#tv: the plot against america

[haveyouseenthisseries-poll]

[agir1ukn0w]

I'm just sayin I don't see anyone else out here serving this hard...

[spockvarietyhour]

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Teach Me How To Play Coach Miller

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Austin Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 3,275 Summary: You're home alone, relishing a lazy day when your hot neighbor knocks on your door. Seems his TV is out and he really wants to watch the Rangers game. You know nothing about baseball... maybe he can teach you a thing or two? Warnings: smut, porn with very little plot, age gap (reader's college aged, Joel's in his 30's), oral (f & m receiving), unprotected p in v, riding, baseball terms, Joel's a filthy liar but it benefits all of us, mentions of voyeurism and masturbation, big balls Joel Miller in gray sweatpants, no use of y/n, not beta read.

Masterlist

---

It’s another famous hot September afternoon in Texas. Too damn hot to do anything besides walk outside, roll your eyes at the sweltering temperature, turn around and walk back inside. The thick humidity and overbearing heat makes your skin slick and clothing stick in all the wrong places– or maybe the right places– it depends on who’s looking. 

A ring of the doorbell interrupts your lazy day movie marathon. The house is yours for the weekend, your roommates are all gone for a festival and your coursework is all done, so naturally you’re laid on the couch taking a reprieve from the overbearing temperature.

Another ring.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you grumble. 

You open the door, your knees buckling at your bad luck.

GOD DAMNIT. OF COURSE IT’S JOEL MILLER. *THE* JOEL MILLER. The hot DILF you and your roomies all lust after. The broad, golden skinned GOD of a man that you all argue over who’s going to get to bed one day. 

“Joel? H-hey,” you say, attempting to hide your embarrassment over how you look. It’s 4 PM and you’re still wearing what you woke up in… an oversized Rangers shirt of your ex-boyfriend’s over a pair of lace boyshorts… it’s too freakin’ hot for actual clothes. 

“Afternoon–uh–so my cable box just stopped working and it’s the clenching game for the playoffs,” he nervously huffs, putting a hand to the back of his neck. “I know it’s crazy to ask, but can I watch the game on your TV?” He lifts a six pack of beer enticingly, “I brought this as payment.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen in surprise. Joel Miller… on your couch? Yes! Joel Miller on your couch! You open the door wider and step aside to let him in. “Of course, make yourself at home.” 

He walks into your house… this is a dream come true, he’s in GRAY SWEATPANTS and they hug his thick body perfectly. 

You take a precursory look around your living room, silently thanking yourself for picking up the house yesterday. Now the hunk of a neighbor you’ve touched yourself to while watching him mow his lawn is closer to you than he’s ever been.

You quickly stroll over to the coffee table, picking up the remote and handing it to him. 

“Thanks for this, appreciate it sweetheart,” Joel says, sitting on the couch, taking up a whole cushion with his broad body. 

Ohhhh, sweetheart. His eyes darken at the sight of your breath hitching, before his eyes gaze lowers to your bare legs. 

“Yeah, o-of course,” you nod, feeling very underdressed with your handsome neighbor taking a seat on the couch you were just laid out on a few minutes ago. “I’ll go get an opener.”

Joel turns the game on and settles his back against the couch cushions, “Thanks sweetheart.” 

__

The ceiling fan chains clang against one another, it only does this on high, it drives you crazy but the soft breeze it sends down is worth the annoyance. Your skin’s too overheated sitting only a couch cushion’s length away from Joel. Your foot nervously taps against the carpet while you try to focus on the book you’re reading. You’re overwhelmed by his presence, hearing his lips form around the beer bottle and taking a swig, the movement of his body against the couch cushions, the smell of wood and coffee he’s brought into the house. You sigh, turning your attention to the game, maybe today’s the day you’ll learn about America’s pastime. 

“Why is it called a shortstop? Do they have to be short?” You ask putting your book down. 

“No,” Joel chuckles, “s’just what the position is called.” 

“Ah, and every team has one?”

“Yes,” he shakes his head, “what exactly do you know about this game, sweetheart?”

“Um, I know I like their tight pants.” 

“Oh really?” Joel looks over at you, crooking his eyebrow up. 

“Yep, and the guy throwing the ball is really tall and cute.”

“That’s called a pitcher sweetheart,” he shakes his head at your ignorance.

“And he throws to the…” your finger taps your cheek while you mock contemplation, “catcher?” 

“That’s right,” he nods, his voice dropping an octave. “What else do you know?”

“I know there’s bases and home runs, adorable mascots and Cracker Jacks.”  

“What bases?”

“Hmm. First base, second base, third base, and home.”

“Good girl,” he grins, “you’re a smart girl.”

“I know I am,” you smugly smile at him. “First base is kissing. Second base is above the waist, third base is bel—“

Joel’s laugh cuts you off. “Is that right? Seems you know all about baseball, you’ve… ‘played baseball’ before?” 

“Mm,” you lean towards him, “I like playing baseball… I just haven’t in a few months… you know besides practicing with myself.”

He shakes his head, a devilish smirk lights his face as he angles his body towards you. “You practice a lot?”

“Yeah, especially when my hot neighbor is outside mowing his lawn and he gets all sweaty. My bedroom window looks right out on his lawn.” Joel’s eyes widen at the realization that you’re talking about him. “Sometimes he lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes his brow, I get to see a peek of his stomach, it’s super hot.”

“Funny,” he puts his beer bottle down and licks his lips. “I have a hot neighbor too. I’ve, uh, ‘practiced’ before while thinking about how good she looks running in her tight shorts and tiny tank top.” 

Your core begins to pulse at his words, desire lights inside your body. Joel Miller has noticed you *and* gets off to the thought of you?! And now, he’s on your couch, sending you a lascivious look. Let’s ball. 

“Can I play?” you ask, head tilted with a smirk before scooting closer to him.

“Yeah?” his eyebrows crook up. “You want to play with an old man like me?” 

You nod. “Put me in coach.”

“Batter up baby,” he growls, grabbing and lifting you to straddle his lap. You’re thankful for your measly lace panties, less layers between you and Joel’s dick. “You wanna show me first base?”

You gulp, pouty lips agape begging to be kissed by Joel Miller. “First base,” you nuzzle your nose against his, “is kissing.”

“Mm,” he nips at your bottom lip, “then kiss me, pretty girl.”

You pull away, angling your head to look at the TV. “But what about the game?”

“They’re losing by four,” he grabs your chin, turning your head back towards him. “Plus, I don’t think it’s possible to care about the game when a pretty girl like you is on my lap.”

Leaning forward, you plant a soft kiss and suck his plush bottom lip into your mouth. Your heart flutters inside your chest when his mouth opens inviting you to lick into it as he lifts the hem of your shirt. 

You swipe his hand away, “Not at second base yet.”

“Fuck,” he pants. “Been wanting to see you since you moved in last year.”

His confession rolls through your body, sending waves of want through your limbs. You want to rock your hips against him, you want to feel your bare skin against his, you want to feel him inside you, but you also love the game you’re playing and it’s not just every day your hot neighbor comes over to watch a ballgame and winds up with his tongue in your mouth.  

You deepen the kiss, moaning against his lips as your tongues collide and explore each other’s mouths. Raucous shouting of the announcers on the TV interrupts your makeout session.

“Mmph, will you look at that? Rangers just hit a grand slam ’n tied the game. You wanna celebrate now?” Joel grabs the hem of your shirt and angles his eyebrow up.

“Show me second base Joel.”

Your shirt is lifted and tossed aside, your nipples pebble under the cool fan air and Joel’s attention. He stares, eyes wide in astonishment as he takes your bare chest in. 

“Second base is above the waist stuff,” you direct. His large, calloused hands mold around the weight of your flesh. 

“Mm, knew you’d be soft,” he rasps in awe. His touch drives you crazy, just an hour ago, you were dozing off on the couch to Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion, now Joel Miller is holding your tits in his hands. He rubs the tips of his thumbs back and forth across your nipples. “Can I use my mouth on you baby?” he asks, his gaze moving from your chest to your eyes pleadingly. 

“God yes,” you pant, rising up to bring your chest to his mouth. He clasps his lips around your nipple, sucking and pulling, swirling his tongue around the peak before letting it go with a pop. Your back arches, your weight settling firmer against him when he nips his way across your chest, taking your other breast into his mouth and suckling. Your hands snake underneath his shirt and run across the plush of his stomach petting your hands across the smattering of hair across his belly. 

Joel buries his face between your breasts, breathing you in and groaning against your skin, his hands grab your hips and push your body firmer against his half hard cock still clad in his sweatpants.

He’s fully dressed, your teensy pair of lace panties do very little to stop your cunt from dripping onto the light gray fabric of his sweatpants. Your hips begin to grind against the shape of him, begging for contact. He ruts his hips up to tap against your core pulling a moan from you. 

He snickers teasingly, “We goin’ to third base already baby?”

You whimper a measly yes, rocking yourself harder against him. Fuck the pace of game, it’s going to be a quick one. You’re so needy for him, you can’t believe this is happening with Joel “hot dad” Miller. Your roommates are never going to believe you. 

You reach for the hem of his shirt, bunching it up before he chucks it off and throws it across the couch. You lean back, eyes widening at the sight of him. Good LORD, he’s perfect. His skin glows in the late afternoon light beaming in from the front window. His shoulders and arms are toned from all of the manual labor you always watch him accomplish. Your hands roam his soft muscles, exploring the plains of his body. He’s the whole fucking package. He looks at you with a smug smirk while you take him in. 

