#Chair Wars 2024

[lifewithdedee]

Laundry

[fans4wga]

26 July update from WGA's Chris Keyser

From the WGA: With SAG-AFTRA now on strike and new levels of solidarity across all Hollywood unions, we are witnessing the spectacular failure of the AMPTP’s negotiating strategy. In this video, WGA Negotiating Committee Co-Chair Chris Keyser lays out what this moment means and how we move forward. To learn more about the WGA strike, visit https://www.wgastrike.org.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Fellow members of the WGA East and West. It's been a while since our last video and quite a bit has happened in the meantime. So on behalf of the negotiating committee and leadership, I wanted to give you an update on where we are and what the near future at least is likely to bring.

We've been walking side by side on picket lines in New York and Los Angeles for a little over 12 weeks now. Only now we're joined by thousands upon thousands of members of SAG-AFTRA who, like us, have finally had enough.

This is the endpoint and the fruit of the AMPTP’s game plan. For 11 weeks, they negotiated with everyone but us. They claimed it was just practicality, that they could only do one thing at a time, which is not normally a point of pride. But events have made clear what we knew from the start: that not only was it a strategy, it was their only strategy. Negotiate a deal with a single guild and impose that deal on every other guild and union in Hollywood, whether it addresses the needs of those unions or not, all with the implicit threat: if you want more, strike for it.

Wow. It’s their 2007-8 playbook applied to 2023 as if nothing has changed, as if the accumulation of economic insults and injuries inflicted on us over the past decade would be borne in perpetual silence, as if the giant of labor had not awakened. But it has. And you only need to look as far as the front gates of every studio in LA and New York to see the evidence.

Two unions on strike willing to exercise their power, despite the pain, to ensure their members get the contract they deserve. For us, that means addressing the relentless mistreatment of screenwriters, which has only been exacerbated by the move to streaming; the continued denial of full MBA protection to comedy variety and other appendix A writers when they work in streaming; and the self-destructive unsustainable dismantling of the process by which episodic television is made and episodic television writers are paid.

It means addressing the existential threat of AI and the insufficiency of streaming residual formulas, including the need for transparency and a success-based component. All of these will need to be addressed for there to be a deal because in this strike it is our power and not their pattern that matters, not their strategy. Their strategy has failed them. Now they're in the midst of a streaming war with each other, an admittedly difficult transition. And as they face the future, their interests and business models could not be more different from Disney to Sony to Netflix to Amazon.

We root for their success, all of them. They root for each other's failure. We are the creative ammunition through which they will succeed. They are each other's apex predators. And yet, in a singular shared dedication to denying labor, they have shackled themselves together in what increasingly seems like a mutual suicide pact, as the 2023-24 broadcast season and the 2024-25 movie schedule and its streaming shows disappear, melt away week by week.

So what does this mean? What does it mean going forward? How do you play chess against an opponent who insists on screaming checkmate at every move regardless of how the board looks and the game is going?

You stay firm, you stay resolved, because our cause is no less existential than when we started and our leverage is increasing every day. Alone we withheld our labor with the support of our union siblings and the Teamsters and IATSE and the Crafts, we were able to delay the vast majority of production. Now with SAG-AFTRA on strike, those few studio projects that remained have also shut down. And it's not just the obvious delays. If this strike drags on, it's the actors with conflicting obligations and the directors and the double-booked studio facilities and release date chaos that the companies must now also contend with. Some of their most valuable product could well be delayed for years.

Add to that, no promotion of movies or television shows and famous faces on the picket lines and social media speaking directly to their customers. For the tech companies and the mega corporations, that should be their nightmare scenario: WGA and SAG-AFTRA side by side. Our bargaining agenda may not be identical, but our cause is the same. Our army of labor, defending labor has increased 17-fold in the past two weeks alone.

Even so, even with all this wind at our backs this negotiation won't happen overnight. It's not because the negotiations themselves are so complex. Once the companies fully engage, it could go very quickly, but because their strategy of many decades has just fallen apart and they didn't see it coming, and it's going to take them a minute to regroup, 'cause the companies have things to work out internally, and saying no to labor in unison is a lot easier than saying yes. So either together or separately, as their divergent interests might suggest, they will come back to us, despite their understandable concern about how they've navigated this transition to streaming, which is on their heads and not ours; and their worries about costs and their worries about Wall Street; despite this being a season of doom and gloom, none of them are walking away from the riches of this business, and certainly not over the equitable minimum compensation to writers.

They didn't get the deal they wanted; that's fine, it happens all the time. They're not taking their ball and going home over it. And since we know they come from union families themselves, and since they've denied that “even-in-Hollywood-you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me” ugliness of threatening to starve us out and leave us homeless (which we assume they understand also means making our children homeless,) they will come back to us. Although I will say they took a long time to deny that statement, longer than I would have had it been ascribed to me.

But what does it matter? You can starve a labor force slowly or quickly. The effect is the same. It's not like day rates for comedy variety writers and endless free drafts for screenwriters in exchange for a single paid one in four-week mini-rooms isn't cruelty. It's just cruelty written in contract language instead of a press quote.

So what can we expect from the companies as all of this plays itself out? They will try to convince Wall Street that taking a strike, prolonging it unnecessarily, losing their content stream in the process—that all of that is just smart business and no reason for investor concern. We will be talking to Wall Street too, and reminding them that for all these companies, all of 'em including Netflix, the bill, the price for making nothing, will eventually come due. And Wall Street is listening already. Here's Michael Pachter, managing director of equity research at Wedbush on Yahoo Finance the other day: “I think the studios are completely wrong on this one. Content is their lifeblood. They're feeling really foolish about this."

Wall Street isn't the only one listening. We've been talking to union pension funds too about the risks the companies are taking. We talked to CalPERS, the largest public pension plan in the country, talked about the loss of programming and the cost to the industry, and we heard strong support from its board for our struggle and the promise that the companies will be hearing from them, from CalPERS, and demanding answers on behalf of its 2 million members.

To us, of course, they will continue to plead temporary poverty, but we know the drill. These companies support billions into the streaming wars and taken short-term losses these past three years, because they know that to the winner will go the spoils. We're patient, will they share that with us when the time comes? What are the chances?

Since 2017, the last time the studios negotiated with us outside of COVID, the big six companies alone have made $150 billion in profits off our work, while they slashed our pay and degraded our working conditions. Maybe if they had shared a tiny piece of that then, made $1 billion or so less, this year wouldn't seem so costly. As it is, there is no iron law that these companies are entitled to record profits every year, and it isn't some great travesty if their shareholders or their CEOs get a slightly smaller slice of the massive profits we helped create if some balance is restored.

Look, no one denies that corporations exist to make a profit and no one wants our employers to be profitable more than we do, but the singular pursuit of corporate profits to the exclusion of their social and human cost is a real problem in this country—it’s a real problem. A corporation's bottom line is not the same as the world’s, and there is nothing in our studio's bottom lines today that accounts for the quality of our lives or for our dignity, for the comfort of our retirement or the security of our families. Their numbers have no conscience, but the people who report them as victories ought to.

In their refusal to recognize that, these companies have also extracted an awful price, which is laid at their feet and for which they are responsible. Losses to the economies of New York and Los Angeles and everywhere that film and television are made, terrible losses that mount every day, thousands of people out of work; not just us, all the crews, the crafts, the janitors, the drivers, the businesses that thrive when Hollywood thrives, the restaurants, the stores—for what? For nothing. So they could avoid coming to the table to negotiate the deal they will one day give us. Measured today that is the painfully mixed legacy of our employers, weighed against every beautiful piece of work we have made with them.

And if history is a guide, they have only temporary stewardship over a kind of national trust, which is Hollywood. Our story, our sometimes conscience, our public conversation, our diversion of the worst and best of times, our greatest export, the repository of our imagination. They have some obligation to more than just their shareholders to behave accordingly.

Unfortunately, it seems big tech, mega corporations, and some of the people who run them, as the saying goes know the price of everything and the value of nothing. So they have built a business model that no longer works for human beings who cannot be paid minimum for 10 to 20 weeks a year and make a career out of that, be paid for one draft of a screenplay that demands a year of labor, be paid a few episodic fees for a show about which to take years to decide be paid a daily rate.

And now we have a first glimpse of what they offered our actor colleagues. We are not 170,000 Willy Lomans to be used and then discarded. We know what the companies believe they have the power to do. We know what they think machines can do and do without any of us. Oh yeah, we've seen the writing on the wall and it's plagiarized.

The thing is this: the difference between what you CAN do and what you SHOULD do is the greatest single difference in the world. Knowing that is the only real protection we have against a dystopian future. And if the companies sometimes forget that, writers will do it for them.

I can't know exactly how long it will take this revolutionary moment, and you've heard again and again what is happening today has not happened in 63 years, but I know that's not always how it feels, revolutionary and defining, even though we celebrate that on picket lines together, which is the right thing to do. That's not always how it feels when you go home at night. I know how tough this is: to strike, to hold the line. I know it gets tougher every day even with SAG-AFTRA marching beside us, how hard it is to face the uncertainty of when it will end, when we'll get back to work, how we'll pay the bills. I know it's hardest for those who've just gotten started, for those for whom the world opens doors more reluctantly, battled their whole life just to get here; but hard too for those struggling to maintain their long careers, who find work tougher and tougher to come by, or those with families with children or parents to take care of.

These companies understand the cruelty of what they're doing. It's their plan to starve us just a little, to exact as much pain as they can so that we wish more for the pain to end than for the better life we dreamed up. That we're more afraid of the uncertainty of the present than the certain devastation of the future. It's societally acceptable economic torture inflicted by management on labor every day, then blamed on labor for daring to fight back, for refusing to be complicit in its own mistreatment.

Here's how I know that's not going to work. Not with us, not with the writers, because we haven't come all this way, fought to have these careers in the first place, all the adversity, and marched together for all these months, only to let it slip away on our watch—because there is no point in rushing back to jobs that may not be there in a year or two anyway. Because the business, as the companies have twisted it, is now untenable, unsurvivable for so many of us, because even success is not enough to keep going, because this guild is younger than it's ever been and more diverse. And this young diverse membership knows from hard personal experience the system is broken and that it will not be fixed unless they fix it. And those of us who came before them will not let them down, because we and the writer's guild are the beneficiaries of all those who came before us who gave up everything for us.

Like the writers of 1960, the year I was born, who struck for 22 weeks and who gave away all the TV residuals for all the movies they had ever written so that we could have a health insurance and pension plan and residuals from that date forward. $15 billion flowed to writers and their benefit plans because of that sacrifice. Because writers are brave, because now it's our turn.

So what's our job? Even as we welcome SAG-AFTRA to our side, we are still responsible for our own deal, and so we must remain focused and diligent. We must continue to march, picket signs in hand. But we should also remember this and with pride, that before there was SAG-AFTRA, before even the Teamsters and IATSE and the laborers and the electrical workers and the musicians and the plasterers came to our side, there was the writers. Alone then, we looked at the blank page and began to imagine the future. With no net but each other we typed the words, what if?

And then we took a step into the darkness and found that it was light. And then we were joined by the crews and the drivers and the actors. The actors got a bit more fanfare when they showed up, but that's okay, we wrote the script. The WGA, still small, not alone anymore after all these decades. Hollywood labor has finally linked arms and found its voice, and that voice says enough. There is no road to longterm prosperity that burns a path through your own workforce. We are not your enemies. We are not merely a cost to be borne. We are your partners and your greatest asset. And we are, as you acknowledge yourselves, irreplaceable, but by accident or design and it doesn't really matter anymore, the business you are running no longer works for those who work for you.

What is the point in continuing to deny that? Why deny it when everyone else in the business to a person tells you it's true? Do you think it's a coincidence that two unions are on strike against you for the first time since Eisenhower was president? You can't exactly accuse us of being quick on the trigger. The effect has a cause, it has a cause. And there is no profit in insisting on the answers to the past for the questions of the future.

But if you want instead to invest in something that will reap you fortunes, I have a tip. And if you are visionaries, envision a solution, not a stalemate. Because this isn't a war we're in, it's a negotiation, it's just a negotiation. There is no face-saving here for either side, because there is no winner or loser. It's just a deal. And when you come to remember that again we will be here as we have been here all along.

And at this point with 170,000 writers and actors aligned against your intransigence, that is as generous as I can be, as close to an olive branch as I can offer. But if you insist instead on the same threatening rhetoric, on saying you would rather starve us than pay us, I would remind you of this: You are fighting for a dollar, we are fighting for survival. We are fighting for our home: writing is where we live, and we will defend that home with a bravery and stamina and ferocity that you will come to understand someday, which is why you cannot break us. You cannot outlast us, you cannot.

And not just because we have the will, because we have power. Nothing in this business happens until we start to write. And we will not start to write until we are paid.

Union now. Union forever.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Amazon’s financial shell game let it create an “impossible” monopoly

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then San Francisco (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

For the pro-monopoly crowd that absolutely dominated antitrust law from the Carter administration until 2020, Amazon presents a genuinely puzzling paradox: the company's monopoly power was never supposed to emerge, and if it did, it should have crumbled immediately.

Pro-monopoly economists embody Ely Devons's famous aphorism that "If economists wished to study the horse, they wouldn’t go and look at horses. They’d sit in their studies and say to themselves, ‘What would I do if I were a horse?’":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/27/economism/#what-would-i-do-if-i-were-a-horse

Rather than using the way the world actually works as their starting point for how to think about it, they build elaborate models out of abstract principles like "rational actors." The resulting mathematical models are so abstractly elegant that it's easy to forget that they're just imaginative exercises, disconnected from reality:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/03/all-models-are-wrong/#some-are-useful

These models predicted that it would be impossible for Amazon to attain monopoly power. Even if they became a monopoly – in the sense of dominating sales of various kinds of goods – the company still wouldn't get monopoly power.

For example, if Amazon tried to take over a category by selling goods below cost ("predatory pricing"), then rivals could just wait until the company got tired of losing money and put prices back up, and then those rivals could go back to competing. And if Amazon tried to keep the loss-leader going indefinitely by "cross-subsidizing" the losses with high-margin profits from some other part of its business, rivals could sell those high margin goods at a lower margin, which would lure away Amazon customers and cut the supply lines for the price war it was fighting with its discounted products.

That's what the model predicted, but it's not what happened in the real world. In the real world, Amazon was able use its access to the capital markets to embark on scorched-earth predatory pricing campaigns. When diapers.com refused to sell out to Amazon, the company casually committed $100m to selling diapers below cost. Diapers.com went bust, Amazon bought it for pennies on the dollar and shut it down:

https://www.theverge.com/2019/5/13/18563379/amazon-predatory-pricing-antitrust-law

Investors got the message: don't compete with Amazon. They can remain predatory longer than you can remain solvent.

