#sunday afternoon movie sketch....

[bombsonboard]

the day after yesterday: chapter three

Summary: Time travel is volatile, dangerous, playing god. And then sometimes  it drops you in just the right place at the perfect time. It’s a matter of perspective. You decide.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 4.4k

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Read it on AO3

A/N: So my scheduled post didnt work! But i’m still uploading this on Wednesday, just a little later than planned lol. Hope you’ve all had a good week and sorry for the lil bit late chaper!

You stood outside ‘Stillman’s Gymnasium’ feeling grateful it was a warm summer’s day and you didn’t have to brave the New York cold without a jacket. Bucky said he’d meet you here, he cleaned the gym after hours in exchange for weekly boxing lessons, promising it would be all theirs so you could work on your escape in peace. 

Turns out, jumping the turnstile to get on the subway was a hell of a lot easier in the 1940s, it just took avoiding every man with a conductor hat, which the crowds made easy, and you made it to midtown. 

All alone, you let yourself take a breath. Yes, you were stuck in the wrong time, but with the hope of getting home, it was quite an astonishing thing. This place wouldn’t even be here in twenty years, bulldozed for apartments. Having the privilege to be here was something you could hardly fathom but you tried to let yourself enjoy it, at least for the time being.

It was too easy to imagine yourself having a life here, who could be waiting for? Maybe a good girl friend, or maybe some guy was picking you up to go and see a movie, one of those old ones that are only on at Christmas or Sunday afternoons. Your dress would be a bit cleaner, your hair pinned out of your face and you would see him approaching in the distance.

In your mind he had a kind smile on his face, a few roses, not too many and he would walk up to you and say:

“Steve is gonna kill me when he finds out I took his nice sketch paper, this better be worth it.” 

You blinked out of your fantasy to see the roses had flattened into a stack of paper and the kind smile you dreamed of was replaced by Bucky’s blank frown. He looked at you curiously.

“What?” He brushed his hair back with his free hand.

“Nothing” You felt caught out.

He shrugged, slowly growing used to your strange looks, and pulled a bunch of keys from out of his trouser pocket and slid them into the door. Unlocking it and pushing the door open with a clunk.

“After you.”

The smell of sweat and floor polish hit you like a wave as you stepped inside and Bucky locked the door behind the two of you. On the bare brick walls hung dozens of pictures of men in boxing gloves, raising their arms in victory. Along the surprisingly clean wooden floor punching bags were lined up, the rich brown leather cracked and beaten from excessive use and just waiting patiently to be used again. 

The great big boxing ring was the main event, a square stage of battered cream, held together by rows of red rope. You wondered if it was red on purpose. 

You pictured one of the boxing matches happening right there in front of you, the crowd of screaming men, praying for their bet to come clean and bracing for the final take down. The champion raising his godly fists, shirtless, shining and soaking in the sounds of his glory.

So, this is what Bucky wanted to be before the army? You tried to see him there, posing for one of the pictures on the wall with his grin plastered to his face. Though, maybe thinking of him shirtless and sweaty really wasn’t the most efficient thing you could be doing at the time.

“So…” Bucky comes to stand next to you, and offers you the paper

You take it with a quiet thank you.

“Do you have a-”

He hands you a pencil.

You swallow, turn around and begin to lay out the pieces of ‘borrowed’ sketch paper out on the glossy brown wood.. 

“There’s a desk in the office, y’know” Bucky points out, watching you crouch to the floor.

“That’s okay, I’m fine here.” 

He looks at you, confused and waiting for any kind of explanation you would offer.

“I’m gonna need…quite a bit of space.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, accepting that’s all he was getting, and goes to lean against the wall.

You start your chicken scratches, numbers in the tiniest handwriting you could manage, but the nagging sensation of his presence there itches at you incessantly. You lift your head and notice he’s just standing there, watching you. 

“Don’t you have cleaning to do?” It came out a little more spiteful than you intended.

“Looks pretty spotless to me” He kept his eyes trained on you, not bothering to look around at all.

“Okay, so you don’t need to be here then?” You didn’t mind the company really, but why did it have to be him? It was better for you both if he just left you alone.

“I’m responsible for this place, how do I know you won’t mess it up?” Bucky narrowed his eyes at you.

“Christ, I don’t need a chaperone.” 

“I’m sure you don’t, spitfire” He scoffs “but I'm not leaving, so…” He gestures for you to get back to your work “Go on.”

Rolling your eyes with maximum effort you go back to work and start to lose yourself in the math. Spread out on the floor with your ass in the air probably wasn’t the most ladylike position but who cared, Bucky didn’t seem to make a comment.

You willed yourself to stop wondering about him for just a moment so you could focus on the task at hand. If you were going to figure out the coordinates to put into the GPS, you needed a start point. It was 1943, that you knew but, the specific date was what you really wanted. There wasn’t anything that showed you today’s date in your immediate vicinity, so your eyes wandered and landed, unfortunately, on Bucky, who had his feet propped up on the front desk, head stuck in a newspaper. 

"Is that today’s?” You ask from the floor.

“Yu-huh” He mumbles from his wall of news.

Of course he had the thing you were looking for. 

“...What’s the date on it?”

He folds over one corner so you could be victim to his blank stare. “You don’t know what day it is?”

You stare back. 

“11th June.” He supersedes.

“Thank you.” 

He flips his corner back up and you go back to your work silently.

“11th June 1943.” You mumble quietly as the numbers take over your head again.

Hour One

The silence didn’t last half as long as you hoped it would.

“So, how long does something like this normally take?” Bucky wonders after a while, as if you launched yourself into the wrong time all the time, you felt yourself getting offended until you remembered he had absolutely no idea. 

Scribbling down the total days you needed to travel you hid your face from Bucky.

“A while.” You hoped he didn’t hear the small crack in your voice. 

“Great. Maybe it’s enough time for me to figure out why you’re so weird.” He chuckled lightly.

Bucky Barnes, ladies man.

“Oh you’ll figure it out…in 29,209 days” You mumble under your breath, you didn’t mean for him to hear, but when you’re the only two people in a room, it’s hard to keep secrets.

Bucky shakes his head in amusement, ignorant of just how truthful you had just been, but he was quiet for a little while longer after that.

Hour Three

Eventually grew restless of the front desk and sauntered over to the back office. You wondered who might usually be found in there, some short and stubby gym manager, dark hair slicked back with wiry eyebrows that look so much like caterpillars they might crawl off his face. A cigar permanently between his lips. 

You cracked a smile at the image until you heard exactly what Bucky was doing in there. The crackle of a gramophone interrupts your thoughts and the smile falls from your face. You had no complaints about forties music, really, but you were convinced he was doing this on purpose, taunting you with warbling jazz.

With a frustrated grumble you threw down your pencil, abandoned your work and stalked over to the back office. He was there, leaning back on a chair with his arms crossed, eyes closed and absorbing the music echoing around the room. 

Sure, he looked peaceful, but there were bigger stakes here than Bucky Barnes enjoying a record. 

You rapped on the door forcefully but he didn’t jump to attention like you wanted.

Bucky slowly opens his eyes and looks up expectedly.

“Could you…turn it down?” You mimicked turning down a volume knob, and he looked at you blankly.

“Please.” It pained you to add.

“Turn it down?” He mimics your action, eyebrows furrowing. “And what’s that?”

“The music” You impatiently pointed it out and walked over to the small gramophone, singing pleasantly in the corner. It would be a relic any other day but right now it was just annoying you.

Shoot, no volume control you realized, it seemed people were just happy to hear music here, nevermind the volume. A little joy in a somewhat bleak time in history. 

You needed your peace though, one way or another.

“Could you just turn it off?” You turned to leave.

“If this is gonna take long, I’d like to have something to entertain myself.”

You stopped, breathing in and out to stop yourself from killing him before his inevitable death date.

“You don’t even have to be here” You crossed your arms across your chest.

He smiled at your irritation “Tell you what, I’ll give you a chance.”

While you were occupied with how he just had the audacity to patronize you, Bucky stood from the chair and took the trash can from the corner and placed it at the other end of the office from you.

“What are you doing?” You watched him closely.

He walked back over to you with a self- satisfied smile, taking his time as he stopped just inches from you, the tips of his shoes touching yours just about.

“Bucky?” You felt your heartbeat palpate, your chest go tight.

He wordlessly leaned past you to grab an old coffee mug full of pencils that sat on the desk behind you. Bucky pulled away to stand next to you and embarrassment fizzed in your stomach. Bucky smelt like leather and his mothers cooking.

“First one to get three pencils in a row in the trash can wins. If you win, I’ll turn it off and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

You found that hard to believe and it must’ve shown on your face.

“...mostly,” He added. “But if I win, the music stays and you can’t say a thing about it.”

“Seriously?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, swee- spitfire.”

He looked at you with his blue as a cloudy sky eyes as you sized him up. It seemed fair and you were always one for a good bet, but the way he looked at you made you feel like he knew something you don’t. Figuring that look out would have you spinning for days.

“Do you need me to move it a bit closer?” He suggested condescendingly.

“Fine.” You grumbled.

“Ladies first.” He held the mug out to you and you grabbed three pencils with a roll of your eyes.

It had to be easy right? You didn’t have the worst hand eye coordination in the world but it wasn’t one of your most notable qualities. The only thing you had going for you was a desire for Bucky Barnes to keep quiet, and you were about to find out how good of a motivator that was.

You toss the first pencil and it lands in the trash can with a happy little clang. The second pencil was subject to pressure and bounced on the edge before landing safely inside, you celebrated inwardly, trying to hide how invested you were in a game of throwing pencils, but you were so close to victory, sweet victory.

One final pencil in your hand, you looked to Bucky “Any final words?” you ask smugly.

“I’m good.”  He stared straight ahead.

The last pencil is in the air and you swear you’ve never felt this tense in your life. Maybe apart from the time you landed in the 20th century by accident. Taunting you, it bounced off the edge like the second but this time it was the wrong way. You watched in disbelief as it clattered to the floor.

“Shit.” You muttered and tried to hide how actually sad you were to miss your final throw.

“I’d offer condolences but you were a little cocky at the end.” Bucky plucked three pencils from the pot.

He effortlessly tossed his pencils in without a second thought, one, two, three, in quick succession, giving you no time to think of a plan to sabotage him at all.

Bucky looked at you with a smile “I believe congratulations are in order.”

“Best of three?” You grasped at any chance he might give you.

Bucky just laughed. In your face. You let out a combination of a grumble and a sigh and stomped out of the office.

He had won, the music stayed.

Hour Five 

“C’mon you should take a break.”

Bucky had stayed mostly in the office, humming to his music. You had migrated to the boxing ring to lay out your findings. He had been leaning against the door, keeping his eye on you for the last five minutes.

“Can’t take a break.” You didn’t look up.

“You’ve been scribbling for like ten hours” He groans.

“I’m not scribbling” You retort, but looking down at the paper ‘scribbles’ was definitely an accurate word, not that he needed to know that.

“What are you doing then?”  

“I’m working out- ugh, stop it!” You needed to be more on the ball with his incessant questions.

“It’s for your own good”  You told him as sternly as you could manage.

“Yes Ma'am” He grins cheekily.

He moved from the doorway, you cursed yourself for having half your attention on him again.

“I don’t think you’ve ever taken a break in your life, you’re so…tightly wound.”

You had half a mind to tell him why you were really ‘tightly wound’ right there and then. But then the fatal implications and so on…blah blah blah. 

“I take breaks.”

“Hard to believe, you ever been to the movies? Or a dance, maybe?” His analyzing eyes felt like they could see right through you.

“Sure, I’ve been to dances.” You brushed him off and continued writing. Maybe they weren’t the dances he would be familiar with but you had been to some. They just played the Black Eyed Peas, not Vera Lynn.

“Really? Because you haven’t recognised a single song I've put on.”

Oh. He had you there. 

“Maybe I just like different music.”

“Who doesn’t like Dick Haymes?” 

You put your head back down, ignoring his teasing and diving back into work, and hopefully convincing him that you just weren’t interested in extracurriculars. 

“Don’t worry, Spitfire, I’ll get you dancing.”

Hour Eleven 

He had run out of records a couple hours ago and was now entertaining himself by standing by the entrance and using some spare paper to fashion a paper airplane and seeing how far he could throw it.

The boxing ring was covered in a blanket of math now, you sat cross legged in the center, surrounded by stretches of equations, statistics, and graphs, traveling along y axis and x axis, finding each coordinate you would need. You had worked this long before but after a day of exerting yourself physically, the strain was weighing heavily on your brain. 

You close your eyes for just a second but a rude and painful awakening comes from a sharp poke in the side of your head. 

“Sorry!” Bucky calls from across the room.

You sigh and stand, rubbing the side of your head “It’s fine, I needed to wake up anyways”

You were in the land before energy drinks, your go to when the numbers become squiggles in your eyes. 

“There somewhere that sells coffee around here?” You grumble.

“Um” Bucky points to the window and you see nothing but black.

How had you missed the sun going down? 

“Nevermind.” You ran a hand over your face, eyelids growing heavier by the second, but you knew you couldn't afford to sleep, not now.

But your brain was too exhausted to make sense of the final coordinates you needed and there was no point in half-assing this and ending up in the wrong time again. You had read in some study that regular breaks actually proved to help total productivity, as hard as it was for you to believe, you weren’t opposed to a little experimenting.

Tip toeing carefully over your working, you sat on the side of the boxing ring, waiting for productivity to strike.

Bucky abandoned his paper airplane to sit next to you. The air felt heavy around you and all you could feel was the incomprehensible weight on your shoulders. You had no idea what Bucky thought, you had hardly been nice to him. But the way he was looking at you made you think he just wanted to lighten your load, just a little bit.

“So, how's it going?” He asked after a minute.

“It’s…getting there.” You fiddled with your hands “Maybe.”

“You really are weird, y‘know?”

He was smiling at you, like he had just paid you a sweet as sugar compliment.

“Thanks, Bucky.” You gave your sarcastic gratitude.

With a sudden burst of energy, he practically waltzes to the back office, you watch with amused curiosity, and when he appears again, he’s carrying the gramophone with both hands, a record under his arm.

He places it happily on the corner of the ring, lifting the red rope, he slides under and stands in the boxing ring. What was he doing now?

“C’mon.” He tilted his head at you with a smile.

Waiting for you, you supposed.

“What?”

Bucky began to pile up you papers covering the space and you flew into a panic, if he messed them all up you’d have to spend another hour putting them back in the correct order so they made sense, you hadn’t thought to number your pages because you thought he wouldn’t be stupid enough to touch them. You thought wrong.