You want to taste him and see if he tastes like the sweat and sunlight. Your lips find his collarbone, licking and sucking, tasting the slight salt of the sweat the heat leaves on everybody’s skin on days like today. Delectable.

His throat groans against your tongue, he shivers underneath you, you’ve never wanted someone so badly before. 

“Fuck me,” you plead against his skin, “please.”

“Not yet, not yet baby, we’re still at third, you’re still learning all about baseball. I need to enjoy a game as sweet as you,” he implores, sliding a hand between your legs and petting your soaked panties. “This all for me?” 

“Yesss,” you hiss, licking your way up through his scratchy beard to his mouth. 

You gasp against his lips when he slides a thick finger inside. He chuckles a deep breath against your mouth, “So fucking wet aren’t you pretty girl?” 

Your only answer is a garbled moan and a clench around his second finger that stretches you. 

His fingers languidly fuck you while his thumb teases soft circles against your clit, you’re writhing from his touch, breathing mews into the air. He licks into your mouth swallowing every shattered breath that escapes from your throat. So many nights you’ve fallen asleep to the thought of this moment laying alone in your bed, gazing out the window at the Miller household. What would Joel Miller’s overworked hands and plush mouth feel like against your body? Well, now you know, and it feels even better than you could have ever imagined.  

He licks his way down to your neck, asking “Can I taste you?” against your skin. 

“Yes,” you cry out. 

Joel lifts you with a grunt and lays you down against the couch cushions. He stands over you, running a hand across your body, mapping his way from your breasts down your stomach to the trim of your panties.

“You’re gorgeous,” he muses, his eyes turning black as he pulls your panties down, exposing your pussy to him. You spread your legs open encouraged by the possessiveness of his stare. He tosses your underwear behind him before settling on the couch between your legs with a deep growl. Your legs are lifted over his shoulders. “Fuck,” he sighs, planting a kiss against your thigh, “you’re so fucking hot. Let’s get to third base sweetheart.”

His eyes flutter shut at the first taste of you when he parts your folds with his tongue. Everything about Joel Miller is wide- his fingers, his shoulders, his chest. Right now, his wide tongue is driving you crazy as it swirls against your clit. He devours you, licking and laving all over your drooling pussy, drinking you down and savoring you like you’re his last meal. His eyes stay on your face the whole time, watching you fall apart against his mouth. Your fingers wrap around the dark waves of his hair pulling him in closer, hips undulating against his mouth getting yourself off on the feel of the bristle of his beard against your sensitive flesh. His tongue flattens and runs up and down the shape of you before he dips two fingers into your entrance and buries them knuckles deep. Your back curves at the overwhelming sensation of his tongue on your clit as your soaked walls clench around his thick fingers. 

“Mm, close,” you whimper while your feet thud repeatedly against his strong back. He nods against your core, dark brown eyes still focused on your face. Your heart races at the way he watches you under his thick eyebrows creased in concentration. Of course Joel Miller is good at eating pussy, he’s a hard worker. You wail his name out when you orgasm against his mouth, your body tightens as you flood his fingers and throb for him. He kisses your swollen clit gently, letting a deep moan and chuckle out while you spasm underneath him. 

Joel’s face glistens with you when he lifts his head up, “Welcome to third base.” 

“You haven’t gotten here yet,” you arch an eyebrow and lick your parted lips, still panting for air.

He kisses each thigh with a loud smack before getting up. 

He looms over your blissed out body on the couch and yanks down his pants and boxers, a gulp rolls down your throat at the sight of him. So fucking thick and engorged with a sweet drop of precum rolling down his shaft.

“Wow,” you gasp, rolling to your side to bring yourself eye level to his twitching cock. Your eyebrows rise in awe when he wraps his hand around himself and strokes.

“Yeah?” his voice smolders through you. 

“I’ve thought about what you looked like naked, and now that I see it… wow.” You can’t believe the confession just left your mouth.

“Funny,” he collects a drop of precum on his fingertip and rubs it against your bottom lip,” I thought the same thing.”

Your tongue darts out to taste him, salty, bitter, so fucking manly. You want to taste more of him. 

You bring your lips to the crown of his cock, kissing the tip and running your tongue along the length of his shaft. He gasps, leaning forward to rest his hands on the sofa back. 

“Fuck sweetheart, that’s good,” he drawls when you suck him into your mouth engulfing the thick length of him in the wet heat of your mouth. 

You cup the heft of his balls in your hand… thick cock, big balls, of course Joel Miller has big balls. 

“You’re good at this sweetheart, really fucking good,” he huffs, rubbing his thumb against your cheek as you hollow them and suck him to the back of your throat. 

Your eyes flutter up to watch Joel snarl down at you while his hips buck into your drooling mouth.

“Can’t keep lookin’ at me like that sweetheart, or else we’re not going to get to homebase.”

Your pussy clenches at his words, begging to be filled like your mouth. It’s as if Joel can read your mind, his hand lands in between your thighs and begins petting your aching cunt. 

“Feels like she needs to have my cock in her, doesn’t she?” he says, tapping his fingers against your entrance. “Think maybe we should get to homebase?”

He pulls his cock out of your mouth and lifts you off the couch into his arms, he’s so fucking strong. 

He leaves a searing kiss on your lips before settling on the couch, still holding you close to him. 

“You ready for homebase?” he asks, gazing into your eyes. 

“Put me in coach, I’m ready to play,” you smile, giddy at the anticipation of getting fucked by Joel Miller.

“Go ahead sweetheart, fuck me,” his drawl drips in arousal as you slowly sink yourself down on him, gasping at the feel of his thick cock stretching you. 

Your hips rock back and forth to adjust to the size of him spreading you open. 

“Knew you’d feel so good sweetheart, knew it as soon as I saw you,” he says, peppering kisses across your face and neck. “So pretty, so soft, feels so fucking good.”

Joel Miller always seemed too intimidating, too closed off, too attractive to ever be interested in a neighbor much too young for him, and yet here he is ignoring the baseball game he wanted to watch, instead burying his cock into your pussy.

You ride him, your pace turning more frenzied and desperate the more he chants your name.

The ticks of the fan chains clanging against one another accompanies the sound of your pussy bouncing up and down on his dick. Hips meeting hips, skin hitting skin, breath gasping breath, chain knocking chain. Your fingers wrap around his curls pulling his head up to kiss you. Your breaths puff against his, you can’t hide the blissed out smile that lights up your whole face as he pounds into you.

Your body begins to tingle and quiver when his cock hits the gushy spot that makes you see stars. 

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Joel grits against your neck biting and sucking, marking you with his mouth and owning you with his cock. 

You scream a choked sob when your orgasm lights through you, your walls clutch Joel’s cock as you come undone. He grips you harder, pushing you into his chest and holding you as close as he can with his tense muscles as he lifts you and pulls out painting your pussy lips with his cum. You collapse against him, gasping for air against his sweaty skin, darting your tongue out to lick some of the sweet salt so you can always remember the taste of playing ball with Joel Miller. 

“Can I tell you something?” Joel asks, his voice radiates through your ear resting against his chest. 

“Hmm? Yeah,” you sigh.

“My TV still works,” he sheepishly says. You sit up at the shock of his words. “I just really wanted to watch the game with a pretty girl.” He sends you a sultry, guilty smirk that you cover with your lips. 

___ Tagging people who showed interest in my WIP a couple weeks ago for this. Along with my camp coven friends who helped.

@luxurychristmaspudding, @sizzlingcloudmentality, @sawymredfox, @magpiepills, @yxtkiwiyxt

@beefrobeefcal, @ace-turned-confused, @yopossum, @mothandpidgeon, @bitchesuntitled

@maggiemayhemnj, @jennaispunk, @timelordfreya

[cryptfile]

✶ nuclear seasons, [ soldier boy x reader ]

summary — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

warnings — +18 minors dni, smut, dead dove do not eat, we have a last name (also a mother!), kind of porn without plot? but not really cause it HAS one okay, we call it 50/50, fem!reader using she/her pronouns, p in v, masturbation ( m! receiving but blink and you miss it), dirty talk, age gap, choking, degradation, spitting (i'm sorry), fingering, mentions of injury, cancer (not you tho), tons of tension.

side notes — i’m never experiencing the post ovulation clarity lmao, that being said english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, also i’m a whore for jensen ackles, and i stand for what i like proudly. // 5k+

Nightshade is a hero.

You're proud of your mother since you were pretty young. The hero that fought against Vought to death during the time Payback was active, America’s Troublemaker that you only knew as Stella Nightshade, a blonde woman that talked with the death during her golden years.

Maybe it’s your mother the one that pushed you to fight crime, to pursue the bad guys and look out for the victims that can’t stand for themselves, so even when you don’t inherit much from Stella’s gifts, you joined the CIA as soon as you can so you can do something that matters.

You’re the best in your class, work your ass off to be taken serious, to be more than the look of disappointment you receive when people ask, once again, if you have any powers like your mother and you have to admit — In pure shame, that you didn’t born as a superhero but a baby who cried loudly when is too hungry.

But as years pass you make a name for yourself, one that even if differs from Stella’s job has the same noble reasons behind. You also realize you were too naive growing up, believing in heroes that don’t deserve to be called that way.

