one direction in new york city

How VICE media’s new platform Broadly STOLE my Caramel Curves project!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Broadly is supposed to be a station that VICE created to empower women. Broadly was allegedly created for women, by women and about women. They proudly boast about how they are feminists and are bringing women together. Don’t let this camouflage fool you like it fooled me. Broadly is a vulture. A soul sucking parasite that can only survive by leaching every ounce of original content from it’s host.
I am a victim that Broadly chose as a host and extracted it’s ideas and original content from. A few months ago I shared with a friend that I wanted to turn my photo project about the Caramel Curves into a doc. This friend started working for Broadly, pitched my idea and in May they asked me if I would make a short doc about the Caramel Curves for them. They explained that it would be a celebration of my photographs and that I would have creative control over almost everything. We discussed my role as the co director over and over again. At a meeting with some of the Caramel Curves, Broadly assured them that I was co directing this project. The leader of the Curves told Broadly that the only reason why she was going to let Broadly make a documentary about the group was because she trusted me. She also told them that If I was not directing the film her and the gang were out. VICE promised me and the Curves that we would be shown the footage that was shot, weigh in on the editing, and approve of the final cut before the piece was published.
I pushed for a crew from New Orleans but Broadly insisted on sending me a crew that was already VICE staff. After all they were facilitating the budget, so I agreed. After sending me a crew from New York City and a camera man from hell we spent a few days shooting this project. The conditions were incredibly stressful. It was a daunting task to get the dp to listen to anything that I told him. He refused all direction regarding his camera work, but was happy to have me direct the Curves.
I should have trusted my gut and been more assertive but since one of the people that I was working with was a friend that I’ve known for over 5 years I decided to just roll with the punches. At one point my lovely subjects - smart and amazing Caramel Curves became very suspicious of VICE and Broadly and wouldn’t sign release forms. They also wanted a guarantee that they could have copies of the footage for their personal use. The crew and I discussed this obstacle and the camera man from hell came up with an idea. He callously said, verbatim “I just got back from Ghana where we were shooting a doc about boxing. You should just do what I did when I was there - just lie to them and tell them they are going to get what ever it is that they want. I mean, we are never going to see these people again.” I was absolutely appalled. That pretty much set the mood of the entire shoot. I felt pitted between my subjects who I much respect and the dubious Broadly crew.
The Curves came out of the shoot unenthusiastic. They didn’t send their release forms to VICE. My “friend” at VICE put pressure on me to get them. I told her that we wanted to see the footage. She kept stalling… She would apologize and tell me it was coming. The pay check also never showed up, same story. I sent the releases, trusting my friend", and also VICE as a normal law abiding media outlet, to finish the project according to our contract. I was paid when they received the releases, but was never sent the dailies. No rough cuts, no outlines, no paper edits. Then, an email with a link to a rough cut, and a second email a day later saying sorry the piece is online! I was never able to show the Curves the edit, nor give my input. For this, and many other reasons, the piece is shallow. It kind of sucks compared to the real story of the Caramel Curves, which is beautiful. None of us in New Orleans are happy about the process at all. Vice doesn’t mind if we are deceived exploited and disposed then of.
Last week Broadly launched their awful site and kicked it off with my Caramel Curves project. This is a project that I have spent 2 years working on. That friend that I was telling you about earlier, well she took most of the credit, and her little minions that got sent down from New York with her got whatever credit was left over.
I complained to Hannah Gregg. She left me a voicemail and a text that apologised for what had been done and basically said that she knew they fucked up, but it was too late to do anything about it. I posted this story on my instagram and Tracie Morrissey, the creator of Broadly left me a few comments. She told me that I didn’t actually do anything for them and that I should be ashamed of myself for trying to claim this project as mine.
VICE didn’t know what to do with creative women so they made a ghetto for them called Broadly. Please spread the word that VICE and Broadly are vultures and will do anything they can to steal original content from independent artists. Don’t let them take advantage of you or anyone that you know.

