i was squinting for like 12 years to get the colors right

Coincidences Part II (Bucky x Reader)

You guys have waited way too long for this and for that I’m sorry. But here it is, so I won’t start it with my usual long-winded preamble. 

Happy Reading!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Modern AU thingy)

Words: 5046 (yikes, that’s the longest fic I’ve ever written)

Warnings: The usual tiny bit of swearing

Excerpt:  For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely.

Series Tags: @melanie451 @sebstanwassup @colagirl5 @winenighthoe @lovemarvelousfics @gotnotfeature @sebastianst-n @alwayshave-faith @hollycornish @iggytheboywonder 

Tags: @langinator @fairchild21

Originally posted by little--batman

Originally posted by gliceria

Your name: submit What is this?

New Message from Mr. Catarcs

3:42 a.m u up?

You blink your eyes blearily and shift in bed. The sheet is wrapped around your legs like sweaty vines, constricting your movement. You growl angrily and throw them off, sitting up and relishing in the cool air of your apartment. Despite the frigid cold outside, you somehow still manage to wake up sweating. Maybe you’re a mutant. 

Glancing over at your phone, it dings again to impatiently let you know that you still haven’t opened the text that woke you up. Usually your phone is switched to silent because of your job at the diner. There are always so many phones going off that it’s almost impossible to tell which is which. It’s just easier having your phone on silent because then you’re never worried about whether your phone is ringing or if it’s someone else’s. It saves you a lot of unnecessary anxiety. 

But ever since last night’s conversation with James, you decided that you wanted to hear your phone ring with a text. It’s the first time in your life that you don’t want to miss a text. 

You pick up the offending piece technology and swipe it open. Sure enough, the text is from James and you grin despite the fact that this message is the same one that woke you at—you squint at your alarm clock—3:49 a.m. 

Deciding you are both thirsty and in need of some time in the open air of your apartment and not under the suffocating sheets, you get up and stretch. The floors are cold as you pad to the kitchen and fill a glass with water, shooting a text back to James. 

3:51 a.m I am now

You wait for an answer while downing your glass of water and putting the empty glass in the sink again. Maybe he fell back asleep when you didn’t answer right away. 

For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely. 

You have no proof of this, and absolutely no reason to believe he isn’t a creep except for a gut feeling. You resolve to ask his age whenever he decides to answer you. 

You think about that. He could lie to you and tell you that he’s 20 when he’s really a lot older than that. The only way you’d truly know is if you meet him in person. 

Suddenly you’re a little dizzy. This is just way too much to worry about at four a.m. You decide to just talk to him. You genuinely like his personality, and you don’t have to worry about all that other stuff until you actually meet him. If you actually meet him. That’s a big, neon-colored, flashing sign in the middle of absolute nowhere if.  

Your phone dings and you look over from where you’re clutching the counter. You don’t notice how hard you were gripping the counter until you pull your palms away and it stings, lines etching themselves across your palm. 

4:03 a.m srry didnt mean to wake u

Before you can even formulate a response, he’s texting you again. A double text. Gasp.

4:04 a.m just couldnt sleep. i was wondring if u wanted to talk

You tilt your head at your screen. He’s up in the middle of the night, and the first thing he does is text you? Why? Does he not have other people he can talk to? A stupid part of you, the same part that wants to meet him in person, thinks that maybe it’s because he wants to talk to you. 

Maybe he does. Probably not. It’s too much to hope for. All his other friends are probably asleep. Regardless, not answering is not an option. Well, it is, but it’s not one you’re likely to explore, not when your chest has those freaky bubbles in it and your stomach is doing that stupid flippy-thingy. Nope. This, you decide, feels like High School when a cute boy texted you first and the instinct to giggle shot up to level 12. 

4:06 a.m alright. what about?

Capitals, Y/N. What the hell happened to capitals?

You take your phone and pad back into your room, perching yourself up against the headboard with your knees drawn up to your chest and your phone in your hands as you wait for a response. Worrying your bottom lip, your mind drifts to work. You’ll have to get up in about three hours to be at work on time. Man, you’re going to be tired. 

It’s then that your phone dings. You decide then that talking to him makes it worth the fatigue. 

4:11 a.m twenty questions?

4:11 a.m Fine, but since you woke me up you have to go first.

The three dots that mean he’s typing pop up three different times before the response finally comes through. 

4:15 a.m whatd u go to school 4?

You laugh. 

4:15 a.m getting down to the nitty gritty personal stuff I see

You think for a moment. Telling him what you do isn’t divulging too much about yourself, so you decide it’s okay.

4:16 a.m lol yup thats me. i want the deep personal stuff. might just ask what ur fav color is nxt

4:16 a.m 1. editing; 2. sorry, that’s sacred info

4:17 a.m 1 ah i understand y ur a grammar nazi now…2 obviously

Thinking for a moment, you decide that favorites are just too cliche. Any conversation anyone has with some new friend ends in questions that start with “What’s your favorite…” You really want to know how old he is, but you figure you need an ice breaker before you get to the actual nitty gritty. 

First, though, you must take the bait to piss him off:

4:19 a.m What would you have done if I hadn’t gone to college?

With a yawn, you lie back down and curl on your side, sitting your phone on the nightstand in front of you with your eyes glued to it. Once you realize that staring at it isn’t going to make him type faster, you turn over. 

You’re totally not too eager. There’s no—


You flip over so fast that you rip the sheet from the other side of the bed and end up with half of it between your stomach and the bed. It pulls from the bottom corner of the bed and is slightly uncomfortable, but you don’t care. 

4:22 a.m high school?

4:23 a.m I didn’t go to high school FOR anything 

You’re not sure if the use of caps-lock is weird, but you send it off anyways, deciding that emphasis on that one word is crucial to your meaning. He replies within seconds. 

4:23 a.m i mean dunno bout u but i went to learn

You laugh, probably louder than is necessary. 

4:24 a.m Touche. What’d you go to school for?

4:26 a.m repeating questions isnt alowed

Frowning, you wonder if he actually didn’t go to college. Should you push it? Maybe you should just change the question. There’s a part of you, the curious part that wanted to be a reporter when you were young, that really wants to know. 

There isn’t too much time for you to think all of that before he’s texting you again. Usually, you’re the one to mercilessly double-text. James, it would seem, has you beat in this department. Also, you didn’t want to double-text a complete stranger. 

Before you even look at the text, it hits you again: this is a complete stranger. The thought of not answering enters your mind again, but you push it down. No harm in just talking if neither of you meet, right? Right?


4:27 a.m i joined the military right out of HS

It’s a real Oh moment, and you find yourself staring at your screen as if it’s a real person. The military? What are you supposed to say to that? What’s the protocol for a text that you’re not sure how to answer? Should you just leave it alone? No; if you leave it alone then he’ll think he freaked you out. He hasn’t. Your brain is just short-circuiting on an answer. 

Should you think him for his service? No. Not yet. You don’t want to call too much attention to it in case he doesn’t want to talk about it or he’s had bad experiences, but you’re still not sure how to respond. Have you taken too long already? 