Now, not everyone shared the antitrust establishment's confidence that Amazon couldn't create a durable monopoly with market power. In 2017, Lina Khan – then a third year law student – published "Amazon's Antitrust Paradox," a landmark paper arguing that Amazon had all the tools it needed to amass monopoly power:

https://www.yalelawjournal.org/note/amazons-antitrust-paradox

Today, Khan is chair of the FTC, and has brought a case against Amazon that builds on some of the theories from that paper. One outcome of that suit is an unprecedented look at Amazon's internal operations. But, as the Institute for Local Self-Reliance's Stacy Mitchell describes in a piece for The Atlantic, key pieces of information have been totally redacted in the court exhibits:

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2024/02/amazon-profits-antitrust-ftc/677580/

The most important missing datum: how much money Amazon makes from each of its lines of business. Amazon's own story is that it basically breaks even on its retail operation, and keeps the whole business afloat with profits from its AWS cloud computing division. This is an important narrative, because if it's true, then Amazon can't be forcing up retail prices, which is the crux of the FTC's case against the company.

Here's what we know for sure about Amazon's retail business. First: merchants can't live without Amazon. The majority of US households have Prime, and 90% of Prime households start their ecommerce searches on Amazon; if they find what they're looking for, they buy it and stop. Thus, merchants who don't sell on Amazon just don't sell. This is called "monopsony power" and it's a lot easier to maintain than monopoly power. For most manufacturers, a 10% overnight drop in sales is a catastrophe, so a retailer that commands even a 10% market-share can extract huge concessions from its suppliers. Amazon's share of most categories of goods is a lot higher than 10%!

What kind of monopsony power does Amazon wield? Well, for one thing, it is able to levy a huge tax on its sellers. Add up all the junk-fees Amazon charges its platform sellers and it comes out to 45-51%:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

Competitive businesses just don't have 45% margins! No one can afford to kick that much back to Amazon. What is a merchant to do? Sell on Amazon and you lose money on every sale. Don't sell on Amazon and you don't get any business.

The only answer: raise prices on Amazon. After all, Prime customers – the majority of Amazon's retail business – don't shop for competitive prices. If Amazon wants a 45% vig, you can raise your Amazon prices by a third and just about break even.

But Amazon is wise to that: they have a "most favored nation" rule that punishes suppliers who sell goods more cheaply in rival stores, or even on their own site. The punishments vary, from banishing your products to page ten million of search-results to simply kicking you off the platform. With publishers, Amazon reserves the right to lower the prices they set when listing their books, to match the lowest price on the web, and paying publishers less for each sale.

That means that suppliers who sell on Amazon (which is anyone who wants to stay in business) have to dramatically hike their prices on Amazon, and when they do, they also have to hike their prices everywhere else (no wonder Prime customers don't bother to search elsewhere for a better deal!).

Now, Amazon says this is all wrong. That 45-51% vig they claim from business customers is barely enough to break even. The company's profits – they insist – come from selling AWS cloud service. The retail operation is just a public service they provide to us with cross-subsidy from those fat AWS margins.

This is a hell of a claim. Last year, Amazon raked in $130 billion in seller fees. In other words: they booked more revenue from junk fees than Bank of America made through its whole operation. Amazon's junk fees add up to more than all of Meta's revenues:

https://s2.q4cdn.com/299287126/files/doc_financials/2023/q4/AMZN-Q4-2023-Earnings-Release.pdf

Amazon claims that none of this is profit – it's just covering their operating expenses. According to Amazon, its non-AWS units combined have a one percent profit margin.

Now, this is an eye-popping claim indeed. Amazon is a public company, which means that it has to make thorough quarterly and annual financial disclosures breaking down its profit and loss. You'd think that somewhere in those disclosures, we'd find some details.

You'd think so, but you'd be wrong. Amazon's disclosures do not break out profits and losses by segment. SEC rules actually require the company to make these per-segment disclosures:

https://scholarship.law.stjohns.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=3524&context=lawreview#:~:text=If%20a%20company%20has%20more,income%20taxes%20and%20extraordinary%20items.

That rule was enacted in 1966, out of concern that companies could use cross-subsidies to fund predatory pricing and other anticompetitive practices. But over the years, the SEC just…stopped enforcing the rule. Companies have "near total managerial discretion" to lump business units together and group their profits and losses in bloated, undifferentiated balance-sheet items:

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/bartlett/public-purpose/publications/2021/dec/crouching-tiger-hidden-dragons

As Mitchell points you, it's not just Amazon that flouts this rule. We don't know how much money Google makes on Youtube, or how much Apple makes from the App Store (Apple told a federal judge that this number doesn't exist). Warren Buffett – with significant interest in hundreds of companies across dozens of markets – only breaks out seven segments of profit-and-loss for Berkshire Hathaway.

Recall that there is one category of data from the FTC's antitrust case against Amazon that has been completely redacted. One guess which category that is! Yup, the profit-and-loss for its retail operation and other lines of business.

These redactions are the judge's fault, but the real fault lies with the SEC. Amazon is a public company. In exchange for access to the capital markets, it owes the public certain disclosures, which are set out in the SEC's rulebook. The SEC lets Amazon – and other gigantic companies – get away with a degree of secrecy that should disqualify it from offering stock to the public. As Mitchell says, SEC chairman Gary Gensler should adopt "new rules that more concretely define what qualifies as a segment and remove the discretion given to executives."

Amazon is the poster-child for monopoly run amok. As Yanis Varoufakis writes in Technofeudalism, Amazon has actually become a post-capitalist enterprise. Amazon doesn't make profits (money derived from selling goods); it makes rents (money charged to people who are seeking to make a profit):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Profits are the defining characteristic of a capitalist economy; rents are the defining characteristic of feudalism. Amazon looks like a bazaar where thousands of merchants offer goods for sale to the public, but look harder and you discover that all those stallholders are totally controlled by Amazon. Amazon decides what goods they can sell, how much they cost, and whether a customer ever sees them. And then Amazon takes $0.45-51 out of every dollar. Amazon's "marketplace" isn't like a flea market, it's more like the interconnected shops on Disneyland's Main Street, USA: the sign over the door might say "20th Century Music Company" or "Emporium," but they're all just one store, run by one company.

And because Amazon has so much control over its sellers, it is able to exercise power over its buyers. Amazon's search results push down the best deals on the platform and promote results from more expensive, lower-quality items whose sellers have paid a fortune for an "ad" (not really an ad, but rather the top spot in search listings):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute

This is "Amazon's pricing paradox." Amazon can claim that it offers low-priced, high-quality goods on the platform, but it makes $38b/year pushing those good deals way, way down in its search results. The top result for your Amazon search averages 29% more expensive than the best deal Amazon offers. Buy something from those first four spots and you'll pay a 25% premium. On average, you need to pick the seventeenth item on the search results page to get the best deal:

https://scholarship.law.bu.edu/faculty_scholarship/3645/

For 40 years, pro-monopoly economists claimed that it would be impossible for Amazon to attain monopoly power over buyers and sellers. Today, Amazon exercises that power so thoroughly that its junk-fee revenues alone exceed the total revenues of Bank of America. Amazon's story – that these fees barely stretch to covering its costs – assumes a nearly inconceivable level of credulity in its audience. Regrettably – for the human race – there is a cohort of senior, highly respected economists who possess this degree of credulity and more.

Of course, there's an easy way to settle the argument: Amazon could just comply with SEC regs and break out its P&L for its e-commerce operation. I assure you, they're not hiding this data because they think you'll be pleasantly surprised when they do and they don't want to spoil the moment.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Image: Doc Searls (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/docsearls/4863121221/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[little-diable]

The Test of Time - Tommy Shelby (smut)

This is an idea I have been playing with for a while. It is very dear to me, so I hope it'll also be to you! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: When Professor Shelby meets his new student, he's instantly fascinated by her, not understanding why he feels this connected to her. But the second their hands touch, both feel themselves thrown back in time, meeting centuries ago. It seems like love will always stand the test of time.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots of fluff, mentions some war time stuff and blood, small breeding kink, professor x reader relationship, age gap

Pairing: Soldier!Tommy x nurse!fem!reader / Professor!Tommy x student!fem!reader (3.7k words)

4th of August 1916, Northern France

The air was sticky, his hands were muddy, dry, and heavy. He had to blink more often than his eyes liked, worsening the headache he had been plagued by for months. A shaky exhale left him, momentarily squeezing his eyes shut to try and keep calm. There was no way out, he was stuck, below the ground, and if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was panicking – at least not if he wanted to stay alive. He couldn’t risk being shot for going against a command, for being frightened like a boy.

Voices echoed through the tunnel, ringing in his ears like another bomb going off in the distance. They had to work fast. They had to work precisely, otherwise they’d eventually be buried by the dark soil, swallowing them whole as the enemy won the battle. 

“Shelby!” A raspy voice ripped him out of his panicked state, he was shoved, forced to move faster, to keep on digging even though his hands were bleeding and the blisters kept growing. He had to keep digging, had to keep digging, had to keep digging. Before the darkness would swallow him whole. 

February 2024, Birmingham 

The sound of his shoes meeting the ground echoed through the empty hallway, eyes set on his black iPhone. It was too fucking early for his liking, silently cursing his faculty for forcing him to hold these early morning classes. Not once had he met a motivated student who wanted to talk about the First World War with him at 8 am, and as much as Tommy disliked the students he found himself surrounded by, he couldn’t blame them for being tired.

If he could, he’d occupy all afternoon classes, wanting to discuss his research topics with those who were actually interested in modern warfare, strategies, politics, and so on. And yet he knew the chance was slim, forced to back down and make room for those who taught the mandatory classes. 

With a sigh leaving him, Tommy stepped into the room he taught in every Tuesday morning, putting down his bag and shrugging out of his coat before he lifted his gaze. He was still on his own, wondering when the handful of students would pour into the room, probably seconds before class started. 

Tommy plopped down on the uncomfortable chair, he placed his laptop down – hoping that he could at least catch up with the morning news while still being engulfed in silence. He tried to focus on the words, tried to cling to the information he was fed, though without any luck, interrupted by the sickly sweet “Morning!” echoing through the room. 

His eyes found an unfamiliar pair, not used to being greeted this enthusiastically in the morning. It took him a second to reply, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the woman. She must have been young, and yet he instantly found himself drawn to her gorgeous features, the soft hair he wanted to feel beneath his fingertips. 

“(Y/n), right?” She had emailed him about a month ago, warning the professor that she’d have to miss the first two weeks of his course due to some family trouble. Back then he hadn’t cared about her missing out on it, it was on her to catch up with his teaching anyways, but now he couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to miss out on having her around for even just a second. 

“That’s me! Sorry again for my absence, Professor Shelby.” He shot her a small smile, not daring to speak up as his throat grew tighter. What the fuck was going on with him? Tommy felt as if he was drowning, as if the cold ocean was soaking through his black clothes, sticking to him to add more weight to his frame. He didn’t know her, knew only her name, and yet he felt strangely connected to her. 

He needed to get a grip, needed to redirect his focus before he’d forget his surroundings and the information he was supposed to pass on to his students.

……

“Professor Shelby?” (Y/n)’s voice echoed through his office, making a small smile tug on his lips as his eyes found hers. She stepped into the room, carefully closing the door behind herself before she walked up to him. Wordlessly he pointed towards the chair placed close to his table, piercing blue eyes watching her sit down.

“I have to say, I’m impressed, (y/n). You’re the first to ever score 100 on this essay.” The smile that grew on her lips left Tommy choking on his air, forcing his eyes away from her face. It had been a selfish move to invite all students to his office hour, telling them that he’d like to give them each some verbal feedback. But deep down Tommy didn’t give a single fuck about his students, at least not about the others, having eyes only for her. 

“I wanted to leave a good impression, especially after missing out on so much.” He was forced to look at her again, shooting her another smile as he reached the essay out for her to take. His heart started racing the second her fingers touched his, vision growing blurry, unable to notice that she was going through the same confusing sensations. 

“Help! We need help!” The screams echoed through the tent, ringing in her ears as she watched the soldiers move closer. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the soldier whose face was covered in blood and mud, forcing her to run towards them. 

“Place him down over there, quick!” Panic was flushing through her. No matter how many soldiers she had helped before, no matter how many lives she had saved, (y/n) couldn’t help but fear these moments when she held their lives in her hands. She needed to work quickly, and couldn’t wait for the other nurses to return from their visitations, there was no time to lose. “I need you to hold him down.” 

Her eyes met a pair of piercing blue ones, momentarily robbing her of any air left in her lungs. She had to redirect her focus, bloody fingers trying to clean the soldier’s cheeks as the handsome man held him down. No words were spoken between them, she needed to concentrate, needed to stop the soldier’s bleeding. Feeling the other man near did something to her, something unfamiliar she hadn’t ever felt before. 

“Here, I need you to bite down on this.” She pushed a wooden piece between the guy’s teeth as she reached for her tweezers. A deep inhale of air was sucked into her lungs. Even though it wasn’t the first time she was about to pull a bullet from somebody’s skin, (y/n) couldn’t help but feel nervous. Before she could even try to move, she felt the handsome man’s hand on her knee, softly squeezing the flesh to try and wordlessly support her. She could do it, and could help the hurt soldier, especially with the support of the man who was sitting close to her. 

“Alright, this will hurt.”

“Uhm,” Tommy had to clear his throat, blinking a few times before his vision began to clear up. (Y/n) was still sitting close to him, wearing the same confused expression as Tommy. Both stared at one another for a few moments, wordlessly, before she grasped the essay. Her eyes flickered down to the paper, trying to recollect her thoughts. 

“Thank you again for this, I think it’s best if I leave now.” He didn’t get a chance to reply, could only watch her disappear before he could even try to speak up. Tommy’s heart was still racing, mind not understanding what had just happened.

Had this been some trick of his brain, something he had read about in a book or seen in a movie? And yet it didn’t explain to him why the woman had looked just like (y/n), and why (y/n) had been just as dazed as he had been. 

It took Tommy a while to move, shaking his head as he drowned the last sips of his now cold coffee. He needed to get out of his office, needed to grab a few pints with some friends, anything to distract himself from what had just happened, and from (y/n). 

……

“Here, let me.” She watched him light his match, stepping closer to help her light her cigarette. Both blew out the blue smoke, watching it dance in the warm August breeze. Tommy was covered in soil, hands and face dirty, just like his hair, and yet neither of them seemed to care, wanting to feel one another close.

It had been days since she had helped his fellow soldier, making it through the night and all the following ones, left to survive with a big scar gracing his cheek. Ever since that day, Tommy and (y/n) had searched for one another, needing to learn more about the one they couldn’t stop thinking of. 

“Do you miss home, Tommy?” (Y/n)’s whispers rang in his ears, loud enough to distract him from his surroundings, the shots going off in the distance, the calls, and cries. He was sure that no matter where he’d be, no matter who he’d be surrounded by, if (y/n) was close, he’d always find himself focused on her. 

“Always do.” A hum left her at his reply, unconsciously moving closer to him, breath getting stuck in her lungs as his arm found its way around her waist. Their eyes met, his piercingly blue and full of pain and sorrow, hers filled with questions, longings, and confusion. She watched his gaze flicker down to her lips, taking another drag of his cigarette before he dipped his head down. 

