#his old man joints don't like winter

[schrodingers-ash]

[ID: a side image of a mid sized grey tabby cat loafing on a light blue heating pad. /end ID]

That sure is a face that says "I am 13, I deserve this"

#cats #catblr #grey cat #grey tabby #petblr #pets on tumblr #cats on tumblr #ash the cat #cat #his old man joints don't like winter

[galkyrie]

First Kiss

Jason had thought about kissing Tim before. Early in the morning, when the pre-dawn sky was signaling their time in the shadows was up for the night, he thought about it. Sometimes, Tim'd look at him a little too long or his lips would quirk into a little too lopsided of a grin- the real one, the one reserved for his friends- and he'd think about it.

Moments like now, when the only clear way out of the unbelievably shitty situation they were in was certain death. Sacrifice, for the greater good.

Watching Tim fight against unbeatable odds, the downturn of his lips broadcasting he'd come to a similar conclusion about the way out of this? He wanted to throw his helmet off and kiss him for the first time. For the last time.

Jason loved this city. So fervently that it once felt like there was no room for anything else. He could do good here, still- had been doing good. Making his second lease on life really count.

He lived for this city.

But-

He'd die for Tim. If it was gonna be one of them- and nobody else was even close enough to the breach to be a factor, too busy trying not to be overrun- it should be him. It seemed fitting to have to do this in an old cathedral.

"Babybird," the endearment sounded off coming out of the helmet, far too monotone for the affection it carried when it left his lips. "I'm trustin' you to take care of my turf-" he kept himself calm as he spoke, ducking when Tim signaled and launched himself into the air from his shoulders, tossing disks in a rapid-fire spin.

"Shouldn't be too hard for ya- seein' as you live there already-" Bruce was fighting his way up to their position by the breach, Jason noted- probably having done the same math they had regarding their odds. He wasn't going to make it down the pews to the chancel in time to take either of their places, not at this rate.

"Hood, you don't-" Tim started to argue, landing in a roll before stabbing at one of the invading creature's joints with his bo and twisting until he heard a crack. Jason'd usually compliment the fancy footwork, but there wasn't time. Wasn't time to argue, either.

"You don't see any better option-"

"It doesn't have to be you-"

"It can't be you." His tone left zero room to argue. He- for all the good he did- Tim was better. Balancing the work in the light of day and in the dark- knew himself well enough to be able to walk up to his own line and work with people who crossed it without losing himself. He was Bruce if the man could truly wrestle the darkness and win. He wasn't an echo screaming out in that dark.

"Tim," the man's fighting was taking on a frantic edge- this argument was going to be meaningless if Tim got sloppy and got himself killed. "Take care of them for me, promise?"

"I," Tim spun again, driving his staff through a mechanical lens and activating the stun function with all that built up momentum, "I will." It was almost too quiet to hear. "I'll take care of them all." He promised, flicking his wrist and setting the ring of planted disks around them to ignite.

It bought them a moment in the onslaught- apparently all that Tim needed, because he was pressed up close and flying through the steps to unlock his hood before Jason could process the explosions around them.

Lips pressed to his, slightly chapped from the frigid winter air. It was everything he could've asked for in that moment, months of working cases together, sharing late-night meals, trading lingering glances clicked into focus.

He didn't dwell on how many of those moments- how many idle daydreams would've been able to come true, if only he'd done this when they'd had time-

Tim had done everything he could to buy them this much. It wouldn't do to use it to despair.

He kissed him back, guns dropping in favor of gripping his waist to savor the moment.

"I love you," Tim declared, resolute when he broke the kiss. "Remember that," he added, and Jason felt the blade slice through his hand.

Tim didn't hold back, using every bit of force to drive the knife through his hand and into the altar behind them.

Jason screamed, the pain spiking along his nerves a pale imitation of the wrenching feeling as he watched Tim bolt for the breach and leap into it. The tear in the universe shuddered, and Jason got a grip on the bloody hilt of his own blade and yanked hard. He wrenched himself free, heedless of the pain in his desperation to get to the breach before it-

Energy burst through the breach, hurling him back with the force of it. Bruce raced forward, catching his body as it was thrown back before he could make impact with the cold stone wall. Jason couldn't hear anything, eyes glued to where the tear folded in on itself, the only indication that he was still yelling the burn in his throat as the breach vanished, taking Tim with it.

#starting the year off with angst #jaytim #galkyrie writes #prompt response

[weregreatatcrime]

This is my old man, Bo! He's reaching the last of his days and having some problems. We don't have the money to get him everything he needs right now, and money's tight on feeding him because he has a certain diet. I'm disabled and can't work, and my caretaker already pays for everything for him and hasn't been able to buy his food. I've been able to feed him but it's not a diet I can keep him on without hurting his health

I would really appreciate if anyone could donate some money or signal boost to help me get him what he needs!

What we mostly need is to get him some doggy diapers, as he's starting to become incontinent and piddling everywhere. It's expensive to get the reusable washable ones but I'd rather get those than disposable ones. He also needs food, and with winter coming up his hips are causing him problems and I'd like to get him some joint supplements. If there's any excess money, I need to take him to a groomer to get his claws trimmed as he will NOT allow us to trim his claws at home and potentially a full grooming? I can bathe him at home but I don't have the stuff to trim out his paw pads or such

Reusable, Washable Doggy Diapers (L-XL, he's a hefty boy) seems to land about $30 on average for a pack of 3. I'd like to get two packs if I can

Grain Free Dog Food: $40

Extra: hip and joint supplements for elderly dogs, this is usually $30+ just for a month's supply

Extra Extra: Claw trim at the groomer's is $20, while a full visit is $60 +tip.

Extra EXTRA extra: I want to get him some warm sweaters and treats :)

UPDATE: I got the money to buy his diapers and his supplements! My roommate was able to buy him his food as well! Gonna see about getting him in to the groomer sometime soon for a trim! Will still need money for that one, though

Total Main Goal: $70/$70

My PayPal!

#my stuff #signal boost #donate #dog #old man bo #bo #ask to tag

[gardenofchrome]

My Type [C. Hansen]

Requested by @screechinginthevoid <3

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⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

December 5th, 2014.

The day Chuck Hansen first fell in love.

It was a bright, crisp winter day outside, with snow still covering the frozen ground.

Chuck taps his pencil against his desk, staring blankly at the chalkboard. It has been months since his mother died in the kaiju attack- months since he and his father moved over here as the PPDC started up.

The bell rang shrilly and the teacher walked to the front of the room, along with a student he had never seen before.

"Alright class," the teacher starts. "Meet your new classmate." She gestured to you, expecting you to say something.

You wave to the class. "Um, hi I guess. I'm Y/N."

Silence.

The teacher clears her throat. "Is that all?"

You nod.

"Very well them. You can take a seat right by Chuck back there. Chuck, raise your hand."

He covered his mouth with one, raising the other, hoping you didn't see his flushed face. He felt his heart skip a few beats as you sat down next to him, throwing your bookbag to the floor.

'What the hell...I don't even know them...'

-

Later, it was finally time for lunch. Chuck sat down in the corner quietly by himself- all the kids already previously knew each other, so he didn't exactly fit in well.

"Mind if I sit here?" A familiar voice asks him. He looks up, seeing you gripping a tray.

He shrugs and you sit beside him. "So.. you're new here." Chuck starts awkwardly.

You nod. "My parents are enlisted. They're here for some project."

"My dad is also enlisted, with the RAF. We moved here from Sydney."

You pause for a brief moment. "Heard about the Scissure attack. I'm sorry."

Chuck swallows hard, trying to prevent his throat from swelling shut. "It's... it's alright."

You stab your fork down. "Hate those kaiju. I wish we could just send them back to hell where they came from."

"Believe me, Y/N, there's nothing I would like to do more than that." Chuck suddenly sounds old and wise, a distant look appearing on his face for a brief moment.

-

That day suddenly turned into a week. Then, a month. Before the both of you knew it, years had ticked by. Fueled by the hatred for the kaiju, the both of you decided to join the PPDC.

Of course, the neither of you knew that the other had joined. Though the years had solidified your friendship, you eventuality moved away to another shatterdome for your training. Chuck was heartbroken of course, worried that he'll never see his best friend again.

But, fate has a strange way of guiding two souls together again.

-

The Kwoon Room.

The room where all the Jaeger pilots trained, in preparation for two halves to become whole.

Chuck spars with his father, striking him on the ribs hard. Herc slightly grimaces. His son only grins. "Not fast enough, old man?"

"Easy there, Chuckie. You need to have some self control."

He freezes, and turns.

You stand in the doorway, sweat matting strands of your hair to your forehead. The standard issue PPDC uniform adorns you as you walk out to the mat, making sure to take off your boots beforehand.

"Y/N?" He manages to get out, stunned.

You smile. "Sorry I haven't been in touch. Got kaiju to kill."

"You're... you're a Ranger?"

"Well duh. Wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

You lung at him, wrapping your legs and arms around his torso and neck. He falls back, not prepared to catch you.

"I missed you," you say, your head buried into his neck.

"You too, Y/N/N," he grunts, his face covered in a cherry red blush. "Now get off please."

Herc clears his throat, smiling a little bit. "I guess I'll leave you guys alone for a little bit."

Chuck glares at his father as he leaves the room, only making you laugh.

"Come on, Chuckie. What do you say to another sparring session?"

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Definitely going to do a p. 2 where you guys go on a joint mission together.

#for you #pacific rim #kaiju #chuck hansen #mako mori #hermann gottlieb #newt geiszler #jaeger #giant robots #striker eureka #friends to lovers #oneshot #fanfic #pacific rim oneshot #raleigh becket #action #the drift

[skullhaver]

4, 5, 6 for Ari and Athren

Apparently I missed answering this months ago?? Happy to rediscover it now. 4. How do they perceive themselves?

Ari — onion layers of thinking they're hot shit and thinking they're profoundly inadequate + living on borrowed time. Ari is on that 'epic highs and lows of being 22 and unpacking zero of your trauma' shit. They're a rising star individual in their rising star Crow house, with rare and powerful magical talents. They also harbour a couple dark secrets that they will lie, manipulate, and mage-splain their way to avoid revealing to anyone, even the person they love the most. They're not proud of that but also don't feel that they have a choice.

Athren — onion layers of thinking he's hot shit and thinking he's profoundly inadequate + living on borrowed time. But semi-joking aside, over the course of his adventure, he's had some major boosts to his confidence and some of his anxieties have settled down. He's got well-deserved pride in his abilities. He's got friends and allies he trusts, even if some of them are pretty different from him. The feeling he used to regard as "dangerous restlessness and discontent with the status quo" now just seems like "ambition" to him. He feels like his life's just getting started.