You summon up some courage and type out a message. 

4:31 a.m Oh wow. Well, what would you have studied if you had gone?

You cringe, totally not meaning for that to sound like you were completely skipping over the issue altogether. James doesn’t seem to mind though, if his response is any indication. 

4:32 a.m hmm history i think. ive always liked ww2 4 some reason

4:33 a.m well you’ve got AP european history girl right here. 1 of only 11 in the whole senior class to take it. 

4:34 a.m well, smartypants i get 2 q’s bc u asked 2 

You feel that you handled that effectively, and you were already beginning to formulate a plan in your head while he thought about his questions. 

See, you know next to nothing about the military or what it’s all about except that it is for valiant people who want to serve their country. You can respect that, but you want—nay, need—to learn more. Convincing yourself that it’s purely for research purposes and not for anything else.

Regardless, you need to know more. It’s probably better to get it from someone who has been through it rather than from some cold, impersonal online source. And besides, you just so happen to know someone who was in the military. Someone who, in fact, lost a limb in the line of duty: Bucky Barnes. 

As far as you know, Bucky lost his left arm in the military. You’d asked him before how he lost it and he hadn’t answered you, opting instead to change the subject to Steve and his new (at the time) art studio. It had been suspicious, but you understand that it must not be easy to speak about something like that. 

You’ll have to go talk to Steve tomorrow morning to get Bucky’s number, but you think that maybe you’ll treat him to lunch in exchange for him giving you some details about the whole military thing. At the company, you get an hour off for lunch, which is just enough time to go out, interrogate a friend (respectfully, of course), and head back before the hour is up. 

The plan was formed and you had your head already set on it. By the time James’ reply comes in, you’ve tuckered yourself out thinking that whole plan out. It is really late—er, early—after all. 

4:41 a.m 1 how was ur day 2 how r u likely to spend a friday night

4:43 a.m I feel like I’m taking a Buzzfeed quiz

You yawn again and type out your answers.

4:44 a.m my day’s just begun. it’s four a.m. And probably reading or something

You put your phone down, thinking that you’ll just leave it there and wait for his reply, but you end up turning over and falling asleep. 

In the morning, you turn your phone on silent again while you get ready for work, playing some music while you apply some light make-up. 

It turned out that James hadn’t answered you anyway, so you would have been up waiting for a text that wasn’t going to come. Good thing you passed out. 

Glancing at the clock, you notice that it’s 7:02 a.m and that Steve should be up. You don’t have to be at work until 8 and it’s not a long bus ride to get to work so you figure you can spare half an hour to haggle your best friend into giving up Bucky’s phone number. You wonder why you haven’t thought to get it sooner, figuring that you just never needed it. 

You and Bucky only ever hung out with Steve or the rest of the gang. He was a friend of yours, but the two of you had never been too close in the two years of knowing each other. That said, you had heard a lot about each other even before meeting from Steve, and Bucky had expressed in the past how annoying he found it when Steve was constantly mentioning you in casual conversation. 

It was the same with Bucky for you. Steve had been talking about his best friend Bucky ever since you had met him. It was in that way that you and Bucky had gotten to know each other sort of inadvertently. 

Heading out the door and across the hall, you knock on Steve’s door lightly a few times. He’s a light sleeper anyways, and you don’t want to wake the whole hall with loud knocking. You only opt for knocking this time in case he’s not decent or something. Otherwise, you would have used your key.

Sure enough, Steve answers the door within a few minutes, clad in flannel pajama pants, a white V-neck, and holding a steaming cup of coffee. It smells amazing, and you realize then that in your rush you’d forgotten to make yourself some. 

“Got another one of those and half an hour?”

Steve raises an eyebrow but steps aside to let you in. He’s a morning person, so you were sure on your way over here that you wouldn’t receive any resistance. 

“What do you need?” he asks you, pouring you a cup of coffee not unlike how he’d done it the night before. He pours in a generous amount of milk and some sugar before stirring it and handing it to you, just the way you like it. 

Blow, sip—“Mm,” you hum. “I need Bucky’s phone number.” You say it as nonchalantly as you can manage so as not to raise any flags to Steve, but by his surprised expression you can tell that you’ve raised them all. 

“Bucky? Why?”

You shrug like it’s no big deal. “He has some info that I need.” It sounds so covert and cheesy that you almost giggle, but you manage to keep your composure while sipping your coffee again. 

Steve tilts his head to the side almost imperceptibly, leaning his back against the counter across from you as you sit at a stool by his island. Said island juts out from a wall to half-enclose the kitchen area like a wrap-around ‘J’ with the island as the tail. 

After a few moments of silence, it becomes clear that Steve is waiting for you to elaborate, and when you don’t indulge, he sighs, setting his cup down and crossing his arms. 

“Okay, but don’t call him now,” Steve says, already ruffling in a drawer for a pen and paper. “He—he has trouble sleeping, and he needs as much of it as he can get before he has to work. And he’s taking Friday off so he has to log in more hours to make up the difference.” Steve hands you a piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it. 

“Got it,” you said, taking the paper and sticking it in your bag. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he smiles at you. “No problem.”

You stand and head to the door, plan in motion and feeling good about it. Then you remember something and turn as you’re walking toward the door. 


He lifts his head from where he’s still standing in the kitchen sipping his coffee. You realize you’ve left yours there, but decide that it’s okay. You’ll survive. Somehow. 


“Mom is bringing over pasta around two, but I won’t be home,” you can already see his eyes lighting up. “I told her to make extra and that you should be back by then. Can you—”

“—keep it here until you get home?” He knows you so well, it’s scary. “Yeah, but don’t expect me not to try some of it first.”

You fix him with a warning finger. “I’ll be over at seven and I will expect there to be enough for dinner and lunch tomorrow.”

He holds his hands up. “Hey, we all know my metabolism requires a lot of calories per day, and two is just in time for a late lunch.”

“Steve,” you warn. 

“Alright,” he laughs. “I’ll leave some of your mother’s pasta for you for dinner.”

“That’s all I ask.” 

You walk back over, kiss his cheek, take one more sip of your coffee, and then leave. 

You tap your foot on the ground impatiently as you wait at your desk for the clock to turn from 11:29 to 11:30 so you can head for a bathroom break to call Bucky and find out if he’s busy for lunch. 

James hadn’t texted you all day, but you figure that’s okay. He doesn’t always have to text you. He has a life. You push him mostly out of your head, or you try to. You fail miserably. 

He’s the reason you’re meeting with Bucky anyways. As much as you don’t want to admit it, that’s the truth. Of course, you can’t tell Bucky that. You’ll just sound stupid. And then Bucky will tell Steve and Steve will have some sort of “talking to strangers is bad” intervention with you. You definitely don’t want to endure that. 

11:30 hits and it’s officially been half an hour since your actual bathroom break. You don’t want to call attention to yourself in the office that you share with a whole bunch of other people in too-tightly-packed cubicles. You grab the slip of paper Steve had given you and head to the elevator. 