(Y/n) didn’t dare move, silently praying that he’d kiss her, that he wouldn’t pull away, wrapped in darkness’s comforting veil. But before he could move, they heard the calls growing louder, forcing all soldiers to return to their positions. Their eyes met once again as he stubbed his cigarette out, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and disappeared.

(Y/n) woke with a gasp, hands pressed to the warm mattress she had been sleeping on for the past hours. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing, still focused on the dream she had just been forced through. Ever since she had experienced that strange moment in Professor Shelby’s office, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him, of what her mind had pushed her through – what had felt like a memory but couldn’t be one. And now she was dreaming of him, her professor, and yet he wasn’t a professor, at least not in her dream.

She needed to talk to him, or at least touch him again to figure out of it had been a trick of her brain or something that would happen again. He had looked just as confused, dazed even, unsure what had happened the second their hands had touched. Perhaps she could speak to him after class, or show up at his office, whatever it took to be close to him again. 

……

“Professor? Do you have a moment for me?” He had disappeared too quickly after class for (y/n) to even try to catch up with him, forcing her to wait a few hours before she could turn up at his office. She watched him take off his round glasses, leaning back in his chair as a soft “Of Course” left him. 

For a few moments, they were engulfed in silence, eyes wandering over one another’s features, wondering how to express what they were plagued by. But even though (y/n) tried her hardest to speak up, she couldn’t, throat too tight, mouth too dry. Professor Shelby broke their silence as he cleared his throat, rising to his feet to slowly move towards (y/n). 

He kept his distance and leaned back against his desk, and yet she felt him close. Though not close enough, feeling herself pulled towards him like a puzzle searching for its last missing piece. With a sigh breaking through him, he reached his hand out for (y/n) to take, watching the hesitation tugging on her features. 

“It’s alright, I don’t understand it myself, but I guess it’s on us to figure this out. Whatever it is.” Her teeth ran along her lower lip as (y/n) stepped towards him, letting go of one last exhale before she carefully grasped his hand. 

“Look at me, (y/n). I’ve got you, I’m alive.” His voice rang in her ears, watching the tears drip down her cheeks as she stared up at him. She clung to his hand, cursing this very war for pushing these unfamiliar emotions through her. God, she had counted the hours, had lost hope, sure that Tommy was no longer alive. And yet here he was, alive, breathing, not even bleeding. 

She hastily took a step away, eyes wide, lips parted. He had his eyes focused on his hand, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Neither of them dared to speak up, not understanding what was happening, why these things that felt like memories were pushed through their brains. Only slowly did the professor dare to lift his gaze, studying her panicked features.

“What is happening? What is that?” (Y/n) choked on her words, torn between confusion and the pain she felt deep inside of her. It felt as if she was grieving something or rather someone. A pain she was so unfamiliar with, she couldn’t even understand what it was trying to tell her, what she was plagued by. 

“I don’t know, (y/n).” He spoke her name all too softly, sounding just like it had in her head moments ago. With wide eyes she kept studying him, needing to feel what had happened again, still not believing that this was something but a trick of her brain. All he did was watch her, eyes following her every move, even as she came to a halt in front of him, standing far closer than moments ago, he didn’t dare move. If there was one thing Tommy wanted to avoid, it was scaring her. 

“Can I try something?” Their eyes held contact as (y/n) murmured the words, waiting for his spoken consent before she moved. A quiet “Yes” left the professor, wondering what she was about to do, not expecting to feel her soft lips meeting his.

“You have to be quiet, love.” His raspy voice left her buzzing with excitement. Tommy had her pressed against a car, swallowed by darkness. Their lips met carefully at first, with her arms slung around his neck, and his hands placed on her waist. Neither of them could hold back, deepening the kiss within seconds as they hoped that no other soldiers, nurses, or commanders would find them. 

“Don’t stop, please.” He had taken over the kiss, forcing her down on his desk to stand between her thighs. Both were torn between the pictures their minds were painting and the feeling of one another’s hands exploring their bodies. Whatever it was that had pushed them together, they didn’t want to break the spell, needed to keep close. 

“Will you let me have a taste? Ever since I saw you for the first time I wanted to get my mouth between those pretty thighs of yours.” Her eyes were wide, lips parted to try and suck some air into her aching lungs. (Y/n) could only nod her head, forgetting how to speak, how to express the emotions she so desperately wanted to explain to him.

With their eyes holding contact, Tommy undid her trousers, pulling them down her legs before he pushed her damp panties to the side. The groan that clawed through him at the sight of her bare cunt left her walls clenching around nothing, needing to feel his fingers, his mouth on her. But the second he brushed two fingers through her slit, collecting drops of arousal, she found herself stuck in another memory. 

“Oh god, oh god. Right there.” Her eyes rolled back into her head, pressed against the mattress of the bed she hadn’t been lying on for years. It had been hours since they had returned from France, not daring to leave one another’s side once, hours they had spent hiding away from those who had waited on them for years, only focused on exploring their bodies without needing to worry about curious bystanders. His tongue brushed along her folds, moaning at her taste as his arms tightened their grip on her thighs. 

“I guess you’ve always tasted this sweet.” His words drew tears to her eyes, overcome by a wave of unfamiliar emotions, set on drowning her. Tommy kept moving his fingers as his tongue explored the spots she needed him to touch, choking on his name. She needed to hold onto him, needed to bury her fingers in his skin, but her fingers couldn’t move, could only cling to the edge of his table. “My pretty girl, fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” 

“What a sight for sore eyes, I’m a fucking lucky bastard.” Tommy’s raspy voice filled their shared bedroom. He leaned back in his chair, chest bare, legs stretched out. Smoke left his nostrils, eyes set on her naked frame. She walked closer with a smirk on her lips, enjoying the way he marvelled at her, how he watched her every move. “I don’t deserve you, my pretty wife.”

His wife? Them, Married? Fuck, if these flashes were truly memories of their past life, she couldn’t help but thank whoever had pushed them together once again. Another shot at this life with Tommy by her side, another shot at this life with a man she had loved in other centuries. Love that would always stand the test of time. 

“I need to be inside of you, will you let me fuck you?” (Y/n) pulled Tommy in for a kiss, groaning into his mouth as she felt his covered bulge rubbing against her sensitive cunt. Their kiss was all tongue and teeth, growing more heated by the second, while Tommy’s impatient fingers freed his cock. He parted from her to roll a condom down his cock, and yet their eyes never broke eye contact. “Last chance to stop this, I need you to tell me you want this too.” 

“Oh fuck, of course I want this, Tommy. Fuck me, fuck me like you’ve always fucked me.” Her glassy eyes met his, both were clearly overcome by the emotions they still needed to adjust to. He pushed into her slowly, fingers interlaced with hers to hold her close. There was no need to adjust, it seemed like their bodies remembered one another the same way their minds did. 

“Forever mine, I will never let you go.” Tommy rasped his words into the darkness as he fucked her into their mattress. He couldn’t help but admire her, needing to take in every inch of (y/n), silently hoping that tonight he’d get to fuck another baby into her. Her moans left him smirking, fingers rubbing her pulsing bundle in sync with his thrusts, needing to push her over the edge any moment now. 

She didn’t allow herself to wonder what their life together had been like, and how many children they have had together – at least not at that very moment. All (y/n) could concentrate on was the feeling of Tommy fucking her ruthlessly, cock forcing her walls apart with every thrust. 

With her forehead pushed against his shoulder, (y/n) moaned his name, already close to letting go. Both were shaken up by what kept on happening to them whenever they touched one another in another place, bringing up memories that felt like they were straight out of a movie. It was unfamiliar and confusing, and yet it was anything but scary, no, it left them filled with excitement, needing to learn more about one another and the life they had once shared. 

“It’s alright, love, cum for me, cum on my cock.” Tommy’s gritty voice left her choking on her gasps, letting go with a moan. He kept on snapping his hips, enjoying the way she clenched around him, how she trembled from her intense orgasm. All because of him. With his thoughts set on (y/n), he came, letting go with a groan. 

For a few moments, neither of them parted from one another, holding on before he slowly pulled away. Neither of them spoke as they redressed, caught in their thoughts. Only as Tommy pulled her in for another kiss did (y/n) allow another smile to tug on her lips. 

“If you’ll allow it, I want to love you in this lifetime too, hold you close like we were destined to be.” With tears once again welling up in her eyes, (y/n) pulled him in for a breathless kiss. 

Tommy had his eyes set on her sleeping figure, hand stroking her hair. His thoughts were torn between the memories of the tunnel, of the darkness he hadn’t been able to escape from for long. But it had all been worth it, because of her, because of the woman he had married, the woman who was the mother of his children. And if there was one thing Tommy was wishing for, it was getting the chance to love her in all upcoming lifetimes too.

[winterarmyy]

Promise Me | Part II

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 5.2k++

Pairing: 40s!bucky / eventually tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: little angst, melancholy but fluffy stuff, we have bucky's pov in this one, lovers who missed each other very much, emotional reunion, probably bad writing of fighting scenes (sorry guys), mentions of suicide, mentions of sexy times, death of main character (y/n' s past life), another attempt to follow mcu timeline, otherwise, nothing that's too heavy/sensitive for anyone to read.

P/S: Thanks so much for the feedbacks in previous chapters! Here's the new update, guys! I hope you enjoy your reading!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Brooklyn, 2024 – Glimpses of the past

"So, Mr. Barnes, are you still having nightmares?" Dr. Raynor asked as she leaned leisurely on her chair. However long it had been since the first time she met Bucky on their first therapy session, she still couldn't crack the man to talk more than he deem necessary.

Bucky sat silently on the sofa that was certainly big enough to fit three people with its size, as he stared blankly at the door behind Dr. Raynor, wanting to avoid eye contact with the woman.

"James, I asked you a question." She prompted as she crosses her legs together. "Are you still having nightmares?"

If he was being truthful, then his answer would've been yes, however he decided to test if she managed to see through him, "No." He replied with a convincing tone.

Dr. Raynor paused for a moment as she eyed his behaviour,  "We’ve been doing this long enough that I can tell when you’re lying." She quirked her eyebrow as if she was non-verbally asked him to cut the crap.

"Well, you seem a little off today. Did something happen recently?"

Yes. Something did happened recently.

Sure, there was the horrid nightmare that had been haunting him in his sleep most of the nights, but lately there was something else that's been making unannounced appearance in his dreams. Something much older than his memories of the Winter Soldier.

They were glimpses of the past where he was but a man in his mid 20's living his best life with a woman he thought he was going to end up growing old with.

Bucky saw images of his younger, undamaged self tangled up in bed with that woman. His hands raking through her raven hair as he pushed the mess away from her face. And when she whined in her sleep he would let out a soft chuckle as he lovingly stroke his thumb across her cheek.

He remembered feeling the tug in his chest when the morning light touches her brown eyes as she peeled them open. He remembered the sweet smile she graced upon him as she pulled him in for an innocent kiss. He remembered the warmth of her naked skin rubbing against his own when she snuggled back into his body.

Those were always a pleasant dream to have during his sleepless nights. However rare it was to have them; he found himself spared in the gentle grace that she left behind from those loose pieces of memories. He realized that his broken soul yearns for her peace more than his will longs for his freedom.

"No." He lied again.

"You’re a civilian now. With your history, the government needs to know that you’re not gonna…" Dr. Raynor gestured her hands as if there was an invisible knife in her grasp as she motioned a stabbing movement.

Bucky let out a silent sigh, nodding his head with a somewhat forced derpy smile as she continued to explain, "It’s a condition of your pardon. So, tell me about your most recent nightmare."

However, Bucky remained stubborn on keeping the memories of his lover to himself. He simply shook his head as he briefly looked to the side and out the window, before coming back and confessed, "I didn’t have a nightmare."

Dr. Raynor breathed deeply, letting the air out through her nose as she clicked on the mechanical pen. The pointer latched on the surface of the lined papers as she started to write down her observation.

Bucky who was sitting on the opposite side only scoffed in respond to her petty attempt of threat, "Oh, come on. Really?" He taunted, "You’re gonna do the notebook thing?" Rolling his eyes in annoyance as he commented his thoughts outspokenly, "Why? It’s passive aggressive."

"You don’t talk. I write." The therapist replied with a short comeback.

Bucky glared intensely at her before letting out a sigh, "Okay. Okay."

His flesh fingers started to fiddle with his metal ones, a habit which he noticed he recently picked up after getting used to the high-tech vibranium arm.

"It wasn't a nightmare. It's just..."  Bucky didn't know how to put it in words other than, "...a good dream."

It was in the peak of witching hours, when Y/N stood in the middle of the tiny kitchen section of her lover's humble apartment. The quiet of the night sometimes interrupted by the sound of the droplets trickling from the faucet.

There was a luminating light of the full moon that leaks through the open window, granting enough of a vision to see the layout of the kitchen. The stillness of the air made Y/N wonder if this is what she would need to go through soon.

Just an empty atmosphere without the presence of her lover.

And there she goes again, wondering in the seemingly endless darkness, thinking of the worst things that could possibly happen.

She had been staring unblinkingly at the counter top for who knows how long since she was woken up from her slumber.

Y/N couldn't go back sleep even if she needed to. Not when tomorrow is the day that she dreaded the most. The day Bucky was going on his first call, to be sent away to England first thing morning.

"Missed you in bed, yknow?" The huskiness of Bucky's voice broke her from the gloomy thoughts. 

Y/N turned around to first see the bare shape of her lover's body, lean and slightly muscular, then trailed up to his sleepy grin, barely opened eyes and the mess of his bed hair sticking out all over the place.

She had to admit, partially, it was her fault for constantly pulling on them when he went down on her. But it was also important to note that it was entirely his fault for being so damn good at it.

Bucky's humming was hoarse when he walked towards her, "What are you doing up, doll?" While Y/N watched his naked figure moved closer.

Bucky Barnes is a beautiful man.

She knew that even before they started dating but it is a wonder that his beauty still to manage to catch her off guard sometimes.

The moment he engulfed her into his arms, she whispered onto his skin, "Can't sleep." She kept it short and ambiguous but that only became the biggest giveaway to Bucky.

Bucky effortlessly lifted her up on the counter as he settled comfortably in between her legs. His hands trailed along the side of her thighs, casually lifting up the thin material of her night gown before going under it to gently fondle with the flesh of her hips.

He leaned upwards, placing the softest kiss on her lips as he murmured, "Everything's going to be alright, y/n." He kissed her again for a good measure, "I'll be home to you before you know it."

Y/N wrapped arms around his neck, pulling him closer until their forehead touches each other's, "You must write me, always." She spoke quietly; as if it was a secret she wanted to keep from the world.

"You must tell me everything, James. Don't hide anything from me; every blood, sweat and tears. I want to know all of it." Her eyes pleaded desperately, "You must be safe." Their lips hovered over each others; so close, barely even touching, "And come home."

The blue of his eyes were glazed with so much love and adoration as he whispered, "I promise, doll. I'm not going to die before I meet you at the end of the isle."