10

Coming Home: Ballet Dancers in the Streets of Puerto Rico by Omar Z. Robles

Omar Z Robles is an Official Fujifilm X-Photographer based in NYC. His interest in storytelling began with one man: Marcel Marceau. The legendary mime actor taught him how to interpret the world through subtle but riveting movements. Those movements that he acquired as a student in Paris, he employs today in his photo series of ballet dancers.

In New York City, he transformed the aesthetic of his street photography by substituting the New Yorker with the New York dancer. Robles directed the dancers to tell stories with their bodies as he had learned from Marceau. The results were an army of miniature stories as told by the gentle flow of the dancers’ bodies.

Follow the Source Link for image sources and more information.

dailymail.co.uk
Harry Styles tweets - and quickly deletes - snaps of Louis Tomlinson
The side-by-side images, which were retweeted by Harry's account, showed his One Direction bandmate sipping iced beverages in pictures apparently taken years apart.

On Monday, he was seen touching down in New York City as he prepared to pressed on with promotional efforts for his newly-released single Sign Of The Times.

But Harry Styles left fans scratching their heads by Tuesday night, when he tweeted - and then quickly deleted - snapshots of Louis Tomlinson, captioned ‘then and now’.

The side-by-side images, which were retweeted by Harry’s account, showed his One Direction bandmate sipping iced beverages in pictures apparently taken years apart.

And as if the point of the post - which was also accompanied by a link - wasn’t confusing enough, it vanished almost as soon as it arrived.

Hordes of followers took screenshots of the fleeting post - and then promptly took to discussing it, with an almost unanimous chorus of fans concluding he was hacked, while other speculated that he may have sent out the tweet in error.

As a scattering of fans popped up to counter both theories, another struck back by writing: 'Do you really think Harry would come out of the blue during SNL rehearsals to tweet a picture of Louis when he never even tweets?’

The 23-year-old heart-throb is currently in the Big Apple, ahead of making an appearance on Saturday Night Live, where he’ll perform his new track.

Harry will be performing Sign Of The Times and another track yet to be revealed on SNL, in an episode presented by comedian and former SNL regular Jimmy Fallon.

The singer - whose band embarked on an extended hiatus in March 2016 - sent social media into meltdown after unveiling his hotly-anticipated debut solo single on Radio 1 last Friday.

One fan enthused: ’@Harry_Styles my baby! I’m super proud of u! That was amazing. I’m feeling like a proud mum love u so so so much! #SignOfTheTimes’.

'Holy s**t @Harry_Styles . Brilliant. #signofthetimes Not what I expected. Loving it. Can’t wait to hear more’, another posted.

Others cooed, @Harry_Styles IM SO PROUD FOR YOU ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤’, 'Harry Styles is the best thing to happen since sliced bread!!!’, and 'my ears have been blessed <33 @Harry_Styles’.

His fellow bandmates Liam Payne and Niall Horan also took to Twitter to congratulate Harry on the track.

New dad Liam wrote on Twitter 'proud of you H. Glad you’re getting to do your own thing’, while Niall added: 'Love it H.’

However, there are concerns that Harry could miss out on the number one spot, as a number of fans could not listen to the single on streaming service Spotify due to a 'glitch’.  

7

The Great Gatsby (2013) - “One of Baz’s main design directives for the look and feel of this particular movie was that he didn’t want a nostalgic, sepia-toned New York City of the 1920s. He wanted the New York we created to feel as vibrant, modern, and cutting-edge as it would have felt to Fitzgerald in 1922.“ - Catherine Martin, Production Designer

