#gay was what he saw on the streets of nyc and was like 'what? really okay you look weak'

[everyvampiremovie]

Summer of Blood

2014/dir. Onur Tukel/86 min

1/5★ 12/13/22

uh... ok. i'd like to try and give a little more explanation for the divisive reviews.

summer of blood follows Erik, a nyc shitbag as he loses his girlfriend (jody) because he won't marry her, then fails three dates before being bitten by a strange man in an alley and wakes up a vampire. that's the description as far as i knew and covers the first thirty minutes of the movie. after awakening, he is fired from his job and stumbles through the streets, failing one hunt before biting a kid who looks like a young weird al yankovic. afterwards he reaches out to the three women he failed before and has great sex with them. he hypnotizes his landlord so he doesn't have to pay rent, and during an orgy the women (who he has turned into vampires) realize he doesn't respect them. he then attempts to win back his ex-fiancee but succeeds only in biting her new boyfriend on the ankle. then he runs into the vampire that turned him and they share a guy and talk back at erik's apartment. the vampire makes a joke that if erik wants to be human again all he has to do is pray to god. erik takes the subway and when he returns home jody is waiting for him, revealing that she and her boyfriend have split. they sit in silence. jump to six months later, it's erik and jody's honeymoon and erik needs to drink. jody offers herself but erik insists his vampirism is a curse, to which jody responds that this is another way for him to avoid commitment. erik leaves and instead of biting a dog, bites his ex coworker. they return to the hotel room where jody is and bite her, before praying to god to make them normal. jody wakes as a vampire and asks when they're going to fuck.

the score was occasionally good? especially the synths that came in at tense moments. cinematography is fine, it doesn't get in it's own way and occasionally pulls out for those beautiful shots that incorporate urban decay and seem inevitable in nyc but i know takes significant sight scouting, planning, and lighting. actors are pretty good, probably the two stand outs were anna margaret hollyman as jody and melodie sisk as blake. onur tukel could kill it in the gay community but moving on.

i theorized before i watched this that the movie would be ironic with erik, that he's a shitty guy and everyone knows. people who left positive comments were able to buy into that, to understand it as tukel wrote it, and people who didn't did not understand it. i guess i erred on that side thinking of bad media takes where "problematic protagonist=glorifying bad behavior" and hoped it wouldn't be "i understood the irony, and it was bad anyway."

partially i feel like this is because the humor doesn't hit for me. like, here's an example where erik runs into jody's boyfriend outside her apartment.

ERIK: are you seeing jody?

BOYFRIEND: no no no. i'm going to vacuum the carpets. I do that for the building.

E: really? is that why... really?

B: no. i'll be honest with you. there's an old man on the third floor. he's got boils all over his back. i'm here to lance them.

E: oh you're a lancer? i thought you were a lawyer.

B: no, no, no, no. i'm a freelance lancer. A freelancer, if you will.

E: that's funny because i have a cyst you can lance, (flips him off) right here on the tip of my finger.

B: you couldn't afford me.

E: you're wasting your time, bucko. she still loves me. and you don't have a chance in hell.

B: ask me how big my dick is.

E: excuse me?

B: ask me how big my dick is.

E: no. ... how big is it? how big?

B: ask jody's vagina.

it's written like improv, but it's definitely written. it's a little too stilted, the boyfriend too sure of what he's going to say next. i saw another review compare S.O.B. to What We Do In The Shadows and personally it isn't even close. compare this scene with deacon's sexual dancing for his friends? or the shaming? or nick trying and failing to be cool? the swearwolves? come on.

if you find the humor funny you may be satisfied by that alone. if you think a guy being awkwardly racist to a woman on a date is funny then this is your movie. some people really like awkward humor! and the acting/cinematography/score is by no means bad! but without the humor this movie is pretty rough.

and erik DOES get back with jody in the end. the boyfriend fucks a goat. it's not one of those movies where everyone is a terrible person because jody says one mean thing once but is otherwise lusted after and put on a pedestal. erik changes (he gets a cellphone, gets married, wants to change) but doesn't change enough (bites another woman on his wedding night, bites his new wife when she's trying to leave him, asks for a selfish prayer after having been selfish the whole movie). so what's the point? guy who eats shit gets to suck and fuck forever with hot women... why? because he manipulates them? is this supposed to be one of those "that's how it is in the real world, kiddos!" things?

there were two moments (three but two are related) where i got really interested. the first one i'll mention is when the boyfriend popped erik in the nose when he was trying to hypnotize him. it was so good to see erik finally get his shit rocked. it made me so hopeful that the movie would end with him dying, it didn't even have to be moral or anything he just sucks so bad. immediately after he's punched jody goes all soft and gets him a washcloth and the boyfriend starts really curdling when he gets his ankle bit.

the other two moments were (one) when the vampire is drinking erik's blood and erik goes to kiss him and (two) when the vampire is taking a shower at erik's apartment and has erik wash his back. partially i was expecting some homophobia, which would have been SOMETHING to react to, but when it wasn't i was pulled in. it was more one of those naruto/sasuke "guy is so misogynistic it becomes gay" things. of course a misogynist would have a moment with a man that makes is crystal clear his unwillingness to help others is to his own detriment. ONLY a man could show you your own human failings when you only see men as humans.

but erik is incapable of real change. he can't become worse, more vampiric. he can't become better (human again), can't do the most moral thing a vampire can do (traditionally) and die, all he can do is go back and ruin the life of the human he wants to most. he could have other people, but he doesn't. he wants to have jody AND cheat on her. (specifically saying "have" here to reflect erik's mindset)

i read a comic onur tukel wrote in early 2020 about his newest movie, Black Magic for White Boys, where he's describing the political climate that led to the movie. he points out homelessness, gentrification of black neighborhoods, and liberal blindness to its own harm. then he talks about how the three white archetypes of this movie don't improve. because he's a pessimist, and does anyone expect anyone to get better, anyways? we should just stop canceling people like jk rowling, stop destroying public property (like statues of george washington), and vote :)

S.O.B. could be about men. unable to change, terrible but unaware of the scale of their actions because they're so blinded by the need to feel good, every moment, at any cost. S.O.B. could be about people, cruel to each other in new ways every day. S.O.B. doesn't have enough form to be about form. Doesn't have any significant genre leanings, doesn't do anything clever or new or insightful, doesn't have anything really to say except "what if the shittiest guy you knew went on a big adventure to change his life, stayed the same, and still got everything he ever wanted anyway." And man, if i wanted more of that i would just go on twitter.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Soldier Boy didn't love Crimson Countess, despite what he said.

He loved that she would always be there for him, which was why he was so angry she didn't come for him. He loved the idea of her that was obsessed and subservient to him, when the truth is like how Mallory explained it - no one likes him and is really scared of him. Crimson Countess was just another person who told Soldier Boy what he wanted to hear.

And when she stopped doing that, when she didn't rush after him and die trying to save him - proving her love and loyalty to him despite how he would never do the same - he was so angry and, while the love was a twisted, toxic version of it that wasn't real, that betrayal was real and he played that off so well.

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Human (Natasha Romanoff)

Human: Chapter 1

A/N: Troyes, France is 6 hours ahead of NYC so 7pm there is 1pm in NYC. For the sake of this fic we’re going to pretend that the Battle of New York lasted quite a few hours.

*This is my first ever fic and I wrote it at 3am so bear with me

WARNINGS: swearing; mentions of weapons; violence; panic attack; anxiety; my crappy writing; and I think that’s it (lmk if there’s anything I should add)

Barcelona, Spain; January, 2012:

The repetitive ticking of the clock registered in my brain before my eyes even opened. I didn’t need that clock to know what time it was, of course. It was 4:30 am— the same time I've woken up everyday for the past twenty-five years of my life. I no longer need to wake up this early, yet it’s a habit so deeply engrained in my framework that it’s seemingly unbreakable. I roll out of bed and make my way into the dingy kitchen with light footsteps. With some quick math I figured that I got barely two hours of sleep last night, but that’s more than usual. I started the coffee machine and asked with a sigh, “Would you like some coffee or are you just going to lurk in the corner?”

The leather-clad stranger with an eyepatch stepped up to the kitchen island opposite of me and responded, “I wouldn’t mind a cup. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew I was here.”

“Well, you know what they say about old habits. You got a name?”

“You can call me Fury. We have a lot to talk about, Eight.” I slid him a mug of cheap coffee and gestured for him to take a seat. 

“Then we’d better get started so you can get the hell out of my apartment.” He simply chuckled in response and I could already feel my patience wavering.

Two Hours Later:

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division? Really, dude?”

“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Trust me I know.”

“I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing, Fury, but there’s no way in hell I'm working for some government spy circus.”

“It’s technically an extra-governmental spy agency-“

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not joining,” I said, cutting him off.

“So, you’re just gonna hop from one shitty apartment to the next until you die? That doesn’t seem like a great life.”

“Better than the one I lived before.”

“You aren’t the person to live in hiding. You’re the person who thrives in the action and lives to kick ass, and we both know it.” When I didn’t respond he continued, “I’ll leave you my card. When you change your mind, which you will, you’ll know where to find me. You don’t have to be the bad guy anymore, Eight.” With that he slid off the stool and left my apartment, leaving me with nothing but my rapidly spiraling thoughts and a black business card.

Troyes, France; May, 2012:

It had been four months since Director Fury came to my apartment in Barcelona. We’d kept in contact and he hasn’t given up on me joining S.H.I.E.L.D.. I'm living in my third apartment since then. Wow…those landlords must really hate me. I was watching the seven o’clock news when I saw something that made me choke on my Cheerios. “An alien invasion?! What the fu-” My Cheerio-muffled exclamation was interrupted by the ring of my burner phone. “Hello?”

“Eight, you watched the news recently?”

“Uh yeah, I'm watching it now. You fighting aliens now, Nicky?”

“Okay first of all, I told you to stop calling me that. Second, yes… aliens. I’m forming a team of…extraordinary people to help protect against these threats and they could really use a hand to finish off this fight.”

“I may be weird as hell but I ain't ‘extraordinary’, Fury. I don’t wanna join your band of misfits.”

“Alright, how about a compromise? You fly your fancy jet here right now and help them out and if you still don’t wanna join once the battle is over, you can go right back to France and I’ll stop bothering you about joining.” After a few seconds of silence I agreed. 

“Fine, but I’m not gonna change my mind. Wait, how do you know about my jet?”

He gave a hearty laugh and said “I know everything, Eight. You should know that by now.”

New York, New York; 96 Minutes Later: 

I flew my jet into the city, making sure to take out a few flying Chitauri in the process. We don’t need to talk about how I got my hands on a German jet that can fly 2100mph. I saw a few interesting characters standing in a circle fighting off an endless sea of aliens. I maneuvered the jet and— wait…is that guy wearing blue tights? Is this what Fury meant by extraordinary? Whatever. I landed in the street about 20 yards away and killed the engines. I hopped out and started jogging towards the group. A couple of them turned around, probably wondering who the hell the chick in the black uniform is and— whoa that’s a beautiful woman. After realizing my steps had literally faltered in a mini gay panic, I slowed to a walk and said “Y’all need a hand?”

“Depends on whose hand it is,” replied the redheaded source of my panic.

“I’m a friend of Fury’s. He practically begged me to come save your asses.”

“Fury doesn’t beg,” she said in a doubtful tone.

“Not typically, but I'm just that awesome. If you don’t believe me then call him up but I’m gonna go kill some aliens.” With that I took off down another street where there was a group of the repulsive bastards. After unloading all of my magazines into Chitauri bodies, I switched to my swords and daggers. After another hour or so of fighting, there were no more aliens in sight. I started jogging toward the rich dude’s tower when I saw said rich dude falling through the rapidly-closing portal. I stopped next to Mr. Blue Tights and the buff blonde guy with the hammer when the big green dude grabbed Mr. Rich Dude from the sky and landed next to us. The green guy yelled, waking Mr. Rich Dude up with a start. “What the hell? What happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me. Except for her, she’s pretty hot,” he said nodding toward me. Just then the redhead jogged over to us and eyed my blood-soaked form from head to toe. 

“See something you like, Red?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I'd be classified as a sadist if I liked the sight of that much blood,” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“Yeah that’s fair.” She shook her head at me with a small smirk. There was barely a second of silence when Mr. Rich Dude spoke up. 

“Anybody want shawarma?”

Three Hours Later:

I had gone to the Triskelion after the band of misfits apprehended Loki. Agent Hill showed me where to park my jet and directed me to a room so I could shower and stay the night if I wanted to. I had put on black jeans, a white tee, and a black jean jacket, all of which had been in a to-go bag in my jet. I was toweling off my hair when someone knocked on the door. I opened the door to see none other than the one-eyed-wonder standing there. “What can I do for you, Nicky?”

“The Avengers are being debriefed in Conference Room 6B in ten minutes. You should come.”

“The Avengers? Is that what you’re calling them? That’s cute. But I'm not an Avenger and I don’t want to be an Avenger, so no thanks.”

“You should come anyway.”

“I don’t actually have a choice, do I?”

“You know me so well, Eight,” he said with an amused grin.

I walked into the conference room and the Avengers were already there. Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, and Natasha Romanoff—whose names I learned from Hill— were scattered around a large table, along with Fury. Romanoff eyed me from where she was standing and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. I squinted my eyes and wiggled my eyebrows in response, and I could see her stifle a laugh. “What’s your name?” She accompanied the question with a blank expression, which made me feel oh-so-special. 

“That’s a very personal question, Miss Romanoff. Let’s slow the pace, please.”

“You know my name but I can’t know yours? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, Miss Romanoff, and I love a good mystery.”

“If you two are done flirting, we have business to attend to,” interjected Fury.

“Right, my apologies, Nicky.”

“Don’t call me that, Eight.”

After an excruciating 43 minutes and 27 seconds, Fury finally let us leave. I was so close to freedom when that unbelievably sexy voice called to me. “Eight!” Romanoff hastily walked towards me in an effort to catch up.

“Yeah?”

“Is your name actually Eight?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“It amuses me, Red.” There was a brief silence during which both of us were trying to figure out if the conversation was over. 

I was about to leave when she continued, “So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?”

“Well, no. I’m going to stay the night, steal some really expensive jet fuel, and then leave in the morning before Fury can get up my ass about joining his little team.”

She rolled her eyes and responded, “Why won’t you join the Avengers? And why won’t you tell me your real name?”

“It’s just not my style. I’d rather fly solo.”

“You ignored my second question.”

“Then maybe you should take the hint and stop asking.” With that I turned around and started walking away, but a hand on my arm stopped me dead in my tracks. Alarms started going off in my head, and I'm pretty sure Romanoff was saying something to me but I was too caught up in the memories of beatings, punishments, and psychological conditioning to register it. After a few of the longest seconds of my life, the white of my vision cleared up and the voice telling me ‘physical contact is strictly forbidden’ faded into the background. My heart was still hammering in my chest and I was trying to keep my breathing steady despite the inevitable panic attack trying to drag me under, I regained my neutral expression and said. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you okay?” She had a concerned expression and if I wasn’t so blinded with anxiety, I would’ve appreciated how cute the furrow of her eyebrows was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna turn in. It’s been a long day.” I turned around and walked back to my temporary room at a brutal pace. As soon as the door closed behind me, hot tears raced down my cheeks and I lost the ability to breathe. It was gonna be a long night.

3:21 am:

I finally managed to calm myself down and stop the panic attack after almost four hours. Well, I passed out because I couldn’t breathe but it did calm me down. Trying to sleep would be pointless, so I decided to leave before anyone woke up. I didn’t really have much to pack so I grabbed my duffel bag and left the room. I made it to the corridor attached to the landing pads and ran into the one person I really didn’t want to see. “What are you doing out and about, Red?”

“I’ve got places to be and things to do. Were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night like a teenager with a rebellious streak?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, actually. Do you need a ride? Where are you going?”

“Madrid. Fury said I could hitch a ride on another plane that’s headed for Germany.”

“Well I’m going to France if you wanna ride with me. My jet will get you there a lot faster.” She studied me for what felt like way too long, probably debating if I would try to kill her or not. You know how spies are with their trust issues.

“What the hell, why not?”

And that is how I ended up in a jet with “Candy Shop” playing over the speakers and Natasha Romanoff in the copilot seat yelling at me to, and I quote, ‘slow the fuck down.’ “Why would I slow down, you psycho?! That’s the whole damn point of this thing!”

“Where did you even get a German jet this fast?”

“Germany.”

“No shit Sherlock. How did you get it?”

“I went to Germany, stopped in at the local speedy-jet dealership, and walked out with this beauty.”

“Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, you know? You’re only being like this to keep me from seeing the real you. You built walls. You want everyone to think you’re fine when in reality, you’re falling apart.”

“Okay…um…there was no need for that, Dr. Romanoff. I can find my own therapist, thank you very much. And don’t go pretending you’re all healthy in the head, Miss Assassin.” It was quiet for all of five seconds before we both burst into laughter.

Madrid, Spain:

I landed the jet at the local S.H.I.E.L.D. base and killed the engines. Romanoff and I removed our headsets and I stood to help her get her bags. “Welp, I’ll see you around I guess.” I really wasn’t good at this type of thing. Or any social interactions, really. Twenty-four years in a cell will do that to you.

“Will I? See you around, I mean?”

“Um, I don’t really know, honestly. I’m not part of S.H.I.E.L.D. so we won’t just run into each other or anything but…”

“Why won’t you join S.H.I.E.L.D.? I mean what else are you doing?”

“Ohhh, I see. You just love me so much that you don’t want me to leave. You’re gonna miss me so much-” I was cut off when she threw her backpack at my head. “Hey! You’re lucky I caught that! Freaking crazy woman.”

When our laughter died down she said, “Well I should probably go. Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course. Hitchhikers are always welcome aboard my beloved jet.” A small smile appeared on her face and she stepped forward to give me a hug but she must’ve seen my body go rigid because she stepped back. She might’ve said something but the voice in my head was too loud for me to understand her. I don’t know how long it was before I unfroze but when I did, she was gone. I walked to the front of the jet and started the journey to France.

[tlcwrites]

Two Hearts Make a Whole

Prompt: “Kiss me again, like you mean it.” Photo prompt below.

Summary: NYC Pride is for celebration, and occasionally, long-overdue revelations.

