#why was he at hop's wedding in the 1800s

[ghostlynimbus]

how the fuck did phil callahan somehow end up tagged as a participant in every event in my timeline how how how

[neerasrealm]

Oh no your story is to good now I want a pt 3 laughing jack x reader (;_;) Is it ok to ask for more? If not, why not a Slen x LJ secreat relationship? since I saw you made a post about it

I’m glad you liked the story so much! Unfortunately at the time I couldn’t think of anything for a part 3, but I COULD think of plenty of stuff for a secret relationship au so...here you go. consider this a part one of a series that I’ll work on when y’all give me the time

also a couple things I wanna clarify; one, this takes place in the late 1800s - early 1900s, and two, LJ is a fallen angel in this story, but in my regular hcs he’s a regular angel- just- didn’t want people to think that shfgsha.

Slender awoke feeling groggy and stiff. His head ached and there was a rotten taste in his mouth. He groaned gently and blinked in the morning light streaming in through the window. He slowly looked around. He was in an unfamiliar room, with pastel orange walls that were covered in sheets of paper that had crude pencil and crayon drawings all over them. There were toys scattered around haphazardly along with balloons and paper garlands. The room looked...childish. But the furniture was ornate, and fit the room like it had always been there.

However, Slender’s attention wasn’t on the room for long, because he quickly realised he wasn’t alone in the unfamiliar bed. His arms were wrapped around someone big and soft. Their body was thick, and their arms were wound tightly around his own thin, frail body. Slender couldn’t see their face, but it was definitely pressed into his chest. He couldn’t see much of them below wispy black hair, but it was certainly enough for Slender to tell two things. One, they were a stranger, and two, however he had gotten here had involved something removing his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, followed by the two of them curled up together in bed, hugging each other tight.

Panic set into Slender quicker than you could say ‘’good morning’’. As Slender lay there trying not to hyperventilate his mind raced and scrambled to remember anything leading up to him getting here. The night before- what had happened? He remembered yesterday clearly enough. His father had spent the whole day pestering him about his future wedding, which meant Slender hadn’t a single moment to rest and relax. So after dinner, he snuck out and down to earth. He soon found himself in France, and later, a bar. And that’s when things got blurry.

Oh his family was going to be so angry-! He was supposed to be the responsible one! He never broke any rules, he didn’t just- get drunk! He didn’t run off in the night and end up shirtless in beds with people he didn’t know! He was enga- well technically he wasn’t, the marriage wasn’t properly arranged yet, but still! This wasn’t him! Oh he was going to be in so much trouble…

As he was trying to figure out how to get out of this situation without having a panic attack, the person on top of him shifted. He froze, his blood running cold. ‘’Please don’t wake up please don’t wake up please do-’’

‘’Mmmnnghh…’’ the person shifted, their arms uncurling from around him. One of their hands instead lay atop Slender’s bare- er- breast, and leaned against it for support as they sat up. Slender’s face flushed an extremely dark grey. The person shook their head, messy black hair falling around their face, obscuring it. Slender could see them better now. Their sleeves were striped black and white, and they wore a short grey shirt. One of their shoulders had a feathered shoulder pad on it. The second one for their other shoulder was probably on the bedroom floor somewhere, along with Slender’s jacket. ‘’Ungh.’’ they grunted. Slender stayed still as he could just waiting for the moment the other person realised their situation. It was definitely far worse for them than it was for him. Slender only had to worry about his family being angry at him. This person had to wake up in bed with a faceless monster. ‘’H-hah?’’ yep. They had definitely realised. That noise of confusion was all the confirmation Slender needed.

They slowly looked up, their eyes trailing up Slender’s thin, white body. Their head raised and stared at Slender in shock and confusion. Their face was white, just like him- but they had a face- and a pretty one at that. They had thin, black brows, and lips that were covered in smudged black lipstick. Their nose was- shaped- like a cone and it was striped just like their sleeves. Black and white. But their eyes...oh gods their eyes. They were big and round, and the colour of ice. Their eyes were bright and innocent looking in their haze of confusion. Slender blushed harder. Great, he was in bed with someone attractive.

"...w-who th' fock are ye?" The very attractive stranger asked. Slender's brows raised in surprise. Their voice was deep and gravelly, and they had the thickest accent he had ever heard. 

"I-" Slender's brain was completely fried. Whether it was from panic, the hangover or total fear induced by this attractive stranger with an intimidating voice, he wasn't sure. "My- My name is Slender." He finally stammered out. "I-I'm so sorry about all of this I don't usually-" he was cut off by the other person shifting and instead sitting on top of Slender, effectively straddling him. Oh. Oh he didn't like this position at all.

"I'm Jack," the attractive stranger grunted, rubbing at his head with a bandaged black hand. "Ow'd we ge' 'ere…?"

"I um- I'm not sure…" Slender murmured. Jack...he remembered that name. "We- met at a bar last night, I think I recall you sitting next to me. I- don't remember much besides that I'm afraid…" Slender looked Jack over now that he could see him better. His hands were bony and black, wrapped in bandages. His torso was also wrapped up for some odd, unknown reason. He wore a short grey shirt that really only covered his chest, suspenders that were striped various shades of black, white and grey, and shorts. Shorts! His pants were still on thank the gods! "Is er- is this...your room…?"

"Yeh, yeh tis." Jack nodded as he squinted at the window. He reached over and pulled the curtains shut, muttering something about how it was too early to be awake. He looked back at Slender. "So we me' a' a pub?"

"Yes." Slender nodded. He paused before asking the next question. "Why...why aren't you um- f-freaking out?" He tilted his head. "You do realize I'm...not human…?"

"Tha' wuz g'nna be me next quest'on." Jack looked up at him. "Ye're bluddy 'orrifyin' bu' I didn' wanna say anyfin'. Tha'd be rude."

Oh. How polite. Slender coughed, clearing his throat. "I- well it's a little...difficult, to explain, but erm-" he hesitated. "I'm a- well I'm a fae- well partially, I'm fae on one side and then my father is of angelic nature so-"

"Ye're an angel?!" Jack cut in. Slender recoiled in surprise and gave a meek nod. Jack grinned. "I am too! Fockin' 'ell, after Jill I though' I wouldn' find another 'ne, bu' 'ere ye are!" He looked thrilled now, seemingly forgetting all the negatives of the situation.

"...no you aren't." Slender looked Jack over. Looking at him now, it was easy to see he wasn't actually human. His proportions were too off for that. He certainly had the makings of an angel, the eyes of one and the friendly tone of voice, but there was too much throwing it off. His black and white colour scheme, his bony black hands that were tipped with claws, and his teeth...looking at them now, they were sharp. Dangerous. "I think it's more accurate to say you're a fal-"

"I'm no' fallen!" Jack interrupted him. His friendly demeanor was gone now, replaced with an angry glare. "Sure I've lost me colours an' I'm no' th' 'oliest bloke around, bu' yes're 'ardly perfect yerselves, now are ya?" He snapped. Slender recoiled defensively. "I'm an angel. Always wuz an' always will be."

"Okay, okay." Slender replied quickly. He didn't want to get on Jack's bad side. Fallen angels were known for three things. Their lack of colours, their cunning intelligence, and their anger. Thinking about it now…could it be that Jack had known he was an angel last night…? Had he sensed it and targeted him?

"Well er-" Jack broke him out of his thoughts. He had seemingly calmed down a bit. Slender looked at him. "Can I offer ye breakfas'?"

"I- well I don't think I should, I should really...get home…" Slender glanced aside. Home...god his family was going to kill him.

"Ah c'mon, i's still early!" Jack reached down and grabbed Slender's hand. "c'mon, ye're in Paris! Nobody does breakfas' like th' french!" 

Before Slender could protest, Jack hopped off the bed and tugged his new faceless friend up off of it. He grinned. His free arm stretched out, grabbing Slender's jacket from where it had been dropped on the floor. Slender watched the clown's arm in fascination. It could extend and curl as if he had no bones at all. 

"Ere ye go!" Jack handed Slender his jacket, then grabbed his own missing clothes from the floor. "Th' bathroom's across th' 'all. I recommen' cleanin' yerself up." He added before shrugging on his shoulder pad and cheerfully striding out of the room with his shoes under his arm. 