By the time you make it to the downstairs bathroom, you realize that you forgot your phone upstairs on your desk. Great. Now what are you going to do? If you go back up to get it, you’ll look suspicious. Of course, you shouldn’t really care what your coworkers think of you, but you do. Everybody says they don’t care about peer acceptance but most actually do. 

It’s human nature.

You sigh angrily and look around. The lobby is all marble floors and a little shop where they sell overpriced snacks and drinks. There’s a desk to the left of the elevator bank with one woman sitting in a black wheelie chair making and taking phone calls.

Can you just ask her to borrow one of her phones? There’s an empty seat next to her. Maybe you can explain your situation and just ask this woman if you can borrow the phone. 

The only thing is that you don’t know this woman. Your supers rented the office space with the endless rows of cubicles  from the people who owned the building. This woman obviously works for the building management, and not for anyone you know. 

You decide it’s better that she doesn’t know you. It’s less personal. You can call Bucky, discuss details, and be done with it. 

You sidle over and lean on the high desk. Its polished marble top is so high that you have to lean over it a little to see the woman. She’s plump, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a squished face. She looks the opposite of friendly. She’s wearing a black headset that you realize is some sort of Bluetooth. 

You wait until she is done speaking to talk to her. 

“Um, hello?”

She doesn’t look at you for a moment, reaching up instinctively as if she thinks you’re in her headset before she realizes she’s speaking to a real person. She eyes you. 


You were right to guess she wasn’t very friendly. 

“I was wondering if I could borrow your phone,” you say kindly. “I have to call someone and I accidentally left my phone upstairs.”

She looks bored and eyes you for another second before looking back at her computer screen. “Just go up and get it.”

“It’s urgent,” you lie. Man, this is going to be awkward after you make the call right in front of her and she finds out its personal.

She eyes you again. “You have five minutes.”

You smile at her. “I’ll only need three.”

You wait as she plops one of the black phones on top of the counter, and it’s so high that you have to go up on your tiptoes to see the number pad. 

“Type extension 382 first, then the number.”

With that, she gets back to her work and you pull the phone from the receiver. You flatten the paper on the desk and do as she instructed. 

You wonder if he’ll even pick up. This will be an unknown number to him, and you know that if it were you, you wouldn’t answer. 

It rings three times before a familiar, gruff voice answers.


“Bucky? It’s Y/N.”

He sounds surprised. “Y/N?” There’s a pause, a honking noise, and then he sounds as if he’s realized something. “Steve gave you my number.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I had to call you from a work phone, though.”

You catch the woman looking up at you briefly and can tell she’s annoyed that this is a personal call. You’re sure this call needs to be as short as you can possibly make it or else you’re afraid she’ll just cut it herself. 


“Listen, are you busy for lunch in, like, half an hour?”

Bucky thinks for a moment on the other line and the lady looks at you again, her gaze becoming more venomous. You’re pretty sure that once she looks at you a third time she’s going to end your call for you. 

Just as you’re about to scold him for an answer, Bucky speaks up. 

“Yeah, I’m—”

You feel bad, but you have to cut him off. 

“Okay, great. Meet me at the Deli down the street from Steve’s studio at 12 sharp. My treat.”

Bucky chuckled on the other end. “Your treat? What do you need from me?”

You smile despite the situation. “Just your brain.”

“Sure you don’t want Banner or Stark for that one?”

“I’m sure,” the woman was giving you her last angry glare. You had to go. “See you then, Buck.”

“Looking forward to having my brain probed. Bye, Y/N.”

You hang up, thank the lady, and make your way back upstairs as fast as you can. 12:00 can’t come quick enough. 

Bucky wonders what you want to talk to him about as he drives a company truck to the deli and parallel parks a couple blocks down. The flatbed of the truck is filled with mismatched pieces of junk, from broken computers to the plastic from the top of a printer. It’s all stuff that can be broken down and reprocessed at a plant. 

The city is taking down an old building and putting a new office building up in its place. It’s Bucky’s job as the assistant to take all the not-so-useless junk and dispose of it somewhere where it can be reused. 

He doesn’t have to be at the plant until two, and he finished loading everything up early, so he has about two hours or so to spare. 

Walking into the Deli, he’s hit with a wave of merciful heat and he immediately pulls his coat off. The deli is small with few patrons a small line for take-out. One woman is sipping an iced coffee through a straw while she types madly on a computer. Two men are sitting at a table wearing yellow vests and eating huge subs. Bucky wonders if he would have ended up as one of them, working for the DPW if he hadn’t begun working with the demolition company. 

It takes him barely a moment of looking around to find Y/N sitting in a corner flanked by two windows with an empty seat across from her. There’s a wrapped sandwich and a water sitting on the table in front of the other seat. 

She’s smoothing out the wrapper of her own sandwich as if the creases in the paper wrapping are offending and should not be allowed to exist. 

“Hey,” he says, walking over and taking a seat in front of her. 

She looks up at him and smiles. “Hey,” she shoots back, and then nods to the sandwich. “Got you a BLT.”

Bucky’s suspicions are steadily growing. He pulls the paper from around the sandwich and lays it on the table as Y/N had done, though he couldn’t care less about the creases. He looks between the sandwich and the girl, eyeing both with the suspicion of someone who thinks he’s being played. 

“What’s this about?” he asks. 

She swallows and puts her sandwich down, looking like she’s about to ask him a ground-breaking, life-changing question. Her eyes quickly flick over to his arm and he’s suddenly very sure he knows what this is about. 

But that’s strange. Yesterday—or really early this morning—he was talking to Y/M/N about him having been in the military. Now Y/N is eyeing his arm like she really wants to ask what happened but she doesn’t want to sound impolite. 

Then there’s the fact that they’re both editors. That’s weird. And how Y/N reminds him of Y/M/N. 

He’s an apopheniac, he has to be. He’s seeing coincidences where there really aren’t any. It’s his brain playing tricks on him. In truth, maybe he just wants this strange girl to be Y/N. Though, probably not. Then again, maybe this whole time he thought he was jealous of Y/N for being so close to Steve, he was really jealous of Steve for being so close to Y/N. 

That thought derails him so fast that he doesn’t hear it when Y/N actually asks her question. 

She lets out a breath as if it’s a load-off to finally ask him, and he’s struck with the realization that if he says he didn’t hear her, she probably won’t take it well. He waits for her to say something else, but when she doesn’t he takes a leap of faith based on her glance at his arm. 

“You want to know how I lost my arm,” he says, rather than asks. If her expression of shock and discomfort is any indication, he’s screwed up. 

Big time.


“I mean,” she straightens in her chair. “I guess—it’s sorta part of it? Yeah.”

She sounds so lost and he feels so bad. 

He still has no idea what her original question was though. ‘Part of it.’ His thoughts drift back to his earlier conversation with the girl he’s been talking to over text. The military. Could that be what Y/N wants to know about?

No, it’s just too weird. There’s no way. But he has to know. 

“The military? You want to know about the military?”

She nods, looking slightly guilty. “Yeah,” he tries not to let his breath of relief show, “I—uh, fact-checking. I’m fact-checking an article.”