The Front Bottoms song meanings
  • Flashlight: it’s about someone having a hold over you. this is a recurring theme throughout a number of songs on our album. Our favorite line from the song is “I can hear your dog whistle from my bedroom”
  • Maps: This song is pretty self-explanatory. It’s about the idea of not knowing what’s next. Accepting the fact that your life won’t be as comfortable as everyone makes it out to be when you’re younger. It’s about finding out life is a longer road than you had expected. Favorite line: “Let me be a raft on a blue sea I’ll blend right in”
  • Looking Like You Just Woke Up: This was the quickest song we wrote. It happens to also be the shortest on the record. Same idea as from Flashlight - just someone having a hold on you. (One of our good friends fell in love with this girl that still had a boyfriend and so in order to make time with the girl, he hung out a lot with the boyfriend and her. He slowly found out that the girl he thought he loved was kind of a bitch and he found that maybe the one he really loved was her boyfriend. They have somewhat of a romantic relationship now. And they are living together.) The vibe of this song comes from that situation. Favorite Line: “It probably won’t get easier, just easier to hide”
  • Mountain: This song is actually about buying drugs in Pennsylvania. The line was originally “I bought weed. A big bag in Pennsylvania. I’m gonna light it up when I get home to Jersey” We changed it because none of us have bought drugs or smoked ganja. ever. Favorite Line: “They’re gonna ruin my whole summer. Stop taking pictures with your phone. Stop taking pictures with your phone.”
  • Rhode Island: we met a kid at a punk rock festival we played in Rhode Island. He didn’t do much talking and we called him the Zombie Kid because he was passed out in a pile of sticks. The next day when he came out of his coma, he was asking us about directions on the best way to get passed NYC on a bike. His summer plan was to ride from his home in Vermont to Florida. All that he had with him was a backpack full of drugs. No joke. Drugs. Then we shook hands and he went on his way. On that same tour - two months later - one of our last shows were in New York City, and guess who we fucking see? Zombie Kid. Backpack empty. We asked him what happened and he said he made it down to South Carolina and had to turn around and come back. favorite line-“She says you gotta promise not to break not matter how far you are bent, she says you gotta shift my position and try to get comfortable again”
  • The Beers: It’s about the same deal. Someone having a hold over you, so much so that you’d be willing to put yourself in danger, to change yourself in order to make them like you. But the song is all over the place and that’s just a small part of it. Favorite Line: “And it’s an aerial view from your house to my room”
  • Father: I put myself in someone else’s body and I wrote this song about my life.
  • Swimming Pool: The voicemail in the breakdown is from one of our friend’s dads to our friend about some dumb shit about a girl. He saved it and we added it later on to our song. Months later, the girl’s mom cornered me in the grocery store and asked me if we could take that voicemail out of the song. But we’re punk rock so we left it.
  • Favorite Line- “There’s comfort in the bottom of a swimming pool”
  • The Boredom Is The Reason I Started Swimming: I got stranded in Germany one time and I missed Thanksgiving. Side note: On Thanksgiving, I ate a hot dog with some weird potato shit on it in Amsterdam but it was still mad good. As I was walking around Berlin, I found this circus of freaks - it was more or less a sideshow act but it was free so I went in. I met a dude who was a gangster drug dealer, he let me stay at his house and was actually super nice. He cooked me food and went to Amsterdam with me. But while I was staying in his house he explained to me the rules of the streets in Berlin. Everybody pays, everybody’s head is in the noose, everyone is part of the program.
  • Bathtub: There’s so much in this song. Take it for what it’s worth. Favorite line: Please take me off speaker phone, this is a private conversation.
  • Legit Tattoo Gun: This song was originally called “MJ” because when we put it out we gave it two different names on two different websites. If you know this song as “MJ,” you’re way more punk rock. At one point, I was making out with a woman who was making out with a lot of other people. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. Favorite Line: “I am not a dirty god, I don’t have a dirty body”
  • Hooped Earrings: This is about a friend of mine that asked me to be there with her when she came out to her mother. Favorite Line: Curly hair don’t look good cut short.

anonymous asked:

do u know any lgbt arab movies u can recommend ?

