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thewriterg · 1 year

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𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭

pairing(s): Dallas Winston x gn!reader, Dallas Winston x greaser!reader

summary: you thought it would help, the calming feeling of your smokes but instead it makes in worst and Dallas helps in his own Dallas Winston way

word count: 950+

request: could i request something for dallas winston? reader and dallas smoking weed together and maybe reader greens out and he’s there to comfort them while also being high as fuck —@jokersscarrd

warning(s): marajomama, under the influence, underage smoking, anxiety/panic attack were gonna ignore how mental health wasn’t really a thing back then bc no, kisses, pet names, and language

A/n: —GIFs: @obsessed-artist & @pelopides— I’m getting to request slowly but surely also the GIFs don’t determine race they’re just inspo

You didn’t smoke cigarettes.

So every time someone offered you one out of the carton looking box you politely declined they burned your throat, the smell was un-washable, it suffocated you. After a while people around your hood learned to stop offering unless you were asking

When you needed the burn, when you needed to suffocate.

You did however smoke pot it helped you relax and it benefited your anxiety which is why you should walking away from your childhood home now a rolled joint in between your finger tips flicking the silver zippo lighter with different swirls and engravings that Dally had gotten you for your birthday when you were fourteen

Fourteen and smoking pot the memories flashed your mind occasionally You’re head was fuzzy like Tv static and you usually when you inhaled the smoke it cleared your mind now it just blurred your vision further as you walked along the streets of Tulsa

You suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder and your reaction usually was to clutch your switchblade but you were just stuck you thought about Ponyboy and wondered was this what it was like when he ‘didn’t use his head’ as Darry claimed

“Y/n what’s your problem stupid!? Oh doll, what’s- what’s the matter?” Dally stated a little softer your eyes were filled with tears and were red he couldn’t tell if it was from you joint or the tears

You didn’t respond instead you looked at him like he was a void it seemed you were looking through him rather than at him and he cursed under his break before throwing his long arm over your shoulder and walked you down the street as if he was shielding your body with his

💌💌💌💌

Dally pulled you into his room locking the door behind him as he tried not to go wreck the whole part Buck was throwing downstairs the music muffled traveled through the thin walls

“Will you light one with me?” You whispered clouds of smoke comforting over his room like blanket as the rolled paper hung loosely from your lips and the brunette scoffed before snatching the smoke and putting it between his own taking in a deep inhale

“What’s tha’ matter with you?” The juvenile delinquent questioned you again as you sat on the end of his bed his New York accent a little thicker than the one he acquired from Tulsa and suddenly the room was too stuffy the smoke burned your lungs and suffocated you like a cigarette

Dallas noticed your heavy breathing and stretched his arm out towards you offering back your smoke and you nudged his hand away from you line of view not noticing as he stubbed it out in the glass ashtray on the worn down wooden nightstand next to the head of his bed

The brunette lied a hand on your shoulder before you were shooting up out of you seat it looked like you were shedding your damn skin he thought rushing to stand less than a few meters away from you

“Deep breathes doll c’mon, you’re not there. It’s over, it’s done, forget about it.” His voice that usually comforted you scratched your skin the wrong way it sounded like nails on a chalkboard as you reminisced on your time and New York

What you sawn, what you been around, what you went through.

“But it’s difficult don’t you understand!? It is difficult.” Your voice raised as you pulled away from his grasp clutching yourself when had he even touched you?

“I didn’t want it to happen but it happened and now- DON’T YOU COME ANY CLOSER” You screeched as Dally took a step towards you not letting your screaming shy him away from you as much as you wanted it to

“Y/n it’s me” He stated firmly trying to get you to Lock eyes with him but you eyes were wild and frantic like a scared cornered animal darting everywhere but him

“Don’t you understand you disgust me!? I CANT STAND YOU TOUCHING ME” You screamed beginning to tug at you hair before Dallas wrapped an arm around your waist firmly as you squirmed and struggled against his grasp the other arm going to cover your hands forcing your fingers open to let go of your hair

“You’re alright, you’re fine. I know doll, I know.” The hood muttered into the crown of your head before pressing a quick comfort kiss on the surface letting you hit at his chest and sob into his sleeve until you finally came down from his high and let your body unknowingly fall limp as he held you up without a struggle walking you both to the small twin bed

You were in his arms as he sat up against the cheap headboard of the small cushion rubbing his cool hands over your warm body grounding you like he always did

“There’s so much I wanna say, but I don’t know where to start.” You whispered carefully your breath caught in your throat before it finally was released and Dally hummed in acknowledgement before reaching over to the small table by his side grabbing the once discarded joint from the dusty glass ashtray in between his fingertips

“Well, we better get to it huh?” He stated quietly lighting the rolled paper until smoke settled in his lungs when he inhaled he made sure to blow it out of your face or rather the back of your head as your back sat against his chest You let out a breathe before the smoking drug was in you view and this time you took it

This time it didn’t burn nor suffocate you

#dallas winston #dally winston #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #the outsiders #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders x reader #fluff #anxiety comfort #romance #fem!reader #gn!reader #male!reader #i love you #thewriterg #2023

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pedropascalsx · 6 months

Text

A Game of Cat and Mouse. {Dave York x F! Reader.}

Summary: Dave catches up to you after weeks of no intimacy.

Warnings: Restraints, male oral, female oral, some fingering, p in v sex, come eating, some fluff and a general filth.

(if i've missed anything please tell me!)

Chapter: 8 of 12 of the appreciation series!

Word Count: 2.5k - short and sweet!

A/N: Unbeta'd - this is just porn. there’s no plot, they just fuck. i hope you enjoy.

The last few weeks had been tense to say the least, but things had started to calm and a new beginning had started to settle.

But with new changes come complications and the past few weeks had meant you barely had a moment to yourself, putting in extra hours for the girls and taking them out when delicate conversations needed to be had.

And having little to no left time for yourself, meant absolutely no time for anyone else and frustrations were beginning to show.

A few nights previous Dave had practically ripped the door of its frame to get to you, pawing frantically at your clothes and it looked like you were both finally about to get a little relief but a large sob from down the hall followed by a lot of wailing had ripped the moment from you both.

And ever since he’s looked at you in a way that can only be described as pure hunger.

The house was quiet. Eerily so. It had felt like weeks since you’d heard the sound of silence and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You weren’t alone, Dave’s keys on the countertop were an obvious sign, but he was nowhere to be seen and that sent another shiver down your spine.

At first searching for him was genuine curiosity, there was no sound coming from his office and the door was wide open so you could see he wasn't in there.

You took a few quiet steps down the hall and popped your head into the dining room and found it empty. You called his name a few times and was met with the same silence ringing in your ears.

It was only when walking back into the kitchen you saw it, sitting next to his keys and clearly put there for a reason; the black hair ribbon from that day. The day he had walked into his home office, gently pulled your hair behind your head and fucked your throat so hard that it made your thighs wet with slick.

You fiddled with it for a few moments in your hands, letting your fingertips smooth across the silk before the sound of footsteps entering the room stole your attention.

He said nothing as you looked up at him, standing quietly and rapping his hands gently against the wooden door frame.

Sensing what he was wanting you to do next, you gently brushed your hair back behind your head, keeping your eyes locked with his and tied your hair back neatly with the hair ribbon.

He took a single step forward and his name fell from your mouth and it felt like you were finally about to take weeks worth of frustrations out on each other… anticipation flooding the air, clothes ready to be ripped off and just as you were ready to launch yourself at him, the unwelcome chime of the doorbell rudely pulled your back to earth.

The groan that came from his throat made your knees weak, he muttered something filthy under his breath before marching towards the throat door and ripping it open, leaving you there gasping for breath and pulling at the sleeve of your cardigan.

And suddenly a plan fell into place, you unbuttoned the front of your cardigan and let it slide over your shoulders, falling to the floor. Before tiptoeing up the stairs, shedding your vest top and leaving him to find before sneaking down the hall into the linen closet.

You heard the door shut, a few footsteps and then a frustrated call of your name. But you remained silent, listening carefully for his footsteps to resume and suppressing a giggle as he climbed the stairs. Your pussy clenched as he growled your name, after bending down to pick up your discarded top. You watched him through the crack in the door, and quietly you started to push your pants down your legs, ready to leave them for him to find in a different location.

He stormed towards your bedroom door and as he pushed your door open and stepped inside you took the opportunity to run across the hall into the family bathroom. Dropping your pants and hiding quietly behind the door.

“Are you having fun, my love?” Dave calls, frustration evident in his voice. “Do you think this little game is going to be worth the punishment you’ll pay, when I get my hands on you?”

You bite down on your lip as you think about what’s to come, hoping you can slip out of the bathroom and into your bedroom as he approaches the linen closet you left wide open. “Where are you hiding, little girl?” He growls, “If you don’t want this, all you have to do is say.”

You know what he’s doing, he knows what he’s doing, he knows you’re positively gagging for it and there’s no way you’re going to say otherwise. But right now, you’re having just a little bit too much fun, messing with him.

You pull your phone out of the pocket of your pants and text him a single word. Cold.

