-Charlize Theron is bisexual and her girlfriend is both hot and badass and another agent, shit you got my ass in the theater 😩
-Charlize Theron dresses and walks like a fucking queen I CANT
-Also she gets punched in the face and the fighting is LEGIT. It’s not some Scarlet Johansson dancing around dudes and never getting down and dirty, it’s some legit face bashing and getting bloodied up and fucked UP. I love it, Charlize wears it like an aesthetic I can’t get enough of
-James Mcavoy looks like a drug dealer, kinda like he looked in Split, and i get a sidekick feeling from him and i dig it
your father was an inventor. you knew better than to trust him in the center of town. he came home with scrap metal and built ships to glide on the grass. when you were young, you loved him for making. for a brief five years, you hated him, embarrassed of the town loon, embarrassed of what raised you.
but time shifts things. the man in town wants to marry you. a beautiful man by every account, and you hear many accounts. your nose in books doesn’t stop the stories of him: Gaston, bright, young, proud. Gaston, who could hunt and carve and flex his muscles. who forgot even himself what was true and what was fiction. it is a small village in paris, at the base of a kingdom. he is the bachelor you should have your heart set on.
you try to teach yourself to love him. he grins at you over beer mugs. never reads the books you suggest to him, drops one in the mud. and one night you hear him, drunk and singing, laughing with the others about your father, the crazy.
that night your father brings you a single white rose from a garden. you kiss your father and think of Gaston’s log cabin, where you could live in comfort.
they come for your father in the night. he is the property of the prince, on account of theft. his hands should be cut off and sewn to the walls of his house, to remind him of his failures. an inventor without hands is a death sentence. they come with fire and hatred. rip you out of bed. your knees hit the mud. you’re too small to fight them. they tear your father away from you, and your heart out of your chest.
you run to gaston. tall, fast, manly. you beg him. it’s a mistake, you cry, you must help - you gulp - and then we will marry.
gaston laughs and slams oak door against nose. you stumble back, feeling like a knife is in your throat. you take the wagon horse and ride improper, legs spread and bent forward, none of the lady your mother would have wanted. you ride for the life of your father.
at the door of the castle you stop. it is raining. you shout and rave and beg anything. take me, you scream, if you’re listening i’ll do anything. what do you promise on that doorstep, crying yourself empty? what do you promise to keep him alive, to keep him whole, to keep him healthy?
the door opens late. no one is there. you remember, suddenly, the tale of the beast who lives here, who ate the prince, who is terrifying. you think you hear your father and suddenly you are running, following his voice down dark hallways with no ending.
he is in a cell. his head is bleeding. you feel your breath hitch.
“will you?” a voice says, “will you trade yourself for your father, take responsibility for his sin?”
“he’s innocent,” you snarl, “you animals.”
“the rose, belle,” he whispers, and you stare at him. a white rose that is wilting beside your bedside would have been the death of him.
“take me,” you say, somehow empty and full at the same time, “if that’s what you need.”
the first night is ugly. you spend it crying.
over time, the castle learns you, and you learn it. you think you are imagining the talking furniture for most of it. invisible hands whisk food in and out, bring you ball gowns and petticoats and delicate flowers.
and always, the beast. at first, you were terrified of it. always in the shadows. moving like a ghost, prowling. tall, slim. menacing. never showing any skin, any proof it might be human.
but time and comfort destroy fears. you don’t run when it is in the room, you no longer shield your face in fear. it wears a mask, and this is how you know it really must be beastly.
it is the second winter when you, playing snowball fights with the statues - you manage to hit the beast in the face. you freeze, and the panic from the day they took your father returns in a firework.
but then the beast is throwing back. and you are laughing. the next morning it is at breakfast with you, and lunch. it comes and goes, and never speaks. laughs, sometimes, you think. talks with its hands. the furniture translates. you learn, because you are good at learning. the hands that mean can i come in? the hands that mean are you hungry? the hands that mean is it okay if i read next to you, here this book is good, i found this for you.