Slender sighed and fixed his clothes, buttoning up his shirt and slipping on his jacket. He left the room and found himself in a cherry red hall. The walls were again decorated with well- anything. Mostly paintings. He opened the door across from him and found it led to a bright blue bathroom. Jack was certainly fond of his colourful walls. It was a cramped room, decorated with a nautical theme. Toward the back of the room was a bath with a shower head. Slender squinted for a moment. The bath had an absurd amount of children's toys in it, and on the shelf in the corner he could see a bottle of...fabric softener. No soap just fabric softener. Did Jack wash himself with fabric softener???

This entire place was messy and unkempt. Did Jack ever clean? At least it meant one thing. Jack most certainly wasn't Slender's type, and this whole thing wouldn't go further than one drunken night and a hungover breakfast. He turned his attention from the decor, to the mirror.

Oh. Oh lord. His face and what he could see of his neck was covered in smudged black lipstick. The same smudged black lipstick that had been on Jack earlier. His face flushed such a dark colour it was practically black. 

"There y'are! I almos' bluddy fell asleep 'ere!" Jack exclaimed as Slender, now lipstick-free, walked into the pink living room. Slender frowned, looking Jack over.

"You're...wearing the same clothes?"

"Yeh." Jack looked down at himself. "Somefink wrong wiv em?"

"Well I thought you'd- I don't know, change? Don't they smell bad?"

Jack shrugged. "They smell like me, an' I don' swea' so…" he looked aside. "I changed me shoes though!" He stuck out his leg to show Slender the long black boots he was wearing. They had pointed toes, raised heels and showed off how slim and long Jack's legs were. Slender blushed. 

"...I see."

Jack stood up off the couch and looked at Slender, swinging his arms and smiling. "Ya ready?"

Slender sighed. ‘’I suppose…’’

While Jack had his back turned, Slender shifted into his human form, then followed after him. Jack paused, looking him over once he realised Slender had changed. His human form was tall, and extremely pale, with blonde, nearly white hair. He looked up at Jack with small, brown eyes. Jack blinked.

‘’...Slen?’’

‘’Yes?’’

‘’...ye changed.’’

Slender looked unamused. ‘’It’s called blending in. We’re among humans?’’

‘’Oh. Righ’.’’ Jack looked at him, then closed the door to his apartment, not bothering to lock it. He walked past Slender and down the stairs. ‘’Ye comin’?’’

Slender followed after him, frowning. ‘’What about your disguise?’’

‘’Don’t ‘ave one.’’ 

‘’You don’t?’’

‘’Nah. I can’t do any ‘f tha’ shapeshiftin’ stuff,’’ he shrugged. ‘’I jus’ tell every’ne I’m a mime an’ they believe me.’’

Slender nodded slowly. Huh. That was...surprisingly smart. The two of them stepped out of the building and Slender looked around. The area around them was run down, dirty, a slum. Slender looked around. ‘’You live here…?’’

‘’Yep.’’ Jack walked along, not a worry in the world. ‘’Livin’ is cheap over ‘ere.’’

‘’You left your front door open- in an area like this?’’ Slender tilted his head. Jack shrugged.

‘’If some’ne needs somewhere warm ta stay they can jus’ slip in, an’ i’s no’ like I ‘ave anyfink worth stealin’. Nofink I can’t jus’ replace a’ least.’’

‘’That’s…’’ Slender blinked. ‘’That’s...really kind…’’ 

Jack smiled a bit and glanced at him. ‘’Eh, I’s th’ least I can do.’’ he murmured. ‘’Lo’a folks are ou’ on their own, ‘ungry an’ cold. If I can give ‘em somewhere safe ta stay fer a li’le bi’, I’m ‘appy ta do i’.’’

As they walked, Slender listened with interest as Jack shared his stories of guests he’d had in his small apartment and friends he’d made from just calmly talking with those that often went ignored. It was fascinating to Slender, how Jack seemed to just emit an air of relaxation and cheer. How someone could just- start a conversation with a stranger, how he could consider so many people his friends and how he just gave them all he had merely because he felt it was more important they had it than him. There was something about Jack that Slender just...couldn’t explain. Something drew him in and made him feel...different, from how he felt at home. Being with Jack was unlike anything else he knew.

‘’Ere we are, china pla’e!’’ Jack exclaimed, running ahead of Slender. He hopped into the air and landed on the base of a streetlamp, hanging onto it with one hand as he leaned off of it. He laughed as Slender ran to catch up to him. He stood up and turned around, looking behind him. ‘’See tha’?’’

Slender looked up. In front of them was a busier, more built up street, bordering a massive canal. Up in the distance, Slender could see the Eiffel Tower, looming over everything. Jack turned and grinned down at him.

‘’I know th’ bes’ bluddy place by th’ river, ye’re g’nna love i’.’’ he hopped back down onto the ground and started walking again. "C'mon!"

Slender followed Jack to a small bakery on a street corner. Though it looked small, and not that wealthy, the smell coming from it was heavenly. He paused for a moment, admiring how quaint the little place was, before following Jack inside.

"Bonjour madame! Comment ça va?" Jack greeted the owner in a very bad french accent. She did not look pleased to see him.

"Bonjour Jack. Petit dejeuner?" She asked tiredly. Jack nodded.

"Oui, merci." Jack turned and smiled at Slender. "I come 'ere all th' time. Real good place."

"Mmm," Slender looked around. "Your french is terrible."

"Oi!" Jack glared down at him. "Rude!"

"I'm just saying."

"Well- I'd like ta see you do be'er! Ye 'aven't spoken a lick 'f french since ye woke up!"

Slender gave him an unamused look, then turned to the owner. "Madame," she turned to look at him.  "Je voudrais dire que c'est un endroit charmant et que votre nourriture sent délicieuse."

The owner blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Merci monseuir!" She chirped. "Puis-je vous offrir quelque chose?"

"Non, non. Jack est paie pour moi." Slender shook his head. He looked up at Jack and smiled smugly. "How was that?"

"...Oh fock off ye cheeky codger."

Slender snorted, then broke into a fit of laughter. He had no idea why that was so funny to him, but when he heard Jack chuckling along beside him, it made him grin even wider.

"Monsieur, ton petit dejeuner." The two of them were interrupted by the owner putting a small white box and two coffees onto the counter. Jack grinned and took them, handing the owner some francs before turning and walking toward the door.

"C'mon, Slen."

Slender smiled and followed after Jack. He tilted his head. "Aren't angels supposed to be good at languages?" He asked with a sly smile.

"I am good a' languages! I's jus' speakin' em tha's 'ard." Jack replied defensively.

"Ah. So that's why your english is so bad too."

"Oi!" Jack turned and glared at him. "I'm a born and bred englishmun, excuse you!"

Slender laughed. "Sorry, sorry." He murmured. The two of them crossed the street and walked along the canal. Jack led him to a bench and the two of them sat down. The morning sun was warm. Bright and welcoming. Jack set the box between the two of them and sipped his coffee. Slender looked out at the large river in front of them. "Wow…" he murmured. "...it's beautiful."

"It is, innit?" Jack smiled. "I luv ea'in' 'ere. I's so peaceful." He opened the box and revealed it was full of pastries. Croissants, pain au chocolats, madalines, eclairs and more. Slender stared in surprise. The smell coming from the small box was heavenly. His stomach growled. 

"Go on, ea' up. Ye're a stick." Jack said through a mouthful of croissant. Slender smiled a bit and daintily grabbed a pain au chocolat, taking a small bite. The taste was heavenly and sweet. He hummed happily. Jack watched him and smiled, pleased. "Been a while since I a'e wiv some'ne." He murmured. He looked back at the river. "Much less some'ne I'm after sleepin' wiv."

Slender coughed loudly, choking on his breakfast. Jack reached over and lightly smacked his back. Slender coughed and looked over at Jack, blushing a dark red. Jack tilted his head.

"Ye okay…?"

"Y-Yes just-" Slender glanced away. "I...almost forgot about how we met."

Jack laughed. "Almost?! I can't remember a single fing from last night!" He exclaimed. "Well- act'ally…" he paused for a second. "I do remember one fing."

"Hm?" Slender looked at him.

"Ye're a bluddy good kisser."

Slender made a feeble squeaking noise and quickly looked away. Jack laughed quietly at how hard he was blushing. The hand that had been patting Slender's back reached over and squeezed his shoulder. ‘’Eh, relax china pla’e…’’ Jack tilted his head and cocked a brow, smiling.

‘’Don’t get the wrong idea,’’ Slender muttered. ‘’I’m- not available.’’

Jack retracted his hand and looked at Slender in surprise. ‘’Ye- ye’re da’in’ some’ne?’’

