Request: Can I request protective yoongi scenarios (since i like this side of him but wanna see toward his family) where Yoongi let Taehyung and Jimin take Taeyeon to theme park with their kids. Then Taejun tell his dad he likes Taeyeon and since Taehyung adoresTaeyeon, he likes the idea. Later when Yoongi joined them, he saw his daughter hand in hand with Taehyung’s son, he got over protective. ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you so much.
Genre: Family / Friendship.
-We will be joining you later- Yoongi said to Taehyung who was the one taking the bag you had prepared for Taeyeon, you had to go run some errands together so it had been great when Taehyung had offered to take Taeyeon with him to the park since he was taking his son too and soon Yoongi learned Jimin was going as well with his twins.
-It’s all fine hyung, you take your time, we will have fun-
You were talking with Jimin as Taeyeon was greeting Minah and the two boys. -Be careful, don’t let them go by themselves-
-Come on hyung- Taehyung laughed patting Yoongi’s back. -I’ll take care of her as if he was mine-
Yoongi nodded dedicating a fond glance to his daughter. -I’m just saying, none of your wives are going, and you two like parks too much-
Taehyung laughed at that and Jimin busted in the conversation. -Hey, we are perfectly responsible people-
-He’s just nervous to let go of Taeyeon- you whispered to Jimin who whispered to Taehyung making both of them laugh and Yoongi glare.
-Yah, what are you whispering there Y/N? And you too, rascals-
You laughed too going back to his side. -We were just saying you are bitter because you are not going-
Yoongi snorted placing his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer, you saw the four children, they were all around the same age, Taejun, Taehyung’s son, being the oldest with six, but they all interacted well together, it wasn’t the first time they met so they were pretty friendly with each other, little Taemin, Jimin’s son, being the shyest.
Taeyeon you knew would be perfectly ok, her uncles adored her, and she was a pretty capable five year old, playful and just a bit shy with strangers, but with them she was in her comfort zone, she was specially close with Taejun since they were just months apart in age and they got along well.
Instead of going to Lotte World, they were going to Seoul Children’s Grand Park which was likely to be less crowded but it was a great park too. You were a bit anxious too, a natural thing to see your little girl go out when at her short age it were rare the times when she went out, to anywhere that wasn’t school, without you. For Yoongi you knew it was a hard thing as his little girl was the apple of his eye, he was overprotective with you and the same thing translated to his daughter. They accommodated all the children on the back seat, the four of them going comfortably in Taehyung’s SUV.
-Call us if anything- you told them and both men nodded. -Have fun!- you cheered making the children wave and cheer back.
-Daddy!- Taeyeon threw a kiss at him and you could almost see Yoongi’s spirit falling and melting, it was a wonder how he just waved back cooly instead of clutching his heart.
He’d had so many names over the years (many years, far too many years). The Fist of Hydra. James. The American. The Asset. Jerk. The Winter Soldier.
Once, he had even been Bucky.
He still is, according to Steve. Steve who has lived too long, and has his own string of names trailing in his wake. Captain America. Steven Grant Rogers. Stevie. Star Spangled Man with a Plan. Punk.
Steve is still Steve, he may even be Stevie. He’s not Captain America anymore, not since the Winter Soldier appeared at his window, metals fingers pressed to the bullet wound in his stomach, scratching at the glass to be let in, like some kind of stray animal.
Steve, Stevie, still had no sense of preservation. He should have closed the blinds and left the thing that had tried to kill him months ago bleed out on the fire escape. But no, he wrenched open the window and dragged the assassin into his home (for fuck’s sake Stevie).
The Winter Soldier had bled all over the bedsheets, and as far as anyone was concerned died there, leaving a ghost.
The ghost of James Buchanan Barnes.
Steven Grant Rogers, Stevie, Dumb Punk, gave up his shield. He had picked it up to save Bucky once, and put it down to the same ends.