5. What is your PC’s idle animation?

Ari — Standing: relaxed, confident, good posture, easy smile, crossing and uncrossing arms, maybe sweeping all their hair to one side and sort of casually fussing with it. Sitting: casual man-spread with arms over the back of a couch. They are completely comfortable taking up space anywhere they go and are generally unaware that they're doing it. Leave them idle long enough and they pull out a joint lol.

Athren — Standing: relaxed, but more like a bird that's chilling on a branch that would still alight abruptly if it got startled. Restless shifting from foot to foot. If he's not deliberately adjusting his posture (and if he's in public, he almost always is), he makes himself smaller due to old habit. Sitting: tends to fuss with his clothes and jewellery. If he's alone or thinks nobody is paying attention, he'll stare at his right hand that now has gold fingertips now due to a magical gift from a dragon. Just turning it this way and that and admiring it.

6. What weather does your PC prefer? Why?

Ari — warm but not-too-hot sunny days where you can take a nap in a sunbeam and wake up while it's still light out. They also enjoy the melodrama of a good thunderstorm, watching through a window while comfortable and dry.

Athren — only in the last year or so has the entire concept of weather stopped being novel for him. He likes overcast days better than sunny ones because they're easier on his eyes. Waterdeep's winters are relatively mild, but the few times he's gotten to see snow, he likes it quite a lot.

#although the sunny days after snow would be pretty hellish for brightness reasons - need to pull out the Serious sunglasses for those days #thanks for your ask Ray!! #aristide lucarno #athren dahana

[mogwai-movie-house]

A Film A Year

Going through an old hard drive today I found this almost-completed list from 2015 in which I'd set myself the task of choosing a single film for each year of the preceding hundred. It was interesting to see in what ways my tastes had changed and just how many more films I'd discovered and fallen in love with in the meantime.

Anyways, I thought I'd finish it off and update it to the present: I very much tried to keep it to just one film per year, but the competition some years was just too high so they've had to share joint first places:

1915 A Night In The Show 1916 The Vagabond 1917 Easy Street 1918 A Dog's Life 1919 Sunnyside 1920 One Week 1921 The Kid 1922 Dr Mabuse, The Gambler 1923 Safety Last / Why Worry? 1924 Sherlock Jr / The Last Laugh 1925 The Gold Rush 1926 The General 1927 Sunrise / Seventh Heaven 1928 The Last Command / Steamboat Jr. / The Man Who Laughs / The Passion of Joan of Arc 1929 The Love Parade / Un Chien Andalou / Lucky Star 1930 All Quiet On The Western Front 1931 City Lights/ The Smiling Lieutenant 1932 Horse Feathers / Love Me Tonight 1933 Duck Soup / The Invisible Man 1934 It Happened One Night 1935 The 39 Steps 1936 My Man Godfrey 1937 Nothing Sacred 1938 Adventures Of Robin Hood / Pygmalion 1939 The Cat And The Canary / The Wizard of Oz / The Hunchback of Notre Dame 1940 His Girl Friday / Pinocchio 1941 Citizen Kane / The Maltese Falcon / Dumbo / Sullivan's Travels 1942 Casablanca 1943 Le Corbeau 1944 Arsenic & Old Lace 1945 Les Enfants du Paradis / And Then There Were None 1946 A Matter of Life and Death 1947 Black Narcissus 1948 The Treasure of the Sierra Madre 1949 The Third Man / Kind Hearts & Coronets 1950 Sunset Blvd. / La Ronde 1951 A Streetcar Named Desire 1952 Singin' In The Rain / Le Plaisir 1953 Calamity Jane 1954 Hobson's Choice 1955 The Night Of The Hunter /The Ladykillers 1956 The Searchers 1957 The Seventh Seal 1958 Vertigo 1959 North By Northwest / Ballad of A Soldier 1960 Psycho / The Virgin Spring / Two Women 1961 Breakfast At Tiffanys 1962 Le Doulos 1963 The Great Escape / The Birds 1964 Onibaba 1965 For A Few Dollars More 1966 Blow Up 1967 Le Samourai / Cool Hand Luke 1968 2001: A Space Odyssey 1969 Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid 1970 Le Cercle Rouge 1971 Get Carter / Harold & Maude 1972 The Godfather 1973 Don't Look Now 1974 The Godfather Part II / Chinatown 1975 Jaws / The Rocky Horror Picture Show 1976 Network 1977 Star Wars / Annie Hall 1978 Halloween / Superman 1979 Apocalypse Now / Alien / Life Of Brian / Manhattan 1980 Stardust Memories / Raging Bull 1981 Raiders Of The Lost Ark 1982 Blade Runner / The Thing 1983 The Dead Zone / Zelig 1984 Ghostbusters / The Terminator / Blood Simple 1985 Back To The Future 1986 Hannah & Her Sisters / The Fly 1987 Withnail & I / Wings of Desire 1988 Dangerous Liaisons 1989 Crimes & Misdemeanors / Dead Poets Society 1990 Goodfellas 1991 The Silence of The Lambs / Terminator 2 1992 Reservoir Dogs / The Player 1993 Schindler's List / Groundhog Day 1994 Pulp Fiction 1995 Se7en / Casino / The Usual Suspects 1996 Fargo 1997 LA Confidential / Grosse Point Blank / Boogie Nights 1998 The Truman Show / Happiness / Buffalo '66 1999 American Beauty / Magnolia / Being John Malkovich / Fight Club 2000 Memento 2001 Mulholland Drive / The Royal Tennenbaums / The Piano Teacher 2002 Adaptation / The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers 2003 Lost In Translation 2004 Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind / The Life Aquatic 2005 Me & You & Everyone We Know 2006 The Prestige / Perfume 2007 No Country For Old Men / There Will Be Blood 2008 The Dark Knight / Let The Right One In / Tropic Thunder 2009 Cold Souls / Up / Zombieland 2010 I Saw The Devil / The Ghost Writer 2011 The Hidden Face 2012 The Avengers 2013 Her 2014 The Grand Budapest Hotel / The Winter Soldier 2015 The Survivalist / The Lobster 2016 Like Crazy 2017 Coco 2018 Deadpool 2 2019 The Irishman 2020 Kajillionaire 2021 The French Dispatch 2022 The Banshees of Inisherin

#the real oscars #a century of film

[theonlymadmanonmars]

It's cold out. Willy hates the Cold. It makes his joints hurt. Every part of him feels stiff. It reminds him of his mortality. Despite everything, His power, His plans, The fact that he can kill a man with a mere thought, Despite everything he's still Mortal. It's Infuriating.

He lights a fire and holds it in his hand. It does nothing to fend off the frost that's biting at every piece of his skin, but it's nice to be reminded that he can.

The castle is old and Creaky. Despite the renovations they've done to it nothing can account for the lack of insulation. Whatever. It's not like it matters. Willy is well aware of who he is and the power he holds. Mortality is temporary after all. Or at least it will be when he's done.

As if his day couldn't get any worse Barry decides now is the perfect time to approach him. Lovely.

“Hello William,” He says In an infuriatingly cheery voice.

“For the millionth fuckin Time it's just Willy!” Willy sighs and waves his arms dramatically ”W. I. L. L .Y! Willy. Not William!” He pinches the bridge of his nose exasperated. Barry has this unique talent for getting under his skin.

“Of course, of course,” Barry pauses his Grin spreading to his eyes “William,” He lets out a small chuckle.

Willy shoots him an icy glare. Of course Barry just keeps smiling at him, his zen masquerade never faltering.

“Do you want something?” He says bubbling with irritation.

“Well not particularly Dear, I just wanted to give you this”

He hands over a shiny crystal Cup that immediately starts shaking in Willy's grasp nearly cracking.

“Dont fuckin call me that–” He sticks out his tounge slightly as if the nickname has left a bad taste in his mouth– “What the hell is this?” Willy glares down at the cup. He sniffs it still slightly annoyed.

It smells like Apples and Pine. He read somewhere you should never accept a gift from an elf, But it is Barry. He doubts the man would ever stand against him and regardless he's sure that if he did Barry would not survive.

“It's Apple Cider, Dear.” He enunciates the last word as if to prove a point. “I know you don't drink”

He's right of course. Willy doesn't drink. His dad drank himself to death when he was twelve. The idea of drinking hasn't appealed to him since then. Of course he used to. When he was alive he let Ron pour his whiskey. Unlike his father however Willy was always a sappy drunk. That vulnerability did not appeal to Willy in the slightest.

“Why are you giving me this?” He looks up at Barry skeptically.

“It's winter Solstice Dear. The start of Yule. We're celebrating the return of light.” He swirls The liquid in his own cup around gently. “Me and Autumn used to celebrate together but as of recent events… Well drinking alone is no fun if you'd care to join me.”

Willy looks over at him confused. Him and Barry aren't exactly friends. Are they?

“Why would I celebrate with you?” He glares over at him. He really doesn't want to spend anymore time with him than strictly necessary. Barry's smile faulters slightly.

“It was just an invitation William. You don't have to accept it.”

“Fuck it. I don't have anything better to do” Willy doesn't want to spend time with Barry but there's not much worse than stewing alone in the cold.

Barry's smile meets his eyes. He tilts his head to the side as he offers a hand out for Willy to take. Willy promptly smacks his hand away and stands up on his own. Barry simply turns and starts walking to his room with Willy in tow.

The room is Infuriatingly well furnished. A large Bed with a Gold encrusted Wooden Frame sits directly in the middle of the room. The frame twisting and turning into one of his stupid perfect symmetrical trees. Surrounding the bed are all sorts of plants. Pink and Red Roses are littered throughout the entire room growing directly out of the floorboards. The walls have almost no empty Space on them. Each section is invaded by shelves holding Crystals and Candles that light up the room warmly.

Overall it's incredibly pretentious. Incredibly Barry. Willy isn't sure whether he should be impressed or annoyed.

Barry doesn't say anything he just sits on the bed and pats the area next to him.

“Did you just fucking Pat for me to sit down? Are you fucking serious?!” Willy glares at Barry, the pretentious Fuck continuing to smile at him.

“I didn't mean anything by it dear. I simply was inviting you to sit with me.” He says calmly.

Barry stares at him. Willy stares back. He realizes now that Barry's eyes are the exact same color as the leaves of the trees he's curated. A deep green with small flecks of Gold inside. They match perfectly with his impossibly long blonde hair.

“Are you going to sit down or not?” Barry asks prying Willy out of his thoughts.

Willy reluctantly sits down next to him.