This list is of queer middle eastern films that include queer arab films

Circumstance (2011) - film explores love and sexual rebellion between two women under the watchful eye of the government and through family dynamics in modern day Iran.

Caramel (2007) - “a beauty salon in Beirut is a safe haven for five women in this Lebanese romantic comedy. Follows the love lives of five Lebanese women, one of them is the stylist Rima who does not know how to handle her attraction to a female client.

Mondial 2010 (2014) - “is a film on love and place. A Lebanese gay couple decides to take a road trip to Ramallah. The film is recorded with their camera as they chronicle their journey. The viewers are invited through the couple’s conversations into the universe of a fading city.” In reality Lebanese cannot drive to Ramallah as they are forbidden into Israel and this plays with the significance of a same-sex relationship in the Middle East and what it means to be a queer Middle Eastern.

Lola and Billy the Kid (1999) - “Murat, the youngest son of a conservative Turkish family, is struggling with his sexuality as well as with the demands of his patriarchal older brother. When Murat meets with Lola – his estranged brother who now is a drag queen – and her macho Turkish lover, Billy the Kid, he finds himself drawn into a dangerous new world. 

Oriented (2015) - feature documentary that follows the lives of three gay Palestinian friends confronting their national and sexual identity in Tel Aviv.

Fifi Howls From Happiness (2014) - “I will tell you my life story so that no idiot will write my biography the way it suits them,” says legendary gay Iranian artist Bahman Mohassess in this documentary about his life. 

A Jihad For Love (2007) - feature documentary to explore the complex global intersections between Islam and homosexuality. This movie focuses on Islam in multiple regions of the world rather than just the Middle East.

Mixed Kebab (2012) - centers around a TurkisH character and talks about the struggles of being a gay poc in a conservative Muslim household in a western country and having to defy middle eastern expectations of you. Best of all, the ending is a happy one!

I Say Dust (2015) - “Two Arab-American women in New York City fall in love, argue home and identity, engage in a chess battle, and express themselves through the power of the spoken word. 'I Say Dust’ explores poetry in cinema through the story of Hal, a poet belonging to the Palestinian diaspora in NYC, who meets Moun, a free-spirited chess boards sales girl. Their brief love affair challenges their understanding of what makes home.”

Note: There are more LGBT films produced and directed by Israelis but I don’t recommend them. They pinkwash Israel’s violent acts towards Palestinians by diverting your attention and targeting the queer audience, in specific, to claims that Israel supports LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and queer) rights. 

The films usually depict a Palestinian struggling with their sexuality and their community’s rejection of their identity and a “free” Israeli that fall in love and Tel Aviv is the safe haven for their love. Basically using representation that Arabs are savage and Israelis are here to free us. 

Truth is there is no rainbow bedazzled hole in the Israeli West Bank Wall that allows you a free access to ‘freedom’ if your ass is queer. When they bomb Gaza they are bombing Palestinian including queers one. Besides the fact that they are killing us, this just shows their LGBTQ rights  (all their human rights) are just a show to divert your attention and this is effectively done through media including movies. This is why I do not recommend Israeli queer films depicting the Middle East.

This sign was placed on the edge of the main stage at Outside the Frame: Queers for Palestine Film Festival in San Francisco 

Flashes (Part 3)

Summary: Soulmate AU. “The fault, dear Brutus is not in our stars, / But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” - William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,012

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, it’s actually kind of optimistic???

A/N: Well, I did it…at least I tried. The lovely @minervaem challenged me (sort of) to do an angsty story. I’m warning you now, it’s not gonna be pretty.

Reader has her first flash, and stumbles upon some intriguing information…

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Originally posted by rainy--blog

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[scenario] don’t you recognize me?

Title: don’t you recognize me? 

Member: Hansol

Genre: fluff?? // first encounter

Word Count: 1073

You’re sitting in a Starbucks facing the busy New York City traffic, slowly working on a paper that was due at 11:59 PM, on the dot. You smash the backspace button rapidly for the hundredth time, leaving you back at square one.