They didn’t so much live as warily co-exist in the apartment, on the corner of a street both familiar and strange. They had lived there before, Steve told him, but the building got torn down and they built a new one. Best thing for it, Bucky had said. The old one was a death trap. His mouth did that sometimes, opened up and words spilled out, unexpected and sweet and bitter. Like a head full of firecrackers, memories popping and snapping and if too many went off at once it made him flinch. Made him shiver and tuck himself into the smallest. darkest corner of the apartment, like a stray animal.
So Steve filled the refridgerator with the kind of things the ghost used to eat. Filled the shelves with books that the ghost used to read. The apartment was never silent, a radio in the kitchen, the volume turned low, played big band and swing and jazz, things the ghost used to dance to.
Steve was always so damn stubborn.
Baby steps, the therapist said. Small victories.
He’s killed presidents, and now he’s supposed to feel pride when he walks downstairs to get the mail. He’s brought down governments in a single night but barely manages three stops on the subway.
But it’s worth it, worth all of it and more to see the way Steve lights up when he comes back upstairs with the mail and announces the mission suffered zero casualties. When Steve’s hand wraps around his on the crowded subway and squeezes.
So he walks down to the corner store for milk when they run out, and eats at least once a day, and all the other little things that keep the furrow in Steve’s brow from running too deep.
And he doesn’t punch through the metal side of the dumpster when it starts rustling.
He had managed to pick up orange juice from the store. Not the nearest one just across the street from the apartment, but a bodega two blocks away. When he walked past the dumpster down the nearby alley (old habits die hard and he’s more likely to enter Steve’s apartment by the roof than the doors on the ground floor) it rustled at him and let out a pathetic whine.
Bucky had lifted the lid and found the cat.
The thing was not much more than a scrap of fur and fleas. He had no idea what colour it was, its coat dingy grey and matted. It still had a mouth on it, giving him a half-hearted hiss as he pulled it out of the garbage by the scruff.
The Ghost stared at the cat, and the cat stared back. Then bit his finger.
He offered it a metal fingertip and it bit that too, not even slightly dissuaded by the way it’s teeth skidded over the metal plates.
For the first time in seventy years, Bucky smiled.
The bodega stocked catfood, though Bucky had no idea if the cat preferred the wet stuff in cans or the dried kibble in boxes, so he bought both, the cat safely zipped up in his jacket, it’s flat little head poking out. It’s oversized ears swivelled back and forth as Bucky held out a can of chicken chunks in gravy in one hand and salmon pieces in aspic in the other and told the cat to make up it’s damn mind.
“Mrrr,” the cat said finally, which Bucky chose to interpret as ‘both’.
He pays for the items and walks back out onto the street. The cat makes itself comfortable, borrowing down into his jacket and going to sleep. It’s needle-like claws prick at his thin shirt, digging in whenever he turns too sharply or moves any faster than a walking pace. Since Bucky doesn’t want to be completely perforated he walks slowly down the street rather than take to the rooftops, and anyway he has a bag of catfood.
Steve didn’t look up from his spot on the couch when Bucky slipped through the apartment door and kicks off his shoes, though Bucky would bet good money that he’d spent the whole of Bucky’s absence at the window, quietly worrying.
“Hey Buck,” Steve muttered with a forced nonchalance that fools no one. “You get lost?”
“Mowr,” the cat answered.
Steve’s head snaps up, “What-”
“I founds it in the trash,” Bucky blurted out. “It’s greasy and cranky and smells like crap but…” he falters at the complicated run of expressions that passed over Steve’s features. “You seem okay with taking in strays,” Bucky finished weakly.
Steve frowned silently, and Bucky tensed up, one hand curled protectively around the lump of fur under his jacket. Something in Bucky’s expression seemed to settle him though, and he dropped the book he was reading on the coffee table.
“We’re gonna need more stuff,” Steve announced and pulled out his phone.
He wasn’t Captain America anymore, but that didn’t mean Steve couldn’t get things done when he put his mind to it. Twenty minutes later a harassed looking SHIELD agent dropped off several boxes of random crap that were supposedly essential for cat ownership.