The country has made a mistake on making superhumans so openly, and it’s clear that got out of control now, backfiring as they got so much power it’s almost impossible to take accountant of any of them.

You’ve worked along Grace Mallory from the shadows, and even when Stella would not be so proud of you for helping get his kind out of the streets, the justice is enough to feed you and keep you warm on a cold night.

You like it that way. You know Grace has a team for it, a legal army of supe-haters as you called them, yet, you prefer to stay in the dark, not let your personal life get involved cause one slip and you can lose it all— Even when you don’t have nothing at all. You like to have an outside life from work, it’s the sane thing to have, so when the CIA Deputy Director asks you about joining the infamous Boys, you politely decline assuring the woman you’ve been more helpful from the outside.

What would Stella Nightshade would say? Now that you’ve grown older and you don’t look at her the same way you used to when you encounter her files and read about your mother. You know she has done wrong, yet with the years, you don't imagine Soldier Boy himself was going to seek for revenge first thing he does when he wakes up, his plan including your mother even when she was long time dead before he even appeared in the picture.

That night especially you let your guard down. It's been a rough couple of weeks back in work, so when the night comes you're a victim of the stress, victim of your bosses and the people that surrounded you. You pour a glass of wine for yourself, light a cigarette even when you haven't smoked in years, and turn on the TV to see something else rather than the face of Homelander in every single channel you've been tuning lately.

It's a weapon. When you leave for a warm shower and start filling the bathtub, you're not aware of what that night was really going to be for you. Oblivious as you stand naked in the middle of the bathroom, holding the glass of wine between your fingers before entering the warm current that relaxed your muscles.

It seems tension is your worst enemy, makes your muscles feel like stone as you got in the water, the cigarette that hangs from your dry lips splashing with tiny droplets of perfumed water as the silence filled the air. It's what you needed, at least ten minutes with your brain shutting off completely, the pleasure you haven't experienced in forever by being so compromised with work.

It's a much-needed break. The smoke that leaves the room by the almost-closed window, the taste of wine still lingering in your lips as you sip another taste of the crimson liquor you love. You don't happen to notice when he's breaking in your apartment, silent and deadly as you were protected by a door closed and a white curtain.

You don't happen to hear him too. The music coming our from your phone is loud enough to silence the knocks on your door at first before breaking the wood, you're too deep in the still water that smelled like roses and vanilla, to even pay attention to what was going on outside the warmth of the four walls that surrounded you.

There's vapor coming out of the water and you find comfort in closing your eyes, in letting the blow of the smoke travel through your throat before suspending itself in the air, flowing as you drank.

In your defense, you haven't been like that in ages.

It's been a long time since you last fill the tub and have a relaxing session with yourself, so it makes sense you are enjoying it a little bit too much, too much cause when the invader is making a lot of noise when stepping into your property, you still enjoy the taste of the alcohol on your lips.

The ashes fall to the ceramic floor outside the tub and you should blame the CIA to make you so tense to the point it leads you to more problems than you ever had. In the dark room of your apartment, it's Soldier Boy the one who's going through any drawer he comes across, the ones closed, the ones hidden, any slit he can find, any clue that can trace your mother back to his personal vendetta.

He's oblivious to Stella's death and her daughter, so when the former superhero hears the noise in the bathroom he's fully convinced it's your mother the one who's behind that door, that she's the one who's going to tell him the truth, if she also sold him to the russians as well in the process.

He's decided also on killing her. She must need it after all that time getting older, closer to death more than ever.

Of course it's an unpleasant surprise when you can see the bathroom door opening when you're sure you left the front door closed and lock with at least two bolts to prevent anyone from getting inside, it makes you jump in the spot, quickly covering yourself from the new stranger that enters your bathroom.

"Stella?" he asks, it's the last room that the hero needs to check for himself.

You spot the green fabric of his suit immediately as you pressed your chest against the cold surface of the tub, and when the invader notices you're naked, he doesn't look away as any person with a hint of respect would do, but instead, continue on checking you out as you try to cover yourself in the water tinted in a nonexistent transparent color red.

You can feel his gaze as soon as you recognize him too, as you happen to notice that face from your mother's pictures, the propaganda in the TV when he did almost every commercial back when you were a kid. It's a shock, and dressed in his damn suit, you don't know why an old superhero is there standing beneath the yellowish bulbs of the light your bathroom happens to have.

Your cheeks adopt this pink color as you panic, grabbing the cup of wine to throw the liquid in the floor, breaking it against the marble walls just to shatter the glass in pieces, a weapon of defense as you lifted up against him.

"You're not Stella."

Soldier Boy looks amused: it's funny that you think you'd be able to kill him with shattered glass, yet he lets you keep thinking that way when he's enjoying the view.

Is he to blame? He just got out from this giant cooking oven back with the communists and he hasn't got his way with a lady since what seems are centuries, so when he spots you in the tub he simply cannot contain himself from peaking around. You should be in what? Not more than your 20's? Soft-looking skin that asked to be marked with his hands, by the force of his lips crashing in your flesh.

The thought is compelling, you're looking all feisty with the glass in your hand, threatening him and speaking something Soldier Boy cannot catch at first — Shit, he doesn't even notice the blood in your hand that's dripping all over your small rug in the floor, the power women like yourself seemed to have now and weirdly enough, a huge turn on.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream in an authority voice, the same you use back at work when you're mad, when you're usually holding a gun in defense more than a piece of broken glass "Stella is not fucking here!"

It takes a few more words to actually get him out of there, and as he closes the door behind him you finally stand to grab a towel covering from the currents of wind, trying, really hard, to think about anything else more that the fact that Soldier Boy has entered your house and your bathroom in the worst moment, far from what you were last updated with.

To be honest, it almost gave you a heart attack, leaving the bathroom to find your home torn apart, the drawers open and all the papers you've meticulously kept in place being all over the place as Ben stands awkwardly holding a shield in the middle of your living room.

"Fucking hell" you're cursing under your breath as you gathered some important things you cannot leave on the floor even when you're still wet from the shower, expelling this nice aroma that mixed the roses and the vanilla together with your personal scent — Weirdly enough, a fucking show to the hero that's already rock-hard from the peak he had of you from before.

You don't really notice it at first, too busy being mad as you let the papers you gathered on top of the table. You lose the shame you got left as the wet drops of the shower leave a trace in the floor — And as usual, you clearly don't notice it, but Ben does when the water is running down your back, and you're barking something about calling someone called Grace, holding onto a white tower with your dear life.

"Where is Stella Nightshade, sweetheart?" he speaks out loud cause he don't understand anything you say, really fighting to be nice with you like it would give him an opportunity to get under your skin.

"My mother's dead," you stand there without knowing what to say after. You know he and your mother were close, but you don't imagine he was going to actually go find her teammate when he recently woke up in a different country. "She died years ago dude, i'm sorry."

The information gathers in his head as you take a clean oversized shirt from the laundry basket covering with it as you throw the towel to the floor, Red Hot Chili Peppers it says, but he thinks it's a place in Italy more than a band like he isn't troubled already by the fact you were Stella's daughter, the person who thought was her only friend back in the time now dead.

"Does anyone know you're here?" your mind is drifting back to work again as you wondered if anyone knew he was going to break into your apartment and choose not to send any help — "Ben."

You've read his file. Hell, to be honest you've read every single file in Payback, so it's no surprise you know his name, but to the hero, it seems to be amusing when you call him by his real name, his mind fueled in a different direction as he notices you're not wearing any underwear beneath the shirt you're choosing to wear, one whose fabric's barely covering your tights.

"What do you mean dead?" he asks, furrowing his brows "It's not been so long."

"She got cancer three years ago" you explain with a sad tone, even when you disagree with Stella, it pains you to remember what sickness made out of her, consuming her from the inside at a cruel pace.

"Motherfucker," he states clearly angry, and you cannot help but look at him with a weird face, searching for the phone you left in the sofa to call any-fucking-body in the office that could send a damn army to get you: Didn't the Boys have everything under control? That's what you're told anyway, then why the fuck is the subject of matter cursing in your little messy apartment? — "Bitch just got away with it before I could do anything, isn't it? What a fucking shame."

"Pardon me?" it catches you by surprise at first, but it hits you soon after. Soldier Boy is not there to say hello to your mother or ask for her help, but instead, he's there to get revenge and actually kill Stella by his own matters.

Fuck. Of course is something new, something that makes you feel cold all sudden, your wet hair making you visible shake as you became aware of his plans.

"You know them. You know the people from the lab" it's more of a fact than a question, letting the words feel salty in his own mouth. "The ones that let me get away."

He's quickly to gather the pieces too, not as dumb as you think he is as the puzzle is finally coming up together in his head, and it's all it takes for him to take a step closer to you, cutting that space you've created since you kicked him out of the bathroom — He's angry now.

The red globe on his hand is now holding you by the throat, applying enough pressure to cut the air flow going to your lungs almost completely, his fingertips warm against your bare skin as he holds you in front of his figure, pushing you against the cold wall.

You usually would enjoy such activities, yet in the context you are trapped in right now, you began to choke, your own hands trying to push his grip back even when he’s too strong, not even flinching when you’re squirming, gasping for some air as your face became red, tears gathering in your eyes as he let you breathe for a couple of seconds when he senses you’re too close to black out.