“It feels like… even after almost four years of knowing you I know nothing about you,” Barry says as that genuine smile returns to his face. “So I think we should play twenty-one questions”

“That's intentional, That you don't know anything about me I mean,” Willy grumbles

“I'm aware,” Barry says simply “However I think we should get to know each other. Wouldn't it be valuable for you to have some Intel on me?”

He's right. He usually is. Not that Willy would ever admit that. It would just boost the man's already exceptionally high ego.

“Fine,” He huffs sitting up against the bedframe.

“Do you want to go first?” He says polite as ever offering Willy a large bottle of Apple cider. “Or do you want me too?”

He moves to sit next to Willy, sliding a hand onto his shoulder. Another thing Willy hates. The way Barry touches him feels consuming. It's almost Terrifying. Willy thinks It would be to anyone else. This man- Who's more monster than man really- Trying to devour him whole with just a touch. It’s Corruption, Abuse, Violence, Everything that Willy himself is. He doesn't move Barry's hand.

“I will.” Willy sighs.

He pauses deep in thought. There are so many things about Barry he doesn't know. What could be useful? You need to know everything about a beast before attempting to tame it. Especially one that plans to eat you whole.

He's thinking too hard. Willy has never had a friend before, and the man before him was one of the most annoying people he'd ever met. But… They were similar in a way. He could relate to Barry on a level he can't any other men. Monsters often find solace in each other after all.

“How do you know what this game is? Do you have this stuff in fae rune?” He finally settles on a more simple question.

Barry looks at him like he's a particularly interesting ant in an ant farm. Willy glares at him.

“Bill told me about it.” He explains. “He wanted to play it with me but-” he cuts himself off politely. “Well you know how Bill is.”

Willy snorts rolling his eyes. Bill was, to put it lightly, the most annoying person Willy had ever met.

“My turn then.” Barry says

He starts stretching. His casual yoga has always pissed Willy off. He pretends to think for about a minute, Putting a finger up to his lips.

“What's your astrology sign?”

“I'm a Scorpio.” Willy knows the bare essentials of Astrology. He learned very quickly that when it comes to magic, if Barry believes in something it’s probably not complete bullshit.

The Half elf grins his pointy teeth on full display. Every part of Barry is sharp in some way. His sharp chin, his pointy teeth, his long slender fingers ending in perfectly manicured claws, his pointy ears- the most pointy Willy ever has seen on a halfie, and his sharp cutting words. Every part of him is dangerous, a ravenous monster waiting for its next meal. Despite himself it always seems to leave Willy wanting more. More of him.

“-Compatible.” Is all Willy hears when he snaps back into the moment.

“Compatible?” He repeats dumbly not sure what else to say

“Our Zodiac signs. You’re a Scorpio and I’m a Leo. We’re compatible!” Barry says cheerfully as ever.

“What do you mean compatible?” He asks a slight snarl to his voice, his words dripping in a false venom.

“I didn’t mean anything in particular. It’s just an astrology fact” He says shrugging.

“Hm.”

There’s a long silence between them for a long moment Barry’s striking green eyes focused on Willys. It takes a long moment for Willy to relive why the talking has stopped.

“Oh. It’s my turn. Okay… Why did you marry Autumn?”

Barry grins seemingly much more satisfied with this question than the first one. He pulls his floor length blond hair out of the braid it’s usually confined in and plucks the flowers out one by one.

“Autumn and I were…” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Dreamers. She wanted to change the world, as did I. I liked her quite a lot—“

“—Not loved?” Willy asks, cutting him off for the second time this evening.

“No. Not loved. I don’t believe I’ve ever loved anyone.” He cards his hand through his hair now shaking out any excess plants. “Regardless, I liked her quite a lot. She was my best friend. I showed her the beauty of nature and she taught me about the stars, tales of Gods old and new, and told me her dreams for peace among men. I promised to make those dreams come true. She loved me and I was very fond of her. So we were married.”

Willy looks at Barry for a long time. The way he speaks of his wife now is far more fond than any time he has in all the years he’s known him. It makes Willy’s whole body tense up.

“Things are different now of course. Had Autumn turned out differently the two of us could have ruled the world together” He lets out a deep sigh. “But unfortunately she found a way to disappoint me. Just like everyone else I’ve met except…” He cuts himself off.

‘“Except?” Willy inquires.

“Except for you.” Barry looks away from him staring intently at the Wall that infuriating smile still plastered onto his face.

“Hm” Willy doesn't say anything beyond that leaving unsaid words dangling in the air above them.

“How about you? What was your wife like?” Barry asks.

“She was an absolute bitch. She thought she was ‘chronically ill’ or something and did nothing but lay in bed. She was a lazy Bitch. She didn't ‘approve of my parenting style' but never wanted to help raise the little pussy.” He grumbles a familiar bite to his words mocking his now dead ex wife.

“She doesn't sound like she was the right match for you” Barry says gently.

There's something strange tugging at his words. As if there's more to the sentence. But Willy doesn't ask and Barry doesn't tell him.

“Yeah well she wasn't. She was… I don't know. It was better before she got sick. She was a bitch though.” He says definitively.

Barry tilts his head slightly to the side and hums softly.

“What's your favorite thing about yourself?” Willy asks with a smirk.

Barry can go on for hours about how great he is. How much better he is than anyone and everyone around him. He's insufferable about it. Right now, However, it could come in handy. He'd rather listen to Barry ramble on than reveal more information about himself the Half elf will definitely use against him.

“My intelligence. What's your favorite thing about me?” Barry quickly flips the question.

What the hell? Barry loves to talk about himself. He has a deeper agenda here. Something that Willy can't see. It's enraging.

“What are you playing at?” Willy questions, ignoring Barry's question?

“What are you talking about?” Barry asks plainly.

“What's your game here Oak?” Willy asks again. He sighs, Willy hates repeating himself.

“Whatever do you mean?” Barry isn't asking. He knows. He's playing with Willy.

Willy snaps. He flips around pinning Barry to the bed snarling down at him. Barry shudders under him, his practiced smile never wavering.

“You know exactly what I mean, you self righteous prick.” Willy growls out.

Barry does something unexpected. He grasps at the back of Willy's shirt the fabric rough against his fingers and pulls him down into a hungry kiss.

Everything about Barry is sharp. His kiss is no different. Sharp teeth desperately bite at Willy's Lips as Barry Claws into his back trying to swallow him whole.

It's messy it's terrible. It's terrible the way that Willy wants Barry to cut him open to lick his intestines and Bite his heart in two. To dig his fingers into his chest and pull out his ribs.

Barry has always been a beast. He has no empathy, He cares about nothing but himself. He's a ravenous monster all sharp edges and sharper words. So what could Willy do but let him devour him?

Barry pulls away gently Willy chasing his lips.

“What the fuck was that?” Willy demands

“We can talk about it tomorrow.” Without another word Barry pulls Willy down to lie on his chest.

Willy thinks about leaving, Walking out now and never having to face what just happened. Then again Barry is wrapped around him, hard edges softening. It fills Willy with an unfamiliar warmth. He settles into the bed wrapping an arm around Barry. He can stay, just for the night. After all, Willy hates the cold.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads fanart #barry oak #willy stampler #Warbear #warbear #Willy/Barry #purple trees #dungeons and daddies fanfiction #dndads fanfic #dndads fic #dndads Season 1 #dndads 1 #dndads s1 #im begging you to see my vison #please

[dnickels]

you gotta talk about short story scene-- put a hip out

lmao that's my favorite title too-- I promise there is more context than "What if a werewolf was on old man with creaky joints? What would be the most embarrassing thing that could happen if you were supposed to be doing cool werewolf things in Victorian London? It would be werewolf hip dysplasia."

but that's the main context, yes

Deakins leaned against the wall and laughed, breathless and flushed, hardly managing a few wheezes before gasping again. "Close one, eh?" she paused, waiting for some sign of his displeasure, another grouse to tease him for. "Reeve?"

Reeve lay where he'd fallen, panting, jaws open and tongue lolling. He hadn't been right, he knew he hadn't-- something had gone wrong during the change. He was incomplete, somehow, what he had dismissed as stiffness of many winters now manifesting as deficiency. He lay on his side, dirtying himself on the grimy cobbles.

He could do nothing else.

"Reeve?" Deakins knelt next to him, hands hovering. "What is it?"

He couldn't even tell her not to be stupid-- speech was beyond him, and the pain in his hip made thinking of some signal much too difficult. He let out a long whine, discomfort and frustration both.

"You hurt yourself? Is that it? Where?"

He tried vainly to struggle to his feet, but gave up and slumped back to the ground. Deakins hesitated, her deeply-ingrained instinct against going anywhere near a downed wolf warring with her desire to help.

"Look, you just tell me when I touch something that hurts, how's that?" she didn't wait for an answer before plunging her hands into the thick ruff of fur at his neck, running hands over ridged ribs and poking warily at his belly. He warned her off his paws with a growl, but she jostled his bad leg and was rewarded with a high yelp.

"Alright," she said, presumably for her own benefit. "And you can't get up at all?"

He only looked at her.

"Then we'll have to fetch a doctor," she declared. "I'll-- I'll carry you--"

The idea was obviously impossible, which didn't stop Deakins from gathering him in her arms for an abortive attempt. She succeeded only in dragging his wounded leg over the cobbles, causing him to cry out. Later, he would wonder what power had kept him from sinking his teeth in her arm.

"Oh, I am sorry-- here, you-- you stay there, I'll fetch help--"

Don't be stupid! Reeve would have called after her, had it been in his power. For now, all he could do was lie helpless in the alley, wondering what would become of him when the moon set and he was stranded and crippled in enemy territory...

His ears pricked at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Just this way," Deakins was saying, "my friend is down this alley-- remember, there's money in it for you, for your help and your discretion..."

"'Course, Missus. Glad to oblige. Now, is the gentleman waiting here or-- Jesus Christ!"

"No, no, its quite alright--"

"Stay back! Stay back, beast!"

Reeve rolled his head, getting only a skewed view of Deakins attempting to reassure the dustman that this wolf was, in fact, her friend. "He's quite tame, really, there's no need to worry-- just a few blocks in your cart, that's all I ask..."

Had Reeve been able to voice his opinion, he would have sided with the old man and declined to be wheeled about in a dustcart like yesterday's rubbish. He certainly would have refused the dustman's terms-- Deakins muttered a quick "I am sorry, old boy" before looping an old belt around his jaws, cinching it tight. It took both of them to finally heave him up and over into the cart, dumping him with an unceremonious thud that made him glad of the makeshift muzzle-- the pain was enough to make him do something regrettable. He thrashed in agony, even as Deakins attempted to soothe him and the dustman threatened to fetch the police on them both.