Somehow, Bucky always knew what to say to make her crack a smile, "I love you, James. Too much for my own good." She pulled him as she kissed his soft lips, "I love you too, y/n. More than anything." He grabbed her by the head, latching his mouth on hers as if it was their last kiss.

Before she knew it, Bucky swiftly pulled her off from the counter and grabbed her onto his shoulder, causing her to yelp in surprise. "Oh my god, Bucky! Put me down right now!" The brunette simply laugh as she shriek his name, "James!"

"James!" Dr. Raynor managed to pull Bucky out of his thoughts. "You're clearly out of it today." She remarked before continuing, "And so, this woman in your dreams... Is she someone you knew back in the 40's?"

Bucky replied, "Most probably." He hesitated as he thought thoroughly, "Or it could just be a made up character that only exists in my dreams."

"Does she perhaps, have a name?" Dr. Raynor asked, in which he simply answered, "She does."

There was brief silence of unbroken eye-contact between them, before Bucky realized that the therapist was silently enquiring her name.

Bucky straightened his position in his seat as blatantly stated, "I'm not telling you her name." That was where he drew the line. Therapist or not; she didn't need to know his lover's identity.

Dr. Raynor hanged her hands up as a sign of defeat, "Okay, okay. That's fair." That was when the timer on her phone went off, "Oh, time's up." She reached for her phone and slide across the screen.

She quickly stood on her feet as soon as Bucky did on his own, "That would be all for this session. Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Barnes."

He had to let out a sarcastic chuckle when he said, "It's not that I want to anyway. It's mandatory." He walked towards the door but before he could turn the knob, Dr. Raynor spoke.

"Outside of this 'mandatory' session, I'd say my advice to you as a friend, is to maybe find her. Or her family." She suggested, "And if you're lucky..." She briefly paused, "...maybe she's still alive somewhere."

Bucky remained static for a moment before he spoke, "Thanks, Doc." He didn't look back to face her at all, before walking out the room feeling much more burdened than he did entering it.

Dr. Raynor's advice soon turned out to be a constant dilemma to him more than he anticipated.

Virginia, 1991 – The man she once loved

Y/N panicked. She didn't think the appearance of that metal-armed man will trigger a deep-rooted memories she was desperately trying to forget; spiralling her back into old chapters of her previous life.

It was the year of 1991 and Y/N was in her 6th life. She was a black widow that went rogue after managed on escaping the Red Room program about a few years prior. She was drunk on hatred and vengeance that she almost recklessly killed half of the people in her facility on the day she escaped.

It's not to say that she came out uncut, it was quite the opposite really. Y/N had left the grounds with multiple holes on her body and a deep wound her face; a cut from the inner edge of her right brow all the way across her left cheek.

And that left her with a very prominent and unforgettable scar. Though she couldn't care less about it, especially when she knew Hydra was out there still thriving under another intellegence organization like some kind of parasite.

After she heard the news that Howard Stark has successfully replicate the super soldier serum, she is now somewhere in Virginia, trying to hijack the products before it falls in the hands of the Pentagon or worst, Hydra.

Unfortunately for her, the worst thing that could happen, happened.

Someone from Hydra managed to get their hands on them before she could, leaving the corpses of Howard Stark and his wife in the broken down car, posing it as a road accident.

The bodies was still warm and she knew the culprit won't be far from the crime scene, so she rode on forward until managed to catch up with him. She never intended to confront him head on. She was planning to follow him to the meeting point where they will transfer the products to another Hydra agent, like they always do.

But he certainly didn't care about her plan when he changed his route to a different location. She didn't even realized that her incognito was useless when he nearly shot her in the head.

Now, with her cover blown, it was just him and her alone at the gate of an abandoned building. "Well, shit." Y/N cursed.

She could feel the heavy tension from the atmosphere. Silence from the wordless man were screaming louder than her pumping heartbeat.

There were only two of those run-down street lamp that helped to brigthen up the battlefield. But even with the dying light, Y/N could see the silver of left arms, a red star on the upper side, black mask covering lower half of his face and a messy black shadow all over his eyes.

She knew who he was; though most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier. Hydra's most prized asset from the Winter Soldier program that Y/N had been trying to track for months.

Maybe it was a careless greed, or maybe she was just tired of living. But, Y/N dared herself to fight the against super soldier. It was intense but completely one-sided as the soldier managed to counter most her punches and kicks.

There were times that she felt like he was simply playing around with her and that riled Y/N to the core. If it wasn't enough for God to toy with her life, now this weapon of Hydra is joining the fun.

She was sick of it; and it got her to be impatient. That, however, was a mistake that she shouldn't have done especially during a hand-to-hand combat with the Winter Soldier himself. 

Y/N ducked down from his swinging arm as she surged her own towards him but the man could see her moves from a mile away, so he dropped his knife to his other hand and managed to strike the blade right into where her pulsing heart resides.

All the times she had ripped her own life, it seemed that her soul was used to the pain that it took a few moments of time to register the pain.

"Ah, this is truly exhausting." She thought to herself.

She wanted it to end.

She wanted to rest. For good.

In her hazy vision, she looked up at the soldier and noticed that he had been staring blankly into her eyes; like a curious predator watching his dying prey.

She knew it was wrong, but looking closer at the shade of blue in his dead and frozen eyes, she couldn't help to find the resemblance in the man she once loved.

It was cruel to find the semblance of her lover in the eyes of her killer, but that tends to happen when a person's soul longed for someone so much that everything and anything became the reminder of them.

Streams of tears trickled down into her ears as her blood seeped through her clothes, staining the fabric and the ground under her.

Instead of hearing the sound of the soldier's footstep walking away, all she could hear was the vivid memories of Bucky's laughter, "I miss you, James."

She truly did.

She missed him so much that she wished that she can finally die this time around, praying for a chance to meet him once more.

But alas, that's not gonna happen anytime soon. Not when the God hates her now.

"I miss you so much." her voice shivered as she whispered her last breath.

Madripoor, 2024 – Long-lost lover

Easy to say, Y/N was furious that she let the memories of her past, the appearance of the winter soldier, distract her focus for her mission. She was furious that she didn't manage to get into Wilfred's lab before someone else did.

Don't get her wrong, though.

She was somewhat grateful when she found him dead, because that's means there's one less parasite that could potentially revive Hydra from the recreation of super soldier serum. But, she was pissed that she wasn't able to dig for more information about his research and the people he was affiliated with.

She knew he was recruited by the CIA before the blip but seeing that his lab is now basically a cargo, located in Madripoor, she doubt that he has anything to do with CIA now.

He's probably working with someone else in the underground scene.

Y/N sat leg-crossed on stacks of cargo, as she watched the scene from afar. The bounty hunters were ruthlessly attacking a group of criminals that attacked Shelby last night, while they were completely out-numbered.

She heard from the bar that it was considerably a high pay for the rewards especially when the targets were consists of the runaway prisoner, Zemo, Hydra's weapon, the Winter Soldier and the member of Avenger, the Falcon.

It was indeed an odd group of people but she couldn't care less about how that came to be. What caught her attention was the fact that the Falcon, who is a member of the Avenger, was affiliated with the Winter Soldier, who is an asset of Hydra.

And the fact that they were digging their feet in the underground world for the super soldier serum making the trio combination even more concerning.

She knew it was the best bet to approach the Falcon for information rather than going for the other two, so when the group split up during their fight, she quietly followed the Falcon.

He was a bit clumsy when fighting alone; or maybe it was because the hunters kept streaming in non-stop. Nonetheless, one by one, eventually the Falcon managed to take them down.

Y/N lurked at the corner, quietly observing his fighting style as he struggled with the few that was left.

"He's going to run out of ammo." She thought to herself.

And two shots later, he did.

There were two hunters left and he had no choice but to use his fists. Looking at him now, maybe he suited the hand-to-hand combat style more than gun combat. Y/N noticed his moves are more seamless than when he fight with a gun a few seconds ago.

The Falcon breathed heavily as the last hunter was tackled down. She decided that it had to be now or never, at least before the winter soldier came to the scene to regroup. When she stepped out of her camouflage, the Falcon only noticed her presence that he missed the red dot on his chest.

But, Y/N saw it, "Fuck! He can't die. Not before I get what I want." She couldn't let him go without getting information she needed from him.

In mere seconds, she jumped towards him and managed to pulled him away from the target. However, it was not far enough, that was when the bullet grazed on his side. Y/N quickly grabbed her throwing knife and land it right into the hunter's head.

The Falcon staggered backwards, meeting his back on the side of the cargo as he groaned in pain. His eyes scanned the appearance of his potential saviour; hooded figure, mask-covered face, assassin-like dressed – he realized that she matched the description of what Sharon had warned him before.

"So before we move, this might be unrelated, but I gotta warn you guys about someone." Sharon spoke as she equipped herself.

The three men looked over her as they gave their undivided attention, "While last night was hectic with the return of the Winter Soldier." She briefly looked over at Bucky, "But, there was also another person that made an appearance."

"She's known as the Deathstalker." She paused. "What I can say about her is she's a basically mystery; appeared out of thin air a few months into the blip." Sharon explained, earning a couple of nods from Sam and the signature frown from Bucky.

However, Zemo simply smiled and commented, "Ah, the pretty little Deathstalker." The mannerism of his speech was thick with Sokovian accent.

"You know her?" Sharon quirked.

Zemo smiled again, this time a little bit too smug, "We might have once crossed our path." He kept it ambiguous.

"When? You were in the prison years before the blip." Sam frowned as he questioned.

Sipping on the glass of liquor, Zemo answered, "She may or may not have 'visited' me to get some information about Hydra."

The mention of Hydra caught Bucky's attention but he kept it well hidden under his stoic expression. Noticing Sam's confusion with Zemo's insinuating answer, Bucky simply laid it out for him, "It means, she broke into the prison, Sam." he simply sighed.

Sam jutted his lips as he shrugged, "Guess you're not the only one who's insane here, Buck." He teased as he poked fun of Bucky's decision of 'breaking into the prison' to let Zemo out.

"You said, 'pretty little Deathstalker'. So you've seen her face?" Sharon asked curiously as she crossed her arms to her chest. No one had seen the assassin's face before, so she could help but to ask.

Zemo shook his head, "No. But that signature mask of hers cannot hide the beauty within." He smirked as he recalled the look in the Deathstalker's eyes; she had that obsession for vengeance. As he did when he broke the Avengers apart .

"You see, I've always had the eyes for beautiful things." He explained as if it was a natural thing to say.

Sharon knew shouldn't let herself expect too much from Zemo, especially when he had that attitude. She simply rolled her eyes and walked towards the seat next to Sam.

Bucky leaned his back into the sofa, spreading his legs apart as he asked, "Is she gonna be a problem?" An assissin that's been breaking into prison to ask Zemo about Hydra. That doesn't seem like a casual information to overlook.

Sharon shrugged as she continued, "Well, depends on your move. But, I'd advice you to never get on her bad side. People speculated that she's a rogue assassin turned bounty hunter but the thing is... she has never taken any job."

Bounty hunters get their money from jobs that's advertised all over the city. So, the Deathstalker couldn't be called a Bounty Hunter when she never take jobs before. If it were up to Sharon, the Deathstalker was much suited under the same category as Ronin, the masked vigilante who tracks down and slaughters criminals during the blip.

Sharon explained that, "She just stalks around the underground scene, and leave bodies behind for people to find."

Zemo interjected, "Hence, her name." Gaining a glare from Sharon, that translates to "Do you want to tell the story or what?"

"Right." Sam nodded as he takes in the information.

After earning a silent apology from Zemo, Sharon continued, "No one knows who she works for or what her aim is but there's rumours she's been hunting down Hydra, or anyone and anything affiliated to it."

Again, the Deathstalker's obsession with Hydra had caught Bucky's attention. A rogue assassin seemingly made it her mission to hunt down Hydra?

Bucky doesn't know what to make of that. So, he kept his questions to himself. Eitherway, if she gets in their way, he'd still need to fight against her.

"Why are you telling us this again?" Sam asked as he didn't find the connection between their mission and the Deathstalker.

Sharon replied, "It's just worth to note that she might be hunting for Wilfred Nagel too." She paused as her gaze fell into Bucky's, "...since the super soldier serum had been Hydra's obsession for centuries."

The Dealthstalker technically saved his life.

So, does that mean that she was not an enemy?

Sam was struggling between containing his pain and coming up with a plausible conclusion but Y/N's action quickly give him the answer he needed.

Within seconds, she had Sam pinned against the wall as the edge of her sharp blade dug into the skin of his neck, "What is an Avenger doing with the Asset?" Her voice sounded distorted through the voice-changing mask.

"Lady, I don't know what you're talking about!" He grunted in protest.

Sam was not used to Bucky being labeled as an "asset". Sure, he knew the name of Winter Soldier or Soldat. But, Bucky was never addressed as the Asset, at least not by the people around him.

Y/N grabbed him by the collar and harshly slammed him against the metal of the cargo behind him, causing him to curse as the pain struck on the side of his abdomen.

"Are you planning to revive Hydra?" Her menancing eyes searched into his, demanding for a truthful answer.

What kind of bullshit was she talking about?

Reviving Hydra?

Why the hell would he do that?

However, before Sam could retort to her accusation, Y/N was pulled back by an arm, wrapped around her neck from behind. She knew it was the Winter Soldier from the cold metal burning into her skin. The soldier's other hand grabbed onto her wielded hand, forcefully bending her wrist until the knife fell from her grasp.

He easily lifted her up in the air as he backed away, tightening the lock of his left arm around her neck while twisting her right hand to her back with his flesh hand. The smaller let out a robotic groan through her mask as she struggled in his chokehold.

While the two wrestled in between holding one down and freeing oneself, Sharon quickly ran to Sam's side, "Are you alright?" she prompted as she examined his wounds. The male simply nodded his head, "Yeah, it's just a graze." He explained before asking, "Is that the Deathstalker chick that you've been talking about?"

Sharon followed his gaze, and eyed the woman who was still struggling in Bucky's hold before she managed to land a paticularly sharp strike right into Bucky's stomach, "Yeap, that would be her." Sharon answered.

Usually a few strikes by an elbow of a woman doesn't really hurt the super soldier but unfortunately for him, the elbows of the suit Y/N was wearing were armored with thin yet effective pad made of vibranium. Due to its ability is to absorb and dissipate shocks, it managed to push him back and simultaneously loosen his hold on her.

When his guard was down, Y/N took the opportunity to  slightly twist her foot back around his and grab onto his left arm. She pushed her bottom into his hips as she bend over, pulling onto his arm as she flipped him forward.

Y/N stepped backwards, standing on guard as the soldier rolled over on the ground before finding a position to stop the inertia; one knee of the ground while the other leg paused at his foot with his back facing her.

Her hands reached to her back and pulled two knives from the holster on the belt, gripping them by the handle while the blades facing downwards. She bended her knees into stance, much like a panther ready to pounce.