“Bucky!” You shrieked with wide eyes.

He looked at you, calmly “I’m keeping them in order.” 

His habit of reading your mind was getting pretty annoying. You follow his lead and shuffle under the ropes out of curiosity. With your math tower tucked safely to the side out of harm's way, you faced him with a confused look. 

“You needed to wake up, right?” 

“Are we going to box? Because I don’t think I'm up for that right now.” 

“No, no” He takes the record out of its sleeve with a flourish and places it on the gramophone, setting the needle down, humming with excitement.

An upbeat song begins to play, filling the hall with hearty trumpets and jiving double bass. It almost felt like they were in the room somewhere, hiding under the boxing ring with their instruments. 

You stood a meter away from Bucky, no closer and no farther. He held out his hand, you looked around you as if there was any one else he could offer it to. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, you could barely hear yourself above the music reverberating around the walls.

“Dancing.” He said it like it was obvious.

You didn’t think you get stage fright in the absence of an audience but Bucky had a funny way of making you nervous. For the third time, you were stuck gawking at his open palm. The vibrations of the music sent waves through the boxing ring, an invisible hand urging you closer to him.

“I don’t think that’s, maybe not-” You splutter.

You tried to think of the ripples in time this could cause but all you could really focus on was how much you wanted to feel his hand in yours again.

“Spitfire.”

When would you ever get the chance again? Never, that’s the answer. Sure, time might crumble before you but he looked so happy standing there, and he didn’t have many of those moments left.

“I swear every time you look at my hand it’s like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That’s what he had in store. Becoming the most infamous ghost story history had ever heard. You made peace with the universe in a surprisingly short amount of time and decided Bucky Barnes needed this more than anything else in this world.

“You gonna keep on staring at my hand or are you gonna take it?”

You take a few tentative steps towards him and slide your right hand into his left. He directs your other hand to rest on his shoulder and he slips his hand behind you. He tucked you closer to his chest with a shy smile and a gentle pull, you gazed up at him with bright eyes, a smile hiding in the corners of your mouth just waiting to blossom.

The next ten minutes, Bucky spends teaching you how to swing dance after coming to the conclusion you had never danced with anyone in your life.

“I have!” You insist after you step on his toe for the seventeenth time.

“Do they still have feet?” He asks in fake concern. 

“Ha Ha.” You poorly cover your genuine laughter, but you couldn’t hide the smile that had crept up on you anymore.  

Dancing with Bucky was a whirlwind in the most literal sense, you spun like a pinwheel in and out of his arms. You spent half the time spiraling into danger and he would be there to catch you as if there was no risk at all. 

When he kept you close, you could just about hear him counting to the music under his breath. It was an endless night of numbers for you, but you were convinced you had never been as dizzy as this before, dipping in and out and twisting up and down but you knew he wouldn’t let you fall. There was something transporting about it, bringing truth to your daydreams.

Dancing with him felt more like time travel, than well, actual time travel. 

You were glad he wasn’t enhanced yet, or he would hear your heartbeat picking up speed. For a moment he was all you could think about, and you finally had no complaints. 

Until you saw your papers topple and scatter on the floor, the jolting of the enthusiastic swing dance lesson had your precious work falling all over the floor. 

Quickly, it all got too much, heat rushed through you and the music was thumping in your head. He was too close to you, chests stuck together that should never have touched in the first place, Hands glued to his, you were trapped in his time and you were losing yourself by the second. If you didn’t let go now, who knows what you could cause. 

“Stop, stop!” You pulled away, ripped your hand from his, stumbling back and catching yourself on the ropes. 

“You alright?” Bucky spoke cautiously behind you.

“Yeah, yes I’m okay, I just-”

You swallowed down the bile rising from your stomach, and turned to see him standing there with concern in his eyes. Damn him. Damn him for helping you.

“I need to get this done.” You hurried to pick up your work and put it back into the correct order, scared to even look at him again.

“Okay.” He sighed quietly.

Hour Fifteen

Bucky had fallen asleep sometime ago.

The sun had come up again, the cloudless sky left the blinding beams of sunlight to burst through the windows.

His gentle snoring was the only sound as you held your breath,staring at the coordinates. Double checked, triple checked. All you had to do now was put them into the GPS and go.

But something was keeping you here, just for a few moments more. If it had anything to do with the man sleeping a couple meters away, you weren’t sure. All you could do was keep your eyes on the key to your exit.

“You worked through the night?” 

Okay, so he wasn’t asleep anymore.

You could disappear right there in front of his eyes and leave him questioning everything for the rest of his life, even though you thought it would be a little funny and maybe he deserved it, it was just too risky. 

“Done it before” You shrugged.

“Well my sleep was great, surprisingly sound” He began to walk over “Oh, and if my Ma asks where I was all night, do me a solid and say the recruitment center, something about long queues i don’t know.”

Hang on.

“You haven’t enlisted yet?” 

“No?” 

“Haven’t been to the recruitment center at all?”

“Been a bit busy” He chuckles

“Well you should go, go do it now”

“What?”

You thought he had gone by now.

“I’ll do it later, suppose” He shrugs

You looked at the coordinates. You could go home. But you couldn’t. Bucky hadn’t enlisted. And if he doesn’t join the army then, then Steve probably wouldn’t either and Captain America wouldn’t exist and maybe we didn’t win the war, maybe we lost all of the wars, the battle of new york, the battle of the earth.

Him not becoming a sergeant . you couldn’t begin to think of the implications.

Was it all your fault? 

“Been thinking about it a lot and I know my dad did and all that, but…I don't know”

You had currently beaten your record for amount of shits in a twenty four hour span ten times over.

Getting home, All of this means absolutely nothing if Bucky doesn’t go to war. 

He needed to enlist, he had too, you were to blame for this, and you were damn right gonna fix it.

You had to make him join the army, no matter the cost.

Maybe you could afford a couple more days here, you supposed.

“You figure out all your math?” Bucky asks. 

You turned to him and stood.

“Not quite.”

Tag-list: @emily-roberts @enchantedbarnes @marygoddessofmischief @nickangel13 @elxvrr @pixiesbored @skittle479 @sweetwritingfanficfriend @curlycarley​ @acceptedbyace​ (bold means I couldn’t tag you)

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x you #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel imagine #the day after yesterday #Clara writes

[slaasherslut]

Sunday Morning Sketching

Summary: Vincent cant help but become entranced by his lover who is an artist themselves

Warning: Smut

1.7k Words

Sunday mornings were made for two things; relaxing before the start of a busy work week and setting aside time to do art with Vincent. When you two met, you both were enthralled that you had found another person to share your passion with, who appreciates art and loves making it. You both had spent countless hours just sitting in his workspace in the basement together and working. Sometimes the air would be filled with the radio or a CD you both enjoyed, and other times the room would be comfortably silent. Each focusing on the task at hand and just enjoying the presence of each other. It has been a few months now since you decided to start the tradition to have your Sundays be for spending time together. You both may have been busy throughout the week but you had one day a week where no matter what you were spending time together and creating. Just the two of you and your art supplies.

The previous night, you and Vincent laid cuddled on the couch after finishing a movie. He had asked you what you were planning to work on tomorrow. You hadn't decided yet. When he told you he was probably going to do a bit of sketching you had the perfect idea.

"How about we sketch each other?" You suggested enthusiastically. "I could use a bit more practice drawing the human form anyways, I'm getting better but I need a little more time."

Vincent nodded his head and signed, "I don't mind getting to stare at you for an entire afternoon."

You felt your face run hot at his statement. He was always a total gentleman and incredibly sweet, so whenever he said bold words like that it made you weak in the knees. 

The next morning you both went about your morning routine before heading down to Vincent's work space. You both sat down on the floor, facing each other while pulling out your necessary supplies and getting to work.

You were wearing a little sundress that stopped just above your knees. It was a pale yellow that he thought complimented your skin very well. Since Vincent was going to be sketching you and it would be something that would be in his sketchbook forever, you wanted to wear something cute that made you feel pretty. The top came up just barely enough to cover your breasts. One of the straps had slipped off your shoulder and you were too busy sketching him to notice. But Vincent noticed, he always noticed. The strap slipping caused more of your breast to be exposed, enough that he was sure there was nothing under it, if it slipped a tiny bit more you would be completely exposed before him. He couldn't help but marvel at your form.

Your eyes trailed across him, making sure to capture every detail of the man before you. There was one thing that you noticed was different than before you drew it. Vincent tried to cover it with his sketchbook but from your angle you could see it. The raging erection in his pants. You smirked.

"How's the sketch coming Vinny?"

He nodded, saying that it was going well. You knew that was a lie, his almost empty page proved that. If he couldn't keep his focus then you would give him something else to focus on.

You stood up from your spot on the floor and took slow teasing steps toward his desk. You grabbed the bottom of your dress and with every step, hiked your dress farther and farther up your thighs. By the time you reached his desk your dress was pulled up just enough to barely cover your ass as it peeked out from the bottom of the fabric. You climbed on top of his desk, making sure to give him a peek of the lack of panties under your dress. You planted your butt down on it and faced toward him.

Vincent was still in his spot on the floor with eyes laser focused on repeatedly moving up and down your body. His entire body was frozen except for the tent that had grown even larger in his jeans. Seeing the effect you had on him gave you a sweet boost to your ego. You slowly spread your legs and raised your knees up to your chest, giving him the full view of what he was thinking about under that dress. You used two of your fingers to slowly spread your lips open, giving him a full view of your already soaking wet pussy.

Vincent was now standing between your thighs, hands teased as they trailed up your legs and to your waist, pushing the dress up as he went. One of his large hands drifted down and made its way to your exposed pussy. Slow fingers got straight to work and began massaging the bundle of nerves there. If he had his way he would have just buried himself in your tight cunt the moment he had his hands on you, but his size was always a lot for you to take. He knew that by the way you would whimper and whine and cry out for him. He wanted to make sure you were sopping wet and ready for him. Two fingers slowly slid down your wet slit and were harshly shoved inside you. A loud moan erupted from you as your head was thrown back in pleasure. He pumped inside you at a steady rhythm, scissoring you open with his large fingers. His other hand went to work roaming your body, he wished to leave not a single inch of your beautiful body untouched by his calloused hands. The lewd squelching coming from between your legs and your high pitched whines and only made his cock harder. He was so hard it was starting to ache. He needed relief before he felt like he was going to burst. You pulled your dress up and over your head before tossing it somewhere unknown on the floor for you to find later.

"Fuck.. Vincent, you feel so good!"

Your moaning out for him was the final straw as he pulled his fingers from you. A cute whine escaped you at the emptiness you now felt. He could see your pussy once it was empty and you repeatedly clenched around nothing but air. The hand that was inside you was placed on your stomach and gently pushed you back until your shoulder blades made contact with the wood of his desk. His fingers, still glistening from your arousal, trailed down your stomach leaving a wet trail just below your naval. You looked up at him through hooded eyes as his hands made quick work of his belt and jeans.

"Vincent, fuck me already, quit your teasing." 

He wasted no time pulling out his throbbing cock before sliding it inside you, the look on your face said you were in pure bliss. He leaned down to pull both of your hands up above your head, one of his large hands held both of yours so easily. He locked your arms in place before rocking inside of you. 

In that moment you both looked into each other's eyes. No words were exchanged but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. The love between you and Vincent was like poetry. He may not be able to speak but his actions spoke so loud they were screaming. The way his eyes searched yours for permission. The way his jaw softly opened and closed and clenched meant you were making him feel good. The way his hand rested on your cheek meant he adored you. The way his hands squeezed yours as he pinned them above your head meant he loved you deeply.

Vincent pushed himself back off of you and pulled out his weeping cock. He grabbed you tightly by the hips, pulling you off the table enough to get your feet on the floor and spun you around. He harshly pushed down on your back, pressing your sensitive chest into his desk as he shoved himself back inside you with a gravely moan. Not stopping until his pelvis was flush against your ass and his heavy cock was all the way inside you. A loud moan forced its way out of you as you felt the wind knocked out of your lungs. He slowly pulled his hips back, leaving just his head inside of you before slowly easing himself back inside. Your walls fit perfectly around his shape as if your body was made for him. As if you were sculpted in wax by his own hands for his own desires. 

"Vincent.." Your voice brings him out of his thoughts. "Make me cum." 

You could barely contain the neediness in your voice. He was moving so slow and your whole body felt as if it was on fire. The feeling of your nipples, rubbing bare on the desk, caused an electric current of pleasure with every movement, every thrust. Your words lit a fire in his loins as his pace sped up. You were both so close and you wanted nothing more than to feel your insides fill up with his cum. He grabbed a tight hold of your waist, steadying you as his hip thrusted inside you faster. The red hot feeling inside of you started bubbling up so much faster than you expected. Your entire body was a sensitive mess as you felt yourself go limp. The bubbling inside is finally about to overflow.

"Vincent, baby, I'm cumming!" You screeched out, legs kicking and shaking under between the desk and Vincent's own legs. His erratic thrusts brought you to your orgasm as he fucked you through it, his own release following not long after as he painted your insides with his cum.

With chest heaving, Vincent pressed his forehead to your back as he caught his breath. He pulled himself up to grab your chin and pressed a quick kiss to your open mouth as you tried to suck in as much air as possible. Vincent was still inside you and every movement made your breath hitch.

"How about we finish those sketches, sweetheart?" He signed. You chuckled and nodded.

"Uh huh, just give me a minute, I just had the air fucked outta me."

☾ notes: this was requested by the lovely rottent33th. I hope you like it!! Its also my longest fic so far!

☾ tag list: @rottent33th @cries-in-latino @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better

message me if you want to be added to my tag list!

#vincent sinclair #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #vincent sinclair x reader #slashers #slasher fic #slasher fucker

[localgrem1in]

School has kinda been kicking my butt, but it’s fine. I’ll get back to projects one day.

Long story short, watched wall-E the other day and spent my Sunday afternoon on these. Intense nostalgia, I tell you. Haven’t seen this movie in years. Have this terrible quality photo of sketches of the sillies!

#wall-E #WALL·E #walle #Eva??? #is that how you spell it? #fanart #sketches #loca art

[cevans-is-classic]

Steve and Tony are clingy.

When other people,who aren't their family, are in the room it's usually subtle. the two of them seeking out small touches or lingering be each others sides.

They don't mean to do it. At least, not always.