‘’Well- no not- not exactly.’’ Slender fidgeted nervously. ‘’I’m- supposed to get married soon. My parents want me to. They’re going to...arrange it. I’m not technically engaged yet.’’

‘’Ohhh….’’ Jack nodded in understanding. ‘’So- ye are available.’’

Slender looked at Jack, blinking in surprise. Did- did he really just- Slender looked away quickly to hide his blush. ‘’Technically yes b-but-’’ he gulped. ‘’This- this is a once off! We hardly know each other.’’

‘’Then…’ow abou’ we ge’ ta know each o’her.’’ Jack scooted closer and rested his hand on Slender’s. He gave him a friendly smile. ‘’No kissin’, no da’in’, jus’ us bein’ buds.’’

Slender paused. ‘’...buds?’’

Jack nodded. ‘’Yeh! Me an’ you. Pals.’’

Slender paused for a moment. Jack’s smile widened. His eyes were big, kind, welcoming. They were innocent, friendly. Like all he wanted from Slender was just his company. He glanced away before he could get sucked into them. 

‘’Well I...suppose a quick walk to the Eiffel Tower after breakfast wouldn’t hurt.’’

[captainscanadian]

Stay | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Prologue)

My Masterlist

Summary: Your best friend is marrying your older brother and the question is whether your other friends would show up. Steve’s was easy to track down. But Bucky, not so much...

Word Count: 1800+

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tamilian!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x OMC Arjun Y/L/N

Warnings: MINIMAL TAMIL DIALOGUE (I’m more than happy to translate!) & TAMIL CULTURE , References to Hinduism, Mild Swearing

A/N:This is my entry for @bucky-smiles​‘s 2K Bollywood Writing Challenge! This challenge got me so excited because I wanted to show off my culture in my writing! My prompt was to write a Bucky fic inspired by my all time favorite Bollywood movie - Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani! Y’all should go watch it because it’s fucking amazing! But I decided to write this fic with a Tamilian reader because I am Tamilian. I was born in Sri Lanka. But I know that there are a few other Tamilian friends on this site who would love to read this. @jalapenobarnes​ & @fafulous​, THIS ONE IS FOR YOU, MY CHELLANGALA! Also, all my fellow Desi Marvel stans are more than welcome to read this fic and spread the love! <3

Natasha Romanoff had ever been the most “feminine” or “lady-like” or a “girly-girl” like most people had wanted her to be. She had never fit into society’s per-conceived notion that a woman must be a certain way. Born in Russia, she had moved to America when she had been six years of age. Fitting in had never been easy for her. For starters, it had taken her years’ worth of sessions with a dialect coach and tons of practice to be rid of her Russian accent. Eventually, when managed to get her English language skills in check, not many of the kids she went to school with were willing to take a chance on her friendship, except for Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

During her teenage years, she was the most rebellious kid in all of Brooklyn. A tomboy, they called her, with her short red hair, ripped skinny jeans, leather jackets, tattoos and piercings. Oh she had it all! She had spent most of her time skateboarding around Williamsburg and sneaking into the local art shows with her two best friends. But things had changed so much since then.

She was a grown woman now, well into her thirties. Her short red hair had grown down to her midriff. Her nose piercing had closed up years ago, the tattoos on her back barely visible to anyone anymore. The ripped jeans and leather jackets had been replaced by pencil skirts and pantsuits. Natasha had not expected to be a rather popular artist in New York, with her own studio in her hometown and her masterpieces selling for millions of dollars.

Perhaps, the most shocking thing about Nat’s life was not her physical transformation or the way she had realized her dreams of becoming a successful artist. It was how she had fallen in love with a certain Arjun Y/L/N. Born in Russia and raised in Brooklyn, she never would have expected to be marrying into Tamilian family. Yet, love did not know or care about one’s ethnicity or culture. She loved him and he loved her, so now they were getting married.  

A month from today, she would be Mrs. Y/L/N. But for now, she was spending her last few days as Miss. Romanoff handwriting her wedding invitations to her loved ones. She never would have thought that she would have a traditional Hindu wedding; it had been her idea ever since Arjun had proposed. After all, she did have a wonderful relationship with his family and she felt honored to be a part of that. Embracing the culture that her man had grown up with had been the best part of getting married. She had always been a part of the family.

The wedding preparations were well under way now. While it was meant to be the bride’s family who was meant to take care of most of the expenses for the multiple ceremonies and rituals, your family had let go of such traditional notions for the sake of this union. The bride and groom were making an equal financial contribution to the wedding, a mutual decision between the two of them.

“Amma?” Natasha called out to your mother, who had been busy preparing some sweet treats that were meant to go along with the invitations. “Did Y/N tell you what time she gets out of work? She was supposed to be here an hour ago to help me out with the rest of the invitations.”

Your mother drained the last batch of jalebi’s from the frying pan before drenching them in the sugar syrup. She turned off the stove and wiped her hands with a tea towel, walking over to the dining table where her daughter-in-law-to-be had been sitting for the last hour. “You know how she is. She never gets out of work on time and when I ask her why, she gives you a speech about how she worked so hard to become a doctor for the sake of her family and that we should not be complaining about how much she works.”

Nat let out a chuckle as she set down her pen. “You’d think that she would have taken some time off from work to help out with the wedding. It is her brother’s wedding and I am her best friend, aren’t I?”

Before your mother could respond to that, she heard the sound of your car pulling up in the driveway. “And there she is!”

Hopping out of your car, you ran your hand through your partially went hair. Having gotten out of work later than you had expected, you had rushed back to your apartment to shower. You had not bothered with drying your hair, as you had been in a hurry. “Amma!” You called out to your mother as you used your key to unlock the door and entered, kicking off your shoes and making your way down to the living room. “Amma, where are you?”

“In here, Y/N!” Natasha called out to you as she picked up her pen and another invitation, looking down at her list of people whom she still had to invite to the wedding.

You skipped over to the kitchen. “Amma!” You exclaimed as you pulled your mother into a hug, placing a kiss on her cheek before giving her your best pouty lips. “Amma, ore oru strong cup of coffee, please? I just got out of work and I’m so tired. Please?”

Your mother gave you a playful eye roll. “Sit down; I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.”

“You’re a good Amma!” You gave her a nod as you walked over to the table, hugging Natasha from behind. “Anni!”

“That is something I can definitely get used to.” She chuckled, softly. “You are such a spoiled brat and you know that, right?”

“Perks of being the youngest in the family, I guess.” You admitted with a shrug of your shoulders, pulling up the chair across from Nat and sitting down. “Amma, is there any tiffin? I’m hungry!” You called out towards the kitchen, earning an eye roll from your sister-in-law-to-be.

“Don’t expect me to spoil the shit out of you when you come over to your brother and I’s.” She joked.

“What? Are we really setting the ground rules now?” You asked her with an eyebrow raised, giggling softly as you eyed the stack of envelopes that she had already labeled in calligraphy. You picked up the one on top, seeing the name ‘Steven Rogers’ written in cursive. “Did Steve say anything about coming to the wedding? The last I heard, he fired the head chef at his restaurant and he’s looking for a new one. I think he has a lot going on now, ever since that food critic gave him a poor rating and tanked his business.”

“Oh no, he’s been saying how busy he is. But if he doesn’t show up, I’m planning on getting my ass to Manhattan and dragging him over to the temple myself.”

You let out a laugh as you shook your head. Those two really were the best of friends. You, Natasha and Steve had attended the same high school together. Of course, you had not been such close friends back then. But Steve and Natasha had been best friends since middle school. They had practically been inseparable for as long as you’ve known them.

While you had only been friends with Natasha since your second year of undergrad, you had known her long before. You had become the least unlikely pair of friends – the rebellious Russian girl and the studious Tamilian nerd. You owed it all to that one ski trip to The Hamptons a little over twelve years ago, for bringing the two of you together. Now she was marrying your older brother and becoming a part of your family.

“Oh shit, I screwed this up!” Natasha groaned as she crossed out one of the names that she had just transcribed onto an envelope, tossing it aside before picking up a new one to fix her mistake.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you reached across the table to grab the envelope that she had jut discarded, seeing his crossed out name written in black ink.

Bucky.

“J-A-M-E-S...” Natasha spelled out his name as she wrote it neatly across the envelope. “B-U-C-H-A-N-A-N. BARNES. There!” Picking up an invitation and slipping it into the envelope, she sealed it with a lick and set it on top of her finished stack of envelopes. “Thank you for helping me with writing these invitations, Y/N.” She remarked, sarcastically. “Now we need to pack up the sweet treats and mail them out!”