Biting down a sign of relief as you hear his footsteps take him down the hall, waiting until you hear them descend on the stairs before pushing open the door and running towards the master bedroom.

Squealing as you hear him change his direction and quickly begin to gain on you. Growling your name as he picks up his pace, squeezing in through the door before you have time to shut it.

And now here you are. Stood directly in front of him. Dressed only in your panties, chest heaving up and down as a few nervous giggles slip through your lips.

“Do you want to escape?” He asks you slowly. Each word feels like it’s been dipped in honey, and he knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you, when you immediately start to shake your head.

“No.” You say quietly, still slightly shaky your head.

“No, what?” He says, before raising an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t want to escape… sir.”

“Didn’t seem like that to me,” he says with a sigh, before loosening the tie he put on barely an hour ago. “Seems like you might try to do it again… and I can’t be having that, my filthy little love.”

He looks you up and down a few times, before reaching out and lightly brushing your nipple with the tip of his finger, before slowly circling you, like a shark taunting its prey.

“You look good like this,” he praises, before ordering you to put your hands behind your back. Circling you again but this time with intent, stopping still when behind your back and pulling his tie the rest of the way off. He gently binds your hands together before pushing you down on your knees, grinning as you start to mumble his name. “Be glad you got to tie your hair back before I tied your hands.” He chuckles.

You kneel quietly, watching as he walks back in front of you and crouches down. “I was just going to give you everything you wanted,” he says with an exaggerated pout, “But now, my love, I guess you’ve got to earn it.”

His hand gently grips onto your jaw, tilting it upwards before it slides down and rests softly around your neck. He moves his face forward enough for you to press your lips to his before pulling back and squeezing his hand gently. “Earn. It.”

Without another word he shoots up to his feet, unbuckles his belt and rips it’s free from the loops of his pants. Dropping it without care on the floor next to you, before unzipping his pants and revealing his rock hard cock. You think he’s going to shove it in your mouth, and you immediately open up to take him but he just laughs. Languidly stroking himself and watching your desperate tongue dip in and out of your mouth as you silently plead for him to feed it to you.

“Beg.” He spits. “I said you have to earn it. So fucking beg for it.”

“Please,” you say, as he reaches out to hold your chin in his hand, smirking as he feels it tremble. “Dave, please.” You repeat, over and over in between a bunch of incoherent and desperate pleas fall from your lips.

After what feels like forever, he moves his hand to cup your face and feeds his cock into your mouth with a grunt. Growling your name as you wrap your lips around it with delight, bobbing up and down at a pace that’s comfortable for you and squealing as he pushes deeper. “I know how well you can take it,” he grits out at you, “Don't hold back on me, baby girl.”

You tug desperately at the restraints keeping your hands from holding onto him, and he chuckles down at you. “I’m not untying your hands until you prove you’re not going to run from me.”

His cock being still shoved in your mouth prevents you from speaking, so you respond with a roll of your eyes and he responds by pulling back and snapping his hips forward. Grunting again as he pushes deep, past your tonsils and right to the back of your throat. “Roll your eyes again,” he taunts, “I’ll cum down this pretty little throat and leave you tied up for the rest of the day.”

He finds a comfortable pace, rolling his hips back and forth and praising you as you hollow your cheeks around him. His hand is holding onto your ponytail as he works you up and down his length.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs as he pulls himself free of your mouth, groaning slightly at the loss of you around his cock. “Don’t run from me, baby.” He says softly as he drops to his knees in front of you. “Don’t do that.”

“Never,” you mumble quietly, before letting him capture your lips in a bruising kiss, one hand carefully placed on the small of your back and the other around your ponytail. Holding you tightly against him as he licks deep into your mouth.

Wordlessly he breaks the kiss, and pulls you both up to your feet, before carefully untying your hands and walking you back towards the bed. “I’ve missed you.” You say against his lips, before he presses you back down onto the bed.

He hums quietly, before peppering a fleeting kiss on your mouth, and slowly dragging his lips down, stopping at your breasts and taking a nipple into his mouth. His tongue gently circles the soft bud, before lightly nipping his teeth around the hardened bud. He drags his tongue across and pays the other the same attention, chuckling at your soft gasps.

He’s slow, his tongue continues dragging downwards and you’re entirely at his mercy, murmuring his name softly and tangling your fingers in his hair. He kisses just above the waistline of your panties, before pulling away. “Do you think you’ve earned my tongue?” He taunts, softly, finishing his sentence with a faux pout.

“Yes,” you say, far too quickly, pulling a chuckle from him.

“I don’t know,” he says with a sigh, “You ran and hid and made a mess with your clothes at the same time.”

“It’s not hiding if I left a trail for you to follow,” you whisper down at him, and a smirk spreads across his face.

He doesn’t say anything else, he just pulls your legs apart and buries his face in between your legs and inhales. Groaning at the scent of you and how you’re dripping with arousal. He mouths at you, over the lace of your panties and you’re immediately begging for more.

He could deny you but he doesn’t, instead he pushes your underwear to one side and flattens his tongue against you. Slowly dragging his tongue up and down a few times before focusing on your clit. Each flick of his tongue is heaven, his mouth is giving and generous, and every movement is designed to have you drowning in pleasure.

The second he sees your thighs begin to shake, he chuckles into your core, before pushing two thick fingers inside of you and curling them up in that blissful spot. He keeps the same glorious pace of his tongue as he starts to thrust his fingers, twisting his arm and ensuring that he never misses that spot. Your hands tug at his hair as your orgasm starts to power through you, making your chest heave up and down and your mouth spill the most gorgeous sounds he’s ever heard.

The squeal of his name that he pulls from your throat sounds like heaven, and he pulls it out of you over and over as he works you throughout your high.

He pulls his fingers out of you and gives your clit a few more lazy sucks before tasting you from his fingers, ensuring to lick them clean as you lay there sated. Still riding the high of your orgasm.

He stands over you, watching you catch your breath, his hand sliding up and down his length as he does so. “My filthy little love.” He murmurs before letting himself go and hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you down the bed.

“Gonna fuck you into this mattress,” he growls, “Make this perfect pussy come over my cock, fuck, feel it get even fucking wetter.”

His fingers reach down into your slit, gathering up some of the slick that’s still steadily leaking from your fluttering hole and he generously cuts himself with it, before pressing the head at your entrance.

“You want it?” He mocks, and slightly pulls his hips back and the desperate way you react to him.

“Please,” you plead, voice thick with need and he’s not about to deny you. With one harsh thrust, he slots himself in, absolutely choking at the way your walls immediately grip onto him and you clench around him.

“There’s my girl,” he praises, waiting a few seconds until he’s happy that you’re ready and building a pace that has you dizzy and delirious with pleasure. He wets his thumb and presses it against your clit, drawing slow circles that are almost painful with how fucking good it feels as he slams his hips back and forth. Grinning as your mouth lets out a symphony of pleasured moans, soft gasps of his name and curses.

His hips stutter as you start to cum, a stream of liquid covering him before you clamp down hard, your body moving up off the mattress as you become overwhelmed with pleasure. You feel him everywhere and it’s still not enough. He keeps rocking his hips the best he can, waiting for you to ease up and then when you do he immediately resumes his pace, chasing his high and triggering another orgasm in your blissed out and exhausted body as he starts to fill you with rope after rope of his cum.

He drops down on top of you, making sure to capture his weight onto his arms before nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. “I really missed you my filthy little love.” He growls as you erupt into a fit of giggles, loving the way he groans at your pussy glittering around him as you do so.

“I missed you too, my love.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #dave york #dave york smut #dave york imagine #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #appreciation series #appreciation #the equalizer #the equalizer 2 #my fanfiction #my fanfic #the equalizer 2 fanfiction

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natsstar · 1 year

Text

safe house.

pairing: natashaxreader

warnings: pure fluff

summary: you’re left isolated in a safe house after a failed mission until natasha shows up to check on you.

word count: 2,400

edit: the first half of this is ick and the second is bomb so stick with me here.

————————————————————————

Missions. Goddamn missions.

Especially this goddamn mission, Jesus Christ. It was cold and it was dry and you are not cut out for these stupid mountains in any way, shape, or form. Sure, New York is blistering, but Serbia? That’s on another level.

You’d been discovered and all your covers were blown. Again. So per Fury’s orders you would be stationed here until everything blew over. In a safe house. In goddamn Serbia.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you fucking kidding me Nick? Another month?? Let me keep going I can handle these guys I swear,”

“No Y/N. This is your first solo mission, we want you taking it easy, kid.”

“Yea okay, but why do I have to stay in these butt fuck mountains,”

“Kid-”

“No, seriously Fury, what if I get hypothermia huh? Or a bear stomps out of the forest and eats me or I run out of- whatever the fuck you stocked in my pantry- beans? Baked beans?,”

“Y/N. I’m sending someone out there to check on you and restock your supply-”

“My supply of baked beans?,”

“Just- hold on tight. Keep warm kid.”