Bucky nods slowly, sandwich forgotten. She’s a terribly liar. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Sitting back as if she’s been punched in the gut, she blinks once, twice, three times—“I’m not lying.”

“Your body language gives you away.”

“Is that something you learned in the military?”

Bucky chuckles. “That’s something I learned from a whole lot of spy movies. Seriously, why do you want to know?”

She takes a bite of her sandwich and speaks around it. Altogether, not the most sexy, but that’s okay. 

“Research,” she says slowly.

Bucky creases his eyebrows. “For?”

“For a project?”

“If you’re going to lie, at least lie with conviction,” Bucky says. “One of these days, I’m going to teach you how to lie the right way.”

Laughing, she pulls her chair in a little more and sits forward. The picture of seriousness, she says, “Alright, if I tell you, you need to promise me you won’t tell Steve.” She sounds reluctant to tell him at all. This must not have been her plan. 

Bucky draws a cross over his heart with his index finger. “Cross my heart or hope to die.”

She shakes her head. “Gotta be stronger than that. You have to pinkie promise.”

He gasps dramatically. “Not a pinkie promise. This must really be serious.”

Reaching over, she swats his arm. “Buck, I’m serious.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, holding up his pinkie. She links hers with his and he’s momentarily struck by how soft her skin is. Then it’s over. “Tell me.”

She steels herself, he can see it. Jeez, it must really be something serious or she wouldn’t be swearing him to secrecy using childish, yet efficient tactics. It strikes him that she tells Steve everything, same as him, so for her to say she doesn’t want him to know must mean it’s not necessarily something good.

He lets himself think for a moment that she might be about to confess that she’s the mystery girl he’s been texting. It’s much more likely, though, that she’s about to tell him she’s got feelings for Steve or something. 

Steeling himself as well, he waits as she takes a deep breath. 

“I may or may not—”

“You may,” he corrects. She glares at him. 

“—have answered a text from a guy who was trying to text someone else—” 

This is where Bucky stops listening and his internal monologue becomes one word: 


Sweet! (Angelica Schuyler-x-Thomas Jefferson) A Schuylerson Fic

A/N: This just hit me and I had to get it down. Typed on my mobile so forgive typos! I’ll edit later.

Summary: Jefferson made the trip to visit Angelica at the Hamilton household, but not this one!!

(I pretty much thought it’d be cute if Jefferson played with/babysat lil Ange until her Auntie Angelica showed up. 💖😄 Enjoy the adorableness)!

PS: Apparently IRL Angelica Hamilton was 1 year younger than her brother, but if Lin can take creative licensing with history then so can I! I imagine Phil is at least 2-3 years older for this.

Posted: 4/17/17 @ 12:52 AM


Jefferson stared at the little girl who was squinting her eyes skeptically at him. He swallowed nervously.

“Um.. heeey princess. Is your auntie home?”

Her eyes narrowed even more, if that was possible.

“Which one?”


“Ah, your eldest one? Auntie Angelica?” and at this, the girl pouted, looking down and using one hand to sway the ruffles on her light blue skirt while the other still held onto the doorknob.

“Um. She-she’s hanging laundry, but told me not ta bother her ‘cause last time I made the clean sheets fall ‘n get dirty and she gave me a talkin’ to…” she mumbled softly. Jefferson couldn’t help but to smirk at this, and suddenly she was glaring at him again. He frowned.


“Hmmm. My auntie says your a meanie and a jerk.”

“Ah…well???” he didn’t know how to take–

“And so does my papa and big brother,” she added, folding her little arms. Jefferson closed his eyes and sighed. Nice to know where he stood with the family.

“And you? What do you think, lil’ one?” he asked. She hummed in comtemplation.

“I’m not sure. You’ve been nice to me so far buuuuuut, the jury’s still out on you,” she said, borrowing a phrase she’d heard a million times from her father. Jefferson blanched at this. For a 4 year old, she sure was perceptive. “And don’t call me little! I’m this many!” she said, holding up 4 fingers. He cleared his throat,

“Well princess, um, could you tell your Auntie I stopped by? I have to go and…” He turned to leave when she let out a squeak, lunged forward and grabbed the end of his velvet sleeve.

“W-wait! Pleeease stay and play with me! Reading books while waiting for Auntie Ange by myself is boring! Mama and papa went to take care of some business and took Philip, but-but said I was too young to go. And Auntie can take forever with laundry! Pleeeasse?!” she asked, giving him huge puppy dog eyes. He stiffened and grit his teeth, trying to remain immune to her charms, but it was to no avail. He sighed,

“Ah….a-alright. But only until your auntie’s done, okay?” he sighed, looking around to see if anyone was nearby who could use this against him later. The tiny girl giggled before pulling the Secretary of State inside, practically yanking his arm off.


“Angelica?! Angie, sweetheart, where are you?! I’m all done. We can play now! Want to bake cookies? Or go to the park?!” The oldest Schuyler sister called. She was pacing the halls of her sister and brother-in-law’s home looking for her neice. She didn’t have to look long. She heard voices coming from the little girl’s room.

“No way! Your hair’s not magic!”

“It is! How else do you explain how poofy it is?!”

“But how?!”

“It’s special magic from France! See, I’ve traveled all over! Seen pink pandas in China, unicorns in France, and while I was there, they were nice enough to sprinkle pixie dust on my hair! That’s why it’s so poofy! And, they gave me this special tea. Think Mrs. Crumpet will like it?”

“Hmmmm, maybe. I dunno!”

“Well here. I’ll pour some for her and some for you…”

Angelica Scuyler held a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as she watched Jefferson play tea - party with her young neice and her dolls. He seemed almost in his element, like he was a natural. It intrigued her. The older woman leaned against the doorway with folded arms and continued to watch the pair.

Little Angelica Hamilton stuck out her tongue at tasting the pretend tea.

“It’s too sweet!” she said. Jefferson brought a hand to his chest in mock surprise and gasped.

“Are you sure?! They told me it’s only as sweet as the person drinking it. That’s what makes it magic!” he said with a wink. The tiny girl’s eyes grew wide and she took another sip of air.

“Ah! I-it’s perfect then!” she beamed, grinning so wide that he could see the gap from where she’d just lost her teeth. He heard someone clear their throat and glanced up to see the woman he’d come for entering the room. He smiled,

“Of course, I’m sure sweetness runs on the family,” he said. The older Angelica rolled her eyes as her neice tried to get her to try the new tea.

“And he’s not that much of an asshole, Auntie! He’s actually really nice!” she said of Jefferson. Both adults gasped, color draining from their faces as they looked at each other. Jefferson failed to bite back a hearty laugh and the woman before him flushed before clearing her throat,

“Ahem, that may be sweetheart but, don’t you dare use that language in front of your parents, okay? They’d be really mad if they heard you, and Auntie could get in big trouble,” she muttered. The smaller Angelica tilted her head in confusion and shrugged.

“Ok Auntie!” she said, making herself comfortable in the older woman’s lap. Jefferson leaned forward and whispered in the eldest Schuyler sister’s ear.