You gave her a nod. “We’ll do that first thing in the morning.”

Once your brother got home from work, the four of you enjoyed a well-deserved family meal together. After a hard day’s work, it was something that you very much needed. Even though you had moved out of your childhood home once you had graduated from Columbia Medical School, you had been a frequent visitor ever since. As your mother lived alone once you had fled the nest, you made sure to keep her company during her lonely nights. With the wedding preparations, it seemed more convenient to be at the house more often. While Arjun and Natasha were staying over, you tend to pop by every now and then to take on the role of your sister-in-law-to-be’s Maid of Honor and help out with some of the wedding planning.

After dinner, your brother had retreated to his old bedroom to attend an important phone call from work. As Nat and your mother shared the task of doing dishes and packing up the sweets that your mother had prepared, you found yourself lurking under the bed in your childhood bedroom. You retrieved a little cardboard box that you had been keeping hidden for years now. This box was filled with so many memories from your childhood and teenage years – from your high school yearbook to the Polaroid photos that you had taken during your trip to The Hamptons.

You flipped through the yearbook to see the photos of you and your friends – Y/N Y/L/N, Natasha Romanoff, Steven Rogers and James Barnes. Bucky. There was always something special about him, the way he lit up every room he had walked into. Bucky was the loudest voice in the room, the life of the party. He was the nerd with the camera, consumed by his wanderlust. He was a man of everyone’s dreams, with dreams of his own that he was chasing all the way to the other side of the world. Bucky. Where ever in the world he was right now, nobody loved to go on an adventure like him. Twelve years it had been since you had first fallen in love with him.

[pollylynn]

“Keep me close.” —Kate Beckett, Sleeper (7 x 20)

Title: Potboiler Rating: T WC: 1800

A/N: I’m sorry this is so long and so . . .  terribly project-y and fix-it-y. I really did try to write something else.

He’s not sure what he expected, and the problem—one of many problems—may be that he hasn’t expected. He’s been very pointedly not expecting for the last nine months, and now what he has is this: A wholly unsatisfying story, told in bits and pieces by people who, given  their chosen profession or penance or whatever they want to call it, really ought to be better at it.

Except maybe they didn’t have to be better at it. That's a possibility that just about knocks him down. He examines the elements of the story. He picks it apart, and honestly, it’s pathetic—a ticking clock, the one man in all the world who knew the details, the one . . . high school friend of the one man in all the world who was famous enough to ride along on a world-saving mission?

To call it pulp is an insult to one of his favorite genres, but he can see it. He can see how he’d fall for it. Hell, he has fallen for it. With Sophia, with his father—he’s fallen hook, line, and sinker for the idea that he’s the key to saving the world, and it hardly matters that it seems to have been true this time. Or at least it doesn’t matter enough.

It haunts me.

His confession to Burke feels slick and oily and false now. He may have been pointedly not expecting anything, but still, he’s asked himself countless times not just what could have made him leave, but what could have made him leave like that? Abandoning her at the altar—leaving her and his mother and his daughter to think him dead—what could have had him, just hours later, tossing a bag of money into a dumpster, a payoff for destroying the only evidence that might have led her to him?

An immediate, credible threat to them—Kate, Alexis, his mother. It’s the only possibility he’s ever considered, given that timeline. The only one, and it turns his stomach to think that, instead, he must have lapped up this dreck. It makes him reel with self-loathing to realize that they’d have had no time at all to really work on him—to really convince him—so he must have leapt at the idea.

You missed your wedding. But you also saved tens of thousands of lives.

Hearing a line like that and hopping right on board. Yeah, that sounds like him. It sounds exactly like the grandiose, egotistical, perpetual adolescent he is.

He doesn’t know what to do with it.

It haunts me.  

It takes on a completely different meaning in the days after all is revealed. After too fucking little is revealed. He tries, once again, to not expect. He becomes a mirror to Alexis, to his mother. They are satisfied. They are relieved, and he’s already put them through so much. He’s shut them out. He’s kept them from expecting anything—any kind of resolution—so he smiles back now. With them, he walks in the world as if a weight has been lifted.

With Ryan and Esposito, he plays the role. Sorry, boys. Need to know. He winks theatrically and struts. He wishes—and he knows it’s messed up—that Esposito weren’t satisfied at last by two and a half bodies and this stupid, byzantine plot. He wishes there were someone who saw him for what he is.

It’s hardest with Kate. Of course it is. His worst case scenario all along—what he thought was his worst case scenario—has been that he did something unspeakable. He sees now, though, that the idea is nothing but a soft landing he’d prepared for himself. He thinks about Douglas Stevens.  

I didn’t think you had that side to you.

Well, when it comes to the people I love, I do.

He thinks about what he would have done to Bracken or Vulcan Simmons without blinking, the way he calmly, methodically set a trap for Jerry Tyson that was only ever going to end one way. He hasn’t missed a moment’s sleep over any of that.

To protect them, to come back to them, he’d have done anything and lived with it. There is no part of himself—his soul—he would not have sacrificed. But it had nothing to do with them, except it had everything to do with them. He left them in the blink of an eye because some shadowy figures dragged him out of a burning car and told him only he could save the world.  

She believes it. Kate does, and he doesn’t know how to say that it doesn’t matter that it seems to have been true. He doesn’t know how to cope with this . . . crisis of character except to keep it to himself. He won’t make her a victim all over again, so he keeps it to himself.

He takes a sharp turn into the everyday, into the domestic. He breaks off from cases to cook elaborate meals that he keeps warm for her. He sets the table or a pair of places at the breakfast bar—with linens and candles and fresh-cut flowers—no matter what time she gets home. He puts her to bed and carries it in on a tray when it’s so late that she’s ready to drop and he cajoles her into a few bites before her eyes close on her.

He does laundry and plans date nights. He makes romantic gestures by the dozen. He devotes himself to their lives, day in, day out, and ultimately, he agonizes over the fact that it’s getting better. But it is. It does get better. The dreams fade. He sleeps . . . fine. Not great, but no worse than usual. He forgets for hours at a time that doesn’t deserve this life.

He starts writing again. He’s behind, of course. He’s always behind this time of year, and a glimpse of a Russian assassin for hire—one who was apparently bad enough at his job to get caught on camera—means it’s worse than usual. This wholly unsatisfying story makes it worse than usual, and still, it’s getting better.

His fingers itch. His brain itches, and he opens his neglected working document. He scans through it. He’s at the end—at the point where he left off—and it all rolls suddenly over him. It boils up and out, black and oily and slick. It blots out the world so completely that he cries out when she slides the plate in front of him. He jerks back and almost goes over in the desk chair.

There’s a smile frozen on her face. He watches it die. “Castle, what?”

“I killed him,” he says flatly. “Rook.”

“What?” The smile rises again, a brief flicker of it. She thinks he’s joking. “What do you mean you killed him?”

“The kidnapping. It wasn’t one.” He sees his own flash of teeth as though he’s standing behind her, looming over the scene. “He went—he left her. He bought some dumb fucking story and left her. I killed him.”

“You can’t kill him,” she says simply. She pushes the dinner plate all the way across the desk, navigating around the laptop. She balances on the edge of the desk, facing him. “You shouldn’t kill him.”

“I don’t know what else to do.” His head drops into his hands. “I don’t know.”

“Why won’t you talk to me about it?” She keeps her voice carefully neutral. She lets the silence stretch out. He feels her fingers sift lightly through his hair. “I’m not used to waiting for you to talk about . . . anything.”

A wet, ugly laugh rises up from the depths of him. “I don’t know what to say, either.”

“What’s so bad about it?” She traces the curving path of his ear, the sweep of his eyebrow. “Why is it so bad for you?”

It’s a terrible story he wants to shout. He wants to rant and rave and throw things, but he won’t. He’s done with dramatics. He leans into her touch. He lifts his head and looks up at her.

“Why would I go?” he asks. “Just like that. Why would I believe them?”

She doesn’t answer right away. She doesn’t rush into an answer, unconsidered.

“Maybe it wasn’t ‘them’.” She looks at a point somewhere behind him, somewhere slightly above his head, like there’s a murder board there. “Maybe it was him. Your friend.”

“Friend.” he practically spits the word. It’s kind of dramatic. “He wasn’t—”

“He was, though.” She tugs his chin up, none too gently. “You knew him as a kid. You knew him well enough, years later, to know that he worked in a foreign country’s intelligence agency. You knew him, Castle.” A flicker of sadness crosses her face. A flicker of anger for him—on his behalf. “They made you forget. You don’t even know how much.”