Sometimes it's by habit — it's movie night and there is plenty of room next to Bruce on the love seat but Tony sees Steve in the recliner which means Tony is going to squeezes himself between the arm and Steve's lap.

Steve simply drapes arms across his legs and doesn't look away from the movie. He does knock his elbow into Tony's tablet a few times when the genius grumbles under his breath about plot holes.

Other times, it's from panic. Fear. Tony leaves the room to talk with Pepper — Steve is fine at first. His pencil scratching across paper, a tune mindlessly being hummed under his breathe but when the curve of a bird's feather turns into the curl of Tony's hair around his ear after a shower — Steve panics. He jerks his head up, looking for a Tony. Where did he go?

Pepper doesn't say anything when Steve emerges from the room to stand beside Tony and rest his shoulder against the genius's, their pinkies gripping each other. Steve can sketch with one hand and Tony is able to talk with his right hand anyway.

The times when it's on purpose tend to be after heavy missions when one of them have gotten hurt. It's impossible to separate them. If Steve needs to go into Shield for a debrief, if Tony needs to be at an SI meeting then the other needs to be there as well. People have learned not to ask about it.

They're times when it's not intentional nor unintentional. It just feel right.

They've had a quiet few weeks. No alarms have gone off, their schedules have managed to stay in some form of routine which leaves them lounging on a Sunday afternoon. Tony resting on the couch, his head leaning back over the arm while Steve dozes on his chest. His arms wrapped securely around the man.

They're clingy sometimes overly, but no one ever comments on it.

They deserve to be.

#stony #steve rogers/tony stark #steve rogers #tony stark #stony headcanon

[thweatted]

I told myself I'd work on some new animation during this break, and darn it I finally got started today with some rough sketches. The audio is much longer than this bit. I'm just posting what I did this afternoon. I am going to clean it up when I animate but not totally clean to save time. I had found some Robotnik audio from the movie I wanted to do, but was more in the mood to do Sonic and Tails than back to back Eggman. I meant to start on this early this month but something in my room has triggered allergies, and it's thrown off everything. I literally could not sleep in bed at night after awhile. I rented a room for 5 days until I could figure out what was up. Some spots in the room are fine and other spots are like walking into a toxic area. I think it's my current detergent, which means I've been making it worse every single week. It also seems to rub off on some non fabric items and linger on some clothes but not others. I've tried soaks with vinegar and baking soda on some of my smaller clothes items. Scrubbing with dawn seems to help the most. Lysol and Clorox wipes do nothing. Sunday is my wash day so I'm hoping the suffering will be mostly over by then. Okay none of that has much to do with this clip, so I'll move on.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic and tails #animatic

[epfcmoberlyfieldhouse]

EPFC NORTH AUGUST 2023 EVENTS

Moberly Filedhouse is located at 7646 Prince Albert St, Vancouver, BC V5X 3Z4. All events are free, all-ages with materials provided.

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | AWAKENINGS: AN ECO-ART GATHERING | Friday, August 4: 8 – 10 PM; Saturday, August 5 and Sunday, August 6: 12 – 4 PM Join EPFC North for a weekend of screenings and workshops celebrating ways we can create in collaboration with local fruit, flowers, trees, and herbs. Friday night features a screening of eco-friendly films; Saturday we’ll connect with plants to create magical images on cloth, paper, and celluloid; Sunday we’ll explore dyes and inks made from mindfully foraged local organics. Free event! Materials provided. Everyone welcome.

Workshop at EPFC North Moberly Fieldhouse | SKETCHING THE GARDEN | Tuesday, August 8: 11 AM – 1 PM Art Club is on summer hiatus so instead we’ll have tea at the Fieldhouse Cinema Garden and do a little sketching inspired by the fabulous flowers of August. Free event! Materials & refreshments provided. Everyone welcome.

Event with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | GARY’S BIRTHDAY PARTY | Friday, August 11: 1 – 3 PM Our annual celebration of the unofficial mayor of South Vancouver with all the things he loves: Painting, Drawing, Indian Pizza, The Village People, and of course CAKE! Free event! Everyone welcome.

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | HOME MOVIES HOOTENANY: A HOME MOVIE TRANSFER PARTY Saturday, August 19: 1 - 4 PM Bring us your tired, your old, your funky old HOME movies on Super 8mm, 8mm, 16mm and we will help you transfer them to a Digital file. And if you have old video formats (i.e VHS, Video 8, Hi-8, VHS-C, Mini-DV) email us at [email protected] coming and let’s see if we can make the magic happen with some cables, connectors and LOVE! Everyone welcome.

Screening with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | HOME MOVIES HOOTENANY: A HOME MOVIE VIEWING PARTY Saturday, August 19: 8 - 10 PM Watch your old movies and those of friends, neighbours and peers under the stars!! FREE!! FUN for the whole FAMILY!! Bring FOOD and FRIENDSHIP to share!!! Everyone welcome.

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | WOOD YOU BUILD WITH ME? WOODWORKING FOR BEGINNERS Sunday, August 20: 1 - 4 PM We got hammers, saws, screws, nails, glue, twin, love, laughter and the will to experiment. Come spend an afternoon at EPFC North and tinker to build that beautiful birdhouse, nightstand, or Pez dispenser holder you have always dreamed of! Feel free to bring additional supplies to add to the mix. Everyone welcome.

Filmcycle Screening with EPFC North | “BUILDING AND CONSTRUCTION” - A FILMCYCLE SCREENING | Sunday, August 20: 8 - 10 PM | Meet up 8 PM at Victoria Park It is hot! You want to get outside! We have a bicycle that is built to be a traveling cinema! Let’s hang out together! Continuing with our weekend woodworking theme, we will screen a series of short films with those topics in mind!!! Meet at Victoria Park and we will bike through the streets of the city screening films. Stops will be made in parks along the way for those who prefer stationary viewing. Victoria Park is located at1425 Victoria Dr, Vancouver, BC V5L 4G9

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | BESPOKE MY BROKEN SPOKE | Saturday, August 26: 1 - 4 PM Our first and certainly joyful art making afternoon with discarded materials. Bike parts, detritus, lost and forgotten household items and dreams!! We will gather! We will play! We will build beauty out of things that have lost their meaning. Everyone welcome.

Screening with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | I HEART MY BIKE: AN EVENING OF FILMS ABOUT BICYCLES Saturday, August 26: 8 - 10 PM We will get out the projectors and screen a series of BICYCLE films under the stars!!! Some nights we ride around screen films from our FilmCYCLE but tonight we’ll stay stationary and screen films about bicycles!!! Free event. Everyone welcome.

Workshop with EPFC North at Moberly Fieldhouse | PINHOLE IN MY SOUL: BUILD YOUR OWN TINY CAMERA Sunday, August 27: 1 - 4 PM We have a box that is overflowing with old 35mm still film containers and they make WONDERFUL pinhole cameras!!! So come join us and make your very own camera to keep and bring home with you! And since we are at it, let’s make some images and try and process them in coffee, vitamin c and LOVE! Materials provided. Free event. Everyone welcome.

Filmcycle Screening with EPFC North | PINHOLES: A NIGHT OF TINY FILMS | Sunday, August 27: 8 - 10 PM | Meet up 8 PM at Victoria Park The 2023 FilmCYCLE Summer Film Series continues…“Get on your bikes and ride”!! Let’s watch movies under the stars together! Continuing with the weekend workshop theme of “pinholes” we will screen a series of short films with this topic in mind!!! Meet at Victoria Park and we will bike through the streets of the city screening films. Stops will be made in parks along the way for stationary viewing. Victoria Park is located at 1425 Victoria Dr, Vancouver, BC V5L 4G9

Online Workshop | HAIKU YOU Wednesday, August 30: 4 - 5 PM “A Japanese verse form most often composed, in English versions, of three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables. A haiku often features an image, or a pair of images, meant to depict the essence of a specific moment in time.”—Poetry Foundation In this workshop for poets and filmmakers, we’ll use the natural wonders of the season as our inspiration to write and share haikus and then turn them into experimental short films. Free event! To sign up and receive the Zoom link send an email with HAIKU in the subject line to [email protected]

[delladilly]

The Best Singles Events San Francisco Has To Offer

Introduction

When it comes to dating, there are a number of things to consider. Do you want an activity-filled night out or do you just want to catch up with friends? Maybe you’re looking for something that’s different from the norm. In any case, singles events in San Francisco should be on your list of things to check out. Here are some of the best singles events in San Francisco; each one has something special to offer. From dinner and drinks to dance and music, these events are sure to get your heart racing and your social butterflies flitting about. So what are you waiting for? Get yourself down to one of these events!

Top 5 Singles Events In San Francisco

There are plenty of great singles events happening in San Francisco, so if you're looking for something to do on a Friday night or want to catch some top-tier music at an affordable price, these are the events for you!

1) Catch a show at The Independent in North Beach. This LGBTQ-friendly venue offers affordable drinks and great bands all summer long. They've got everything from indie rock to country, so there's sure to be something for everyone.

2) Head to The Fillmore for a concert by one of your favorite artists. You'll get to enjoy their performance without breaking the bank, and it's always a fun time.

3) Hit up the Castro for an afternoon of yoga and acoustic music. There will be different yoga teachers playing different types of music all day, so it'll be a lively experience all around.

4) If you're looking for a more intimate setting, head over to Casellula Brewing Company in Hayes Valley for some live music. It's usually pretty quiet inside so you can really get lost in the music.

5) Finally if you're looking for something truly unique and special, check out the monthly Singles Roast hosted by Lounge Society SF. This is definitely not your average singles night – expect laughs, food options from all over the city, and live entertainment from some of San Francisco's top comedians!

How to Attend These Events

Looking to have some fun this weekend? Here are five singles events in San Francisco you won't want to miss!

1) Bay Area Sex Works Film Festival: Held at the Roxie Theater on Saturday, September 16th, the Bay Area Sex Works Film Festival is a night of entertainment and activism. Featuring screenings of new and old sex work-related movies, as well as educational panels and live performances by sex workers and their allies, this event is not to be missed.

2) Gay Pride Parade: Held on Sunday, June 27th this year, the San Francisco Pride parade is one of the oldest and largest pride celebrations in America. With over 150 marching organizations representing diverse sexual orientations, this parade is an incredible display of diversity and camaraderie.

3) SF Sketchfest: Held every February at The Warfield Theatre in San Francisco, SF Sketchfest is one of the best sketch comedy festivals in the country. Featuring dozens of sketch shows from all around the world, as well as stand-up comedy specials and musical performances, SF Sketchfest is definitely worth checking out if you're a fan of comedy or just looking for some laughs.

4) Third Saturday Art Walk: Held every third Saturday of the month throughout San Francisco, Third Saturday Art Walk features dozens of galleries open until 8 pm that offer free admission for everyone who strolls by. This lively little art walk is a great way to explore some new (and old) art while enjoying some Refreshment Zone goodies.

5) BASSNECTAR: Held at The Bill Graham Civic Center in San Francisco on Saturday, October 14th, BASSNECTAR is one of the world's biggest and most popular electronic music festivals. Featuring dozens of DJs from all over the world, as well as live performances by some of today's biggest musical acts, this event is not to be missed if you're a fan of electronic music or just looking for a fun night out.

What To Wear To a Singles Event

Some of the best singles events San Francisco has to offer are those organized by online dating sites. Single professionals often attend these events to meet new people and potentially start a relationship.

Another popular singles event is the wine-and-cheese party. This type of gathering typically features light appetizers and a wide selection of wines and cheeses. It can be a great opportunity to catch up with old friends and make some new ones as well.

There are also nightlife events specifically tailored for singles. These venues often have themed nights, such as “Disco Nights” or “Pool Party Nights,” which provide an interesting way to mix things up and meet new people.

Finally, there are many social events that cater to singles that take place at local libraries or bookstores. These get-togethers give attendees the opportunity to network with other single people in their community while enjoying a good book or cup of coffee.

Conclusion

Singles events can be a great way to meet new people, make new friends, and have some fun. Whether you're looking for something intimate or want to dance the night away with a large group of singles, there are plenty of singles events available in San Francisco that should fit your needs. So what are you waiting for? Go out and find yourself at a fantastic singles event!

[fauveshumankaiju]

niels ghidorah my beloved

#sunday afternoon movie sketch.... #just LOOK at that lovingly traced motorcycle #just to establish that he has one and likes to ride it around brandishing weapons #ghidorah #san also knows how to ride and occasionally takes ni's precious babies out for like groceries or smthn #ni just likes the sense of efficiency and control.... ichi thinks that theyre death traps and hates them #rodan thinks that its the sexiest fuckin thing hes ever seen and just. WANTS TO GET ON TOO PWEASE #makes grabby hands #he's got a shitty little like... mountain bike w an engine soldered on. he just wants a proper motorcycle so baddddddd

[mhysa-leesi]

му вℓσσ∂у ναℓєηтιηє

{Gif Source} {Gif Source 2}

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader 🩸.

Summary: "Steve Rogers is madly in love with you and he'll do anything for you to see that--no matter who gets in his way."

Word Count: 4,765 (Sorry, this is a long one!)

TW‼: Non-Con, Smut, Stalking, Yandere Themes, Murder (Description of Side-Character Death), Blood, Description of Gore, and Strong Language. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. Also, I used one of the prompts from (@the-modern-typewriter) to describe a character's death, ALL CREDIT GOES TO THEM. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

AN Cont.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.

The first love letter was delivered on a gloomy Friday afternoon. The clouds above the city were dark and full of frigid torrents of rainfall. Gold and scarlet autumn leaves whispered against the chilly winds as acorns scattered about; rolling and cracking underfoot as you made your everyday walk to work. You had chosen to stray from your usual route that day, deciding on a new corner coffee shop instead of your normal stop.

You remembered that day clearly, as if it had happened just yesterday. The new coffee shop was a small, hole in the wall with plastic vines of ivy and fairylights rimming the framework of the inside. You ordered rich and dark coffees, with creamy oat milk for you and your coworkers, and an apple pecan oatmeal cookie for yourself.

Your workday was seemingly the same as any other. Pam was gossiping with Susan, and Scott was hiding from Mark, your manager, in the breakroom. You remember you were seated at your cubicle when things turned, staring at the rain against the window, and tapping your pen against your notepad, when you were startled by the mail carrier. He handed you a single, pink envelope with a heart stamp on its flap and left with a mumbled “you’re welcome”. You frowned as there was no return address or other name besides yours. You had opened it anyway.