Word Count: 2,001

Tags/Content warnings: Marvel. Stucky. If you have a problem with it, there's the door. SFW. Slight TFATWS spoilers so read at your own risk. Platonic Reader. Two idiots in love. Technically canon-divergent because I'm still in my everyone-is-alive-and-in-this-timeline happy place that I will never ever leave fuck you very much Russo brothers but not AU. Found family. All the feels. Complete and total LGBTQ+ support. Lots of bad language words because #me. Un-beta'd.

Author’s Note: Okay so yes this is technically 4 weeks late for @autumnleaves1991-blog's Writer Wednesday weekly challenge. BUT, it was incredibly important to me to finish this one before Pride month is over. Made it by the skin of my teeth.

Happy Pride, y’all. If you’re out, you’re amazing. If you’re closeted, you’re amazing. However you identify is valid and important. Trans folx are LGBTQ+. Bisexuals are LGBTQ+. Ace folx are LGBTQ+. Anyone who identifies or thinks they may be as queer is LGBTQ+. All are welcome in the family. You have the right to choose your pronouns and we have the responsibility to use them. Live whatever your truth looks like to you and love each other. Love is love is love is love. If your family doesn’t accept you for you, I’m your mom now and I’ve got mom hugs available on demand. Homophobes and TERFS can fuck off and roll in poison ivy. Always punch Nazis. Pride shouldn't be limited to the month of June. And don’t you dare forget that Black and Brown trans women were the ones who rioted at Stonewall, and we owe everything to their bravery. Don’t forget that much of popular ‘gay’ culture was appropriated from Black women. And for more facts about Pride that you should absolutely know, Rawiyah Tariq (@ mammyisdead on Instagram) has a phenomenally good overview.

“Oh my god.” You gasp loudly. "Oh my GOD. Is that-"

“What?!” Instantly in First Avenger Protective Mode™️, Steve surveys the crowd, wishing he had an actual shield instead of the screen printed one on his shirt. “What is it?”

You gasp again, smacking Sam’s arm repeatedly. “OHMYGOD IT IS HOLY FUCK.”

“First; ow.” Now-Cap rubs his bicep. “Second; clue in the class before Steve has an aneurysm, please.”

Vibrating with excitement doesn’t begin to describe your current state. “HER ROYAL HIGHNESS MISS LEMON MERINGUE IS STANDING RIGHT FUCKING THERE.”

With the finesse of a shampoo commercial, Bucky's dark locks fly as he whips around. “What?!”

“RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE.” You abandon a relieved Sam and latch on to Bucky’s vibranium arm. “Oh my GOD I love her so fucking much.”

“She was robbed, absolutely fucking robbed,” he agrees, craning his neck to get a better view. “Divine Tension’s lip sync was shameful.”

Sam glances at Steve, who is slowly coming out of protector mode. “What the ever-loving hell are they talking about?”

“RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Nat flicks more confetti at both Cap-the-former and Cap-the-current. “They watch it every week.”

“Really, Steven, for a guy with enhanced super senses, you miss a lot.” Tony hefts a bedazzled Morgan higher on his back. The toddler, accompanied by Scott playing air-piano on the ground, sings along with the ABBA song being blasted at full volume through the street. Tony continues as if this is an everyday occurrence. “Why do you think both of your People disappear every Friday evening?”

Ears pink, Steve mumbles something.

“What?!” The only other one with hearing enhanced enough to hear a murmur over the cacophony of several thousand people belting out the chorus of ‘Dancing Queen’ at the top of their lungs, Bucky turns to stare at his friend. “You thought we were datin’?”

Steve’s blush extends down his neck.

You and Bucky stare at each other for a moment before you both collapse on each other, exploding into stomach clenching, thigh slapping laughter.

“I’m gonna guess that’s a ‘no’?” Clint confirms with Nat.

“Oh, a big ‘no’.” She watches affectionately as you and Bucky calm down enough to look at each other, breathe for a second, and both promptly dissolve into hysterics once more. “Like, the biggest ‘no’.”

Sam crossed his arms across his chest, his stoic stance so reminiscent of Steve it’s amusing (as well as a beautiful disparity to the sequined crop top he’s sporting. Oof, those abs.). “How do I not know about this?”

“Because you’re not a former super spy?” The usually-Black-but-today-Rainbow Widow tosses the last of her confetti at Tony, who spins a jubilant Morgan into it. “Or because you and that leggy barista from the lobby coffee shop are too busy playing hide-the-“

“-Baby Shark!” Morgan suddenly shrieks, flailing towards a guy on roller blades wearing a fin and tail (and not much else).

“Yeah,” Nat finishes with a smirk, “Hide-the-Baby Shark.”

Sam flips her a gesture that makes Clint laugh and Bruce sigh.

You and Bucky have finally managed to pull yourselves together. “Oh my god, Steven Grant,” you gasp, wiping tears from your eyes. “That’s the funniest fucking shit I’ve ever fucking heard.”

“Language!”

Steve glares at Tony. “One. Time. It was one. Time.”

Bucky slings his flesh arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Oh, punk. You may have perfect vision now, but sometimes you’re still as blind as you were before.”

Visiortn himself nods sagely. “Humans can be quite unperceptive when it comes to matters of the heart.” Vision casts a fond smile at Wanda, who is using her powers to make Pietro’s tinsel wig fly on and off. “Sometimes you have to look harder to see what’s right in front of your nose.”

A confused frown on that handsome face, Captain Clueless looks at Bucky. “Why do I feel like everyone else knows something that I don’t?”

His bestie sighs deeply. “Because, Stevie, almost everyone else on this planet knows that my tastes tend towards tall, blonde, blue-eyed knuckleheads who have zero sense of self-preservation.”

“And an ass you could bounce a quarter off of,” Scott helpfully supplies.

“And that,” Bucky agrees.

Steve frowns.

You press your palms to your eyes in vexation. “You, Steve. He’s talking about you.” (Seriously, how has this idiot survived for over a century while being so dumb?)

Whatever he was expecting, it was certainly not that. “He-“ The Man With A Plan gapes as he turns to his oldest friend. “You-“

“Me,” Bucky says gently.

Even though you’re slightly surprised that Bucky is going to do this in such a public forum, you can’t help but be so proud of your friend. It has taken a long time for Bucky to believe he deserves to be happy. There are days he still sinks into that dark place, where his inner demons whisper that he should have fought harder against his Hydra captors, and that his past actions were still somehow his fault. Those are the days no amount of baking or Modern Marvels will bring him out of his funk. You, Steve, Sam, and Nat have all held those strong shoulders as they shook with sobs, overwhelmed by the shame and horror at what his hands had done without his consent.

But he’s here. He’s free. And he’s smiling nervously at his best friend.

“I-” Steve is short-circuiting. “Me?!”

“Stevie.” With the kind of tender patience that can only be born of a lifetime of keeping (or attempting to keep) an idiot such as one Steven Grant Rogers from flinging himself headlong into every fight he comes across, Bucky moves his flesh hand to the back of Steve’s neck. His face is full of such soft affection that you almost want to look away for fear of intruding on this suddenly intimate moment. “What do you think ‘til the end of the line’ means, you idiot? You’ve been it for me since I was thirteen-years-old.”

Blue eyes are locked with blue eyes as Steve processes this revelation. “I-” He shakes his head as if to declutter his thoughts. “This whole time?”

“Since the first time I saw that asshole knock you down, and your scrawny ass climbed right back up.” A wry chuckle escapes as Bucky reminices. “You were ninety pounds soaking wet, and you stood there, against a guy who was three times your size, and never waivered for a second. It was magnificent.”

“I don’t like bullies,” is Steve’s quiet response.

Bucky’s grin is adoring. “I know, sweetheart.” He gently strokes the back of Steve’s neck with his thumb. “You’ve always had a heart way bigger than your brain.”

Steve is still back on the first part of Bucky’s admission. “If you’ve felt- if you-” He’s practically pleading. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

Bucky shrugs, attempting and failing nonchalance. “It was a different time, you know?” He’s uncharacteristically unsure of himself, the subtle waiver in his voice revealing the anxiety born of a lifetime of being forced to hide his truth. “I mean, you remember how it was; you didn’t talk about, no one talked about- about being- about people like...” He swallows thickly.  “And I was so scared you didn’t, that you weren’t-” His voice breaks.

Even though you’ve all been emotionally invested in this love story for years, the entire team respectfully pretends not to listen as the former Winter Soldier quietly admits his deepest secret to his closest friend. It’s enraging as Bucky confesses yet another way he's been a victim of his circumstances, and denied his right to live freely without derision. Once more, you’re awed by his resilience.

“-it was a risk I couldn’t take,” Bucky finally gets out, that stubborn fire back in his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you, Steve. I couldn’t chance it. I could live with just being your friend and only your friend so long it meant you were in my life.”

Stunned silence meets the end of his confession. Steve’s face is impassive, those cerulean eyes uncharacteristically inscrutable.

You can all tell Bucky is heading steadily towards dread and heartbreak the longer Steve takes to respond. You and Sam exchange a look, both ready to intervene if Steve demonstrates any of the abhorrent attitudes that were so prevalent in the society of his youth. It would be completely out of character for him, but...

Finally, Steve speaks. “You’re telling me,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, “that you made me wait ninety-three years to tell me you’ve felt the same way about me as I have about you since the day you picked me up out of that alley?!”

The whole found family breaths a collective sigh of relief as Steve pulls Bucky even closer, broad chest to broad chest.

“Okay, to be fair, you were an ice cube for most of that time and I wasn’t exactly available for a relationship.” Bucky’s grin stands in contradiction to his mullish defense. “But yeah, that’s the gist of it.” There’s the Bucky you all know and love, biting his lip with those perfect white teeth. “Now, punk, I’d really like to kiss you now, but first I need you to say you want me to.”

“You-” Steve’s throat works as he attempts- and fails- to rein in his emotions. “You jerk.”

And then the Star Spangled Man seizes the president of the Sometimes-Former-Assassins Club by his ridiculously perfect face and crashes their mouths together.

At any Pride event, seeing two men kissing is, obviously, to be expected. But seeing The First Avenger and The White Wolf attempting to swallow each other’s tongues is not at all routine. As people realize what is happening, the crowd is whipped into a frenzy the likes of which is usually reserved for the aftermath of sporting events and elections that defeat fascists.

Watching the two men embrace, Scott sniffles loudly. “I’m gonna cry, I’m so happy.”

He’s certainly not the only one. Wanda has a watery smile as she wraps her arms around Vision and Pietro; Pepper, Tony, and Bruce are watching with fond parental energy; you and Sam sandwich Peter between the two of you, grins practically splitting your faces. Even Nat’s eyes look suspiciously shiny and she and Clint sling their arms around each other with platonic affection. And that’s not counting the several thousand people who are cheering for love being love being love being love.

When they finally break their embrace, the Centennial twins are startled to see they’ve collected quite an audience.

“Uh, so…” Suddenly bashful, Steve glances back to his- partner? Boyfriend? Soulmate? Is there a word that can accurately describe two people who have found each other time and again in a world that seems hell-bent on keeping them apart?- his ears practically maroon with embarrassment. For a guy with one of the most-recognized faces in the world, Steve is still incredibly and endearingly uncomfortable with attention. “Buck?”

Bucky seems just as stunned as Steve.

Thankfully, the masses demonstrate the usual support that’s the hallmark of Pride. “LOVE IS LOVE!” someone screams in the crowd. It’s quickly echoed, and chants fill the park.

The attention momentarily off them, the former Winter Soldier and his giant himbo of a soulmate look back at each other. You pretend not to watch through the happiest tears as they embrace again, bringing their foreheads together. The relief they share is palpable, as they’re finally able to show the world- and each other- the love they’ve each hidden for so long.

Bucky’s voice is so soft you have to strain to hear it. “You have no idea how much m’in love with you, Stevie.”

“Pretty sure I do,” Steve answers, bringing a hand up to carefully wipe the tears from Bucky’s face. “‘cause it’s as much as I love you, Buck.”

Bucky's answering grin can only be described as saucy. “Then kiss me again, like you mean it.”

And Steve, for once in his long life, does exactly as ordered.

---

A/N: “The Sometimes-Former-Assassins Club” is from Starry_Emerald173’s BRILLIANT The Avengers Wrangler over on AO3. If you haven’t read it yet, drop what you’re doing and do so immediately. Make sure you're not drinking any liquids, or your keyboard/phone may be in peril.

[simonsrosebud]

kalton (??) at pride??

KALTON OMFG I LOVE

it’s dalton’s idea.  he’s gone home for the summer, all the way to maryland.  kevin busies himself with going to the court like he normally does, but it’s different.  last summer nicky went to germany, and he’s doing the same this year, too.  aaron is at katelyn’s for two weeks, and andrew and neil keep to themselves at the columbia house.  it’s really just him to be honest.  he started the summer with going to abby’s almost daily but he got scared that he was hanging around too often.

kevin has keys to dalton’s apartment.  he’s staying there for the summer with dalton’s dog, a big dalmatian.  he thinks that decision was harder than leaving kevin, honestly.

“i’ve never not taken her with me.”  he digs his face into lily’s fur.  dalton normally drives home with lily, but his car is busted and he’s too scared of the stories he’s heard to take her on a plane.

“i... i can look after her?”  what is he doing?  he’s never had a pet in his life.

kevin never saw himself as a dog person.  or an animal person.  he’s always liked lily, but it wasn’t until he basically moved in after dalton left that he got way too attached for his own good.

neil even takes her on runs when they come back from columbia.

dalton’s on the phone now, cooing at his fur baby asleep with her head on kevin’s lap.  “so i’m flying down this weekend, but i’m contemplating just getting a rental so i can drive that down and just bring lily back with me.  i feel bad you’re stuck with her.”

kevin shrugs.  “i like her.”  and then.  “what if i drove us back, instead of you flying?”

and it’s settled.  kevin only got his car a month ago, but he’s willing to put some miles on it.  he also just really wants to spend more time with his boyfriend.

kevin’s waiting by the door when dalton gets there, and hugs him so tight it hurts.  (it’s been a month, let him miss his boy).  they’re there for a week, they have dinner with abby and wymack, and then lily is getting a CBD treat to calm her down and they leave south carolina june 2nd.

and that’s another thing.  june.  pride month.  kevin’s never celebrated before.  and dalton brings it up on the long car ride.  he’s gone to philly pride since he started at college, and kevin makes a leap and mentions that allison just moved to new york city after graduation.  they’d have a place to stay the night if they wanted.

allison would let him crash there, right?  he guess he should ask first.

but she has an extra room, of course, so that’s what they do.

they stop in maryland for two days- which is easier than the first time he’d met dalton’s family over winter break.  then they’re off to nyc in time for pride.

kevin is in a lot of pictures.  as in, he gets a lot more fans approaching him than he even thought about.  but dalton can read him, and is able to steal him away whenever he can tell he’s getting overwhelmed.  kevin knew he had a problem with being amongst big crowds.

at first it reminds him of the near raid the year before, when neil disappeared.  but then dalton’s hand is on his waist and leading him into open spaces and kissing him on the cheek and he reminds himself that these people are celebrating.  definitely not a hoax to steal his friend away.

at one point a random person throws a rainbow lei over his head, and oh, how could we forget their outfits.  kevin’s wearing black athletic shorts, a little on the shorter side, normally for running, and a white shirt that they made in maryland with a poorly printed bisexual flag on the front.  oh and you can’t forget the rainbow bandana tied around his head like a headband.

dalton's wearing what he normally wears.  a rainbow tie-dyed tank top, jean shorts, and the rainbow vans he’s literally only worn to pride.

there's a performance somewhere- there’s so much going on, and the music is being carried through the streets.  allison joined them at first, but they lost her to a few of her new york friends a while ago so kevin’s plenty surprised when she drapes an arm around his shoulders and flicks his cheek.  “i have tickets to a gay bar!”

so they go, and kevin’s never felt lighter.  he loves south carolina, but he’s never seen so many people like him before in this sense that he shoves down every worry to the back of his head and kisses dalton into the edge of the bar counter.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 7

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. There is violence in this chapter.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: *chants* BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF. *sings* they're ain't no big thing just show them a little swing. Beneficial Cucumber. Author's notes are spoilers without context at this point... Y'all-

My beta, @miscmarvelwritings . We make the best duo. I am her dumb of ass and she is my gay. I love her.

Tony was elbow-deep in a robot when I came out of the elevator, Peter holding up the spare part needed, hovering next to the engineer. Without preamble, I was directed to help and dutifully fulfilled Tony's requests. Nothing indicated that my evening stunt ever happened besides Pete's faint blush; I might as well have written it off to the tank top hugging the upper part of my body in all the right places.

I was disappointed, I won't lie to myself - I expected Tony to tease me at least a little bit, snark something vaguely lewd and move on. But the engineer was quiet today, eerily so, almost to the point where it seemed he was ignoring me on purpose. My pride didn't let me begin any of our usual banter so I frowned in silence, making the appearance of a very focused person. Bolts and screws - most interesting things in the world!

As usual, I clocked out first around eleven thirty, leaving Pete and Tony some time to discuss their secret science stuff. Usually I would be exhausted by this point which left little to no room for jealousy but that night, emotions hit me like a freight train and it took me every ounce of my willpower to head out to Bruce's for the inevitable "I'm disappointed in you/Fuck safely" round of brainwashing.

My brain kept returning to the downwards tilt of Tony's mouth and the somber mood around him. I hated seeing him so...unhappy and tense.

The moment I set step in Bruce's lab, I saw the man's back hunched over a tube, I felt the same energy coming from him. What a fucking day! The sigh that left my mouth was resigned. "Bruce?"

A couple of seconds passed before he turned. He attempted a smile but it didn't reach his eyes at all. "Hi, Princess."

I cocked my head in defeat. "If this is the part where you lecture me, let's get over it. Or even better, you say nothing and we carry on," I pursed my lips, inspecting my nails in favour of actually facing the scientist.

I heard the click-clack of his instruments being placed on the table and the soft taps of his shoes against the tiled floor. His arms reached around my shoulders before I could even attempt to pull away, one of his broad palms tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not mad, baby girl," He told me quietly.

I felt some of the tension dissipate, wrapped my arms around him, coming to a realization the man was all but melting into me.