“Maybe. Maybe if they’d . . . knocked me out and threw me on a plane.” The words well up in him. It’s almost a panic, like he has to keep ahead of anything that might draw him again—anything that might assuage the guilt he feels. The guilt he deserves to feel. “Maybe if they’d locked me up and worked on me till I gave in, but its was hours, Kate—hours later—”

“We knew you weren’t dead.” Her voice drops low. She stares down at her lap. “Vinny Cardano? Castle don’t you think . . .” She gathers herself with a shaking breath. With a hard swallow. “Don’t you think that whoever ‘they’ are, they had a better way of making a car disappear than you—you, personally going to that dumpster—paying off a mobster we both knew? Haven’t you at least considered the possibility that you were trying to leave me whatever breadcrumbs you could?”

“No,” he says, something like a thousand years later. She’s reaching. She has to be reaching, but he wants so badly to believe there’s truth to it. “No, I hadn’t thought of that.”  

“Yeah, well maybe if you’d talk to me once in a while—”

“I’m sorry.” He pulls her to him and rises to meet her at once. It shoves the laptop aside, rotating the whole thing ninety degrees. The dinner plate sails over the edge of the desk. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” she says fiercely. “Can’t we just stop being sorry?”

“Not right away?” He presses his cheek into the crook of her shoulder. He’s ashamed and frustrated. He’s still fucking haunted by the stupid story and he’s not at all sure this isn’t just her enduring kindness. He catches sight of the laptop screen, the cursor blinking in the middle of Jameson Rook’s gruesome death. “I’m working on it. I’ll work on something better than sorry.”

images via homeofthenutty

[endofjunee]

📖 sweet, sweet fate by @bottomlinsons Harry’s lived with a NSFW soulmark for almost twenty-five years now. When he finally meets the man responsible, he gives him a little piece of his mind. 🌷 Everywhere And Nowhere by @2tiedships2​ Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food." "What has he given you?" Liam asked.Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though." "Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school." "What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?" "I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you." Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

📖 all we can do is keep breathing by @avocadolouie “Harry, I-I’m so sorry…” Louis stutters out, trying to keep his voice level and even, to portray a depiction of strength, but with the way Harry is looking at him, staring at him like he has a personal passage way straight to Louis’ soul, it’s so hard, nearly impossible. That simple opening phrase, that short introductory acknowledgement that is often rushed out so easily, painlessly, at a safe distance. Giving a doctor the ability to portray empathy without true emotion, without feeling the full brunt and sheer force of the underlying pain itself. But Louis feels it, he feels the crushing agony laced behind the phrase, he feels the weight of the painful words slipping from his lips, the cause and effect that the three-word expression holds. The distantly empty “I’m so sorry” that doctors throw out in self-preservation, isn’t at all empty for him. Louis recognizes it, he understands it, he feels it.  Or, a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together. 🌷 Baby Honey by @bringmetheharry “Lou, did you see these little baby tea boxes I found yesterday?” He tossed one towards Louis and watched as it thumped Louis in the head. Louis groaned and reached for the little box, rolling it around in his hands, “If you’re about to make a joke about me. I strongly suggest you don’t.” Harry frowned and bounced his tea bag in the water watching the liquid darken, “M’ not! I just thought the baby tea boxes were cute.” Louis’ eyes narrowed and he looked at the tiny boxes, and back at Harry. Harry watched, he could see the wheels turning inside of Louis’ mind. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Louis looked at the box once more and back at Harry Or, After four years of Marriage, Harry discovers he is expecting. He could go home and hand the ultrasound photo to his amazing husband, Louis. Or… he could have some fun with this. Only Louis catching on to all the hints Harry is dropping. Or is he? 📖 Do You Wanna Ride by @phd-mama When Liam’s attractive new business partner wins riding lessons with Harry, hilarity ensues. 🌷 Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by @toomanylarrytears A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they’re forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue. 📖 the act of making noise by @suspendrs “Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.” It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?” “Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.”  Or, Louis’s famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont. 🌷 Laundry Room by @thelovejandles The third Wednesday of the new year, Louis finds himself in the laundry room, just as he was the last Wednesday and the one before that. He’s doing pretty well with his New Year’s resolution. The only problem so far is the company he finds in the laundry room. It seems that it’s just him and one other boy who’ve chosen late Wednesday nights as prime laundry-doing time. That wouldn’t be a problem except for who the other boy is. He’s seen this boy around; it’s hard to miss the long-legged, long-haired dream that lives in Louis’ complex. He likes to wear very sheer shirts and very high boots; he is incredibly fucking gorgeous and yeah, Louis’ noticed him but he’s never spoken to him. Until tonight, apparently.  Or, Louis and Harry are both students living in the same apartment complex. They end up having the same laundry night and time. Louis can’t stop staring at Harry and he can’t figure out why Harry consistently points out Louis’ inside-out shirts, and his untied shoes, and messy hair. Enter slow burn-ish flirting, banter, awkwardness, and a lot of laundry. 📖 your rainbow will come smiling through by @hazkabaan When harry isn’t working at his stepfather’s cafe, he’s trying to make swim captain and trying to finish all his coursework on time. when he’s not doing any of those things, he’s talking to the boy he met on the oxford hopefuls subreddit. when they decide to meet, he’s elated. he finally gets the chance to meet the boy he’s been crushing on! when the day comes to meet his prince, he learns that his online crush is none other than louis tomlinson, captain of the football team and friend of his terrible stepbrothers. now harry has to decide whether telling louis the truth is the right choice or if it’s better to just let sleeping dogs lie.  Or, a cinderella story au 🌷 Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now by @allwaswell16 Louis is having a personal crisis, a third Valentine’s Day being single. Unless he meets someone this week at the high end department store he works at, he’ll be stuck going to Niall’s Valentine’s Day party–again.  Or, the one where Harry mistakes Louis for a mannequin. 📖 Falling For Me Won’t Be A Mistake by @all-these-larrythings Harry is married to his job and so overworked that he doesn’t know how to stop. All it takes is a forced Hawaiian get-a-away, the warm tropical breeze of the island, and the most beautiful, elusive man he’s ever seen to make him remember what living is like outside of work. Well, that, and the little souvenir he accidentally takes home with him. 🌷 Latching Onto You by @reminiscingintherain “Wait a sec,” Harry interrupted. “Zayn and Liam?” “Yeah, my best mates, who are getting married?” Louis said slowly, slightly baffled at the question. “This is a gay wedding?” “Is that going to be a problem?” Louis asked, his voice losing its friendly edge and taking on a decidedly icy tone.  Or, the one where Louis wants to book Harry Styles to perform at his best friends’ wedding. 📖 Face Your Fears by @sadaveniren Harry is a single father, pretending to be a beta after his alpha mated him and left him. He’s getting by just fine raising the twins when Louis walks into his bakery. Too bad him and Louis will never be a thing. 🌷 streetwise hercules by @bottomlinsons “I said,” Louis’ voice is venomous, “who the fuck is this?”  Right.  This is Harry’s part.  Or Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry’s boyfriend to scare away his one night stands. 📖 Counterbalance by @louandhazaf Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class. 🌷 cut your teeth on my heart by @turnyourankle (WIP) Louis has worked as a security officer for years, but he’s handed his first opportunity to be team lead. The assignment is nothing like what he expected. Harry has spent years trying to distance himself from the pressure of the Twist name and legacy. But it’s going to be hard to avoid when his mum hires him a bodyguard. 📖 wild love twisting all over for you by @angelichl Harry and Louis meet on the set of a video.

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Black, white, & Gray (5)

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warning: fluff, children, 

Word: 1134

Summary: reader  is a prisoner in a high security prison in the Stark Tower, and she is incredibly dangerous, and Loki is being brought in by the avengers and he wonders why she is in there, They escape together and travel the Galaxy and then just stop on a planet and like start a new life but then Thor finds them and calls them to help on Earth and everyone sees how good they are afterwards and just lets them start a secret family Europe or something

1 | 2 | 3 | 4| 5 | 6- on going

It had been total of 6 years since (y/n) and Loki’s adventure of life in space had begun. They had 3 children now the oldest Anastasia being 5 years old and the two youngest William and Natalia, Twins, being 2 years old. Though the two tried to settle down with their family it was never easy for them to find a place. It was a dangerous planet, the people didn’t accept humans, they didn’t accept Loki, or the species ate children. Either wat settling down was not an option so instead of struggling to find a new home they bought a bigger ship and called that home. The children didn’t mind they got to see something new every day, they were also four and two so they really couldn’t care. 