You remembered how your frown had deepened as your stomach dropped. The paper trembled in your hands as you stared at the small heart sketched at the bottom. You frantically looked around the office for any sign of a joke, hoping to see one of your coworkers giggling at your shocked reaction. But everyone had their noses deep into their screens, typing away at their work. You turned the letter over, looking for a name or a clue as to who had sent it. But it was blank.

And you remembered how you had crumpled up the letter and tossed it as you refocused and finished the rest of that workday.

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

Weeks passed before you got another mysterious love letter delivered to your desk, a small bouquet of roses and baby’s-breath with it. And again, you crumpled it up and threw it away; leaving the flowers in the breakroom. You had made a mental note that day to talk to the mailman about the delivery of these letters.

For a time they stopped and you thought you were out of the woods or thought your secret admirer had lost interest at the very least. But you were wrong. Your third envelope had been waiting for you in your mailbox when you had gotten home from work one Monday evening. You didn’t bother opening it as you sent it straight to the garbage.

You were growing paranoid and antsy as you constantly looked over your shoulder. You’d freeze every time you came across an envelope, even if it was just your monthly rent notice or bank statement. You had refused to live like this, in a constant state of anxiety and fear, so, that’s how you found yourself moving into a new apartment across town.

You were met with months of peace, you were finally readjusting to life before the letters. You had even moved in with someone you had been seeing from your new job, Chris. He was perfect, someone straight from a romance novel; tall, dark, and handsome, with a taste for adventure and romance. You were happy with him--you were in love and had long since decided that if Chris were to ask you to marry him, you’d say yes in a heartbeat.

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

Today was your anniversary with Chris, and the two of you had an entire evening planned. Dinner at your favorite restaurant, a surprise showing of your favorite movie at the corner cinema, and then home, where you’d give him his gift. A red lacy lingerie set with fuzzy handcuffs, and a silk blindfold to match.

Your heart skipped and your stomach alighted with butterflies as you touched up your makeup in the bathroom mirror. The evening had been absolutely perfect and it was about to get even better. You stepped out into the bedroom, dressed in nothing but red lace and a bathrobe. A spritz of perfume here and a mint there, and you were ready to go surprise your man.

You walked out into the living room and seductively leaned against the wall, watching as he poured two glasses of red wine. He turned and froze, swallowing hard as he abandoned the drinks on the kitchen counter. You smirked as he pulled you to him by your hips, instantly locking his lips to yours. He looked down at you through his eyelashes, his deep brown eyes darkened with lust, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to your lips once more.

Your eyes closed and moaned as he peppered kisses along the curve of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access. His hands roamed your body hotly, squeezing and caressing your dips and curves. Chris entangled his hands in your hair as he moved you to the counter, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. He pushed your robe down your shoulders to reveal the red lace hidden underneath, and with a groan, he bent to trace the rosette lacework that covered your breasts with his tongue. You hummed and wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands running down his back to toy with the bottom hem.

Chris gently pushed you down to an angle as he kissed down your body, stopping just below your navel to wink up at you. You bit back a laugh as you wiggled your hips impatiently as you leaned back on your hands. With your fingers splayed against the wooden countertop, your touch met something smooth and waxy--like the waxy seal of an envelope. You reached behind you and grabbed a pink envelope, with a wax stamp of a heart on its flap. Your heart seemed to stop as you stared at the envelope in your hands.

You vaguely felt Chris’s lips on your inner thighs, kissing and nipping at your skin. When he heard no reaction from you, he looked up, his brows furrowed and eyes full of questions.

“What’s that?” he asked, “You wrote me a love letter, too?” he winked as he reached for it.

You jerked it away from his grasp, your heart hammering in your chest as you ripped open the flap; ripping the waxy heart in half.

P.S. You should really lock your windows, doll. You jumped off the counter and ran to the windows, each one was locked--except for one. You locked it and double-checked its strength, fighting against the lock as you tried to open it.

“Babe? (Y/N),” Chris said sternly, snapping you out of your trance.

You looked at him now. You didn’t know what to say, you couldn’t think of how to form the words. You wanted to say everything was fine and okay, but it wasn’t--it was far from it. Whoever had been writing and sending you these knew where you lived now, and that scared you. After months of trying so hard to move on from this, you felt as if you were right back at square one again.

The rest of the night was unclear to you. You moved like a zombie, your brain on autopilot as you crawled into bed to hide under the covers until the morning sun rose. Chris asked questions, of course. But you had no answers for him. You had no idea who had been writing them and had absolutely no clue how they had found you again.

Chris had suggested going to the police, but what could they do? No one had physically harassed you, and although creepy, the letters weren’t threatening. And not to mention, you had thrown away most of your evidence. You were at a loss. Chris was supportive, always there to comfort you during the night when you were restless, but that never kept you from feeling alone.

Your paranoia increased tenfold by the end of that week. You changed your daily routine every few days, hoping that’d throw your stalker off your trail, but it never did. They always seemed ten steps ahead of you, whereas you struggled to even think to keep up with them. Your breaking point was reached on Sunday evening as you met with one of your old friends from high school for breakfast-dinner--an old tradition you two had decided to revive for the night.

Things were going good, and you even dared to forget about your own issues as you cut into your syrup-soaked pancakes. Madison was telling you about her newest fling and how good he was in the sack, and you genuinely found yourself happy to listen to the vulgar details. After painting you a vivid picture of her sex life, Madison excused herself to the restroom; leaving you alone with your pancakes and empty cup of iced coffee.

You saw a head of electric blue hair and you perked up. Your waitress came with a smile and handed you a paper cup of steaming coffee and a single napkin.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said with a polite smile.

“A gentleman ordered this for you,” she winked before walking away.

You frowned as you looked at the writing on the napkin. Refusing to even acknowledge the cup of coffee in front of you.

Your mouth went dry as you stared at the familiar handwriting. Brown dress, he knew what you were wearing--he was here. You shot to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, as you looked around frantically, ignoring all of the judgemental looks and hushed whispers you were getting.

“You okay, (Y/N)?” asked Madison, her brows knitted in concern.

“Yeah,” you lied, “I just… I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll call you later, Mads.”

You dug through your wallet and gave a twenty to your waitress on your way out, only stopping to yell over your shoulder for her to keep the change. You practically ran home from the restaurant as your anxiety started to settle in your bones, making you heavy with unease. You called Chris, but were only met with his voicemail. The elevator ride up to your floor was tortuous as you watched the floor numbers slowly light up one by one until finally, they stopped at your floor. You panted as you slammed the door shut behind you, sliding the lock and chain in place as you dropped your head to rest against the wooden frame.

You sniffled as the words from his letter were seared into your eyelids. You just wanted him to leave you alone, you didn’t know what you did to catch his eye, and worst of all, you didn’t know how to make it stop. You choked on your hiccupped breaths as tears streaked down your cheeks. When you finally calmed down you switched on the lights and finally turned around…

You stared at Chris in horror. Blood drenched the entire living room, his corpse sat limp in a chair like a broken, bloody doll. His throat and wrists had been slashed. You tried to hold your hand over the open wounds as you screamed for help, but no matter the pressure you applied, the blood still gushed and seeped through your fingers, oozing down your arm, and dripping from your elbow. The gore of it all brought waves of nausea that went beyond physical retching, the sickness you felt was indescribable. But the smell, the smell was something much worse. Metallic, iron, copper… Your ears started to ring. You couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. You could only stare at the bloodstain on your hands and scream.

You left that following weekend, abandoning the big city to move back in with your parents and younger sister. You spent most of your days locked in your room, hiding from the world under the comfort of your blanket and drawn curtains. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. You’d look at yourself in the mirror and cry as you no longer recognized yourself as the woman you once were. You knew it was time to move on, but you couldn’t, not when you’d see Chris’s bloodied body every time you’d close your eyes.

You started small by taking baby steps toward your recovery. It started with family meals, then a cashier job at your local supermarket, shopping trips with your mother and sister. Then you eventually graduated to therapy, where you’d stare at a forest green ceiling as you reclined on the chaise longue. Therapy helped and it was admittedly one of the better moments of your monotonous days, you felt heard, seen, as you walked through your own thoughts and nightmares. Your appointments even inspired you to reach out to Chris’s parents for closure, to go with them to visit their son’s grave. It was bittersweet, leaving behind a bouquet of roses for the man you had loved so deeply instead of a kiss goodbye; but it was something you knew you’d have to come to terms with. It wasn’t your fault, that was the mantra you’d tell yourself when you’d catch glimpses of his blood on your hands.

Before you knew it a year had passed since the incident, and in that year, you had not received one letter. You had made a resolution for the first time that New Year’s Eve as you waited for the midnight ball to drop. You told yourself you’d forget, to start fresh, and become an even better version of yourself. You were a flower that was fighting against all odds to blossom.

You cut your hair, got bangs and highlights. Saved up for a brand new, off-the-lot car. And moved into a cozy apartment with your sister. Things were looking up for you and you truly believed that you had finally found your way out of the woods. But life had a habit of playing cruel tricks on those who were naive enough to believe such a thing.

It was mid-February, just a few days before Valentine’s Day, when things started to go to shit. You had just come back from the gym with your sister when you saw it. A pink envelope with no return address or any other name besides yours, with a wax seal in the shape of a heart on the back flap, sat on your pillow. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as you held it in your hands. You debated on throwing it away, on pretending you never received it. But you wanted to know what more this twisted bastard could have to say. You ripped it open and read.

You didn’t hesitate as you ripped the letter to shreds, throwing the pieces into the garbage with an angry grunt. Delusional piece of deranged shit, you thought. You raked through your brain for the millionth time since your first letter, trying to figure out who the fuck could possibly be the sender, but you came to the same conclusion you had been coming to for years--nothing. It was agonizing, not knowing who your torturer was. It was your shadow, how could you not know who was living in it? But, no matter how hard you thought, you kept drawing blank after blank.

Your sister comforted you with a glass of wine and dumplings from the takeout place up the street. She was going out tonight, but offered to stay home with you instead.

��No,” you shooed, “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.”

“You sure?” she frowned, “It’s no big deal, Girls Night is every Friday night, I can always go next week.”

“I’m fine. Go and have fun for the both of us,” you said as you waved her away.

She left a few minutes later, dressed in heels and a short skirt. You ate the rest of the dumplings and finished the bottle of wine before calling it a night. You undressed down to your underwear and threw on an oversized t-shirt and plopped down onto the bed with an unceremonious bounce. The wine coursing through your system made it easier than usual to fall asleep, and the next thing you knew, you were in a deep sleep, dreaming of a life with Chris--of a life without the letters. It was one of those good dreams you wished you’d never wake from.

Which was why you were so annoyed when a loud noise startled you awake. You looked at your phone and the time read “1:00 AM”, you frowned, it was too early for your sister to be back already. You padded along the hallway, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you called out for her, worried she might’ve passed out drunk on the floor or something. You stopped as you reached the front room--the very empty front room. Your heart started to pound as you stood frozen, staring at the empty room before you. A shuffling from behind caught your attention, then. And against your better instincts, you turned around slowly to see a shadowed silhouette of a man standing at the end of the hallway.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, just staring dumbstruck at the man. With every step he took toward you, you took one back. Inching closer and closer to the front door with every backward step.

“Doll, don’t,” he warned, his voice striking you with fear like a bolt of lightning.

Without a second thought, you ran toward the door, fumbling stupidly with the locks in your panicked state of mind. The man was on you in a flash, easily dragging you away from your pathetic attempt at escape. His arms slithered around you like snakes, their hold constricting as he locked an arm firmly around your neck, silencing your screams as you struggled to breathe. You slapped and clawed at his forearm as he pulled you back to your bedroom.

“Please be a good girl for me, (Y/N). I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” he said against your hair.

With his arm still wrapped around your neck, he threw you down onto the bed, quickly straddling you before you could scramble to your feet. He pinned your arms above your head with one hand and forced you to look at him with the other. His face was illuminated by the moonlight. The silver shine highlighting his familiar eyes through the holes of his helmet. You froze as he pulled off his blue cowl.

You were beyond confused, to say the least. You stared up at Captain America, your brain working overtime to try and put the puzzle pieces together. What was Captain America doing in your apartment? And why had he called you “baby”? What the fuck was going on? Were you lucid dreaming? You must’ve looked as confused as you felt because he smiled down at you, gently promising you answers to the questions that you hadn’t yet asked.

“You’re even more beautiful up-close, doll,” he said as he brushed away hairs that fell in your face from your struggle.

Your eyes widened. Doll. The nickname sent chills down your spine as the word flashed against the pink color of the envelopes, against the red of spilled blood.

“You…”

He ran a finger down your cheek and nodded, “Me.”

You paled under him, your bottom lip trembling as you shook your head in disbelief. He frowned and hushed you, caressing your cheek and wiping away the tears that fell.

“Shh… Don’t cry, baby,” he cooed, “I’ll take good care of you, you don’t need to cry.”

“W–Why?” you hiccupped through your sobs, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, (Y/N),” your stomach dropped as he answered you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, “No. No! You’re Captain America. You’re supposed to be a hero!”

You fought against his grip, flailing and kicking wildly as you tried in vain to get away from him. You trashed against him, kicking against his thighs with all of your strength, but it was nothing to him--nothing but an annoying inconvenience.

“Stop,” he said, his jaw ticking with simmering anger.

But you refused to stop. You whined and fought against him.

“Stop,” he repeated, his anger coming to a rolling boil.

You shot up and headbutted him. He reeled back and glowered down at you, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared.

“I said stop,” he shouted as he finally stilled you with a sharp slap.

The sound was as sharp as the feel of it. You sobbed as the pain stung your skin, the right side of your face becoming numb from the harsh impact of it.

“Why are you doing this, Steve?” you asked again.

“Because I love you,” he answered again, “I know you love me, too, (Y/N).”

“No,” you exclaimed, “I don’t love you! I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” you sobbed.

“You will,” Something seemed to change within his eyes. No longer were there hints of green in his blue eyes, but something much darker… Something more sinister. You swallowed as you shrunk under his intense glare.

You exclaimed as he forced his lips against yours. Squeezing your jaw until he could slip his tongue into your mouth. You pushed against him, beating on his shoulders as he shoved his tongue further down your throat. He pulled away, breathless and flushed, a ghost of a content smile on his face. You gasped and tried to wiggle away once more, rolling onto your stomach as you did so. A yelp escapes you as you feel him grab your hips, pulling you back under him.