each morning you wake up with white roses by your bedside. you learn to talk a little louder than you’re used to, to move your own hands in a way that acknowledges the beast. it is strange that you were a quiet girl and now you are comfortable shouting. the two of you have your own language, together. it teaches you swordfighting, you teach it dancing. it teaches you archery and you teach it cooking. you walk through the gardens together. there are moments where your hands touch and for some reason you blush like it was kissing. you’ve never had someone who understands you so completely. sometimes you tell it about far-away stories. sometimes you tell it about your village. and sometimes, when you are raw, you tell it about gaston and the marriage you didn’t want and your father and his insanity
one of these nights the beast brings you the mirror. you cry when you see your father. and the beast is pulling you, running, picking out a horse from the stables, gesturing. go, go. you cry when you leave.
you save your father. tell him you’ll bring him back to the beast. do you talk too loud? is gaston only mad you never belonged to him? when the raid starts, you are still taking care of your father. outside, voices, ringing. kill the beast. you think of hands, dancing in the air to speak, and you think you have never heard something so ugly. you’re ashamed to be this species.
you ride in their wake, your father safe. you ride that same panicked race as three years ago to the day.
you fight, because the beast taught you how. the castle fights, because it is protecting its life. and the beast - you watch the flash of a blade, careful not to kill - the ability you once mistook for savagery.
it isn’t enough. gaston, and a gun. the three of you stand on the balcony, you in between. again you are begging this man, who means nothing. “leave the beast,” you say, “take me.”
“i’ll have both,” he says, and shoots. you feel the bullet streak by you. the beast is all movement, has pushed you out of the way. they grapple, and you scream when the beast falls, skittering. gaston marches over and you move without thinking. he falls into the night silently.
you can’t get there quick enough. you gather the beast into your lap, begging be okay. at the mask, you whisper something, and then say it again with your hands. i love you, you say. you were the best thing to happen to me.
the mask slips. a voice says, “belle,” and you are hit with the full force of something that feels like music. you can’t breathe.
the girl beneath the mask is beautiful. her blonde hair spills across your legs. she touches your face and her hands say i’m okay, and you’re laughing. you kiss her and roses open up in you.
“i thought you were a beast,” you say with hands and lips a hair above hers, “and here you are, the beauty.”
she smiles sheepishly. it is hard when you are like me.
your are sobbing. you kiss her again, because you can, because she’s here and perfect and the answer to questions you didn’t know you had been asking.
her hands, curious, worried, search for your wet cheeks. i’m okay, really, belle. you saved me.
funny, your hands dance, i was about to say the same thing.
i will never get over how obvious even's annoyance/jealousy of emma is in retrospect
hands down the FUNNIEST thing to me, the funniest thing of the whole season is watching even’s face the few times he interacts with her. I feel like, on first glance, he maintains his cool politeness well enough that you can breeze over… his utter disdain for everything she stands for or says around him.
This is how I’ll love you: like the night sky holding on to her brightest stars so they won’t fall, like a lighthouse safely guiding her sailors home, like a flower rising toward her sun, like the wave gently lapping against her shore, like a flame igniting, burning herself over and over again for the one she loves.
This is how you’ll love me: from a distance, close enough to touch, but never close enough to let yourself get hurt. Never close enough to let me in. Walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around your feelings like there was a way for you to avoid catching them.
This is how we’ll end: I ask you to meet me halfway, but you never show up. I ask you to tell me what you want but you never know yourself. I ask you to let me go because I cannot stay for someone who does not know for sure if he wants me to. So we end how we began. But, tell me, if there was no beginning, how can there ever be an end? If all we did was go in circles, how can we stop?
hey viria i was just wondering..... maybe you might've answered this before.... but how did sasha and you first meet and got into, you know, love? im really curious (i've never fallen in love before!!) and what was your experience like? im sorry if it's too personal, but.... you were the reason i started tumblr, because i wanted to reblog your arts! i feel so happy for you!
Thank you! It’s okay, I think..I might not get too personal, but I can describe it overall:”)
So he joined our last year of the university. At first I didn’t really notice him at all? I was fairly shy, because I was surrounded with people I don’t know well enough since my group of people all joined the specialist course, while I was taking masters.
Sasha said once we were in relationship that he thought I was too cool, like i had that certain circle of people and uh. out of his league.
