install shots

The Age of Ms. Barnes [Part 1 of 2]

Pairing: Pre-War!Bucky/Steve x Mother!Reader

Time-Frame: 1917-1941 (Part I)

Prompt: Loosely based off the movie Age of Adaline, without the romantic part. This idea came to me awhile ago and I loved the prospect of it.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Suggestive Language, and Suggestive Themes.

Word Count: 3,808

A/N: I hold this fic series very near and dear to my heart, even if you all do not know what is in Part 2, yet. It is something very different and tell me what you think! Enjoy x. T

Your name: submit What is this?

May 1917

           “Oh, James.” You softly whispered, brushing your fingers over the gentle planes of his small face. “I still remember the first time I heard you come into this world…” The small child nestled in your embrace made a soft cooing sound, gummy mouth spreading in a quiet yawn, before he wriggled and settled back into a slumber.

           You smiled and continued to slowly rock in the chair, humming a quiet and lulling tune. Your gaze lifted to settle onto the new house you had moved into, only a few pieces of furniture in their permanent spots, and sealed boxes of your belongings were piled everywhere. It was a hard time to be taking care of a baby and moving into a new place in Brooklyn, but you knew you could manage.

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Countdown (”I Promise It Won’t Be Boring” installment)

A bleated New Year’s Eve upload. Part one in what I hope will be several installments of one-shots, in a series called “I Promise It Won’t Be Boring.”. Enjoy! Read it on AO3!

“I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise it won’t be boring.“

~David Bowie


Leonard slammed into one of the mobsters, knocking the tommy gun up to the side and sending a blast of bullets through the ceiling. Women screamed and men were throwing punches indiscriminately.

The costume, though comfortable, wasn’t what he was used to. The suit, the suspenders, the tie, all in groups of black and white, noticeable and eye-catching. Things he strived never to be. His shoes slipped slightly on the floor and the mobster took advantage of it to suckerpunch his jaw. Leonard fell back a few steps, but kept his feet. Hunching over, he threw his shoulder into his stomach, knocking him to the ground.

“Supposed to be a routine job,” Leonard muttered, punching the mobster in the jaw and taking his weapon. Jumping over the bar, he took shelter with the bootleg alcohol and terrified bartender. “How’s it going?” he asked him archly, glancing at his watch. The sounds of shattering glass made him peer over the wood, looking for his partner.


Sara spun, cursing the tassels of the flapper dress and the heavy beading. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to slow her down just a tad. And sometimes, just a tad meant life or death. She’d seen Leonard dive behind The bar, taking out one guard and one gun. Too bad there were twelve more.

It was supposed to be quick - in and out. She and Leonard had been sent in to take down an aberration. Somehow, a mobster in 1918, Alphonse Ricetti, had gotten ahold of some future tech. Rip had called it a death ray, but Sara was almost certain he was joking. All the mob boss had been able to do was take out one of his competitors, Angelo Galante.

Sara and Leonard had gone in under cover during a party in hopes of blending in. And they had. Sara had even gotten the device and they’d been on their way out. However, one of Galante’s sons had decided that tonight was the night for revenge. He’d started a firefight with Ricetti’s men and Leonard and Sara, not to mention the rest of the party-goers, had been caught in the middle of it.


Leonard watched as Sara took down two of them men, foregoing their guns for her knives and remaining far more deadly. Leonard covered her, taking out three with his new tommy gun. Though inaccurate, it was a nice gun. He may have to keep it.

Another spray of bullets from his gun took out a man coming behind Sara. She flashed a grin at him, then threw a blade, another man going down, knife in his throat.

Leonard looked at his watch again. He was running out of time.


Sara ducked underneath a wild punch, coming up closely and jamming her knee between his legs. The League had taught her many new things, but some old tricks worked just as well. The man fell to the ground with a groan and she kicked his gun away.