[they go to the vet]

For his part, the dustman pocketed the offered money without a word. When Deakins was pounding on the door, he leaned over the edge of the cart, watching Reeve with fearful fascination. He stretched out a hand, screwing up his courage, and laid it on Reeve's flank. He dragged his fingers through his fur, once, twice, coming away with a hank of hair.

"There's proof I tangled with one and lived to tell," he declared. Reeve wondered if it was for his benefit.

[spoopywinter]

My opinions on NuWho Doctors and why I love each of them so much:

Nine

• I absolutely love Nine.

• The most Chad Chad that ever Chad-ed.

• Most sassy person to ever exist.

• His sass and funny comebacks are exactly how I wish to act.

• Probably the most human out of all the Doctors.

• His decisions are understandable.

• If Ten wasn't my favourite, Nine would have been my favourite... I suppose they're my joint favourites because I could never put Nine second.

• I love him.

Ten

• FAVOURITE DOCTOR EVER!!!

• Sassy boi.

• Probably the most human of them all, besides Nine.

• I love the way that his grief over Rose is presented I'm still not over them.

• I'm a massive simp for him and I love him so very much.

• Smash tbh.

Eleven

• LOOKS LIKE A CINNAMON ROLL, IS A CINNAMON ROLL.

• I was distraught after Ten regenerated into Eleven and refused to watch his series for a whole week but as soon as I started watching it, I fell in love with him.

• I just want to hug him tbh.

• Poor guy wasn't the same after what happened to Amy and Rory me too.

• He has my heart and I don't ever want it back.

• I still don't know when and where his eyebrows disappeared off to.

Twelve

• Best grumpy old man ever.

• He just needs a snickers tbh.

• Definitely a favourite of mine.

• Chad ™️.

Thirteen

• Smash.

• She's an incredible character, she was just let down by the bad writing.

• I genuinely love her so much because she has the same accent as me.

• I want to give her the biggest hug ever.

• I think she'd struggle with a smartphone even with her big Time-Lady brain.

• She'd enjoy the memes tho.

• Idk how she stays so happy even with all of the trauma that she's had what a girlboss.

@awkwarddaydreamingpotato I'd like to hear your opinions :]

~ Winter.

#doctor who #new who #nu who #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thirteenth doctor #i love them all #I adore Thirteen with my entire heart and soul #Twelve just needs a Snickers #Eleven just wants a hug #Ten #Ten I love you but you need to stop trying to be Time Lord supreme #Nine you are the sassiest boy and I love you

[bobparkhurst]

festive ficlets: dec 13

Prompts from @almost-a-class-act

Pairing: Buck Compton x Bill Guarnere

Prompt: Competitive tobogganing

Notes: You guys, I cannot stress this enough, I did not grow up in places where there were hills you could toboggan down. I am dreadfully envious of anyone who did. I literally did not see a hill in my day to day, nevermind at winter. This is why I can't truck with "write what you know" because I don't know shit about hills.

The thump of impact, when it eventually comes, is an unexpectedly welcome sound. Buck’s cheeks puff as the air in his lungs is exhaled at no direction of his. Wheezing, trying to suck oxygen back into his body, only serves to set off a massive coughing fit from the cold air, and so he lays there, half in snow and half draped over a shrub, fingers buried in collar of his coat, hacking away and definitely not trying his hardest to look suave as he does it.

“Jesus Christ, Buck, you all right?”

Buck winks and says, “Ah, you know I am.” The flirtatious edge might, he concedes, look to the outside little more like spitting into the snow and trying to shove himself upright by scrambling up against the side of a tree. The bark cuts into the pads of his fingers in his gloves, but he’s barely able to feel it against the stinging throb of his chest. He feels a hand pressing against his back and another on his side and doesn’t quite manage to stop himself from leaning into it. 

“Hey, don’t act like I’m your little sweetheart all impressed with you, are you all right?” Bill doesn’t shake him, but by the clench of his fingers into the thick wool of his coat, Buck’s pretty sure that he wants to. He reaches down to press his own, scraped hand against Bill’s gloved one. “Yeah,” he rattles out, “just winded. No broken bones. Gimme a sec.”

He fishes in one of his pockets for a canteen; the water spills a little over his as he drinks deep. He can feel Bill’s questing fingers prodding at him, checking for the truth behind the bravado, and in all honesty, he hadn’t expected anything else. “Guess we’re getting a bit too old for sliding down hills on our asses.”

“Speak for yourself, old man,” Bill tells him. He leans back, evidently satisfied by his inspection. Straightening, he holds his hand out and Buck takes it, allowing him to drag him upright. This close together, it’s almost an embrace, but there’s too many people about, yelling families sprawling colourful over this hill, to turn it into a real one. He settles for holding on to Bill’s wrist a beat long, pouring all the reassurance he can into the gesture. He can tell by the softening of the frown around Bill’s eyes that he feels it, returns the intention on the breeze.

“I don’t even got all my legs and I didn’t make an ass of myself by falling into a tree.” The moment breaks, and isn’t that just like Bill Guarnere. 

“I take it the sympathy portion of this event is over,” Buck says, to which he only grins. 

“I checked you weren’t dead before I started making fun of you,” Bill points out. “I’m a decent guy.” He pats Buck’s arm. “I’m afraid Betsy didn’t make it.”

He points to where a small dark scattering of cardboard and plastic - the remnants of Buck’s makeshift toboggan - is spread over the snow. Buck nods solemnly.

“May she rest in pieces,” he says. 

Bill looks at him for a long moment.

“Idiot." Only he, Buck thinks, could make an insult sound like a term of endearment. He knows too well by now that it works in the opposite direction as well.

Buck nods. “Maybe so.” He bumps his shoulder against Bill’s. “But you were the one who suggested the bet.”

“You’re the one who took it.”

Carefully, the two of them pick their way through heaped snow, back towards the looping path which will take them over to the lake, and beyond that, back to food, and to a fire, and to what Buck knows is an absolutely obscene amount of liquor. His joints, his torso, his legs still ache, but then again, there's nothing new in that. He throws his arm around Bill’s shoulders and can feel the huff on the other man’s breath.

“Well, this old man needs a drink and a massage,” he says. 

Bill huffs again. 

“So you did hit your head after all.”

#band of brothers #bill guarnere #buck compton #guarnere x compton #bob: festive ficlets #hbo war barely coherent christmas chaos

[icharchivist]

All of this reminds me of a very lengthy text I sent to a friend once so allow me to just share it with you as well:

I like to imagine that at some point during the 2000 year wait between the revolution and WMTSB, while Belial was on the run, he spent most of his time just chilling among people instead of sitting in like a cave and waiting for his devious plans to work out

It was especially nice when nobody knew what a primal was

He absolutely seduced people so he had somewhere to spend the night and then left them for the next mark days later

So, very parasitic

But it would be really funny if he actually became kinda close to someone for a while

Let's say a random Skydweller he happened across was in the middle of getting mugged, because let's be real, this world has a bandit problem, so he, sensing an opportunity, stepped in and saved them. They were grateful, took him home, offered him a meal and from there it was a short ways into their bed

They hooked up a couple times, he spent a while, everything was fine

They lived a bit further away from the village, so nobody would even know he was there, so he allowed himself to stay a bit longer. They were easy to talk to, they had a house, food, they were always super grateful for his help, enjoyed his company, easy game

After a few weeks longer than originally planned he still decided to leave and originally had planned on never getting back, but ultimately decided that it doesn't matter either way, so why shouldn't he go back and visit them? That person was fun, after all, they had food and space and liked bondage

Because for as gifted a liar as Belial is, he is even better at lying to himself

So he keeps going back to this person and they hook up, he helps out around the house, staves off muggers and monsters, genuinely worries them because it kinda seems like he never sleeps (because he doesn't) and even though he lies about who and what he is, they trust him and like him and it's an unusual feeling, to be wanted

But sure enough he keeps leaving for a few months, sometimes years at a time to fuck around and not stay in one place too long to avoid Michael finding him and running him through with a sword

The Skydweller is fine with it, they're always happy to see him when he gets back. Even if he never seems to age. Meanwhile, Belial absolutely notices that his mortal friend is getting older and that's definitely weird. Astrals don't age, or at least have ridiculously long lifespans, so watching this Skydweller get grey and wrinkly in a manner of decades is super weird

Ultimately, they turn into a frail, old person and the villagers ask them to leave their house and move somewhere else to have someone take care of them, but they refuse; they can't leave, their friend wouldn't know where to find them

So even though it's a struggle, they stay. The winters are getting colder, their joints ache and grow stiffer, but they are holding on until suddenly, Belial kicks down the door all the same, the usual spring in his step, the usual glint in his eyes

Of course it's super weird, seeing them like that, but he still sticks around, tries to help as much as he can, even goes so far as to tend to them when they get sickly, but it's not too long before they pass; it's fine, they insist. They got to see him one last time

By the time he's burying them he realizes that he kinda cared about this person and the loss is kicking in. It's weird, they were just a Skydweller, some random mortal, nobody important like Lucilius, whose loss pains him every day, but this still stings, in a weird way

He keeps his distance from people for a while after that

Meanwhile, the villagers start telling tales of this weird, red-eyed man who always showed up randomly and took care of this person living far out, protecting them from harm. Hell, even to this day, their grave is well tended and frequently adorned with flowers. Almost like someone is bringing fresh ones every once in a while

if the goal was to make me cry today you truly nailed it

all the kudos to you, this is beautifully written and really emotional

This is also a way i would really see it too, in the sense that i feel like it would be super signifiant to have Belial have One Signifiant friendship with a skydweller early in his exile that would justify why he is so bitter in his suicide-rant about how primals will always outlive the people who might care about them and learn about them.

And honestly i love this take on how to do it, especially with this concept of how Belial could leave years at a time without thinking it's too much because by being immortal, time seems different to him (and nothing equals the endless nights without Lucilius in term of missing and longing), and having to realize therefore that what could seem like 10 mins to him sounds like years to his new friend and seeing them slowly fade away with age and everything.

and i love the idea that he would become the local cryptid because against all the odds, he cared, he cared so much, even if he will never be able to put this into words (until Avatar strips down his walls of denial at least) because he cannot admit to himself he cared about anything other than Lucilius ever, because else it would force him to question why he only ever clang to Lucilius and nothing else.

I adore this take, it really makes me all sort of emo.

I feel like in relation to the previous ask about the Belial centric event, this could easily be like in the first few chapters, with the skydweller dying by the time of the 3rd chapter, and for the next 3 chapters you see Belial go back to the grave sometimes / probably also in the epilogue.

really hitting home the ghosts Belial has been accumulating ever since he was on the run.

i love love love the idea thank you SO much for sharing it with me!!