Bucky couldn’t understand the need for a litter tray and unscented, clump-forming, biodegradable whatever-the-fuck to go in the tray (cat’s went outside, right?), or the twine-wrapped wooden kitty adventure playground thing. The collar, okay, fair enough. The shampoo and the flea drops, fuck yeah.
Steve read the instructions on the bottle carefully and gave the cat a wary look. “You’ve got the vibranium arm, you can hold it.”
They covered the bathroom floor with towels, and Bucky placed the cat carefully in the bath, where it gave him an unimpressed look and sat down to wash itself.
The disdain might have been more effective if the cat didn’t stop every time it licked itself to twitch and flap it’s tongue.
Bucky poured a little shampoo into his hands and coated his fingers before rubbing them into the cats matted fur. It gave him a curious ‘Prrrp’, but didn’t freak out until Steve turned on the showerhead, checking the water temperature on the inside of his elbow.
The cat hissed and yowled and bit Bucky’s metal thumb, sending half the tub water onto the floor in its thrashing. Bucky pressed his hand between the cats shoulders and it flattened itself on the bottom of the tub while Bucky rinsed off the soap. Underneath all the grime was silky black fur with white paws and chest and a splodge of white on his nose.
Bucky wrapped the cat up in one of the towels until it was a damp and squirming burrito, it’s nose poking out of one end. Bucky cradled it in his arms, murmuring softly as he carries the cat out to the living room and sits down on the couch. The cat bites his wrist half-heartedly, teeth skidding over metal plates. Steve watched silently from the doorway as Bucky carefully dried the cats fur, working through the tangles with his fingers until it curled up in his lap and falls asleep.
Bucky glanced up when Steve sat carefully on the couch beside him, silently waiting for permission before reaching over to stroke the cats still-damp fur.
Bucky thinks of his first night back, when the Winter Soldier bled to death on Steve’s white linens. It had taken days to heal, the bastardised version of superserum that crawled through his veins forcing out the bullets and knitting flesh and skin back together.
Steve had carried him, bridal style, to the bathroom and placed him in the tub. It hadn’t mattered, ghosts couldn’t feel the washcloth passing over bruises and scar tissue. Ghosts didn’t lean into the touch of hands in their hair, carefully rinsing away shampoo. Ghosts didn’t sigh at conditioner being massaged into their scalps, large, gentle fingers teasing out the knots and tangles.
Ghosts didn’t fall asleep on the couch, wrapped in towels and blankets, half listening as their failed mission made endless phone calls in a hushed voice, pulling apart the pieces of his life and putting them back together again with a ghost shaped hole in the middle. In the heart.
The cat purred in it’s sleep, it’s claws flexing rhythmically, leaving pinholes in Buckys jeans.
Piece by piece, everything falls into place
“He needs a name,” Steve murmured.
The cats head was pillowed in the palm of Bucky’s metal hand, fingers curled loosely around it’s fragile skull. It had one paw wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, holding him in place. As if he could even consider leaving.
Such a fragile little thing, and yet it trusted him. Trusted him to keep it safe and warm and alive.
Bucky glanced at Steve. “He?”
It’s not the thing he wants to say. There aren’t words in any language for that. There isn’t time enough in their artificially extended lives to explain it all.
“I got a, uh, eyeful when he was thrashing around in the tub,” Steve mumbles. “Definitely he.”
Ghosts don’t have names. They have identities - The Weeping Woman, The Headless Horseman, The Winter Soldier. Not names.
Bucky isn’t a ghost’s name.
Bucky shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Steve knows him too well to fall for it. “You pick.”
Steve takes a long moment to consider the cat. Bucky watches him from the corner of his eye. The lines of Steve’s face, the curve of his jaw. Things that ice and time and mind-wipes couldn’t erase.”
“He’s your cat, you choose,” Steve says finally.
Bucky huffs. “I’m bad at names. You’re the one who came up with Bucky. You pick.”