"Just stay safe, alright? I don't want you to get hurt," With the same quiet tone, Bruce gently shushed my worries away. "If something is wrong, you can come to me. You know that, right?" He sounded painfully hopeful as he withdrew just enough to capture my face in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eye.

Something about the look in his eyes made my heart ache. I didn't have the heart to refuse, nor did I want to, so I nodded. Promptly, I was embraced yet again, his lips resting on the crown of my head, both of us swaying gently.

I've never wanted to cry so badly in my entire life.

"I'm a fuckin' mess, Bwucie, you haven't got a clue what you've gotten yourself into," I settled for a round of self-deprication instead. Bitter as it was, it was the barenaked truth.

"Then you're a beautiful mess," I could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. So I smiled, too, obscured by his lab coat.

As much as I didn't want to leave the embrace, like, ever, I had to get home before one o'clock - before mother went to bed, zonked out on Valium and Ambien from the endless supply closet courtesy of my dad. "M'hafta go home," I mumbled.

Bruce sighed deeply. "I'll grab one of Tony's cars and drive you," He went over to remove his lab coat as I gaped. "I'm a forty-five year old man, I can drive." He chuckled humorlessly.

"Tony won't mind?" I asked the first question that popped into my mind to attempt dispelling the awkward moment.

"Trust me, he won't mind at all," Bruce mumbled darkly. I wondered what's up with that but the immediate future for me was already planned out: I was really looking forward to going home, crawling into bed with my clothes on and having a good old fashioned cry.

We made quick work of locating a set of keys and peeling out of the garage in Tony's shiny Audi R8, tires squealing on the wet pavement. It had stopped raining sometime during my robot building but the city was still filled with puddles. I could smell the moist, decaying leaves through the tiny gap of the window, the city was drowning in autumn like I was drowning in my own cluelessness.

The adrenaline rush, the weight of Tony's foul mood, the grief and pleading that radiated off Bruce mixed into a horrendous cocktail of misery and pain. Too much pain for my little, weak, dumb heart to handle. And all these people out in the streets, dressed to the nines despite the disgusting weather - laughing, hugging and drunkenly giggling, it was like salt on my wounds, rubbing it in how much of a good time they were having.

"This your house?" Bruce pointed at the black, high gate of the entrance to my garage.

"Yeah, it's a bit much," I nodded absentmindedly, seeing Bruce's eyes bulge at the sheer size of my estate. My mother wouldn't settle for any less than the best so having a monstrously huge (for NYC) home was what she got. Dad just signed the checks.

Bruce hummed.

I made a face, reaching for his warm hand and giving it a squeeze. "Thanks, Bwucie," Smiling at him, I used up the last of my good mood to show the gratitude he deserved.

He pulled me into a tight hug right over the middle console. It wasn't comfortable by any means with the numerous buttons and switches poking at the soft of my stomach but there was nowhere else I'd rather be than in his arms during that moment. The breaths that left me felt like they were punched out of my chest cavity by steel-toed boots.

"Good night, Princess. Sweet dreams." He kissed my cheek, lingering just a tiny bit.

I did the same, rubbing softly against his stubble and giggling at the ticklish sensation. "Night night, Bwucie."

I waved at him again as I unlocked my front gates and watched him speed off from behind it, obscured by the shadows of the decorative trees growing right behind the fence.

Bruce's face had morphed into something akin to torment or suffering the moment I disappeared from his immediate eyesight and it baffled me to no extent. I ransacked my brain left and right, searching for a reason I might have inadvertently caused him to feel that way but found none. The only logical reason was that he was just lonely. He didn't have many friends from what I gathered and if judging by the proud tone in which he spoke of Will-Mr Davies today, he desperately needed some other company than his teammates. I wish I could have helped.

Mother was nowhere to be seen when I entered the house so a beeline for my bed was successful. The ugly, loud, dry-heaving sobs weren't in any shape or form attractive or acceptable to show to anybody but me so when they forced their way out of me, the pillow keeping me company. I cried as for everything that was happening to me as much as I sobbed because of the self-pity I was indulging in.

It was pathetic, really. My mother would scoff and my father... Well, he'd offer me to 'cheer up, throw a party, do normal teenager stuff'. The bottle of wine I kept in my closet was empty in no time: I justified that as a single lady in a big city, I was entitled to relax once in a while.

Who was I lying to? I downed a bottle in twenty minutes just so I could fall asleep and begone from all this bullshit for a while.

On Monday, I anonymously submitted the documents pertaining to Thompson's behaviour to the school board and to a local newspaper that was known to dabble in socialite gossip. Next day, an investigation was promptly launched and important-looking people started to appear in the hallways, going in and out of the principal's office. Flash was pulled out of class by two police officers: at this point, half the student population was unashamedly filming it on their smartphones, me included. With grim satisfaction, I sent the video directly to the group chat with an added message of "so long, fucker".

Steve didn't even remark on my profanity, just sent a thumbs up.

It really fuckin' blew up the next morning. The news was plastered across every paper, every social media site - "Midtown Principal's son arrested for grand theft auto and assault", "Midtown Principal Being Investigated for obstruction of education" and other ridiculous headlines that had me, Bucky and Natasha in shit-fits.

Flash returned to school on Wednesday accessorized with a pretty ankle monitor and a sullen frown. During lunch, he sat only with two of his closest minions instead of the chatty group he was usually seen with. Everybody avoided him like the bubonic plague, even teachers ignored him.

With the final bell, me and Pete went on to look for Happy outside the school territory.

I was spending nearly every evening at the tower either in Tony's or Bruce's lab or sandwiched between Wanda and Bucky on the couch, gossiping while TV shows mutely played in the background. I had found a second friend in the face of Winter Soldier who, much like me, spent a lot of his days occupied by the internet or in a general state of confusion. Bucky was charming, funny and very flamboyant. I enjoyed the no-nonsense attitude and zero fucks that he gave the world in general.

The moment I stepped on the other side of the gate, I immediately knew something was wrong. Peter squirmed uncomfortably beside me, looking frantically in every direction, trying to spot Happy's car in vain.

"Ay, Parker," The familiar obnoxious voice of Peter's bully reached our ears. "You wanna tell me how you got your grubby little hands on that file?"

Thompson had brought back up with him, the idiot that he was. He was standing off to the side, leaning against the fence while five older boys surrounded us in a tight circle.

"Leave us alone, Flash, you're already in trouble," Peter tried reasoning with the bully meanwhile I... I was searching for a cleaner, dryer spot to dump my $1500 bag onto in preparation for the inevitable. I was no stranger to swinging my arm - as a frequent house party guest, I've had to fend off enough unwelcome advances. I've been told I have a mean, mean right hook.

"Bold of you to assume Peter would actually steal something," I stated in a bored tone once my bag was out of the way and Pete was standing securely behind me. I wasn't afraid of Flash, mostly because I knew he'd step back for the fear of retaliation from my family was usually too much.

"Oh, look at that, the weirdo is talking," Thompson mocked, getting up and standing right in front of my face. "You know, I don't get why the likes of you have to go to school with us, normal people. See, Peter here might be a little wimp but at least he won't shoot up the whole school one day because his daddy didn't love him enough," Thompson decided to test his luck. To finish his epic tirade with a flourish, he spat on the ground next to me.

I snorted. "Wow, that's an awful lot of smart words for someone as dumb as a doorknob," I shook my head in disdain. "Look, either you go now or I'll sue you so far up your ass, you'll be sucking dick in prison just to get something to fill your stomach with." And wow, that comeback was really, really good. I was proud of myself.

I saw pure rage mar Thompson's already ugly face into something demonic and ducked at the last moment, feeling the blunt sting of his knuckles connect with my left cheekbone. Reflectively I swung, too, decking him straight in the nose with all the rage and despair that was burning deeply inside of me at that time.

I heard gasps all around me as the students whispered, shouted and cheered at Thompson's confused form hitting the ground. He held his face and his palms were stained a deep crimson; I felt something warm on my face, copper in my mouth.

"Does anybody want some of that, too?" My tone was icy. I shrugged off the hand that landed on my shoulder, glaring down one of the boys who came with Thompson.

"Shit, cops, RUN!" One of the students suddenly shouted and just like that, both me and Flash were surrounded only by a handful of students who had filmed the entire incident on camera. God bless technology!

"Uh, I think you're bleeding," Pete timidly remarked from behind me, hand still awkwardly outstretched towards me. He cast a guilty look to the side where Happy was running towards us, phone held to his ear, no doubt already on the line with Tony and the rest of the Avengers. Shit, fuck, SHIT. I didn't plan for this!

The police officers called an ambulance for Flash and took my statement while I was holding my bleeding nose up to the sky, much to the officer's dismay. Happy had passed the officer his mobile phone and I briefly heard Tony's voice saying that I will be taken care of in the tower's medical suite - and let's face it, no cop will go against Iron Man's charm and wit.

As an eighteen year old, I could refuse the on-site medical assistance that the city provided and my parents weren't required so I was let go after my statement was taken and my injuries photographed.

Not that the photoshoot really was required. Multiple people had the incident on video, from multiple angles. It was an open and close case. I called my mother in the elevator (she didn't answer) and left her a voice message with the bare facts of the situation and my current whereabouts.

Seeing the whole team assembled in the living room, some nervously twitching, some anxiously pacing, I couldn't help but let out a slightly hysterical giggle. "Oh my god, guys, I'm not in a coma, stop acting like I'm in a coma!"

Bucky was the first to approach me, carefully hugging me and steering me towards Bruce. He looked a bit rough, green-ish? I guess. But the first aid kit was already on the table and Stephen Strange was hovering nearby.

"You decked the sucker real good, doll," Bucky's Brooklyn accent made his speech less intelligible but he definitely got all the cookie points for the heat and the passion.

"Ditto. Should've kicked him in the balls, too," Natasha smirked and Steve mirrored her smirk with a darker twist.

"I'm going to sue him so darn far up his ass," Tony seethed, looking absolutely livid.

"Don't worry, mother's got it handled," I obediently laid down on the couch, staring up at Bruce's wide eyes and Stephen's focused face.

"You are fearless and fierce, dear lady," Thor boomed from somewhere.

All of this was making me... Emotional. I just punched a piece of human garbage, it was not a big deal, okay? He had it coming. I chuckled uncomfortably, wincing when Bruce began dabbing at the dried blood on my face with a piece of gauze soaked in alcohol. "Petey, you alright?" I asked, worried about the sudden onset of silence from the usually chatty boy. He mumbled something. "Speak up, I can't hear shit with all the ringing in my ears."

That earned me a worried look from doctor Strange and a frown from Bruce.

"I should've protected you-I mean-it's not that you can't do it yourself, or because you're a girl, it's just-I," he suddenly stopped.

"Go ahead, kid," Tony urged him with unmistakable kindness in his voice.

"You see, I'm-I'm actually Spider-Man and I'm afraid to accidentally kill someone, 'cause I'm really strong." Pete blurted out.

I had to replay his words several times in my head to get to the gist of what he was actually saying. Shy little Peter? Spider-Man? So that's why he was such a fucking pacifist? I mean, it made perfect sense if he really was strong enough to lift cars and hold together collapsing bridges like I'd seen on YouTube.

"Huh," I stated after a brief pause. "I guess I did double the work today, dumped out some trash and prevented a potential murder. I'm on a roll and I deserve chocolate cake," I rambled to distract myself from the incoming dull headache and the sting of the alcohol against the split skin of my cheek.

Strange chuckled, looking, possibly, the happiest I've ever seen him. Bruce giggled too. A tiny bit.

"Friday, order the biggest, most expensive chocolate cake that can be delivered in... Two hours," Tony immediately spoke up.

"Cake," I mumbled happily, a strange drowsiness overcoming me, making my eyelids droop. "Hey-mmm, doc?" I slurred, seeing Stephen's face fall. "M'think m'concussed, f'king 'ell!" The snort that left his mouth was absolutely hilarious; I started giggling, too, startling Banner into action.

He picked up his phone, saying something I didn't understand at all.

"Y'kno," I had this totally bright idea I absolutely NEEDED to share with everyone. "Y'kinda look like the guy... Wha's'is name... Bendy-snap Crum-ble-sticks? No, wait," Snorts and giggles began to resonate through the room as the amount of Doctor Stranges suddenly multiplied by two. He was a WIZARD, that was so cool! "I think... Mmm, yes... Benadryl-Claritin? No-no-no, 'das meds," Woah, a lot of people were there and they were suddenly all laughing. I wondered what was so funny. It was hard to think with so many people laughing; my temples were pulsating uncomfortably. "Wait, I know, I know!" There were wheezing noises now, noises that distinctively reminded me of Tony and Wanda and Bucky. "Bubble-butt Coitus-snack!" I triumphantly exclaimed, finally happy to have gotten it right.

The laughter turned into truly demonic cackling, surrounding me, they were so loud I almost managed to get fully afraid. And then, I passed the fuck out.

TAGLIST IS OPEN Y'ALL.

@another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem

[sincerelyreidburke]

A fic for day 2!

The 25 days of Kiersey continue! This is Thanksgiving-focused, but I wanted to get this one early in the countdown before Thanksgiving was too distant of an event. I’m counting this as a winter holiday.

For context, if you want or need it, here is a ficlet that will function as a faraway prequel to the events of the following fic.

In the summer between his sophomore and junior year, Quinn tours with a fictional production of a real Broadway show, Deaf West's Spring Awakening. I recently watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and decided that Quinn Cooper needed to be in on that action. Here's what happened as a result.

Heaven forgive me, for it is LONG under that cut! I saw the opportunity for Quindo fluff in New York City, and I ran with it, my friends. Featuring Quinn’s tour friend Kyra (in person, finally!), some stereotypical NYC tourism shit, and, of course, the actual Thanksgiving festivities.

///

Playbill.com

November 1st

Summer Cast of Deaf West’s Spring Awakening To Perform At Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade

*

Tuesday

Kiersey, NH

 Technically, the official start of Quinn’s Thanksgiving break occurs at 1:15 on Tuesday, when his last class lets out. Walking across campus after he leaves the sciences building is, to be sure, a very freeing experience. But it’s not until he’s by the door at the house on Beech Street, with a packed bag over his shoulder and a train ticket in his pocket, that it truly feels like his break is beginning.

“I can’t believe you two are ditching out on Shaley Thanksgiving,” Ben tells him, shaking his head and mock-scowling, as he takes the keys to his Prius off a hook by the door. “After all I’ve done for you?”

Quinn smiles brightly, and offers Ben nothing but a shrug. “I’m sorry, Ben,” he hums, “but I’ll be thinking of you in spirit.”

“Wow, that’s so nice of you, Mini.” Ben puts a hand to his heart, with all the snark in the world still in his eyes. “It’s almost for a moment like you’re not ditching to go to the big city.”

Quinn hums contemplatively, then glances at the time on his phone. “Sebastián,” he calls, and hopes his voice travels up the stairs. “We’ve got to go! The train’s in twenty minutes!”

“Twenty-four,” corrects Remy, as he walks to the door to join them with his own bag in tow. “You’ve got time, Q.”

Quinn knows he does have time, but as they say in the theater, on time is ten minutes early. He smiles at Remy anyway, and sighs. “I suppose we do, don’t we?”

Remy shrugs. “The train station is, like, two seconds away.”

This is also true.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Ben,” he adds, while they’re waiting. “Goodness knows I’m grateful for your mother’s hospitality.”

“It’s okay.” Ben smirks. “On the bright side, this year you won’t have to deal with her being weird.”

Mrs. Shaley does say odd things, most of them thinly veiled discomfort about his existence as an openly gay man (Quinn, you are just so stylish! It must just be natural for you people), but Quinn is still grateful that she had him to her house last year all the same.

Remy, who is going home with Ben again this year for the brief break, looks to him now, and asks, “Will we see you on TV?”

Quinn smiles— he can’t help it— and dusts off his knit scarf where it’s wound around his neck. “I certainly hope you will,” he replies. “So long as the parade is on, I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“That’s awesome,” Remy says, with a smile of his own, and Ben adds, “I can’t wait to live-Tweet it and say I know you.”

He sighs into his hand. “Oh, Benjamin.” He’s about to call for Sebastián again— he did have the class that released the latest of all of them, so it makes sense he’s the last to be ready, but then again, he should have just packed last night— but before he can call him, the floor shakes with the unmistakable rhythm of him bounding down the stairs, and in another second, he’s joined them by the door.

“Sorry, baby.” With his backpack over his shoulder, Sebastián looks handsome enough that Quinn is willing to forget his previous punctuality stress. “I’m ready now.” He’s in his nice winter jacket, with the red scarf and matching hat, and he looks every bit prepared for the November streets of New York.

“Good,” Quinn says, simply, and fixes the way his scarf tucks into his jacket before he turns to nod at Ben. “We’re ready when you are, mister taxi service.”

“You’re an asshole,” Ben replies, “and let’s get outta here.”

The train station is only a three-minute drive from campus, and Ben and Remy drop them off there, with their own long drive to Providence awaiting them as they pull out of sight. Quinn feels as if he’s buzzing with adrenaline, with the excitement of the five days that lie ahead of them. Thanksgiving break may not be long, and in past years, it hasn’t been very eventful for him— freshman year, he stayed on campus, and last year at Ben’s house was nice but not particularly crazy— but this year is a whole new story.

This year, he gets a Thanksgiving break straight out of his wildest, most wonderful daydreams.

“Are you excited, cariño?” Sebastián asks him, as they’re waiting on the platform for the train, bundled up with their bags in the cold. Quinn feels like they’re at the start of a wonderful holiday movie.

“Of course I am.” He winds his arm up in his and remarks, “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was quite this excited.”

Sebastián smiles. Under his knit cap, his curls are just a little windblown. Quinn has never seen a more handsome sight. “I’m excited for you,” he says, and kisses his forehead, and this is going to be the greatest school break ever.

*

Wednesday

New York, NY

 On their first full day in New York, Quinn has rehearsals. This makes sense, because the whole reason they’re in New York in the first place is so that Quinn can perform. Nando doesn’t even have enough words for how proud he is of him, and the performance hasn’t even happened yet.

Quinn is up bright and early Wednesday morning. He’s headed to the hotel convention center downstairs, where he’s meeting up with his castmates from over the summer for the first time since he left tour in August. Nando rolls over in bed— it’s still dark out— and smiles when he feels him a kiss to his cheek on his way out. He reaches out of the covers and feels around until he can grab Quinn’s hand in the dark.