#ichareply #ichafantalks gbf #anonymous #ichafantalks wmtsb

[buckybarnesdiaries]

white wolf: “the story of a first date”

first part — second part — third part — fourth part (soon)

© @capsgrantrogers

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Sam helps Bucky to ask you out for a date and it's a disaster, but he gets it.

word count: 3.147 words. (not sorry, it worth it, i promise!!!)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being the cutest gentleman in the whole wide world, and sam keeping an eye on him.

author notes: as it happened with the first part, i'm not really happy with the result but i had so much fun writing it and i think that that made this writing perfect, so i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed it. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

The car stopped because of a red light, a moment where Sam took the advantage to turn at his copilot, glancing at Bucky from top to bottom in complete silence. Analyzing him. The soldier tilted his head raising an eyebrow, showing his curiosity about what the hell he was doing.

“What are you gonna wear, uh?” Sam asked then, maintaining a serious gesture on his face.

“Clothes”. Unworriedly, he put back his eyes to the front window.

“You probably look good naked, but that’s not what I’m talking ‘bout”.

“Just… some jeans, a shirt, and a jacket”.

“And shoes, I guess”.

Bucky turned on his seat towards his friend, squinting confused for the interrogatory. “Who cares?”

“About the shoe—”

“About the clothes”.

“Man, it’s a date! Do you wan’her to remember this night as the night Bucky Barnes shown up as a Russian bum?”

“I’m from Brookl—”.

“Yeah, but you look like mother Russia just spat you to the world”.

Sam rolled his eyes as a sigh escaped his mouth. Shaking his head, he took the next corner to the fifth avenue changing the planes they had in mind. A good outfit meant a good date. A good date meant happy soldier. Happy soldier meant no trouble. See the point? So the Falcon would take care of the Winter Soldier today. If only Steve could see them. He’d feel proud, that was for sure. They visited a couple of shops, finally letting Sam take control over the situation and pick the clothes he would wear for you. He had good taste, everybody knew that, and Bucky couldn’t complain about his choices.

Even less when the distinctive black suit dressed his anatomy to perfection. Spinning around in front of the mirror, he felt different. He looked different. He looked good, but not as he’d like. Holding the bucket of flowers once he was ready, Bucky left his apartment straight to the garage under the building. He was nervous, he couldn’t lie. But he had that sensation inside him that made him believe everything would be okay for the first time since he woke up.

The road didn’t take him more than ten minutes, not really worried about the time given that he had planned to arrive a little sooner than accorded. Life seemed like it was smiling at him, finding a parking lot in the same entrance. Landing his blue eyes on the rearview mirror, Bucky took a last view at his reflection, brushing back his hair as he used to do in the forties. He grabbed then the flowers he bought for you and stepped out of the car, trying to remember the advice Sam gave him. Resting his back against the copilot's door, he waited impatiently for you.

“Hey, you”.

His heart stopped for a second, raising his orbs to the man coming closer. Before he could react, the man in question tucked a hand beneath Bucky's jacket. Patting him down.

“What the hell are you doing, Sam?” He questioned irritatedly, slapping his hands and causing him to laugh.

“Just checking you didn't bring the notecards again”.

“Yeah, very funny…”

“Man, look at you! Should be illegal to look this good, uh?” Sam helped him to put on the jacket again, receiving another slap from his friend.

“Don't touch me”. Scowling, he fixed the flowers in his left hand, wanting them to be perfect. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Watch you till (Y/N) comes. Lemme take a picture, I feel like a proud father on his son's prom day”.

“You're not m— Get the hell outta here, Sam”.

“Fighting again, kids? Should I call your mama?”

As Bucky heard you scoff, his soul abandoned. His pupils dilated. His legs trembled. And he could swear that everything disappeared around him when he watched you going downstairs, swinging your hips unconsciously sensual, with a black dress fitting you like a glove. If this morning Bucky wanted to marry you, now he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. Your makeup was on point, just like your hair, not being too formal but enough to run him out of words.

“Steve is off-duty, so, what 'you gonna do, soldier?” Sam mocked, an instant before noticing how pale Bucky was. He couldn't help but slap the back of his neck to bring him back to reality.

“I, uh… flowers… I bought you…”

“You're not Yoda”. Sam whispered as the other offered you the present.

“C'mon, stop messing with him”. You clicked your tongue, right before you drew an adorable smile on your lips, leaning to kiss Bucky's cheek. “Thank you”.

“You're welcome”. He just answered, responding to your same gesture while opening the door for you.

“Such a gentleman…” His playful murmur made Bucky frown and nudge him, trying to stop him from saying anything else and ruin the occasion.

“I'll bring him back at ten”. You joked palming his chest.

“The point is to not bring him back to me”. Sam cackled, shaking his head and taking a step back.

Once in the car turning on the engine, James joined the road after checking you were good. Never in his life he had driven with so much care as if he was carrying a bomb by his side. He set on the radio, not really knowing how to start a conversation, watching you through the corners of his eyes caressing the flowers over your lap. No one had bought you them before, thinking it was a thing that only happened in movies. But then, you met Bucky. An old-fashioned man, making yourself wonder how he was the same the news used to say he was a cold-blood assassin.

“What have you thought?”

“Uh?”

“About the date”.

“Sam told me about a rest—”.

“Okay, okay, Bucky. Pull over”. You couldn't help but burst into laughter, as his face was pale again thinking you were about to step out and end the date.

“Sorry, did I…?”

You swiveled at him on your seat, kissing your teeth and squinting inevitably. Studying his face you knew how afraid he was, and it was the most adorable reaction ever. You could have kissed at that precise instant, but it'd have been a little awkward.

“Where do you wanna go?”

The question didn't take him by surprise, actually. He was still getting used to doing the things he desired and not what other people asked him to do. The restaurant was a fancy place with a distinguished menu according to what his friend explained to him, but it wasn't the kind of site that he'd normally go, or that represented him.

“When I, uh… came back, I discovered that my favorite burger joint in Brooklyn was still standing”. Bucky told you, facing you after finishing the sentence. “They prepare the best burgers of the whole New York and you can decide what ingredients add, and the bread, and the kind of meat. And it still having the original decoration”.

You reclined on your seat, just staring at him talking with that kind of burning passion about something he loved. Puckering your lips, you nodded your chin. The fact that not only he wanted to take you to a different place, but a place that he used to go to when he was young made butterflies flutter within your belly. Bucky wanted to make you part of his future, but also his past. That made the difference.

“Sounds good to me”.

“Really?” He inquired funnily confused, wrinkling his nose and forehead.

“Really”.

The shine that appeared within his eyes made you place a hand on his cheek to urge him to turn his head and drive again. An innocent gesture that provoked him a lively giggle. If that man knew all the things he caused you, he'd have taken the step months ago.

As the night went on and Bucky was losing his shyness, he talked to you about the good old times. Before HYDRA, before the winter, before the war. When he was a kid with no worries more than keeping Steven safe from the bullies. It was nice to disconnect from the present, from the gazes around the two of you, from the back talks, only enjoying your dinner and your conversation. You talked to Bucky about how was to be raised on a farm, surrounded by open fields and animals, to join the army years later. Without going into details that could make him remember the old bad times, you told him about what you used to do, your missions, and how you were wounded in combat after being shot and fell from a helicopter.

Bucky felt confident enough to compare it with how everything started. Falling from a wagon to the snow. But as soon as his voice became lower, you couldn't help but hold his gloved left hand and intertwine your fingers with his. And you could swear you felt him shaking for a brief moment because of your touch.

“So, what, uh? It was a forties trend to jump into the void?” You tried to joke, wanting to feel relaxed.

“Yeah, seems like”. He mumbled curling up his lips. “Listen… I really want to… open up, and I know it’s easier with you because… y’know, you work doing this”.

“Hold on, Bucky”. You laughed waving your free hand, shaking your chin as you closed your eyes for a second. “That has sounded really bad”.

“Wait, wh— Oh, shit, no, no, no”.

For the first time since you walked into the small restaurant, his laughter was lively, unworriedly, honest.

“Take it easy, just kidding”. You grinned, nailing your elbow on the table to rest your cheek on your palm. “But… this isn’t work. We’re not doing therapy, we’re… knowing each other. And I don’t want to pressure you to talk about something you don’t feel prepared to, okay?”

“I know”.

Bucky couldn’t believe how much you seemed to empathize with him, not judging his acts nor his past, not deciding that the date wasn't a good idea nor running away. He couldn’t believe the less importance you were giving to his arm made of vibranium; usually, people used to freak out, to feel frightened somehow about the things it could do. But you were there, fingers playing with the others as if it was the most common and natural act in the world. And, for you, it was. That was you in all your best. Considerate, smart, patient, lovingly. The rainbow after a stormy life. Everything that Bucky needed in his life to start from scratch and be his better version. A shoulder to lean on and a reason to come back home.

“Was afraid of asking you out”. He confessed after some seconds admiring each other. Any person closer would say you had been dating for a long, long time by the way you had to keep silent and not feel uncomfortable.

“Why?”

“You came from war and made your world a place to live. I’m still stuck there”.

“I have my own red flags”. Clicking your tongue, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, really? Please, surprise me”. Bucky teased you sitting up on his chair, not loosening the gentle grip around your left hand.

“I put the milk before cereals”.

“Oh… Oh, God”. He let out, pretending to be horrified and running a hand on his face. “Goddammit… you’re a monster, ma’am. I don’ think this is going to work”.

“Excuse me?” You chuckled, parting your lips in a breath while leaning over the table to palm his right shoulder. “It wasn’t me who added lettuce to the burger”.

“What? What’s the matter with that, uh?”

“Lettuce kills the savor!”

“Y’know what kills the savor? Ketchup. Today, people use ketchup literally with everything… And that’s disgusting”.

“Okay! Next time, no lettuce, and… no ketchup”.

“That’s a big challenge”. Bucky scoffed tenderly squeezing your hand between his cold fingers.

“I’ll live, Sergeant Barnes”. You narrowed your eyes and crinkled your nose at the same time.

“I was talking about a second date, not about your issue with ketchup”.

“So was I”.

A goofy smirk appeared on Bucky’s face, biting his inner cheek as he assented with his head. Seeing you again, knowing that you wanted it —that you wanted him—, made him trust Dr. Raynor’s words. He was having a second chance to do the right thing. To live and to be.

You wanted to add something else when the clock in his wrist started to beep. Curious, you raised an eyebrow. “We have to leave”.

“Why?”