“Though to be honest, I bet I’m the sweetest asshole you ever met,” he said, his warm breath ghosting over her ear and sending chills down her neck. But she kept her composure and fixed him with a smirk.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Jefferson,” she said, but didn’t move her hand away when his came up to cover hers.


Reviews are welcome!

@theroomwhereitswritten, @hamwriters, @a-schuylerr, @iputmyselfintothenarrative, @wrotemywayoutimagines
I don't know!!

Honestly thank @evananactualacornhansen and @definitely-not-a-cinnamonroll for this fic cause they helped with ideas, proofreading, headcannons, names… just go follow them ok!?

Also I live for reblogs and tags jsyk :)))

Jared walked down to the lower campus soon after the final bell rang. Squinting in the bright sunlight- despite the cloudy sky- he searched the throngs of first graders in search of Evan’s brother. Finally seeing the purple kitten backpack and head of reddish-brown curls bobbing towards the library he ran to catch up.
“Hey!” Jared smiled distractedly in the kid’s direction as he sat down next to him near a water fountain. “Have you seen your brother recently? There’s something I’d like to tell him.”
“Don’call’m’my brother,” the boy mubled quietly, eyes breifly flicking up to Jared before continuing focus on his brightly colored wristbands.
“What do ya mean he’s not your brother?” Jared asked, incredulous. “I know you have different moms, but jeez-”
“Don’t say he either!” he spoke up louder now, his golden-green eyes trained on a spot just above Jared’s nose. “‘s not a he.”
Jared suddenly looked down at the boy again, taken aback. “Sh-… should I say she?”
“Well I don’t know!” came the exasperated reply.
“Look…” Jared ventured, choosing his words carefully. He knew that his language was incorrect, but was trying to find a way to ask his question that a little kid would understand. “Is Evan a boy, a girl, or neither?”
The boy rolled his eyes and huffed.
“When do you mean? Yesterday they bought me an ice cream and they were a girl, but they were a boy when they dropped me off for school today. Last week they were neither and they were really sad about it, cause they didn’t like how they looked. But I haven’t seen ‘m all day, so I don’t know right now!” In an undertone, he added, “All day is like, forever.”
“Hey guys, what’s going on?” Evan questioned, walking over to the two boys and ruffling their brother’s hair. Turning to him and kneeling, they smiled. “How was school, Caden? Was today a good day?”
The smaller boy scuffed his foot and looked back at the ground, saying, “Jared thinks you’re a boy.”
Evan looked mildly startled, before a crimson blush began to spread over their cheeks.
“Oh! Well, Cay, I’m not right now, but I am sometimes.”
Caden beamed up at them, whispering in a confidential tone, “That’s what I was trying to tell him. I don’t think he gets it.”
Evan blushed even redder and glanced up at Jared.
“I was meaning to tell you today…” they mumbled, bouncing on their heels a bit as they slowly looked up to meet Jared’s eyes.
“Hey,” Jared said warmly, placing a gentle hand on Evan’s shoulder to steady them, “We can talk once we get Caden home. Ok?”
Evan nodded, taking a deep breath and smiling.
“Oh! But I did promise Caden we could go to the toy store… He saved up pocket money for a new stuffed toy he wanted…”
“Oh! Yeah! Of course,” Jared grinned at Evan, trying to focus on something other than their night-sky freckles.
“Ok!” Evan said, looking relieved. “Let’s go, Caden!”
Caden’s auburn curls bounced in front of Jared and Evan as he ran towards the gate, not a care in the world.
“Yeah. So. I’m genderfluid. That’s…a thing,” Evan stuttered haltingly, keeping his eyes trained on the back of Caden’s head.
“And I still lo- you’re still my friend,” Jared responded, catching Evan’s hand in his own. When they didn’t withdraw, Jared carried on, “And I also wanted to talk to you about something…”
Fingering the tiny pride flag in his pocket and walking hand in hand with Evan behind a bouncing six-year-old was the best way Jared could have expected to come out. It wasn’t even as scary as he thought it would be.

My First Kiss at the Public Execution

PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6 - PART 7 - PART 8 - PART 9 - PART 10 -  PART 11

a/n: NEW SHIT NEW SHIT. enjoy (it’s really dark) @beautifulramblingbrains @frecklefaceb ​ @jaijacked @anditcametopass

Warning this is about like death stuff, like no real smut or drugs/alcohol mentions, I mean like All Hurt, No Comfort

Eric X OFC // Divergent Trilogy // oneshot

word count: 4,010

So won’t you hold me closer
just one more minute
until the executions over?
just one more minute 

I had that dream again. The one where I’m at the farm walking through the tall grass of the back forty towards the old willow tree. I don’t know why but I’m absolutely positive that she’s there, hiding just behind the hanging branches of leaves. She has to be.

I can hear the cicadas buzzing as I begin to run with excitement. I’m so eager to see her face again I don’t care about the thin blades of grass that whip at my shins as I carve a path through the field.

But the tree remains forever on the horizon, impossibly far away. No matter how much I pump my legs I never get close. I never get the chance to see her again.

My eyes snapped open. The dream had felt so real, like I was actually there, home again. The springs of the bed groaned as I rolled over, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyelids.

Keep reading

Pastel/Punk AU: Charm (1)

12:04 pm. Ethan pushed back from his desk, chair wheels screeching in protest. His shift had ended several minutes ago without him noticing. A loud chirping had pulled him from the daze he went into while working, and sure enough, as Ethan glanced out the window he saw the perched morning dove, cooing happily.

A smile slowly spread across Ethan’s lips, seeing the lovely lavender hue to some of the dove’s feathers. He was always a sucker for pastels and the like, but purple held a special place in his heart. If not for his late wife’s adamant accusations of copying her, he probably would have dyed his hair purple instead of blue a while ago.

She always was so stubborn, and Ethan could tell it wore off on their daughter Sophia. While most parents could simply tell their children “no means no”, it often took anywhere from ten minutes to a half hour for Ethan to change Sophia’s mind once it was set on something. For a four year old, the girl had a hell of a lot of determination. And–Ethan glanced at the clock again–He was going to be late in picking her up if he didn’t leave soon.

Keep reading

everybody’s got something to hide

the higher you fly, the deeper you go … | 3,600 words | rated T

day four of rucas fic week ( argument )

part of the ♪ gmw band au ♫ | album era: flaws

A/N: kate told me to end this on the most emo note i possibly could, so i did. flaws is… a rough time for the band. i promise everyone is gonna be okay.

Riley would be lying if she claimed she expected dating a celebrity to be easy.

She already has her fair share of experience considering her relationship with Charlie Gardner early in his career, and that was far from smooth sailing. The media can be vicious, the so-called fans could be even worse. There’s so much planning and preparing and polishing to be done just to go out for dinner or go shopping for groceries and everything is a spectacle. Nothing feels organic. If she were to be completely honest, she’d have to admit that part of her felt like never, in her right mind, would she choose to date anybody famous ever again.

But Lucas Friar isn’t just anybody.