*click*

You jostle the landline back into its holder on the wall and flop face first onto the bed, groaning in disgust as the squeaky springs creak beneath you. The cabin really wasn’t that bad….. Just boring. Very boring. You had been training at Shield Headquarters since you were eleven just to be kicked off your mission after three days. There were a few tapes by the TV, but they were all in either Serbian or Russian, so not very helpful, and it was too damn cold to spend any more than thirty minutes outside.

Half heartedly rolling yourself off the squeaky mattress and flopping on the floor with a thud, you decide maybe chopping wood could kill some time. Not to mention you’re getting dangerously low on fuel for the fire place and it definitely isn’t getting warmer any time soon. Bundled up in two pairs of pants, snow boots, and the biggest fur coat you can find, you head out to the shed to dig out an ax. The ax is a little bit dull, but still manageable, so you get going on the nearest stump.

*whack*

“God I fucking-”

*whack*

“Hate it here.”

Something moves out of the corner of your eye and you stop mid swing. Whippig your head around and squinting towards the road you see a pair of headlights. Fuck.

“Shit shit shit fuck me jesus fuck,” you curse under your breath, throwing the ax into the snow and running inside the cabin. You throw off your massive chunky coat and pad towards the bed to retrieve your gun. Reaching underneath the mattress, you grab your handgun and duck behind the wall, ears perked and ready to fight. You hold your breath, white knuckling your gun as you hear a car door slam. You were sure your tracks were covered, so how the fuck did they find you?

The doorknob starts to jiggle and you crouch down low, gun pointed at the door. The heavy wooden door swings open and you hear something fall, hitting the ground with a thud, your perpetrator still covered by the door.

A head pokes around the door and a pair of eyes stares straight into the barrel of your gun.

“Gotcha some beans.”

You let out a loud exhale and drop your gun.

“Jesus Christ Natasha,” you breath out, head flopping down as you stare at the floor, mildly embarrassed.

Natasha grunts in acknowledgment, picking up the box of food off the floor. You set your gun down on the bed as she hauls the box up onto the counter.

“Ah. There we go. Now let’s make some dinner shall we? What’re you in the mood for Y/N?”

Natasha winks at you, a small smile creeping up her face.

You stare back blankly.

“Please no beans.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natasha whips up some pasta in silence as you trod around the kitchen, trying to find something to do. You offer to watch the boiling water for a bit, but she shoos you away instantly.

Natasha and you had never exactly been….. Friends. Friendly, maybe, but Natasha was one of those people you kind of gawk at, not someone you talk to, at least not to you. She wasn’t even that much older than you, yet she still had this room commanding energy that you couldn’t seem to find in yourself. As a budding Avenger, you had spent ample time in the tower and trained with the team almost daily, yet you always had a hard time seeing them as equals to yourself. They were these world saving superheroes and you were just a kid. Fury scooped you up when you were just eleven years old, saving you from an underground government experiment. He quickly became a father figure to you, and began training you up to agent level almost immediately. At first he said it was just so you could defend yourself, but he knew he couldn’t keep you away from taking it up a notch. You had always been quick, strong, and determined, hoping to someday help kids like you.

The pot whistles and Natasha grabs her oven mitts, tipping the hot pot over the sink and the noodles into the strainer.

“Marinara sound good?,” Natasha asks, whipping her head around to look at you.

“Yea of course,” you say, nodding your head quickly.

You two eat in silence. Slurping the pasta and enjoying the company.

“So,” you start, trying to break the ice. “Are you just staying for dinner or…”

“Thought maybe I would stake out here for a couple days,” Natasha says, looking up from her plate of noodles. “If that’s okay with you of course.”

“No yea of course,” you blurt out, too quickly.

“Okay,” Natasha says, muffling a laugh.

In all honesty you just don’t want to be left alone to your own devices anymore. It’s just a small, very small and very miniscule perk that Natasha happens to be very pretty. She’d always been a little bit of a mystery to you and the rest of the team besides Clint of course, always keeping to herself and laying low. If anything, maybe you could find a friend, a way into the team dynamic of the Avengers.

You two begin cleaning up, her washing and scrubbing the dishes and you drying and putting them away.

“I thought I could just sleep on the couch, camp out in here,” Natasha says, shrugging her shoulders without looking up at you.

“Sure! Also you could have my bed and I’ll sleep out here, I mean it’s not that great, kind of squeaky, but I’m sure way better than the couch, and-”

Natasha flicks some water at you. “Don’t worry about me babe.”

You look back down at the dishes you’re drying, trying to hide the embarrassment, cursing yourself in your head to stop annoying the Russian spy washing your dishes.

“There’s uh, some um, movies I think. There’s a bunch of tapes by the TV, none of them are in English, but we could watch one tonight if you want?” you say without looking up.

“Yea.”

“Okay.”

She laughs under her breath as you wrinkle your nose at your own lack of social skills. Shield taught you how to be smart and cunning, but making friends? Nah.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You slide in the tape as Natasha gets comfortable on the couch, suddenly aware of how much you’re overthinking her presence. You carefully turn your head to look back at her where she ‘s sitting, only for the redhead to stare right back. You smile weakly before turning back to the VCR and turning on the TV. God she’s intimidating. She probably didn’t mean to be either, it’s just- the green in her eyes. God they’re so green and bright and every time you look into them you feel ice dragging down your spine.

You take a seat next to her on the couch as the TV fires up, scooting slightly closer to her, but not too close. She’s sitting cross legged next to you, wearing a black hoodie with her hair tousled in a low bun. You hug your legs to your chest, resting your chin on the tops of your knees. Just the sheer proximity of a person you don’t know very well is enough to induce panic, but Natasha Romanoff was a whole different ordeal. The movie drones on and you begin to gather that it’s a romance between a farm girl and a city boy, but that’s as far as you can get- completely lost to the Serbian dialogue. You shift, propping your head up on your hand, trying to stay awake. Eyelids drooping you start to drift off, the weight of the day and the stress of the failed mission pulling you into a quick, deep sleep.

You wake up to credits rolling on the TV, some corny song playing in the background. Fuzzy from sleep, you gather that you’ve managed to get into a sleeping position, laying on the couch with your legs stretched out behind you. Eyes still closed, you feel a hand in your hair, slowly stroking and caressing your sleepy head. You freeze, body going rigid as you realize your head is in Natasha’s lap. Slowly opening your eyes and peering up, you see Natasha, head rolled back onto the couch as her fingers mindlessly tangle through your hair. Smiling to yourself and closing your eyes, you nuzzle your head into her lap, wrapping one of your arms around her knee. You feel Natasha’s hand freeze for a moment as you readjust, only to go back to running through your hair again once she deemed you were comfortable. You succumb to sleep again, drifting off as Natasha’s fingers soothe you back into a peaceful state.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------—

You wake up to sunlight pouring through the open window, stretching out your arms and letting out a loud yawn. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look around, Natasha nowhere in sight. You get up, shivering in the morning air of the cabin and look towards the kitchen. There’s a steaming pot of coffee and an empty mug waiting on the counter. Smiling to yourself, you grab a blanket and wrap yourself up before padding towards the counter and pouring a cup of coffee for yourself. Siping your coffee and staring out the kitchen window, you see little snowflakes falling, and a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. Through the flurries you spot a cold, yet content Natasha, bundled up, sitting on the porch step sipping her coffee.

You tiptoe out the front door towards where she’s sitting, carefully taking a seat next to her while draping the left side of your blanket around her shoulders.

Natasha gives you a rosy smile, her nose and cheeks cold. “Morning sleepy head”

“Hey Nat.”

“Hey Y/N.”

You lay your head on her shoulder, letting out a breathy sigh as you shiver.

“Thank you for coming,” you say.

“Of course-,” Natasha starts, “and thank you for staying,” you whisper into the morning air.

“Of course.” Natasha whispers back.

“You know I didn’t think my first solo mission would end up like this,” you begin explaining, “I wanted to prove myself to Fury, prove myself to the whole team that I’m capable.”

You pause for a moment, “I am, I know I am it’s just– I don’t know. I wish-”

Natasha turns her body towards you, forcing you to lift up your head off her shoulder and look at her, “You are Y/N. Shit happens, everyone makes mistakes, it doesn’t make you any less ready. Sometimes it’s out of your control, and you can’t beat yourself up for that. Fury believes in you, the team believes in you, I believe in you.”

The look Natasha has is stern, her green eyes boring into you.

Staring right back at her, you whisper, “thank you Nat”. Natasha inches her face just a few centimeters closer, smiling at you “You got this Y/N.”

Overcome with adoration for the woman in front of you, you stare right back, searching her eyes for something, anything to confirm that she’s feeling what you are. Wrapped up in the same blanket, keeping each other warm, you feel so close to her in this moment, absolute silence surrounding the two of you, except for the patter of the falling snow.

“Nat, I–” She lifts her hand to cup the side of your face, leaning forward and resting her forehead against yours, eyes closed. “I know,” she whispers.

After a moment she opens her eyes looking back at you. Your breath catches in your throat, having her so close to you, completely in your space, was something you never thought you would experience, especially not with Natasha. Maybe it was the isolation of the cabin, or the stress of the failed mission still looming over you, but Natasha felt like a beacon light, sitting in front of you, willing you to come closer. Shaking, you lift your hand, placing it over hers still cupping your cheek, unable to express anything through words.