“Talk little Nightshade” he says in a low voice. “Or else i’m breaking your pretty neck.”

“I work for the CIA!” You explain quickly as your breathing became more labored by the seconds. “Not for the people who let you out! I promise!”

He’s going to kill you. You can see the determination in his eyes, that predator look he happens to have.

What you don’t know, somehow, is that he’s going fucking insane. Your smell coming up to his nose to make him shiver, the sight of you in an oversized shirt that barely covers your shape is more than enough to push his buttons, to make him forgot about any killing he was allegedly so concentrated in fulfill, the sight of you almost crying messing with his brain.

Little Nightshade is a fucking tease.

His eyes follow your expression, the hand that gripped your neck and choke you harshly now pressing enough to only suppress the air flow in a more enjoyable way, the tension quickly shifting from dying to pleasure all over again as he kept you in place so easily.

It’s impossible to move, to do anything more than be pressed against a cold wall. Your mother has once again lied to you and you notice the relationship she painted with Soldier Boy was more of a movie in her head than reality itself. Makes you gulp in response when you stare at his expression, the face of a trained killer as you knew, fucking knew, a bit more of force in your neck and it would snap without any difficulty.

“I don’t work with them” you assure once again, maybe it’s your survivor skills hitting when you repeat it in a low voice, catching on your breath when he lets go allowing you to fill your lungs with air just enough before pressing that very spot again, the one that actually turns you on. “Fuck’s sake.”

Is that how you end? On your lame apartment?

The next is a weird thing, cause in the blink of an eye he’s close to your face planting his own body next to yours and you’re shivering at the feeling, his armor pressed against your chest as he left the shield he was holding on the floor.

The metal is pressed against your skin covered by the thin cotton of Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, and he is so close, so close you froze there, no longer fighting his tight grip but mesmerized by his damn face, the same you watched on TV when you were a kid, the handsome man you happen to severely crush on in secret, just because you don’t want Stella to know or she will give you a long talk about how he is her age.

But he is, handsome as fuck, and now being so close to his face you can say it with all confidence. His beard is shaved perfectly and he smells incredibly good even for someone who has spent time locked away without any kind of hygiene, his green suit protecting him from the cold air that was getting through the opened window.

“Who are you?” he asks, scanning your face with a curious look as he wanted to know what expression you would have when you know why he's there in the first place — “What do you know about Stella Nightshade, your mother, selling me out?”

Fuck. So that's why he's there. You know she did it. And it's impossible for you to lie when he's making you so nervous, away from any weapon, any form of defense as you left the glass in the bathroom sink when you notice large gash on your hand, and your silence makes nothing more than leave him fuming. If he was angry before, he now reaches a higher level as his grip turns more violent now that he knows you know what he meant, why he's there claiming to talk with your death mother out of nothing.

"Call her then. Use your powers" he demands dryly, and you're shaking at this point cause it's more shame added to the long pile, the bathroom already being a humiliation by itself. "Fucking call her."

You squirm beneath his grabbing, when he's pushing you harder against the concrete wall and you can just feel him from under the suit, hard cock pressing against your belly, green in your vision as he towers over you. He knows what he's doing, and even when you try to be disgusted by it, you find yourself enjoying his closeness, how he's pinning you with no effort at all, hands on your throat while he demanded an answer.

"I can't call her" you admit in a low voice, cheeks now red as the embarrassment crept upon your face — "I don't have my mother's power."

Soldier Boy seems to not believe you for a mere second, after that you can feel the blade of the knife pressing against your skin, a threat that now becomes more real as you can feel the cold metal stomach. One swift movement and you'd be stabbed without a second thought.

It's sick how much you enjoy it when you are squirming against him, goosebumps in the zone he threats to destroy.

A force pull his lips upwards in a smile, unable to pay attention to nothing else but the sound you made without even realizing it. "You like that, huh little Nightshade?"

It seems to be a joke for him, bitting your inner cheek to prevent you from saying something stupid, from letting out a moan in response to all the sudden desire.

Despite all conditions you stay silent, holding his gaze like it's a game you're not going to lose. He didn't respond either, trapped in a second that seemed longer than the usual when time stopped around you, eyes looking like he can surpass the old fabric of the white shirt you choose to wear.

It's the tension what makes you mad. You're so into getting people like him, that your ego is bruised now that you notice you are actually attracted to all of that, to the way he's pressing you against the concrete, how all falls into place when he's pushing himself against you, invading any private space you could require.

He's kissing you soon after. Ben crumbles against the tension as the hand on your throat demands a kiss now, pulling you closer to his face without any warning nor concern as he crash his lips against yours in a rough kiss. You try to push him away in response even when you don't want to; see, it's hard to even admit you have interest in Soldier Boy in any other way more than the professional, but when he's bitting your lower lip you're letting your defense down: When is the last time you've been kissed like that?

You remind yourself you're tired from work, that the CIA has done nothing for you more than fuck your over and over even to this point, losing sight of one of the most important heroes of the word, and it's making you encourage to let go just for a mere hour.

"Lookin' so good takin' a bath" he says, and the sound of his deep voice is enough to send an electric wave through your spine, like he’s talking to himself as the hand on your hip is now tracing the curves of your body, taunting you from over the shirt he now learns to love. His beard is now scraping against your skin and you can feel his lips going down, tracing an invisible path to the crook of your neck as his hand is no longer choking you.

Jesus. Was that even happening or was that your imagination? Did you feel asleep on the bathtub? Maybe it’s a reflection as you are close to drowning, your brain doing that happy thoughts shit. You’re tilting your head to the side just to give him more space to work with and you’re just letting it be, enjoying how he’s sucking and nibling on your skin to leave a red mark behind, all teeth and no fucking control as he uses a good amount of force to make you moan in the process, the pain enough to remember who’s really on charge.

Ben forgets about asking any more questions, he’s too busy when his hand are taking decisions by themselves as they slide under your shirt, body still cold from the bath you just took, water still drying in your flesh when he’s like he usually is — An invader.

His hands are big and they’re capable of holding your whole tummy as he caress the soft skin that seems to expel a warm sensation, how it leaves goosebumps in any place he touches. You remember you’re basically at his mercy now that his hands roam with all liberty under your shirt, the look he gave you in the bathroom mistaken you for Stella, his eyes looking at any exposed skin he could look at.

“What the fuck,” you try to say under your breath, to keep on this facade you have of a composed person, one that won’t give in to be manhandled “What the fuck do you think you are you doing?”

“Well, i’m not seeing any complains” The blade cuts through the cotton leaving a large hole you know you won’t be able to sew after yet he’s right: There are no complains, nothing but eager that makes him go further as the seconds passed “In fact, can see that you’re pretty much enjoying it, Doll.”

You hate the nickname, that old man way of speaking when he’s squeezing one of your breasts with more force you can even handle, cursing at how easy it seems to be for him, how he wants to see you simply destroyed.

“You’re loving this isn’t?” he ask all sudden, studying you with his hazel eyes — “You love being a good whore f’me? My little Nightshade.”

He’s hard under the suit, covered in a green material you don’t know how to call as your hand searches for him, crave for him, convincing that it's what you must do as you trace the invisible lines his muscles made.

Soldier Boy’s messy, much like an animal when he’s groaning beneath your touch, his own body seeking for yours as your fingers grew bolder, demanding for a deeper contact — “Careful there sweetheart, i’m still fresh out of the oven. May be a little rusty."

You laugh at his words cause you know what he means, yet your hands work by themselves as you barely even touch him from over the suit, the hard feeling of his cock against your palm, hips buckling against your hand seconds after seeking for you, eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

“M’being careful” you say, catching yourself stealing a look at his reaction, taking your time on pleasuring him , gulping as he experiences the torture of your touch “Taking it slow for an old man.”

“Old man, huh? Now you're talking” He teases, and the sound of his laugh just fucks you up. Maybe it has to be with the fact he’s placing two fingers in front of your lips while looking at you, swollen pink lips he’s so fixated for a second, or it’s because he is, indeed, way older than you are — “Spit.”

It’s not a command, but it sounds like one as you’re unable to disobey, quickly spitting in his hand as you can visibly see the traces of saliva leaving a wet residue in your chin, one Ben looks at it for a good amount of time: How is something like saliva is so damn erotic? He doesn’t know it, but it’s enough to send him into a spiral.

He’s strong you think, cause he’s a superhero. He’s Soldier Boy by any meaning, so it’s not a big effort to hold you in his arms and lift you in the air as you let out a gasp of surprise, spanking your ass as one of his hands separates your legs for him, holding one up as you stand in the other.

“Relax, 'got you, doll” he says, your back against the wall as he kept a bruising grip in your hip, holding you in place so you don’t have to keep your balance — “Fuck you smell so damn good.”

The roses and vanilla aroma lingers on your skin as you finally understand what he's doing now, his hand close to your cunt as he taunts you, torturing you like you did so eagerly before, his personal pet as his digits get lost in your entrance now, your folds spilled with juice he can physically feel in his fingertips, your arousal's so nice against the palm of his hand he cannot help but kiss you, a feverish desire taking over his actions, the lewd sound his fingers made when he finally pushes his digits inside of you, velvety walls welcoming him as they seemed to squeeze him already — He has made such a good job on turning you on, it’s impossible to not react when he’s finally touching you, pumping into you in a constant pace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, the look on your face is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants in response, imagination running wild as he thinks about that very same feeling in a much deeper way, how you’d look now stretched out, crying just like you did when he choked you asking for information — “Such a nice cunt, so wet f’me.”