“Excuse me?”

A male, donning a black mask and matching baseball cap catches your attention with a wave. With the way he’s dressed, he resembles one of the many foreign tourists that wander around Times Square, so it doesn’t bother you.

“Can I help you with something?” 

You shut your laptop, not that you were getting anything done, anyway. He nods, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiles at you from beneath his mask.

“My friends and I are kinda… Lost,” he admits, gesturing to the large group of males, wearing a variety of masks and hats. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles nervously. “I was wondering if you could help guide us back to our hotel? I should know, but I didn’t live here for very long.”

Keep reading

Sarah Vaughan (March 27, 1924 – April 3, 1990)

Portrait of Sarah Vaughan. Printed on front: “Sarah Vaughan. Personal management, George Treadwell. Tour direction, Gale Agency, Inc., 48 West 48 St., New York, City. James Kriegsmann, N.Y.”

  • Courtesy of the E. Azalia Hackley Collection of African Americans in the Performing Arts, Detroit Public Library
new york

masterlist

word count: 1,856

A/N: this was requested a couple weeks ago but I can’t remember by who (I know I’m terrible.) but I hope you enjoy!!

**warning: SMUT**

New York, the city that never sleeps. The city that was home to broadway plays. I never imagined I’d be able to visit here. Yet here I was, spending spring break with the rest of my drama class who chose to go, which consisted of mostly everyone who had nothing better to do for the week. A majority of the class was there just for extra credit and something to do over break. I, however, had always dreamed of going to see plays on broadway.

There were very few of us that actually cared about the trip: a boy, another girl, and I. The girl, Abigail, was quiet, reserved. She kept to herself most times and I respected that. I was nice to her, didn’t try to bother her too much. I knew she didn’t enjoy conversations.

The boy’s name was Shawn. He was the type you’d expect to see playing baseball or basketball, not in drama club. He was tall with a slim build but muscles prominent where they should be. His hair was a dark brunette color and was often pushed off his forehead, a wavy mess. His eyes were the color of warm honey.

I’d known him most of my high school life. We’d taken drama classes together since I could remember so it was hard for us to not know each other. He was always sweet, seemed super intelligent. We talked occasionally but nothing too in depth. He was always nice to me as was I to him. He was good looking, no doubt.

When we had arrived, everyone else had already picked who they would share a hotel room with. All the other rooms were filled and with only one other room left, Shawn and I ended up sharing a room. Our teacher didn’t mind, she knew we were both trustworthy kids. Since we were sharing a room, I decided to spark up more conversation with Shawn. I was spending the rest of this week with him, after all. Might as well get to know him better.

“So what part of the trip are you most excited about?” I asked Shawn.

“Overall, going to see Wicked on broadway. But right now it’s getting something to eat. I’m starving.” He laughed. We’d been walking through Central Park for nearly an hour now and all of us hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. I checked my watch, 2:35. My stomach growled once I realized how long it had been since the last time I ate.

“Now that you mention it, I’m pretty hungry too.” I said. My eyes searched for any nearby food vendors in the park. I saw one out in the distance, nearly two blocks away. I nudged Shawn’s arm. “There’s some type of food stand up there.” I pointed in the direction of what looked to be the typical New York hot dog stand.

Shawn’s eyes got wide and I giggled lightly at how excited he got over food. Our group slowly made its way towards where the food was. Shawn and I bought pretzels and soda. We talked for hours more, hardly paying any attention to everyone else on the trip and the beautiful city around us.



My alarm went off at 7:00 the next morning. I don’t remember setting it that early, but there was probably some reason why so I went ahead and got out of the uncomfortable hotel bed. I stretched and made my way to the shower, grabbing clothes on the way. I did my normal shower routine: shampoo and condition my hair, wash my body, then my face. When I dried myself off I realized I hadn’t grabbed any underwear out of my suitcase. Shit.