“Sam told me you work tomorrow at eight, which means you’ll get up at six and a half… maybe seven. While I pay, take you home, all that stuff… I don’ want you to be tired in the morning”.

Bucky would never stop to amaze you, looking up to him in silence to contemplate how he called the bartender and beckoned his free hand to ask for the bill.

“What…? What are you doing?” He chuckled embarrassed, taking his beer to sip.

You cleared your throat when you realized how stupid you should look right now, shaking your head as you freed his cold hand from yours to find unlock your phone as soon as the guy brought the dataphone.

“Hey, no, no. I asked you out, I pay”. Bucky began to fight with you, provoking some laughs on the table as you tried to put your screen above the tpv.

“Well, welcome to the twenty-first century”. You hummed as the operation was confirmed.

“I’ll pay next time”. He declared licking his incisors, prior to his lips.

You wished the ride back home to last forever, not wanting to end the date. But the car reached your neighborhood in a blink of eyes. You couldn't help but sigh barely appreciably for your companion, gazing through the window until double parking in front of your apartment. You turned towards him, hearing the engine shut off. Bucky seemed disappointed like you, not being able to remember when was the last time he had a break, he had fun. The date was nicer than he expected but the idea of not knowing exactly when he was going to see you again was killing him from the inside.

“I'll accompany you”. He declared undoing his seat belt as you did to step out.

You reacted with a delicate smile, holding the bucket of flowers against your abdomen while walking to the front door of the building. That moment was a little uncomfortable, not being sure about how to say goodbye, just looking like two teens in love.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky”. You uttered without thinking about it. “It's been the best night I've ever had”.

“Next will be better, I promise”.

“That's a big challenge”. You chuckled repeating his words a while ago in the restaurant.

“I'll live”. He nodded convinced, glancing at you bowing down your interest to the red roses between your hands.

How could you tell him that you were dying to be together again? That you wouldn't mind waking up sooner and having breakfast? You bit your inner upper lip, trying to find the correct words to say, without sounding like you were feeling something else to a physical attraction. Bucky was hot as hell, that wasn't up to debate, but he was the kindest and charmingest man you had known. He was sensible and strong at the same time. You both complemented the other like the pieces of a puzzle and you never thought something like that could happen to you. To find your other half and having it so clear you didn't want anyone else.

“I am, uh… free tomorrow”.

His words pushed you out of your thoughts, putting up your attention to a Bucky almost flushing, stroking the back of his head, and having the impression that he could scare you.

“Got a break for lunch, if you want”. You proposed without hesitation.

His eyes sparkled with happiness, holding your left hand with his to bring it to his mouth, placing a fond kiss on the back. Such a gentleman, like Sam said, inducing your cheeks to burn. And then, you saw him doubting about taking another step. You wanted it too to happen, tho, leaning forward to press your lips together. Your eyes snapped closed at that precise instant, not having any rush, tasting each other's and shortening the distance between both of you by his free arm getting wrapped around your waist. The kiss was innocent but passionate. It was warm, intimate, trying to transmit all the chemistry you woke up within the other with only one look, with only one smile. Breaking it —much to your regret— when you needed air to breathe. And even so, Bucky rested his forehead against yours freeing your hand to place it on the right side of his neck.

Neither of the two of you opened your eyes, extending the moment as much as you could. You felt he craved to spend the night with you, and you desired it too, but you also felt that he needed some time to get used to this new world he was living in. It wasn't easy. You thought back to the months after the war, the recovery, the loneliness you forced yourself to be in. You were in Afghanistan for three months. He had been fighting since nineteen forty. And he didn't want to ruin what you were building together.

“I should leave”. Bucky murmured against his wishes.

“See you tomorrow”.

At the moment you opened your eyes to meet the pale blue ones, your whole body felt weak. You saw the brightness in them after letting him know that the second date was going to happen and that it wasn't just a formality before disappearing, wiping out any minimal doubt by kissing him again. The last kiss. A good night, I'll dream with you kiss.

“I'm gonna play this on your wedding day, definitely”.

You screamed because of the unexpected metallic voice coming closer, clinging to Bucky's neck as his heart raced too. Redwing was suspended in the air some steps away from you, being controlled by Sam. Who else is not him, uh?

“I'm starting to think you have separation anxiety”. The soldier growled trying to hit the flying device with his flesh hand, hearing you laughing against his chest.

“Good night, kids”. You chuckled separating from Bucky.

“No kiss for me, soldier?”

“I'm not gonna kiss that thing, Samuel”.

“What about a howl, White wolf? Would be very appro—”.

“White wo—”.

“Please, don't. Don't ask”. Bucky begged you, licking his bottom lip while rubbing the back of his head, clearly ashamed.

“Hope you show me one day what it means…”

“Oh, he will… Just wait till the full moon”.

“Sam!” Bucky and you yelled in unison, you playfully, he annoyed.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan fluff #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x you

[fandomfluffandfuck]

How do you think worlds most loved jerk is spending his birthday? Unwrapping any punks?

Mmmm I think Bucky is definitely unwrapping a few gifts while his punk watches, eyes soft and heart fond, gentle affection seeping from his pores. I think they're together by themselves, relaxing somewhere in the woods in a cabin. Deep enough in the woods that the frost laid down over earth and plants and creatures (as they awake from winter hibernation the deeper into spring the season gets) still sparkles in stray rays of honey flavored sunshine because it never is quite warm enough to burn them away. It is only March after all. Outside the window of their rented dim log cabin, the evergreens are dark and shivering, they've got just the slightest impression of bright green- tips of new growth. Steve had just taken a peak at them and a passing red fox, sneaking through the undergrowth, ferns, bushes, and nursing logs, all wrought with plush, healthy moss, to appear in the little clearing of the yard, when he was in the process of feeding their fire. Dancing in the wood stove, emanating just enough heat for them both to dress as if it's June instead.

After his glance out into the quiet, peacefully remote wilderness and placing another log on the fire, Steve had turned on his heel, venturing back into their bedroom. The small space is cozy with thick, soft blankets piled nearly all the way up to be level with the top of headboard (even though they don't need a single one, between the two of them). And hidden under the bed is what he packed most carefully. Tucked safely into the car, under other items to be out of sight, curled up in old newspapers and tied with string that lived a double life as Alpine's toy briefly. Before holding it's special cargo proudly like it is.

Steve takes the package carefully in his calloused hands, holding it as if it weighs nothing in strong palms, his fingers thick, knuckles knotted. The sound of the paper rustling accompanies his padding feet on the old, sturdy woodfloor.

He makes his way back to Bucky and places the twine and newspaper wrapped gift in his lap, wordless. They don't need them more often then not nowadays.

Bucky's fingers curl the pages of the book he's been lost inside, the fluttering reminiscent of his gift's wrapping. He sets the book down, its cracked spine facing the ceiling, the world paused but not forgotten. Never forgotten with Bucky. He's always been able to tear through books, since before Steve can recall, memories dusty, hazy, and well-worn. Loved into oblivion. Bucky's hair swishes over his shoulder when he looks up.

Steve lands in the easy chair, flicking his hands up with a wry smile on his lips, "just open it, Buck," he says, knowing how hard it is for his husband to accept gifts and niceties. Voice warm and affectionate, not quiet a whisper but not normal talking volume.

The man in question squints at him but does as he suggests. Pulling at one of the ends of string to unwind the bow and unveil the treasure.

The string is removed entirely, brushed aside as he unfolds layers of newspaper.

Steve watches with bated breath. It's not that he thinks it's a poor gift, he's worried that it might be too well.

With the wrapping still under and partially entangling the gift, Steve's better half opens it. He pulls the cover of the scrapbook open. It's spine cracks as if it too is their age, its joints popping upon movement after lying down and resting for so long. It hasn't excised since Steve put it together months ago anyway.

Bucky's own breathe hitches, his heart kicking his ribs as he cradles the half undressed treasure.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, Bucky blinks.

His eyes don't close again, instead he stares down at his lap and what he holds. His metal and flesh and blood thumb stroke back and forth.

"Steve," he says.

Steve doesn't answer, he knows it's not something that requires an answer, not yet. He will be there to answer anything Bucky needs after he really knows what is contained, taped and artfully arranged into the old stale and specifically perfumed pages between his shivering palms. Decades pressed into nothing but paper- paper that was strangely abandoned, never used, a scrapbook that was printed and made the very year Bucky was drafted. Though all the elements that Steve added into the book are modern, this year or about there.

The book is like them. A mishmash of two otherwise unconnected, untouchable times. An analog clock and a digital clock, placed at the head and end of a hall, facing each other but not touching. They're the only ones, Steve and Bucky, who pace the hall. Back and forth. Urging each other to one side of the other.

The scrapbook is a collage of Bucky's journal entries from his days immediately following his bewildered, agonized but undescribably courageous moments breaking his bonds to HYDRA, are pasted onto the left pages; on the right pages are illustrations Steve carefully sketched and then used transfer paper to move onto the delicate paper and finished, representing whatever memory he had been piecing together. Steve carefully selected the parts that he had the best memory of himself.

Which was more difficult than anticipated, Bucky entrusted his journals to him when he finally trusted that he would remember all he had built back and it became too painful to look back. Steve wouldn't've dared to think that they would ever make it here.

But they have.

Melting to the sturdy easy-chair with Bucky on the marshmallow sofa, dwelling in a log cabin rented for the occasion of Bucky's birthday, they've made it. Time has swept them from whitewater rapids to the lazy river for the first time since sticky hot Brooklyn summers as boys, Bucky taking his smokes on the fire escape, Steve panting on the floor in a pool of sweat surrounded by pencil stubs, his creativity exhausted by the heat. There's finally enough mileage between them and the pain for Bucky to accept the gift.

Tears still build in and overflow from Bucky's smoke-blue eyes, escaping down to his cleft chin, his hands still shake, flipping gently between the pages, and he still sniffles, setting it too down while leaving it open like his beat-up paper back book but Bucky doesn't recoil into himself and he doesn't hate himself for not recalling such details. He does not wilt under the person he was, trying to un-shatter himself, then.

He instead sets the gift aside and climbs into Steve's lap. Legs over the arm of the easy chair and arms around Steve neck. Bucky buries his face in Steve's neck and shoulder, trembling.

"Thank you," he whispers, "thank you," his tears smear into Steve skin. Not for the first time. Not for the last. Steve cradles him, rocking them a touch. Kissing the top of his head as he keeps talking, "I love your drawings. I love that you helped me remember and will keep helping me, if I need it, when I need it-" he lifts his head, kissing him and saying the words right there, against his lips, "I love you."