In one fluid movement you drop your hand, placing it on her chin and lightly pulling her towards you, eyes closed and lips parted. She meets your gesture eagerly, pressing her mouth to yours and snaking her hand around to the base of your neck, gripping your hair. Your hand finds her waist, tugging her closer so your bodies are pressed together. In that moment, you feel everything, you feel her. The way her cold nose brushes yours and the way she chases your mouth every time you pull away for air leaves your heart fluttering.

After kissing for what feels like hours and being entirely consumed by Natasha, you pull away, resting your forehead to hers, mildly out of breath.

“Please don’t leave,” you whisper. “Not today.”

“I won’t,” Natasha says back, her fingers snaking into your hair, still holding you close to her. “I’m not going anywhere, love.”

You let out a breathy laugh of relief, leaning back into her, trying to capture this moment and remain in it forever, here with her, in the silence of the falling snow, apart from everything and everyone except the woman in front of you.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #natasha x y/n #marvel #wlw community #wlw love #wlwedit

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use-your-telescope · 8 months

Text

Wow, WOW. It has been... a *hot minute* (cough-sixmonths-cough) since I've shared any real teasers/snippets of my big writing project, WHICH NOW HAS A NAME - that's right, it's no longer going by the working title of "the Trickster!" The fic is officially titled "When Everything's Made to be Broken." Linked the synopsis page, which should link out to the snippets that I've previously posted, in case anyone is like "what was this fic again?" So here we go! I'm getting to a point where even though the story as a whole isn't finished, I might start posting the first few chapters just so I'm no longer sitting on them... The first seven chapters are pretty much done (minus a final read through), and the end is there, it's just the middle of the story that's vexing me. Anyways, this takes place after the other snippets I've posted. Enjoy!

Tag List: @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @thedistractedagglomeration @lokisgoodgirl @simplyholl @mochie85 @coldnique @lokixryss @gigglingtiggerv2 @infinitystoner @loopsisloops @mischief2sarawr @crzyplantladyvibes @buttercupcookies-blog @vickie5446 @the-lady-amphitrite

Send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list!

Warnings: None. This is on the soft side, all things considered?

Song: Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine

Word Count: 1,281 words

You Were in the Darkness Too

Before long, they were outside of Marquette, driving down backroads that made Loki question whether or not his phone’s GPS was accurate. However, when they turned down a long gravel driveway that led to a clearing with a small farm, he received confirmation that he was, in fact, in the correct location when Theo pointed at where to park.

“Welcome to the farm,” Theo gestured to the property around them, her voice and expression lacking any enthusiasm. Approaching a wooden porch, she gestured towards a shed. “In that shed is the portal I usually use to go home; you’re welcome to use it - get home and actually sleep in your own bed.” Rather than move towards the shed, Theo fished a set of keys out of her pocket and started fiddling with the door.

“Are you not planning to return home for the evening?” Loki furrowed his brow, glancing between the shed and the door that Theo had, by that point, unlocked and swung open.

“I– no.” Theo grabbed her bag from where she had set it on the porch, slinging it over her shoulder. “This is the house I grew up in; I know it’s just as close as New York with the portal and all, but I think I’d feel better if I stayed here, at least for tonight.”

Her rationale was, though not necessarily logical, understandable. The idea of a familiar setting providing comfort made sense. And though he would have loved to reunite with his own bed, the idea of Theo alone still seemed… wrong.

Why that was, Loki was uncertain.

“Perhaps I might stay with you, then?” Loki blurted out the question. “I don’t mean to impose, however if anything were to happen I think it would be in your best interest to not be alone.”

Theo stilled, mouth hanging slightly open as she processed Loki’s request.

“Loki, you’ve already done so much for me.” She shook her head. “I can’t ask you to cancel all of your plans and postpone going home after such a crazy, exhausting week.”

“You are not asking,” Loki countered, “I am offering.”

She pursed her lips and peered at Loki. The breeze rustled the trees around them, and in the distance the ebb and flow of waves off the lake provided a wash of ambient sound.

“Um, yeah - come on in.” Theo pushed the door open, reaching in to flick on a light before gesturing for Loki to follow. “But if it’s too much at any point, or you need to go do something, promise me you will go.”

“I swear it.” Loki retrieved his own bag and followed her inside.

The farmhouse was a sharp contrast to the tower - unlike the modern, minimalist architecture of the tower, he found himself charmed by the quaint, mismatched nature of Mémère’s home. In many ways, the home reminded him of the houses he’d see in Maximoff’s old sitcoms: the furniture seemed to be from decades past, though they weren’t quite as coordinated as on television.

Photos adorned the walls of the hallway - some old enough to lack color, while others looked as though they were taken yesterday.

“You can take my bed, I’ll just take the couch.” Theo said, leading Loki into what appeared to be a sitting room.

“You need not sacrifice your bed for me—“

“You just changed all your plans so you could fly with me to a place you’d never been and probably never wanted to visit, all because I was upset about someone you’ve never even met having health problems. Not to mention you just dropped a shit ton of money to change both of our flights, and on a rental car…” She shook her head, turning on more lights as she escorted him through the house. There was a certain sense of relief that came with the realization that some of the fire which Loki associated with Theo had returned. “You deserve a real bed to sleep in, if nothing else.”

“You’ve also worked tirelessly over the previous week, and you carry a great emotional weight,“ Loki countered, “Perhaps we can share?”

Trudging up a flight of stairs, Theo waited until they were both upstairs before replying. “It’s only a queen-size bed, not the California Kings that we have in the tower, so it might be a bit cozy… but if you’re okay with it then sure.”

“We’ve spent time in far closer proximity,” Loki pointed out, to which Theo cracked a smile and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, but uh… I’m not really feeling up to that tonight.”

“It was not something I even considered, given everything that has taken place.”

“I didn’t think you were, but I figured I would clarify.” She pushed open a door, flicking on the light. “Welcome to my bedroom.”

In the late night, Loki was presented his first chance to take in the room that Theo called her own. Soft, pale yellow walls and sheer white curtains felt familiar - it was a lighter, softer version of the quarters Theo kept at the tower. The furniture here was not remotely cohesive - a heavy wooden dresser sat in the corner, assorted knick-knacks atop it. Above the dresser, a Van Gogh poster was tacked to the wall - a still-life of a turquoise vase with sunflowers.

In the corner, an acoustic guitar sat. Next to the guitar, Theo’s closet door sat open - inside, a colorful mix of plaid filled the cramped space. The bed was as large as one could rationally fit in the tight space; atop it, a patchwork quilt provided an injection of color and warmth to the room.

Perhaps this room was a time capsule of her youth, or maybe it became a melding of her past and present - he couldn’t be entirely sure.

Neither of them wasted any time getting ready for bed - then again, after capping off a long week with a particularly exhausting day, it was a small miracle that they hadn’t skipped pajamas and fallen asleep in their dayclothes. Loki was the first to lay down; Theo quickly followed, shutting the lights off before slipping beneath the bedclothes and settling in.

Loki stretched out as best he could on the mattress, though Theo was right when she said it was much smaller than Loki’s bed in New York - unless he slept with his head touching the headboard or curled up on his side, his feet would hang off the end of the mattress.

Theo rolled onto her side, facing Loki. Moonlight from the window reflected off her silver hair, casting an ethereal glow in the dark of night. When Loki turned to face her, he caught her watching him.

“You ought to rest, darling.” He murmured, arching an eyebrow at her.

“I know,” she whispered, “I’m just thinking…”

“About?”

“Today.”

Loki hummed. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Theo faltered for a moment, then shook her head.

“Is there something I might do to help you rest?” Loki leaned forward until his forehead rested against Theo’s.

“Just having you here helps.” Theo shrugged, “but, um…”

“What is it?” Loki frowned, trying to catch Theo’s gaze.

“Could you, um…” Theo shimmied a bit closer, stopping just before they touched.

Relief flooded through Loki at the request. He lifted an arm and nodded, a shy smile curling up on his face. Theo rolled over and slid back until her back pressed against Loki’s chest; he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“I’m here, dove.” He whispered, burying his nose into her hair. The faint whiff of shampoo, with notes of rosemary and lavender, tickled his nose. “Whenever you need, however you need.”

He meant every word.

#loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki #loki fanfiction #loki fic #loki hurt/comfort #soft loki #loki x oc #loki comfort #when everything's made to be broken #WEMTBB #e writes stuff

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superblizzardfire · 6 months

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The Prodigal Nephew

After the Battle of New York, Bruce goes home. Bruce & Walters Fam for @bruceweek 2023 💚

For the second time that day, Bruce wakes up in a pile of rubble.

He breathes in the smell of freshly-mown grass, struggling to anchor himself as the aftermath of Hulk threatens to overwhelm him. He remembers metal bending in his hands, and Thor’s triumphant grin, and… nothing else.

Head spinning, Bruce sits up. He was lying in the remains of a wooden shed; a lawnmower is now a crumpled metal pancake beneath him. It’s afternoon – but whether it’s the same day, Bruce can’t be sure. He has no sense of time when the other guy takes over.