Steve puts his weight on you, trapping you underneath him as he begins to undress you. You try to roll onto your back, but his knee keeps you in place. You fight to keep your shirt on, knowing you wore nothing but your panties underneath it. But you were fighting blind. You kicked up, the heels of your feet hitting the backs of Steve’s strong thighs. He manhandles you easily as he rolls you onto your back, finally ridding you of your cotton shield.

Your hands went to your chest before he could. He pried your arms away, baring your breasts to him with a jerked jiggle. He licked his lips as he cupped and squeezed your breast. You flinched as if his touch had burned you, and in some sense, it had. Your eyes widened in shame as Steve blew on your nipples, the skin hardening into pointed peaks. He brings his lips to them, circling them with his tongue. Sucking, licking, pinching. You press your lips together to keep you from whimpering, and you close your eyes in hopes you can will him away. But your feeble defense attempts don’t last long.

Your eyes snap open as you feel his lips leave your breasts to trail kisses down to your navel, stopping at the band of your underwear.

“Please…” you beg. You bite your lip to keep it from trembling as fresh tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes.

Steve smiles against your skin, “I’m going to make you mine, (Y/N). ‘M gonna make you feel so good, doll.”

You stifle a sob as you feel him slide your panties off past your ankles, his fingers scorching your skin as they explore back up between your thighs. Instinctively, you try to close your legs around his hands. But he doesn’t stop. Steve digs his fingers into the soft skin of your inner thighs as he forcefully spreads you wide. Your pussy on full display to him. You stiffen under his gaze, your face burning with shame as he stares in awe at your spread folds. He runs a finger from your clit to your entrance, dipping knuckle-deep into your channel. Your thighs flex as your body tenses at the intrusion. He adds another and languidly pumps them in and out, curling and scissoring them. You fight against the blossoming heat within your belly. Your shame grows as you hear the squelch of your wetness around his pumping fingers.

Steve presses a firm thumb to your clit and you cry out before you can stop yourself. He pumps his fingers into you harder, faster, as he pulls more moans and cries from your lips. You sob as you feel that coil deep within your belly begin to unravel with every stroke and pump. You fight against your own body as you keep yourself from teetering over the edge of pleasure, refusing to let yourself submit to him. But Steve had other plans for you. Suddenly, before you could register his movements, you felt his tongue against your most intimate area. You mewled and curled your toes as he fucked you with his tongue, his thumb never stopping their firm and fast circles against your clit. You sobbed as your body convulsed with white-hot pleasure, and before you could stop yourself, you came on his tongue with a loud, dragged out moan.

You sniffled as you cried, but whether it was from the intensity of your orgasm or your shame and fear, you didn’t know. The lines were starting to blur for you.

Steve gently kissed around your folds before crawling up over you. He held your face and forced your lips to his once more before he began to undress, leaving the taste of yourself on your tongue as he pulled away with a wet smack. He unclothed himself, then. Stripping himself of his spangled-stars and red and white stripes. He looked down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, and a breathless quirk of his lips.

You were limp as he folded you to his needs. Bringing your bent and spread knees to your chest as he took himself in his hands. His length stood tall and proud, the tip swollen and leaking down this thick shaft with anticipation. Your legs flinched as they tried to close on their own. You choked on a sob as he wrenched them apart. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him tap your pussy with his cock, running the tip up and down your folds as he wet himself with your soaking arousal until finally, he pressed himself into your entrance. You let out a strained whine as he slammed into you.

Steve’s eyes were shut and mouth slightly agape as he hisses at your tightness. His hips thrust in excitement as you clench around him. You whimper again as he slides out, just to slam himself back in. Your body jolts with every lust-driven thrust. He slides his hands under you and brings them to hold onto your shoulders, bringing you down to meet his every forceful thrust. The sound of skin slapping and lewd moans fill your bedroom, your sweat sheen bodies glowing under the moonlight. Steve speeds up, mercilessly hammering that hidden sweet spot that makes you scream and clench around his cock. You spasm and shake as Steve forces another orgasm from you.

“Tell me you love me,” he pants.

You shake your head, pushing on his shoulders as the realization of your situation comes crashing back into you.

His hand wraps around your throat as he pounds into you harder than before, “Say it, (Y/N).”

You scratch at his hand as your vision begins to dot and blacken, “I–I love you…”

“Louder,” he demands, “‘I love you, Steve’, say it, doll, I wanna hear you say it.” he moans.

“I love you, Steve,” you choke out.

He releases his grip on you then, and you cough and gasp for air. His rhythm becomes erratic as his hips drive into you with renewed vigor, “Again.”

“I love you, Steve,” you moan.

His body jerks as his hips stutter to a stop. Steve comes with your name on his lips, and you whined as you felt his warmth flood inside of you. He panted above you, his hips languidly thrusting as his abdomen clenched with his drawn out release. He pulled out of you and collected the spunk that leaked from your weeping cunt on his fingers. He brought them to your lips and forced you to suck them clean.

“I love you, too, doll. Forever and ever,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*тαgℓιѕт*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧: @hoosier-daddi

#dark!marvel #dark!mcu #dark!fic #dark!steve x you #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve smut #dark steve rogers x you #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve x you #dark steve x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers smut #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fic #captain america x female reader #captain america fanfiction #marvel smut #mcu smut #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu fic #mcu fanfiction

[middleearthpixie]

Playing With Fire ~ Chapter Thirteen

Dunraven Pub - Modern AU

A/N: Since this is a relatively short chapter, I may post chapter 14 later on... maybe... 😈

Summary: Thorin Durin likes his life just the way it is—his pub is successful, he’s happily playing the field when it comes to women. He wouldn’t change a damn thing about it. At least, not until he meets Leda Andrews, who stops to help him when his car dies on the side of the road.

Leda is new in town, and late for a job interview when she stops to help a guy with his broken down old car. The last thing she expected was for him to be the same guy who owns the pub where she’s applied to be a bartender, never mind to be one of the hottest men she’s ever seen.  

Sparks fly, and while Leda’s got a few ground rules that Thorin is more than willing to abide by, neither one of them expected their fling to turn into anything more serious, or that they would be faced with a situation neither one is prepared for. So, what happens when a no-strings-attached affair teeters on becoming the real thing… 

Summary: Thorin assures Leda that if she’s pregnant, he’ll support whatever she decides to do… 

Pairings:  Pairing: Modern!Thorin x OC Female

Characters:Thorin, Leda, Zana, Meg, Dori, Hank the beer rep,  

Warnings: Some minor angst

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,476

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

The parking lot was about half full when Leda steered into it and eased her bike into a space alongside a silver Jeep. She didn’t seen Thorin’s Mustang, but that wasn’t really a surprise. On Tuesdays, he was usually in and out throughout the day. 

Her belly jumped with a million butterflies, although her nausea was gone and she hadn’t thrown up since Sunday. Still, that didn't mean that nerves wouldn’t pick up where the Plan B left off. 

But now, as her gaze automatically went to the corner where Thorin usually parked, she bit back a sigh. She really never thought she’d find herself in this situation and she really didn't know how to proceed with it. She didn't expect to like him as much as she did, didn’t expect to feel as comfortable with him as she did. That came as a surprise, as normally, she had no trouble separating the physical side of sex with the emotional side. After all, most guys couldn’t be trusted, so why should she take the risk with any of them? Maybe not entirely fair, but fuck fair. None of them worried about being fair to her, did they?

But at the same time, she and Thorin were also friends. They talked about all kinds of things; movies, music, current events. He certainly wasn’t just another pretty face. He loved football, dogs, crossword puzzles, hockey, and history—especially World War II. He liked Thai food, Bruce Springsteen was his favorite musician, he leaned left politically, his family was important to him, and from the sounds of it, he enjoyed being with them. So, what began as physical wasn’t quite just that any longer. At least not for her, no matter how much she hated to admit it.

And that scared her to a certain degree.

No, that scared her shitless…

It was a gray, overcast, chilly afternoon, with a hint of rain in the air, but the forecast promised that wouldn’t happen, so she took a flyer and chanced riding her bike. Thorin hadn’t switched on the heat yet, though, so when she stepped inside, it was only slightly warmer than outside.

Zana was behind the bar. “Afternoon, Leda!” she called as Leda came in through the front doors, tugging off her helmet as she did.

“Hey, busy day for a Tuesday.” Leda popped free from the helmet, tucking it under her arm. “Why didn’t you call me to come in earlier?”

“Thorin stepped up. Said you weren’t feeling well.” Zana’s voice filled with concern. “Are you okay to work? Because I can get Lacey to cover for you if not.”

“I’m fine. I had a touch of food poisoning Sunday night and called him last night to let him know I might not be coming in today because I still felt kind of lousy. But, I woke up feeling better.”

“Good. Well, if you start feeling lousy again, just say something.”

Leda smiled. “I will. Thanks.”

She moved down the hallway to the small coat room, where the staff could store things. It was right across from Thorin’s office, which was oddly dark and still. She’d gotten accustomed to hearing him on the phone, with the radio playing softly behind him. Sometimes he talked to himself, which was funny to hear. Sometimes he sang along with whatever song played, and his voice was surprisingly good, low and smooth, like silk over black velvet.

Silk.

She tried not think about that night, as doing so made her want to repeat it with him. As often as possible. 

For the rest of her life.

Don't think about that.

But now his office was quiet. The lights were off. She poked her head in to see his desk, which was usually a mess of papers, with pens, paper clips, and post-its everywhere, surprisingly tidied up. 

The air still held a hint of his cologne and without thinking, her gaze wandered to the sofa. How many women had he fucked on that sofa? How many writhed and moaned beneath him as he licked, sucked, and fucked them into mind-blowing orgasms? Did he remember their names? Did he even know all of their names? Did their names even matter to him?

Why did she give a shit all of the sudden?

“He’s not here.”

Leda jumped as Dori’s hand came down on her shoulder. She hadn’t heard him come down the hallway. “Jesus Christ, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry.” His hand fell away and he stepped back. “It’s just if you’re looking for him, he’s not coming in until five, and you should probably stay out of his way. Amy called earlier. Broke her wrist last night, so he’s hot about that on top of having to do whatever it was he was off to do this afternoon.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Said he had a meeting across town—auditioning a few bands to possibly play on the weekends.”

“Since when does he care about having live music here?” this came from Lacey, who’d just come in the back door. “He’s never mentioned it before.”

“I was telling him about a couple of the newer places that have opened up on the west side of town,” Leda peered over her shoulder at Lacey, “and suggested they might give him some trouble. That’s when he started to care about having live music. And I know he’s considering a few more things as well.”

“Really? That must be killing him. He never gave a damn about being trendy or anything,” Lacey replied. “Guess that’s why he sounded so annoyed before.”

Dori stepped back. “Well, this food won’t prepare itself. Damn, I wish he’d hire a sous-chef to help me out.”

As he walked away, Lacey looked back at her, her eyes serious. “Be careful, Leda, okay?”

“Be careful? What’s that supposed to mean?”

A thin, delicately arched brow raised slowly. “I mean with Thorin. He’s a good-looking guy and he knows it. He can have any woman he wants, and he knows that as well. You’re new around here and I don’t want to see you get hurt. That’s all.”

Her gut twisted, but Leda managed to smile. “I don’t know why you’re warning me away from him. I work for him. That’s all.”

“I came back Saturday night to grab my scarf,” Lacey’s voice lowered to barely a whisper, “and I heard you in his office. Sounded like you were both having fun.” She held up both hands as Leda opened her mouth to protest. “I’m not judging and I’m not going to say anything to anyone, but be careful. You’re not the first bartender he’s slept with, and you probably won’t be the last. Just keep that in mind, okay?”

Heat swept through her, but she thought she managed to hide it as she held Lacey’s stare. “I appreciate the warning but—”

“I’m not trying to be a bitch, Leda. I like you. But… I also was you. He gets under your skin real quick. You’ll start convincing yourself you can change him. That you’ll be the one he wants to change for.

“Then, you’ll catch him with a beer rep. Or a waitress. Or a customer.” Lacey offered up a sad smile. “I caught him on his desk with Meg and he wasn’t even embarrassed. Just asked me to close the door.”

Leda swallowed hard as the roiling in her belly worsened. “That sucks.”

“It did,” she nodded, “but I’m older and wiser now. And Meg caught him in his car with someone, so what goes around comes around. Just be careful, okay? I don’t blame anyone who wants to sleep with him. We all do. He’s hot. And he’s amazing. He’s also not big on faithfulness, but I gotta admit, he is honest about that, so I really couldn’t even get mad about it. It was my own fantasy, not his.”

With that, she patted Leda’s shoulder and went to punch in. Leda sank back against the wall and let her eyes close. Was there anyone in this bar he hadn’t fucked? 

Christ.

****

At ten after five, boots thudded against the floor and Leda held her breath as Thorin came around the corner. Her heart skipped a painful beat, then sped up triple time as his blue-eyed gaze came to rest on her. “How’re you feeling, Leda?”

“I’m fine,” she said, tugging on the Sam Adams tap to fill a pint glass.

“Good.” He came back behind the bar, glancing at Zana. “How was this afternoon?”

“A little busier than usual. Did you run an ad or something?”

“No.” He shook his head. “But, I’ve got a few promos lined up for November into the new year, but nothing before that. Leda,” his hand came to rest on her shoulder, “can I see you a minute when you’re done here?”

“Sure.” She set the Boston Lager in front of a large blond man to the left of the taps. “On your tab, Tony?”

“Please.”

“Sure.”

Thorin moved back from behind the bar, and Leda could practically feel Lacey’s eyes on her. Trying to ignore how unsettling it felt, Leda said, “I’ll be right back.”

She skirted the corner and made her way to Thorin’s office, pushing open the door to see him shrugging out of his leather bomber jacket to hang on the coat tree standing alongside the sofa. “What’s up?”

“Close the door?”

“Sure.”

The door clicked shut and she turned toward him. He perched on the edge of his desk, hands clasped between his thighs, expression more serious than she’d ever seen. “Did you get to the pharmacy?”

She nodded. “I did. They had Plan B and I took it.”

He glanced toward his desk, where his wallet lay. “At least let me pay for it.”

“I’m good, but thanks.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as the silence thickened between them. It had to be the most awkward moment of her life, and it worsened by the moment. 

They broke the silence at the same time.

“Leda, I—”

“Thorin, I—” 

He laughed, that sexy, warm chuckle that made her skin tingle and her nipples contract on cue. “Go ahead.”

“No, you can.”

He folded his arms, his biceps bulging against the sleeves of his white henley. The buttons were only partially done, and a hint of gold sparked under the lights, a hint of almost-black chest hair poked up around it. “I just wanted to say that, if you are pregnant, whatever you decide to do, I’ll back you up.”