She looked around again, seeing Leonard take out the man who was attempting to sneak up on him. She watched the crook come out, apparent in the way he reacted to someone sneaking up on him. Vicious, calculated, certain, and deadly. The tommy gun came up right in his attacker’s gut and Leonard fired. No mercy. No hesitation. It’s how he understood her so well. He could be a killer, too. When he had to.


Leonard let the body fall away, seeing only another few men left. Ricetti being one of them. Sara had tossed Leonard the device, but Ricetti had only seen her take it.

The mobster was coming down the stairs, his eyes focused on the blur of her blue tasseled dress and silver blades taking out one man after another. Ricetti was pissed, drawing his gun before he’d even reached the ground level. Leonard stood, drawing the attention of Ricetti’s bodyguards. They started firing at him and he ducked, shooting his tommy gun blindly over the bar top, praying he got some.


The bullets kept away most of the Ricetti’s men, but he kept coming right towards her, his hand raising, gun sitting in his palm.

She threw her knife but it only winged his shoulder, knocking him back a step. Sara took the initiative and rushed him, grabbing his wrist before he could fully draw the weapon, bullets hitting the ground as she dug her heel into his toe.


A brief respite in the bullets made Leonard hope that they were reloading. He couldn’t wait to take the chance.

Jumping the bar, Leonard fired as he approached Ricetti’s men, his eyes on Sara even as gangsters fell before him. She was grappling with Ricetti and apparently winning, but he was there to back her up. Always.

He looked at his watch again.


Sara gritted her teeth and knocked Ricetti’s legs out from underneath him, kicking him in the head with her t-strap heels. It didn’t do as much damage as her boots, so she had to kick him twice more.

She looked up and saw Leonard clearing a path between him and her. She ran towards him, watching his back. Always.

“Get them!”


Sara on his heels, Leonard focused his attention on making them an exit. The gun did a number on the few mobsters left and anyone who wasn’t involved in the fighting had either fled or hid. They were almost home free.

Leonard spared a glance to see that another wave of thugs were coming in through the back, either Galante’s backup or Ricetti’s. Either way, decidedly not friendly. He turned, walking backwards and shielding their retreat as Sara guided him to the door. Chancing a look down at his watch, he cursed beneath his breath.

They hit the open air and ran, hearing the gangsters on their heels. They blended in with the crowds out in full this evening, after Leonard dumped the gun. However, when Sara saw some of Ricetti’s men coming nearer, she pulled Leonard into a dark alleyway, his dark jacket and fedora shielding their faces from a cursory glance.


As Ricetti’s men walked by, she grinned up at Leonard, the thrill of a mission gone horribly wrong, but successful in the end making her a little giddy.

Leonard was smirking, too.

Then the people just outside the alley exploded into screams and cries, lights dancing and loud noises echoing in the dark. She was about to head back out there, metaphorical guns blazing, but Leonard stopped her by pressing his lips onto hers.


He kissed her gently, holding her tiny waist between his long fingers, all that power compressed into such a small form that he’d never get over. She was still thrumming with energy from the fight, but as she melted into the kiss, that energy became focused on him. Her hands slid up the dapper jacket and he could have sworn his heart jumped as she leaned into him.

When he pulled away, it took a minute before he could cast her a trademark smirk. He could still see the confusion in her eyes and forgave her, what with the fight and all.

“Happy New Year, Lance.”

Happy New Year! We’re busy working towards our Spring opening (dates announced shortly) but for now here’s an up-to-date installation shot for the ‘…and the River flows on’ project in Birkenhead.

Working in pop-up spaces, and at the Williamson Art Gallery, the project is a collaboration between Wirral Methodist Housing and Wirral Mind, the Spider Project and residents of Lee Court and Fellowship House alongside the YMCA. Taking its inspiration from the River Mersey, it’s geological formation, the historical import and export of goods alongside the future regeneration of the Birkenhead docks, community workshops will culminate in the siting of 6 community art panels displayed within Fine Art metal frames to form 3 sculptural interventions within the landscape.