So. I was shy, as I said. and when I’m shy I’m pretty quiet. At the beginning of the year I was always alone, or went off to see Tanya, or listened to the music because I wasn’t sure how to approach people. Then I kinda started to open up but still was keeping on a quiet side. It’s probably around October that Sasha started kindly teasing me? He asked a lot why I was sad, when I wasn’t, I always said it was just my neutral face. SO it all kinda started with teasing:”D
We all together (as a class) started to talk and laugh more, Sasha and me too. I am generally even more shy around guys, so at first I still couldn’t quite uh talk the way I can now. But with time we started to talk a bit more, and i wasn’t as nervous to be on my own with him (I always worried we wont be able to talk and there will be that awkward silence). He helped a lot, kinda cheered on me, I think we at some point started to flirt and one of my classmates said we have an interesting communication. Once he got sick, and I was waiting for my parents in the uni, everyone left, and Sasha kept me company. It was so easy to talk?? I think that’s kind of when it started to shift for me.
Then parents came, and my mother said that there’s a big cold (as a flu) going around, involving in people dying, and I started to worry about Sasha a lot, because he caughed very badly when we parted. So I got all my courage and wrote him to go to the doctor if he feels very bad and take care, stuff like that.
About after that we started to talk in the evenings constantly, it was like a tradition. So we talked a LOT. Eventually he got the courage to ask me out on a concert? I think the concert was just a way to do it fairly subtle:D
We went out, I was very nervous getting ready, but when I got there I was okay, and Sasha was the one who seemed to be nervous this time:”D Still, it went out great, the concert SUCKED, but we had something to talk about on the way back home and I felt so lifted afterwards! So we started to go and see each other more and more, but we still kept it on a modest side? Like we said goodbuy and gave each other awkward high fives for A WHILE. We both are shy potatoes. But it was still perfect:”)
Then one time Sasha asked me out to go ice skating, because I love it, even though he can’t skate. So we went there, I asked Sasha to trust me and I wanted to ride with him like I did with my cousin and other friends, but I didn’t realize Sasha is bigger than those girls, and heavier. And so I. Uh. I dropped him by accident. he felt badly and didn’t skate after that, because he hit his elbow quite bad. Kept saying it’s okay, go and skate without me, you love it, etc. But I couldn’t because I was so worried and I felt so guilty? We left soon enough, and were just walking and went to the cafe where I has seen his arm, and it was getting very bruised and fairly swollen. And it’s his right arm and for an artist it’s not the best thing to injure.
I couldn’t stop blaming myself even though Sasha kept saying it wasn’t my fault (tho I think it kind of was), so I kept asking him how he feels, got him the medicine against swelling, and then once we parted, we still talked in the evening, and I didn’t want Sasha’s arm to hurt so I FINALLY had my reason to call him. and then we talked on the phone for the next three hours and I honestly don’t even remember much of that anymore.
Sasha later said it was when he seriously fell in love. so. Tadaa! that’s kind of it! After that it’s more personal and more domestic, so! Sorry it’s so long, but you asked for it:D
Peter stares, watching them all a little blankly. By his side, Tony has his head in his hands. He’s been groaning for the past twenty seconds.
“So… you went on a ten-year murder spree where you joined a terror organisation of your own free will in order to kill Tony, who wasn’t even responsible for the death of your parents in the first place- and then decide that just Tony isn’t murderous enough for you, and go for the rest of his team for some reason, too?”
Across the room, Wanda bristles. “It wasn’t like-”
“And then your team leader let you on the team you were trying to murder? Almost immediately after the one single fight you helped them with?” Gamora interrupts. Her eyes are cold and dangerous.
Steve opens his mouth to defend himself, but Drax cuts in. “And you,” he gestures harshly at clint, “you were willing to abandon your family and get yourself arrested, just so you could involve yourself in a matter that did not concern you anyway?”
“You think I wanted to be arrested? That was all Tony-” Clint begins, but Drax roars, and Clint rears back, eyes wide and hand reaching for the bow at his hip.
“TONY STARK DID NOT FORCE YOU TO BREAK YOUR LAWS! I WAS PUT IN JAIL BECAUSE I FOUGHT FOR MY FAMILY, NOT-”
“Drax, stay calm. These people are breakable,” Gamora warns, although she is staring at them all as if she wants nothing better than to let Drax get himself worked up over them.
“You know, Tony has only been giving you his view on everything that happened,” Steve counters. He’s looking at Tony like… like he’s disappointed in him, and that’s enough to get Rocket yelling angrily.