She blinked. “Back me up?”

“Yeah. Support you. Whatever you want to call it.” He cleared his throat and held her gaze easily. “If you decide you want to have an abortion, I’ll pay for it. If you decide to keep it and go for adoption, I’ll split any costs with you, doctor’s visits, shit like that. If you decide to have the baby, to keep it, I’ll support it.”

“I thought you didn't want kids.”

“I don’t, but, I don’t walk away from my responsibilities, either.” He drew in a deep breath. “If you want me to sign away any rights, I will. It’s your call, Leda. It’s my fault, so it’s your call. However you want to handle it, you won’t get a fight from me.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Thorin. I was there, too.”

“Yeah, but I felt that fucking condom slip. I should’ve pulled out right then and there, but damn, mesmel… I couldn’t.” To her surprise, a blush rose along his cheekbones. “I couldn’t make myself do it, and here we are now. So, yeah, it’s my fault.”

“Well, we don’t even know if I am pregnant, so—” 

“How soon can you find out?”

She pressed her lips together to make him think she had to recall it, when it was right there at the forefront of her mind. “Saturday. First thing.”

“Let me know, either way.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

To her surprise, he caught her by the hand, his thumb skimming along the back of hers. “I’m sorry, Leda. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, as if she wasn’t at all worried. “We fucked up. It happens. I tried to right it. Plan B is pretty effective, so we probably don’t have anything to worry about anyway.”

His thumb brushed along her hand again, and he shifted to link his fingers with hers. Heat swept through her, and her heart hammered her ribs as she looked up at him. She didn’t want to speak the words now hovering at her lips, but had no choice. “But, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should just kind of cool down a little for now. Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something.”

His eyes widened, but only briefly and he eased his hand free as he bobbed his head. “Yeah. You’re probably right. We played with fire once. We keep doing it and one or both of us will eventually get burned.” He folded his arms once more. “If you want to leave, I understand and I’ll pay you for the rest of the month.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Not really.” He shook his head. “You’re a good bartender and my customers like you. I like you. But, I’d understand if you were uncomfortable being here.”

“So, I’ll stay then. I’m okay with that.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

A knock sounded at the door and Zana poked her head in. “Thorin, Hank from Riverfront Brewing is here to see you?”

“Yeah? He’s early.” Thorin pushed away from his desk. “So, Leda, you’ll let me know about those dates?”

“I will, sure.”

“Okay. Good.” He moved around to sink into his chair. “Send Hank back, if you don’t mind.”

Leda followed Zana back toward the bar and as they tucked in behind it, she asked, “What was that about?”

“Oh, he wanted to know if I could cover a few Sundays. I guess Amy called him this morning. Something about a broken wrist?”

“Yeah. She broke it swinging her grandson around, if you can believe that.” Zana shook her head as she smiled at the brewery rep. “Thorin’s in his office, Hank. Down the hall and on your left.”

“Thank you.”

Leda swallowed the rising wave of sadness as she moved back behind the bar to take a drink order. She didn’t really want to end things with Thorin, and that bothered her as much as ending things did. She hadn’t counted on feeling this way, since it hadn’t happened in a long time. She usually ended things with a guy because he became too clingy. 

Not because her own feelings terrified her to her core. 

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Modern AU #Pub AU

[juiceboxman]

Watching Bo Burnham’s recent special I keep thinking about his concerns about comedy and its place within society. Dedicating a whole song to like the moral implications of making jokes during a troubling world event such as an international pandemic. He ends up coming to a (what he would call) a flawed conclusion by “healing the world through comedy” which justifies the special he is creating.

I think Bo’s concerns and his whole meta-commentary on the meaning and use of comedy is like a side effect of an American cultural thing where like artists- be they movie stars, broadway stars, painters, singers etc- feel the need to justify their career by hyping up their influence on the culture.

I don’t necessarily know if this is unique to and only effects America, but from what I have seen it seems to be an American thing. Whereas say in Britain there’s kind of like a general understanding among most people that while the arts are good, they’re not the most important thing in the world. I remember watching this British comedy panel show one time called 8 out of 10 cats and they had an American guest on. They commended the comedians on the show and talked about how important their work is to the society and culture. The host, a tad confused and concerned, simply said “yeah, but I think nurses do a lot more than me.”

I think the ethics of comedy, especially in the digital era, has gotten way fuzzier as well. Like remember when the Russian Ambassador of Turkey was assassinated in 2016? People memed that IN REAL TIME! It’s like the old saying “comedy is tragedy plus time” but the time is now.

I don’t necessarily see anything wrong about making jokes during the pandemic- my only gripe would be if those jokes were spreading misinformation or trying to normalize the idea that the pandemic was fake. I think those jokes would be harmful, but Bo never made those jokes and he has no intention of making those jokes- only trying to make music that expresses his concerns and personal issues in a world that is often times very difficult to live in.

I don’t think comedy will “heal the world” but like it gives brevity to a situation and helps people enjoy life. In my case media and comedy in particular helped me get through the pandemic- but also a lot of other things such as having healthy habits and routines and socialising with other people so don’t rely to have on media as it can lead to some negative parasocial beliefs.

In the end I think a lot of Bo’s issues, particularly with the special, was trying to justify art. In my experiences Art doesn’t necessarily need a profound societal impact to be worthy. Art is simply a medium of expression, our hunter gatherer ancestors didn’t play drums “for the culture” they done t for the sick beats. Art doesn’t have to change the world, it just needs to express an experience or an emotion- something people can relate to. Good art expresses that experience with precision and accuracy, bad art expresses that experience poorly, ignorantly and lazily. Art doesn’t need an audience to be valid, it can just be a drawing you sketch on a sunday afternoon and lock in a drawer some where or it could be poetry that you write for yourself to sooth the heart. Creating art shouldn't be about pursuing acclaim or success, but about expressing yourself and your experiences and potentially showing this art to people would build a connection with people who would see it and say “yes, I resonate with this experience” or “no, I don’t resonate with this experience”

Anyway, I liked Bo’s special. I’ve dealt with a lot of mental health issues in my life so I really vibed with Bo’s work

#bo burnam inside #bo burhnam

[tulsa-trash]

Book Swap

Request: could you do a modern!pony x reader imagine where you're both in 9th grade and meet at the library, and one day you finally have the guts to ask for his number, so you guys start texting and then you start crushing on him and then you have to figure out how to tell him, so u ask two-bit and johnny for advice

WARNING(S): N/A

You sighed deeply as you began to reread the same sentence in your book for what felt like the twentieth time. It seemed as though you were reading but not even comprehending the words. To be fair, it was impossible to get lost in a book when a familiar cute boy was sitting a table over from you.

Ponyboy Curtis. How does one even begin to describe the amazing human you had the honor of being within five feet of? Unlike most guys in high school, Pony was something special. He was kind and very smart, you knew this because you have English with him. You've never seen someone so into a class before, he also appeared to have an interest in literature, like you. The both of you were nothing but mere acquaintances, and you secretly wished you could change that.

It didn't help that you found him absolutely dreamy. His brown hair was always a little messy, but it still managed to make him even cuter. You always feel your heart skip a beat whenever your eyes would meet his sparkling green ones in the hallways. You'd smile whenever you'd see him laughing with his friends, it showed off his dimples that sunk into his cheeks. Ponyboy Curtis was the boy of your dreams, and the young man was completely oblivious.

Your phone vibrated on the desk you were sitting at. Glancing up from your book, you seen that it was a text from one of your friends. After placing your bookmark in between the pages you unlocked your phone.

Evie: So? Did you talk to him yet?

You rolled your eyes after reading the message, your fingers quickly tapped at the screen as you typed your response.

Y/N: No obviously not. Now leave me alone.

Kathy: Girl go for it! He's a nice kid you said so yourself.

Y/N: Uh nope. Much rather stare at him from afar and not make a fool of myself attempting to talk to him.

Kathy: Well if you don't not only will I embarrass you in front of lover boy, everyone in this library will see me screaming at you and we'll both probably get kicked out.

Y/N: Wait what? How do you know I'm at the library?? Are you here right now???

Kathy: Look over at the fantasy section you nerd. You being you I obviously knew where YOU would be on a Saturday afternoon.

You looked up, eyes widening in shock as you saw your friend hiding behind a bookshelf watching you with a sly grin.

Kathy: Make a move now or I'm coming over there.

With already shaking hands you put your phone in your pocket and grabbed your book. You sent Kathy a pleading look, but all she did was shake her head and point towards Ponyboy violently. Taking in a deep breath, you got up. The chair scraped against the floor, creating a loud noise which made at least five people look up at you... including him.

"Oh god." You mumbled under your breath.

In your peripheral vision you could see Ponyboy's gaze return to his book, taking that as your cue to move you slowly crept to his table. You had made it to the chair directly across from him, he was so caught up in his book he didn't even notice your presence. You smiled softly, his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration while his eyes scanned the pages back and forth. You awkwardly cleared your throat, not too loud to disturb others but just enough for him to tear his attention from his book to notice you.

"Oh, hey." Ponyboy said, "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Um..." Jesus this was going to be way harder than you thought. "W-Would you mind if I sat with ya?"

"Not at all. Go ahead." He sent you a friendly smile as he gestured to the chair you were at.

His smile. Your legs already feel like jello, you could've sworn you were going to collapse right then in there.

"Y/N, right?" He asked as you sat down.

"That's me. And you're Ponyboy."

"Yep, couldn't forget a name like that if you tried." He joked.

You giggled as you opened your book, Ponyboy returned to his. Curiosity got the better of you when you looked back up to see what he was reading.

"Gone With the Wind." You read aloud.

"Have you read it before?" He asked.

You shook your head, "I haven't, but I've heard only good things about it. I saw the movie about a year ago and thought it was great."

"The book is amazing!" He gushed, only to be shushed by the librarian walking by. "This is my fifth time reading it." He told you in a more hushed tone.

You snickered, "Must be really great."

"What ya got there?"

You lifted up your book from the table to reveal the cover to him, his bright eyes scanned the cover.

"The Boy in Striped Pajamas?"

"I know the title seems a bit odd, but trust me this is a good read." You told him, "This being my third time reading it."

"Well what's it about?" He asked.

You went on to tell him about your book, and he went on to tell you all about his. The both of you began to talk about anything and everything, you were beyond happy that things were going well. You were having so much fun you completely forgot about Kathy spying on you, before either of you could realize it two hours had gone by.

You peaked at your phone and cursed under your breath, the lock screen had a reminder that your shift at work was starting in less than thirty minutes.

"I really hate to end this... but I gotta go." You said.

"That sucks." He said disappointedly.

You couldn't help feeling a little giddy inside to see that he was upset you were leaving. While you got up and gathered your things, you remembered that you wanted to get his phone number badly. You just had to figure out a way to get it without making things awkward.

"Hey, Pone?"

He hummed in response.

"What do ya say we swap books... and numbers? Thats only if you want to. I just figured since we read them already and it was cool talk--"

"I'd like that." He stopped your rambling, only to send you a warm smile while doing so.

You blushed as the both of you swapped phones to put in each others information along with handing each other your books. With a final wave goodbye you left the library, your best friend of course followed after you. She interrogated you with thousands of questions and the both of you walked to work, you gladly answered them all in an almost dazed state. You felt as if you were walking on air for the rest of the day, and you couldn't wait to text him later on.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and let's just say those two weeks have been the best ones of your life. You and Ponyboy had been texting every single day. At first you just talked about each other's books, but then your conversations started evolve to anything and everything. You knew you had liked him before, but your feelings for him have grown drastically. It was beginning to get unbearable holding in how you truly felt, and you weren't sure if you wanted to tell him.

The fear of rejection was one of the main reasons why you've been thinking of just repressing your feelings. Sure, he seemed to like you, but it felt as though he only liked you simply as a friend. Another reason being you were afraid that it would ruin things between the both of you. You had finally become good friends, the last thing you wanted was for everything to end up being awkward all because of you and your silly crush.

After a lot of thinking you decided you needed some advice, and by advice you mean advice thats not only from Kathy. She keeps telling you to go for it, but she doesn't really know Ponyboy well. That's why you got the idea to ask one of his buddies on their opinion. Luckily Pony invited you to watch him and his friends play football. You ceased the opportunity, not only would you be able to watch the boy of your dreams get all sweaty and tuff looking, you could also get one of his friends alone to talk about how you felt.

It was a warm, Sunday morning in Tulsa. The sun was high in the sky and beat down harshly on the group of boys tackling each other in the giant field. You sat under a tree with a notebook in your lap, a cool breeze would rush by every now and then, cooling you off the slightest. You doodled randomness on the blank pages, sketching pictures and honing your writing skills. Every now and then you would glance up and watch the game for a few, sometimes cheering the boys on or laughing when they began to goof off and wrestle each other on the ground.

There was a particular drawing you found yourself enthralled in, as the pencil in your hand smoothly ran across the paper you found yourself sketching a picture of Ponyboy's face. You were so focused you didn't even notice someone come over and take a seat right beside you.

"Nice drawin' you got there." A quiet voice spoke.

You quickly slammed the notebook closed and snapped you head to the right, it was Ponyboy's best friend, Johnny. A tiny smirk was tugging at his lips as he looked at you with one eyebrow raised.

"T-Thanks." You stuttered nervously.

"You like him, huh?" He asked you.

You stood silent as you played with the grass below you, pulling it from the Earth and rubbing it between your fingers. Your gaze was straight ahead watching the game, you were afraid to meet Johnny's gaze that was burning holes into the side of your head.

"Yes..." You hesitated a bit, "I do."

"Does he know?"

"No!" You said hopelessly, "And I'm not sure if I even want him to know."

"Why not?"

"Because he probably doesn't feel the same..." You trailed off.

"Hey now, ya never know." Johnny said.

"What are you two kiddies doin' over here?" A loud voice bellowed.

It was none other than Two-Bit, he staggered over to the both of you before plopping down to your left. He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead and trickling down his neck.

"You tryin' to make moves on Pony's girl or somethin', John?" Two asked playfully.

Your heart fluttered, 'Pony's girl.'

"No way, man. Trust me." Johnny chuckled.

"Pony's girl?" You repeated to him questioningly.

"Oh yeah! I see the way y'all look at each other I ain't blind."

You let Two's words sink in, was it that obvious that you liked him? He even said that Pony looks at you a certain way as well. Maybe there was a chance he shared your feelings after all.

"You think he likes me or somethin'?" You asked casually.