Along the way (y/n) and Loki had made friends Nebula, Juuzou, Todoroki, Gon, and Killua. Nebula and Loki had a bad history or connect that they bonded over so they weren’t really friends but gave each other a helping hand. Todoroki was from the planet Xandar his father was a mad scientist who experimented on him he escaped a 16 and has just been planet hopping ever since. Killua is a 12-year-old intergalactically child assassin it was the family business but ditched it to travel with Gon. Gon he was half human half-celestial being snatched from earth as a baby sold to the highest bidder living a happily alien life, now traveling the galaxy at 12 years old. Juuzou he’s the strongest out of everyone 100% human snatched off earth sold and tortured he is 19 now and an ex-Nova Corps soldier now.

These were the strange people they meet and stayed in contact with. They come and went as they pleased except Juuzou he stayed with them and basically joined the family as the 4th and oldest child. But he didn’t mind.

“Juuzou gets ready we’re landing” (y/n) called through the intercom as they got into the planet’s atmosphere “Hold on Babies mommy’s flying”.

“You’ve gotten much better” Loki commented as she landed without a swerve, jerk, or bump.

“Thank you. Took 3 kids and a wedding but the compliment finally came” (y/n) said sarcastically Loki chuckled unbuckling himself he kissed her forehead.

“I’m taking Juuzou with me to see the buyer. Be back in on hour two tops” Loki said as he packed his back and kissed the children.

 “I’m going to walk around a bit with the children. Remember to hide your face.” she kissed his forehead “ this planet doesn’t like you”

“Thank you love that is- that is really not helpful. Appreciate it.”

“I knew you would. Now go get my money”.

-

(Y/n) giggled as she took pictures of the children eating the planets most popular dessert William was making a complete mess of his face and hands good thing they wore bibs.

“Mommyyyyyyyyy he’s trying to touch my dress. Mommy makes him stop” Anastasia cried as her brother made grabby hands towards her (y/n) just laughed and started recording. 

Suddenly Juuzou jumped out of nowhere scaring the children on to their butts. Natalia was genially scared and crying whereas William was pissed and screaming and Anastasia was laughing at it all. (y/n) decided to stop recording them. 

“You look like a terrible mother,” Loki said stepping forward in disguises looking at the terrible scene in front of him. 

“I think I’m doing great. They’re well rested, fed, they were clean. Alive … I might traumas them later on in life but hey. The best people were neglected and abused”

“Says who?!”

“the hero's handbook. Take Thor for example and Natasha, Steve, Bruce, Bucky”

“I see your point. You don’t plan on abusing or neglecting our kids, right?”

“Nah I think a traumatic event will do the trick” Loki shook his head

The two sat on fountain watching as Juuzou ran around playing. “Loki, I’ve been meaning to ask”

“yes, love?”

“Why are you disguised as a woman...again?” she turned to look at him …or her. The woman next to her was basically the female twin to Loki. Tall, dark shoulder length hair, soft hands, short dress, long coat, knee-high boots and a body figure that made (y/n) attracted and jealous all at once.

“There are several explanations this time,” Loki said like he planned it.

“Alright so tell me” (y/n) folder her arms and waited.

“1) My disguise no one will know I’m the god of mischief with these breast they’ll just be attracted, 2) The buyer was male looking like this I got a higher sale price, 3) T get everyone’s attention and you know I like attention, 4)… Look at me I’m hot even you’re attracted to me. We could experiment with this”.

(y/n) laughed kissing his or her cheek. The kids didn’t say anything they had already grown used to their fathers’ shapeshifting and gender fluidness. This was no the first time Loki was a woman nor would it be the last.

(y/n) turned Loki’s head so she was looking  at her looking into her eyes “ Have I told you how much I love you?”

“no, not today,” Loki said with a smirk

“well I do” she laughed and kissed her.

Brother.

The two stopped kissing hearing the voices of Thor looking around they couldn’t find him. Brother. “You hear that right?” (y/n) asked thinking she had finally snapped and gone mental. 

“You’re not mental I hear it too”

“Brother” now it was out loud. The two looked up to see Thor standing in front of them “brother”

“Thor? what are you doing here, how did you get here?” Loki stood up

“I may not be as magical as you, brother but I know enough to do this...what’s with the the-never mind. I need your help please return to earth”

“to earth so what you can imprison again” (y/n) stood up. Thor was shocked seeing her there but quickly recovered.

“It has been almost 6 years why would we come to arrest you 6 years later”

“because you couldn’t find us” logical answer 

“Heimdall has been watching you”

“because... the Avengers are jerks and just waited until we were happy to become petty. I don’t care how cool your cape is or how pretty your hair looks flowing in the wind we’re not going” (y/n) put her foot down.”

“(y/n) darling, shh. We’ll come” (y/n) looked at Loki hand on her heart completely shocked.

“Thank you, brother”

Request tags

Black, White, and Gray

@colorful48 @alina-barnes @1800-fight-me @sydthekid1518 @honey-anon @sighsophiia @hamiltonwrite12 @shockwavee @shannonr2003 @let-me-try-mom  @tiffanypooh @ale-r14 @a-kiddo-with-a-doggo @parkerrpeterr @koithings @markusstraya @justfandomlover

Permanent tags

@lovely-lollipops-blog @sexysamsungl @totallyweirdsam @lilylovelyxo @iamwarrenspeace @geeksareunique @that-random-emu @supreme-leader-jazlo-ren @stone2576 @lil-dino-trash @metal-armed-dino @dylanobrienmoviekid @theshortegg @dontevenblink-badwolf-tardis @mandylove1000 @isnotashtonstan @broitsmydick @onceaballeralwaysaballer1213 @mypage-myfandoms @jordynhartley2001 @midnightdream83 @allheart36 @cookies186 @i-am-marvel-trash-forever @gabriels-gumdrop

[sundayeveningthoughts]

The Talk in Three Phases: Part 2 — Black is Beautiful

Sunday Evening Thoughts 

February 16, 2020

Dear Rachel and Paul,

                                                     Black is Beautiful

I am dark but desirable,

     O daughters of Jerusalem,

like tents of Kedar,

     like Solomon’s curtains.

Do not look on me for being dark,

     for the sun has glared on me,

My mother’s sons were incensed with me, 

     they made me a keeper of the vineyards.

     My own vineyard I have not kept.

Tell me, whom I love so,

     where you pasture your flock at noon,

lest I go straying 

     after the flocks of your companions.

—If you do not know, O fairest of women,

     go out in the tracks of the sheep,

and graze your goats

     by the shepherd's shelters.

Song of Songs 1:5-8 (Translation by Robert Alter, The Hebrew Bible: A Translation with Commentary)

       It has been a difficult three weeks deciding which texts from the Song of Songs to analyze in detail. It is very easy to choose libidinous texts like “Your eyes are like doves,” or “Your hair is like a herd of goats,” or “Your teeth like a flock of matched ewes” (that will get you a date!). But in the current trend if you said to anybody other than your girlfriend, “Your two breasts are like two fawns” or “Your lips nectar” or “Your robes the scent of Lebanon,” you will probably get arrested. On the other hand, if she says, “Let my lover come to his garden and eat his fruit,” I interpret that as a “Yes!”

       Remember the author of Song of Songs takes each person and has the other describe the physical characteristics of the other in pastoral nature-terms from the top of their head to the bottom of their feet, and yes, every body part. But I’ll leave that for you to play with…  the text, the text... no pun intended!

       Full disclosure: Very little of the exegesis I am providing is my original thought. 99% of it comes from Robert Alter, Professor of Hebrew Languages at U. of California, Berkeley, and author of The Hebrew Bible: A Translation with Commentary; 50% comes from Michael Coogan, Professor of the Semitic Library, Harvard University, and author of God and Sex: What the Bible Really Says; and 45% from Jennifer Wright Knust, Professor of Religious Studies at Duke University, and author of Unprotected Texts: The Bible’s Surprising Contradictions about Sex and Desire. How does it add to more than a 100%? Because by-and-large, all three agree on the meaning behind the texts in Song of Songs.

       Song of Songs 1:5-8 is fascinating. So let’s start…

       “I am dark but desirable” opens this section with an interesting disclaimer. Is it a protest or an attribute? The ancient beauty of black women like Cleopatra, Nefertiti, and the Queen of Sheba are well known. Historians disagree on the “blackness” of each of these women, but all are historically known as being beautiful, strong, black women. 