“Oh, so you sayin’ you didn’t tear the team he invested his time, his love, his effort into, apart- all so you could save a guy that Tony had offered to rehabilitate in the first place anyway? Or what about the fact you didn’t tell him that your best bud murdered his parents? That a lie too?” He snarls, and on his shoulder, Groot’s arms are slowly growing, pricklier and heavier- he can feel the weight on his shoulders.
“I think everyone needs to calm down, here-” Sam begins, but Gamora silences him, knuckles cracking as she steps forward.
Sam, wisely, takes a step back.
“You do not get to talk- not when you chose to put your trust in a man you met for three seconds, whilst he was breaking into Tony’s compound, over the actual Avenger and team-mate himself,” she hisses, hands thrown up into the air as she turns to face all of them now.
“You sicken me. I may fight and argue and be frustrated with my team- but at the end of the day, they are still my family. They are still the people I would trust without a second thought,” she shoots a glare at Sam, “who I would always tell the truth to, even if it hurts,” Steve looked at the floor, jaw set in a grim line, “and who I would never, ever ask to be on the same team as a woman who subdued them to their worst fears and tried to kill them. I would rather die.”
She spat on the floor, and then turned away. “I am going back to the ship. You may continue your discussions if you must, but I am finished. I will only kill one of them if this continues.”
“That would be a shame,” Drax says quietly, his voice low and threatening.
Tony, who spent the majority of the conversation absolutely silent, speaks up at that point. “Hey! Drax used sarcasm!”
No one laughs. He goes back to holding his head in his hand.
Peter just looks slightly sick. His hand is wrapped very, very tightly around Tony’s.
“You know that post of text that Tony showed us a few weeks ago? He called it a… a me-me? With the breadsticks and the asshole date?” Rocket pipes up after a few seconds of silence, gun still spinning ominously in his fingers. “I think it’s time for us to shove Tony in our spaceship and say we have to go, right now, immediately.”
Despite everything, Tony lets a huff of laughter escape at that. Peter- seeming to suddenly snap out of his horrified trance- nods his head approvingly, beginning to tug on Tony’s hand. “Yes. I agree. Wonderful though this diplomatic meeting of teams was, I’m afraid we have urgent business to attend to. We have to… show Tony… something awesome.”
“Yes. LOVE, AFFECTION AND VALIDATION!” Drax roars again, curling an arm around Tony’s shoulders and placing the most violent and angry kiss possible on top of his hair.
“Later, losers!” Rocket calls out, sticking his middle finger up behind him and then turning to punch Tony’s thigh gently before scarpering back to the ship.
Groot hops down from Rocket and then latches on to Tony’s forearm, clambering up his arm until he was resting on Tony’s shoulder instead. Tony glances over at him and grins happily. He’s always had a bit of a soft spot for Groot.
“hey,” he whispers, as the tiny tree alien quickly began to grow a few flowers, and then plucked them off his hand and tucked them into Tony’s hair. “I am Groot,” he whispers right back in reply.
Tony smiles, rolling his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I know. Don’t worry about them- I left them behind a long time ago.”
Steve hears that. He looks at tony for a long time, his eyes a little sad and regretful.
Tony just stares right back, and then raises his eyebrows and shrugs, adjusting the beginning of the flower-crown Groot was making for him.
“Call me the next time it gets too much for you guys to handle,” he calls out after them, as Peter and Drax both steer him hurriedly back toward the ship and away from his old team.
Groot giggles on his shoulder, and then places another flower behind his ear. “I am Groot!”
“I agree,” Tony says, just as Peter nods his own approval, gently bumping their shoulders together. “Let’s go and play Space-Tag.”
Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it in latex or she’s stealing your paychecks), oral (female receiving), language, some fluff at the very end.
Summary: guys this has absolutely no plot like it is pure sin. It’s also in Bucky’s POV, and I’m planning on doing it in the reader’s POV as well, as a sequel of sorts. But, can I get a hell yeah for the smut?
Bucky loved times like this. The feeling of your soft skin
on his fingertips, and your hands running through his hair. He absolutely
couldn’t get enough of you.
His favourite though, was the sounds you make when you two
are together. The soft gasps and breathy moans, eventually growing in volume as
he works you towards your peak.
Right now, his head was buried in between your thighs. He
was still teasing you; kissing your thighs and hips. He planned on doing this
for quite some time, until you were begging. However, that changed when you
felt his breath on your core, and a gasp of his name fell through your lips.