But when the soldier stood on his feet and turned around, suddenly her defensive stance flatter and her breath were cut short. The battled-tensed surroundings did not matter when all she could see was the soldier's face.

He looked a bit aged from the last time she saw him but a lot younger considering it was decades ago.

How could she forget those livid-blue eyes sharpen beneath the deep frown he was wearing?

Or the softness of his pursed lips ghosting over her own?

Even if the smooth skin of his forehead were now decorated with thin lines of wrinkles, and the exhaustion in the discoloration under his eyes had overshadowed the playful glint he used to have; they could never fool her to believe that the man standing in front of her right now was not her long-lost lover.

"James?" Her voice was gentle but the voice changer behind her mask didn't quite conveyed her tone.

Suddenly, the high walls of her defences begin to crumble into mere pieces of fragments like crushed dried leaves on autumn grounds. Time suspended, almost too still, as if it was trying to give her the luxury to cherish the revelation; to revel in the moment of joy and relief.

And there wasn't any thoughts formulated in the fog of her mind besides the need to melt in his arm. Somehow the dark side of her mind managed to trick her into believing that if she didn't touch him now, then she would perish in despair.

Her feet inches forward closer and closer, and her knives were long forgone, leaving clancking sounds on the surface of the ground.

When Bucky heard his name uttered by the woman, somehow it didn't sound foreign to him. It was as if he'd heard it before.

And when he saw the wet glaze in her brown eyes as she hesitantly walk towards him, he knew then that she was not approaching with an intent to kill him; he'd dare to say it was quite the opposite.

There were so much emotions in her gaze; grief, yearning, sorrow, need, joy – that he even his ex-assassin's skill couldn't possibly decipher them all. And that had impeccably managed froze every nerves in his body until he can only stood there, paralyzed on his spot.

With each hesitant step, more tears started to swell in her eyes. Step by step she took, hoping he wasn't another fragments of hallucination that she made up to ease her needs, until she finally stood close enough to him to realize he was real.

Bucky knew he should move. Reprimand her before she could land any sneak attack that he might not expect; but he couldn't. Not when she gaze up at him with that look in her eyes.

He unexpectedly drowned himself in those waves of emotions in her eyes, not realizing her actions until her shivering hands cupped his face.

Her fingers were cold as if they were soaked in ice.

Her voice slightly cracked when she spoke, "Is that really you, James?" Even if she was looking directly into his eyes, somehow the question sounded like it directed towards herself rather than to Bucky.

It's real.

He's real.

Her eyes casted down to where her skin met his warmth. There was a slight tingle when her thumbs rubbed against the stubble of his jaw, prickling her skin perfectly just as she remembered.

"It's you. James. It's really you." She mumbled under her breath, convincing herself over and over as if her brain refused to acknowledge it while her heart does otherwise.

Bucky, on the other hand, didn't know what to do or what to say. But, he hadn't heard anyone called him by that name so affectionately since Y/N. The lover he left behind during WWII, who's grave he had been visiting every Tuesday morning ever since that particular session with Dr. Raynor.

However, something in his guts were screaming at him to reach out to this woman's plea as she cried in his presence, lost in her own world as she muttered his name again and again.

But, why?

Why does he feel the need to cradle her body in his arms, and whisper the sweetest things to calm her down?

Why?

Bucky gulped as his eyes loomed over hers, "Who are you?"

<< Part I || Part III >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Feel free to leave feedbacks! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Until then, see you in the next part 🤍

[betterthanburrow]

Birthday in Cancun - Instagram AU

liked by yourinstagram and 18,435 more users

Bengals: It's the season finale 🫡

Canvus Game Poster l @.drinkcanvus

view all 1,400 comments

username1: i don’t think i’ve been so not excited for a football game in my life 😕

username2: well it can’t get worse than it is…

username3: if The Bengals don’t win this game against the Back-Up Browns… i’m becoming a chiefs fan.

liked by joeyb_9 and 125,009 more users

yourinstagram: last Bengals’ 🏈 game of the season!

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username1: the prettiest NFL wag!

username2: @.joeyb_9 you’re a lucky man.

username3: 😍😍😍

username4: the NFL should show you on the TV as much as they show Taylor Swift at the Chiefs games.

liked by 999 users

Bengal_Central: this is what we’re all hoping for the New Year (video from @.yourinstagram IG Story).

view all 69 comments

username1: 2024 WILL BE JOE’S YEAR!

username2: i love how even though Joe isn’t playing on the football field, she is still showing up to support The Bengals at all of the games!

liked by 909 users

Cincy_News: When Bengals QB was asked by reporters during the press conference about what are his plans for the off-season, Joe Burrow answered that it’s still going to be some time before he’s able to test the ability of his right wrist.

But for right now he said that he’ll be enjoying the beginning of the off-season after the rough few months out of Ohio, spending quality time with the most important person in his life… then when he returns back to Ohio, it’ll be time to start focusing on the 2024 football season.

view all 55 comments

username1: i can’t be mad at him for wanting to get out of Ohio as fast as he can… nobody truly likes Ohio.

username2: i wonder where he’s taking a trip too 🤔

↳ username3: maybe Cancun with the rest of the NFL teams that failed to make it to the playoffs?!

↳ username4: apparently it’s his girlfriend’s birthday in the next couple of days… they’re probably taking advantage of the fact that The Bengals aren’t in the playoffs to be able to enjoy her birthday somewhere other than a restaurant in Cincinnati.

liked by yourinstagram and 66,260 more users

Bengals: We appreciate you, Who Dey Nation!

See ya back in The Jungle in August 🫡

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username1: Bengals fan until i DIE!

username2: it’s a bittersweet ending… but next season WILL BE THE BENGALS’ SEASON!

username3: WHO DEY FOREVER!

username4: i’ve never been more impatient for the next football season to start in my life.

yourinstagram story

viewed by joeyb_9 and 15,101 more users

liked by joeyb_9 and 110,055 more users

yourinstagram: the Cancun Island ☀️

photo credits: @.joeyb_9

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yourbestfriend: i’m glad you’re enjoying the sun because the weather in Ohio is too cold to handle.

↳ yourinstagram: that’s why Joe and I left Ohio as fast as possible… we knew the cold weather was coming.

username1: hope you’re having fun on the B-Day Trip!

username2: don’t let Joe do anything stupid during the trip… we need him to be healthy for next season!

username3: Ohio misses you and Joe!

username4: 🤤🤤🤤

username5: have you seen any other football players on the Cancun Island?!

liked by yourinstagram and 870,101 more users

joeyb_9: Sorry for the missed time. Return of the Jedi….

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username1: football is boring to watch without you!

username2: MVP WILL BE YOURS NEXT SEASON!

username3: it’s all in the NFL script…

yourinstagram: you’re such a nerd 🙄

↳ joeyb_9: please let me make my Star Wars references in peace.

↳ yourinstagram: you posted this while laying on a lounge chair by the beach in Cancun… you’re at peace.

liked by 10,055 users

NFLWAGS_Updates: we’re all wishing that we had a boyfriend like Joe Burrow (@.joeyb_9) right now.

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username1: who knew Joe Burrow is a romantic?!

username2: my favorite NFL couple!!!

username3: one thing about Joe, he’s going to get his girl a pretty bouquet of flowers.

username4: the stick notes of all the things he loves about her in a heart shape on the bathroom mirror 🥹

liked by yourinstagram and 155,009 more users

yourinstagram: the best birthday a girl could ask for!

view all 55,900 comments

yourbestfriend: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ❣️

username1: happy birthday 🥳

username2: happy b-day to you!

NFLWAGS_Updates: happy birthday to our favorite Bengals WAG 🧡 hope you’re having the best time in Cancun with Joe!

username3: happy birthday 🎂

username4: happy birthday!!!

joeyb_9: your birthday isn’t over yet, there’s still a lot of things on the “to do” list to do…

↳ yourinstagram: you just love to spoil me 🥹

↳ joeyb_9: anything to make the birthday girl happy!

Author’s Note:

a birthday themed Instagram AU because i’m publishing this Instagram AU on my birthday!

if you have an Instagram AU Request, send the IG AU Request to my Inbox and i’ll try to get the Requested Instagram AU published as fast as i can!

thank you all for the love and support! 🤍

[charlosvibesonly]

Racing Hearts - Part 6

pairing : max x fem!reader/driver

will this be the end of your great war?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“Y/N is the winner of the 2024 Championship! What a season she has had. One that goes down in history!”

You had done it!!

As you brought the car to a stop in the designated winner's platform, the crowd's cheers washed over you like a tidal wave. You could feel the weight of the moment, the culmination of months of hard work, determination, and an unquenchable thirst for victory. As you emerged from the cockpit, the crowd's cheers crescendoed, blending with the delighted cries of your team.

Racing toward your team, you were engulfed in a sea of hugs, high-fives, and congratulations. The team, mechanics, engineers – everyone shared in the euphoria of triumph. It was a moment that they would all cherish for a lifetime.

The moment you’d been waiting for had finally arrived. You stood on the podium, your heart beating faster with each passing second, as they awarded you the trophy which you lifted with such grace and jest. The feeling of happiness and accomplishment was overwhelming, but deep down, you knew that something was missing. You kept stealing glances at Max, hoping that he would say something to you. However, he seemed to maintain a distance, and you couldn’t help but feel a little sad.  His warning echoed in your mind. He must be hating you now.

Though you had heard him mention your name during the interview, and your heart skipped a beat. " Yeah, it was a fun race. Y/N made it really tough and interesting. A well-deserved win. Congratulations to her." His words filled you with a sense of pride and happiness, but it wasn’t enough. 

As the champagne bottles popped open, and the music filled the air, you started hearing the crowd chanting "KISS! KISS! KISS!". It broke your heart because you knew that it would never happen. The disappointment almost made you want to leave the podium and hide somewhere.

But then, out of nowhere, someone turned you around. "Congratulations!" Max said to you, and before you knew it, he kissed you passionately. In that moment, everything else faded away - all the past fights, the misunderstandings, the hurt, the pain - it all melted away. You feel the warmth of his embrace, and how much you missed it.

As you parted, Max offered you a rare smile.

After the celebration had cooled off, you stealthily slipped into Max's room, your footsteps echoing your simmering frustration. You stormed into his room.

"What the hell, Max!" you burst out, each word laced with resentment. "You threaten me one day and kiss me the next. Am I a joke to you?" The words spilled from your lips in a relentless torrent, your anger obvious.

Max rose from his chair, a determined stride bringing him closer. You instinctively took a step back, maintaining a wary distance as he continued his approach. The room seemed to shrink, closing in on the escalating confrontation.

"You know, Y/N," Max said, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips, "life's a bit like a race. Full of unexpected turns, and sometimes you just have to go with the flow." His words hung in the air, a blend of nonchalance and underlying meaning, adding fuel to the fiery exchange.

"What the fuck does that even mean!" you exclaimed, frustration etched on your face. Max's response was a lean-in, his words a whispered retort. "Nothing. Congratulations. You can go celebrate now. Don't waste your time with me; Lando must be waiting for you." The barb landed, intensifying your anger.

"Really? Are you really doing this? For someone who is so smart on the track, you sure are equally stupid off it!" you shot back, your words sharp as daggers. Max's perplexed "What?" only fueled your fire.

"It's none of your business, but Lando is just a friend. And if you were so jealous of me being with him, you shouldn't have let me go in the first place," you declared, your voice teetering on the edge of breaking. "I wasn't jealous. I only wanted to focus on the championship," Max tried to defend himself, his words a feeble attempt to douse the growing flames.

"Your eyes can never lie, Max. And I hate that you didn't find me worthy enough to share your doubts with. You never do things right!" you blurted out, tears mingling with the fiery intensity. Pushing him away, you swung open the door, leaving the room.

A party was arranged to celebrate your and the team's success. Red Bull had won the Constructors Championship, and a 1-2 position for you and Max was all but confirmed. The celebration took place in a club, with you donning your best black dress and perfect makeup. As you entered, cheers erupted, drinks were called, and someone from the team pulled you onto the dance floor. Everything felt right until you spotted Max standing in a corner with a drink in hand, his eyes fixed on you.

You stopped dancing, and your gaze locked. Tension filled the room, and people started to notice. Max placed his drink on the table and started walking toward you. Time seemed to slow down, and he stopped right in front of you, dangerously close.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you asked Max, "What are you doing?" The anticipation was palpable in your voice, and you couldn't wait to see what he had in store. "Doing things right," he replied, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you passionately. The entire club erupted in cheers, and the music blasted through the speakers. People started recording the moment, capturing the pure excitement and joy in the air. As Max's lips met yours, you felt like you were on top of the world. This was the Max you'd missed so much - the one who could make you feel alive with just one touch. Despite all the time you'd spent apart, you couldn't help but feel happy to have him back in your arms.

As you broke apart, Max whispered in your ear, "Wanna go somewhere quiet?" 

[scotianostra]

On 24th February 1923, the world famous steam train, the Flying Scotsman, went into service.

From the 1920s the train was considered the height of luxury. Onboard there were first-class restaurant facilities, a cocktail bar and radio equipment, so passengers could hear the horse-racing results.

There was even a hairdressing salon where men could have their facial hair shaved with an open razor, made possible because the barber's chair was set in such a position that there would be "no jolting". I'm not sure I would have a shave in a moving train!

The train's hairdresser was reportedly known as "Sweeney Todd of the Rails", given his precarious trade.

In 1928 the train broke the record for the longest regular non-stop train journey in the world, when the LNER ran an express service for the entire 393-mile route.

This record would last until 1948, when, unintentionally, the train broke its own record. The Flying Scotsman ran for 408 and a half miles in May of that year when flood damage to the main line caused diversions via St Boswells and Kelso.

Throughout World War II The Flying Scotsman was one of the few titled trains that continued to operate along the East Coast - it carried troops between London and Scotland, although the headboards and roofboards were removed for security.

And, on 21st June 1958, in a historic move which would signal the decline of steam, The Flying Scotsman was hauled for the first time by a diesel locomotive.

The service is currently run by government-owned East Coast.

In May 2011 they relaunched the service, painting one of their locomotives, the Class 91 No. 91101 with Flying Scotsman branding.

At the launch East Coast said the move was "part of our policy of bringing back train names and restoring pride, passion and even a touch of glamour and romance back to the East Coast railway".

It's not all a romantic journey though, just last September there was, what the called a "slow speed” crash with another heritage train hours before visitors were due to board it.

It happened lwhen the ocomotive was being shunted into place to be coupled with the Royal Scotsman train carriages, which were stationary.

A spokesman for Royal Scotsman train owner Belmond described the collision as “minor” and said there had been no major injuries.

"We are grateful for the prompt attendance by paramedics who were on site to assist the few passengers and team members who sustained minor injuries,” the spokesman said.

"One passenger and one team member are attending hospital for a precautionary check-up.

"All passengers have been transferred to a hotel where our team is on standby to offer support and to assist with our guests’ onward travel arrangements."