       Still, why the conjunction “but”? Why is darkness viewed as less desirable? It is interesting that even today in many parts of the world the darker a woman is, the lower the social class she is thought to be associated with. But, before we judge people in countries that subscribe to that notion, Michelle Alexander points out in her book The New Jim Crow that Americans are in many ways worse, because we legalize it into our way of life by legislating exorbitant fees and jail time for petty traffic violations in Southern American cities that keep black Americans impoverished. This happened to a black, female Thinker here in Hampton Roads. Nevertheless, the female protagonist in Song of Songs confidently thinks of herself as “hot”!

       “O daughters of Jerusalem” or in popular vernacular, “Listen you rich, white, city bitches, don’t think of yourself better than me.” Sorry for the aggressive tone, but I’m trying to be honest to the text. This is interesting in a couple of ways: Not only is she defending herself of her phenotypic characteristic, but she is also supporting the rural, agrarian view v. the city slickers. Why is this important? When I asked a Thinker who works in the Middle East, what is the real cause behind the civil war in Syria, they said that it is very much an economic battle of city v. rural, manufacturer v. farmer, or in reality, who controls the prices of goods. When farmers in Syria tried to raise their prices, Assad (the government) rejected buying it for their asking price. This led to the collapse of the rural economy. Assad then offered to buy farm goods at a guaranteed price to which the farmers agreed, but then raised the prices of fertilizers and other necessary farming manufactured goods to grow and produce the raw farm goods or food. This led to more protests of farmers, which then started to spread to suburban dwellers, because farmers could not pay for their purchases, which led to protests in the cities. And before you know it, the farmer, the small business person, and lastly, the poor city dwellers are being bombed by Assad with the help of both Russia and the U.S., all the while ISIS grows as an apocalyptic response to the societal problems created by greed, or in biblical terms the “daughters of Jerusalem.”

       Welcome to the real world today! … and in ancient times!

       “Like tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon” refers again to darkness, blackness. She is as black as the tents of Kedar. Kedar is a nomadic, dark skinned, Arab tribe which to this day, Arab Bedouins make their tents out of black goat's hair. And according to Alter, the root of Kedar q-d-r is the same root for black or darkness in Hebrew, thus a play on words which is lost on most of us. “The curtains of Solomon” were certainly viewed as cloth of royalty and beauty. Thus again, a playful poetic image, “she is as black and rough (in a feminist sense) as the tent of nomads, but as beautiful and exquisite as the finest fabrics of Solomon’s.” Alter also notes there are some sexual insinuations in this too. She can be as aggressive in bed as necessary to achieve her own sexual satisfaction, but can be as gentle as necessary for him to achieve his too. In this last sense, a poetic juxtaposition of parallel images. 

       “Do not look on me for being dark, for the sun has glared on me, my mother’s sons were incensed with me, they made me a keeper of the vineyards. My own vineyard I have not kept.” Again the female protagonist cries out for equal justice. She is black because she is made that way. And although her brother’s were incensed — “incensed” has the same root as “sun glaring,” thus again a Hebrew play on words referring to things being burned or blackened. She responds that they want to keep her locked up and maintain her virginity, but she responds she is her own self and has not kept her “vineyard.” Of course in an economic sense, they want her to work for them, thus she cannot be free economically to be self-fulfilled financially. 

       “Tell me, whom I love so, where you pasture your flock at noon, lest I go straying after the flocks of your companions” is a little tease on her part. “‘Hey babe, what are you doing this afternoon?’ she inquires with a shy smile. ‘A woman has certain needs too that must be fulfilled,’ she jests, ‘or should I call one of your friends?’ she says rhetorically.” Note the nature words used - pasture, flocks, attending sheep, creating images of pastoral scenes used in European art of the 1800’s and 1900’s through the American pastorals of the mid-20th century. 

       (Andrew Wyeth’s “Christina’s World” shows a pastoral scene of an unfulfilled woman longing for more.) 

       “If you do not know, O fairest of women, go out in the tracks of the sheep, and graze your goats by the shepherd's shelters,” he now speaks, playing along with her game. He also compliments her on her beauty “O fairest of women.” If she feels at all intimidated because of her darkness, rest assured, he likes it. Black is beautiful! 

       My favorite part of our visit to India last year, besides the actual wedding, was our visit to rural India. One of the things we saw were these little 6’ x 10’ lean-tos (shepherd shelters) with a straw roof that all farmers used in the late afternoon for shade from the hot sun and to store some extra products, as the temperature often approaches 112* F in the summer. One can easily see those lean-tos as a rendezvous for a young couple deeply in love with little chance of being caught in an afternoon by frolicing in the hay. 

 (Mom at a farmer’s hut in rural Chennai, India.) 

       This was our conversation when we were in rural India!

“Oh fairest of women… go out by the shepherd’s shelter..,” I encouraged. (1:8)

To which Mom said, “While the king was on his couch, my nard gave off its scent.” (1:12)

Yes, yes, I thought, it’s going to be a good day. What else should I say? I know, “O you are fair, my lover… our bed is verdant, too.” (1:16)

Mom responded, “Like a quince tree among the trees of the forest, so my lover among the forest. In its shade I delighted to sit, and its fruit was sweet to my taste.” (2:3)

“Look, Solomon’s bed!” she proclaimed. (3:7)

“What a stud I am!” I boastfully thought. (Extra biblical text not found in the Hebrew Bible)

       Why are such graphic, sexual physical descriptions found in the Bible? Because it is precisely the most natural, most human characteristic we possess. Unfortunately, in my opinion, my church — the Catholic Church — still doesn’t get it. Natural human behavior is clothed in pious (and often sanctimonious) language from celibate priests with negative connotations of sin and hell. I don’t know, perhaps they still want to maintain control of the people like in the Middle Ages, but unfortunately for them, today the people are smarter than the priests. Fortunately, I think Pope Francis is starting to “get it.” After all, “who am I to judge” (Pope Francis in a 2013 interview on his book, Mercy).

Have a good week…

Love,

Dad

P.S. Songs of strong, black women are found often in hip-hop, especially from female singers. Tupac is a complex figure. On the one hand, he was often involved in violent situations, and on the other, many of his songs preach against many social injustices. Here is one about the wonderful role of strong, black women. 

Crank it up!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VYaR6LOnkak

Little somethin' for my godson Elijah and a little girl named Corinne

Some say the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice

I say the darker the flesh then the deeper the roots

I give a holler to my sisters on welfare

Tupac cares, if don't nobody else care

And uh, I know they like to beat ya down a lot

When you come around the block brothas clown a lot

But please don't cry, dry your eyes, never let up

Forgive but don't forget, girl keep your head up

And when he tells you you ain't nuttin' don't believe him

And if he can't learn to love you, you should leave him

'Cause sista you don't need him

And I ain't tryin' to gas ya up, I just call 'em how I see 'em

You know it makes me unhappy (What's that)

When brothas make babies, and leave a young mother to be a pappy

And since we all came from a woman

Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman

I wonder why we take from our women

Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?

I think it's time to kill for our women

Time to heal our women, be real to our women

And if we don't we'll have a race of babies

That will hate the ladies, that make the babies

And since a man can't make one

He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one

So will the real men get up

I know you're fed up ladies, but keep your head up

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things are gonna get easier

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things'll get brighter

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things are gonna get easier

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things'll get brighter

Aiyyo, I remember Marvin Gaye, used to sing to me

He had me feelin' like black was tha thing to be

And suddenly tha ghetto didn't seem so tough

And though we had it rough, we always had enough

I huffed and puffed about my curfew and broke the rules

Ran with the local crew, and had a smoke or two

And I realize momma really paid the price

She nearly gave her life, to raise me right

And all I had to give her was my pipe dream

Of how I'd rock the mic, and make it to tha bright screen

I'm tryin' to make a dollar out of fifteen cents

It's hard to be legit and still pay your rent

And in the end it seems I'm headin' for tha pen

I try and find my friends, but they're blowin' in the wind

Last night my buddy lost his whole family

It's gonna take the man in me to conquer this insanity

It seems tha rain'll never let up

I try to keep my head up, and still keep from gettin' wet up

You know it's funny when it rains it pours

They got money for wars, but can't feed the poor

Said it ain't no hope for the youth and the truth is

It ain't no hope for tha future

And then they wonder why we crazy

I blame my mother, for turning my brother into a crack baby

We ain't meant to survive, 'cause it's a setup

And even though you're fed up

Huh, ya got to keep your head up

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things are gonna get easier

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things'll get brighter

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things are gonna get easier

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things'll get brighter

And uh

To all the ladies havin' babies on they own

I know it's kinda rough and you're feelin' all alone

Daddy's long gone and he left you by ya lonesome

Thank the Lord for my kids, even if nobody else want 'em

'Cause I think we can make it, in fact, I'm sure

And if you fall, stand tall and comeback for more

'Cause ain't nothin' worse than when your son

Wants to kno' why his daddy don't love him no mo'

You can't complain you was dealt this

Hell of a hand without a man, feelin' helpless

Because there's too many things for you to deal with

Dying inside, but outside you're looking fearless

While the tears, is rollin' down your cheeks

Ya steady hopin' things don't all down this week

'Cause if it did, you couldn't take it, and don't blame me

I was given this world I didn't make it

And now my son's gettin' older and older and cold

From havin' the world on his shoulders

While the rich kids is drivin' Benz

I'm still tryin' to hold on to my survivin' friends

And it's crazy, it seems it'll never let up, but

[lou09v089666251-blog]

Matthew Anderson.