"Oh I don't think, I know."

You smiled softly, butterflies erupting in your stomach. In the back of your mind you worried that you were getting your hopes up a little too high, but you couldn't help it.

"I like him too." You admitted.

Two-Bit scoffed, "Tell me somethin' I don't know."

"Well... what should I do?"

"Tell him." Two replied.

"I agree." Johnny piped up.

Both nerves and excitement began to bubble up inside you as you got up and gathered your things.

"Where are you off to?" Johnny asked as you began to jog away from them.

"Gotta head home. Tell Ponyboy I'm sorry I had to leave but I'll text him later!"

"See ya later lover girl!" Two-Bit hollered after you while preceding to make kissing noises.

You laughed to yourself and shook your head, "Idiot."

-

Y/N: Whats up Pone-bone?

Ponyboy: Nothing much lil lady, and yourself?

Y/N: Same. Btw sorry for leaving so soon today, had some things to do.

Ponyboy: It's alright.

Hey what were you, Johnny and Two talking about? They didn't try to tease you or nothin right?

Y/N: Nooo ofc not they were just chattin

But thats actually what I wanted to talk to you about...

Ponyboy: Well... Go on then

Y/N: Okay I'm just gonna say it

I like you

like a lot

Ponyboy: As a friend or?

Y/N: No silly, like more than friends...

Ponyboy: Wait actually?

Y/N: Yes Pony

Ponyboy: Seriously??

Y/N: OMG YES!!

I LIKE YOU A LOT!

... im sorry if it weirds you out

Ponyboy: NO! NO IT DOESN'T.

SORRY

... Just wanted to make sure this isn't a prank or whatever.

But in all seriousness yes, I like you a whole lot.

Y/N: Are you sure?

Ponyboy: Positive doll

Do you wanna grab some milkshakes at the Dingo next weekend?

Y/N: Are you asking me out onna date Curtis?

Ponyboy: Yes, I am ;)

Y/N: Well I would love to :)

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders ponyboy #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders fic #the outsiders fluff #the outsiders fandom #ponyboy curtis #ponyboy michael curtis #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis imagine #ponyboy curtis fanfiction #ponyboy fic #modern!ponyboy #ponyboy curtis au #c thomas howell

[wormstacheangel]

reminder I am watching The Nanny and I can't help but write scenes as destiel. So here is my second one. I think this one is a bit more sitcom, especially towards the end :) This is for episode 1x11.

wc: 1.7k

The kids have been having a hard time with the one night they don’t have Dean to tuck them in. Whatever Cas did, the kids would correct him and tell him Dean did it this way or did it that way. He simply couldn’t get it right. Even Claire was missing Dean, showing her fear of losing the one person who finally got her to be less angry at the world.

After finally getting the kids to bed, Cas walks into the kitchen to find Balthazar lounging around in his robe with a drink in one hand and scrolling through movie reviews with the other. Cas stands over his shoulder, trying to read it, but his eyes gaze over, not caring enough but still, he sighs.

“Would you like a drink, sir?” Balthazar sounded exasperated with him already, even if he has only been in the room for less than a minute.

“Please.” Cas fetches a cup and holds it out for Balthazar to pour some whiskey into it. He has been feeling restless all night but can’t pinpoint the reason why. “You know, Mr. Winchester would have loved talking about horrible movies with you.”

“Yes. I know.”

“I wonder how he is.”

“I’m sure he is enjoying his date, sir.” Balthazar takes a sip of his drink as he keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him.

Cas walks over to stand by the kitchen island. He already undid his tie, undid his top four buttons, and he can’t imagine how his hair looked after pacing the living room for a good 20 minutes.

He swirled his drink before downing the whole thing in one gulp.

“Or he can be having a miserable time, sir. The man was a mortician, after all. I don’t think that would fit Mr. Winchester’s happy-go-lucky attitude very well.”

Cas perks up at that, feeling his chest warm-up — probably because of the drink actually— as he stands up straighter with a hopeful grin. “You think so?”

“Have I ever wronged you, sir?”

“You’re right, Balthazar! He would never like that-that depressing man.” Cas smile grows. “Cause you know, the kids, they would miss him very much if he left.”

Balthazar shuts his laptop as he rolls his eyes, “For god’s sake, sir! It’s only the first-!” He looks at Cas’s stunned expression before slowly falling back in his chair, a cheeky smile on his face. “I mean, with all due respect, sir.”

“Yes.” Cas sighs, ignoring the outburst. “I think you’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”

“Maybe a tad bit, sir.”

A chuckle came out of his mouth as Cas opens the trash can and plucks out the bag to throw it outside. He walks towards the back door as he says, “I didn’t see anything between them anyways. I’m sure it’ll be fine!”

Cas pulls the back door open only to find Dean and his date making out. Leaving Cas standing there stunned and fumbling, not knowing if he should break them apart or close the door.

“I don’t see anything between them either, sir.” Balthazar joked as they both watched Dean press closer to his date. Unaware of their audience. Balthazar was the one to finally close the door, taking the bag of trash away from Cas, as he leads him towards the stairs. “I believe it’s time for you to go to bed, Mr. Novak.”

“Yes. Yes. You’re probably right.” Cas shook his head, hoping to erase that image away like an etch a sketch, but he still saw Dean’s mouth being sucked on. “Goodnight.”

“Night, sir.”

(More Under The Cut)

In the morning, Cas somehow convinced himself—Balthazar was only half-listening to his words anyways— to talk to Dean about the rules of the house. It had to be done. He didn’t want Dean to bring home strange people to his home, where his children lived. He didn’t want to see—or better yet— he didn’t want his kids to see Dean bring people into his room.

What kind of example will that present to them? Not a very good one.

He knocks at the door and quickly gets an answer to come in; Dean never hesitates to have any of the kids in his room. Cas would usually find them all curled up in Dean’s bed watching cartoons on a Sunday morning.

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” Cas poked his head into the room first, and that enough stopped him short. Dean looked like he was getting ready to go out.

Dean is dressed in a comfortable-looking robe, no shirt, and he’s assuming no pants by the fact that he can see a peek of his thighs from the slit in the front.

“Morning, Mr. Novak. What can I do for you?” Dean turned back to the mirror, a small smile stretched across his lips as he continued to fix his hair.

“I just wanted to talk about your um—You know we have rules in this house, and I just wanted to make sure you know them.”

“Oh, I think you have me confused with Claire. She’s two doors down.” Dean teased.

“No. No, this is about your date. About you having dates. And-And having…dates.” Cas sighed the last word, unable to get the word he wants out without his whole body warming up. “Anyways,” He cleared his throat. “The rules of the house with me-”

“Oh, with you? Gosh, maybe I should have read the fine print better.” Dean teased, winking at him through his reflection as he ran his hands through his growing hair.

“No. Not like that!”

“Let me get this straight.” Dean turns to face Cas before practically strutting over to Cas, half-dressed in a semi-open robe. Cas eyes struggle not to travel on the man before him. “We are talking about having sex in my room.”

“Well, not-not us. Not we.” Cas nervous gestures between them, noticing his hand hit Dean’s bare chest in the process because they were standing so damn close.

“We already covered that.” Dean winks at him again, making Cas’s heart race. “Don’t worry, Mr. Novak, I won’t do anything to show a bad example for the children.”

“Good.” Cas stuffs his hands in his pockets as he rocks on his heels. “Yes. Good. Okay!”

“Okay.” Dean turns back to the mirror.

“Where are you going anyways?” That sounded way too demanding. “If I may ask?”

“Well, if you must know. I got another date. We’re meeting for lunch.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. Well, I gotta eat.”

“Of course. Well, have fun, Mr. Winchester.”

“Thank you, Mr. Novak. Nice chat.”

Cas makes his way out of the room, bumping on furniture as he went.

Cas walks into the kitchen that same afternoon to find Dean sitting on the kitchen counter, shoveling ice cream into his mouth. Cas quickly rushes over to take the spoon away from him.

“Mr. Winchester! You are lactose intolerant!”

“Well, I deserve a little bit of ice cream after the crap day I had, and the coconut milk one you got me is still frozen solid!”

“Oh,” Cas puts the ice cream away before walking back to him. “Date didn’t go so well this time? Was it the whole creepy mortician life?”

“No,” Dean sighs, watching as Cas runs the Dean-friendly fudge brownie ice cream under some hot water. “Weirdly enough, I was getting used to the idea.”

“Then, what was wrong with him?” Cas hands Dean a spoon, and they both dig into the still hard ice cream, but they can still scape a few bits off. Cas tried not to follow the way Dean’s tongue pokes out and licks at the spoon.

“He was a clown.” Dean sighs, spinning the spoon in his hand before aggressively digging at the pint of ice cream.

“In what way?”

“In a clown way.”

“What-?”

“Red nose! Big shoes! You want me to google it for you?” Cas looks stunned by the outburst. But it clicks; he means an actual fucken clown. He tried not to laugh as Dean let out a defeated sigh. “Sorry. I just thought…I just thought I finally found someone. You know? I’m 30. I should have found someone already.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. But I’m sure you will. You’ll find someone special who won’t honk their nose at you.” Cas bops Dean’s nose, it’s awkward, but Dean still chuckles when he pushes Cas’s hand away.

The atmosphere around them was warm and comforting, something he wishes to drown in. But in a respectable boss-and-employee-who-lives-with-him kind of way. The smile they share fades a little as they look away, and then Dean jumps off the counter with a yawn.

“I’m gonna head to bed now. Goodnight, Mr. Novak.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Winchester.”

And just like that, they are back to professionals.

The following day, Dean is in the room talking to Sam about his dating life.

“You just think the perfect person is gonna knock at your door yelling out ‘there you are! I found you!’”

“Oh, there you are.” Cas walks in, neither Sam nor Dean notices the coincidence, holding out two different ties. “What tie should I wear? Blue or yellow?”

“Blue. Goes great with your eyes.” Dean turns around to tie the tie nicely around Cas’s neck. Sam gave them no attention as it was an action that happens regularly.

When he was done, he fixes Cas’s collar and pats his shoulder before telling him he looks good.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Cas walks out of the room while Dean continues to get ready as he talks. “I just want a person who actually respects and values my opinions, not just my pretty face.”

“Ah, sorry to bother you again, Mr. Winchester,” Cas walks back in. “but I do value your opinion. Should I wear the gold cufflinks or the silver?”

“Gold is a classic. But make sure it’s those nice ones Claire picked out for you. She’ll love to see them.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you! That would be great.” Cas walks out of the room with a grateful smile.

Sam is still flipping through Dean’s magazine collection as he sighs, “Yeah, Dean, that’s never going to happen. You should have just dated the damn clown,”

“And what? Never see you again cause you’ll be scared my boyfriend is in full makeup? No, thank you. Now let’s go before we’re late to the damn game.”

#nannynatural #thenannynatural #i am insane for doing this but here i am #i hope you didnt think it was gonna be all angsty lol #the nanny is a famous slow burn sooooo #destiel #deancas #destiel au #fic #destiel fic #my writing #wormstachewrites #slow burn #once upon a queue

[tolerateit]

The Zodiac Signs' Aesthetic For This Year

Aries

tinted sunglasses // plaid skirts // glowing cigarette stubs // haphazard signatures on a wrinkled paper // vintage candy // glossy red lips // hardcover books scattered on the table

Taurus

untied shoelaces // 3am coffee runs // wooden pencils bundled together // leaving handprints on a freshly painted wall // potted plants blooming under sunlight // teal eyeliner and nude lipstick

Gemini

sunflower petals pressed between a french dictionary // sparkling wine //minimalist tattoos on ankles // chipped nail polish // cooking with friends // sipping iced tea on a hot summer evening // cuddling on sunday afternoons

Cancer

sketching people in a busy café // midnight blue dresses with pearl earrings // smoking on the pavement // rereading old favorite classics // dancing with your lover in the living room at night // a memory lingering like perfume on your skin

Leo

the crackle of a fire at 2am // tracing patterns on someone's back // sneaking presents under a christmas tree // folding paper cranes on a pleasant evening // sharing a buttercream cupcake with your best friend // squeezing someone's hand in the still of the night

Virgo

wobbly walks and high heels // lipstick stains on scented papers // underlined likes in old poetry books // group study sessions at midnight // going to the movies on your own // embroidered patches on faded jeans // offering free hugs to strangers // yellow skirts and happy thoughts

Libra

painting on ceramic cups // bright bubblegum and neon lipstick // high ponytails // kisses on cheeks // juggling oranges to amuse your friends // good grades and filthy mouths // living like a contradiction and owning your style // drinking cheap beer from champagne flutes // marmalade jars // skipping breakfast

Scorpio

playing an instrument just to piss off your neighbors // not wearing glasses because you like your world blurry // standing up for your friends // learning tango with your crush // giving out fake palm readings // tinted cheeks and a deep maroon dress // twirling under a perfume spritz

Sagittarius

writing love letters to people who don't exist // imprints of kisses on the neck // venturing into the kitchen to bake cookies at 4am // glittery eyeshadow and bold lips // dusting stacks of unread books on the top shelf // wearing friendship bracelets to cocktail parties // collecting bottle caps of a specific color

Capricorn

handmade scarves and cute socks // steamy cups of tea warming cold hands // fairy lights // texting song lyrics to your favorite person // making wishes on a shooting star // moccasins and heart shaped lockets // listening to an audiobook while doing the dishes

Aquarius

dancing in your room at the crack of dusk // spilling champagne on expensive sofas // sharing a cigarette with a friend // leaving random, personal notes for a friend // pastel t-shirts and mom jeans // reading on a train // satin ribbons laced through braids

Pisces

blank canvases and colourful fingers // telephoning an old friend // stirring the froth in your latte // whistling an unfamiliar tune // writing exams with a clear mind // forehead kisses // pink eyeshadow with black lips // knitting a beanie for a friend // spending the day with a pet // going grocery shopping at midnight

#Meg talks #Been meaning to write something and this felt like a good start #zodiac #Zodiac sign #Pisces #Sagittarius #Scorpio #Gemini #Aries #Aquarius #Leo #Virgo #Libra #Capricorn #Taurus #Aesthetic #Writing #the signs as

[dwellordream]

“...Cautious young women came from all classes and backgrounds; so did those who proved most daring, experimenting, or free-spirited. Because young women of all classes had limited spending money, their most popular forms of public entertainment consisted of a variety of free, outdoor activities. For young women who lived in towns and cities, walking up and down shopping streets, looking at the window displays, evaluating the goods, discussing prices and styles, and occasionally making minor purchases while keeping an eye on other strolling shoppers provided a particularly popular form of entertainment. 