He squeezes it, three times— their wordless way to say I love you. Quinn returns the three squeezes, kisses the back of his hand, and then turns to go, a silhouette in rehearsal clothes as he leaves.

The bed feels empty without him afterwards, but it’s still dark outside the windows of the room, so Nando falls asleep for another little while and dreams of 

When he wakes again, he has an interesting situation on his hands: time to himself, in the middle of New York City. He’s never been here before, but he’s fully prepared to become a huge tourist so he can visit some of the food spots he follows on Instagram.

At a respectable hour, he gets up, gets dressed, and does just that in Quinn’s absence. A few very successful dessert-for-breakfast experiences later, he heads back to the hotel to FaceTime Mama and his sisters.

“Can we watch him on TV?” Gabi asks.

“Is he gonna be on one of the floats?” adds Rosa.

“Well, not exactly on a float,” Nando tells them, “but yeah, you can watch him on TV! I don’t know when he’s on, but he’ll know, so I’ll text you guys later.”

“Wish him luck for us,” Mama says, with a warm smile, and Nando smiles, too. It’s not that often you spend Thanksgiving in New York, when your family is thousands of miles away and your friends hundreds, but it’s also not often that your boyfriend, the love of your life, your favorite person in the entire world, is performing at the Thanksgiving Day Parade, so. Y’know.

Nando didn’t know it was possible to be this cheeky with pride.

At noon, he goes downstairs to pick Quinn up from rehearsal. He’ll have a busy Thursday, what with the parade and everything, but for the rest of the day, their time is entirely theirs.

It’s kind of easy to tell where the cast people are coming from, because one of Nando’s various acquired skills from the course the two years so far of this relationship is being able to spot Deaf people in public. It’s really not hard. Just watch for flying hands!

That’s how he spots Quinn— leaving the convention area, among his fellow Deaf West people, or— Kyra, actually, to be more specific. Nando hasn’t seen Kyra in months, since July, actually, when he met her on their Phoenix Spring Awakening tour stop. Her hair is different— in space buns instead of her afro— and she’s wearing a bright orange sweater, which, if her Instagram is accurate, is right in line with her sunshine aesthetic. She was amazing on tour; she’s such a talented person.

She walks side by side with Quinn, and they’re moving kind of slowly because they’re turned halfway toward each other to talk. Their hands move a mile a minute, and Nando knows a good amount of sign, but can’t keep up with this rapid conversation.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to. Quinn and Kyra seem to see him at the same time— and Kyra signs something he does understand, with this huge, bright smile. Literally, her sign means cactus and S, but Nando knows that’s just his sign name.

He waves across the lobby, then signs back to her— sunshine and K, for Kyra, and she lights up even more. She runs the rest of the way over, and Quinn goes after her.

How are you? he asks, and Kyra looks so excited that she almost jumps up and down.

They get to hold a small conversation in sign, and Nando loves catching up with Kyra but sort of loves even more how Quinn smiles as he watches them talk, like he’s glad they’re interacting, and it’s just— it’s wholesome. It’s great. Kyra is great, and he’s just so happy for Quinn that he gets to see her and all his tour friends again. He was sad to part with them at the end of the summer.

Kyra’s mom is in the city with her, so they part ways when she arrives; Quinn has another brief and very fast sign conversation with her as she’s leaving. Nando figures it’s probably just ‘see you tomorrow,’ but you never know.

“Baby,” he whispers, leaning down to him as they start side-by-side toward the elevator, “you have to hear about the churro I found this morning.”

Quinn laughs, and looks up to him, winding his arm in his elbow. Nando thinks they were meant to fit together this way. It’s so natural, and so easy. “I would love to hear about that.”

“I took pictures and everything,” he says, then pauses to press the button and hail the elevator. He looks to him again to add, “But also, how was rehearsal? Can I take you out to lunch?”

“Out to lunch?” Quinn swoons. “You must be trying to get in my good graces.”

He pretends to pout. “Am I not already in your good graces?”

Quinn swats at his chest. “Oh, don’t be a drama queen.”

He kind of wants to point out that Quinn, rather than he, is the one who just got out of several hours of pro theatre rehearsal— but he guesses that would be telling him what he already knows. Instead, he grins and shrugs, then kisses his forehead. The elevator dings upon arrival. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, and they have a very good afternoon.

*

Thursday

 It’s absolutely frigid outside, and it’s six in the morning, and Quinn is having the time of his life.

He’s huddled on a couch with his castmates, in a trailer, waiting for the day to begin— though he supposes it’s already started, given his five o’clock wake-up call. He thought the tour was exciting, and truly, it was, but this is a whole other excitement entirely— being in New York, with so many performers all in one small place, knowing what lies in store for his day.

Life, he thinks, is maybe a dream come true right now. From coming here with Sebastián to getting to perform, there are so many things he’s grateful for, so many experiences he feels so lucky to have. This is no exception, as he sits in the trailer, with space heaters warming his feet and cast friends on either side. It’s like being back on tour, except this time, it’s one time only. He has to make it count.

And… yes. Quinn is decided. He is going to be completely obnoxious on Instagram today. To start it out, he nudges Kyra, who sits directly next to him, and opens the front camera on his phone.

Kyra lights up for the camera— she truly is the human embodiment of the sun, and Quinn is honestly a little jealous of how good and put-together she already looks at six in the morning. She’s wearing yellow earmuffs that sort of match the gold rims on her glasses, and she hooks an arm around his neck to lean into the picture. Her cheek is warm against his, and he laughs. On his other side, their friend Minji pushes into the camera, too, and flashes a heart at the camera with her thumb and pointer picture together.

Are you posting that? Minji asks, once he’s snapped the selfie.

He puts his phone down and grins. Obviously, I’m posting it.

He’s hunting for stickers to put it on his story when it becomes something of a ‘thing’— the various other friends and castmates around him realize he’s taking pictures, and then, right as he gets the selfie up on his story with a little turkey sticker, everyone is clustering for another.

Group shot!

Let us be on your Instagram!

Yeah, we need a reunion picture.

Hang on, he tells them, and laughs, then climbs up onto the edge of the couch. He faces them to add, I’m not tall enough for that, and while they laugh at his height’s expense, he rolls his eyes and opens his camera again.

Smile! he signs into the camera, and then clicks the button a few times so he’ll have options to choose from. This one should be a post, not a story, he decides. He thinks there are enough cast members in it to maybe send it to production staff. Not to pat himself on the back or anything. Really, he just wants to document these moments with his friends, while they’re all still in one place again.

Oh, you know what we should do? he says to Kyra, as he’s sitting down on the arm of the couch. A before and after picture, with costumes.

Kyra grins, and she nods. They did posts like that several times, over tour— a picture before you get costumed, and then the same picture but after you’re ready to go onstage. We should make a TikTok, Kyra says.

He laughs. Oh, goodness, he says, but he knows he’ll probably wind up doing just that. He has a feeling his social media will be quite alive and well by the end of the day today.

He wants to hold every part of this day in his memory, so he’ll never forget what this feels like.

*

It’s been three months since Quinn got to be Moritz Stiefel.

Though it took a lot out of him this summer, it’s a role he’s missed sorely, and he doesn’t usually get to go back to playing characters whose shows have come to a close for him. He supposes today is a bit of an exception, and, to be sure, he’s been excited for today since the very moment he learned this performance would be happening— but it’s not real, exactly, until he sees himself in a mirror, in costume.

He knows this version of himself, though he hasn’t seen it in awhile. His hair is mussed up, and the school uniform costume fits just as it’s supposed to, with a crooked tie and a tall pair of socks. He isn’t mic’d yet— that’s a step they’ll reach later this morning, with the sound technicians at the parade, and his hearing aids have been out for several hours; they’re tucked into his jacket pocket right now.

The mirror in the trailer is small, and he smiles at himself in it. He always likes this part, performing— when he gets to see himself as the character he’s going to be. Today, it’ll only be for five minutes— but five minutes of glory, on television, with his friends from the summer, and so they’re bound to be some of the most exhilarating five minutes of his life.

He doesn’t want to get a big head, but the fact that so many people will be watching… that’s a lot to take in. On the street, in person, Sebastián will be watching, too, and that’s something he’s very mindful of.

Kyra is putting flowers into her hair, at the small mirror next to him. He grabs his phone to wave it at her, and she grins, then signs for him to wait one second, so he does.

Just like old times, she says, when she’s done, and then lets him take their picture in the mirror. He sends it off to Sebastián first, then puts it on his steadily growing Instagram story.

It is just like old times. Quinn doesn’t want the day to be over, and it’s barely begun.

*

Of all the places he’s performed, Quinn has to say that the streets of New York City rank high.

The morning is a blur— move from place to place, let people tell you where to be, get briefed by tech people who know a lot more about what’s going on than he does. Comply, because that’s what you do. Warm up your voice. Take so many pictures that your phone starts to yell at you that it’s running out of storage.

From a distance, spot someone who looks an awful lot like your boyfriend on the side of the street. You can tell it’s him, because you knit that red scarf for him two Christmases ago. It’s his color, undoubtedly. Kyra signs his name at him from afar, but he doesn’t see either of you. Until you go on.

You get a little nervous, but you don’t have time to be nervous, because you’re on the move and you’re waiting to perform, and then— you blink, a rush of adrenaline, and it’s over.

And you just did what actors all over the country dream of doing.

There aren’t words for that in English or in sign.

*

Friday

 On Friday morning, when Quinn wakes up, it’s snowing.

He doesn’t realize it at first. He’s tucked beneath Sebastián in their hotel bed, waking from a sleep so deep and welcome it felt truly heavenly, buried between covers and warm weight. He opens his eyes to gentle, natural light in the room, a sure sign they slept in, and he blinks a few times before he realizes what he’s seeing in the nearby window.

Snow. So much snow, and falling fast. Goodness, it’s beautiful. The view isn’t bad, either; Manhattan is a sea of buildings, and this snapshot of glass is only a glance. The snow is so peaceful, coupled with the thought that they have nowhere to go, nowhere to be. After the dream come true that was yesterday— the parade, the performance, getting dinner with Sebastián and Kyra at some diner with no other patrons in the middle of the Thanksgiving afternoon— he could use to rest and reflect.

Quinn knows it’s cliché, but he truly does love this city.

He threads his fingers into Sebastián’s curls, and pulls his head close to his chest, and rests in bed while he watches the snow come down.

Some time later, when Sebastián has woken, he gets to spend a lazy, snowy morning in bed, and between gentle kisses, he tells him there’s nowhere else he would rather be.

*

Saturday

 “Can you keep up, baby?”

Nando knows a retort is coming before it even does, but he still grins when Quinn pipes up, from a few feet behind him, “Oh, you just mind your business, Sebastián; I am fine.”

As if to prove it, he closes the small space between them and skates up by his side. Nando knows that getting out on the ice and immediately taunting him was not practical, but it was entertaining, and he likes that Quinn’s cheeks are flushing now. He holds out his elbow, like a peace offering, and Quinn wraps his gloved hand up in it.

“You wanna take a winter stroll?” Nando asks him, with a wink down in his direction.

“This is hardly a stroll,” Quinn replies, in that know-it-all voice that drives Nando crazy in the best way possible. “It’s more of a glide,” he adds, and with that, they start skating along.

“That’s fair,” Nando replies, and tips his head up to take in the view.

He couldn’t spend any weekend even slightly related to the holiday season in New York City without going ice skating under the huge tree. Because first of all, it’s in every New York Christmas movie ever, and second, one of his and Quinn’s first dates was skating, and third, he fricking loves to skate, and fourth, this is his life, so there.

“This is breathtaking,” Quinn remarks, and that’s an understatement. There are enough lights on the tree to probably show up from space, and Nando has learned over the past few days how huge this city actually is, but being right here in the middle of everything just reinforces that truth. They skate along in the throngs of other people, which is part of the tourist experience, and honestly just makes it even better. Nando has seen this on TV so many times. He can’t believe he’s actually here. Pretty much everything about this weekend has been like some kind of dream situation where crazy things you imagine actually come true.

And speaking of dreams. He looks down to Quinn, and it’s, like, okay— cheesy, but the lights are all reflecting in his eyes, and he’s bundled in his scarf and peacoat, and he’s the prettiest thing Nando has ever seen. Including the giant tree. Including everything.

Quinn catches him looking. Of course he does. He smiles, rosy-cheeked and windblown, and hums, “What?”

“I love you,” Nando replies, and kisses him right in the middle of everything.

Quinn laughs out of the kiss. He stays tight on his arm, and somehow, they keep skating without falling. Nando thanks his hockey side for that.

“I love you, too,” Quinn replies, and his voice could block out all the noise of the whole city.

They’re the center of the world.

*

Sunday

Kiersey, NH

 The whole way home to Kiersey, Quinn sleeps on Sebastián’s shoulder.

It’s unintentional, but peaceful all the same, dreams full of memories of the weekend. He gets into his seat at Grand Central Station, slumps against him, and wakes to his gentle nudging hours later, so they can change trains in Boston. The next ride is shorter, but he rests again anyways, and the gray November day is dimming outside the train windows when he opens his eyes at the Kiersey station.

They walk back to campus— it isn’t far. Sebastián is holding both of their bags, and Quinn is holding nothing but his arm. It’s chilly, but bundled up, it isn’t so bad. With this boy, Quinn is so very warm. By the time they round the corner onto Beech Street, lines of student houses with warm windows stretching down either side of the familiar road, the sun has gone down.

On the front steps, Quinn pulls his hands out and looks up to him. He hasn’t had his hearing aids on in over twenty-four hours, and it’s been the most liberating and lovely experience. Before they re-enter the chaos of the hockey house and he’ll have to put them in again, he wants to sign him one last thing.

Thank you for joining me, he says, once he has his gaze. I love you so much.

Sebastián smiles. He puts the bags down by the door, rests both hands on his shoulders, and kisses him gently. No wintry breeze could stop the warmth in Quinn’s chest.

When he’s pulled back, Sebastián replies, I’d join you anywhere. I love you, too.

Quinn beams at him, and with one more shared, quiet moment, Sebastián picks up the bags, and Quinn leans into the front door and pushes it open. Hey, people! he reads on Sebastián’s lips, no doubt a loud exclamation, as they cross the threshold together. We’re home!

Home, indeed. Quinn closes the door behind them, and the warm, familiar, slightly chaotic embrace of Beech Street welcomes them back.

[homosociallyyours]

@velvet-impala tagged me to answer this long set of questions, and bc I love this sort of thing I’m DOING IT! I’ll tag folks here just in case you don’t want to read thru this whole dang thing. But I wanna say: if you want to do this, PLEASE DO IT and tag me so I can see-- I *love* reading responses to stuff like this. But @la-paritalienne @disgruntledkittenface @and-id-marry-larry @calmrry @crinkle-eyed-boo @lightwoodsmagic -- y’all are tagged :) 

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? black, but what matters most is how smoothly it writes.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? walkable neighborhood in a city. 3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? would love to learn how to hack into billionaire bank accounts without getting caught so i could redistribute their wealth to a variety of mutual aid funds. :)  4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? no, just milk! unless it’s really shitty/bitter coffee, and then i will take it with a couple sugars or sweetened creamer. 

5. What was your favourite book as a child? probably the Anne of Green Gables books  6. Do you prefer baths or showers? showers! i wanna love a bath, but i get bored too fast and i never feel comfortable (where do i put my head? my feet? what do i do when my belly isn’t covered by the water and it gets cold?) so they’re meh. 

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? dryad! i wanna be a tree spirit!

8. Paper or electronic books? paper, i guess. but i do love reading fic electronically, so..

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? used to be my work hoodie. but now i would say this blue striped button down i have OR this one black dress i have with 3/4 sleeves that’s really soft and comfy. 

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? i always meant to start going by Dottie when I got older, but it hasn’t happened yet so it probably won’t by now? but i would never change my name generally speaking. 

more after the cut! 

  11. Who is a mentor to you? i had a co-worker who was really a mentor for me since i got into being a cheesemonger in 2008. he’s been in the industry for a long time and basically recruited me to the job i have/had here. but when i got sick he basically dropped me/hasn’t spoken to me in a long time. let me tell you: it fucking sucks. bc a mentor is a cross between a friend and a colleague and a relative; we jokingly called him my lesbian uncle. and so losing him from my life so completely over something like this is deeply shitty. 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for?  not now, but before i was sick i would’ve said yes. BUT only bc i think i would be a great Saturday Night Live host (not a cast member! just a one time host with a monologue/skits). So whatever level of fame i needed to get that..

13. Are you a restless sleeper? I have really bad insomnia that means i take at least an hour to fall asleep most nights. Once I’m out, I usually sleep ok, but i do have intense dreams/nightmares that wake me up sometimes. 

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? yeah :/

15. Which element best represents you? earth: the wet dirt and leaves in a forest after rain in particular

16. Who do you want to be closer to? emotionally i’m pretty good i think. physically i wish i could be closer to friends and family in NYC, Seattle area, TN/Atlanta, and Germany

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? the people referenced above. also missing my Grandmomma a lot lately and my mom. 

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. art lessons with my grandmomma. her set of pastels that were all worn down and the heavy paper (black) that she pulled out to work on. she drew a quick portrait of a man, showing me how to create depth in skin tones with blue and green against the softer flesh tones. she didn’t blend it out, the marks all painterly and strong-- her style. i was 10, maybe? 12? so not *early* but it feels like forever ago. 

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? i have no idea? i’ve eaten a lot of weirdish cheeses. i’ve had geoduck? 

20. What are you most thankful for? the amazing friends i’ve gathered into my life along the way, my dad, and my baby dog. 

21. Do you like spicy food? yes, within reason (i don’t get stuff that’s spicy just for the heck of it, like ghost pepper chips or whatever? but when spice is integrated in with other flavors i love it)

22. Have you ever met someone famous? i used to make up stories about meeting famous people that were based on partial truths. i’ve hung out with or met a lot of gay famous people. but the biggest person who comes to mind is Sandra Bernhard. I sold her cheese.  23. Do you do you keep a diary or journal? i have over the years. now i sometimes write things down in a paper journal, but mostly go to a really old blogging site where i basically put all my big feelings down in a public but sorta private spot.  