Yura is LOUD. He can’t help it. Beka is just so good to him. He becomes a crying, screaming mess and Beka adores it.
Surprisingly, neither of them have much control, even around Victor and Yuuri. When Beka and Yura stay with them, Beka tries to deny his baby boy. He really does. He knows he’s so very loud, but he can’t keep his hands to himself.
Yura cries more often than not when Beka is fucking him. He just feels so safe and overwhelmingly in love. Beka loves nothing more than looking down at his baby boy with the softest smile and whispering that he loves him while Yuri cries.
Both of them live for phone sex. Yuri gets so out of breath, simply writhing at his Beka’s words and Beka doesn’t mind that Yuri is usually only able to form incoherent babbling. Beka can cum just to the sounds of his baby.
Yuri is the one to initiate sexting, but Beka is much better at it. Yura sends more pictures while Beka is better with words.
Yura seems so dominant around others, but with Beka he just fucking m e l t s. He gets all flustered and he blushes so adorably pink. He won’t ever listen to anyone else, but with Beka he just submits. Lets himself be told what to do. Lets himself be taken care of.
PRAISEKINK!YURI!! Yura is so weak for praise. The simplest of words make his knees buckle. Not even just in bed. Once, just before a performance, Beka called him his pretty boy and Yura had to skate the entire piece with shaky knees.
But in bed, Yuri legitimately collapses. Sinks into the sheets, unable to hold still while Beka sprinkles kisses all over his pale skin. “You look so pretty, Yura.” “I’m impossibly in love with you.” “You look like artwork, baby boy.” Yura can’t keep his hips pressed against anything but his Beka’s cock.
When Yuri wants it hard, he knows how to get it. Drag Beka down and breathily whisper “daddy.”
Neither of them are particularly kinky. Beka calls is softcore kinky. Hair pulling, but never enough to hurt. Love bites that turn into wonderful purple galaxies, but never break skin. Beka loves Yura too much to hurt him and Yura wants to be w o r s h i p p e d.
Yuri loves lingerie. Adores it. He loves the feel of the soft pink lace against his skin and he loves the way Beka looks at him when he wears it.
Yuri’s a slut for rimming. His knuckles go white from gripping at the sheets or grasping at Beka’s hair. There’s nothing he loves more than being eaten out, strong tongue working it’s way past his hole and sending him over the edge, screaming.
It’s messy, but Yura fucking loves it when Beka cums inside of him. He loves feeling so owned. And the shower after always leads to round two.
In which Harry loves your boobs and hates when you sleep.
Omg please write something about harry and his missus boobs I’m dying for it
Harry has been in a mood since the moment he woke up, hands roaming your body under the sheets, cupping the underneath of your breasts, lips sponging over the back of your neck. He woke you up with his feely touches, much to your annoyance.
“Harry, leave me alone,” you mumbled, rolling away from him. The two of you were out late last night and had a long day ahead of you. You needed all the shut eye you could get.
“Jus’ wan’ some cuddles, love,” he complained with a tired whine, fingers snaking over your hip in an effort to pull you back to him.
“No, you don’t. Let me sleep.”
You had to shove his hands away twice more before he finally relented, climbing out of bed to get ready for the day. You were thankful for the peace, but no matter how hard you tried, there was no getting back to sleep.
Now, here you are, yawning through the doorway after a busy schedule of meetings and catch-ups, toeing off your shoes in the entryway. Your feet lead you to the couch where you collapse onto your back, eyes resting closed. A wave of relieved bliss washes over you until it’s broken once more.
What do you think of Harry saying SOTT is about a mom dying in childbirth. I'm just ??????? What do you think SOTT is about?
‘Sign of the Times’ came from ‘This isn’t the first time we’ve
been in a hard time, and it’s not going to be the last time.’ The song
is written from a point of view as if a mother was giving birth to a
child and there’s a complication. The mother is told, ‘The child is
fine, but you’re not going to make it.’ The mother has five minutes to
tell the child, 'Go forth and conquer.’
Harry Styles, Rolling Stone
When I read this I immediately thought he’s trying to tell us without telling us that Jay was the inspiration for SOTT and making it his lead single is a tribute to her. I mean, that’s my take on it. Makes sense to me.
She prepared her kids (which for all intents and purposes includes Harry) for her death.