Last year ater travelling 10,000 miles across the UK as part of its centenary celebrations, world famous locomotive Flying Scotsman will spend the first part of 2024 on static display at the National Railway Museum in York before resuming rail tours later in the year.

The custodianship of The Flying Scotsman is up for tender later this year, so by this time next year I may be telling you about new "owners"

[asongoficeandfiresource]

Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath, yet the Grey King had slain her and the Drowned God had changed her bones to stone so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings. Nagga's ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws became his throne. For a thousand years and seven he reigned here, Aeron recalled. Here he took his mermaid wife and planned his wars against the Storm God. From here he ruled both stone and salt, wearing robes of woven seaweed and a tall pale crown made from Nagga's teeth. But that was in the dawn of days, when mighty men still dwelt on earth and sea. The hall had been warmed by Nagga's living fire, which the Grey King had made his thrall. On its walls hung tapestries woven from silver seaweed most pleasing to the eyes. The Grey King's warriors had feasted on the bounty of the sea at a table in the shape of a great starfish, whilst seated upon thrones carved from mother-of-pearl. Gone, all the glory gone. Men were smaller now. Their lives had grown short. The Storm God drowned Nagga's fire after the Grey King's death, the chairs and tapestries had been stolen, the roof and walls had rotted away. Even the Grey King's great throne of fangs had been swallowed by the sea. Only Nagga's bones endured to remind the ironborn of all the wonder that had been. -- AFFC

A Song of Ice and Fire Calendar 2024 || the Grey King by Justin Sweet

[wulfhalls]

https://twitter.com/jazsnclair/status/1769211276251582792?t=MwyJdBqzIHTv-dQgYuXwbA&s=19

wow they're really out there doing this for us

who will win the give a fuck about kastle wars in 2024???? by god its deborah ann woll and jon bernthal with the steel chair‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[writingforstraykids]

Pretty Boy- War of Hearts preview

Pairing: Chanlix (mention of Minchan | Minsung | Y/N)

Word Count: 4532

Summary: Watching his best friend and former lover Minho getting married breaks Chan's heart. Leaving the wedding early he gets pulled over for speeding by a surprisingly handsome officer...

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, friends to lovers to friends, minsung is getting married, chan gets a little drunk, bodyguard!chan, officer!felix, mafia boss!minho, smut, sub!felix, dom!chan, strangers to lovers, anxious!min

A/N: Soo I didn't plan on posting anything of the mafia series I've been working on yet but I thought I could use this chapter since it's very Chanlix centered🤭 I hope you guys like the first glimpse at the series (yn at the beginning only here). Hope you like it miu @miuracha 💕💕

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

You sit down with them, taking Felix’s previous place, and look at Chan curiously. “Now I really wanna know how the two of you met. Felix isn’t usually like this.”

“I wasn’t either,” Chan giggles softly and rubs his face. “Fine, but I won’t tell you all the details,” he giggles, thinking back to the night he met Felix.

Four years ago

Chan watches the newly wedded couple in front of him, keeping up the fake smile he has been wearing for hours. Minho smiles brightly, kissing Jisung for the hundredth time tonight, and pulls him in close as they sway across the dance floor. The golden ring on his hand shines brightly beneath the lights, and so do those beautiful brown eyes he fell in love with all these years ago.

Minho's happiness is his top priority, especially after those last couple of years. Chan stopped counting the nights Minho clung to him in feverish nightmares, searching for him to hold him when he felt like falling apart. Now he's happy with someone else. It shouldn't matter. It should be enough to see him smile again, to be so purely in love and finally feel at peace. It should be, but it isn't.

Chan's heart breaks with every kiss he watches. It shatters with every loving gaze Minho gifts to Jisung and not him. Hearing them exchanging vows and tying the knot was by far the worst moment of his life since he lost his parents. He takes another sip of his drink and presses his lips together tightly, getting a little emotional. He needs to get out of here. Chan pushes himself off his chair and grabs the keys to his motorcycle.

"Channie, hyung," Minho's soft voice stops him, and turning around, he can see them coming toward him. "You're leaving already?"

"I'm not feeling so well, I'm sorry, Min," he lies smoothly.

"Oh no, what's wrong?" he asks worriedly, eyes scanning his body for possible signs of discomfort.

"Nothing, I'll be fine," he waves him off.

"Chan," Minho frowns at him.

"Min, sweetie," Jisung chimes in gently. "Let him go if he needs to rest, you have enough other bodyguards around."

"Yeah, but this is my best friend," Minho argues softly, not knowing how hurtful those two little words are for Chan. Jisung gives him a meaningful glance before excusing himself to go and talk to a friend of his. Minho gives him a quick kiss, and Chan is gone when he turns back around.

Chan races down the stairs of the wedding venue Minho rented and blindly fumbles for his keys as tears burn in his eyes. He reaches his bike and grabs his helmet, hands shaking as he unclasps it.

"Chan!" Minho calls out for him, rushing down the stairs and coming to a halt in front of him. He frowns seeing the tears in his eyes. "Oh, Channie, that bad?" he asks worriedly.

"I'm just feeling really sick right now, that's all," he says quietly, lowering his gaze to the floor.

"Let me drive you home then," he suggests.

"Min, this is your wedding," he argues. "You can't just vanish."

"I can do whatever I want," he snorts.

"Wouldn't be fair to him, would it?" he asks, and Minho's smile falters.

"He'd get it. You're my best friend, and if you feel like shit, it's my responsibility to take care of you."

"No, Minnie, it's my responsibility to take care of you. You're supposed to be in there with your husband-" he chokes on the word and swallows hard.

Minho gently grabs his hand, his ring burning against Chan's skin. "Channie, dear," he says softly. "I just…be careful, okay?"

"Of course," he nods quickly.

"Promise me," Minho asks gently.

"Min," Chan sighs, finally wanting to get away from this.

"Promise me you'll be careful. I couldn't handle it if something happened to you," he says, the grip around his hand growing stronger.

"I promise I'll be fine," he says, carefully easing his hand out of Minho's. He looks up and smiles at him bravely. "Go and have fun, alright?" he asks, and Minho nods hesitantly, searching his eyes.

He watches him climbing onto his bike and grabbing the helmet. He can tell something is very wrong, and he doubts it's what Chan says it is. Chan wouldn't leave his side because of that, he never does. "I love you, you know that right?" he asks timidly, and Chan freezes in his movements for a short moment.

"I love you," Chan answers just as timidly, and his gaze softens a little, meeting Minho's wide, confused eyes. "You look beautiful," he tells him gently, and Minho blushes almost instantly. "Thank you," he whispers.

"Come here," Chan sighs, and Minho steps closer. He hugs him tight and smiles as Minho holds onto him firmly. "You're doing great. I'm proud of you, Minnie," he says softly.

Minho's hold on him tightens. "Please don't go?"

Chan pulls back, cupping his cheek out of reflex. "You'll be fine."

"I feel safer when you're here," he confesses anxiously.

Chan shakes his head firmly, leaning in and planting a short, light kiss on his forehead. "You'll be fine," he whispers, and pulling back, there are tears burning in his eyes all over again.

Minho watches him, stunned, as he puts on the helmet and grabs his keys. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course," he promises, putting on his gloves.

"It's you and me against the world, right?" he asks timidly.

Chan feels like laughing at that. Minho just got married to Jisung but still thinks it's them against the rest. "Always, kitten," he says softly before starting the engine.

Minho stands still for a moment as Chan races off and nervously fidgets with his suit. He wonders if Chan would be alright and get home safely. Minho flinches softly as someone wraps their arms around him, hand resting on his chest.

"Hey there," Jisung says gently, kissing his cheek. "You're alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he nods and squeezes his hand, leaning back into him.

"He'll be okay," he tells him soothingly.

"I'm not sure this time," Minho shakes his head, deep in thought.

"He always is, he has to. He'd never leave you here if he didn't think you'd be safe," he points out, and Minho hums agreeingly. "Come on now, we have a party to celebrate," he says, gently pulling him with him.

-

Chan blinks away his tears, racing down the streets rather aimlessly. He doesn't want to go back home yet, he'll feel even lonelier in that big house without Min there. He has no other place to go, though. His parents are gone, there aren't any siblings, and Minho is all he had his whole life. The only constant variable in his life got ripped away for good. The safe house is over an hour away and full of memories. He can't escape it.

Chan speeds up a little, the wind pulling at his jacket, but he doesn't care. He'll just keep on driving all night and stay away from home for a bit. He notices the red light too late and curses to himself softly, that could've gone very wrong.

A loud siren behind him startles him a little, and glancing back through his mirror, he notices a police car getting closer. "Oh, for fucks sake," he curses and stops at the side of the road.

Felix parks behind him and hops out of the car. "That fucker really got some nerves," he whispers to himself, making his way over. "Excuse me, Sir, you-" he starts and loses track of his thoughts as the guy takes off his helmet. He meets a pair of soft and incredibly sad chocolate orbs he feels like he could drown in if he maintains eye contact for too long. Dark curls frame his face effortlessly, and god, those full lips. A quick glance down his body makes him suspect he's quite fit, and Felix scolds himself for getting all dreamy about a member of the mafia. It must be him.

"Yes, officer?" he asks patiently, resting the helmet on his thigh.

"You, uhm, you were speeding. And you ignored a red light," he tells him, frowning softly at his amused expression.

"I'm aware of that, thank you," he nods.

"That's not a kind reminder," Felix protests softly. "I just pulled you over because -."

"I don't get pulled over," Chan says calmly, and judging by Felix's stunned expression, he has no clue who he's talking to. "Ever heard of Minho Lee?"

Felix's eyes widen and he nods quickly. "Yeah, I did."

"Well, guess what, I'm pretty important to him. So remember this," he says, vaguely waving at himself and the motorcycle. "And don't pull me over again."

"I don't think I can-" he stammers.

Chan sighs heavily and reaches out for him, pushing aside his jacket gently to check the name tag. "Great, another fucking Lee who's ruining my day."

"You ruined that by yourself, Sir. I just reminded you of the law," Felix frowns, almost a little offended.

"The law's debatable," Chan shrugs and squints his eyes at him. He takes in the sight of him in his uniform and has to bite back a smirk, meeting his very confused brown eyes. Dark hair falls around his face, highlighting the freckles on it. He looks cute. " You're new here, aren't you?"

"Actually, I've been living here for my whole-."

"At the police force, darling," Chan huffs, and Felix's eyes widen, a soft blush creeping up his neck. Oh.

"I'm-Yes, I'm new," he nods quickly.

"I can tell," he says and smiles at him fondly. "Still so eager to do things right."

"We should," Felix nods quickly, subconsciously straightening his uniform.

"But they don't. And you won't if you want to survive this job," he nods thoughtfully. "You'll notice soon enough. Try staying away from Han's men, they're horrible to cops."

"Okay," he nods, wondering why the hell he is listening to this crap. "Sir, are you drunk?" he asks after a moment of silence.

Chan laughs out loud, and it's the first time today. "I'm not joking, stay away from the Han family. They're dangerous. It'd be a shame if they'd mess up that pretty face of yours," he says, and Felix's blush deepens. "But to answer your question, yes, I had a little too much."

"Then that's another reason you shouldn't be driving," Felix points out kindly.

"I have to get home somehow," he shrugs, staring up at the sky, slowly changing colors as the sun begins to set.

"You have no one to pick you up?" he asks, feeling pity for him.

"My best friend got married to another guy today. I have no one else," he tells him, not really sure why the fuck he'd be telling that to some random police officer.

"That's why you're drunk and driving so reckless," he hums understandingly. "You're heartbroken, aren't you?"

"What if I was?" he asks and watches him observantly. His brown hair shines beneath the setting sun, eyes sparkle beautifully. Chan can't help but think again about how effortlessly beautiful Officer Lee is.

"Then I'd feel sorry for pulling you over…but on second thought, not really. There's no use putting yourself at risk because someone hasn't found you fitting for themselves," he says very gently, observing Chan's eyes. "Maybe you're not the right person for him, but I'm sure you'll find your missing piece one day."

"Well, thanks for the advice, Officer Lee," he snorts and once more checks him out. Oh, fuck it. "When does your shift end tonight?"

Felix glances at his watch. "In five minutes," he tells him.

"May I take you out for dinner after? Make up for the trouble I caused you?" he asks smoothly, and Felix's eyes widen before he gathers himself quickly again.

"Purely that?" he asks, and Chan raises his eyebrow at him.

"You're bolder than you look," he smirks. "Not really, no."

"Well, then skip the politeness and take what you so clearly want," Felix announces, not without blushing heavily.

Chan sees right through him and nods to himself. "If you let me," he nods reluctantly.

"Please," Felix nods, growing a bit shy. He crosses his arms behind his chest to hide his hands shaking.

Chan looks at him, amused. "I don't know if you're naive or touch starved to get into bed with some stranger, but I'll take it."

"I know very well who you are, Mr. Bahng," he says, and surprise flashes in Chan's eyes. "You're the head bodyguard of Mr. Lee, and that best friend you've been talking about is the very same person. You're in love with your boss."

"Huh," Chan laughs stunned. "And that doesn't stop you from climbing into bed with me?"

"That's what makes it exciting," he corrects him, and Chan smirks.

"I believe your five minutes are over, dear," he says calmly, and Felix hums softly. "Keep up, alright?" he asks, putting his helmet back on.

"You bet," he grins.

-

Felix gets onto the motorcycle behind him, wrapping his arms around him to steady himself. They decided to park the car back at the police station to avoid raising suspicions, and Chan kept his helmet on as Felix did.

"Hold on tight," Chan tells him, and Felix hums, agreeing. He starts the engine and drives off with him. He knows Minho would be pissed knowing he brought a police officer back home, but he couldn't care less. He just wanted to forget and feel good for a night.

Chan soon parks in front of the mansion and hops off his bike, taking off his helmet. Felix does as well and smiles at him shyly. "Come on in," Chan chuckles and leads the way.

Felix follows him through the front door, looking around curiously. Chan takes the helmet from him and puts it aside, reaching into a small closet drawer next to the door. He pulls out a piece of soft silk and gives him an apologetic smile. "He'd kill me if I'd led you through the house with your eyes open."

"Oh, okay," Felix nods gently, swallowing nervously as Chan steps closer. Their eyes meet, and sparks ignite between them. "Can I kiss you?" he asks politely.

Chan chuckles softly and cups his face, pulling him into a gentle kiss. A soft sound escapes Felix's lips, and he grips Chan's suit jacket, pulling him close. Chan's arm snakes around his waist, and he lets him enjoy that feeling. It has been years since he kissed someone and he only realizes now how much he had missed it.

Felix takes a few steps back, pulling him with him until his back hits the wall. Chan braces himself on the wall, caging him in, and the moment Felix parts his lips to catch his breath, Chan's tongue slides into his mouth. A low groan escapes him as their tongues slide against each other sensually. He reaches up, burying his hand in those thick curls and arches into him. Chan's playing with his hair, pulling at it as he deepens the kiss.

Neither of them notice the front door opening until someone clears their throat. "Channie?"