"I love you too," Steve promises, cupping his face, thumbing the lines of his tears away tenderly, "end of the line and back, you an' me, sweetheart."

(P.S. I assume you wanted this to be horny but... I was thinking about gifts Steve might give him and then this happened lol)

#completely unbeta-ed #any errors are because i wrote this in 30 minutes lol #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #fandomfluffandfuck #fic #happy birthday #happy birthday bucky

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Sex And Chili

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales & reader (cishet woman, no y/n, no kids, established relationship, not living together)

Tags/warnings: Cunnilingus, fingering, PiV sex, some basic dirty talk. Independent reader who doesn't like it when men disrupt her life. Frankie is the exception!

Summary: You live in your own fixer-upper with a garden and maybe, just maybe, it's time to upgrade Frankie from guest star to co-star in your life. (Is this the birth of gardener!Frankie???)

Words: 2,541

Notes: I'M WRITING AGAIN!!!! But I did not write all of this: @apascalrascal wrote the sex scene so this is my first joint venture and I am so excited!

With a deep sigh, Frankie sinks heavily onto the couch after having put another log on the fire. He reaches for his whiskey and takes a sip before putting a hand on your outstretched leg. You're in the other couch corner, one knee bent, an A4 notebook propped against your thigh, a martini in hand.

"Hm?" You don't look up from your notes on this year's harvest. What variety of carrot worked well, what didn't, when was a good time for sowing, how much did you fertilize... growing your own food is a science, one you enjoy immensely.

"Reaching any conclusions?" Frankie asks, tapping one finger to your skin.

"Gotta mull it over. I'll evaluate this winter, just in time for next season."

You put your martini down on the side table and grab a pen so you can jot down some thoughts. The fire crackles cozily when the flames start to lick the new log, and the warmth is welcome in your drafty house.

***

You bought the old place four years ago and have been renovating it ever since, time and money forcing you to go slow. The garden has been your priority every summer, plants and flowers and growing your own vegetables is a lot more fun than insulating walls. Besides, you're not that good with a hammer, but you're a fucking wizard with the hoe.

The attic still needs redoing but you're not in any hurry. The ground floor has a large kitchen, a living-room, a bathroom, and a small bedroom. That's enough for you for now, but your dream is a spacious upstairs bedroom with a large window with old-fashioned lace curtains sifting the soft morning light.

The dream is growing more urgent as Frankie is becoming a stronger presence in your life. You were a dedicated bachelorette when you bought the house. It was your countryside sanctuary, away from the stress of the city, and you have relished in getting away from everything: fast food places, dating, endless commutes, streets filled with people. Life is slow here, and uncomplicated. You may not know much about renovating, but you attend Youtube Academy regularly and hire contractors when you feel you are in way over your head.

The uncomplicated part was under threat when you met Frankie. You weren’t ready or particularly keen on letting a man into your life, into the sanctuary you had established for yourself. You didn’t want a handyman to tell you what you did wrong, or a computer guy who complained about the hours you spent in the garden, or any kind of guy in between, someone who took you away from the things you had grown to love.

Frankie was nothing of the kind. He would pick up a shovel without being asked to and if you told him that you didn’t need any help, he respected it. When the weather turned cooler, he took the axe and started cutting up logs for the fireplace. He doesn’t complain about the cold indoors, he doesn’t butt into your plans. He’s there when you need him, always ready to help, and you start asking his opinion more and more.

You begin to entertain the idea of maybe one day having him move in with you. You can’t imagine selling this house, your baby, the testament to your independence and bravery, but if Frankie wanted to, maybe, just maybe…

You’re still adjusting to the idea, but the thought isn’t unwelcomed anymore. You can even pinpoint the exact moment you realized that you could imagine yourself living with this man:

***

The entire day had been spent in the garden and when you finally came in for a shower, you were starving and tired, but filled with that wonderful satisfaction of a job well done, of accomplishment. Healing, that’s the word you had to use to describe what you felt when working in your garden. All the wounds of your past healed when you ran your fingers through thick, black soil.

After the shower, you pulled on clean panties, grabbed an old flannel of Frankie’s that he had left in the bedroom, found your favorite wool socks, and went into the kitchen to check on the chili you threw together into the Crock-pot in the morning. Frankie was coming over soon, and your chili’s his favorite dish.

The chili smelled divine and was nearly finished, so you laid the table before loading up some paper and sticks in the wood burning stove. Just as the flames started to rise, you heard Frankie’s truck pulling up outside the house. You continued with what you were doing as he entered the house, and he found you by the sink, filling a pitcher with water.

He slid up behind you, back to chest, putting his hands on your hips, and his face in the side of your neck, greeting you with soft little kisses up and down your neck to your shoulder and back again.

“You’re wearing my favorite shirt, amor,” he whispered as his hands slid up to cup your breasts gently. You turned to face him, making sure to keep as close to him as possible, not wanting to give up that warmth against your body. The fire in the stove has still not spread, and your bare legs are a little cold.

“I missed you today,” you told him affectionately, as you hooked your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. When you parted, Frankie rested his forehead on yours.

“I missed you too. Do you want me to show you how much?”

You responded by pushing forward into his chest and pulling him in for a deep, enthusiastic kiss, while maneuvering the two of you over to the table, where Frankie helped you up and pushed you to lie back. Kneeling, he pulled your panties down and threw them to the side without looking, instead focused on your cunt.

“God, baby, you’re so beautiful,” he said, “I don’t tell you that enough.”

Understatement of the century. He told you that every day, along with how competent you were, how strong, how amazing. It was almost too much at times.

As he kissed up your leg, you grabbed onto his hair, trying to direct him to your aching center. Mercifully, he continued his path of kisses until he finally reached his destination.

“So wet,” he breathed before diving in, licking straight up your cunt before settling in to suck at your clit.

“Oh fuck, Frankie!” you cried out, his longed-for action still surprising you with its intensity. You kneaded at your breast with one hand and pulled at Frankie’s hair with the other while rolling your hips into his face.

“That’s it, baby, fuck my face,” he told you. The unexpected dirty talk had you moaning. As you continued the assault on his mouth, Frankie plunged two fingers into you and crooked them up, causing you to wail in absolute ecstasy.

“Oh god, Frankie, I’m gonna - ” you panted. “More, baby, I – need – more!”

Frantically, you sat up and scrabbled to try to pull Frankie up. As he stood, you drew him into a heated and sloppy kiss while he fumbled with his belt. As soon as he had freed himself, you grabbed his cock and lined him up with your entrance. Groaning, Frankie started to thrust into you relentlessly. He gripped your hips hard as his mouth found your breasts and latched onto a nipple when you pushed your chest forward.

“Is this what you needed, mi amor…needed my cock in your tight little pussy?” You couldn’t find the words to reply and instead you clenched around his cock which forced out a low hiss from him.

“You feel so fucking good…” he whined, and the begging tone of his voice made gut coil in on itself in pleasure. “Don’t you worry, I’m going to give you exactly what you need.”

He continued to pound your pussy, no regard for your scrambling to keep yourself in the right position on the table.

“Come on, cum for me.” His large thumb moved to your clit, pressing and kneading. Your lips found his and you moaned into his mouth.

“So close, so close, please…!” you begged. He continued to massage your clit and as he increased the pressure, you cried out and shuddered around him as the orgasm washed through you. Whimpering, you pushed his hand away, and Frankie moved to grip your hip again.

“C’mon, baby, take what you need from me now,” you encouraged him breathlessly, enjoying the quick-paced grind that turned downright punishing before Frankie shoved into you one last time, grinding his orgasm out with little stuttering thrusts. Foreheads pressed together, you rode out the last moments of your orgasm by touching each other all over. Hands brushing over faces and down arms, gripping and rubbing at your thighs. As you caught your breath, you captured Frankie in a soft kiss and ran your hands through his unruly curls, his scalp damp from the exertion. Frankie smiled into the kiss and pulled away, pecking your lips once, twice, three times.

“That’s how much I missed you, amor.”

In that exact moment, you knew.

***

Now, warm and cozy and with bellies full of chili, you’re lounging on the couch by the fire. You’re forgetting what it was you wanted to make a note of in your journal as Frankie begins to press his thumb into your calf muscle.

“Mmphf!”

“Sore?” he asks with a little smile. You nod, adjusting your shoulders.

“I spent the entire day digging up perennials from the back garden and moving them to the front, before filling the back with sand.”

“Why didn’t you ask me to come and help you?”

He’s on point, of course. Why didn’t you?

Shrugging, you lower your eyes to the page in the notebook. How do you explain to him that you don’t want to involve him too much because then he might start to feel he has a right to your home and your life, and you just can’t risk that –

“Amor, I know that this is your place, and I don’t want to force my way into your life, but you know that you can ask my help with anything you need, right?”

Frankie’s voice is soft, and you lift your gaze to meet his. A small smile bends his lips underneath the mustache, making you smile back.

“I guess I’m just used to doing everything by myself,” you tell him. “I’ve managed here on my own for a few years and I never imagined I’d have free help.”

“Who said anything about free?” Frankie pretends to scoff.

“Well, you know my address. Bill me!”

“I’ll take my payment in sex and chili,” he winks, making you laugh.

“Then you already got paid today, and I have to be refunded,” you grin.

“Or I could cut down the hedge tomorrow, call the fire department and tell them we’re burning garden waste, and cart the ashes to the raspberries,” Frankie suggests, one finger moving up and down your shin. You put your head on one side and regard him.

“You’d do that?”

“Of course. Sounds like a great way to spend a Sunday. The weather forecast looks promising, too.”

You put down your notebook. “C’mere,” you ask in a low voice, and Frankie’s eyes seem to turn a little darker when he scoots across the couch, settling between your legs, one hand landing on your waist, the other on your thigh.

“I love you, Frankie.” You’re a little bad at telling him that, not being used to saying those words out loud. You hope that Frankie, with his constant endearments in Spanish, understands that your actions speak of your love more than your tongue does.

“And I love you, babe,” he assures you before leaning in for a tender kiss that nevertheless makes your toes curl. Your pen and notebook slide down to the floor when you readjust yourself to allow for Frankie to lay down on top of you.

“D’ you have anything planned for that willow, by the way?” Frankie murmurs, breaking the kiss and drawing back to look at you.

“The willow?”

“The one the western side.”

“I know which one you mean… why?” you frown. Your lips are longing for more kissing and the willow is the last thing on your mind right now.

“The branches are drooping and getting in the way when mowing the lawn,” he explains. “I figured I’d cut it back a little.”