And all things considered, it’s been well worth the risk. Knowing what she knows now—about the mystery muse, the initials on his drumsticks, her own feelings—looking back on the development of their friendship makes the whole thing sort of feel like an inevitability. She doesn’t believe in coincidences, and neither does he. Of course she was going to end up with Lucas. Of course he was going to end up with her.

They chose each other. They wrote a whole song about it after all.

She was expecting the whole thing to blow up in her face, but she’s proven wrong time and time again. Some fans still cause some trouble, but unlike before both her boyfriend and the entire Mad Dogs team refuse to humor it. When they go to events or even just out for groceries, Lucas is much more focused on her rather than the cameras.

It’s completely different than her relationship with Charlie. When she and Lucas are together, it actually feels like they’re sharing something, building something together that is authentic and honest.

In an industry full of paper thin promises and mock sincerity, what the two of them have is something real. She and Lucas are real.

Happily living with that fact, Riley finds it much easier to enjoy the supposed benefits of engaging in a romantic relationship.

Keep reading

I'm not her (part 8)://(N.M)

Her hand makes its way to rest on her stomach she strokes it lightly before entering another room. She comes back with a glass and something in her hand.

Y/N opens the package and eats something. After she finishes she walks down what seems to be a hallway.

Could it be that I actually lost her. I won’t give up until I have her back in my arms.

*4 weeks*

*Y/N’s POV*

It’s been 4 weeks since I last saw James. We had a few conversations here and there some long and some short. My appointment is today. I’m 12 weeks and I started showing 2 weeks ago.

I’ve been trying to avoid running into any one who is an acquaintance with Nate. Swazz texted me to see if I was doing better, but I ignore his texts.

He has also comes by the house, but I don’t answer. I feel bad and all clothes make my baby bump more noticeable. I suddenly get a text from someone.

To: Y/N
From: James
Hey do have any plans for later?

To: James
From: Y/N
No, why?

To: Y/N
From: James
Do want to go to the mall?
With me.

To: James
From: Y/N
Sure, should I meet you there?

To: Y/N
From: James
No, I’ll pick you up beautiful.

I blush as I see his text. James has been sending texts with ending be cute names. Beautiful, sweetheart, and love. I get ready and wait for him to come. I hear a car park and right away I know that it is him.

Before I can open the door a knock is heard. I open the door and I’m greeted with a panting James. I try and stifle my giggles as I watch him try to regain himself again.

“Okay don’t laugh at me now” he says as he grabs my hands and leads me to his car.

“My bad, but shouldn’t you be working?” I ask him as we get seated and he starts driving to the mall.

“I used a vacation day” he says like if it were no big deal.

“You what?” I turn to face him “you shouldn’t have used a vacation day to go to the mall. That’s what weekends are for James” I tell him looking at him. His hand comes down from the stirring wheel to rest on top of mine.

He intertwined our fingers and strokes my knuckles with his thumb. I squeeze his hand and in return I get a smile.

“Hey don’t worry I have several of vacation days. Haven’t taken a sick day or vacation day in 2 years, sweetheart” he explains as he parks into a parking spot. I see him get out and he opens my door.

By instinct I reach for his hand as we walk into the mall. I was pretty sure he would let go instead he squeezed my hand and brought me closer to him.

“So where are you going?” I ask him

“We should go to that Maternity store” James points to the store in the corner.


We walk in and start browsing through the racks. I find beautiful pastel blouses with flower prints or butterflies. There’s a hand on my shoulder.

“Y/N? What are doing at a maternity store?” A familiar voice says. My heart stops as I recognize the voice. I see James from the corner of my eye carrying a few shirts and sweatshirts in his hands. As he walks he looks up for a second before placing a shirt back on the rack.

I don’t even have time to answer before James talks.

“Hey beautiful, I thought you would like these pastel colors, right?” James says as he stands by me.

I’m facing the racks so Nate can only see my back.

“Y/N are you going to answer me?” Nate asks. I turn around and see Nate’s eyes on James. Nate finally turns to me and lets out a small gasp.

“Oh, I guess you moved on real quick” he says as he stares at my baby bump. I gulp and look at him not forming any words.

“So is this the dad?” He asks

“No, but you are” James says as he puts the clothes in the basket by my feet. I give James a glare until he finally realizes what he just did.

“I’m the dad” Nate says before placing a hand on my stomach. I give him a moment before backing away. The hurt in his eyes are evident.

“When? Where you ever going to tell me” Nate's  voice rises causing everyone in the store to look at us.

“I will tell you, but not right now please” I plead with him as I grab the basket.

“Let me go pay for those” both Nate and James say in unison. Nate sends a glare towards James.

“No, it’s fine I’ll pay. I think I’ll be leaving with Nate” I tell James as we head towards the cash register. I see him turn around and I do the same. Swazz enters the store walking towards Nate.

Guilt rises up in my chest as I see him talking to Nate. Nate points towards me causing Swazz to see my baby bump. His eyes squint as he rubs them.

I see his head shake before telling Nate something. I see Nate’s eyes fill with anger and hurt. He shakes his head before storming off. I watch him as Swazz also shakes his head and runs after him.

James hand rests on my back rubbing it to calm me down. I barely notice, but I’m crying. I turn into his embrace and let out a few sobs and sniffles.

I come back to my senses as I remember we are in a store. The lady behind the register gives me a look of sympathy as I pay.

I walk out with James behind me and we see Nate and Swazz sitting  down. Swazz is talking to him, but Nate just shakes his head. When he heard footsteps nearing him he looks up.

The sight of his face makes my heart break. Tears cascade down his face as he looks at me. I tell James thank you and walk towards Nate. He stands up and waits for me to follow him.

I have hard time trying to follow as he speed walks to the exit. Swazz is by my side making sure I don’t fall as I run a little to catch up. I feel his lingering glances on my baby bump.

I stop causing him to look at me confused. His face turns to worry, so he calls after Nate. Nate turns around and sees us and Swazz’s face.

He immediately runs to us and place a hand on the baby bump. How I’ve missed his touches. I say the only words that I’ve been trying to say all along.

“I’m sorry” I say to them both as tears come down my face. Nate pulls me into a hug. He mumbles ‘it’s okay’ 'we will be okay’ and lastly 'I’ll do anything to have you back in my arms’

Just the two of us

Part 6

OKAY, so sorry this one took so long but I present to you, PART 6! *cheering in the background* Anyway, I had school and work which delayed this, and I really hope the next part doesn’t take as long. 

(Also, if anyone can find the reference I made to ACOTAR, and not ACOMAF cause that one is really obvious, I will hand out a teaser for the Part 7! :) )

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5Part 7, Part 8Part 9.

Word Count: 3,101


The next three days passed in a blur.

I finished my painting for my advanced art class two days after Halloween. My portrait of Hades was hauntingly similar to how Rhysand dressed for Halloween.

It was a profile from the side, the Hades in my picture smirked over at the viewer. His eyes gleamed with mischief and something darker. He held out a hand that was drenched in a flame of shadow.

He had the same facial structure as Rhys but I swapped out the violet of his irises for a brown so dark it was almost black. I also made his lips thinner and hair longer. It looked like Rhys but only if you knew where to look.

