antique writing desk

Bucky Barnes, the human equivalent of the 100 emoji.

“Well, whaddya think?” asked Bucky, injecting a little swagger into his step as he crossed the living room floor.

“Are you ever going to wear anything other than that shirt ever again?” Steve asked him, looking on from the sofa with quiet admiration.

“Nope,” replied Bucky, flopping down next to him. “It"s the nicest birthday gift anybody’s ever given me. Do you think I’ll get a special discount at restaurants?”

“Bucky, that’s… the shirt’s not even your real birthday gift,” Steve told him, through a heavy facepalm. “Did you not notice the antique writing desk with the big red bow on it in the studio?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to assume that was for me,” said Bucky with a shrug.

“Jerk,” said Steve, playfully elbowing him in the side.

Granted, in real people years, Bucky knew he was somewhere in his early thirties, probably - it was too difficult and too painful to figure it out for sure - but being a hundred meant something. He had, in his own way, weathered a century’s worth of experience, and emerged, if not unscathed, then at least recovering.

“So it’s a real antique, is it?” asked Bucky.

“It was quite the find,” Steve confirmed.

“Is it as old as we are?”

“Not… quite,” conceded Steve.

“So… how much would I fetch at auction?”

“You?” Steve thought it over, giving him careful examination. “You’re in near mint condition for someone your age. I’d go as far as to say you’re priceless.”

Bucky could tell he was blushing in spite of himself. “Shut up, you fucking sap,” he said, smiling against Steve’s lips. “Now when do I get my cake?”


(redbubble | society6)

TITLE: The Better Man

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One shot

AUTHOR: stewieismyhomeboy

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki giving up on courting you when he finds out that Steve has a crush on you. He believes you deserve someone better, someone nicer, someone who isn’t chained to a life of darkness; he thinks he would never stand a chance.

RATING: M towards the end, but PG-13 throughout

NOTES/WARNINGS: Sexual suggestions throughout, masturbation towards the end.

Loki was sitting at his desk in Avengers Tower, not in his armor, but a simple green tunic and black pants writing in his diary. The room was not nearly as nice as his bedroom in the Asgadian palace, but he could find small little comforts. Stark had granted him a large bookcase, and when Thor had taken him to Midgard, he allowed Loki to bring his favorite Asgardian books. He had found a great Midgardian antique writing desk, and a large California King-sized bed.

Loki had started writing in a diary at the behest of the Midgardian psychologist, Dr. Fitzburn, who came once a week to Avengers Tower. Agent Hill suggested one, since so many of the heroes needed issues worked out, especially Loki. In fact, the psychologist was the only reason he was allowed to join the team. Loki did have to agree with Fitzburn; a lone diary where he could gather his daily thoughts did clear his mind and help him on his “road to acceptance”.

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The Honourable Miss Hooper.

I watched Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries on Netflix and though I wouldn’t say this is necessarily an AU of the show itself, it is heavily inspired by its tone. The basic premise is that it’s the 1920s, Molly Hooper is a private detective, Sherlock is a consulting detective, they compete/not so reluctantly work with each other over/on cases and they share a history which they both like to bring up in an attempt to make the other flustered. In an ideal world I’d do a series of this, but I’m me and I’ve got WIPs and yeah. Have this drabble anyway.

It was not often that Molly Hooper, private detective, found herself in an awkward social situation. At any party, she was the life of it. She kept conversation and champagne flowing in equal amounts, the jazz hot and her dancing impeccable, sure-footed with even the clumsiest of gentlemen. She never let a guest leave her parties without a smile on their face and a companion on their arms. (Though if a male guest happened to get a little hands-on in the duration of a party, then she always made sure to send him home with nothing more than a bottle of champagne and his driver.)

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