Just stop your crying
It’s a sign of the times
Welcome to the final show
Hope you’re wearing your best clothes
Referencing a funeral here.
You can’t bribe the door on your way to the sky
You look pretty good down here
But you ain’t really good
Understand when it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go. Riches can’t save you. Your life may look great from the outside. But it’s not always as good as it looks. And those last two lines may be a reference to how shocked everyone was that young, beautiful, vivacious Jay had passed. It’s not all good in Harry’s hood, even if that’s what the tabloids and paps and gossips make it seem like.
We never learn, we’ve been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets, the bullets?
We never learn, we’ve been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets, the bullets?
We’re all whistling past the graveyard like death isn’t coming for us and our loved ones. When it comes, we’re devastated. We know it’s coming eventually, but we can’t get in the headspace of truly being ready for it. So we live on the run. Running from death. But it will catch us eventually.
Just stop your crying
It’s a sign of the times
We gotta get away from here
We gotta get away from here
Just stop your crying
It’ll be alright
They told me that the end is near
We gotta get away from here
To everything there is a season. The time of death is upon us. But don’t stay in this place of grief. It’s ok to move on. Keep living your life.
Just stop your crying
Have the time of your life
Breaking through the atmosphere
And things are pretty good from here
Jay wants her kids to enjoy life, even though she’ll be gone. She’s going to a better place. No more suffering.
Remember, everything will be alright
We can meet again somewhere
Somewhere far away from here
It feels terrible now. But eventually, it’ll get better. And she’ll see them again someday. N.E.R.D.–noone ever really dies. Energy just transforms.
We don’t talk enough
We should open up
Before it’s all too much
Will we ever learn?
We’ve been here before
It’s just what we know
Don’t take your loved ones for granted. Share. Bond. Grow together. Do better. A mother’s wisdom.
I feel like this is where it was going with the dying mom comments. Of course, for many fucked up reasons, he obviously couldn’t say this was about Jay. But I think he dropped enough of a hint for us to pick up. It’s not the first hard time or the last? I think in Ever Since New York, Harry made it clear that hiding his relationship with Louis and engaging in fauxmances has been very painful for him and I’m sure for both families as well. The child is fine, but you’re not going to make it? Yep, all her kids are thankfully fine. The mother has 5 minutes to tell the child to go forth and conquer? That must have been what the last months of her life felt like–5 minutes. Not enough time. But she prepared them. God bless.
will i ever get over isak asleep on even's chest and even looking up like he's so thankful to the universe for getting to have isak
and it’s something he purposefully showed him by putting it in the video?? He wants him to know he’s grateful to have him?
Even is such a demonstrative person, in both words and actions. I don’t think he leaves Isak in the slightest doubt about how much he loves him but, with all that, I get the idea he still feels like it isn’t enough? Like, he hasn’t gotten across just how much he loves him? This video is him trying to bridge that gap, trying to capture what Isak means to him and how thankful he is to have him. Showing it in a way Isak (and the whole world) could see it. :`)
So, my employee literally stopped playing Final Fantasy XV because of his own homophobia.
If you ask this man about FFXV, he will go into a frothing rage about Prompto. About how he was so sick of the bromance, how he was just waiting on the blonde dude to ‘come out to Noctis’, and how annoying it was that Prompto was obviously in love with Noctis.
He gets legitimately angry over this. He blames it for ruining his gaming experience. He says that “if the cooking dude cooked hot dogs once”, he was going to burn the disc.
On the one hand, I feel bad that he couldn’t see past his own ridiculous homophobia long enough to enjoy the amazing characters and storyline.
On the other hand, I’m sort of smug watching his frustration when all my life I’ve had to deal with legitimate gaming frustrations like shoehorned romances and women being used for manpain, and his bigoted tears fuel my glee at his suffering.
On the third hand because fuck logic, I make sure to pitch FFXV to customers extra enthusiastically while said employee is present, just to see the rage start to simmer anew.
If Square Enix paid me on commission for the amount of Final Fantasy games I sell, I could afford a yacht. And I would call it the Recipeh and emblazon the side of it with Promptis fanart and then invite my employee for a ride on it, because fuck homophobia.
You stared at the T.V.
screen without seeing much of anything. Your brain ran through your fight with
Bucky earlier in the evening, overanalyzing everything you said. Should you
have phrased something differently? You didn’t want him to think you didn’t
care about him.