just be ordinary objects. Made by human hands and transported by human hands. A stroller may simply be a stroller. A stroller that once had a child strapped in, a stroller once pushed by a caring mother. A stroller that might have been brought up by the mother, pushed through hundreds of miles of forestry. A stroller that had a baby strapped in. A baby that went through weeks without nourishment. A baby that faced the harsh coldness with its bare skin, as it cried for its mother to stop pushing it up the slope. And the mother ignored the cries, ignoring her own sentience, only trekking onward with her child.

Perhaps the washing machine had clothes belonging to some rebellious teenager who hated their part time job with angst. Maybe the machine was filled with their clothes. Clothes still on some mangled body. As it spun through its drying cycles, with the clamoring of the skull smashing against the sides of the motor. As someone lugged the machine up the mountains, carrying the corpse and traces of an unknown identity. Perhaps the machine was a very plain object, holding and belonging to very plain people. People who many would overlook, if they were to go missing.

Many objects on these slopes do have an origin story. Not necessarily macabre, but explainable. To accredit normal happening to paranormal causes isn’t the route to take. Often times, routes are hard and filled with obstacles. And so, the question the majority asks of these objects and their origins is how, or when, or why. What reason they are up there, or what they even are. But the questions that would offer the easiest explanation would be who. Who lugged these behemoth burdens to the edges of civilization. And if they returned for more.

[bookofshadowsgrimoire]

I dream of world's, or at least portals to them.

It always plays back to me like a broken memory. The places location and buildings change, the people change but the two optional outcomes ALWAYS remain constant. It started when I was a little girl, maybe six or seven, I started having serious reoccurring dreams. The one I tell you about now is the one I referred to as "The Portal."

We are walking along, depending on who it is, we are at school, work, or someplace downtown. There are always others around. It is always Autumn, a day just chilly enough for the light coats we are wearing. The sky has lots of fluffy cotton ball clouds Drifting by, in the breeze always carries the scent of the Sea, saltwater, the breeze also carries the Fallen Autumn Leaves upon it on the warm wind Drifting by, even if there are no trees. And we're always, or always end up outside, walking along. After what feels like walking for an hour or so in this dream of mine, the winds pick up Suddenly. The sharp smell of ozone cuts the air. The tear, Rift, opening, mini black hole, wormhole whatever you want to call it this portal to another place, opens up with a flash of Silent Violet lightning. It creates suction like squirrel, pulling things into it; mailboxes, cars, Lake posts all seemed to disintegrate when it touches it, all but the birds and trees being sucked in. And somehow I always know, but the only way for it to go, it's to get what it came for. I must go, it always gives me the choice though. If I do not jump, into the sky, it fades away over time. It has never forced me to go. Take another thing was, perhaps a faceless person, but I've never been made to go against my will by it. It is always you, or the one beside me grabbing my hand as I jump. My feet dangle in the sky, towards the rift. I am not afraid, but you are. And the tears roll down her cheeks, to drift into the static. It is a cool and sunny autumn day, and the sky is full of clouds. The breeze and air current is strong going into the portal, but also gentle is the wind Swirls and leaves float to the air. And you are always one or many of you, my love ones, my friends, my family, always holding on to me, onto to my wrists. There is only ever one thing you say is our tears trip into the sky, "Please."

Sometimes, I grabbed on in the whole crackles like a bad radio signal, closes and I waken. But the other times, most of the time. I will look you in the eyes, and I will say the three things I never seem to failed to say at this point. And the final thing I hate to say, just say unless I hate you, or it is final. " let go. You'll be fine. Goodbye."

After those final words for me, and he holding me ceases, even if I must look through your fingers. And I'm drawn into the tear. I never find out where I go. But I've noticed, but even if I wake up and the temperature is 20 degrees, I always and never hold, feeling is the surrounded by gentle Cocoon of warmth. I never told my mother this story, and not long ago when I was 19, she told me something at a hard time I was having,

"If the Portal opens, JUMP." ~BLW

It's a variation of Our Own, on the Total Recall quote get your ass to Mars because she would say that too, but it also meant she said,

" if you are given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, even if you must leave oh you know and love behind, Take It."

Written Sunday February 19th, 2017

[theflatulentpharaoh]

"From The Book of Porky" On a trip to pick up honey at a local mom 'n' pop, I noticed a crowd ambling before a lattice of clay flower pots near a small wooden mailbox and a mini-barn that looked like a sun-bleached doghouse. Who were all of these people? Was there a Powerball giveaway I'd missed? The discovery of Jimmy Hoffa's remains? The mysterious appearance of a wormhole connecting one to the outer limits of our universe? Was Angelina Jolie doing a rustic Victoria's Secret shoot? Since I could normally count the number of vehicles in the gravel lot on one hand (today there were at least 20 & new spaces had been "improvised"), I asked a gal in dark smart frames (the tips of her fingers brushed with traces of dried dirt I suppose from the morning's planting, hauling, cultivating) behind a nearby counter about all the hubbub. Her explanation wouldn't be what you'd expect. If you heard it downtown, you might even suspect mental illness. But here and to the credit of the place, it seemed right. "Penny The Pig," a large dappled mud wallower who to this point had evaded the inevitable fate of becoming bacon, had been bitten by a skunk and quarantined for 4 months. Fencing had been erected. Today, the wooden barrier came down and all had come to see the delight of liberated Piglit, Wilbur, Babe, Pigletta, Winnifred, or whatever the thing's name was as it sleepily rolled around and glanced now and then at the people who seemed so excited to be there. And athough this morning's closure of offices for our hardworking folk at the DMV disheartened (but did not surprise) me as I muttered a blue streak of expletives on my way back to the baking car, the hopeful faces of children and warm, humoring countenances of their parents standing in 90 degree Virginia heat to see a convalesced pig (not exactly Haley's Comet) was refreshing. The cynic in me would normally scoff at what I'd dismiss as an incredibly inane and flat-out stupid use of valuable time on a hot day. But, oddly, I didn't go there. The novelty of the experience of a few seconds was its innocence and quiet authenticity, a reminder that -- even in and outside The District of Entitlement (my latest name for DC) -- the warmth and goodness of caring family, neighbors, friends, and community is what matters. I guess this means I may be getting "soft" as I enter "The Back 9" (thank you for that, Bill Burr), but who says the beginning of that curious downslide from 40 to 80 doesn't have its benefits? Have a peach.