It takes him a few moments to realise that he knows this backyard. In fact, he spent years out here: sitting on the grass with a book, making snowmen with Jen, endless barbeques in the summer…

Bruce clambers to his feet and looks around in shock. He’s in LA. He’s home.

The back door opens and Morris Walters steps out, frowning in confusion. ‘What the hell is going – ‘ Then he sees Bruce. He stops.

A thousand thoughts flicker through Bruce’s head. He hasn’t had any contact with his family since the accident. They must have thought he’d abandoned them – or turned into a dangerous monster. This isn’t the most tactful way to tell them he’s still alive.

‘Hi, Uncle Morris,’ he whispers.

Morris drifts towards him, staring as if he’s afraid Bruce will disappear. It’s been seven years but he’s aged more than that – the moustache has remained, though. Aunt Elaine can never convince him to shave it.

An apology rises to Bruce’s lips. He shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have literally come crashing back into their lives – but Morris grabs him in a hug. ‘Good to see you, kiddo,’ he says tightly.

And Bruce understands that everything is going to be okay. He hides his face in Morris’ thick sweater and clings to him like he did when he was a kid. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he mumbles, ‘I missed you all so much…’

‘You’re here now. That’s all that matters.’

Read the rest on AO3!

#bruce banner #bruceweek2023 #bruceweek #morris walters #elaine walters #jennifer walters #blizzard writes stuff #there are no gifs of the walters fam sadly

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xirayn · 10 months

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Stonathan Week Day 6: Music AU - Lead signer Stever. Drummer Jonathan. Do I need to say more?

Flat Flam

Back in the sixties, Joyce Maldonado was a rising star in the Chicago music scene. She had started to drum on everything at a young age after seeing Viola Smith play and left Hawkins to play in Chicago almost the day after graduating high school. She might have become famous if she hadn't gotten back with her high school boyfriend, Lonnie Byers, on a trip home only to get married a few years later and pregnant shortly after that. She loved her son, though, even if her relationship with her husband was tumoltuous and her job unfufilling. Jonathan was her world, and her music lived on through him in wooden spoons on overturned pots or fingers tapping against hard surfaces.

Since a drumset was expensive while cans and buckets were plentiful, she made Jonathan a kit and bought him real drumsticks for the Christmas before her second son was born. They kept it in the shed for Jonathan to play when his parents fought, or his brother wouldn't stop crying, or his feelings got too big. It was the subject of the first photos he took that actually felt like something more than posed tableaus with prompted smiles.`

---

"Let's try a few rehearsal takes."

---

An old friend of his mother, Jim Hopper, came to visit almost five years ago. He had become a record producer in New York City, lost his daughter to cancer and his wife to grief, then moved back to Hawkins for a time before starting his own label. Steve Harrington was his first big find. The guy could do everything - vocals, guitar, keyboard, drums - but his 'friends' were leeches, as Hopper put it, with talent only good enough to be dragged along by Steve. Hopper wanted Joyce's input, and Jonathan went at her request to provide his.

Tommy's drums were immediately identified as the problem. Joyce suggested Jonathan play, just to confirm, and things went sideways when Carol was unable to keep up. Calling her out angered Tommy and, just like Jonathan learned insecure men did from his father, gave Steve an ultimatum of them or his music. Steve chose them only to later regret it and blame Jonathan, leading to a confrontation on the streer that got Jonathan arrested and Steve a black eye.

Ultimately, however, Steve regretted that, as well, and, after an apology and a long talk, they started over.

---

"Count us in, Byers."

---

They recorded an album with Hopper while playing anywhere that would book them. Their first single never gained much traction beyond the local college radio stations, however, but it formed the foundation of something neither of them gave a name to.

They took a break after that. Hopper put his efforts into a singer who went by El while Jonathan focused on his photography. Steve tried higher education upon his parents' request only to flunk his second semester and end up slinging ice cream to pay the bills.

That brought him to Robin, however, and he inexplicably bonded with the aspiring singer-songwriter. Jonathan had developed his own inexplicable bond with Hopper's assistant, Nancy, so he didn't question it. It only mattered that Steve wanted to make music with him - and Robin, but Jonathan was fine with that - again.

Jonathan was a little less fine with the addition of Eddie Munson. The guy seemed to just turn up one day and his style was nothing like Steve's. He brought out something in Steve no one else did, however, so Jonathan kept his skepticism to himself.

It was really jealousy, anyway, and admitting that would end up naming the thing they didn't name.

---

"One, two, three-"

---

Jonathan keeps the beat, reigning in the erratic energy of Eddie's snorting riffs and screaming slides. It is a back and forth, a steady rythym giving Eddie the slack to break free until it is time to pull him back with a fill to keep him from overtaking Steve's vocals that soar through the warmth of Robin's harmony and guitar.

The result is what critics later call "a chimera of genres" that "cleverly blends Harrington's new-wave pop vibes with Buckley's folksy sound over the battle of Munson's metal influence against Byers's more punk drums".

---

"You okay, man?"

Jonathan looks over at Steve. They went out for drinks after the recording session.

Naturally, it turned into a party. Anywhere either Steve or Eddie go turns into a party. Jonathan hates parties, but he has been stuck in Steve's orbit since that first 'I'm sorry'.

"Yeah, no, I'm good. I just-" Jonathan leans on the brick of the alley he tried to escape to. He's surprised Steve came after him. "I feel like an afterthought in there."

Steve leans on the wall beside him. His tongue wets the bow of his lips. The unnamed thing lingers between them.

"You aren't," Steve assures, leaning over to nudge their shoulders together. "Actually, if anything, you are the thought. Without that knock on the head you gave me, I would probably have stuck with Tommy and Carol and ended up in a house on a dead end street living out a dead end life."

Jonathan's soft laugh is interrupted by fingers on his jaw that turn his face towards Steve. His breath is caught by the affection in Steve's hazel eyes and the promises of his smile. It had been short-sighted to think giving the thing between them a name made it more real than it already was.

"If you want to leave," Steve whispers, "say the word and we're gone."

Jonathan swallows. The lyrics of their one single before their hiatus, written by Steve, plays through his mind:

A thump on the head and I'm crawling forward, crawling slowly to you.

Jonathan takes Steve's hand to pull him in. The unnamed thing is said silently by the way their lips fit together, warm and familiar. Jonathan's hand rests against Steve's sternum to feel the beat of his heart. He memorizes it for a later time when he had his sticks in hand.

"Let's go."

#stonathanweek2023 #stonathan week #stonathan #steve harrington #jonathan byers #music au

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ratgirlt850 · 3 months

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Spiderman-T290

A world where evil runs rampant through a futuristic city. Miguel o hara now older has a one last attempt at saving the world from destruction builds a robot, Adam walker, to go back in time to the year 1995 and stop the creation of alchmex. Read this story where spider man meets terminator and the fight for Justice.

Chapter one: the first night

A flash of light, bright swirling colors fills the void. A rip in time and space opens to an alley way.

It’s cold and wet…

The rain pouring down on my shoulders, running down my back.

For the first time I felt.

My body shuddered. I wrapped my arms around myself for cover.

The water drops dampened my hair and I reached for my watch to give myself clothes. The black hoodie and baggy pants slowly formed around me, giving me some shelter from the cold. I don’t like the cold for it being my first feeling it’s not my favorite.

The hoodie and pants slowly got soaked too. Not much help. I needed to find my living quarters. There is supposed to be a small apartment I can live in. It’s in the program. I tap my watch and then a blue pathway appears in front of me. I follow the pathway into the side walk. As I was walking something hit my side. “Use your eyes asshole”. A middle aged man said with a scowl on his face. I ignored it since it wasn’t in my program to acknowledge this person. A quick scan could tell me he was not important to the mission. So I looked away from him setting my gaze back onto the blue line.

I follow it down the street where many people bumped and pushed me. Cars honking and splashing the side walk with rain. People running to escape the cold.

Many things to scan and discover but I couldn’t be bothered I needed to focus on the blue line.

A women looks at me she is wearing an unusual outfit that barely covers herself. She shows to be 26 from my scans. No income. She grabs my shoulder and calls me to follow that if I had money. I shrugged the woman off and followed on my path. A little while and I had made it to my destination. A small apartment that had no residency except for an old couple at the bottom. I would move in here and stay for as long as this mission takes. money had already been sent to the landlord so there should be no problems. I walk to the door and see that the door nob was old and rusted. The whole apartment looked that way. As I opened the door the carpet was stained with so many different substances.

Chocolate milk, Pepsi, pizza, tea, coffee, paint, mud and the list goes on. It was a dark green rug that laid on the dusty wooden floor. As I stepped in, the floor creaked. I looked around surveilling my surroundings. I noticed the overflowing mail box and the empty ones next to it. I zoomed in to get a closer look at some of the letters. New York Times Magazine, bills, Christmas catalogs. I looked to my left to see what appears to be the old couples door. An old reef hanging from it pine needles shedding on the ground.