Steve lights up, and for a moment Bucky can’t look at him. It’s like staring into the sun.
“You remember that?”
Bucky bristles under Steve’s look of surprise. “Yeah. ‘Course I remember.”
Steve turns his face to Bucky’s neck and has to take a deep, shuddering breath.
Bucky waits for Steve to pull himself together, Steve’s breath, hot and damp against his skin raising goosebumps.
Really, it’s frankly embarrassing. A former spy and a decorated military tactician, and neither of them had figured it out yet.
You don’t go against your commanding officer and damn well walk into enemy territory in a stage costume for a friend. Seeing an old friend doesn’t break seventy years of Hydra programming.
You don’t hand over your shield to a guy dressed like a bird for a friend.
“Tom?” Bucky asks.
Steve snorts, still hiding in the collar of Bucky’s shirt. “That’s not very creative,” he mumbles.
Bucky shifts and turns to Steve, pressing his lips to the top of Steve’s head.
Steve’s head snaps up, and he meets Bucky’s eyes. “What?”
The corner of Bucky’s mouth ticks up. “I went out to get orange juice.”
Steve coughs out a laugh. “Seriously?”
Bucky gives him a mock glare. “You gotta problem with that?”
Steve shakes his head, his eyes bright.
“You want to keep him?” Bucky asks softly.
“Yeah,” Steve nods.
“You want to keep me?” Bucky murmurs.
Steve frowns. “You’re not a thing, Buck. How many times do I gotta explain-”
Bucky leans forward and kisses him, soft and brief. Steve falls into a shocked silence.
“I mean…” Bucky whispers against Steve’s soft, warm lips. “Do you want to keep me?”
For a second, a heartbeat, Bucky thinks that he’s made a terrible mistake. Steve lets out a soft breath and kisses him back.
“Yes,” he chants between sweet presses of lips. “Yes. Yes.”
Do u wanna take a fucking guess buddy? what does it sound like. I'll give you a hint. It's space. Everything is space. space
What if the Underground was exclusively populated by edgy middle school OCs also it was opposite day
The gang's all here
I don't fucking know how this came to be or why but sans is a salty pta mom who is just about done with coordinating the bake sale margaret get off your ass for once he even had to organize the book fair you did jack shit and there's been a lot of talk of lemon bars also fight me helen
Big bad is captive. He is a problematic angst mine and he is shaped like a possible friend
whut if persun... ww a s like OTHERR PERSON
swap the species badda bing badda boom that's one more check off our token fandom au checklist
the unholy love child of 2 already interrelated fandoms so technically maybe incest but also an AU and i know you don't want it here but please let us just have one sliver of sunshine we have been alone for 5+ months maybe six whos couting at this point haha this is our cocaine now
Remember how in the 90s you could make a younger or baby version out of any show into another show? Yeah that's this but Undertale. Undertale Playground Adventure-Tales. That's the new name now.
There’s a certain scent, I describe it as hand sanitizer and froot loops, and it reminds me of the daycare I attended after school in second grade. The hallways that seemed like big adventures, the playground out back, the ride their in the sunshine and rain, the smell of the bakery next door, the time I built a tornado out of two two-liter soda bottles. It all comes back in a rush of good memories.
There’s a scent- it’s cinnamon and apple and pine, and warm, and red but brown, and fluffy and wraps around you and engulfs you, and is Christmas feast, and staying up late for Santa, and waking up to presents, and eating lots of cookies, and making candy; laying in front of a fire on the television, playing with the small caroling figurines and listening to the Christmas toys sing carols- and suddenly I’m a kid again, home with my mother for Christmas.
There’s a scent so sweet and crisp. Broken leaves crunching underfoot, rain fallen hours prior, brisk wind, and hair flying around with birds flying away and trees shaking, and warm clothes and long scarves and nose and cheeks wind burned, and lots of laughter and leaf fights and long streets bathed in street light, and late nights playing on playground equipment in ten degree weather- and suddenly I’m back with my friends in high school and we’re having fun and don’t have a care in the world and Halloween is coming and we just love living and being happy.