In many towns, local choirs, musical ensembles, and military bands gave free Sunday afternoon concerts in public squares and parks, attracting especially young men and women, but also many working-class and lower-middle-class families whose budgets did not afford them other, more expensive forms of leisure activities. Without provisions for seating, these concerts provided ample opportunity to parade one's Sunday best, mingle, meet old friends and new acquaintances, chat, and exchange flirtatious glances. 

Similarly, ice skating, another conventional pastime that attracted both young people and their parents, remained firmly within the boundaries of respectable behavior. Despite mixed-gender audiences, the participation of older adults in such activities contributed to their respectability, and even the most old-fashioned parents rarely objected to such outings. After all, shopping had long been a central component of middle-class women's leisure, and ice skating and military music hardly incited raucous behavior. 

Equally popular among young women were new forms of commercial leisure activities that catered particularly, if not exclusively, to a cross class and mixed-gender clientele of adolescents and young adults. Movie theaters, for instance, attracted swarms of working-class and middle-class youths. Although many older contemporaries remained uncomfortable with the inappropriate mingling across gender and class lines and with the cheap thrills and seemingly loose moral standards of Hollywood films, young moviegoers found that the darkened auditorium offered hours of exciting, inexpensive, and easily accessible entertainment as well as a convenient place for meeting with friends and possibly engaging in courtship.

Enclosed swimming areas and public beaches also became increasingly important sites for fun, relaxation, and mixed-gender sociability in the 1910s and 1920s. While the immodesty and physical intimacy of "undressed, scantily dressed, and fully clothed people mixed together in one big confusion" often shocked traditional sensibilities, warm summer Sundays nonetheless brought such large crowds of young men and women to public beaches that popular wit soon dubbed them "flypapers." 

Other popular arenas for spending leisure time included cafes and restaurants. Because of their limited resources, young women typically sought out places that served coffee and dessert rather than full meals. Yet because they were generally inclined to spend more time than money in such places, young women were often made to feel unwelcome. "If you knew the waiter, he would sometimes let you sit over the same cup of coffee all night long," Inger-Marie Rasmussen recalled, "but most often that was not possible. When a haughty waiter came by and asked if 'there was anything else?' for the second or third time, you knew it was time to go."

Besides, the presence of men who might be willing to pay the bill in exchange for female companionship made such places more precarious arenas for young women concerned about their sexual reputations. While straining limited budgets, an afternoon or evening in an amusement park was often easier to negotiate. Having paid a small entrance fee, visitors were free to stroll around, look at the various booths and rides, and enjoy free musical and theater performances, occasional fireworks, and other attractions without additional expenses. 

Although some amusement parks were scorned by middle-class families because of their rowdy working-class clientele, others—such as the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen—were entirely respectable sites of entertainment for families as well as young, single people. Various forms of theatrical entertainment also appealed to young women. In community halls and neighborhood theaters, they enjoyed cheap slapstick comedies and amateur performances starring local talent and would-be actors. 

In addition, hotels and restaurants frequently sought to lure customers into their businesses by offering some kind of stage performance as the opening act to an evening of dancing. The most popular form of theatrical entertainment was presented by the revue and vaudeville theaters that flourished in the 1910s and 1920s. Featuring evening programs of comical sketches, singing, and dancing, replete with chorus girls, lavish costumes, and elaborate stage settings, vaudeville shows attracted both young men and women looking for a good time, an easy laugh, and a spectacle of glamour and luxury. 

Yet young women's participation was generally more limited than men's. Often the price of admission precluded them from attending, and sometimes the sexually suggestive character of songs and acts made them feel uncomfortable. Nonetheless, most young women managed to stay remarkably well-informed about the glamorous costumes, the musical hits, and new dance steps they generated. However, given the opportunity to choose freely among all available forms of fun and entertainment, most young women would probably not have opted for any of the amusements just mentioned. In the vast majority of cases, dancing topped their list of attractive recreational pursuits. 

When, for example, the popular women's magazine Vore Darner in 1925 queried its readers about their favorite leisure activities, fully 72 percent of the respondents listed dancing as their first choice. Similarly, of the fifty-nine women interviewed for this project, at least fifty-four mentioned dancing as the favorite leisure activity of their youth. It is hardly surprising, then, that the rapidly expanding numbers of restaurants, cafes, hotels, inns, night clubs, and other establishments that offered dancing attracted vast numbers of young women. Nevertheless, public dance places remained highly controversial public settings for young women throughout the 1910s and 1920s. 

Like other forms of entertainment that did not encourage community-based, intergenerational sociability, these settings were viewed with suspicion by older generations. The fact that crowded dance floors and lively music facilitated, even encouraged, easy and spontaneous physical intimacy between young men and women only heightened this suspicion. As a result, public dance places constituted an exciting, but also an especially dangerous and difficult terrain for modern young women eager to have fun without jeopardizing their reputations. 

The tension between excitement and respectability was not unique to public dance places. The mixed-gender clientele and unsupervised mingling of city streets, skating rinks, public beaches, movie theaters, amusement parks, and variety shows could also throw into question the respectability of female participants. Therefore, public dance places merely represented the end point on a spectrum of controversial arenas for female leisure activities, simply heightening the conflicts young women experienced individually and in groups whenever they entered public space. 

Although the companionship of female friends provided some measure of protection against potential dangers and missteps, it did not provide them with an inviolable safeguard. Even if young women trusted and depended on each other, there was always the nagging doubt that judgment calls of female friends might be wrong. As Meta Hansen poignantly remarked, "Having a girlfriend meant that you wouldn't get into trouble by yourself. It didn't mean you wouldn't get into trouble." Without female companionship, the likelihood of getting into trouble was simply too great for most young women to risk venturing out, but even the presence of female friends did not ensure safety. 

To avoid making mistakes and more permanently minimize the risk of getting into trouble, young women therefore eagerly sought to determine what constituted appropriate and inappropriate behavior and activities. Throughout the 1910s and 1920s, they continually struggled to define the difference between the two, hoping to establish a set of rules that would ensure protection from moral reproach without sacrificing newfound possibilities for fun and excitement. Determining what constituted acceptable public behavior and activities was complicated by the fact that only a few public places and activities were entirely off limits for respectable woman. 

Therefore, simply determining the respectable from the disreputable—and placing oneself on the right side of that line—was not an easy task. Going alone to a restaurant in the afternoon might be perfectly acceptable, for example, but enjoying a cup of coffee in the very same location at ten o'clock at night would be considered highly inappropriate. Waltzing with a young man on the skating rink was one thing; tangoing with him in a night club quite another. Similarly, if watching the latest movie release in a local theater or enjoying oneself in an amusement park in the company of girlfriends provoked only few raised eyebrows, going there alone or in the company of a man to whom one was not officially engaged was likely to generate both gossip and criticism. 

"It wasn't so much what you did," Gerda Nybrandt declared when asked to explain what constituted proper behavior in her youth in Aarhus in the 1920s. "It was whom you did it with, and where you did it, and when you did it." Offering an almost identical explanation, Anna Eriksen remarked that "as long as it was daytime, people seemed to think that nothing immoral could take place. Doing the exact same thing when it was dark—now that was a different matter." Agnete Andersen recalled the code of conduct to which she adhered in a very similar way. "Well, how should I explain it?" she mused. "It was just like—you couldn't do this, but you could do that. It all depended on circumstances, whom you were out with, where you were and so on."

While in retrospect these three women maintained that "you just sort of knew" the boundary between acceptable and inappropriate public behavior, other evidence suggests that many young women at the time found determining that line an exceedingly difficult task. The fact that reliable sources of guidance were hard to come by only compounded the problem. Certainly, given their already contentious relationship, most young women did not turn to their parents for advice, and those daughters who did seek their guidance often found the older generation as confused and uncertain as they were themselves. 

Since the vast majority of young women were already out of school, advice from teachers was rarely an option available to them, and adult leaders of youth clubs, concerned about their standing with parents, were generally cautious and restrictive in their counsel. Writers, intellectuals, and newspaper editors steeped in older traditions of female domesticity also seemed unqualified to guide their path. And especially in urban areas, where organized religion already had lost much of its grip on young people, the prospect of going to a minister for advice never seemed to enter their minds. 

In this void, young women tended instead to look to self-proclaimed etiquette experts and advice columnists for suggestions on how to negotiate public behavior and city life. The sheer quantity of letters to women's magazines and advice columns about proper behavior speaks both to the uncertainty women felt and to the significance they attributed to knowing the limits of their new freedoms. In letter after letter, young women consulted these self-proclaimed experts both about the appropriate nature of planned events and about the specific restrictions they ought to place on their escapades. 

Could a young woman go out alone at night, they wondered? If so, could she casually stroll city streets without being taken for a street walker? Could she smoke cigarettes in public? Could she wear makeup? What about high heels? Could she go to a movie theater? If so, how late? And how frequently? What about an amusement park? A restaurant? What if the restaurant featured live music and dancing? Could she go out alone if she returned home before a certain time? If so, at what time ought she be safely indoors? In response, editors of women's magazines and advice columnists generally offered very specific guidance, usually in the form of strict, inflexible directives.

"No, a young lady may not go to a restaurant alone at night," one columnist warned. "A nice girl should always be home by 11 P.M.," another enjoined her female readers. And no, a respectable young woman could "absolutely not under any circumstances" wear makeup in public—aside from "lipstick and perhaps a touch of rouge." Often, however, the logic that guided advice columnists' directives seemed incoherent, even arbitrary, and frequently their answers seemed to lack a systematic pattern. When, for instance, one advice columnist maintained that "it is perfectly acceptable for two young girls to go for an evening walk, but a group of girls strolling the streets after dark is an unfortunate phenomenon," she might very well have added to the confusion and uncertainty her readers already felt.

Moreover, while generally encouraging women to avoid being alone in public and being out too late, the advice columnists frequently differed among themselves in their assessment of what constituted proper behavior. When asked almost identical questions in 1928, Sondags B.T. declared that a young woman could absolutely not go to the theater alone, while Ugebladet found it perfectly admissible "as long as [she] makes sure to sit in the front of the theater and leaves immediately after the show." 

Such disparate pieces of advice in publications that did not otherwise represent different political and cultural perspectives underscore how confusing and unsettled the standards for women's public behavior remained throughout most of the 1920s and how difficult it was for young women to find the kind of guidance they were seeking. Paradoxically, the only rule constantly reiterated was the one young women already knew and worried about—namely, that there was a boundary between respectable and disreputable behavior and that stepping over that boundary would have consequences that even young women who insisted on being "modern" and leading "modern" lives were not willing to risk.”

- Birgitte Soland, “Good Girls and Bad Girls.” from Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

#birgitte soland #1920s #history #danish #becoming modern

[152glasslippers]

it’s a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it

Summary: The question rings in his head the rest of the night.

When he leaves the kids with the sitter and walks across the hall to 5B; when Karen opens the door and the smile she gives him is blinding; when he drives them to the gym and Karen describes her latest sculpture idea, her hands delicately tracing the shape of it in the air.

How long are you going to wait to find out?

Artist/widower/neighbors AU for @songof-thelark.

Get in, losers, Karen and Frank are basically dating and are in denial about it. 😘

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

chapter 6: truth

That’s how it starts.

Frank devotes a few Sundays to giving Karen welding lessons after she shows him the sketches of the metal sculptures she’s been dreaming up; Karen spends an afternoon with Lisa and Frankie baking cookies for Frank and the crew in thanks; Frank offers to drive when Karen needs to go to a specialty paint store upstate, save her the trouble of renting a car or taking the bus in return for taking the kids off his hands the day they baked; and on and on, weeks of trading favors back and forth to say thank you.

“So, you’re dating,” Curt says when he visits Frank for lunch one day. They’re perched on a pair of paint buckets on the top floor of the building Frank’s working on, looking out over the city through newly installed windows. It’s not phrased as a question.

“No.”

Curtis shoots him a knowing look.

“Really. And where were you two weekends ago when I was having movie night with Lisa and Frank?”

“I was at home.”

“Yeah, you were at home, Frank. Making dinner. For Karen.”

“She watched the kids while I was at group the week before, you know that. I was saying thank you.”

“By preparing a homemade meal for a beautiful woman,” Curt says wryly. “Frank. Come on.”

“We’re not dating,” Frank growls. He takes a bite of his sandwich and focuses his attention on the skyline sprawling beneath them, avoiding the assessing look in Curtis’ eyes.

“This about Maria?”

No one else would get away with asking the question, but no one else has been there for him like Curt, both before and after Maria died.

“No.”

“You and I both know there’s no timeline for this sort of thing. If you’re ready to be in a relationship again, you deserve to have that.”

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “Yeah, I know that.”

But Curtis isn’t done.

“If it’s not about Maria, this about the kids?”

Frank hangs his head and sighs. Part of it is. He’s a single father. Nothing in his life is only about him.

“How do I know if they’re ready for that? Seeing me with another woman?”

“I think they’ve already told you. They love Karen.”

“Then how do I risk that?” He looks back up at Curtis. “I mean, you’re right, Curt. They love her. They worship her. I say something and it doesn’t work out? How do I do that to them? How do I risk them losing her?”

Curtis shifts on his bucket, turning his body away from the windows to face Frank head on.

“You really think she’d do that? Because after everything you’ve told me about her, everything the kids have told me, as much as she seems to care about them—I don’t think she’d let that happen. I don’t think she’d let anything come between her and Lisa and Frankie, no matter what there is or isn’t between you two.”

The thing is, he knows he’s right. Karen cares about his kids—she’s told him as much—and he knows there’s nothing in the world that could change that. He sees it every time she’s with them.

“What if that’s all this is, yeah?” he asks quietly, and Curt leans in closer. “What if it’s just about the kids? She cares about them, and I’m their dad, and she’s just…being a good neighbor.”

He feels like an idiot. He feels like a goddamn preteen with a crush, like he’s never done any of this before. He wouldn’t blame Curtis for laughing at him, but he doesn’t.

“I don’t know, man,” he says, sympathetic. “But she’s talented and smart and interesting and kind. And she seems to like spending time with you. For some reason. It’s beyond me,” he adds, and Frank snorts. “So how long are you going to wait to find out?”

read the rest on ao3

#kastle #kastlechristmas #kastlechristmas2k20 #songofthelark #kastlenetwork #kastle ff #kastle fanfic #karen x frank #the punisher #mine: fanfic