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? depends on my mood.

25. What is your star sign? taurus sun and moon, gemini rising

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? in between...not HARD crunchy, but not soft soggy. 

27. What would you want your legacy to be? would like people to remember that i loved them well and made them feel good/happy when i was around them. and hopefully that it made them feel like being good to others too. 

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? i do, but i’m mostly reading fic these days. i think the thing i read last was Pink Like the Paradise Found, which was FANTASTIC!

29. How do you show someone you love them? i tell them, shower them with physical affection, and do little things for them. also try to remember small details about what they enjoy and then do stuff to make them feel good when they’re down

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? yes, but not too much

31. What are you afraid of? sometimes being along but only when it’s very dark out and i’m in the sads. honestly-- this is some deep internalized ableism but here it is --i’m very afraid of never getting better and not being able to take care of myself or anyone else. 

32. What is your favourite scent? jasmine flowers, pu-er tea, the specific scents of people i love

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? however they’re introduced i guess. maybe because i’m an older person lol

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? i would live in the apartment i had alone (with a guest room). i would hire someone from my community to come help me out sometimes. i would get a weekly grocery delivery from the good quality place. i would have a dog walker. and i would fly home to see my family more than once a year and fly my family out for a visit sometimes. so like. probably the way a lot of ppl live? idk. 

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? ocean

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? get dinner at the thai restaurant down the street a couple times. 

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? yes, lots! 

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? i’m not having kids BUT for the kids in my life, i try to teach them/model the importance of consent and respect for their own bodies as well as other people’s. and i know it said one thing, but alongside that is that i respect and love them for who they are, and that’s something they get to decide. 

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? i want a lot of tattoos, but if i could get one tomorrow it would be a cheese themed tattoo with a variety of cheese knives (parm tools, dutch style knife) and a small cheese assortment. or a portrait of my dog

40. What can you hear now? this kinda dumb netflix show that i decided to binge today even tho it’s only kinda meh and my dog snoring just a little. 

41. Where do you feel the safest? when i’m surrounded by friends. 

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? my stupid money issues prolly

43. Of you could travel back to any era, what would it be? wanna go back to 1977 and live in the girl direction AU i wrote last year, lol.

44. What is your most used emoji? laugh crying emoji or sobbing maybe

45. Describe yourself using one word. colorful

46. What do you regret the most? not sure if this is a thing but i regret not realizing when i got bitten by a tick/got lyme disease the first time, bc maybe i could’ve just taken antibiotics and killed it, and then maybe i wouldn’t be sick? 

47. Last movie you saw? watched the new charlie’s angels the other night

48. Last tv show you watched? this dumb show is called sweet magnolias, and it’s. honestly not terrible! it’s just not my style of show. OH WAIT i take it back, they left it on a really shitty cliffhanger without warning, and that is the one way to make me drop your show/fic HARD unless i like. genuinely love you. so byeeee dumb show, hope you get cancelled

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. saungry: sadness brought on by being hungry, like hangry except oops you’re crying now! example: “fuck i knew i should’ve eaten before calling my best friend, now i miss them and i’m too saungry to figure out what to eat! Guess I’ll have tears for dinner” (almost called it sungry, but the internet thinks that might just mean ‘so hungry’)

did you make it to the end? WOW! devotion. thank you. 

[hoodiercynolds-archive]

ah ha ha! ✌️🤪 eyy. isha boi.....uh.......skinny p*nis 🤪🤪🤪

( RICHARD MADDEN + CIS MAN ) —  Have you seen HUDSON ‘HOODIE’ REYNOLDS ? This TWENTY-NINE year old is a/an GAS STATION STORE CLERK / DRAG RACER who resides in QUEENS. HE has/have been living in NYC for ELEVEN YEARS, and is/are known to be AFFABLE and ADROIT, but can also be ANARCHIC and BRASH, if you cross them.  People tend to associate them with PINE-SCENTED CAR FRESHENERS MIXED WITH THE SMELL OF CIGARETTES and CRACKED PHONE SCREENS.

( mentions of child neglect, drugs, fire, kleptomania, pyromania )

@codstarters​

THE STORY SO FAR:

born in hermosa beach, cali as HUDSON JAMES WARREN REYNOLDS, younger brother to jordan alexander aka @agcntwarren​ <3

parents made a meth lab out of their home so it was largely alex (whom he simply knew as ‘jordan’ at the time) who raised him. the situation was definitely not ideal and they were both neglecteed, but they made lemons out of all that lemonade so it was fine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

except it wasn’t fine bc someone called social services to check on the house and found lil hudson playing by himself in the meth lab 🤪🤪🤪 they took his tiny ass away and he never saw (nor remembers much of) his family again. he was five years old.

grew up with a myriad of behavioral issues. was diagnosed with adhd at age 7 when he tried to set his foster sister’s hair on fire while she was sleeping. he was a bit of a pyromaniac. and a kleptomaniac. still is. he has trouble controlling his impulses and setting fire to stuff and putting displayed trinkets from the department store into his pockets is just some of those things. 

‘hoodie’ is the name some of the kids at the group home called him. it just kind of stuck.

eventually aged out of the system bc prospective adopters will spend five (minutes) alone with him and immediately decide nOPE THIS AIN’T IT. really shot his confidence. there was really only one person who believed in him and it was his social worker, sherry.

sherry was like the mother he wished he had tbh. she was tough, yeah. abrasive. had a mouth on her and that mouth always had a cigarette. but she genuinely cared for him (or at least, hoodie always felt that way— she’d deny the very words to her grave even tho IT’S TRUE SHE’S SOFT FOR HIM) and promised him that there is the perfect family for him. over the years tho (and as he grew close to aging out of the system), he sorta secretly wished that she would adopt him, but it was like each time he tried to remotely bring up the subject, she would pull away.

so he did age out and he moved out of the home and considered looking for his biological family (and why the hell they never looked for him??? what the f u guys) but to no avail. he was nineteen and was living with a bunch of other people who, like him, also aged out of the home when he bumped into sherry. turns out, she’d quit her job and stole some money from them so she could run away from her abusive husband.

without even questioning her, the first thing he literally said was ‘COOL CAN I COME WITH’ to which sherry was :/// bECAUSE HE’D JUST BE ANOTHER MOUTH TO FEED but hey they went on that cross-country road trip hitchhiking with sketchy truck drivers until they ended up in new york anyway.

(at this point, u should def picture logan and laura from logan or joel and ellie from tlou bc yes)

hoodie and sherry have been living in new york for the past eleven years as pseudo mom and son (even tho sherry will CONTINUE to deny it) 

hoodie never went to college, instead he took up several jobs to help pay the bills bc sherry says she ‘won’t have a boarder living with me, either you make your ass useful or get out’ but ofc she secretly loves having him around bc she’s lonely af and he reminds her of her deceased son who would’ve been hoodie’s age AND HOODIE JUST LEARNED THAT A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO SO LIKE. feels.

anyways, he started working at a garage because as it turns out, he’s pretty good with his hands. and as it turns out, keeping his hands busy this way keeps them away from setting fire to things and pickpocketing. 

working around cars, he also got into the underground street racing scene. he earns waaaay more from his winnings than he did at the garage so one day, he stole a car he’d been workshopping (a ford gran torino). got caught by the owner who, as it turns out, was a big player in the drug cartel in new york. in exchange for his life (or a stint in prison) and for him to keep the car, hoodie was made to work for him by transporting goods for their operation. 

so that’s what he’s been doing for a few years now while working as a clerk at a gas station convenience store. and as much as he wants to stop getting involved with this business, he knows he needs the money esp since sherry started getting sick and hospital bills aren’t cheap.

PERSONALITY + HEADCANONS

def immature for his age. loud, boisterous, but is 10000% the life of the party.

will try to rile you up for no other reason but that he wants to see you riled up.

sherry’s fc in my head is susan surandon so make of that info what u will.

always on something. if not weed then prescription pills. mostly adderall.

gay as hell.

I’LL ADD SOME WANTED CONNECTIONS TO THIS LATER BUT I JUST WANTED TO GET THIS OUT ASAP. if you have any connection ideas u wanna play with, just lmk!!

[likesomekindofcheese]

It’s a helluva town (Joe Mazzello x fem! Brazilian! Reader oneshot)

A/N: This was requested by @johndeaconlover​. Here, Joe Mazzello introduces his Brazilian girlfriend to the American metropolis of New York City.

Genres: fluff!

Word Count: 2075

Warnings:  lack of editing, other than some swearing and a hint of mentions of sex, none really.

“Start Spreading the neeeeeeeewwwwwwws, I’m leaving todaaayyyyy!”

 Liza Minelli’s croon was honeying its way out your eardrum and you knew if it weren’t for the claustrophobic plane, someone else’s would too.

“We are all a…”

Joe turned his head to yours with an eyebrow wiggle and a grin on the BAM.

You mouthed “a great big part of it!”

“New! York!”

“New! York! New! YOOOOOOOOOOOOORK!”

The plane was so close to landing. It was not a long plane ride from the place you met, but Sao Paolo and New York City were a long way away.

You tapped anxiously, peering out the window for any sight of the Statue of Liberty. But you were in the middle seat with Joe in the aisle. The desired window seat was taken by a businesswoman in a blue suit and an eye mask who needed the plane trip for a mask, so mouthing along to your NYC playlist had to do to kill time.

It was fair, your boyfriend, Joe, had indulged you in making and listening to a Brazil playlist when you both went over to Sao Paolo to meet your family. Now it was time you saw some of his countries in his favorite city. The city that defined the country of America, even! Every superhero movie, every nineties rom-com, every movie seemed to take place in that mythical, large empire of a town that was both the best and the worst place to be in the world.

As the plane began to tilt to land, the next song popped up from one of Joe’s guilty pleasure musicals.

“New York New Yoooork, a helluva town!”

People began unbuckling their seatbelts and your view from the window was blocked.

“New York, New York, a helluva town

The Bronx is up, but the Battery's down

The people ride in a hole in the groun'

New York, New York, it's a helluva town!”

“C’mon, Y/N! Got your stuff!?” Joe asked, his toes and feet were tapping away as if he had too much coffee.

“Got everything!” you assured him, pointing up to where your carryon was stored. 

You both raced down the airport, large and neverending. The lyrics to that song were still ringing in your ears and those same emotions with it.

Finally, you hopped on the elevator and made your way up, up, up. People were already everywhere. You even noticed a gay couple kissing boldly while riding the escalator down. Buildings and skyscrapers loomed over your head, far taller than your hand could reach, was New York such a place?

“Y/N, I keep forgetting all those words you taught me, what’s the word for sorry?”

“Desculpe, Joe! And it’s okay! It’s not your home tongue.”

“Desculpe! But you’re a wizard at English and it’s not fair my Portuguese is crap,” he said with his hand reaching for yours.

This was the thing with Joe. Despite everything that could have kept you apart, from a city, an ocean, and even a language, you loved each other and wanted to learn everything about the other, and nothing would change that.

Even if it meant a taxi nearly drove right at you, which it did. 

You hopped to the sidewalk with a scream. You had been so transfixed by the buildings you were nearly hit. 

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Yes, I am! Obrigaga!”

“Obrigada! Dammit, Obrigado!” Joe corrected, switching to what he was supposed to say as a man.

You giggled and assured him it was alright with a kiss on the cheek.

People, people were everywhere. Subways were packed. You clutched onto your purse and backpack nervously, you knew there were thieves that would take advantage of travelers. Joe kept his arm around you. It was a little too public, but you felt safe and that was all that mattered to him.

On the ride, you both agreed you would go to Times Square and get food before settling into the hotel. You had insisted. Times Square was the beating heart of this nightmarish fairy tale and you needed to see it was real. Then finally, here it was. Times Square had a hundred screens in front of you, ads for movies and Broadway shows. There were large department stores with entire music videos showing off their fabulous clothes in front of you. The bright red sign for Coca Cola would alter to become a moving ad for the latest Broadway show. People dressed up as Elmo or Micky Mouse but in rather filthy character costumes lined up all around the area. You clutched Joe’s warm hand and felt your mouth drop a little.

Joe is so happy; everything is perfect at this moment. He flat out takes you to a place empty of people and spins you around. You squeal in happiness, feeling the air rush through you and your hands clutching together. But though the colors and wind swished around you, there was still Joe, clear and in the center of it all.

You had paused, a little breathless. But the wind picked up and you were shivering.“It’s so cold here! How do you not freeze?” you ask, walking away from the little area.“Like this” Joe responds, placing two arms around you.

You nodded and smiled, then leaned over and pecked him chastely. The thought of one bold troublemaker yelling something about a couple kissing made your heart freeze a little.

By the time it was over, you were breathless and laughing very, very hard at all the other tourists with phones, just as excited. Both of you smiled and kissed in again once you had walked away. You both stopped at a small pizzeria. Joe kept insisting that the smaller, local places were the diamonds in the rough people forgot. The pizza itself was so warm it made your nose run a little and you had to use a napkin as a handkerchief. 

“Am I being rude?” you asked demurely, looking to see if any other diner would judge you.

“No, this is rude!” Joe said, he took two extra straws, placing them slightly up his nose.

“Look, I’m a Walrus!” he joked.

You giggled so much you had to catch yourself to breathe. Then you both finished the cheese pizza slices, peeling off the extra melted cheese from the plate and feeling a little sleepy with travel and grease.

As you both passed by the street where your hotel would be, you noticed all of the shops you had passed by. There were more cafes than you could count. Taxies were slowly going through the traffic like big, yellow turtles. But the clothes shops were the most fascinating.

There were shops you had seen in malls and then there were upscale New York shops. Joe had promised he wouldn’t take you to someplace that was unsafe or dirty (or if you did wander off, he would protect you)Those shops, which you could tell were always yellow or white inside their walls. They had tall crystal chandeliers inside, glittering and tinkering. Soft music played in bits when you passed them. You asked Joe to let you pause and admire them for a little bit

But the most spectacular of all were the clothes! Purses as smooth as cream dangled from a mannequins fragile arm. Blouses the color of the ocean bedecked white, blank bodies. But most of all were the dresses. Dresses for jobs, picnics, bars, nice parties, weddings, dinner, meeting celebrities, and other even more glamorous events than you could imagine. 

You paused especially in front of one window displaying the most beautiful gown you had ever seen. It was for the evening with one roman strap draped across the shoulder with diamonds attaching it. The waist was a little cinched and the skirt gently fell down in ripples that would reveal its true size if you twirled around, with layers puffing out around you. 

The best part was the color, it was a rich, royal purple.“It’s so beautiful.” You cooed with eyes wide. You walked over and tried to align your reflection with the display to see what you would look like wearing it.

“I think so too. I love the color.” Joe agreed, scanning over it.

Your head whipped around, snapped from the dream.

“What is your favorite color, Joe? I can’t believe all these months I never asked!” you cried.

Joe nodded with a little laugh and went “purple!”

“Me too!”

You began laughing and high fiving him.

“I never knew!”

You both headed to the hotel and checked in. Your feet ached. You both had ordered Chinese, ate it while watching trashy tv, and then crashed into the bed, falling deep asleep.

The next day, Joe promised a slew of adventures. Sightseeing, museums, dinner.

But that involved lines. And maps. And subways. And people.

Numerous people. More people than you ever thought possible. It was annoying to have crowds squished up next to you as you sat. It was annoying to get a front view of a stranger’s rear end as they held onto the handle on the ceiling as you sat. It was annoying to sit with a couple arguing and duck as a shoe flew past your head in an argument. And it was especially annoying that a whole family took over one cab and kept yelling “selfie!”

Yet Joe was there, nodding patiently and holding your hand. “That’s New York.”

First, there were Rainbow Bagels. They were so warm they brunt your fingers and almost too pretty to eat. Like every hyperactive child’s dream. But you scrapped butter on it and ate it, and Joe made jokes about finding the gold at the end and almost swallowed his whole bagel to find it.

Then there was the Museum of the Moving Image. There was a line. You both waited out in the cold, huddled together, watching the ’94 World Cup on your phone while sharing headphones. Joe kept swearing and cheering at the tiny Brazilians bringing victory much to the cynical amusement of the other people in line and those passing by.

Looking into the museum, he knew just as much as the guides. It was filled with large white walls, and Joe saw an exhibit for Jim Henson and almost ran there. He nearly had his face pressed against the glass where the Big Bird puppet was kept. He pointed and smiled at everything like a child at Disney.

And so did you.

As you passed, you realized that the cacophony had its own music. From the sound of a saxophone accepting coins in a hat to the honks of cars. Visually, it was cacophony too. But beautiful. You noticed a rainbow painting on a building with a punching fist on it and it seemed as grand as any Botticelli.

As you both sat in the subway, dead tired from all the activity, you listened to Rumors by Fleetwood Mac.

Joe poked his head around, turning right and left slowly. There were only a small family and a businessman who hopped off at the last spot.

Now the subway picked up again you were alone.

He looked at you with a wide grin and skipped on your phone to “The Chain.”

“Joe?” you squeaked nervously.

He began to hum along and do air guitars. Then you both were singing at the top of the lungs:

“You would never break the chaiiin!” You both wiggled and did little dances in your seat, sometimes shifting a bit in your seat to the beat. You smiled so wide. You loved this man so much.

But right when it skipped to “Oh Daddy”, Joe was so deep amid his jam session he did not account for the group of teenagers hopping on and staring through their long bangs and frowning braces.

You tapped his shoulder and he looked and then stopped immediately.

But when you got back, you changed into PJs and laughed between laying on the bed, holding each other and exchanging kisses.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, he pulled you down onto his chest. One warm hand was wandering on your thigh, teasing promises for later.

“Expensive, crazy, tiring.”

“Baby, you’re not wrong” Joe agreed smugly.

“But…beautiful, exciting. Magical and just…American, I guess” you sigh. You lay a hand next to your head to gently touch his chest.

Then you give him a glance and smile, getting closer to a kiss, adding “just like you. But you’re better.”

“I’m glad,” he said, sealing it.

[merrysithmas]

ELABORATE ON THE BOREO GETTING MARRIED IN VEGAS HC PL EA S EJFLKDK

(okay so I’m stretching reality a little bit bc gay marriage wasn’t legal in NV until 2014 and Boris and Theo must have been living in Vegas from 2005-2006ish).