Scent holds so many memories. It holds so much of the past, and it can bring you back to wonderful days.
And it drifts on the wind, and it brings you forward, and the same scent that wraps you up in the past is bringing you to the future, and you have so much more memories to create. And that scent- it’s going to be there to remind you of it all. And its going to collect more memories, and its going to continue to grow.
BILLY DILLEY’S SUPER-DUPER SUBTERRANEAN SUMMER an animated comedy series from Emmy Award-winning director Aaron Springer (Disney’s “Mickey Mouse” cartoon shorts), premieres with multiple airings SATURDAY, JUNE 3 (7:00 a.m., 11:00 a.m., 2:00 p.m., 5:00 p.m., 8:30 p.m. EDT), on Disney XD. New episodes will continue to roll out daily through Thursday, June 15. The series follows the adventures of an eccentric science-obsessed seventh-grader, Billy Dilley, and his lab partners Zeke and Marsha, whose summer break takes an unexpected turn when they get stuck in a bizarre, magical world beneath the earth’s surface.
The first 10 episodes of the series will become available on the Disney XD app and Disney XD VOD platforms beginning Saturday, June 3.
Unexpectedly trapped in a new mysterious world, Billy, along with his classmates Zeke and Marsha, must work together to repair his Science fair project, “The Cheeserator,” in order to get back to the earth’s surface. Throughout the series, Billy’s CURIOSITY and thirst for knowledge will lead the group on wild and unexpected adventures through the subterranean playground where he will make the most important scientific discovery of all - friendship.
Produced by Disney Television Animation, “Billy Dilley’s Super-Duper Subterranean Summer” stars Springer as Billy, Tom Kenny (“SpongeBob SquarePants”) as Zeke and Youtube star Catherine Wayne (“Animalist”) as Marsha.
make me choose: anonomyous asked you: thomas brodie sangster or isaac hempstead wright?
It wasn’t like I ever said, ‘I want to be an actor’. I was in the right place at the right time. I went to a local drama group because I found football on the weekends too cold - which is highly ironic because I’ve had some of the coldest experiences of my life filming 'Game of Thrones’. So I went to this group, enjoyed the drama games and the make-belief stuff, but I wasn’t really a hard-core thespian. Then there was open casting and it so happened I got the role. It was the coolest: three weeks Northern Ireland, playing on this medieval adventure playground, getting thrown out of windows. Picking up beheaded heads. It was the coolest.
What I actually love best about ‘The Avengers’ (the Emma Peel years)
It’s so playful.
The playfulness is reflected in the plots themselves, which in their free-ranging subject matter and level of silliness could easily have been transcribed from the playground adventures of seven-year-old me if not for the level of Britishness and sexual innuendo. Time and again, storylines unfold themselves with a rampant disregard for establishing a baseline level of reality in favor of just plain having a good time.
What I mean by a baseline level of reality is that most shows have a fairly concrete answer to the question: if Mulder and Scully were investigating this mystery, who would be right? In Gravity Falls, it’s Mulder, because the paranormal is real. In Scooby Doo, it’s Scully, because the paranormal is some jerk in a mask. The Avengers has no such easy answer, because the answer is always ‘what would be more fun?’ Steed has a perfect body double? Ahaha don’t be ridiculous; how could you have been fooled for a second! Telepathic space plants taking over the world? Well, of course those are real. Time travel? Nah, just an elaborate mechanized fake. The telepathic invasion of dreams to plant suggestions via creepy Santas? Well, that happens all the time.
The playfulness reaches its heights with Steed and Mrs. Peel, whose relationship is introduced with a novelty doorbell and a fencing match. In their first season together, their episodes end with a tag scene of them relaxing and having fun together; if I remember correctly, that scene is often comically sped up at the end.It’s no accident that each episode in the next season begins with ‘dress-up’ and a mock fight sequence. Not to mentions Steed’s obsession with ever more elaborate ways to deliver the message “Mrs. Peel, we’re needed.”