He's looking at you, holding the image in his mind forever: Pink pussy displayed for him, white t-shirt rising over your chest, lifting your leg over his arm as his muscles flexed by the force he's using to fuck you deliberately, your lips parted as you ask for more in between erratic moans as his fingers curved inside you so he can hit that nice place he can reach with no effort at all, that one spot thats makes you moan louder.

"Ah-fuck" you let out. Ben's all about touching you for what it seems an eternity, thumb grazing against your clit when he's plainly torturing you, testing how much patience you have left now that he has full control of you.

"Don't cum," he demands, your heartbeats are louder by the seconds as he lifts you slightly, lips attacking your neck before the words escape from his mouth "Need you to come undone in my cock first."

He's leaving marks, marks you don't remember how to hide but don't bother you at all, touching you as he pleases you, taking all the time in the world cause it seems like the night belongs to him — Getting started as you shake your head in an improvised yes.

Yes. The thought is pure electricity, the sudden need to please him as you shake your head once again.

“Please Ben,” you don’t recognize what you’ve become now. “Please let me cum in your cock.”

"Go on doll, put on a show f'me" the supe says with a grin you cannot resist. "Bend and show me that lovely ass."

It’s all it takes. His fingers are now away from you, but you’re now facing the wall as you obey, bending until your cheek is pressed against the concrete and you can hear how he’s now unzipping his pants, the green fabric of his suit now to the side.

You look at him from over your shoulder, bitting the your lower lip as you check him out, his slightly curved dick pointing upwards, precum already leaking out.

“Like what you’re seeing or what?”

“Yeah, but there’s no fucking way.”

You’re feeding on his ego now, but you can’t help it when his size is far from what you consider it’s common — “Common’ doll. You can hadle it.”

You gulp in response cause you know you’re more than eager to try, just the sight of his own hand holding his lenght as he strokes himself making you drool in response. Fuck. It transforms in a need now. When he positions himself beneath you and he’s spitting down to that very place where he’s pushing against your hole, saliva coating his cock before just letting the tip inside.

Lubricated, he pushes a bit more and it feels just damn right. Even when it begans to hurt as he’s thick enough to force himself inside you.

Benjamin knows you’re in pain so he waits a second before shoving his cock inside one more time. You need some time as he stretches you out, clenching your teeth while he works.

"You're doing it s'good" he praises, hand massaging your back as he prevents himself from fucking you at his liking, “Takin' me like a champ."

"God" you let out a sharp moan moments after, crying when you felt the pain more than anything else — "Can't-"

"No doll" he hums as he pulls slightly more. “You can do this” he forces himself in until he's finally balls deep inside your cunt, letting you adjust to his size as he can feel fucking everything. Your blood flow, your velvety walls that squeeze him unused to someone as big as he was, your face distorted in what seems an intense mix of pain and pure, devastating pleasure — "Atta girl."

Strikes like lighting.

Soldier Boy's bitting your shoulder-blade as he waits, waits for it to switch into pleasure, to become intoxicating to the point you cannot longer remember your own name.

"Please move," you ask sooner than he thinks, and when he moves, you can feel it in your belly, melting your fucking brain as he repeated the process again, burying his cock as deep as he could go without any previous warning — "Ah, just like that, please-"

"Do you like how my cock is stretching you out now?" Ben's voice is way deeper than what usually is as he laughs, grunting behind you as one of his hands reach a fistful of your hair, grabbing it with force to pull your head backwards "Good girl, keep huggin' my cock."

You're drunk on the feeling, on the vibrations his voice sends every time he's saying something dirty for you, when he laughs victim of the pleasure.

"Gonna' keep you as my personal slut," he thinks out loud, pushing you against the wall every time he fucks you, using his other hand to spread one of your ass cheeks to the side so he can hit it harder. "Use you as my fucking pet so I can cum on your pretty face whenever I want."

He's moaning, your body’s sweaty as he pulls your hair without caring, not concentrated on the pain it produces as his hips continue on collide against you.

"Would you like that, little Nightshade?" he asks then in a low voice, his thumb pressing against your asshole as he fucks you harder now that you're used to his size. "Could get used to this pretty cunt. Promise to keep my cock whore nice and full."

It doesn't take long. Soldier Boy's moans are now filling the room as his pace becomes faster, slurred words between his erratic breathing when the hand on your hair comes up to finally grab you by the neck, like he can read your mind cause it's exactly what you need to get there, to experience by first hand a set of crashing waves that were getting more and more intense on your stomach.

You're close to the edge. He can smell it in the air when the sound of your skin slapping against his is loud enough to be all you can hear, mixing with the lovely moans you produce when he’s pounding into you with no mercy, fingers pressing the side of your neck with enough force you’re running out of breathe.

It’s messy, violent and you love it, love how he’s ruining you all sudden, fucking you up from the inside, making your vision turning dizzy in response. You’re immersed in the haze he’s driven you into before admiting:

“God i’m so fucking close.”

“Cum on my cock,” it sounds like he’s begging you to do it, fingers finding their way to your swollen clit to move against the sensitive flesh “Come on doll, leave me full of you.”

He’s making you move now, hands now controlling your hips as you take him as his liking, mere seconds until you’re finally crumbling, violently shaking as you finally reach your peak. He keeps on fucking you through your high, long enough so he’s pulling out all of sudden, stroking his lenght over you as his cum finally lands on your back leaving you convered with his load.

Fucking hell.

When you’re coming down from your orgasm shame seems to hit you hard, however for Ben is not enough when he’s kneeling on the floor, eyes on the mess his cock made out of you.

“Wanna go again, little Nightshade?” he asks curiously, and the question makes you laugh in response, forgetting about formalities and the trouble it meant you were intimate with Soldier Boy out of all the supes in the world.

“Hm,” you seem to think about it for a second, his breathing close to your wet pussy as he’s still wearing his clothes in contrast of you being so exposed — “But you’re keeping the suit on.”

He don’t have any complains when he’s the one pressing his face against your wet folds.

Funny thing is now when you’re forced to join the Boys days after that very encounter — A bad joke when you’re now babysitting Soldier Boy himself.

“Been missing you s’much little Nightshade” he admits after a couple of minutes alone in the filthy motel “Thinking about how cute you are, how you felt taking my cock so nicely in your living room.”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“We’ll be quick” he promises “That stupid assholes back there wont even notice.”

You seem to think about it for a second before lifting your middle finger in response — “I said fuck off, Ben.”

For now, it’s enough for him that you’re thinking about it.

my masterlist

[cryobabyy]

Tbh I don't think it's that Storer is against Syd and Carm moving past a platonic relationship, he probably just doesn't want to reveal too much about what goes on in the writer's room and what they're cooking. You gotta throw people off with some misdirection - it's pretty standard for keeping the plot a surprise. No one wants to watch a TV show when they already know what's going to happen.

That being saaaaaiiid 👀

The decision to use Strange Currencies; first when Carmy and Claire see each other for the first time in the supermarket, and then again but distorted and backward when he's thinking about Claire, and then clear and forward when he thinks about the first time he met Sydney; that was pretty heavy-handed symbolism. It was a deliberate choice. From a narrative standpoint, there are not many ways to read that juxtaposition of Claire and Sydney other than Claire triggering anxiety associated with his past and Sydney representing the future and stability. Claire reminds him of who he was and what could have been. Sydney reminds him of who he is; More so who Sydney believes he is. "You're the most excellent CDC, at the most excellent restaurant in the entire United States of America". Her voice literally and figuratively cuts through the chaos, the thought of the first time he saw her and how she came back when he thought he was irredeemable brought him down from the panic attack.

I literally can not come up with a platonic justification for such blatant imagery. I guess you could say his vision of Sydney represented the restaurant as a whole? But if that were the case, why not include any of the other staff in the montage? Why choose a romantic song for this sequence? WHY IS IT THE SAME SONG THAT PLAYED WHEN CARMY MET CLAIRE???

"These words; you will be mine all the time." LIKE??? HELLO???

Anyway lol

I can only think of two logical explanations

1.) This scene was a massive oversight in the writer's room. They unintentionally framed Carmy's feelings for Syd as romantic by making the creative decision to Juxtapose her with Claire (his actual love-interest at the time). What was written did not translate well to the screen. So basically "Oops we didn't mean it like that".

2.) Storer is slowly laying the groundwork for Sydney and Carmy's relationship to evolve past friendship, or at least experimenting with that narrative possibility.

Now, I do think it will literally take forever - like multiple seasons forever - but I do think it will happen. The build-up is so important. Well-developed and satisfying romance (especially in television) takes time. Don't lose hope y'all!!

[artbyblastweave]

So one thing that irks me about discussions of the NCR is the idea that "they're flawed because they're trying to be America again. And Being Too Much America is what caused the War" without differentiating between the vast buildup of Nuclear Weapons and Geopolitical tensions, versus, like, being a republic and having a large-scale central state.

What's your thoughts?

I think the NCR circa New Vegas is textually intended to be repeating the USA's downward spiral. They're in the process of recreating the core dynamics of pre-war America- overconsumption of resources driving imperialist expansion, capture of the government by moneyed interests, and a prolonged conflict with a peer power that's suffering under similar expand-or-die pressures- but they're constrained from a one-to-one recreation mainly by the fact that they're working with a post-apocalyptic resource base, with the scraps left over from the last people who went down this path. Peanuts compared to the Sino-American war, but likely as close to that situation as the post-war-world is logistically capable of producing.