Further info:

Project dates: 2015 - 2017

Lead Artist: Robyn Woolston


Can you believe it? Six months with this astounding cutie already….. Damn time flies when you’re building a life.
Six months of open, healthy communication. Six months of nursing each others’ sick heads and damaged hearts, figuring out better ways to be ourselves. Six months of corrupting each others’ taste in music and criticising plot construction and hitting rats with wrenches.
This is so new to both of us, but we’re doing so good and we’re just getting started.


Install shots from the Dawn Hunter Gallery​  

September 12th - October 4th, 2015.

A figure echoed and twin'ned proliferates across a landscape. Images persist, transform, and assert themselves. The Expulsion. Snyder’s dogs on the hunt. A photograph discarded, some record of a camping trip, found blown down Underhill and Bergen. Several moments from a wedding on a hill in California, captured on film in the ‘70s. Histories personal and universal are leveled by the surface and the paint. There’s a feeling of perpetuity or at least of time-extending in these paintings, but that’s only one of many lies the medium is built upon.

4; Midnight Snuggles

Heey, here is the fourth installment of my one shots. If you have any requests/ideas you’d like me to write about you can send them in here. They would be GREATLY appreciated and you will be credited for the idea. Thank you. Like/Reblog if you enjoy~

It was almost midnight and Everly’s cries filled the room through the baby monitor on the night stand. Harry was obviously the only one that heard it since you were, for the first time in weeks, sound asleep, not worried about Everly and trying to feed her. He was at peace to see you snuggled up and asleep with your muffled snores going into the pillow.

He got up, trying not to wake you, and rubbed his eyes, before padding down the hallway to Everly’s nursery, an occasional yawn escaping from his mouth.

“Aww, little one,” he cooed at Everly, who looked rather unpleasant, “What seems to be the matter?”

He picks her up, smells to see if her diaper needed to be changed, “It’s not that, my little love,” he says as soon as he smells the fresh scent of the washing detergent that trapped inside of the clothes. “Thank God it wasn’t that.”

He rocks her for a little bit, easing the crying. “You must be a little hungry, my little love,” he says, setting her back in her crib, “I’m sorry I don’t have the right parts to feed you like mummy has,” he apologizes before he quietly gets down the stairs to grab some of the pumped milk stored in the refrigerator and prepared it for her.

He got back upstairs to see a less anxious Everly, who was just gurgling around in her crib. He set down the bottle on the stand on the side of the rocking chair. He picks her up and then puts the bottle in her mouth.

“You are soo precious, my little one,” he says adoringly, at the little bundle in his arms, “You are everything that I’ve dreamed of and more.”

Everly continues to drink out of the bottle as Harry continued to talk to her. “You look so much like me when I was little it scares your Nana Anne,” Harry tells her, remembering how his mum was surprised to see how she had the Styles eyes and dimple the day Everly was born.

Everly was nearly done with her bottle, but Harry wasn’t done with holding her. You loved to see how Harry could spend hour upon hour just admiring your little girl. He would look at you and say, “Can you believe we created something as wonderful as her?” before he continued to marvel at Everly.

When Everly finished her bottle, Harry set it back on the stand, before cuddling her some more, until she went to sleep. “I think I’ll sing you a little tune so you can get to bed and I can get to bed since I have a writing session tomorrow at ten.”

Harry started to sing I Want to Write You a Song.

“I wanna write you a song. One as beautiful as you are sweet,” Harry sang to Everly until his singing soothed her into a sweet sleep.

He got up, successfully attempting to not wake her when he was moving, and laid her down in her crib. “I’ll probably see you in a few hours, little one,” he whispered to her before kissing her forehead and then begrudgingly walking back down the hallway, where he laid down next to you, only to get woke up a few hours later for a much more difficult task that came from a result of the milk.