But Theo gets the bright idea that Boris should ask some random girl to marry him to get permanent residence status with a greencard. That way he never has to lose him and Boris doesn’t have to leave the States when his dad goes back to Australia and he’ll be legal. So he suggests it to him one day and Boris is like “hmm interesting” like peripherally piqued but thinking its a semi-plausible idea and Theo’s like cool. Not even having expected it to go that far.

Like Theo is even fully prepared for said girl to even be Kotku, like that is inconsequential, priority number one is keeping Boris in close orbit so he doesn’t lose him. But Boris kind of shirks it off each time he mentions it and pesters him to ask her, not entirely on the idea, for a few weeks, but Theo continues to mention it every so often kind of pressing it because— it’s a good idea. And she’ll say yes.

So one day when they’re absolutely world-shatteringly shitfaced, like drooling on Theo’s living room floor and all over themselves high, barely even conscious, Theo shoves him in the shoulders, you should ask her to marry you, he slurs, head falling back on the carpet.

But Boris says back defeatedly, Why don’t you just marry me — it’s a suggestion, a true inquiry, real — mouth slushy with a dozen accents and enough vodka to drown himself.

And Theo is jarred by it, sitting up on his elbow, out of focus eyes landing on him — his wasted friend with the thin bones, and matted black hair, and black pit eyes encircled by black defiant bags. Pale skin and red drunk lips that are turned sideways in an almost frightful kind of sneer - but with eyes that are vulnerable, a voice that is almost shaking. He starts to talk:

You know me, I trust you, we understand what it is, an arrangement—

Why don’t you just marry me. And Theo — Theo is all suddenly frozen inside, as if he wasn’t in the world’s hottest mindmelt of a desert, suddenly feeling all bone with nothing to insulate him, as if he was out in the open, plunged into the harsh cold of frozen water. Memories of his mother and his old life, how the road of his world twisted towards a place with cracks in the ground, where people he barely knows propose wild schemes to him that will reverberate through his what feels like his entire life. And yet — Boris’ fumbled words — yes, they sound fumbled — electrify something that bucks uncomfortably in him and he’s saying: Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll do it, before he even knows it, cutting him off, determined never to have to make Boris beg for a chance to be alive. To be free from his father. To matter. Anything else seems unthinkable.

And Boris exhales a breath Theo didn’t realize he was holding and just nods, looking at him a moment longer before laying back down beside him on the carpet, and soon Theo too is staring at the white pulsing ceiling, drifting back into silence as the sounds of music warp his ears like thread sewing up a new soul out of whatever’s left inside his head.

He forgets about it until Boris brings it up again in the morning, sober. A painfully real glint of hope in his bloodshot eyes, dehydrated from the alcohol. And when Theo sees it he doesn’t scorn or laugh — he immediately starts listing things off — Boris will need his birth certificate, it’s foreign so they can forge the year somehow, make Boris 18, and his own father is so wrecked all the time he’ll get him to sign parental permission when he’s high by lying and saying it’s for a field trip. No one will ever know. Just them. Then it’ll be set. No more troubles. They can do whatever they want. Live just like before. Boris with Kotku. It’s only on paper.

So they do it one night the next week, pool their money for a cab to the Strip when Larry and Xandra are out for “a weekend re-Honeymoon”, at a walk-in chapel, tiny and terrified and looking way out of their league, but they are shitfaced, and Boris is high and loudly overconfident with nerves, and Theo quickly discovers what a good good liar he really is - and it’s done, just like that, easy enough. Like it never happened. A kiss quicker than memory can even catch.

Theo covets the mailbox for a week, waiting for the official certificate, and presses it into Boris’ hands at the playground — just in case, in case he ever needs proof he can stay here. Boris nods at him with a severity that frightens him - that speaks of whisked away people in dark cars and forgotten names and spectre-like officials speaking languages he can’t understand. Theo shudders at that transference and stares at Boris as he turns to the swings — determined again to keep him close.

Obviously it’s an ill-conceived plan. Two drug addicted boys not understanding the law — how long greencards take, how serious the interview process is, how high they were. And things happen too, of course. Life. A car accident, his father. Nothing makes sense very fast. And Theo is out the door, running away, the world changing again — Boris’ mouth on his, but for real this time, something that tastes like Goodbye, and Theo is awash with a hundred emotions, most feeling like a saw cleaved his chest open and left him exposed on the street.

Boris is hugging his shoulders as the car drives away, and Theo is watching in the back window. Til death, something in his mind says, something that echoes and seems so obviously untrue as Boris recedes to the size of an ant that tears actually burn Theo’s eyes in anger.

And years go by — actual years, until the Barbours, and Kitsey, and the party, where Boris shows up, unannounced, bounce in his knee where the raw nerves jangle, stupid grin, made of pure infuriating, relieving, distraction. And they’re in Boris’ car, and Boris shoves something at him, a piece of paper neatly folded, some wear or tear but otherwise very nicely preserved. Theo thinks its to roll, to bump the coke, but then the arrow of memory strikes the front of his brain and he unfolds it.

I think maybe you will want to deal with this before Snowflake.

Boris says, half jokingly, half something else — the coke is burning the edges of his sensory brain like carbonation in his skull. There is a huge silence, the paper crinkles loudly. And Theo nods obediently, staring at him, unbreaking eye contact, fawnish and innocent, like a deer pierced by a shell, putting it into the slit of his camel-hair coat, feeling oddly stitled, like he is carrying around a wound in his pocket.

Boris stares at him a second longer, the car jostling them both, the pavement audible, Gyuri oddly hushed. Boris’ mouth is screwed shut, regretful. More secrets to tell — but not yet. Not yet. Not when Theo nods so sweetly, eyes owlish and big behind his glasses, he’s high, almost childlike, and Boris is watching him stumble through layers of time, looking down at his feet like his memories weigh too much. Boris remembers him, that look — from class, never smiling, always looking somewhat sad like it was raining in his head, quiet even when he spoke. Boris, pulling out an umbrella, Boris protecting him from the rain, Boris hurriedly saying да I do I do already at an ugly chapel on a loud street full of drunk people, eager for safety and stability, and Theo standing there smaller than a whisp of grass — giving it to him.

“Theo,” he says, knocking the other’s head lightly with his knuckles. “Come back,” he adds — and with playful bluster to shock his system, “I am here! Full color! Let’s go someplace, yes?”

And Theo does come back, pulled in by the uncommon use of his name, taking the next bump of coke Boris offers with a revitalized half-smile. Color a bit lost. And Boris thinks, shit.

Shit.

He’s really going to have to break up a whole fucking NYC monarchy to bring Potter home like some kind of cracked out post-Soviet knight with a 300 million dollar painting as his only shield. Fucking Theo. So dramatic.

[humboldtfog]

Years of depression has prepared me very well for the current state of affairs which is weird but whatever here’s a list of my faves on netflix, if I’m missing something let me know cause now’s the time, right?

I'm kinda embarrassed by how long this list is but also kinda like fuck that, there have been very long periods of time where it was either sit and watch shows all day or lie down and stare at the wall in silence all day so I chose the former and it adds up and there's nothing wrong with that.

Glow (Badass ladies learn to wrestle, great 80s aesthetics and grrrrl power.)

Our Planet (Netflix version of Planet Earth, beautiful, cute, terrifying that we aren’t doing more to save us all.)

Bojack Horseman (Hilarious and “deep” critique of LA and celebrity culture for people who don’t care about LA or celebrity culture. Also very funny visual jokes about how if animals were also kinda humans, and lots of great jokes about cliches and tropes, puns, and weirdly rhyming and alliteration? I don’t know how to explain it just watch it.)

Father Brown (BBC, based on mystery novels about a priest who always meddles in police business and solves murders in his small English countryside town.)

Pose (The Ball scene in NY in the 80s, poc queer and trans writers and actors bringing their people’s stories to life. So much joy, so much beauty, but also NYC in the 80s so you will cry.)

Paris is Burning (Documentary made during the Ball scene Pose is based on.)

Sex Education (Such empowering representations of all walks of gender and sexuality, and actually very educational, like I would straight up show this in schools because everyone would be very entertained and would learn a lot more than they teach in a lot of schools.)

What Happened Miss Simone (Documentary about Nina Simone’s life, music and the activism the establishment/ government worked to suppress and used to blacklist her.)

Night on Earth (Low light camera technology has gotten hella good and they’re starting to learn stuff about animals’ behaviors at night that they’ve never been able to study before.)

Call the Midwife (Follows stories from the midwives that worked in the East End of London after the war, based on memoirs. Interesting look at the kind of life of poverty people led before there were many large hospitals or birth control, right as the British were implementing their universal healthcare program.)

The Great British Baking Show (Everyone’s so nice and everything looks so good!)

Atypical (Dramady about a high schooler with autism and his family, very funny and great representations of autism and how to be a good dude.)

Parks and Recreation (Just very funny and everyone knows it. Amazing ensemble cast, and they still keeps in touch through a group chat awww doesn’t that say something!)

Kim’s Convenience (Canadian comedy about family of first and second gen Korean immigrants that’s just a really solid funny modern day sitcom.)

Queer Eye (I feel like if everyone in this world could get a life makeover from these guys we just wouldn’t be here right now.)

Obvious Child (Jenny Slate accidentally gets pregnant and gets an abortion. It’s funny and it’s realistic, we’re not all Juno.)

Maria Bamford: the Special Special Special (Rad lady comedian not afraid to talk about her mental health and lack thereof and very vocal about the stigma surrounding mental health problems and I very much relate to. My favorite standup probably ever. I could make a list just for standup so message me if you’d like more suggestions.)

Monty Python (Flying Circus, movies, doc, ect. “The Beatles of comedy” is the cliche but it's true.)

Easy (Very unconventional non-narrative structure and editing, following random people in Chicago in a very real life feeling way. Different story each episode, but sometimes characters show up briefly in each other’s lives or return for a second episode.)

Everything Sucks! (High school nerds and lesbians and theater geeks in the 90s! I’m so sad this only got one season I rewatched it recently and it’s just so solid.)

She’s Gotta Have It (Revival of Spike Lee’s first movie, black girl magic, art world, gentrified New York, lots of sex.)

The Office (Classic, holds up very well, totally solid throughout, worth a rewatch. Also if you're a fan Jenna Ficher and Angela Davis are doing a rewatch podcast jsyk.)

Billy on the Street (Mindless game show for laughs, amazing gay comedian runs around New York yelling questions at them. I watch this with my dad and he can’t help but snort even when it’s “inappropriate” or “juvenile” so you know it’s good.)

Good Girls (Some lower middle class family ladies that are all about to be broke decide to rob the grocery store one of them works at, but they accidentally cross a gang that stored their cash there, so they gotta pay it back, and of course can’t help but get deeper and deeper into it. Very suspenseful like your heart rate will go up and stay up. )

Arrested Development (It’s just funny, as you've probably heard, but I'm telling you it just really is.)

The Laundromat (Tells the stories of a few of the people involved in the panama papers in different ways, explains in an entertaining way how money laundering works in a way that made it mostly make sense even to me. The rich get richer, and Meryl Streep is here to tell them to fuck off and pay their taxes.)

Russian Doll (She keeps dying and coming back to the same moment over and over and can’t figure out how to stop the cycle or why so kinda sci fi, very suspenseful, big cliff hanger ending, or rather no ending, and just found out season two filming is delayed because virus which is very annoying!!)

Dear White People (Show picking up where the movie left off, after a frat hosts a black face party and the ivy league college is forced to deal with racism.)

Dolly Parton’s Heartstrings (Stories based on Dolly songs. Very Hallmark channel, you will cry.)

Episodes (Show about two British writers making a version of their BBC show for American tv. Kind of meta, very funny, Matt LaBlanc plays himself and it's great.)

Dumplin’ (Fat girl grows up with a beauty pageant winning mom and enters one herself with the help of her late aunt’s Dolly Parton drag queen friends.)

Lunatics (Chris Lilley is the best character actor ever, all his shows are just him playing different parts and you seriously forget it’s all one actor, even when he’s playing teenage girls.)

Jane the Virgin (Prime time soap opera about a girl who is engaged and waiting until marrige and is accidentally inseminated with the only sperm sample of a man who’s had cancer so decides to keep the baby, very heavy on the soap opera cliches in a meta way but also that’s what it is. So good at first but after the first three or so seasons it gets too much tbh though.)

Zumbo’s Just Desserts (Australian Bake show but with just sweet stuff and pressure to be avant garde.)

Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee (Jerry Sienfeld goes out with funny people to coffee and lunch in fancy cars and they have funny conversations.)

One Day at a Time (Very very cheesy laugh track sitcom, like the kind of thing my grandma would watch, but it makes me so happy it’s doing a great job eplaining really woke concepts like queer pronouns and ptsd and addiction and white privilege to people like my grandma!)

Orange is the New Black (Good stories about very diverse characters, I’d say by starting it off about a upper middle class white girl it tricks privileged white people into watching and then encountering the more realistic stories of women who go to prison and how the system treats prisoners. Ending of season two is super solid and you can stop it there, season three is a really great critique of the privatization of prisons. I admit it goes on and on to the point that it’s stressful and after watching it spread out over years I can’t remember/ keep up with all the different story lines, though they’re all good stories to tell.)

Space Jam (Just saw while scrolling for more ideas this was added! One of the greatest sports movies of all time obviously.)

Bonus amazon prime shows, I try to avoid Amazon in general but these are just too good if you know a prime member who you can't convince not to give their money to amazon so they might as well give you their login (like yer dad).

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (A 1950s New York upper class Jewish house wife gets dumped and starts doing stand up, so funny, great actors, and they seriously transform NY back into another era.)

Good Omens (Mini series based off Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman’s satirical novel about the biblical apocalypse, very funny, very smart, very British, does the book pretty solid justice.)

There are other decent things that aren’t included, I’d say these are solid recs for a general list of genres all over the map without letting it get to a ridiculously unhelpful length. I feel like I’d be good at the “if you like this then you’ll also like…” so let me know if some of these are your favorites too and want personal recs for what to watch next based on a brain instead of an algorithm.

If you want to have a remote date and watch things together on video chat or one of those watch party sites or just tell me what to watch next here’s some stuff on my list I’ve been curious about or not sure about or don’t want to watch alone or have been putting off, and now’s the time right?: Strangers Things, I Am Not Okay With This, Black Panther, The Betty White doc, John Mulaney Snack Lunch Bunch, Dead to Me, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, A Wrinkle in Time, The Little Prince, Maniac, Wet Hot American Summer reboots, and a bunch of different standup specials from comedians I like.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

this post is about jeremy’s laptop based on this pic

i’ve seen a slightly different one and i don’t remember if it’s an older one (like, off bway) or just an Alternate Prop but either way i feel like this one is like, The Main One currently. it’s definitely a one. either way. the stickers, clockwise-ish:

1) the transformers sticker

idk it could fit with jeremy’s Retro stuff and there’s “trans” in the name

2) the tattoo shop sticker

says “get a tattoo / ...or don’t / downtown tattoos / 501 frenchmen / st. nola”....a new orleans tattoo parlor. did michael get his pacman tattoo there? if so, he’d have to have used a fake i.d.

3) bmo

setting bmc post-2010...popular well known series...hey wait bmc and bmo are just a few pixels apart. anyways bmo’s canonically nonbinary

4) odd eye

setting bmc post-2016...an east village home decor/design store? it seems kinda fancy and idk why jeremy might have merch from a furniture place but it makes sense that he might’ve done a fair amt of nyc wandering. the aesthetic seems pretty jeremy-esque...bold patterns, bright colors, and an affinity for the weirder versions of stuff. plus apparently the guys who own it are a couple

5) su

setting bmc post 2013...popular well known series...most of the characters are canonically nonbinary...plus all the gay shit

6) circle sticker

idk what this one is. it seems to say total [?] of(?) solar b[?] 2012 or probably 2017, which sets bmc post-2012 or post-2017...i guess it’s like, a band’s tour merch? unless it’s maybe some kind of event title

7) you go girl

this is re: like, the most prominent mostly-anonymous street artist in new orleans, hugo gyrl aka you go girl. (i know the Other Laptop i saw had “hugo gyrl” vs this one’s “you go girl”)...most of their works have “you go girl” (dotted with an x) or “you go gyrl” and their art is colorful and fun and self-described as queer and feminist and meant to seem affirmingly positive in a genuine way

new orleans again, so like, i want to believe jeremy and michael were both on a trip there once

7) the black suits sticker

the black suits is a real band in the bmc universe and nato is jeremy’s cousin and you know nato could get hold of a bunch of mtn dew red somehow if his cousin needed to go adventuring with his buds to desquip some parts of nj...really it’s pretty easy to stop a squip invasion what with how they all want to interconnect and every individual person has to have a spiked drink and yet only a single person in the Network needs to drink some Red to deactivate everyone they’re synced with. nbd! anyways jeremy and michael went to the saint anne’s battle of the bands and michael bought a The Black Suits tee directly from the source and he eventually decided the band might be so bad it’s actually genius and he’s a genuine fan and it’s the Most ~underground~ cred

8) the sticker underneath the the black suits sticker

[???]

conclusion: jeremy’s neither cis nor het and plenty of evidence here for nb lesbian jeremy and jere and michael have been to new orleans and manhatten and michael has a fake id and a the black suits tee and a burned cd of some of their phone-recorded tracks

[youngbradford]

Xmas Message For 2019

And here we go, my 19th annual year-end love letter online …Georgi Balinov and I rang in the new year at a giant party in Bangkok, halfway around the world. That foreign location, its beauty and tastes, set the tone for my 2019, a year of seeing the world, while stabilizing my life. Though often in flux or movement, 2019 was a year many things normalized over the year.

In January, almost immediately after arriving stateside, I crossed the pond and saw Michelle Visage perform in the West End with Peter Wish. Afterward, I played with her wigs backstage and walked her towards the queer kids lining up for selfies and autographs. I am very lucky to have Peter and Michelle in my life, kindred spirits both. One reminding me that fame, fortune, ebb, and flow, but that being real is what matters most. The other, a reminder to stay forever young. I visited Berlin yet again and did the usual, working, and playing, hard.