You see bits of this from the NCR perspective all throughout the game. There Stands the Grass is propelled by projections of incipient famine in the NCR due to rapid population growth, and you see the beginnings of this in Flags of Our Foul-Ups- O'Hanaran was sent to the Army by his family to lessen their food burden. Chief Hanlon's very first line is about how the NCR is overtaxing most sources of freshwater within the core territory, and he recounts how tiny groups of settlers backed by NCR logistics were able to take and hold a well in Baja against scores of locals; IIRC there's a cut event at Camp Golf itself where you'd see NCR rangers doing the same thing to Mojave locals encroaching on their water supply. The White Wash demonstrates that the NCR's sharecropping setup in outer Vegas operates at the expense of the locals, who can only get the water they need to support their own crops via subterfuge. If you assume that Heck Gunderson's underhanded Brahmin-farming empire in Beyond the Beef is supposed to parallel the real-world problems with the sustainability of beef farming, you start to get a sense of where all of that water is going and what structural problems (Heck Gunderson) might be in the way of allocating those resources more sustainably. There are likely more examples of this storm on the horizon that I'm forgetting.

As a result of all this, there's a level on which I think introducing the Tunnelers in Lonesome Road as a dangling White-Walker style Looming Apocalyptic Reset Option hanging over the west coast was gratuitous, not because it's Avallone grinding his axe with the idea of society rebuilding, but because it's simply redundant with the political situation already depicted in the base game- If you want the NCR to have collapsed by a future installment, just establish that they weren't able to put the brakes on in time and devolved into a completely dysfunctional oligarchy that collapsed under its own weight!

(Now, as a final note, one thing preventing me from fully committing to this take is that we honestly don't have a fantastic sense of what day-to-day life looks like for the average citizen in the NCR heartland, which I feel is kind of important. Because if the textual situation is supposed to be that the resource crisis is due to misallocation due to interests capturing the government, I like that a lot better than if the situation is genuinely intended to be that there are Just Too Many Goddarn People, because that's like. Lazy and Malthusian and leads to the usual ugly conclusions pretty quickly. More and more it's looking like the upcoming Fallout TV show is leaning into the recent decline of the NCR as a plot point, so, uh, fingers crossed they stick the landing when it comes to fleshing that out?)

[nerds-yearbook]

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D 2 part finale aired on August 12, 2020. 5 members of the original team May (Ming-Na Wen), Fitz (Iain De Caestecker), Simmons (Elizabeth Henstridge), Daisy (Chloe Bennet), and (A Life Model Decoy of) Coulson (Clark Gregg) were in the episode in their final fight against the Chronicoms. The epilogue, that took place one year later, was July 4, 2020. The series ran for 136 episodes and 7 seasons. The series was slow to catch on, but seemed to get its legs once in tied into the Hydra plot of Captain America and the Winter Soldier. ("What We're Fighting For", Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, TV, Event)

[intothedysphoria]

One thing I love about the harringrove fandom is the agreement both that Steve is dyslexic and Billy is a MASSIVE reader.

Because while Steve’s always been surrounded by teachers or his parents or exes who either believe that he’s incapable of appreciating reading or that he just doesn’t care, Billy thinks that’s bullshit.

Because when Billy gets told to tutor Steve in English, he doesn’t start with a book for toddlers or fucking Shakespeare. They start with Billy reading him Wuthering Heights.

And at first Steve does not fucking get it. He doesn’t understand the plot, the message and especially not the dialect. But he finds himself enjoying it a lot. Billy’s a natural storyteller. He could be on stage.

Billy’s taste in books is both eclectic and weird. He’s reading Finnigan’s Wake for fun. In Irish. He likes Portuguese romance books and German surrealism and a lot of George Orwell. So much so that Steve kind of feels that love rubbing off on him.

He’d used to like reading. Before he was told he was doing it wrong. And even though he despised the books set by Hawkins High with every fibre of his being, there was this fire set in his belly, a want to impress Billy.

So he starts with The Hobbit. Eddie “Freak” Munson’s the only other dyslexic Steve knew and he loved that shit. How hard could it be?

The Hobbit is fucking difficult. It starts with a map, Steve thinks is in Elvish and some of the chapters feel like they go on forever. The words still bounce around the page and switch constantly. He likes it though. It’s weirdly fun as a story and he finds himself rooting for Bilbo.

Henderson can never know. That is the one thing Steve is certain of.

Billy doesn’t laugh when Steve tells him that’s what he’d decided to start with. He just rolls his eyes, not meanly and says he used to read that with his mom. Back in Cali. Before Neil fucked everything up.

Billy reads a lot of Oscar Wilde. The Importance of Being Earnest is constantly tucked into his back, dog eared and well loved. Steve knows enough about Oscar Wilde to know what that indicates.

Billy’s a poof. A faggot. A queer.

Billy is like Steve.

He doesn’t have the courage to look out for anything gay. Nothing even that hints at the matter. Steve knows that his dad has The Iliad tucked away in his office. He’s away on business while his mom sits in the kitchen and complains about America. Even after 15 years in the States, she still misses Poland.

His daring heist after she goes to bed leads to him sitting on the kitchen floor, crying about Achilles and Patroclus. Billy’s right, classics are a fucking bummer.

Steves not as stupid as other people think. He knows that if this were a book, him and Billy are hurtling towards deaths door. Even in real life, he’s seen the guys on tv, worn down to the bone on hospital beds.

Gay does not equal a happy ending.

He resolves to never touch The Iliad again.

Billy comes to their next session with a black eye and his mullet chopped off. They don’t talk about it.

1984 is depressing. And surprisingly apt for how Steve feels that his 1984 has gone. He does feel like he’s constantly being watched. Like being in love is illegal. Like saying anything too far against the government will have consequences.

Steve asks if Billy thinks Orwell wrote 1984 about America or Russia. Billy snorts but doesn’t answer.

That’s the note they end on for the year.

Christmas comes and goes. So does New Year. Two months of not seeing Billy aches in his gut.

Then he comes back.

It’s the middle of February. Billy’s been kicked out for a week. Steves playing nursemaid.

He’s beaten up pretty bad. Still, Billy insists he’s had worse.

Steve hedges around asking why it happened. Like the confirmation might suddenly make the full scope of their plight real.

Still, eventually Steve asks. Billy looks at him like he’s particularly simple.

He’s gay. Obviously Steve. And he actually has the balls to go out there, meet men, dance. Even if it does mean getting caught by Neil.

During his explanation, Steve notices they’ve gotten closer together. Like significantly closer.

They’re grazing hands. Electric.

Then Billy moves.

Billy kisses him and Steve’s world turns into a fucking supernova.

They kiss and it doesn’t make Neil vanish in a puff of smoke, it doesn’t make the shopkeepers who sneer at his mother go away, it doesn’t make Steve magically able to read.

But it does make Steve feel like maybe they’ll survive.

[onceuponastory]

this lovely night - sam wilson x reader

“Is it out of line If I was to be bold and say, "Would you be mine?” - whistle for the choir by the fratellis 

Plot: After having no luck finding love the usual ways, Y/N decides to try her luck speed dating. At first, it seems her bad luck is continuing... until she meets Captain America himself, Sam Wilson. Pairing: Cap!Sam Wilson x Female!Reader (also the TINIEST hint of Sarah Wilson x Bucky) Warnings: Mentions of sexism/sexist comments, Sam being a little nervous about dating and a few alcohol mentions. No sexism from Sam though! He could never! Other than that, just sickly sweet fluff. Just how I like it! But as usual, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: This was written for @late-to-the-party-81‘s Challenge Yourself Challenge, where you have to write for a character/trope etc that you haven’t written for before. This is my first time writing for Sam! Thank you again to @staticscreenwriting / @astartothemoon​ for my dividers! Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

“You know.” The man in front of Y/N begins, stopping only to take another big gulp of his beer. Y/N’s stomach twists. God knows what he’s about to say now. “I really think you’d make an excellent housewife.” He leans back, grinning at her. Y/N’s stomach churns, and she wraps her jacket closer around herself, hoping it shields her body from his gaze. “And a great mother to our kids. You’d stay home, of course, and I’ll provide for us all.”

And there it is. 

“I have a job. I’m keeping that.” she snaps back. Fucking sexist loser. Thankfully, before the man can say anything else… or before Y/N can throw her drink all over him, the announcer calls out that it’s time to change over, and Y/N gets out of there as quickly as humanly possible. As she collapses into another seat, she can’t ignore the disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach. Sure, he’s a sexist pig, but that marks yet another failure tonight.

After so long of scouring dating apps for someone, yet having no success, Y/N turned to speed dating. After all, even if it all crashes and burns, at least she tried it once, right? And so far, like every of her other attempts to find love, tonight has been just as unsuccessful as the others. That’s not to say most of the men she’s encountered tonight have been awful human beings like the man she just had the displeasure of meeting. But almost every girl, Y/N included, wants to find her Mr Right, and none of the men she’s met have gave her that spark, that feeling in your stomach that tells you this is the one for you. Honestly, she’s already resigned herself to the fact that she isn’t going to meet the love of her life. Or at least, they definitely aren’t here. 