And from there they never let up. Throughout the series they play with model trains, guns, trampolines, umbrellas, cameras, puppets, dolls, and more. In the middle of a fight scene, Mrs. Peel takes advantage of the bars of a chair to pretend to be a zoo animal and growl at Steed. Another time, Steed sees the need to rescue Mrs. Peel–but why choose any old rescue method when the villains’ jungle-in-England theme means you can grab a goddamn vine and launch yourself at them, yodeling like Tarzan? And Mrs. Peel just runs with it, like any good player following another’s lead, with her response. It’s great.
AND! This attitude stands in marked contrast to that of many of the villains, whose potentially playful obsessions with shopping centers or roleplay or cats or whatever have turned harmful because they’ve selfishly prioritized them over actual living people. (Steed may have strong opinions how to be a proper gentleman and wear a proper bowler, but he still defends the humanity and lives of those who don’t fall into that model.
Mrs. Peel revels in activites ranging from modern art to medicine to judo to nuclear physics, but she rejects all philosophies that prioritize one thing to the extent that it leads to a dehumanizing mechanization of life.) And it’s in contrast to the victims, whose tunnel vision about honey or Arabian nights or what-have-you mean they never see the bad guys coming.
The Avengers seems to suggest that it’s all very well and good to have a consuming interest in sword-canes or leather catsuits or the Hellfire Club or cinema or golf or botany or being the perfect butler, but that things come and things go, and happiness requires a flexible, improvisational, irreverent, and above all playful attitude where the only attachments are to other people.
Steed and Mrs. Peel put each other first, and have fun.
tl;dr: Steed and Mrs. Peel are suave, sexy secret agents who are the epitome of cool, and they are such because they are joyously and unashamedly huge fucking dorks about the things they love.
Lisa decided to take the kids to the park, but did so begrudgingly. She marched along, not bothering to hide her anger, as the kids followed in silence. They seemed to forget their mother’s mood as soon as they arrived; immediately, they had a blast on the playground. Lisa looked on fondly, her heart softening, as she remembered her own childhood playground adventures.
Cordelia has a kid and she’s in Misty’s class because, duh, Misty is her teacher. And she’s really great with the kids and Cordelia’s daughter always comes home and tells her mom about how Miss Day is so great and Miss Day is my favorite teacher ever and Cordelia just laughs and goes along with it and they meet at a parent teacher conference one night and immediately see what the kid was talking about?
Sitting in the adventure playground of your’s and Sebastian’s local park, nestled in the Clubhouse, which was now yours and his reliable Spaceship, was probably your favourite past time. The older boy next door, with the bright blue eyes, had taken you under his wing, and you were dubbed his Co-Pilot.
Sebastian: You see, Y/N? That’s why we need to land on Mars!
Y/N: We can find everything! And see everything!
Sebastian: You know what? I’ll take you to the moon one day, Y/N.
Y/N: Oh my gosh, really? We can do that.
Sebastian: Hey! I’m the older one! It’s my Job!
Y/N: Thank you Sebby!
Sebastian: Now settle down Pilot. We’ve got to land the ship before it spins out of orbit!
Y/N: Yes Sir!
~Time Set - Present Day~
It had been a while, Since you and Sebastian had been this close. After running back from his latest film, and kissing you, confessing his love, and you returning. He had finally some time off from filming, and the two of you were on the rooftop, watching stars, and drinking hot chocolate.
Sebastian: I always said I take you there. I wish I did.
Y/N: Seb, we were kids. Even if we couldn’t go, we had the best adventures as children.
Sebastian: But the Adventures stopped…
Y/N: You had work. I had a life. It dosen’t mean they don’t still exist.
Sebastian: Do you remember when we crash landed on the moon? And you insisted on making moon cakes?
Y/N: And you told me if I took my helmet off, my head would explode?
Sebastian: *Laughs and Leans closer to you.* You know, even if I can’t take you to the moon, I will always love you there and back.