You had left the grass uncut underneath the tree, figuring there had to be a patch of tall grass somewhere for the micro life, and you’re just about to tell Frankie that when he continues:

“I noticed it gets rather damp underneath the willow and there’s a lot of snails there. And I’m worried about ticks.”

You hadn’t thought of that, and you’re surprised that Frankie did.

“Okay,” you nod, “maybe the tree needs to be pruned.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” Frankie promises before dipping down to kiss you again. You hum your appreciation and wrap your arms around him.

“Frankie…”

“Yes, mi amor?”

“I was thinking… you know… if you want to… maybe someday…” You try to find the words to tell him what’s been on your mind since he came over. “I know I don’t seem so… welcoming at times, but I’ve been thinking, and maybe we could start talking about… you maybe moving in?”

You look timidly at him.

“That’s a lot of maybes, querida,” Frankie points out with a wry smile, cupping your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. “I know how you feel about your place. There’s no rush.”

“I’m just saying… I’d very much like it if you were in it for the long haul, and that would mean that eventually… I’d like to live together. Here.”

Frankie blinks and you think you see his eyes getting a little shiny.

“You mean that, baby?”

“I do. And I wouldn’t mind your input when I plan for next gardening season.”

“One thing at a time, amor,” Frankie grins. His lips touch yours again, just a light brushing. “But I liked those light yellow sunflowers. And the little blue flowers in the back, what were they called? Cornflowers?”

“Cornflowers, yes. I’ll sow more of them next year,” you promise before pulling him to you.

“And beans?” Frankie breaks another kiss to ask for the string beans that he likes so much.

“And beans,” you echo, now pulling at the hem of his shirt. “Francisco, you’re pushing it.”

“Okay, how about this: I’ll go get horseshit from the neighbor’s tomorrow morning? Then I can get the beans I want next summer?”

“Mmm… say that again,” you tease. He lowers his mouth to your ear.

“I’ll get horseshit from the neighbor’s tomorrow morning, mi amor…” His voice is a low rumble in his chest and in combination with his hot breath, your panties turn damp in the crotch.

“I think I know how we can make co-habitation work,” you groan as you unbutton his flannel that you’re still wearing. When your tits are revealed to Frankie, he has nothing more to say.

#my fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

[harrturr]

some headcanons about donnaberg

(tw: mentions of blood, corpse, teratophilia, drink, smoke and sex)

Donna loves sewing clothes for Karl. Even though the Victorian style doesn't match the mechanic's dirty and sloppy style, he keeps his clothes in his tiny closet for some special event. – Maybe he wears it at Mother Miranda's wake. Imagine him dancing on top of that bitch's grave in a beautiful Victorian goth outfit made by his lovely mistress;

They have romantic dates at the cemetery. Well, it's one of the only options, there aren't any good restaurants or a cinema in that musty village;

Donna likes to help Karl dissect corpses. The feel of the worms and cold organs near decomposition on your pale hands is so comforting. Karl is also grateful for the help, because with the delicate hands of the dollmaker, the organs come out, most of the time, intact;

Karl has teratophilia. And it's kind of disturbing to admit that one of the factors why he loves Donna is because she has a damn nasty parasite covering half of her face;

Karl has an old camera, he stole it from a tourist after she was captured and taken to Dimitrescu castle, he likes to take pictures of Donna with it. Photos where she is distracted are his favorites, because whenever she sees the camera, she hides her deformity with shame;

In addition to Romanian, Donna converses in Italian with Karl. But he can only understand why it sounds similar to Romanian. However, when Karl speaks German to the dollmaker, she is frustrated that she doesn't understand a damn word he's talking about;

Donna doesn't drink, just casually wine. But she always keeps cold beer in the fridge at home for her lover. Already at the Heisenberg factory, there are some packets of tea lost in the cupboards because Donna brings it along on her visits and forgets to take it away;

Both smoke. Karl is always smoking, it seems to be part of his personality to have a cigar between his lips, whereas Donna, she only smokes when she is with her lover or when she is stressed about something;

Karl is a great dancer and Donna is a sloppy dancer. Whenever there's an upbeat song playing on the radio, Karl takes his mistress in his arms and twirls her around like a little doll, Donna would be lying if she says she doesn't like being trapped in the her man arms;

Donna likes to shave Karl. After sex, Donna considers it one of the most intimate activities the two of them do. – The first attempts were disastrous. Donna ended up injuring Karl, cutting his chin and having to sew it up later. It felt strangely good to feel her lover's blood between her fingers. – They remember it with nostalgia;

Both are card players. Mostly Donna, who used to play truco with her parents and Angie on cold winter nights. – They are super competitive and both don't know how to lose. To spice up the gambling, Karl always proposes that they bet something (leis, favors, caresses, etc.) and Donna always accepts, just 'cause he's the one proposing, she wouldn't do it with anyone else;

Karl spends as much time as he can with Donna when she is sick. Her illnesses are more psychological than real, but he knows she needs attention and affection to get better. Maybe, she's like a flower, you have to be very careful and considerate with her so her doesn't rot;

Donna never fails to reciprocate by trying to help him with his constant sore throat or his routine insomnia. In the old days, she drugged him with her flowers. She rolled them up like a marijuana joint and gave him one to smoke, she expected him to hallucinate, but he was incredibly relaxed. – She keeps a bunch of these joints in her room so he can smoke whenever he calls her at dawn, whimpering on the other end of the line that he can only sleep when he's lined up with her icy body (He's so dramatic. Lovely);

Both are horror movie lovers. Donna loves classics and musicals like The Phantom of The Opera, while Karl prefers something more slasher with dumb teenagers getting killed by creepy serial killers. – Their favorite franchise is Halloween, 'cause they both have the hots for Michael Myers, they just won't admit it.

#hcs #headcanons #re8 #donnaberg #donna beneviento #karl heisenberg

[redjaybathood]

AU where jason got away with all the tires on the batmobile and goes on to found the security group from into the dark multiverse: hush. Only for it to be aquired by Waynetech and him ending up as the guy in charge of security. He tells about that time he stome the tires off the batmobile and got away with it

Can you imagine that? Dangerous Bad Boy of Gotham's Club Scene (or whatever it is they actually called him In DM!Hush), a playboy to rival Brucie Wayne - whatever Bruce actually imagined going to the business lunch with him wasn't it.

It was the nicest mom-and-pop burger joint in the whole East End - but still, a far cry from La Falc or Ice Lounge, the places where Bruce would expect Todd to meet with him. Still, it was not even a block from the old decrepit movie theater - and an alley that he used to visit once a year. (He still visits, but never on the same day anymore, and he doesn't park his car there either)

This very well might be a tactical choice: make Bruce vulnerable, keep an upper hand in the negotiations.

"Just wanted to show you how the other half lives," Todd smiles, all teeth. "I know joints where you eat burgers without fork and knife," Bruce aborts the movement of his hands stretching to the utensils and grabs a napkin instead. "Is usually not your scene. Thought you might like a change of pace. Besides, the sauce they have? Hands down the best. I guess Condiment King isn't called that for nothing."

Bruce, who just got a sip of pleasantly cool water down his throat, coughs.

"I thought he is called that because he used to rob upscale restaurants with ketchup and mustard bottles as projectile weapons."

Todd chuckles like it's a funny anecdote about diner's history and not actually a case Batman and Robin had to work on once.

A waiter comes and goes, taking their orders. Todd continues with the story.

"Mitchell had some trouble getting started. To his credit, he only went after mafia-run restaurants, though it might signify his stupidity just as well as his integrity. Whatever, the man had guts! Unfortunately, he has been stopped by Batman before he had a chance to shine on Gotham's culinary scene."

"Unfortunately?" Bruce repeats then hastens to add. "Things seemed to work out for him."

Todd drinks his strawberry milkshake through the straw, taking his time before his answers.

"It's despite, not because of. The man was arrested, put in jail with the men he robbed, and spent five really not envious years. Sometimes, it's stories like that inspire me so much about Gotham. Not only he survived when the circumstances were against him, but he also made the best of it."

"He put himself in these circumstances," Bruce says. "Had he not decided to rob someone..."

"Okay!" Todd says a bit too loud. "Not the story I thought I would share with you tonight. But it is tangibly related to the topic of our meeting - Redline's new tires security system. When I was little - well, not little, younger. I didn't have much to my name, not unlike Mitchell. And my legal employment opportunities were non-existent, and trust me, I would have served tables for minimum wage at Batburgers if only they could hire me. It's not that I was picky. So, with the statute of limitations expiring a few years ago, and the fact that nothing has ever been filled in any police precinct to the best of my knowledge, I have a sin to confess. I stole Batmobile tires. Sometimes that's what you have to do, to stay afloat when no one ever is willing to throw you a lifebuoy. It was illegal? Sure. It kept me alive through winter? Yes. Had I gotten some ideas from that and ended up creating the best car security system that's on the market - and not on the market?"

He spreads his hands.

"Impossible," Bruce says. "You're what, twenty-three? You would have been..." He doesn't say: thirteen. Bruce Wayne has no way of knowing that.

Todd smirks.

"Don't judge. I, like Mitchell Mayo here, ended up a productive member of society. Our extralegal activities may be a testimony against our character, but it has been out of necessity - and we consciously choose to leave that life as soon as we got an opportunity. It has to count for something, doesn't it?"

That it does.

The contract is signed that afternoon. The burgers are decent, and Todd is right, the sauce is their best feature. It's not the best burgers in Gotham, though, and Bruce says so.

"Alright, big guy," Todd says. "Prove it. But you're paying next time."

Jason Todd declines a job offer for Wayne Enterprises - he only sold his own company to get free funds and free time - but Bruce hires him as a security consultant. It's more like white hackers, only with cars: there is a car with the latest security measures Bruce is thinking to install on Batmobile. Jason Todd steals it. They have dinner at a different place once a month. Sometimes, it's something lowkey like a cart at South Heights, sometimes it's a cafe in Bristol.

Vicky Vale makes a story out of it, but Bruce has a feeling that not even she herself believes in romance between two of most prominent Gotham playboys. Though how exactly Jason Todd got this reputation, is not clear for Bruce, who spent a lot of time and money on cultivating his.

"I have a lot of beautiful friends," Todd himself explains. "Now, I guess you can count as one of them. A friend, not beautiful. That's not to say you aren't..."

"I get it," Bruce interrupts because he doesn't want to see Todd put his foot into his mouth any further. Or god forbid, make another confession, even more embarrassing than the previous one. "You too."

It's nice, he thinks. Being friends with Todd. If Batman arrived at that alley a little earlier and they had a confrontation - Bruce wouldn't beat up a kid, of course, but he would scare him, he thinks. It's doubtful they would end up as they are now.

"I am glad you stole those tires."

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