I tiptoed out of the bathroom, trying to not wake Shawn up. I squatted down beside my suitcase and struggled to keep my towel wrapped around me. With one hand, I let my towel go so I could search for my underwear. I knew Shawn was asleep still so it didn’t matter. I dug through my suitcase, sitting there completely bare.

I stood back up after wrapping the towel back around my still damp body. I checked to see if Shawn was still asleep, which he wasn’t. My mouth dropped open in shock, I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m- I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were awake.” I apologized.

“No it’s all good. We just won’t tell anyone about this, okay?” He said. I nodded my head in agreement and made my way back to the bathroom. I got ready and tried to continue the day like normal but it was too awkward between Shawn and I. I could barely even look at him and there were still six more days left of this trip. Our group walked through the streets of New York, barely even two blocks from our hotel.

“Look just because I saw you naked doesn’t mean you have to be weird with me.” Shawn spoke quietly so only I could hear. “Besides, you shouldn’t be embarrassed. You looked pretty good.” I felt my cheeks heat up and I playfully hit him.

“I can’t believe you.” I joked. His cheeks were now red too, realizing he had actually said that. I had seen him almost naked this morning too, only his boxers when he had gotten out of bed. And oh man, was he a sight to see. His arms were strong and muscular. His abdomen was toned, no flaw to be found whatsoever.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you naked again.” He smirked, knowing I knew what he was suggesting. I couldn’t believe it but I wanted it too.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“You know what I said.” He boasted. I was surprised at his sudden confidence. I knew what the answer was. Of course it was yes. After seeing his so carefully sculpted body earlier this morning, there was no way possible I could turn this down. I looked Shawn in the eyes and nodded my head yes.

“Ma'am,” Shawn spoke to our teacher, “my roommate left her phone in our room and she was really wanting to make some pictures. Can we go back to the hotel to get it?” Lie on top of more lies. I was weirdly okay with it though. After getting permission, Shawn and I walked back to our hotel.

The two blocks seemed like miles now that Shawn and I both were anticipating something. I knew we wouldn’t have much time once we got back to the hotel room. I began fantasizing about what was to come. Shawn hovering over me, his muscular arms on either side of me, his breathing unsteady and soft moans escaping his lips. Oh gosh.

Shawn grabbed my hand to help guide me through the crowded sidewalk, not wasting any time as he was walking briskly. We were finally outside the hotel. We rushed in the doors and onto the elevator. The lobby of the hotel was completely empty and nobody else had gotten on the elevator with us. I took the chance to kiss Shawn. I grabbed the denim fabric of his jacket and pulled him down to press my lips against his.

The kiss was delicate until Shawn began to bite my bottom lip. My hand ran through his thick brown hair. His grasped around my waist. I was sent into a blissful high until I heard the elevator doors open. We rushed into the room. Shawn fumbled with the room card. I could sense his eagerness.

I hurriedly stripped off my shirt and began to unbutton my jeans. I left my bra and panties on, leaving those on for Shawn to take off. I glanced up at him to see he was still wearing pants.

“Hurry, Shawn.” I said, the impatience apparent in my voice. He took his pants off, his bulge obvious through his tight fitting boxers. He took me by surprise when he picked me up, sitting me on his lap after sitting down on the edge of the bed. His lips soon attached to my neck and I threw my head back to give him better access. He started to suck at the crook of my neck.

“Please no hickeys.” I begged. He stopped sucking at my skin to unclasp my bra. He bit his lip slightly, looking more alluring to me than ever before. I took his face into my hands and kissed his lips roughly, wanting him to know how badly I needed him. He stood up, placing his arm at the small of my back to support me then laid me onto the bed. His fingers hooked into my underwear and pulled them off slowly.

“Get on your stomach.” He muttered. I did as he wished and got onto my stomach, letting my forearms rest on the bed. I heard him searching through his pants pockets for his wallet then the tear of a condom wrapper. I soon felt the warmth of his body behind me again.