For example, I can’t look at the hard line of his jaw too long otherwise my brain will revert back to when I was snuggled against him.

I had covered the painting until it was due this morning.

And then after class I had a twelve hour shift working at the coffee shop down the street. Although I absolutely hate my job, it pays really well and helps to pay rent—the free tea during my shift isn’t that bad of a deal either.

Now I was soaking in a bubble bath, my current novel was set beside the tub as I sink lower into the steaming water. I wanted the stench of coffee off of my skin and out of my hair.

I hadn’t gotten any sarcastic texts from Rhys about us hanging out again. I was actually looking forward to seeing him again.

I push the thought of him out of my mind. I am too tired to think about some handsome guy who spent the night in my bed. It was late already, and if I could I would fall asleep right in the bath.


I am towel drying my hair as I walk out of the bathroom and into my room. Rhysand’s shirts were really very comfortable to sleep in, I had on the second one he had left me along with warm leggings.

My teeth were already brushed, my hair was now a damp curtain down my back, and I could hold off one more night on my English Lit paper.

I would like to say I climb nicely into bed but it was more like a face-first swan dive onto my sheets. My face hits the pillow with a cushioned thump.

Flicking the lamp off on my nightstand was always so nice to me. When the darkness finally envelopes me and I can sink into it, drifting off to sleep with the darkness comforting my mind like the blankets on my bed.

The darkness that was interrupted by the flash of light on my phone.

I groan inwardly, who the hell would be texting me at 12:30 on a Tuesday night?

Rhysand’s name flashed across my phone, making my heart stumble.

Of course he would be trying to talk to me when I was trying to go to sleep. He did say he was a night owl.

“Hello Feyre darling, I don’t know if you’re up but I have made reservations tomorrow night and hope you would like to accompany me. I have something planned for afterwards too. Dress nice. x Rhys.” 

Keep reading

Let Your Heart Be Light

Dec. 21 – Christmas cookies

Jack comes home to practice to find the kitchen counters covered in flour and cookies and his boyfriend sitting on the floor with his back against the oven crying.

He drops his bag by the door and hits his knees as soon as he’s by Bitty’s side.

The tile is hard and cold on his knees which are already a little sore from practice but he pushes away the discomfort to focus on figuring out what’s wrong.

He gathers Bitty’s face in his hands, apologizes for how cold they are, and tilts his chin up.

It’s clear he’s been crying for awhile. His face is red and splotchy and he leans into the cool touch so Jack fans his fingers out and covers his forehead with his palm.

“Bits, what’s the matter?” Jack asks gently. “C’mon, bud, talk to me.”

Bitty sniffles while Sinatra sings about Santa Claus coming to town in the background.

“Nothing is working,” Bitty says. He sounds exhausted and Jack’s chest aches. He pulls Bitty closer to him like that’s going to soothe it. “I’ve been working on these cookies all day and I just-.”

“The cookies.” Jack’s hands still on Bitty’s back and he pulls him back enough to look at him. “This is about cookies?”

Keep reading


Imagine #38 || Request #20 

I just saw a gif of Jackson and I suddenly became unstable… Hope this imagine is alright wih the request! Hope you guys like this one :)


When books kept saying that wolves were territorial, you weren’t too sure in believing them at first. But after seeing just how territorial they can be, you immediately changed your mind.

“Isaac I swear-” you turned around from your locker, making the hands that covered your eyes fall to the sides.

You were not expecting a Jackson Whittmore to be in front of you with a grin that could make any girl in school melt- with the exception of a certain number of people you knew, his arms wide open as if he was expecting you to jump in his arms and give him a hug. But when he noticed that you weren’t going to hug him any time soon, his arms dropped to his side and looked at you questioningly.

“What?” He asked with brows furrowed.  “No ‘Oh my god, Jackson! You’re here!’?”

“Oh…Uh, h-hey, Jackson?” You greeted, sounding awkward rather than welcoming.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his hand adjusting on the strap of the bag on his back and one that seemed to be a lacrosse equipment bag he’s hand-carrying.

“I’m just surprised you’re here,” your hands gesturing to all of him.

“Is it a bad thing?” He asked, a puzzled frown on his face before it turned into a smile. “Or is it a good thing?”

Before you can answer him, you recognized a familiar arm wrapped itself around your waist.

“Lahey,” You didn’t miss the surprise in Jackson’s voice when he saw Isaac stand beside you.

Isaac only looked at Jackson with one brow raised, his hold on you tightening and drawing you closer to his tall lean but muscular build, not hurting you but making you feel somewhat secure. You noticed his jaw clenched when you looked up to him, and you knew he was holding himself back for some reason.

“So,” Jackson gave a nod of understanding. “You two, huh?” He gestured a finger to you and the werewolf beside you.

“Why? Is there a problem?” came Isaac’s out of character answer, surprising both you and Jackson at how forward Isaac was being with the guy in front of you when a few years back the old Isaac would be cowering in fear whenever Jackson was around-well until the curly haired boy turned into a werewolf that is.

Isaac isn’t like this to any of the boys you got to talk to or interact with in school, even if they were one of his teammates in lacrosse or just regular students who attended classes with you.

This was a first.

“Wow,” Jackson smirked at the said boy, a little impressed with the change in him before giving a pat on his arm only to receive a disapproving glare from the taller of the two and a low growl that only you can hear.

You had to squeeze the hand that was on your hip to get his attention so he wouldn’t phase right in the middle of the hallway, the attention of students on the three of you seeming to grow by the minute and you were not liking it one bit.

“Well, I should go.” He said, giving you a wink before leaving you and Isaac alone.

Once Jackson was out of sight, you exhaled-not realizing that you were holding your breath all this time. You felt Isaac press his lips to your temple before you turned to your locker once Isaac drop his hold on you, you loaded the last textbooks in and took whatever you needed before the next class.

“You could’ve told me that the kanima- er um your ex was back in town,” he said, leaning on the locker doors beside yours and you noticing how bitter he spoke about Jackson.

“I’m just as surprised as you are.” You answered, zipping your bag closed and Isaac taking it and wearing it over his shoulders as you took the lacrosse stick from his hand to lighten his carried baggage.

Keep reading

I Thought You Were Different: Book 2 (Part 11/?) (Rogers x reader)

Part 10

Sam and Clint had been sitting with Steve for hours when Bruce finally walked into your room, holding your chart in his hands, reading with precariously balanced glasses on his nose as he read.  He stopped at the foot of your bed and glanced over the top of the papers to Steve with a bit of a sigh, “are you ready?”

Keep reading


FAQ  |  pt. 1  |  pt. 2  |  pt. 3  |  pt. 4  |  pt. 5  |  pt. 6  |  pt. 7  |  pt. 8  |  pt. 9  |  pt. 10  |  pt. 11  |  pt. 12  |  pt. 13  |  pt. 14  |  pt. 15  |  pt. 16  |  pt. 17  |  pt. 18  |  pt. 19  |  pt. 20

art, art, art, arrrrrrt.  okay, i’m done.  except.  also.  y’know.  ART!