February appeared and I traveled to Philadelphia with Sandra Hansel, Georgi, George Sapio, and Anthony DeFilippis. We toured Lisa Roberts’ house, saw a Dieter Rams exhibit, dined with George Alley. In Lambertville, that Sunday, I bought vinyl and vintage hats. Later that month, I got a swallow tattooed on my hand, a symbol of flight and travel, and Warhol’s knives, blackened into my shin. An Eames exhibit in Oakland was a sweet way to end the month.

In March with my crew, Georgi, Khadyon Reid, Luis Urribarri, Anthony, and George, descended upon Salvador for Carnival. It was insane! I watched Anitta live, and danced in a sea of pushing, fighting, kissing Brazilians for days upon days. I felt unsafe and alive, threatened and excited. It was intense. Back home I got my other hand tattooed, again honoring my love of seeing the world. I traveled to Portland, came back to NYC at the end of the month, finally moving into our apartment, the one we bought 1.5 years before, that I designed, and had renovated head to toe. Finally, we had our dream home. The weekend we moved in, the place was still not ready, but we were sick of living without our things and in other people’s beds. Peg Kendall and Georgi’s mom came, and we worked our asses off unpacking and starting to make the 2800 square foot loft on west 13th street a home. We’d lived in Airbnbs and friends’ places for 19 months and it was tiring not having a home, not having most of our things. My art! My toys! My shoes!. Those months taught me how important a home, a safe place, and the oasis of my collections is to my mental health. From March on I felt more on solid ground and dedicated more energy to my career and friendships as a result.

In April we went to Coachella, seeing Ian and Jose Seronni, JJ and Andrey Lunin, and dancing in the desert of California. Multiple trips to San Francisco, catching glimpse of old friends, scaling my team at work, as I took on more and more responsibility.

In May, George Sapio and I celebrated (me a little early) a shared, fun birthday weekend at Soho Farmhouse. Joined by Matthew Kelleher, Mark Silver, Jaime Tanner, Matt Lynch, and others, we went shooting and feasted on pheasant in the English countryside.June was really busy, insanely so. 

For my 43rd in early June, I had a 30-person dinner party in our new place! We ended up at Club Cumming after, but before friends, new, and old, showered me with a vinyl record, the admission fee I’d set for my party. Lauren Foster, who has shared her home with us, was, appropriately, our first overnight guest. London, again, Berlin, too. Then home for Pride. Willam Ralphie hosted Bingo at eBay, Zach Augustine, David Mason Chlopecki, other loves attended. That weekend danced to both Madonna and Grace Jones on the pier and danced with 15K others at Javitz, where my favorite singer, Cyndi Lauper, belted “I Drove All Night,” her best song, at midnight. I stayed until the sun came up. NYC was electric that weekend. Parties, icons, friends from the world over … the city has an energy you could literally see and taste. I caught a few moments of the parade, overtaking lower Manhattan, and I smiled really big. God, it can feel good being gay! God, the world has improved for gay people (and yes, I know, we still have ways to go, especially for more marginalized LGBTQ groups). But I still took a moment to acknowledge the things that are better, that I have seen in my very gay lifetime. NYC that weekend was the ultimate place to reflect.

July 4th I went to Hamptons, with Ricardo, Brian, Felipe L. Mollica, others, guests of Anthony. Hosted Fab.com reunion, walked the Brooklyn Bridge, and took my team to Korea (where I shared a traditional Korean meal with Jae Hah), China (where I ate bird’s nests, jellyfish, sea snails, saw a Yves Klein show with Adnan Abbasi, and danced to 90s pop in a packed gay club), and Moscow (where I was amazed at how clean the city was and where I went to a traditional sauna and was whipped, naked, with tree leaves in front of dozens of Russian dudes in the nude). While in Russia a protest erupted, literally below the rooftop bar I dined in. Russia seemed freer than I’d expected, way more Western, up until this moment. I ended the weekend at a club at 3 AM, Russian women in high, high heels, dancing on the bar, vodka flowing like water. 2020 saw me traveling to places I romanticized as a child. Russia, one such place. I thoroughly enjoyed the friendships formed in Moscow, the food, and history. I want to return.

August, I was back in San Jose and Portland for work, then off again to Europe for vacation. We started our trip in Croatia, where Georgi and I kayaked around Dbruvnik’s harbor. Croatia’s cliffs and turquoise water did not disappoint, as we boated to islands and swam in caves. Driving south into Montenegro, the architecture reminded me more of Polish, Bulgarian trips, the water, greener. At the Amman we laid out next to The Beckhams, watching David kick a soccer ball with workers of the hotel, and watching Victoria read a book. Georgi and I then ventured to Mykonos, sunning til sunset and dancing til sunrise. A weekend trip upstate with our besties (including a guest appearance by Eric Lee, riding rides at the Colombia County fair, cooking pies, and grilling meats, ended our summer.

In September I went to Berlin and did Folsom and a speaking gig in front of 1K eBay sellers. I went again to Tel Aviv, meeting gay Israeli technology workers and a bevy fo Israeli start-ups. In Jerusalem, I returned to the wonderful Machneyuda with Gilad Ayalon, where they remembered me from my birthday the year before.

October saw us hosting my mother and my niece for a visit. We fell in love with Company XVI, a dance/burlesque/performance art troupe in Brooklyn. I took my mother to see Madonna, a night I will cherish forever. And we saw Dear Evan Hanson. A weekend in Miami with Lauren Foster and K was needed warmth. I took Georgi to see both acts of The Inheritance (so good!).  Then off to Berlin, again, and Paris, where I looked at art and went shopping for fall clothes. Halloween, in NYC, was brilliant and over the top; I went as white Pierrot clown. In Brooklyn, to Honey Dijon, we danced all night. Ralph Rucci, the American couturier reposted our photo on Instagram, calling it high-fashion, however, it was Georgi who won the night as Spock.

November I was in NYC early on, shopping with Thomas Cawson (who hooked me up with pink denim Helmut Lang), eating Christmas cookies, and being interviewed by Buzzfeed, a segment on 90s toys. I imitated a Furby. Then a week in Portland (I glow-in-the-dark-miniature-golfed), and off to Helsinki, catching up with former friends from Fab, One Nordic, Hem. Then to Lapland, with Georgi, George, and Anthony, lapping up wine, winter wonderlands, and dining on reindeer and elk. Dog sledding, snowmobiling, Northen lights! Another childhood desire checked from the list. Dinner with Michelle Case in London closed the month.

In December I went back to Berlin (my second home) and hosted a fundraiser for Single Step in our home. In one night Georgi and I helped raise $50K to help build Bulgaria’s first LGBTI center. It was also an impromptu holiday party: so many old friends together again in one room. And now Georgi and I sit in an airport lounge, awaiting our flight to Baltra, in the Galapagos. Once we land, we’ll board a 7-day cruise on a mega-yacht/small cruise ship. This, I feel, I have been waiting my entire life for.

I often write about how I was lonely as a kid. I was gay, I had a drug-addicted father, I grew up very poor. I oftentimes say music saved my life. But, I don’t write enough about the joy animals gave me too. I had so many pets: newts, turtles, tortoises, tree frogs, geckos, crabs, salamanders, etc. Caring for them, feeding them, gave me peace and allowed me to love. One turtle I had had a cracked shell. He lived in my room for many, many years. I always preferred him, with his defects, to the others. I think I feel the same about people.

As a child, I became obsessed with the Galapagos Islands, and mostly the tortoises. I would read about them in encyclopedias and race to see them at zoos. I always felt connected to turtles. They were my spirit animal. Later in life, I’d bloom, my feathers growing, my pride, alive. I’d no longer consider myself a turtle, my spirit animal changed. I told this story to my colleague Eben Sermon, who runs eBay’s German business: I always wanted to be a turtle. But I ended up a cockatoo. Eben brought this up last week in Berlin and it made me think a bit more about affinities for animals and how I have not had that connection as often as I probably should.

So this week, before we ring in New Years in Rio, I will honor the old me, the kid, the quieter Bradford, the sadder Bradford, by visiting those turtles, finally.

And I’ll marvel at the wonder of nature and evolution, both the evolution of animals and this world, and also the very real and dramatic evolution of my spirit and happiness.

Happy Holidays, Peace & Big Love

[iamkatehardy]

Shots (Handsome Bob x Reader) - Pt 2

Tags: @tiredoffeelinglost , @eap1935 , @ellar21 , @but--dear-this-is-not-wonderland , @titty-teetee , @sparklyreaderx , @iv-nyc

Warnings: Use of alcohol; Use of drugs; Smut, kinky smut

A/N: I don’t know how I feel about this, but I promised a smutty Pt 2, so here it is 😁😏 Hope you enjoy it, babes!

Shots - Pt2

You had both drank too much, disinhibiting yourselves and getting to know each other’s bodies better as you danced. The beat, the music, the lights, the laughs…Suddenly everything about the surrounding environment made you feel more alive than you ever did before. The higher you got, the more energy coursed through your entire body, and whenever Bob touched you, you felt even more revitalized.

Shot after shot, the time seemed to be passing faster than normal, and he was flirty and sweaty, but seemed to need a break.

“You don’t get tired, do you?” – The music was loud, so he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his lips brushing softly in your ear in the process, making you tingle all over.

“We just got started!” – Pouting, you slid your hands under his jacket, first up his shoulder and then down off his arms, removing it. – “But you look like you need a break… And a drink!” – You wiped the sweat of his face with your uniform’s sleeve, before returning to the group.

“Bob, head honcho of handsomeness! – One Two slapped Bob’s shoulder, before wrapping one arm around it.

“I’ll take the compliment! You know you make me go weak at the knees when you turn on the charm full blast like that…” – Bob teased him. – “But let’s cut to the chase, you’re not trying to get some of this handsomeness, so what do you want from me?”

“You’re a straight shooter, gotta love that! You see that bombshell blonde, 8 o’clock?”

“I don’t even know where my 8 o’clock is right now!” – Confuse, because of the booze, Bob spun around, trying to figure out where the hell 8 o’clock was.

“Wrong side, mate…” – Laughing loudly, you spun him to the other side.

“Oh, yes, I see now.” – He  nodded in acknowledgement.- “ Let me guess! You tried, you fail, and now you want me to try.”

“Listen, you just need to get me her phone number!”

“No, you need to get her phone number! I’m not letting you use me again, unless you want to literally use me, that is.” – Bob roared in One Two’s face.

“It’s right, gentlemen, I’ve got it.” – You stated calmly

“What?! No, You’re drunk, and I’m pretty sure was checking men out, just a moment ago.”

“Wanna bet?!” – An expression of defiance crossed your face. – “My hunch is: you’re afraid I’ll do it, when you couldn’t… Guess what? I fuckin’ will!  Now watch and learn, my darlings.” – You smirked, before waking to the blonde standing near the bar.

Feeling confident, you approached her; leaning on the bar near her, you mumbled something in her ear, before her eyes roamed you from head to toe, with a flirtatious smile. She started playing with her hair, maintaining a sexy eye contact, as your hand slid down her back, until it was resting on her waist, bringing her closer before you whispered in her ear again. You bit your lip and she smiled, writing something on a napkin, along with a lipstick mark. With a victorious smile, you returned to your friends.

“I told you…” – Waving the napkin in front of One Two’s nose, an insufferable smirk played on your lips.

“Uniforms never fail! I’ll drink to that.” – Bob raised his glass before he gulped down the shot.

“You and the damn uniforms Bob… Anyway, I thought she was straight, man.” – One Two yanked the napkin out of your hands.

“She is… But then again, so is spaghetti, until it gets hot and wet.” – You devilishly smirked once again.

“Are you into girls?!” – Bob shot you a surprised look.

“The world is full of unlimited possibilities… That’s all I’m saying.” – Lifting your eyebrows, you took another shot.

“Excellent point!” – Bob smirked, as he narrowed his eyes.

“God, you’re just alike… Two little insatiable minxes!  But as a sign of my appreciation for your god results, I have a gift for you. Courtesy of our friend Cookie!” – One Two opened his palm, and you saw a handful of pills.

“Molly?” – You thoroughly studied them and he nodded. – “Fuck it. Tonight I am not turning down the gift.”- You took a pill, followed by another drink. – “Now, you won’t let me get high by myself, will you Handsome?” – Folding your arms, you sexily pouted at him.

“Absolutely not! What do you take me for?” – He mockingly sneered as he looked you up and down, before he popped a pill himself.

Another shot. You immediately felt the warmth blossom through you, leaving a pleasant heat in your stomach and cheeks; your heart fluttering, combined an intense need to touch and be touched. In no time, both of you felt more uninhibited, spontaneous, lively, and with a great willingness of dancing the night away together.

He took your hand, leading you to the dance floor again and dragging your body tighter to his; hand slid down from your waist, to firmly grasp your buttocks.

“Bob!” – You squealed in surprise, before punching his chest playfully, and a goofy grin spreads on his face. His body grinded against yours rhythmically, and your body moved in harmony with his, heating up with his every touch; for a moment you could’ve sworn his eyes were focused on your mouth, just as yours were on his.

Time seemed to pass quickly, one hour felt like a minute when you were hanging out with him; lighthearted, reckless, devil-may-care attitude, living urgently as if your next breath could be your last. When you finally came to your senses, looking for the rest of your friends, they were all gone.

“Where the hell did they go?” – Looking around the dimly lit room, you didn’t see any other familiar face.

“Home, probably.” – He checked the time on his watch, showing you as well.

“Well, that's my cue to skedaddle! It’s almost closing time anyways…”

“And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

“Driving?  I still have energy to burn, but not enough to get across town… As much as I’d like to, it’s not unlimited.” – A little laugh escaped your lips, followed by a shrug.

“What?! No. Are you crazy?!  We went off the deep end tonight, I’m not letting you drive, don’t even think about it.” – He tightened his hold on you, trying to stop you, while his free hand searched in your every pocket, looking for your car keys. He finally pulled the out of your reach.

“What are you doing?! Give me that back, now.” – Huffing in annoyance, you desperately tried to reach for the keys, that he kept triumphantly dangling in front of your face, but you couldn’t catch them. His grin was wider than ever, and he seemed somehow amused by the whole situation.

“You can crash at my house (Y/N), it’s just down the street from here. It’s not the Ritz, or Claridge’s…” – He stated with a solemn face that ultimately broke into another smile. – “Buuuuut it has Handsome Bob here, and that fact itself makes it a five star accommodation, right?” – He threw his arm around you, biting your cheek playfully.

“Yeah, right, Mr. Pain in the ass!” – You glared at him.

“Come, let’s go, soldier. Our mission here has been accomplished.”

“Idiot.” – Muttering under your breath, you slapped his arm playfully before you burst out laughing.

The walk home was not as quick as he had told you, but the high and his company made it slightly more bearable than you thought it would be.

When you got home, you threw yourself on his sofa, looking at your surroundings; the house wasn’t big, but it was pretty cozy, and surprisingly tidy, for what you’d expect from a hot mess like Bob. Your contemplation came to an end when Bob laid on the sofa, with his head on your lap.

“Should I show you our suite , milady?”

Our suite didn’t sound bad, considering that a) he was gay, and b) you wouldn’t mind sleeping with him at all, regardless of his sexual orientation.

“Sure.” – Tilting your head, you brushed your fingers across his temple, with a smile of approval.

You ended up staying like that a little while longer, and then they headed off to the bedroom.

“Is it to your liking?” – He questioned as he slowly took his shirt off.

The sight was indeed to your liking, but you quickly snapped out of it, realizing he was probably talking about the bedroom.

“Right now, any bed would be to my liking…” – You took your pants off, putting them on a chair in the corner. – “But thank you for your hospitality, your bed seems really comfy.” – Giggling, you nodded, with your hands on your hips, taking another look at the bed.

As he was taking off what was left of his clothes, he stared at you from the corner of his eye, watching you unbutton what was left of yours.

“You know…” - Before he could finish the sentence, you turned to face him and he approached you, inhaling deeply.

“Yes?”

“I still have some energy left… Maybe we could play a little bit before going to sleep.”

“What do you have in mind? There aren’t many games for two, but we’ll find something. But you ought to know, I can get very competitive while pla…”

“Play…” – He whispered in your ear, after tucking your hair behind it. His hand encircled your waist, pulling you closer.

“That pill messed with your head, you’re just high, Bob.” – Biting your lips, you hands ran over his chiseled chest.

“High doesn’t mean delusional. The world is full of unlimited possibilities, isn’t it?” – Smirking, his lips trailed down your neck, as his hand slid inside the edge of your panties. He heard your breath quickening, warm on his neck. – “So, do you want to play or not?” – He faced you, forehead resting on yours and his lips so close you could feel their warmth on yours. – “Hmm?” – You squirmed as his thumb stroked your clit in a slow circular motion.

Your mouth fell agape, a low moan escaping your lips, as you nodded in response to his question. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with his touch, aching for more; he could feel it too, and he complied, sliding two of his wet fingers up and down your slit.

“Oh..” – You gasped, closing your eyes, and he reached for your lips, kissing you almost animally.

He picked you up, laying you on the bed, with a devilish smirk, before he savagely kissed you again. One of his hands grabbed a fistful of your hair, while the other got a rid of your panties, before he spread your legs and his fingers insatiably penetrated you once again. Your breath was quick and heavy against his lips, and waves of pleasure shot through you as he rubbed you and pumped his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself contract, sucking him deeper, a loud moan escaping your lips as you clutched the bedsheets with both hands, growing wetter until finally came. Exhaling slowly and loudly, you opened your eyes, letting go of the sheets; he was licking the tip of his fingers, tasting you before he came to kiss you once more.

“Fuck me…” – You laid your head to a side, panting.

“No, fuck me…” – Lying atop of you, he pressed his hardness against you. – “I want you to fuck me… With that uniform of yours… I want to feel you inside me.” – His breath was hot on the nape of your neck, and he started a trail of hungry passionate kisses that ultimately stopped on your lips.

You shot him a surprised look and a giddy laugh escapes his full lips. He got up, going through the drawers in his bedside table; in the bottom drawer, he found what he was looking for: a strap-on dildo, and a half-empty bottle of lube. You open your mouth to say something, multiple times, but you ended up saying nothing at all.

“I’ll help you putting it on! Now, the uniform…” – He threw you the jacket of your uniform, before coming back to bed.