Although, if this night is a complete failure, at least she can just get drunk and forget it all.

As the night goes on, Y/N’s prediction seems to becoming true. Well, back to the dating apps it is. Maybe the third time will be lucky?

“Hey, Y/N right? Nice to meet you.” Another male voice speaks. When Y/N looks back up and recognises who’s sitting opposite her, she gasps.

Captain America himself, Sam Wilson, is sitting opposite her. And somehow, he looks even hotter than he does on TV. In that moment, she loses all ability to speak, think… or even breathe. This is not where she expected this night to go, to have a literal Avenger sitting in front of her. She didn’t even notice him come in or move around the room. It’s like he just materialised out of nowhere, right when she needed it. He holds out his hand, and she shakes it. As her fingers brush against his, something twinges in her stomach.

“Are you alright?” He frowns, clearly confused and concerned by her silence. Heat settles on her cheeks then, and she chuckles awkwardly.

“No, I’m okay. I’m just more shocked that Captain America is here more than anything. Forgive me for being so forward, but I thought someone like you would have no issue finding love. I mean… look at you.” Her sudden honesty takes her off guard slightly, and for a moment she’s worried that she’s embarrassed herself even more. Yet, to her relief, he chuckles, smirking slightly. Or maybe the reason she’s so forward around Sam is because of how safe and comfortable she feels around him already. It’s like they’ve known each other for years, rather than only just meeting now. But Sam’s kindness and ability to make anyone feel at ease isn’t surprising. After all, there’s a reason why Steve Rogers' chose him to be his successor.

“Well, dating is tough for everyone. And to be honest, most people I date aren’t as cool with me being gone for such long periods of time, or the whole dating a public figure side of things. Seems like they just want a ‘normal’ life.” He admits. Although he still seems upbeat, Y/N registers the disappointment lacing his tone. And it breaks her heart. The Captain America identity is such a huge part of Sam and his life, and he deserves someone who respects that, and is proud to have him representing it, and to be dating him. She wouldn’t mind that life at all. She’d be proud to be at his side, to know that her boyfriend is a symbol of hope and heroism for so many, and someone who saves the world day in and day out.

He glances over at her again, grinning once more. “But I am glad that I came tonight.” And something deep in Y/N’s stomach flutters, like it never has before. Is this it? Is this the feeling that I’ve met the one? Looking over at Sam, Y/N smiles. If it is, she’s glad it’s come now. “And besides, you don’t need to worry about the formal stuff now. Please call me Sam.”

“When I’m back in Delacroix, I love to go fishing with Bucky, my sister, and my nephews. Spending all that time out on the open water, having an ice cold beer as the sun beats down on you….” 

“Stop!” she gasps, moaning happily. “That sounds incredible. I’d love that. Just a shame I’ve never been on a boat before.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take you. It could be one of our next dates.” He winks, and Y/N giggles. 

“Oh, next time huh? I’d love that.” She sighs dreamily. God, this is incredible. Sam really is the full package. He’s caring, charming, hilarious… and, of course, drop dead gorgeous. After all, she noticed the outline of his muscles through his shirt pretty soon into their date. Although, given that he’s a literal superhero, that’s unsurprising. Despite that, though, she and Sam are still having a good time, regardless of his celebrity status.

Thankfully, tonight wasn’t such a failure after all.

Yet, a voice soon interrupts, bursting her perfect bubble of happy thoughts. “Excuse me? We were supposed to change over almost five minutes ago, and you two are still talking.” And that brings her back down to earth. Honestly, she’s been having such a good time with Sam that she forgot all about the speed dating element of this. Everyone else just faded away.

“Oh, sorry, man. I’ll go.” As Sam stands up to leave, Y/N reaches out, placing her hand on his and stopping him without even thinking about it. 

“Wait!” she gasps. “I don’t want you to go.”

“You… don’t?” Sam frowns. Almost as if he’s so used to heartbreak and failure that he can’t believe she actually does want him to stay. But Y/N doesn’t even need to think about it. It’s never been as clear to her as it is now.

“No. I don’t. Or at least, if you go, I’m coming with you. Besides… you owe me a fishing date, right?” She just hopes Sam feels the same way about her, and isn't ready to say goodbye just yet. So when he smiles, Y/N breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” He interlocks his fingers with hers then, running his thumb over her knuckles. 

“I’m paying.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m an Avenger, remember? I got this.” Before Y/N can argue or even say another word, Sam has shoved his cash into the hand of the teenage burger joint employee. “Keep the change man, alright?”

“Okay, next time I’m paying. Besides, I’m the one who recommended this place.” She orders when they’ve sat down with their food. Sam raises a brow, grinning.

“Next time, huh?”

“Hey, what did I say? You owe me a fishing trip, remember?” Yet she can’t ignore how heat settles on her cheeks once more, and how something in her stomach flutters with the way he gazes over at her. He looks at her like she’s the most important person in the world to him.

The restaurant isn’t too busy this time of night, meaning she and Sam are practically alone. Like they’re the only two people in the world right now. But honestly, Y/N doesn’t care if the restaurant is packed or empty. All she cares about now is being by Sam’s side. Like she said earlier, it feels like they’ve known each other for years now. They’re both just so comfortable and open around each other, nobody could’ve guessed they only met earlier tonight. Y/N just wishes this night could go on forever. 

If she could, she’d stay by his side forever.

After their meal, Sam insists on walking her home like the true gentlemanly superhero he is.

“Those burgers were incredible.” He sighs happily, holding his stomach. Y/N giggles.

“Told you so. It’s your turn to pick next time, alright Cap?”

“You know… I kinda love it when you call me Cap.” He admits, chuckling.

“I’ll be sure to do it all the time then… Cap.” She winks, which looks like it almost sends Sam’s heart into overdrive. It’s so strange, seeing such a charming literal superhero reduced to a grinning, love struck mess around her. But then again, she’s sure that she’s the same around him.

Sam walks her all the way home, keeping her hand still clasped in his. In fact, she doesn’t think he’s let go of her hand since they left the speed dating venue, keeping her safe and close to him the entire night. Not that she’s complaining, though. Honestly, she hopes he never lets her go.

Unfortunately for them both, soon their walk comes to an end, and they reach the outside of Y/N’s apartment building.

“Guess this is the end of the line.” Sam sighs. 

“Oh please, that’s such a Cap line.” Y/N rolls her eyes. Yet, she can’t help but laugh at his joke. “Seriously though, thank you for tonight, Sam. I had a lot of fun.” Immediately, the mood changes. It’s almost as if the happy moments from earlier tonight are gone as the pair remember that, at least for tonight, the good times are over. All Y/N can think of is one thing:

She doesn’t want this night, or her time with Sam, to ever end.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for taking a chance on me.” Y/N scoffs.

“I wasn’t taking a chance. I really connected with you, Sam, and I want to spend more time with you.” He starts grinning again, one of those huge smiles that takes over your entire face and with a warmth that feels like the sun itself. And it’s all for her.

“You know….” He trails off, chuckling. “I was going to ask if you really did want to go on another date with me, so I’m really glad you said that. Mostly, though, it’s because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen… and I think I’m falling in love with you, Y/N.” She gasps, and her heart begins to pound even faster. Sam comes closer, closing the gap between them both. So close they’re only inches apart now. “May I?” He whispers, tilting his head towards hers. Y/N nods, too speechless to say anything. Slowly, like they’re in a movie, Sam gently leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. When their lips connect, it sends a tingle down her spine and sends her heart into overdrive. Sam wraps his hands around her waist, whilst hers go onto his shoulders. He holds her there for what feels like hours, safe in his embrace. “Can I call you tomorrow?” He asks once they finally, yet reluctantly break apart.

“Of course. Like you even have to ask.” He leans in again, this time kissing her cheek.

“Goodnight Y/N.” He whispers, his breath hot against her cheek.

“Goodnight Sam.”

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[cadavagerr]

You may have seen Anthony Boyle on your screens recently as Harry Crosby in Apple tvs 'Masters of the air' or as Kevin Maxwell in 'Tetris', but where have you probably seen him before?

Before he rose to fame in 2016, he was in an episode of 'Game of thrones' as a Bolton Guard in the episode 'The laws of gods and men'. But he doesnt stay for long as he gets his throat cut.

His rise to fame started in 2016 when he landed the role of Scorpius Malfoy in the play 'Harry Potter and the Cursed Child' for which he was nominated for an Olivier and won. He went from a small local actor from Belfast to suddenly the main actor in a play that the world couldn't stop talking about. He spent three years running around in a blonde wig at the Palace theatre in London and the Lyric theatre in New York where the play is still shown to this day.

After this, he landed small roles such as David Donnely in 'Derry Girls', a comedy which is set in the town of Derry in Northern Ireland which is his home country. His friend, the writter of the show, approached him and asked him if he wanted to be in the show and he accepted, being in it for two episodes.

In 2018, he was cast as Jack Argyle in the BBC drama 'Ordeal by Innocence' which was written by Agatha Christie. A show about a family of adopted children who must work out who killed their mother, unfortunately, the blame is landed on Anthony Boyle's character.

In the same year, he played Liam Farrell in the drama series 'Come home' where he starred along side Christopher Eccleston. A mother unexpectedly abandons her husband and three children and they try to figure out what may have caused this.