Lydia’s a study in disinterest.  Gaze stretching out across campus, lips pursed in judgment of the impromptu Frisbee match forming on the quad, position oriented to scarcely acknowledge that she’s standing with Stiles.

Stiles is tempted to tell her to drop the act because once obsession with someone has been coded into his DNA, there’s not so much as a micro-expression that he’s likely to miss.  He’s definitely already caught on to and catalogued the shrewdness that has been attacking her face all day.  She knows something but she doesn’t know what she knows and she’s been hawk-eyed and predatory ever since she figured out that much.

Stiles is not going to encourage any of that, thanks much.  Side note: why is everyone around him comparable to some type of bird?  Not that he’s thinking about hummingbirds, because he isn’t.  He could be, but he’s not, because he’s in control of his brain and he’s decided: no.  Crap.  Firstly, he’s totally thinking about hummingbirds.  Second-of-ly, what kind of bird would that make him?  Oh man, probably some kind of friggin’ goose.

He hates geese.

Now he knows it’s likely because he’s subconsciously recognized a kinship to them.

“If you had to pick a feathered representation for me, it wouldn’t be a goose, right?”

Years of following his bullet-speed trains of thought has led to Lydia taking that completely in stride.  She doesn’t even bother to look up at him, hand fishing in her purse for her phone to check the time.  “A seabird probably,” she offers, lighting up the screen, “they’re clumsy on land.”

“Well that’s a self-esteem boost I didn’t know I needed,” Stiles says dryly.  “You’re a true humanitarian, Lyds.  Also, the correct answer was secret option C) some kind of dinosaur.  I would’ve preferred stegosaurus, for the record.”

She brushes the hair out of her face, glances at him.  “I could have said a hoatzin.”

Stiles has legitimately no idea what that is.  “Th… anks?”  He thinks. Probably.

“More commonly known as stinkbirds.  You’re welcome,” she confirms.  Her gaze is less glancing, more stripping and Stiles pretends not to notice.  “Expert deflection, Stiles, truly.”  She golf claps mockingly and Stiles glares back at her.  “Now what are you deflecting?”

“If I tell you, they’ll revoke my ‘expert’ status,” Stiles points out smartly, “And rip up my ribbon.  I can’t have that, I’ve already put it in the family newsletter.”

Keep reading



Your name is Lieutenant Caleb Bitters, Captain Grif is dead, and you just punched a hole in your locker.

That’s…well, that about sums it up, really.

Your name is Caleb Bitters, and when you were eight years old your family went on vacation to Honolulu, Hawaii, because why the fuck not, you know?

Keep reading


Outfit Spotting in ‘Girl Meets Demolition’

I don’t really know what possessed me to do this, but I got caught up trying to see how many of the season 1 outfits I could recognize in Girl Meets Demolition. Figured I might as well make a post about it.

I’ve really come to enjoy the fashion on the show, so this was fun for me.

Keep reading

Man, Taylor Swift’s show was awesome. Right, guys?

I’m starting to think that all those guys who say they’re “taking one for the team” by accompanying their daughters or their significant others to Taylor Swift concerts have an ulterior motive.

Stay with me here. As I write this, T-Swizzle’s show at Time Warner Cable Arena Monday night just ended an hour ago, and here’s what’s sticking out in my mind:

▪ To my right, the twentysomething guy who was more proficient at reciting the lyrics to “Blank Space” than his female companion.

▪ The dad, about 15 feet in front of me, who was working on a set of moves during “Out of the Woods” that appeared to be a close cousin of Elaine’s dance from “Seinfeld.”

▪ The middle-aged man in the floor section, with his wife, who spent half the night trying to get a decent selfie in which he could make out Tay Tay shaking it off in the background.

Frankly, the past two times I’ve seen Swift at this same arena – in March 2013 and November 2011 – there seemed to be noticeably fewer male ticketholders, and the ones who were in attendance back then spent a heck of a lot more time with their butts in their seats and their cellphone browsers dialed into ESPN.com.

So what’s changed? The big thing is: She’s 25 now, and with each passing year, it’s gotten slightly less awkward for older men to find her attractive. She struts around her stage with confidence, she has a body that wouldn’t look out of place on a fashion runway and a face that appears not to have a flaw.

She also gets better, with each passing year, at creating earworms. Songs like “Shake It Off” and “Blank Space” are two off her “1989” CD that have burrowed into the brains of women and men alike, waiting to pop into your head when you get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, then keeping you up for two hours.

But otherwise, Swift is pretty much the same young woman she was when she came here two years ago, aside from the fact that the former country singer has completely abandoned anything resembling a Nashville sound.

Swift is still segueing into songs by telling cute but rambling stories that wind up being mini-pep talks designed to boost her fans’ self-esteem. (Truth be told, all she has to do is talk directly to her audience in a way that doesn’t feel rushed and they’ll squeal as if she’s just announced she’s treating everyone to a free ice cream cone.)

She’s still changing outfits more often than an indecisive teenager shopping for a prom dress at Belk, with most of them baring midriff, showcasing her aggravatingly perfect legs, or blinding you with sequins. Or doing all three at once. (Outfit of the night: the lightbulb-covered dress she wore during “How You Get the Girl,” which blinked, twinkled, changed colors and generally increased the tour’s electric bill.)

She’s still finding a way to thrust herself closer to her fans without ever touching a single one of them, in this case rising a couple dozen feet above the floor via a catwalk on a hydraulic lift system that could achieve 360-degree range of motion, sweeping out over the entire floor. (During finale “Shake It Off,” Swift and her 12 male backup dancers were up there as it spun, she in a shimmery green dress, them in purple tuxes with short-pant bottoms.)

Perhaps most importantly, though, she’s still getting it done. Still grabbing a guitar and whipping her hair around like Dave Grohl during “We Are Never Getting Back Together”; still twisting and remolding well-known hits in daring ways (here turning “I Knew You Were Trouble” into a darker, moodier piece of music); still sitting down at a piano and putting peers to shame by playing it ably while achieving perfectly pitched vocals on “Wildest Dreams.”

All the marks of a big-budget stage show were still present, too: In addition to the massive/fancy catwalk, there were fireworks, confetti, smoke, her backup dancers, four female backup singers, giant paper airplanes, doors on wheels, light-up parasols, streetlamps that doubled as poles for those backup dancers to dance on… whew, hang on, almost done… and a massive video screen showing everything from clips of the pop star with her cats to montages of celebrities like Lena Dunham and Selena Gomez talking about how amazing and adorable Swift is.

To top it all off, the tour distributed 15,000 radio-controlled wristbands that flashed on cue, in various colors, making the place look like it was overrun with rave-ready fireflies.

And though you had to squint through the darkness to tell, if you looked hard enough – past all those girls and young women dominating the arenascape – you would have seen that that twentysomething guy had one on, and so did the dad doing the bad dancing, and so did the selfie-obsessed middle-aged man.

I wasn’t wearing one, though. Yeah. I think I’m sticking with that story.