“Wait, are you serious? I’ve never…”

“It will be fun…” – He bit your earlobe. – “I think you might even like it…”

He placed himself on all-fours on the bed; you rubbed the strap-on dildo, starting by its thick shaft, smearing lube all over it. Bob could feel the tip of the dildo against his ass; your hand gently guided the tip inside him with. He groaned loudly, and you could feel his body quivering under yours, as you slowly slid deeper inside him. Asking for more, he grabbed the sheet, biting the pillow softly to control his moans. With a wicked smile, you grabbed his buttocks, squeezing them tight and thrusting deeper into him. A feeling very close to ecstasy bloomed within him when you reached and stroked his prostate, his boner throbbing in sync with his quickened heartbeat.

“Turn around…” – You smacked a flattened palm on his butt.

“What?” – He turned his head to face you; he was sweating and breathing heavily.

“You heard me, babe.” – You stopped the thrusts, and your hands slid slowly up his back.

He nodded and laid back on the bed, you gave him a provocative smirk; grabbing the collars of your uniform, he pulled you for a deep passionate kiss. Your hands slid down to his slippery hard cock, and you started rubbing in a slowly, steady rhythm. Another moan escaped his lips, and you bit his lower lip playfully as you slid the dildo inside him again.

You kept hitting the right spot, and your hand went down to cup his balls, stroking them gently before you wrapped your hand around his shaft again. His loud moans filled the room, his voice growing raspy, and his muscles clenched as he tried to hold orgasm.

“I’m gonna come.” – He growled lowly, at the edge of climax.

You stopped thrusting and focused on stroking his cock harder, slightly faster; a few moments later, placing your thumb against his tip, you rub it slowly. You wanted to taste him as you made him cum, savor him; you tongue ran in tormenting slow motions his testicles, before it moved along his whole length. He could feel the provocative effect of your eyes glued on his. With a loud moan he placed the tip of his impatient cock on your lips, and you allowed him to thrust inside your mouth; within seconds you could taste his thick load across your tongue and swallowed it. He didn’t thought you would, but it was an incredibly pleasant sight, more than he expected.

“Nice shot...”

Before you knew it, he started taking what was left of your uniform off, and removing the strap-on, throwing everything on the floor. Grasping one of your breasts, his lips explored every bit of your skin.

“I thought female bodies didn’t interest you…” – You teased him, closing your eyes as his full lips slid across your neck.

“Shut up.” – Planting a desperate kiss across your lips, he placed your legs around his waist, the tip of his cock rubbing teasingly on your clit.

“Bob…” – You moaned lowly in his ear, heightening his desire to insane levels. His hardness, his smell, his touch, his kiss… Every little thing about him was driving you insane. – “I want you.”

He traced your wet folds with the tip of his cock; you could feel your insides lubricating more with each touch. You were hot, more than ready, and dripping wet, making it easier for him to slide his rock hard cock inside you. Your cheeks flushed pink, and you bit your lower lip, your whole body clenching in arousal. The rhythm of his thrusts increased, and his thumb rubbed your clit simultaneously, as fiery pleasure washed over your whole body. You dug your nails into his back, crying out in pleasure as he throbbed vigorously inside you; he was delighted to please you in such ways.

The blood rushed through your veins, your body arched against him and your toes curled, as pleasure engulfed your entire body. Bob’s husky moans filled your ears, at the same time he slammed his body against yours.

“Yes! Yes, baby! Don’t stop!” – You breathed in short gasps, and couldn’t help but letting out high-pitch moans.

Thrusting inside you as he pleased, his throbbing cock deliciously filled you, stroking the deepest places inside you, a slick wet abyss of pleasure he didn’t know he would love so much. Your walls squeezed around him tightly and you whimpered, as pure bliss took over your whole body.

He could see in your face that you were close, so he took his sweet time to make you come. You both climaxed and he collapsed on top of you, gasping for air, before he planted a slow gentle kiss on your lips. He kept inside you for some more minutes, feeling your heat, while taking the messy hair off your face; after exhaling loudly, you giggled.

“Wow.” – Lifting your eyebrows, you placed your hands his neck, bringing him closer and kissing him fervently.

Lying by your side, he growled happily, bringing you closer; nestling your head against his chest, you closed your eyes. His hand shyly reached for yours; when he felt you squeezed his in response, he smiled and kissed the top of your head, letting his lips rest there for the rest of the night

[histrionic-dragon]

Google Says WHAT?! --A mini-fic

I’ve been reading the Hundred-Year Playlist series by the amazing @girlbookwrm and also creeping on other people’s comments on the story, because that’s something I do with stories I like. @girlbookwrm mentioned, in one of the comments-conversations, that if you Google “queer 1930s Brooklyn” you get Steve Rogers fan research on the first page of results. I may have swooped in to say that Tony’s reaction if he accidentally saw that, in-universe, would be hilarious, and then-- this happened.

It’s a bit more serious than I originally intended it to be, but still has some levity to it.

Story below the cut and maybe eventually on Ao3.  Takes place a few days after CA:TWS, because who better than Tony to sift through the SHIELD/Hydra data dump?

“Really, sir,” said JARVIS, “I must strongly advise you to go to bed.”

“Great,” Tony said absently. “You’ve given me the advice. Now you can feel good about it.”

“Sir . . . .”

Tony pushed his chair back from the table, spinning a little as it drifted smoothly across the lab until he was juuuust within reach of the countertop where he’d left his coffee. He picked it up and took a sip. Not too cold, yet.

Almost, but not quite.

“Look, JARVIS,” he said out loud, “I’m not working with fire, I’m not operating heavy machinery, I’m not actually making anything. I’ve even slept in the last 24 hours. Why are you on my case?”

“It is the total amount of sleep you’ve had in the past five days that concerns me, sir.”

Tony snorted.

“. . . and your reactions to some of the information uncovered by the Black Widow’s information dump at the beginning of that time.”

Tony put his mug down on the counter. It made a sharp clack sound. Not like the normal ting or click-thump of putting down a drink--this was loud, attention-grabbing, the sound of ceramic hitting on granite countertop just barely not hard enough to break.

Great. Now his coffee was a drama queen.

“Look,” he said. “It is entirely in character for Obie to have been paid off by someone to do what he did, and he needed sketchier contacts than Stark Industries has to get in with the Ten Rings. Might as well have been Hydra. I honestly could have put that together if I’d had time to stop and think before everybody I know called me up and asked me to start going through those files, it just rattled me that I didn’t and then that came up, okay? Honestly, I’m kind of surprised Rhodey didn’t think of it first and warn me when he called,” he added thoughtfully, “except I’m pretty sure Rhodey hasn’t slept in a lot longer than I haven’t. --Shouldn’t you be bugging him?”

“Colonel Rhodes is not my priority,” JARVIS said mildly. “And I believe he would agree with my assessment of your needs in this situation--as would Ms. Potts, who has repeatedly contacted me from the construction site in Malibu to inquire as to your well-being. I would hate to tell her you’re neglecting yourself.”

Tony stopped scowling at his lukewarm coffee and its noisy mug and moved the scowl to the ceiling. Technically JARVIS’s sensors were at least as dense at mid-wall and in the baseboards, but JARVIS would know what he meant. “You,” he said, “are a cheating cheater who cheats.”

“You did build me, sir.” JARVIS’ voice was extra-bland. He only did that when he was very pleased with himself. Tony sure as hell hadn’t made that part of him.

Artificial intelligences. They grew up so fast.

“Fine,” Tony said after a moment. “I won’t go down that particular rabbit hole anymore tonight, alright? No more looking to see how long Obie was working for Hydra, no more sniffing around what happened when—” His hands clenched tight enough to hurt and he made himself relax.

“I won’t follow up on the ‘was Obadiah Stane involved in the car crash’ angle until tomorrow. In fact, I won’t look at the secret files anymore. Just give me a few more minutes to finish up a couple trains of thought about other things from them, and then I’ll call Pepper myself, okay?”

“If you must, sir.”

~

Tony really was being good, dammit. He didn’t follow up on anything he thought could be related to Obie or his parents’ death. He didn’t go looking for anything new and unpleasant. He didn’t do anything but follow the money, because Hydra couldn’t have come out of nowhere. Once they got into the US government, sure, money wouldn’t be an issue, but how do you get your secret little evil organization off the ground? Couldn’t exactly ask around for angel investors.

No, all he was doing now was hunting for cash. He was going to figure out just how far down the rabbit holes went (the hydra-holes? Something something Hercules burying the immortal head under a rock and the other heads grew two more unless you torched them and arson would cover up a lot of records of failed operations but not all of them and THAT was interesting funding-wise, because to extend the Greek monster metaphor and borrow from that one D&D comic, you actually would get lightheaded and pass out if you had too many heads and too little blood supply to deliver oxygen and so they needed some stable sources of income in this heads-are-evil-operations-blood-is-money metaphor and again, once you were embedded in a government organization, you could totally just use that funding, but they weren’t like that to begin with and if you were going to get started as mostly outside a government operation in the US but needed the ties to get in, you needed money, and leverage, and that meant organized crime, and that meant—)

Long story short, he was looking up the history of various criminal organizations in the US and trying to figure out which ones might have been started by Hydra, or which other, older organizations they might have taken over or just steered in the ways they wanted. That meant reading about, among other things, the Mafia and their various sources of revenue going back to--based on what he knew about business and networking and family ties and inheritance and seriously, fuck you, Obie--about a generation and a half before the official, formal rise of Hydra as a Nazi science organization, to see if that would connect up with ties made even later when Hydra people came over in the fifties. So basically, large-scale criminal enterprises from the early 1900s on.

Maybe it took a little more than a few minutes.

On the other hand, it was a particularly fascinating more-than-a-few-minutes. People had gotten homicidal over really weird shit in the dark ages. Street gangs beating up people until they sold a different newspaper--now that was aggressive marketing. Tony still hated pop-up ads--Stark Ad Annihilator was the best adblock software on the market for a reason, that reason being that Tony had been bored and hopped up on decongestants one day and--anyway. Still better than getting stabbed to death. And then of course there were the hilariously inventive ways people had come up with of making, smuggling, and secretly serving booze during Prohibition, and that was probably where he really ought to be looking if he was going to follow the money. But there were all these interesting little spinoffs, like—

“The mob owned a lot of gay bars?” Tony said out loud, frowning. “What, like—’da boss says love is love. Dis is an equal-opportunity institution’?” He snickered. (It was not a giggle.) “That’s probably too funny to be accurate.”

“Indeed, sir,” JARVIS said. “The article you are about to click on reports, in summary, that the mafia had a great deal of expertise in running illegal nightclubs. When Prohibition ended, some mob bosses saw an opportunity to maintain this revenue stream.”

“That makes a decent amount of sense. Not very funny, but—” He waggled his hand. “Could see da business sense.” He snickered again.

“Quite,” JARVIS replied. “Sir, I must remind you—”

“Yeah, yeah. Just a few more minutes, J.” Tony glanced up briefly. “Promise.”  

“I will hold you to it, sir.”

Tony nodded absently— “sure, whatever”--already looking through a few other databases. The proto-SHIELD organization had been based in New York City for a while--with other offices elsewhere--before its official rebranding and move to DC, which meant he was looking for people with behind-the-scenes pull in NYC in the fifties.

“JARVIS, if you’re mother-henning, help me out and open up a few Google searches.”

“Sir?” JARVIS sounded marginally offended.

“I need crappy, surface-level information. Broad strokes. Your searches are too good. Give me anything they’ve got for searches on banking, politics, real estate, whatever pseudoscience or spiritualism was big at the time, and hell, why not, the LGBT community--all of those--in the twenties, the thirties, and the forties, and then take those results and show me anything that cross-references with our SHIELD people of interest in the fifties or later.”

A pause.

“Done, sir.”

“Anything good?”

“A few more data points to cross-reference with other sources. We may have the beginnings of a paper trail on the history and extent of Mr. Stane’s involvement with the organization, related to his business ties before Stark Industries, but—”

“Skip that,” Tony ordered. He wasn’t going to go into that. Not tonight. Not until he had everything he needed to chart out the whole festering shit-show and deal with it all at once.

“As you wish, sir. Two, perhaps three, of the prominent city council members at the time may have had ties to Hydra, most likely unknowingly. A housekeeper’s murder may have been precipitated by something she overheard rather than her affair with her employer, although the perpetrator may be the same woman as originally suspected. There may be more behind the apparent suicide of a SSR agent and a deadly riot at a movie theater than was originally suspected as well--though in those cases the revelation is the extent of the foul play, not its presence. There are also a few cases I have flagged as false positives. Would you like to review those?”

Tony stood up and stretched, his spine popping. Ow. “Sure,” he said, yawning, “they’ll be funny. And then I’ll call Pepper and go to bed,” he added, rolling his eyes, “so don’t say anything.”

“That is wonderful news, sir.”

The false-positive Google searches appeared as holographic screens around him. The first one was about a shady real estate deal that Hydra clearly hadn’t had a hand in, because the fact they didn’t own a particular piece of land later was a real hindrance to them, so that was good. The triumph of run-of-the-mill white-collar crime over evil. Or something.

The next few were restaurant reviews, for some reason. About all they proved was that foody talk from seventy years ago was just as weird as foody talk today, except people back then had really really liked preservatives as much as they really really hated them now.

Another search result was a Buzzfeed article: “17 of Howard Stark’s most hilarious parking tickets.” Apparently his dad had had a bad habit of just leaving cars lying around once he’d modified them with anti-theft mechanisms. One had sprayed a cloud of skunk musk at the officer leaving the ticket. Judging by the comments, people thought this was hilarious. They were all missing the point of the collateral stink-damage to bystanders and nearby cars. Tony could do it better than his dad ever had. Tony could do better in his sleep.

That left a sour taste in his mouth. --His brain? His mouth tasted awful, come to think of it, like the stale coffee now gone stone-cold at his elbow and too long without sleep, but that wasn’t the point. He needed mind Mentos, was the point. Next false positive.

(this is the actual search result!)

Tony started cackling.

“Are you alright, sir?” JARVIS asked.

“Yeah,” Tony said, clicking on the flagged article. “Yeah, I’m fine. What, this came up because of—?”

“Confluence of a known Hydra target and the search term ‘queer 1930s Brooklyn.’”

“Like the rainbow mafia, that makes sense when you think about it.” Tony shook his head. “Oh man, I’m gonna tell Cap that someone’s turned their history project on him into the history of Grindr.”

“Sir?”

“He blushes like a lobster. This’ll be the best. Thank you for this, J, you’ve made my night.”

“Are you going to leave the laboratory at any point in the near future, sir?”

“Yes, Mom, as soon as I read this actual article because even though it’s probably not really about Grindr, I’m sure there’ll be plenty in there I can embarrass Steve with. . . .  --Oooh, excellent subtitle. ‘Mr. Rogers’ Gayborhood,’ I’ll have to . . . .”

He trailed off absently as he realized what he was reading. “Huh. --JARVIS, how deep in the search results was this buried?”

“About halfway up the first page, sir.”’

“Huh.”

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Fine, it’s just--really good historical research, kind of light tone, but actually . . . probably not a horny undergrad messing with a history prof on a paper assignment. And the comments are . . . people are agreeing with . . . There are historical documents here.  --OK, real search engine time, JARVIS: is there some sort of, like, scholarly and/or Internet message board consensus that Captain America is gay and I missed it?!”

“It appears to be a topic of heated debate, actually,” JARVIS replied, “the foremost proponents of which are adamant about it not being a joke.”

“Okay,” Tony said, “I know about the clone conspiracy theorists and the Russian conspiracy theorists and the weird cultists and the Reagan administration snake-people conspiracy theorists, and I know he does too. How does Steve not know about this already?”

“He does, sir.”

Tony made a wheezing, squeaking noise, torn between hilarity and incredulity.

“The Captain has apparently been approached on occasion--in person, informally, and inconspicuously, most often by people who have written scholarly articles on the subject—”

“He has?”

“--and has refused to give any meaningful reply one way or another, other than that it’s not really anyone else’s business.”

Tony blinked. He was familiar with that bland kind of shutdown. It did not go well with the picture of flustered, wrong-footed Cap that his head kept trying to give him. He got flustered when he didn’t know what was going on. He got calm and blank and authoritative when he did.

“His refusal to answer questions has been especially marked when asked about his relationship with James Barnes.”

Tony blinked again, reached out on autopilot, and took a gulp of his now definitely too cold and ugh ugh ugh awful coffee.

Once he’d finished gagging and had acknowledged that, yes, his mouth absolutely hated him and this was possibly worse than waking up hungover and tasting stale vomit because he had been sober and in control of his own behavior when he slugged that down, there were no excuses--once he was done with that little ritual of disgust, he frowned, then firmly swiped the article’s display off to one side. “Save that for tomorrow, J,” he said. “And start a new file. I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

“Are you certain that’s wise?”

“‘Is Cap into guys’ is a more fun mystery than ‘did a terrorist organization recruit my dad’s best friend to spike his drink or cut his brakes the night he died so he’d be out of their way,’ JARVIS,” Tony said heavily. “Let me have my fun.”

He might be imagining it, but he thought JARVIS sounded almost gentle when he said, “Of course, sir.”

***

CODA.

Tony had been asleep.

He knew he’d been asleep, and he knew he was awake now, and he wasn’t sure when he’d transitioned from sleeping to thinking or if he’d just woken up abruptly. It hadn’t been a nightmare. He was lying perfectly still, his heartbeat was regular, and he wasn’t sweating or anything. He was just lying in bed, awake, aware that he was awake, eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

“JARVIS,” Tony said.

“Yes, sir?”

“The guy Steve wouldn’t tell the Internet people about. That’s the same guy--that really weird message from Natasha . . . . ?”

“So it would appear.”

Tony thought for a minute.

“Well shit.”

“Aptly put, sir.”

Tony look at the ceiling some more.

“Merge the new folder I told you to make with the other one, the—”

“The folder entitled ‘Soviet Winter Reunion Tour or Something, Romanoff is Being Cryptic, Get Steve to Explain When He’s Conscious,’ sir?”

“Yeah, that one. Merge ‘em. Rename, uh, ‘Ancient History, Search and Rescue Edition.’ Mark it high priority.”

“Done, sir.”

“And JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Send Pepper a bunch of flowers and see if you can maybe find an earlier flight for her to come home.”