To conclude, there was deceit associated with that he omitted important information about himself so as to get a time, but one may undoubtedly know why. I am actually simply starting to find exactly how fantastic the world wide web is for creating pals as well as getting to bent on people. Even better, if you have a roof or terrace, dinner under the stunning evening heavens will offer you extra points. At Reddish Sail, we possess a significant range of spectacular tasks to choose from, but I have to mention that paying attention to the wind in the crisp sails, the water lapping versus the head, while eating under a 1000 stars creates this dinner sundown sail my most favored as well as remarkable activity. For example, you could have starters before the http://beautyandfit-blog.info/ event, a dinner between the ceremony and function and also a pudding bar at the function. Dinner is a crucial celebration in itself on a luxury liner, a heritage going back to the late 1800's when trips were for royalty as well as the wealthy who assumed exquisite official suppers. There are actually numerous meal time video game tips that you can easily develop your own self, as an example possess your little ones profess they provide you dinner in a restaurant. These are numerous from the variables this is recommended to consider while buying wedding ceremony practice session dinner attire. Le Reminet We possessed a wonderful dining table for dinner due to the front door on our relatively jetlagged first night. Grab some supper at Elliott's Oyster Home along the pier if you're in the mood for fish and shellfish. Circus is actually when you hop away from the water carrying out face or even back turns continually relevant at which you get into the water again with a Great Access. Therefore after having a pleasant dinner from breadstuff (a mote), filet mignon (about the dimension of your palm) and also merlot (merely a glass or two!), possess a roll in the hay along with your lover instead of seeing the following incident from Sexual activity and also the City. I obtained a bag of these fries for $2.50 this previous weekend break and also prepped all of them, using our toaster oven, as an edge recipe to choose the bratwurst and also hotdogs I was grilling for lunch time as well as dinner. Advantageous amount of excellence, decide on an enchanting date motif, such as a lavish supper, a romantic flick, or even an evening at a great hotels and resort. For example, if a marque is really exactly what you wish - and for many that is, and also for good cause given that they could be attractive and practical - after that find out just what the real hire and also production of one would be actually from a third party before blindly taking whatever a hotel proposes the price needs to be actually.

[joyfilledwander]

For me, it began in January 2016. I had seen a few Facebook posts and Internet articles about this Broadway show called Hamilton: An American Musical. I can’t say I remembered much about Alexander Hamilton from history class past the $10 bill and the milk commercial. But the cast album had reached #1 on Billboard’s RAP CHART. And I was curious. So I opened Spotify and began to listen to an album that would impact my entire year.

I was immediately captivated by the album. I’ve been a HUGE Broadway fan for years, but less of a rap & hip-hop fan. Still, I was hooked. However, I admit I had to open the Wikipedia page for the show to fully follow what was happening. But soon after my first listen, I went back for more. And more. And more. Until it was all I was listening to. Each time I listened, I heard new lyrics and understood new levels of creativity and significance in the words. Then, came the podcasts.

I’m relatively new to the world of podcasts, only since late 2015 have I been a complete podcast addict. And so in my podcast immersion, I found PodForHam, which took my fandom to a new level. Each week, a group of panelists would talk about just one song on the album, and bring even more thought and insight into this recording that I already loved.

Then, YouTube. Not only was I constantly scouring for show clips, but I religiously followed the Hamilton YouTube Channel for the latest Ham4Ham show. I found the circa 2009 White House performance, and the 2016 White House revisit. I loved the music, and the genius in the writing. Now, I was falling in love with the creators & cast. Lin-Manuel Miranda, you were my 2016.

I read the Ron Chernow Alexander Hamilton biography.

I watched the show win award after award. 

I listened to the Mixtape.

I devoured the Hamiltome, or Hamilton: The Revolution, the epic chronically the birth of this show.

I followed the Hamilton SnapChat.

I learned the fastest Lafayette & Jefferson raps, pretending I’m Daveed Diggs.

I watched & rewatched the PBS special on Alexander Hamilton and the musical.

And finally, I got tickets.

See, we live in Asia [in case you didn’t know that], but we were traveling home to Florida in the States for my sister’s wedding in the fall. And we were flying round trip through Chicago because my husband’s family was nearby. Guess what else was coming to in Chicago in the fall of 2016?

Hamilton.

The day, the hour and the minute the tickets went on sale, I was ready. I was on the Ticketmaster website hoping & praying against all odds that we could get tickets. The website continued to crash. My phone wouldn’t load. It was 11pm Asia time. But I was committed. I took to Twitter. Someone on the #HamiltonCHI hashtag feed talked about scoring tickets with the automated phone service. I was in it to win it. And I won. We got 4 tickets to see it the day before we flew back to Asia.

November 2016, we were in Chicago. Ready. Seats in the balcony, center stage. The lights dim and the orchestra swells. And the ever-so familiar chords begin and the music becomes alive on the stage before me. Characters I’d only seen in my head, now dancing and singing and rapping in the flesh. Part of me wanted to sing every single word, the other part sat in rapt awe.

Ready for the show to begin

Great seats with the family

Beyond excited

I don’t actually think I can put into words the full experience, you just have to see it. But here’s what I remember most. The company, the surrounding dancers and vocalists, BRING THE SHOW TO LIFE. Always moving, never still, they create an impressive atmosphere. I couldn’t stop watching their every move. The set was epic. The choreography was stunning. Each character simply shined. I was especially struck by the performances of Hercules Mulligan [played by Wallace Smith] & King George [played by Jin Ha]. I love their songs and moments during the cast recording, but their presence on stage stole the show. I couldn’t watch anyone else but them while they were on stage. The number which most surprised me was The Reynolds Pamphlet, a song I love on the cast album, but was a show stopper live. THERE’S SO MUCH HAPPENING ON STAGE! Not surprisingly, Satisfied, Wait for It, and The Room Where It Happens brought down the house. I loved Hurricane SO MUCH MORE live as well [sorry, Lin]. I openly wept during It’s Quiet Uptown. So many emotions in one night! It was literally a dream come true.

How could a perfect night get more perfect? We were able to go backstage. A friend of a friend was part of the ensemble and graciously offered to meet us backstage and show us the set, up close and personal. She was lovely, and an incredible dancer in the show. The stage is even more magical when when standing on it. What an experience.

On stage with Sam, part of the Hamilton Chicago company

My Hamilton date

That stage!

I wish I could explain why this show has impacted me the way it has. 2016 was a controversial year in modern American politics, and it was almost refreshing to rediscover that American politics were controversial in 1800 as well. The show captures what I love most about America… which is everything from a poor immigrant working his way up to a national leader who steps down without fuss or bloodshed. Watching President Obama step down and hand the office over to President Trump in January, all I could do was sing One Last Time. I love the fact that I couldn’t live further away from America, yet this album and social media frenzy impacted me. It’s universal. Throughout the musical, Alexander Hamilton is wrestling with his legacy and how he is going to be remembered. It’s a love story & it’s tragedy, it’s political backstabbing & it’s war battles. It’s hope, regret, accomplishment, love and loss. How can you not love this?

So this is my love letter to Alexander Hamilton, to the musical, and to Lin-Manual Miranda and the others who brought this show to life. I hope it runs for years and I get to see it many more times. See it when you can, however you can. It really does blow us all away.

Check out my SnapChat Story from Chicago and Hamilton!! Hamilton: My American Obsession For me, it began in January 2016. I had seen a few Facebook posts and Internet articles about this Broadway show called…