Chan flinches heavily and pulls back panting, turning to look at him. Minho stands there, still in his wedding suit, and watches him with wide eyes. "Min, you're back already?"

Felix connects the dots and realizes the man in front of them is Minho Lee, one of the most important people in town.

"I-uh, I came to check on you, but you seem to feel fine again," he says, nodding slowly. He looks a little hurt, realizing Chan hasn't felt sick. "So you're…you're not feeling sick?"

"Not anymore," Chan answers, and he isn't even lying. He hasn't been feeling exactly well the whole day, watching the love of his life marrying another man.

"Mhm, okay," Minho nods quietly before his eyes fall onto Felix. "And that is?"

Felix bows gently before him, dark messed-up hair falling into his face. "I'm Officer Felix Lee, Sir," he introduces himself. "It's an honor to meet you."

Minho frowns at him softly. "Not really, there's nothing special about me other than my mother's legacy," he says and looks back at Chan. "Why are you bringing a police officer back home without my permission?"

"Since when am I asking for permission?" Chan gives back and glances at Felix. "Felix and I just met, we've decided to have some fun tonight."

Felix smiles at the way his name rolls off his tongue. "You can cover my eyes now, by the way," he chimes in gently. "I've probably seen too much already."

Chan smiles softly and nods, pulling the silk from his pocket. He steps behind him and soothingly squeezes his shoulder. "Close your eyes, pretty," he says and locks eyes with Minho as he covers Felix's eyes. "Don't you have a husband to get back to?" he asks, more coldly than he intended to.

"I-I guess I do," he nods, not fully understanding why his heart hurts and his stomach cramps with jealousy as he watches Felix. He just got married; for fucks sake, why is he so focused on Chan? "We'll talk about this later, Chan."

"Nothing to talk about, you won't do much different tonight," he shrugs and wraps his arm around Felix's waist, pulling him in. Felix leans back into him, breath hitching as Chan places a kiss just below his ear.

"Why?" Minho asks, barely audibly pointing at Felix. "You're usually not like that."

"You broke my heart, that's why," he says, and Minho's face falls. "It's nothing new, and I won't stand in your way if you're happy with him. But let me deal with my side of emotions the way I prefer."

"I-I'm sorry," he whispers, tears brimming his eyes.

"No, you're not," Chan says quietly. "Because you don't have to." He steps in front of Felix and lifts him up after a gentle warning.

Felix wraps his legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and nudges his nose against Chan's clumsily. He leans to his ear as he plays with the base of his hair. "Need you so bad, Channie hyung," he whispers, not seeing the beautiful smile breaking across Chan's face.

"Don't worry, sunshine, I got you," he gives back lowly and exchanges a last glance with Minho before carrying Felix up the stairs.

"But I am sorry," Minho whispers to himself, anxiously fidgeting with the sleeves of his suit. His chest tightens a little, and he sucks in a sharp breath. He never wanted to hurt Chan like that. Never. Had he been faking to be happy for him for years now?

-

Chan gently sets Felix down as they reach the corridor to his room, taking the fabric from his eyes. Felix's soft eyes flutter open and meet his. "No wonder you fell for him, he's incredibly handsome up close," Felix states, making Chan chuckle, surprised.

"Stop talking about Min, alright?" he asks gently and cups his face. "He's not important tonight."

Felix nods kindly and fondles down his sides almost hesitantly. "Where's your room?"

"Just over there." Chan gently caresses his cheeks and pulls him into a kiss. Felix's hands rest on his hips as he kisses back fiercely. They get lost in the feeling for another bit before Chan takes the lead and walks them to his room, never breaking apart. Chan kicks the door closed behind them and turns the key, trapping Felix between the door and his body.

"Can I?" Felix asks, reaching for Chan's suit jacket. Chan hums gently, and Felix brushes the jacket off his shoulders, locking eyes with him as he starts opening the buttons of his shirt. Felix hesitantly lets his hands roam his skin once he's done and bites his lower lip hard at the thought of the rest of him. "Fuck," he breathes out, a little stunned, as Chan grabs his neck and pulls him in again.

Chan pushes his thigh between his legs, smirking as Felix's jaw drops. "Feels good, pretty boy?"

"Uhuh," Felix nods dumbly, pressing down against him needily.

"Go on," he encourages him and reaches for the first button of his uniform. "I'll start taking that off for you while you do."

Felix doesn't need a second invitation, grinding down against his thigh with a low groan. He watches as Chan unbuttons his uniform and shivers with need as Chan's fingers brush against his bare skin in the process.

Chan notices and glances at him curiously. "You haven't been touched in a while, have you?"

"Not really," he confesses, blushing heavily. "It's a bit of a weakness of mine," he adds, glancing at him through his lashes.

"How much time do you have?" Chan asks, and Felix swallows audibly.

"For you, all night," he breathes out.

Chan hums softly and picks him up, carrying him to his bed. He lowers Felix into the pillows and climbs onto the bed, hovering over him. "May I make up for the time you missed then?"

"Please do," Felix nods shyly. He watches with interest as Chan gets comfortable between his legs, bracing himself next to his head. His lips plant tiny kisses down his jaw before they land on his neck. Felix melts into the sheets beneath him as Chan starts kissing his neck, leaving small bites all over it, slowly moving down to his collarbone. Sinking his hand into his curls, he whines softly as Chan's lips travel further, tongue lapping at his nipples.

Chan has no idea how long he stays like that, exploring Felix's body with his tongue, teeth, lips, and hands. The man beneath him writhes in the sheets, soft, helpless sounds tumbling from his lips. Chan's face is buried between his thighs by now, having worked up his way both of his legs. Felix's body is littered with reddish marks by now and covered in sweat, worked up from Chan's pleasurable touches. Looking up, he smiles at the sight of him. His dark hair sticks to his face, brown eyes blown with lust, lips swollen and parted. "Enjoying yourself, pretty?"

Felix hums, agreeing, and bites his lip hard as Chan gently eases off his boxers. His head falls back as Chan teasingly licks up his shaft and massages his balls with his hand. "Ch-Chan," he chokes out.

"Get on your hands and knees for me, will you?" he asks, and Felix nods, eager to please him and finally get what he wants. Felix turns around, knees buckling a little. Chan reaches for his bedside table, grabbing a bottle of lube and some condoms for later. He spreads Felix's cheeks with his fingers and licks up between them. A guttural moan falls from Felix's lips at that, pushing back the moment Chan's tongue pushes against his hole. Chan switches between tongue and fingers, working him open slowly. Felix's arms collapse as he locates his prostate, and Chan bites back a moan at the weak sound leaving his lips.

"Channie - stop," he pleads quietly, face buried in the pillow. "Fuck, please," he whimpers.

"What's wrong?" he asks, fingertips brushing against his prostate once again.

"I'm gonna-" Felix squeezes his eyes shut, body shaking as Chan massages his prostate so perfectly. It's too much. Too much after all those teasing and loving touches before, too much after being touched so right after all this time. Felix's body tenses up, and he releases into the sheets beneath him with a weak sound. His face flushes red with embarrassment, and he hides in the pillow. "Fuck, sorry."

Chan leans down, kissing his spine, and shakes his head. "Nothing to be sorry for."

Felix frowns softly and peaks at him timidly. "But I came without asking for permission."

Chan blinks at him, heart melting at the sincere apologetic look on Felix's face. "I told you I'd make up for that time you missed. I wanted you to feel that good."

Felix's blush deepens. "So you're not mad?"

"No," he tells him with a kind smile, and Felix's heart melts. That's a new one.

"I think I'm ready for you now," he tells him with a sheepish smile. "Can I take care of you now?"

"Okay," Chan nods gently and lets Felix guide him onto his back. He watches him curiously as Felix straddles his lap, eyes fluttering as Felix wraps his hand around his so far untouched dick. Felix flicks his thumb over the tip and strokes him a few times before handing him the condom. Once Chan is ready, he pours some lube into his hand, stroking Chan once again and getting into position. Chan's face contorts in pleasure as Felix slowly sinks down on him.

Felix braces himself on his chest, moaning softly as he tries to adjust to his size. He experimentally moves his hips and allows himself to relax and sink down deeper. "Feel so fucking full already," he groans deliciously.

Chan moans, relieved once he's buried fully inside of him, and rests his hands on his hips. "You're okay?" he asks, watching Felix observantly.

"Yeah," he nods, panting a little. "Just need a moment."

"Take your time," he says gently, rubbing his hips soothingly.

"Okay," Felix says to himself, lifting his hips and sinking back down on him after a moment. They both moan at the movement, and Felix repeats it, Chan's hips meeting his this time. He braces himself on his chest and works out a rhythm that feels good for them both. Felix moves eagerly on top of him, moans falling freely from his mouth by now.

Chan beneath him has his head thrown back into the pillow, jaw growing slack at the tightness of Felix around him. After all, it's been a while for him too. "Fuck, Felix," he groans softly.

Felix tries to angle his hips a little differently to hit his prostate but doesn't fully succeed. After a few tries, a frustrated whimper leaves his mouth, and Chan glances up at him.

His breath hitches, seeing tears brimming Felix's eyes, and he has to bite back a groan. Wow, he didn't know he had a thing for that. "You're okay, pretty boy?" he asks gently, and Felix shakes his head, whining softly.

"Need more," he admits, and Chan understands, gently patting his hips.

"Let me help," he says reassuringly, and Felix does, letting him angle his hips a little differently. Chan thrusts up into him, and Felix rewards him with a deep, relieved moan, nails digging into his torso. Chan's eyes roll back at the way Felix clenches around him, moaning obscenely loud and shaking on top of him. "Fucks sake," he breathes out, pounding up into him desperately. Felix slams his hips down against him, their moans growing louder. They chase their high together, pushing each other over the edge soon after. Felix collapses against him, and Chan lazily thrusts up into him still, rubbing his back soothingly.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

After a moment of silence, Felix glances at him with a shy smile. "Again?" Chan kisses him fiercely as an answer, flipping them over in the process. Again.

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@kai-lee08 @atinyniki @mal-lunar-28 @lilmisssona @aaasia111 @galaxycatdrawz @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @malfoygalaxies @rebecca-johnson-28 @sundownimup-1 @aalexyuuuhm

[ratcate]

I'm here to admit that I may have developed a hyper fixation on your OCs (especially on Zerion and Sir. Valentine) so can you perhaps tell us more about them? (And other OCS)

oh hey!! great selection of characters. Makes me really happy you wanting to know more about them! I love them a lot, but Sir Valentine more, as Zerion's personality and setting is pretty nebulous still. info about them both under read more!

Zerion is some sort of cartoony super villain, heavily inspired in the night of the bald mountain monster interpretation from Fantasia(disney)

(art from 2020)

I think he's a very strong dark mage or something. Right now I have him reduced to a joke. A cartoony villain living his slice of life, but always awaiting action, the smallest spark chaos, to join in, in a world where nothing ever happens. He has his sidekick, Vampina (I think that was her name). A vampire chick who lives in the moment and is Zerion's servant, as long as he provides him with some blood every now and then

(2023)

(2021)

she almost never pulls off that relaxed smile from her face, her brain usually has no thoughts more than "can i eath this?" "I can eat this" Both of them are pretty evil. I remember once i tried to sketch out a first chapter, where they had a visit of income tax department agents, coming to remind Zerion he hadn't paid his taxes, and both Zerion and Vampina made a whole intricate plan on how to get rid of them and torture them, to show the government they're not to be fucked with. Though, all their scare tactics were just confusing, failed magic tricks for the men, now tied to apparent non functioning electric chairs, looking at each other through their sunglasses, stoic faces, while confused to what Zerion is yapping about in his villain monologue, while Vampina eats a stale bread in the BG. ---------------------------------------------------------

I don't have much about Sir Valentine either, but I certainly have drawn him more. For now, His name is Sir Cannon Valentine, but we'll get to that in a bit.

(both from 2020)

This is the first art ever I made of him, and that's a lot of his vibe. (2019)

This MAN, is some warrior who died in his armor but is back by some whack magic, and he's impatient, easily irritated, screams instead of talking, and I've always imagined having him a strong accent. He's here to fight and go headfirst into everything bc he really cannot die.

As of 2024, Sir Valentine is Sir Cannon Valentine (you can still call him the first version), BECAUSE, besides him being reborn and inmortal, angry and ready to fucking obliterate anything in his way, now his body works as a canonball

He went through my manic episode of redesigning many of my characters, after getting a taste of Pizza tower's cartoony characters, and became this. Much more functional, easily drawn, flowy. he just works, i can animate him in a snap of fingers. Still consistenly working to improve his design even more.

I will probs change the story, but this guy is resucitated as a last resort for a war between kingdoms, as a mistake, bc they wanted to revive some other guy, but got mistaken and went to his thomb. This guy revived him, after a ritualistic dance and some lightning

and then he is like "oh wait I fucked up", and Valentine is like "TOO LATE BITCH I'M FREE!!" and blasts away from him, as a cannonball, fueled by his own fire and methane gas from the catacombs he is in lol. This story is very not much constructed, but I love Sir Valentine a lot, and the characters I can surround him with. I see him falling for a bourgeoisie woman, or a princess even, bc all my stories need the romance, I'm nothing without the romance. I am also thinking of including another character of mine, Sayen, as the daughter of this death guy

Sayen previously appeared as a participant in a nsfw comic in my twt alt account lol. I love her and her design very much.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Olivia Reingold

Published: Apr 15, 2024

CHICAGO — About 300 anti-war activists crowded into the basement of the Teamsters Union’s headquarters on Saturday to hear organizers from all over the country describe their plans to disrupt the Democratic National Convention this August. Joe Biden’s backing of Israel since Hamas’s October 7 attack has turned these left-wing radicals against their own party.

“It’s really inspiring to see that people are just as enthusiastic, and maybe even more enthusiastic, to march on the DNC as they are to march on the RNC,” says Omar Florez, a Milwaukee-based activist. “We can thank Genocide Joe and our movement for that.”  

But then a man stumbles to the podium, wiping sweat from his forehead. He grabs the microphone to announce that the Islamic regime of Iran has launched missiles and drones heading straight toward Israel.

“They believe that they will be in Palestinian—I don’t call it Israeli—airspace between two and four a.m., which means about two to four hours from now,” he says. “In addition, there are reports of drones having been fired on Israel from Yemen and Iraq.”

The crowd, all wearing black N95s, erupts into applause. Someone in the back lowers their mask to send a celebratory whistle soaring throughout the room.  

The man at the podium, Hatem Abudayyeh, heads the U.S. Palestinian Community Network, “a purported community group which, on information and belief, is an affiliate of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, a designated terror organization based in Gaza,” according to a lawsuit over the alleged relations between U.S. advocacy groups and Hamas. 

“This is when this country and the world needs us because the United States is going to, quote unquote, defend the criminal Israeli state,” says Abudayyeh, whose home was raided by the FBI in 2010 as part of an investigation “concerning the material support of terrorism.” 

“We have to assume that the United States is going to try to retaliate against Iran.”