The flight of stairs peaked my interest next I took a few more steps into the apartment closing the door behind me. I took a hold of the railing climbing up the stairs. A door painted a dark green to match the dark green rug. The hinges rusted. I pressed my watch to get the key. the key materializes hovering above my watch slowly forming. As it finishes the key hovers waiting for me to take it as I do the luminescent glow fades and leaves me with a plain dirty key.

As I unlock the door I am faced with a dingy room that I can only guess is the living room.

A kitchen is off to the side that holds a fridge, sink, and oven. I won’t really need any of them. A short hall way leads to a room. In the room was a bathroom but I won’t be needing that either.

I step towards the window and watched.

I have nothing to do for this first night so I will spend the time gathering information.

As I watch the busy street the rain softens but the city does not.

My mission starts tomorrow.

Thank you so much for reading!!! This is my first story so I know I can improve in my writing skills I never really was good at English lol. But I hope my story is still enjoyable.

This is the first chapter it doesn’t go into too much detail about before he was sent but that will happen. Miguel isn’t the main character of the story I also want to put that out there my oc is. I will be doing a drawing of my Adam some time so u guys can get a feel of what he looks like too! This is inspired by the terminator and of course the spider man movies. I really love both of these series so I thought it would be cool to mix them! Anyways sry for yapping hope u enjoyed!! 😽❤️

#spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #my ocs #ocs #comics #terminator #robots #time travel #spiderman into the spiderverse #arnold schwarzenegger #stories

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kpforpresident · 2 years

Note

37 for the kiss thing please

Eyes watering from the biting cold winds that whipped endlessly through the streets of New York, Lexa toed her shoes off as soon as she had crossed the warm threshold. She shivered slightly as she carefully unwrapped the ice-flecked scarf from around her neck and shed her frosty peacoat on the old wooden coat rack that stood crookedly beside the dark green door, blowing forced warm air into her hands as she quietly trod on her socked feet on the worn hardwood floors.

Sadia, their quiet black cat, chirped softly as she trotted into the entryway, twining herself happily around her human’s legs as she flopped on Lexa’s feet, sharp claws gleaming in the lamplight as she stretched and flexed her paws in contentment. Lexa smiled softly, scooping up the cat to give her a kiss before gently plopping her onto her window perch.

“Babe? You home?” Lexa called into the suspiciously quiet house as she wandered into the living room, pulling the large silver pin out of her hair as she walked further into the cozy brownstone. Wild curls tumbled over her shoulder as she absently flipped through the pile of junk mail that she had scooped from their ice-crusted mailbox as she had stumbled through their foray.

“It’s all just random Chick-Fil-A coupons from the guy who used to live here, that and targeted voting ads,” she grumbled to the large burnt orange abstract painting on the wall (her favourite work of Clarke’s) as she dumped it all into the recycling before gently opening the slightly ajar door on her left, muted golden light spilling from under the door. Soft jazz music drifted out of the opening, curling into the air. Once Lexa had cracked the door further she leaned on the doorframe, smiling at the scene before her.

A paint flecked hand reached out unseeingly for the glass of ruby-red wine sat on a small wooden table, just within arm’s reach of a large, clearly well loved easel. A large canvas was propped onto it- a swirling scene of crystalline blues, bright yellows, and emerald greens were splashed across the taunt surface. Clarke sat on a rickety wooden stool in front of this explosion of colours, clad only in a paint-splattered white tee-shift that skimmed the tops of her thighs. Her bare feet were hooked comfortably in the rungs of the chair, messy golden bun barely contained by the hairelastic that strained to hold the wild mane. Their record player sat stacked on a record-filled milk crate in the corner, the prized thrifting possession from an entire day spent in the Chelsea Flea market. They had staggered home with it between them, setting it up triumphantly in the living room as they had slow-danced quietly together, heads pressed close as they rotated to the crackly lyrics of Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love.

As Lexa looked on quietly, Clarke cocked her head, muttering quietly to herself as she sipped the wine absentmindedly in her left hand, sticking the blue-coated paintbrush that sat in her right hand to sit jauntily behind her ear. She placed the wineglass back onto the table- Lexa winced as the glass tettered right on the lip of the corner- and stood up slowly, placing her hands in the middle of her back as she stretched, catlike. She caught sight of Lexa out of her peripherals, jumping slightly as a wide grin split across her face.

“Hey, baby- I didn’t hear you come in,” Clarke says, scooping her glass back into her hand as she pads over to the door, nuzzling into Lexa as she melts into her slightly taller frame. Lexa folds her arms around her paint-coated wife, tugging teasingly on an exposed bra strap as she squeezed her. Lexa laces their fingers together as she gently pulls Clarke away from her studio, gently reminding her that even Brooklyn painters require sustenance.

They order Pad Thai and red curry from the place on the corner that they both like and sit cross legged in the living room, sipping from frosted beer bottles as they chat about their respective days. At once point while Clarke is gesturing emphatically, talking at the speed of light about the painting class she had taught earlier in the day, Lexa leans over and gently pulls the slim paint brush out from behind Clarke’s hair and brushes, one, two, three light kisses across her lips. Clarke stumbles over her sentence, leaning over to chase Lexa as she moves laughingly back to her seat. Their lips slot back together as Lexa shifts back towards Clarke, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling away and smiling into her beer bottle.

“I, what was that for?” Clarke splutters, laughing slightly as a slightly pink tinge dapples her cheeks.

Lexa places her cheek in her hand, twirling a mouthful of noodles around her fork as she says sweetly, “Oh, just because I love you.”

Clarke smiles into her share of the Pad Thai before tackling Lexa playfully to the carpet, Lexa’s laugh ringing out through their living room as she topples backwards.

#baby's first whack at au #i hope i did ok #clexa #kiss prompt #thanks for asking anon #this is sappy love hours apparently #even tho i am so very single #kpprompts

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ebookporn · 1 year

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We’re drowning in old books. But getting rid of them is heartbreaking.

‘They’re more like friends than objects,’ one passionate bookseller says. What are we to do with our flooded shelves?

by Karen Heller

On a recent weekday afternoon, Bruce Albright arrives in the Wonder Book parking lot, pops the trunk of his Camry and unloads two boxes of well-worn books. “It’s sad. Some of these I’ve read numerous times,” he says.

Albright, 70, has been at this for six months, shedding 750 books at his local library and at this Frederick, Md., store. The rub: More than 1,700 volumes remain shelved in the retired government lawyer’s nearby home, his collection lovingly amassed over a half-century.

But Albright is on a mission. “I cleaned out my parents’ home,” he says. “I don’t want to do to my kids what my parents did to me.”

He’s far from alone. Books are precious to their owners. Their worth, emotional and monetary, is comparably less to anyone else.

Humorist and social critic Fran Lebowitz owns 12,000 books, mostly fiction, kept in 19th-century wooden cases with glass doorsin her New York apartment. “Constitutionally, I am unable to throw a book away. To me, it’s like seeing a baby thrown in a trash can,” she says. “I am a glutton for print. I love books in every way. I love them more than most human beings.” If there’s a book she doesn’t want, Lebowitz, 72, will spend months deciding whom to give it to.

#bookstores #used books #book publishing #authors #writers #librarians

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darke15 · 2 years

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Rewriting Eden

Hello all! As some of you know, BS:A recently hit 500,000 words, which—to me—is a pretty damn big milestone.

As such, my original plan was to celebrate by recreating the New Eden House, Boone's Olympus Apartment, & Duke's New York Apartment in the only house design program I have...the Sims 4.

As you may have noticed, that has not happened.

Between scaling issues, design issues, and realizing that what I see in my head isn't actually a feasible house...I ran into some problems.

That being said, I still wanted to celebrate slightly as I continue to try [for the second year in a row] to build Eden. Because apparently I have issues putting what I see into 'real life' I have decided to rewrite part of a chapter of BS:A. More specifically, the part where Bucky and Ghost arrive in the New Eden house for the first time.

When I first wrote this chapter, I was actually on a road trip. I saw a cool house on the way and used another house I'd seen back at home and meshed them together. Which didn't actually work well and when I think back to the New Eden house, it's not what I see.

And, thus, the update...

┍━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━┑

The ten miles to the house flew by as you raced past green fields of spring wheat that rippled in the wind and silver hills of rolling sagebrush. The mountains that ringed the valley were silhouetted by the sun but their snow-capped peaks glimmered in the warm rays and a cool breeze rustled through the pine before swirling through the valley.

Gravel crunched under the Firebird’s tires as the dirt road transitioned to the property’s driveway.

You slowed slightly, watching the billowing dust behind you slither through brush as you wound through the winding drive before coming to a slow stop in front of a tall chain link fence that was securely kept closed with a length of chain and a padlock. Your gaze flicked over the abandoned place.

The fence encased four different buildings. A trio of old, rusted grain bins sat against the front corner of the fence, functioning mostly as a roost for mourning doves than actual storage bins. A crooked storage shed leaned heavily against them through the fence, denting it as it crumpled.

Just off the drive was a small wooden barn with fading and chipping red paint. Its doors, which once sat on castors and a rail above the doorway, were now sitting lopsided on the ground.