In the year after, he played the role of Geoffrey Bache Smith in the biopic 'Tolkien' about the life of JRR Tolkien. Boyle plays one of thr actors closest friends through their time at school and during the war.

In 2020, he was in 'The plot against American' featuring Wynona Ryder. Based on the 2004 book by the same name, the story follows a Jewish working class family set in an alternate America where they watch popularist Charles Lindbergh, an aviator-hero and xenophobe, become President.

In 2021, he played Brian Wood in the true story of 'Danny Boy', a soldier who is accused of war crimes in Iraq.

2022 was a quiet year for Boyle as covid had stopped the production of most tv shows and movies but in 2023, Boyle starred along side Taron Egerton and Toby Jones as Kevin Maxwell in the biopic 'Tetris' which revolves around the game Tetris, its origins and how it became one of the most famous video games in history.

However, in 2024, Boyle seems to have won the lottery with four projects coming out this year already. The first, 'Masters of the air' where he plays an air sick navigator in world war two with Austin Butler. The series which is made by Apple tv is set to be released over two months from January 26th to March 15th.

And if you're not already sick of seeing his face, his new show (surprise surprise, on Apple tv) is set to release on March 15th. Boyle plays the famous actor John Wilkes Booth in 'Manhunt' who assasinated President Lincoln in 1865 and follows the days after this as the nation slides to a halt in the search for the actor.

He is then set to play Jack Barak in the Disney plus show 'Shardlake' which is set on the book by the same name. Set in the reign of King Henry VIII in the 16th century, Boyle plays former Cromwell henchman turned law clerk and investigator for the main character.

Boyle is also set to feature in the New York times best seller book adaptation say nothing which is about the struggles and troubkes in northern ireland which comes out this summer.

These are just some of the many tv shows, movies and theatre shows that Anthony Boyle has and will star in. When he was just starting out acting, he said that he would take any role that fit his description (white male with dark brown hair) meaning he was in alot of embarassing but funny stuff. One where he dresses up as a mummy for halloween and must escape a group of killer clowns, one where he plays a man who is inlove with a pillow and one where he plays a convict on the run in Northern Ireland and has to wear a dress and a wig to escape authorities. However, if you lived in Belfast in the late 2000s, you could probably see him lurking behind big Tescos with a plastic bag on his head.

It seems that Boyle is turning out to be a very promising actor with lots of work lined up. Infact, he is set to record a new show which is set in Scotland. He said on the British talk show 'Sunday Brunch' that he is looking forward to it and has to talk in a Scottish accent.

[agir1ukn0w]

HEY YO, ANTO GIRLIES!!!

here's a permanent link to our brand new home on discord, Bienvenue!✨

tagging my girlies @winniemaywebber @precious-little-scoundrel @easy-peezy-squeeze-a-lemon @violaobanion @eveningprimroseblossom @beenoskees @harrycrozby @sagesolsticewrites @scuttle-buttle @barrykeoghussy @hellfirequinnie

[spockvarietyhour]

The Plot Against America - Part 2

[johnschneiderblog]

It ain't me!

Faithful readers of this blog know that I'm joined at the hip, digitally speaking, with that other John Schneider, the actor/singer/songwriter (I must be feeling generous today) most famous for his role as Bo Duke in the early-80s TV show "Dukes of Hazzard."

As such, I've been accused of snubbing fans, crushing hopes and even heartlessly selling "The General Lee" (the confederate flag-infested Dodge Charger Bo piloted on his moonshining rounds).

It's my burden to bear. But associating me with the 2022 movie "To Die For" is, well ... that's taking it too far. Yes, John Schneider wrote, directed and starred in the movie. The other John Schneider. NOT ME.

I didn't know the movie existed until Thursday when I got a thank-you email from a woman in Manila, Arizona. She wrote, in part: "It's time Americans stand up to those who will not realize what we have and make a mockery of our flag and nation."

So, I found the trailer and read a little of what Schneider said about the movie: " ... What can one man do to fight the intentional decay of the greatest country the world has ever known? Speak out. Live a patriotic example. And, if necessary, die for his flag. Why..? Because she's worth it." Ah, geeze ...

Some snippets from online reviews:

" ... It's like (Schneider) teamed up with some car salesman he met at AA and shot the whole thing in his basement against an Amazon Basics green blanket ..."

"Wow … he thought calling the Native American neighbor 'Tonto' was a good look?"

"I love how right-wingers always create these geriatric, macho patriot fantasies around their identity politics where they get to pretend like they’re an oppressed minority in an intolerant country."

"The acting, dialogue, self-victimization, and plot are so ridiculously awful I can’t believe anybody spent time and money on this."

"The generation of 'get off my lawn' brings you 2 hours of MAGA talking points that liberals hate America and the youth is trash. This may be one of the most poorly shot, edited and sound captured movies in existence."

[getinthehandbasket]

Stucky Fic recs for GFFA

@gffa do I have recs for you! Disclaimer: these are *all* coming from my bookmarks, which are absolutely filled with porn and other filth. Feel free to roam there as you please. I know you (probably) won't judge me.

First, we start with individual "fix-it" or "fix-it"-like fics.

everest by mcwho Rating: Explicit 904 words Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Drabble, Dirty Talk, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, that last tag undersells it i need something like, Steve Rogers is Fucking Filthy, Name-Calling, Top Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Multiple Orgasms Summary: Three O's in, and Bucky can’t quite remember which way is up anymore. Or, Steve gives and gives and Bucky takes it.

The Life of Bucky Barnes by stephrc79 Rating: Mature 292,199 words Tags: Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Gun Violence, Nightmares, Standard Stucky life issues, recovery bucky, post-CATWS, boys being little shits, sorta kinda NSFW, don't even mention the peen, violence against MC, Blood, past mention of mental instability, past mention of wanting death, but that last one is brief, and this is Recovery!Bucky, it's kind of expected, Spiders, mention of spiders, but only for three chapters Summary: The ongoing story behind the pictures from the Instagram The Life of Bucky Barnes. This work is a series of ficlets that tells the story of each picture. As each chapter progresses, it will encompass one or two of the images, how they appear chronologically. These are inspired works for petite-madame with her blessing.

Thank God for PR by Cimorene105 Rating: Explicit 37,886 words 14 works Tags: too many to list Summary: Steve and Bucky make some startling discoveries about each other on live TV. From there, it becomes a happy struggle to fit even more of each other into their daily lives.

Good Boy by triedunture Rating: Explicit 13,473 words Tags: Collars, Dom/sub Play, Multiple Orgasms, Exhibitionism, Body Worship, Master/Pet, Petplay, Hair-pulling, Hair Kink, Bathing/Washing, Praise Kink, Kink Negotiation Summary: Bucky is still adjusting to life with the Avengers, and Steve is willing to do whatever it takes to make him feel comfortable. Increasingly, though, what seems to make him comfortable is strangely intimate.

Surprise, Steve! You're a gentle dom and Bucky wants to be your pretty pet!

A Fucking Written Invitation by chaya, Desdemon Rating: Explicit 9,563 words Tags: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Pepper Potts, Clint Barton, UST, Dubcon Kissing Summary: "Jesus, Steve, I just had to explain to a ninety-something year old ex-killer that it was normal to have dreams and wake up with unusual physical attributes and, and listen, we have to get him a male GP, a, a man, because when I asked him why he hadn't just called her to discuss this he looked at me like I'd suggested he slap her in the face."

Alternate titles: "It's Just You". "Steve Rogers Can't Get a Goddamned Clue". "SSRIs and You". "Steve, Natasha is Going to Hit You". "Buying a Clue". "Steve's Clue-Field is Barren".

(slight tw for a non-con makeout moment.)

i was found and now i don't roam these streets by hipsterchrist Rating: Mature 15,913 words Tags: Bucky Bear, Team Dynamics, Team Bonding, Friendship, Therapy, Hospitals, Medical, Illnesses, Minor Character Death, Child Death, Teddy Bears, New York City, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Self-Esteem Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Feels, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier Summary: They’ve decided to start producing Bucky Bears again, now that he’s all shiny and redeemed and fighting for good on this big Avengers misfits team. "He has a little shiny gray arm," Bucky says, wiggling the stuffed arm in question, one of the tweaks made in the new model. It takes Steve a second to realize that Bucky’s got a small smile on his face, actually looks a little bit proud around the eyes.

Or, Bucky relearns himself and how to be on a team, the rest of the Avengers try to get answers, and everyone watches too much Criminal Minds.

Handling Wants by eclecticxdetour Rating: Explicit 5,063 words Tags: Rimming, Barebacking, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Bottom Steve Summary: As the asset, desire was nonexistant. As Bucky Barnes, he's unsure how to deal with being allowed to want.

All the First Times by Vee (Vera_DragonMuse) Rating: Mature 9,694 words Tags: Recovery, rebuilding the self, from the ground up, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier Summary: Bucky starts over and finds new ways to survive.

Next, I offer links to my bookmarks, filtered in various ways:

Bucky/Steve, no other pairings with those two. Includes dark fic, non-fix-it, AUs, etc.

Bucky/Steve, including them in other pairings or OT3s- mostly Steve/Darcy/Bucky in various configurations

All Marvel fics*

All my bookmarks - if you wanna judge me pls do it in your inside-your-head voice lol *the link errored out when I tried to exclude *all* other fandoms that aren't Marvel. If it's still erroring out, let me know and I'll re-include some other fandoms and you can just skip those.