After the boos and calls of “shame” subside, Abudayyeh says it is “incumbent” upon Americans to “stop the United States from expanding this war and hitting Iran.”

“We’ve got to be the strong, powerful anti-war movement that we are,” he says, placing the microphone down and exiting the stage. 

The crowd immediately began chanting, “Hands off Iran.”

A woman in a hot pink gas mask, wielding a matching neon cane and dressed in a “Protect Trans Kids” t-shirt, throws her fist in the air. Nearby, a service poodle is taking a nap under the chair of his owner, who is wearing a leather harness over his t-shirt. Then the group that has joined here from cities across America—Seattle, Washington, D.C., Los Angeles—cheers and claps in celebration. 

Joe Iosbaker, an organizer with the Freedom Road Socialist Organization, which called October 7 a “good turn of events” in its press release about the terrorist attacks, tells me he supports Iran. His organization has since released a statement backing Iran, where citizens gathered to shout “Death to America” during their nation’s strike against Israel Saturday night.

“We demand hands off Iran,” the statement says. “The people have power, and we will exercise it in the streets.” 

Earlier that day, before news of the attack broke, at a “breakout session” on “the anti-war movement,” Shabbir Rizvi, an organizer with Anti-War Committee Chicago, taught participants how to chant “death to Israel” and “death to America” in Farsi. 

“Marg bar Israel,” he chanted, leading a group of about 80 attendees along with him. A man draped in a Soviet flag bearing a gold hammer and sickle clapped his hands. 

A man in a full black denim outfit shouted out behind his N95—“Can we get a ‘marg bar America’?”

“We can get a ‘marg bar America,’ ” Rizvi replied. 

Then Rizvi raised his hand in the air, leading the crowd like a conductor.

“Marg bar America,” they cheered. 

On my way out of the event, I ask a woman smoking a cigarette to fill me in on the latest news regarding Iran’s lobbing of missiles and drones, which were later intercepted with help from forces from France, the U.S., and the UK. Iran said its strike was retaliation for Israel’s hit on the Iranian embassy in Syria earlier this month, which destroyed the consulate building next to the embassy and killed two of Tehran’s top commanders, and that the matter is “concluded”—unless Israel hits back.

“Iran is part of the resistance,” said the woman, who flew in that morning from New Orleans, where she’s been part of an effort to disrupt Israel-bound shipments in her hometown. “Yemen and Iran and Hezbollah, who are also a militant group in Lebanon, and the Syrian government are all parts of the arc of resistance.” 

A smile creeps across her face as she tells me: “They’re part of the arc of resistance because the enemies are Israel and the USA.” 

==

Remember Mahsa Amini? These insane fuckers don't. They've sided with the brutal Islamic Republic of Iran.

They hate our liberal, secular countries and they want to destroy them. They keep telling us who they are. Do you believe them yet?

Revoke citizenship and deport. I wasn't kidding before and I'm still not kidding now.

[thelibraryghost]

A Young Person's Introduction to Late 19th-Century Western Fashion

hello fellow youths

General information Banner, Bernadette. "Exposing Victorian Influencers Who 'Facetuned' Their Photos. (Photo Manipulation was EVERYWHERE)." YouTube. July 17, 2021. English Heritage. "Fashion Through History: Episode 1 – Victorians." YouTube. February 9, 2023. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "100 Years of Fashion // The Fashionable Plus Size Silhouette from 1820-1910." YouTube. June 5, 2021. Victoria and Albert Museum. "100 Years of Fashionable Womenswear: 1830s – 1930s | V&A." YouTube. July 18, 2023. Zebrowska, Karolina. "Victorian Fashion Is Not What You Think It Is." YouTube. March 19, 2019.

Accessories Banner, Bernadette. ""Afro-Victorian": Bringing Historical Black Women's Dress into the 21st Century w Cheyney McKnight." YouTube. October 20, 2021. Cox, Abby. "A Fashion Historian Explains the History of the Handbag." YouTube. January 26, 2023. Rudolph, Nicole. "Dangerous Things in Victorian Pockets : Mens Pocket History." YouTube. March 2, 2024. Rudolph, Nicole. "The Controversial History of Color Season Analysis." YouTube. November 4, 2023. Zebrowska, Karolina. "Disgusting and Creepy Victorian Fashion Trends." YouTube. October 17, 2018.

Bustles and hoopskirts Donner, Morgan. "Weirdest Victorian Invention: The Bustle-Chair (and we made one)." YouTube. November 20, 2020. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "100 Years of Underwear // The Changing Plus Size Shape from Regency to Victorian to Edwardian." YouTube. May 1, 2021. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "All About Bustles! A Deep Dive into 1870s Fashions." YouTube. December 26, 2023. Rudolph, Nicole. "Why were Victorian Hips Controversial?" YouTube. September 12, 2021.

Cosmetics Birchwood, Vasi. "1800s Makeup Is Not What You Think." YouTube. July 21, 2023. English Heritage. "Queen Victoria Makeup Tutorial | History Inspired | Feat. Amber Butchart and Rebecca Butterworth." YouTube. May 20, 2019. Zebrowska, Karolina. "I Used Only Victorian Cosmetics For a Week." YouTube. July 26, 2023.

Fabrics Rudolph, Nicole. "Did Silk Spontaneously Combust in the Victorian Era?" YouTube. August 8, 2021. Rudolph, Nicole. "The History of Elastic." YouTube. July 4, 2021. Rudolph, Nicole. "The Truth About Arsenic in the Victorian Era." YouTube. January 24, 2021.

Gowns Bullat, Samantha. "Dress Historian Analyzes Victorian Mourning Clothing of the Mid-19th Century." YouTube. March 14, 2021. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "All About 1860's Fashion // What did Civil War-era fashion look like?" YouTube. November 12, 2022. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "How did fashion evolve from 1850-1859? // 1850's Fashion Deep Dive." YouTube. October 1, 2022. Rudolph, Nicole. "Victorian Fast Fashion? The Truth about the History of Disposable Clothing." YouTube. February 6, 2022. SnappyDragon. "Were the Pre-Raphaelites painting accurate medieval dress . . . or Victorian fairtytalecore?" YouTube. April 26, 2024. Zebrowska, Karolina. "19th Century Fashion - How To Tell Different Decades Apart?" YouTube. November 17, 2017.

Hair care and styling Banner, Bernadette. "Following a Victorian Home Made Hair Care Routine (1889)." YouTube. September 11, 2021. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "Getting Dressed in an 1888 Daisy Costume // Easy Bustle-Era Hair Tutorial." YouTube. November 13, 2020. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "Getting Dressed in the 1870s & 1874 Hairstyle Tutorial." YouTube. February 23, 2020. Rudolph, Nicole. "Why did Victorian Women Cut their Hair Short?" YouTube. December 18, 2022. Laundry and housekeeping English Heritage. "A Tour of the Laundry - The Victorian Way." YouTube. September 6, 2019. English Heritage. "How to Wash Up - The Victorian Way." YouTube. March 18, 2021. English Heritage. "Laying the Table at Christmas – The Victorian Way." YouTube. December 14, 2022. Walkley, Christina, and Vanda Foster. Crinolines and Crimping Irons: Victorian Clothes: How They Were Cleaned and Cared for. Peter Owen Limited: London, 1978.

Outerwear and working wear Birchwood, Vasi. "What Irish Working Women Wore in the Late 19th Century | I Made the Clothing of My Irish Ancestors." YouTube. June 23, 2023. English Heritage. "The Real Mrs Crocombe | Part Four: A Victorian Cook's Outfit." YouTube. July 5, 2018. Stowell, Lauren. "It's Hot: Let's Look At Some Bathing Suits." American Duchess. August 18, 2023. Rudolph, Nicole. "The History of Jeans, T-shirts, and Hoodies: Time Travel 101." YouTube. March 20, 2022. Zebrowska, Karolina. "The 1851 Women's Pants That Made The Victorians Go Crazy." YouTube. March 2, 2020.

Shoes Rudolph, Nicole. "100 years of Antique Boots." YouTube. February 10, 2024. Rudolph, Nicole. "How to Make Regency & Victorian Shoes: Beginner Shoemaking." YouTube. June 27, 2021. Rudolph, Nicole. "The Myth of Tiny Feet "Back Then"." YouTube. September 26, 2021.

Undergarments Banner, Bernadette. "I Wore a (Medical) Corset for 5 Years. How do Victorian Corsets Compare?" YouTube. November 7, 2020. Banner, Bernadette. "Making Some Frilly Victorian Underwear || 1890s Combinations." YouTube. February 9, 2019. Birchwood, Vasi. "What Victorians Wore to Bed." YouTube. May 5, 2023. Cox, Abby. "I made weird Victorian underwear (it's a knit onesie) & a pretty 1890s corset || historical sewing." YouTube. March 21, 2021. Lady Rebecca Fashions. "How 8 Different Historical Corsets Affect the Same Plus Size Body." YouTube. December 12, 2020. Rudolph, Nicole. "100 Years of Corset History: How 8 Corsets affect the same body." YouTube. November 29, 2020. Zebrowska, Karolina. "How Did Victorian Ladies Stay Warm in Winter? || THE EXPERIMENT." YouTube. January 22, 2021. Zebrowska, Karolina. "How Did Victorian Women Deal With Their Periods?" YouTube. October 17, 2019.

[aimeedaisies]

Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, KCVO, CB appointed as Chair to the Science Museum Group

The Prime Minister has appointed Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, KCVO, CB as Chair of the Science Museum Group, for a four-year term, commencing on 1st of January 2024.

From: Department for Culture, Media and Sport and Science Museum Group

Published: 1st December 2023

Sir Tim Laurence has pursued a portfolio career centred around Built Heritage, Major Projects, Railways and Urban Regeneration since leaving the Royal Navy in 2010. He chaired English Heritage (2015-22), with over 400 historic sites and 40 small museums. Other chairmanships included the Major Projects Association and the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, the latter on behalf of the Secretary of State for Defence. He was a Trustee and Deputy Chair of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI).

Current roles include: Patron of the Windsor Leadership Trust; Patron of the Gloucestershire Warwickshire Steam Railway; member of the Great Western Railway Advisory Board; and Senior Advisor to the engineering consultancy Tetratech Europe. He contributes to a number of other charities.

Tim’s 37 years of Naval service included four warship commands and a series of senior roles in the Ministry of Defence, culminating in CEO of the organisation which manages the Ministry of Defence’s property and infrastructure worldwide.

He graduated from University College Durham in 1976 with a BSc in Geography, with Geology and Climatology, and was a Hudson Fellow at St Antony’s College Oxford (1998/99).

Remuneration and Governance Code

The Chair of the Science Museum Group is not remunerated. This appointment has been made in accordance with the Cabinet Office’s Governance Code on Public Appointments. The appointments process is regulated by the Commissioner for Public Appointments. Under the Code, any significant political activity undertaken by an appointee in the last five years must be declared. This is defined as including holding office, public speaking, making a recordable donation, or candidature for election. Sir Tim Laurence has not declared any significant political activity.

[almostarts]

Gaetano Pesce (8 November 1939 – 3 April 2024)

Moving against the stream of rational, functional modernism in the 1960s and early 70s, Mr. Pesce experimented with materials and production methods to create furniture pieces imbued with political or religious meaning for brands from Cassina to B&B Italia.

Many would go on to become icons of Italian design including the Up5 chair – an innovative vacuum-packed chair designed to resemble a female prisoner – which he designed for B&B Italia precursor C&B.

Pesce moved to New York in 1983 and began to move away from mass production to create "standardised series" in everyday materials like resin, adapting conventional production techniques to create varied and imperfect outcomes.

The result are pieces such as the 1884 Pratt chair, which toe the line between functional design and decorative art, helping to create a new category that would later become collectible design.

Mr. Pesce was born in the Italian city of La Spezia in November 1939, only two months after the start of world war two.

As was common at the time, he trained in both architecture and design, studying first at the University of Venice and later at the Venice Institute of Industrial Design.

Among his architecture projects is the Organic Building in Osaka from 1993, with its plant-covered facade made of orange fiberglass that served as a precursor to today's vegetation-covered green walls.

But Mr. Pesce's most pioneering and well-known work happened in the world of design. In the late 1960s, he became one of the leaders of Italy's Radical Design movement, rejecting modernism's rigid focus on forms dictated by function.

Instead, Pesce focused on the idea that functional objects, much like art, could carry a deeper message.

One of the most famous examples is the controversial Up5 chair from 1969, which manufacturer B&B Italia describes as "the first product of Italian design with a political meaning".

Rest In Power !

"Up 5 & 6" Dressed Up Chair & Ottoman, 1969 – 2014, Polyurethane foam, fabric, Height: 40.5 in (102.87 cm)Width: 47 in (119.38 cm)Depth: 51 in (129.54 cm)Seat Height: 16 in (40.64 cm),

“Square Airport Lamp” (1986/1994). Photography by Elizabeth Carababas/The Future Perfect. Light sculpture consisting of a flexible rubber membrane studded with small light bulbs. Although made from a mold, no two lamps are alike, due to the imperfections that arise from the hand-mixing and pouring of colored urethane. H 92 - W 65 Cm,

"Feltri" Armchair for Cassina, 1980 -1989, Felt, Fabric, Resin, Width: 156 cm, Depth: 80 cm, Height: 129 cm, Seat height:42 cm, Courtesy: Oldera,

"Pratt Chair #7," 1984 2018 (purple), 2018, Transparent polyurethane, :93 x 53 x 53 cm. (36.6 x 20.9 x 20.9 in.),

"The Cabinet of The Tired Man," 2018, Photo: Courtesy of Salon 94 Design and Gaetano Pesce,

"Tramonto a New York" three-door screen, for Cassina, Made of coloured resin, hinges and feet in burnished brass, Width: 221, Height: 199,

"Organic" Building, Osaka, Japan, Completed in 1993 to embody the corporate ideal of Oguraya Yamamoto Co., Ltd,

"La In-Portante" Modular Bookshelf from the "Abbraccio" Series, 2010. Comprising 57 adjustable polyurethane resin shelves. Produced by Le Fablier, Italy. Polyurethane resin, painted wood, lacquered metal, 86½ x 118¾ x 16⅞ in. (219.7 x 301.6 x 42.6 cm) Courtesy of Sotheby's,

La Michetta Modular Sofa,Compostion of 8 by Meritalia, Structure in Lacquered Wood Seat with Elastic Belts, Flexible Polyurethane & Fiberfill Padding, Dimensions: W370 x D245cm,

Unique 'Ireland' table, Made of polyurethane and metal. The table was made and exhibited in 1996 by Gallery Mourmans, Knokke-Zoute, Belgium. It was part of a series of 'EU tables', where all 15 member countries were represented as a table, in this case Ireland. The top of the table has the shape of the outlines of the country and it stands on legs in the shape of question marks. W.80.71 in;H.28.74 in;D.57.09 in; (W.205 cm;H.73 cm;D.145 cm), Courtesy: Incollect.