Sitting beside the house was what was left of your Uncle’s garage. It was built of wood and cinder blocks, both had been discolored by the rust coming off the steel roofing panels that had wrinkled and folded in the violent summer winds and storms.

You frowned to yourself, popping open the console and digging through it to find the padlock key as your eyes finally landed on the house.

It was partially hidden behind birch and maple trees that had tangled together over the years and had new leaves budding on their branches. The farmhouse was two stories that stood on its original red brick foundations. White painted wood siding had chipped and cracked in the hot sun and freezing winters that blew through the valley with a vengeance.

Only a few panels of the metal roofing had been blown off the roof and one of the chimneys had collapsed, its bricks were sprinkled over the yellow, unwatered grass of the yard.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, earning Bucky’s attention as you slipped from the car and you feet landed on familiar ground for the first time in years. He followed your gaze as you took a tentative step toward the locked gate.

The light wind that hummed between the buildings also gently swayed the swing that sat on the front porch as you unlocked the padlock and tugged the chain free before kicking open the gate.

A sigh worked its way through your throat as you rolled your eyes at yourself.

You’d underestimated the toll the elements would take on your home. You’d nearly forgotten how unforgiving New Eden could be if it was left to its own devices.

With a low grumble, you ducked back into the Firebird and carefully pulled it into the yard to get a better look at the house.

Thick tendrils of nightshade had trailed up the sides of the house. Deep green leaves with purple flowers and bright red berries had overtaken the white siding as it wrapped around to the front of the house. It curled up the columns of the porch, anchoring itself to the metal roof above the porch and climbing onto the second story.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” you mumbled, earning Barnes’ attention again. His calculating eyes turned on your face, raking over you before he winced as dried weeds scratched against the undercarriage of the Firebird. He glared down at the floor before glancing back up to the house as you came to a stop in front of it and shoved the car into park, “C’mon.”

Bucky followed you out of the car, his eyes narrowing as you both took in the damage. You took a slow step over the yellowed grass, the stubble crunching under your boots as you shoved your hands into your pockets to find the keys for the front door.

“It’ll be a project,” you said after a moment, trying to force a smile to your lips but instead a grimace curled to your features as Bucky came to stand beside you, “That’s for damn sure.”

“It looks like shit.” He responded without hesitation. You failed to notice the smirk that was playing on his face as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Fuck you,” you snapped with a glare and a pout before your jaw set into place.

The smile on Bucky’s lips grew as a scoff puffed from his nose and he nudged you playfully. Your glare softened as he did and you relaxed back with a roll of your eyes. A small smile played on your face as he took a hesitant step toward the front door before spinning slowly to look over the property once more.

The flowerbeds that were set in front of the porch had grown past their rock barriers, the native flowers beginning to take over the yard. Soft purple lupine swayed in the wind, sheltering orange poppies and white phlox that crept up the brick foundations.

Bucky leaned against the railing on the stairs, wincing as it cracked slightly and you carefully stepped up onto the porch to the front door.

You paused in your stride as you lightly strode up the stairs before a yelp worked through your throat and one of the wooden boards snapped in half. You stumbled back for only a moment before Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist and kept you from tumbling to the ground.

He held you in the air for a second, looking over you as you clung to him and tried to pry your boot out of the board.

“You good?” He hummed, keeping you steady as you finally forced your boot from the hole.

“Yeah,” you muttered as he lowered you to the ground, “Watch your step.”

“No shit.” Bucky nodded as you brushed yourself off and he took a long step directly onto the porch. He paused before he turned back to you, glancing at the railing as it jiggled back and forth before holding out his hand and helping you up the stairs onto the porch.

“Thanks,” you said, slowly making your way across the creaking wooden planks of the porch toward the front door.

The yellow paint on the door had been shielded from the seasons. The stained glass that had been carefully designed and laid by your grandmother in the door was protected by cardboard and duct tape that had seen better days. The windows on either side of the door had the same treatment, protecting them from the weather but not providing cover for the flower boxes that were hanging onto the windowsills for dear life.

You sighed to yourself, forcing your gaze and thoughts away from the growing list of things you had to do to get the house back in working order.

Twirling the key through your fingers, you shoved it into the lock before pausing as it clicked.

You hoped the inside wasn’t as bad as the outside, you couldn’t take the thought of adding anything else to the list.

Taking another deep breath, you turned the handle—

Nothing.

You frowned, pushing against the door lightly—

Nope.

The door didn’t budge.

A low, frustrated groan growled through your teeth as you head tipped forward until it hit the door with a resounding thud, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Let me try.” Bucky offered from behind you, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the porch swing along with his cap and glove that had hidden his metal hand.

You waved him off, glaring at the door with a vengeance, “Be my guest.”

His flesh hand wrapped around the handle and he shoved his shoulder into the door—

Nothing.

“Don’t you dare break it,” you warned, glancing between him and his metal hand as he wrapped it around the handle.

“I won’t.”

He pressed against the door again, putting his weight behind it and earning a light squeak from the hinges but, other than that—

Nothing.

Bucky leveled a glare at the door, rolling up his sleeves and widening his stance slightly.

“Buck—,” you warned him again, your hand reaching up to his shoulder before he smacked you away.

“It moved a little bit,” he drawled, licking his lips as he turned toward the door again. He held the door knob with his metal hand but held it at arm’s length as he wound up to shove himself against the door again, “It just needs a bit more—”

Another grimace worked to your face as Bucky threw himself at the door before colliding with it…

And the entire thing came off its hinges.

A squeak came from your throat as you jumped away from the cloud of dust Bucky disappeared in and the entire house rattled as he landed with a thud. You waited to hear the shattering of glass or the telltale crack of a floorboard being snapped in half.

But there was nothing.

You poked your head inside the empty doorway as the dust subsided, your gaze flitting over the damage before a laugh spilled from your lips.

Bucky had landed atop the door, he’d attempted to catch himself but had instead face-planted and was covered in a thick layer of dust that had been kicked up into the air. He grumbled to himself, rolling to his back with a coughed growl, “This isn’t funny.”

You answered him with another laugh before choking on the dust that was wafting from the house. Bucky rolled his eyes, glaring at you before you offered your hand and helped him to his feet. You brushed off his back as he leaned over to grab the door and gently prop it against the hall closet before you took a slow step inside.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you took a few more steps into the house, whether that was because of the dust still floating on the light draft and danced on the sunlight that had crept its way through cracks in the walls or if it was because of the sudden nerves that worked through your body…you weren’t sure.

What you did know was that the house was in almost pristine condition.

Even if it was covered in dust, the furniture and decorations were practically untouched.

You were finally home.

A sigh of relief blew through you as you took another look around and felt Bucky stop beside you.

“Well, Buck,” you said softly, nudging him lightly as he followed your gaze, “Welcome home.”

┕━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━┙

» CHAPTER 20 // RETURNING TO EDEN

✪ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ : Aғᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ

♜♠ Tʜᴇ Sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ & Tʜᴇ Sᴘʏ

⧗ Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴅ Rᴏᴏᴍ

» Jᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇ sɪᴅᴇ Tᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━

CAPTAIN'S LOG: ‣Partial Rewrite: September 11, 2022 // Last Updated: September 11, 2022 ‣Minor Update ‣Format Update ‣+1000 Words ‣Part of the 500,000 word celebration

━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━

@thexbookxnerdx // @autumn-em // @fadingbakeryfarmoperator // @rhymingtree // @itsmeatballworld // @kippykasey // @turtleedovee // @kamalymaly // @onewithnomightypowers // @y-napotat // @riahmcq // @thequeenofthefallen // @jesuswasnotawhiteman // @fnnshelbys // @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul // @banbananas // @beans-and-toast // @violetvictoriabarnes // @oikawasblueearbud // @itsarussian // @mrsbarnesinmyimagination // @oopsiedoopsie23 // @luhuhzy // @heyimjustlaura12 // @moonlightreader649 // @petalren // @sighmurderbot // @soldat-petala // @useless-creature-213 // @xiyouchan // @kaiblog50 // @aftermatharchives

#chapter 20 // returning to eden #bs:u updates #battle scarred aftermath #winter solider x reader #winter soldier x reader #bucky barns x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x you

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isolinia · 2 years

Text

WIP Wednesday [ENG] Oct 12

Notes: English is not my mother tongue. Though this excerpt is in English to help me practice, the whole fanfiction is due to be written in French only, sorry. Original characters aren't named yet.

Loki x OFC ☕ soulmates AU (ENGLISH VERSION)

The day I turned 21, my uncle and my aunt gave me a hideous necklace.

The big, opaque black glass ball, attached to a silver chain, was placed in a wooden box.

I frowned and looked from the pendant to the only family I had left.

My uncle had his usual grumpy expression and shifty eyes. My aunt was moved to tears. Her eyes were shining with a new brightness. A hand on her heart, the other on her mouth, she was holding back her tears.

My eyebrows moved to a more neutral horizontal alignment. The last thing I wanted was to hurt the couple who raised me like the daughter they had never had.

― Thanks huh... It's pretty.

― It's ugly, you mean, mumbled my uncle. Never understood their obsession with soulmates!

― Stop it, you old sourpuss, scolded my aunt but her voice was kind. Should I remind you it worked for us?

― Mmm, answered my uncle to avoid having to admit she was right.

He went to the kitchen dragging his feet, leaving my aunt and I alone.

― Soulmates? I repeated. (The word seemed too meaningful to pass by.)

She looked at me with a tender look.

― It's family tradition, she explained. (She retrieved the necklace from its box.) I was given one, your father too, and our mother before us, and our grandfather, and so on for centuries. And now, it's your turn.

She lifted the glass ball at my eye level and spun it between her fingers. The smooth surface was so opaque no light was reflected off it.

― I know your parents would have loved to give it to you themselves...

Her eyes were shining again, and I knew she was about to shed tears.

― How does it work? I asked to bring her from the past to the present.

― It's simple. When Fate has chosen your soulmate, a colour or a symbol appears in the glass ball.

― That's it?

― That's it, and that's enough.

Her laughing eyes were back.

― What made you know who was your soulmate?

― A symbol: a grouchy old bear!

She burst into laughter, and I laughed too when the grouchy old bear in question popped his head round the kitchen door and asked us grumpily why we were laughing like geese.

The giggles died out when he disappeared again in the other room.

My aunt put the necklace in her opened hand and reached out.

― Put it on. One day, the pendant will shine for you, you'll see.

Sceptical, I placed the chain around my neck. The glass ball, black like the eye of a dead crow, rested on my sweater. I brushed it with my fingers for the first time and it began to shine. The glow became intense and coloured.

― Is it supposed to do that? I cried, alarmed.

― No way, gasped my aunt. Really? Fate has already chosen your soulmate!

― What? Are you kidding me?

I looked back at the magical glass sphere.

Little by little, the opaque black became translucent and emerald green. A drawing appears, increasingly clear. I could make out a golden helmet adorned with two horns.

All the air seemed to rush out of the living room. I knew what this colour and this symbol stood for.

I looked up to my aunt. Her brows were wrinkled and she looked angry. She knew too.

― What does that mean? I gasped.

Back into the living room, my uncle answered instead of her.

― That, honey, means you're in trouble.

A golden helmet. Ram horns. Dark green.

No doubt.

Loki was my soulmate. Him, the monster responsible for the death of my parents during the attack on New York in 2011.

I was destined to fall in love with the person I hated the most in the world.

#wip wednesday #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #soulmates au #Loki x OFC #Loki x original female character #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #mcu fic #mcu fanfiction #avengers fanfic #mcu fanfic

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mcgiggers · 10 days

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New York - May 2024

Just back from action-packed Frieze art week festivities in the Big Apple which featured stops at Future Fair, Nada New York and Frieze New York. The art fair spree dovetailed nicely with the launch of the major post-war, contemporary, and modern auction previews scheduled for later this month at Sotheby’s, Christie’s and Phillips. The fairs and auction previews together served up fantastic art viewing opportunities for art fans and aficionados alike. And, as if that wasn’t enough given the mere 24 hours of viewing time on hand, serendipity delivered the icing on the cake with the timely opening of Tammi Campbell’s marvelous gallery exhibit of recent paintings and sculptures.

The Fairs

Frieze New York was the marquee fair, and it celebrated its 12th year as part of the cultural landscape in the city and its fourth outing at The Shed since relocating from Randall Island. The evolution of the fair since then has been considerable. From a corporate perspective, it is now part of famed Ari Emanuel’s sports and entertainment conglomerate, and, on the art front, the offering got slicker and more rarefied, featuring top-tier highly curated contemporary galleries and works. This year’s boutique-sized edition of 65 or so exhibitors included global mega galleries and international and local blue chippers. Standout works included: Nate Lowman’s “Golf Course Marilyn”, 2024, oil and alkyd on linen (50 x 30 in.); Uri Aran’s “Everything (Timeline)”, 2023, gesso, acrylic, oil, oil pastel, graphite, wood stain, clear polyurethane, charcoal, color pencil, china marker, and mixed media on canvas (87.25 x 42 x 1.5 in.); and, Richard Aldrich’s “Untitled”, 2022, oil and wax on panel (20.5 x 13.13 in.).

NADA New York has long been synonymous with contemporary and emerging art, and the fair continued to build on its reputation as being the go-to event for up-and-coming galleries. For this year’s edition, over 92 galleries, art spaces and non-profit organizations convened in the heart of Chelsea to showcase their stars, including, remarkably, 34 first time presenters. The show highlights included: a pair of works by Shaan Syed “Gorilla, Geurilla” and “To, Too, Two”, 2023, oil and paper collage on linen (35.3 x 31.5 in., each); Emma Schwartz’s “Thought You Should Know (again)”, 2024, oil, charcoal and chalk pastel on canvas (68 x 48 in.); and, Jule Korneffel’s “Alex’s Garden”, 2023, acrylic on canvas (82 x 80 in.).

Future Fair, on a relative basis, was the newest kid on the block, yet the four-year old upstart exuded a palpable vibe and excitement. With a focus on emerging galleries, the contemporary art fair featured over 100 artists from 26 countries, collaborating with over 60 local and international art dealers. Collectively creating a very accessible environment, the artists, works, and gallerists fostered a strong sense of engagement with fairgoers. Highlights included: Gwen Hardie’s assembled triptych “05.29.23”, pure venetian red and naples yellow on indian red, “09.15.23”, darkest cadmium red on indian red and “06.19.23”, lavender on warm umber (24 x 24 in., each); Beck Lowry’s “Red Threat (after Aseem)”, 2023, painted weaving on handmade wooden armature (plywood, crochet thread, oil paint) (12.5 x .75 x 1 in.); and Carolyn Case’s “Night Kitchen”, 2024, chalk pastel on pastel card with artist frame, ceramic porcelain and glaze (17 x 20 in.).

The Auction Previews

The previews for the prominent spring edition of the post-war, contemporary, and modern art auctions at Sotheby’s, Christie’s and Phillips opened to the public and welcomed everyone from the most serious global big hitters gearing up to shell out whatever it takes to walk home with a masterwork to casual and ardent fans savoring the opportunity to look at phenomenal works before they again disappear into private collections. As always, the previews were masterfully staged in wonderful spaces. Supersized showstoppers included: Andy Warhol’s “Flowers”, 1964, acrylic, fluorescent paint and silkscreen ink on linen (82 x 82 in.); Frank Stella’s “Lettre sur les sourds et muets II”, 1974, synthetic polymer paint on canvas (140.88 x 140.88 in.); Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ “(Untitled) America #3”, 1992, 42 light bulbs, porcelain light sockets and electrical cord (length 504 in.); and, Rashid Johnson’s “Anxious Red Painting September 24th”, 2020, oil on linen (72.25 x 96.25 in.). Beyond the headliners, marvelous less conspicuous works were sprinkled throughout. Memorable ones included: Brice Marden’s “Small Parchment Study #1”, 1999, oil on natural vellum stretched over plywood; Henry Taylor’s “Cruel Kids”, 2005, acrylic on canvas (28.5 x 28 in.); and Agnes Martin’s “Earth II”, 1959, oil on canvas (71.33 x 48 in.).

Tammi Campbell Exhibit

In between fairs and auction previews, Tammi Campbell’s As Long As It Lasts exhibit kicked off and featured a walk through with the artist who provided fascinating insights into her practice and the specifics about works on view. With the continuous evolution of her creative re-engineering processes and next gen wrappings, Campbell continued to push appropriation to new heights, all while making the work uniquely her own. Highlights included: the Cy Twombly inspired “Untitled (1970)”, 2024, chalk on blackboard with walnut frame (48.75 x 59.25 x 1.4 in.); and a replica of a famous Andy Warhol work with a twist “Double Elvis (Ferus Type) with Bubble Wrap and Packing Tape”, 2024, acrylic on canvas (81.25 x 58.25 x 1.25 in.).

As spirited art week festivities unfolded across the city, local sportsfans were also whipped up into a frenzy as both their hometown Rangers and Knicks advanced to the second round of their respective playoff series. On the hoops front, with the Knicks now set to tip off against the Pacers, Dino fans can also partake in some playoff excitement (by extension) as former Raptor stars Pascal Siakam and OG Anunoby, sporting Pacers and Knicks uniforms, respectively, are pitted against each other. The exuberance of “Crazy Eyes” versus the zen of “OG-Won Kenobe” - one of the two will get to the conference finals which should provide some solace and maybe even bring a smile to Dino nation.

For more information on any of the artists or works mentioned, the upcoming auctions, and the fate of former Dino stars, “Just Google It”.

There you have it sportsfans,

MC Giggers

(https://mcgiggers.tumblr.com) Reporter’s Certification

I, MC Giggers, hereby certify that the views expressed in this report accurately reflect my personal views and that no part of my compensation was or will be, directly or indirectly, related to the specific views expressed herein.

I also certify that I may or may not own, directly or indirectly, works of artists mentioned in this report and that I may or may not have a strong bias for such artists and, more generally, for “Pictures of Nothing”.

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