“You ready?” Shawn asked. I replied with an ‘mhm’ then felt his hands spreading my legs further apart. He entered me and I gasped. He wasn’t my first, but he was much bigger than the other two guys I’d been with. I waited for him to start thrusting, I was impatient after a few seconds. He took himself out completely and I felt empty, only to be filled again. He repeated this action over and over, making my legs shake. I moaned out his name.

His hands gripped onto my hips now. He thruster deeper into me but no longer took himself out completely. His thrusts were at a pace enjoyable for both of us and hard enough to make me moan out profanities. The small hotel room grew hotter as time went on. I could feel sweat dripping down my neck.

“You’re so tight, oh god.” Shawn groaned. He stopped fucking me and turned me onto my back. I was more pleased with this position than the previous one, I could now look at him. He slipped into me once again, continuing the pace he’d had before. His arms were on either side of me and his face right above mine. Sweat droplets ran down his forehead and his cheeks were flushed.

“Shawn, I’m gonna come.” I moaned, my voice getting slightly higher pitched. His eyes flickered up to mine, no longer watching my breasts bounce gently or watching himself thrust into me. He wore a smirk on his face. His mouth went to my boobs, leaving wet kisses everywhere. The extra pleasure sent me into euphoria. My back arched and I lightly tugged at Shawn’s hair. Soft moans escaped my parted lips as my orgasm washed over my entire body.

He soon pulled out and went to throw the condom away. He walked back into the room, still completely naked and definitely a sight to see. I sat up and began to put my clothes back on as did Shawn.

“I can tell this trip is going to be fucking great.” He laughed. I nodded my head in agreement. It definitely will be.

embraceyourfandom  asked:

Imagine that one of them is an alien xenobiologist who falls in love with a human he is just supposed to be observing.

A/N: Tagged for violence. And pining. Also, looooong. Thanks to the OP for a truly great prompt.



The Terran’s smile was sunny. As warm and as golden as the G-type main sequence star his small blue world orbited. Phi'l found it impossible to control the tendency of his lips to quirk up in response. He’d stopped trying weeks ago.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Phil,” the Terran said, strong fingers tracing the rim of his coffee mug, “but you’re kinda weird.”

Around them the hum and flow of conversation in the busy coffee shop was a soothing, pleasant drone punctuated by the fierce hiss of the big copper coffee machine behind the bar and the clank of cutlery against porcelain. Outside, the weather, still uncontrolled and unpredictable on this less advanced world, spat sleet into crowded streets. The humidity on Terra was higher than Phi'l was accustomed to, the gravity lighter and the temperature was too warm even in late autumn. But here inside the coffee shop the impossibly rich smell of butter and vanilla, of sugar and coffee and the sweet aroma of steamed milk, of woollen coats drying on pegs by the antique oak door, of the dizzying array of scent from Terran skin, all combined into an intoxicating haze that made him forget everything but the fascinating sapient sitting across from him at the small table.

“Am I?” Phi'l hid a twinge of unease behind a sip of coffee. He’d been very careful. But Terra was a new contact, sparsely studied. Central didn’t know much about the intricacies of the various cultures of Earth. He’d been thorough in his research—of course, he was thorough in everything he did—but there was always the risk of error.

“Yeah, you are,” the Terran's—Clint Barton's—eyes were bright with mischief. Phi'l relaxed a fraction, realizing it was unlikely he was in danger of being exposed. That he was only being teased. Flirting had been a difficult concept at first but it was fast becoming one of his favorite things. Especially when it was directed at him from this Terran man. He struggled to focus on the wordplay, to stop getting lost in the blue-green of the Terran’s eyes.

He pried his gaze away, focused on the contents of his cup. “How so?”

“Well, a fancy guy like you, coming in here week after week, to have coffee with a guy like me.”  

“Like you? I don’t understand.”

“Well, I mean, lookit you. All—” Clint Barton made a vague circling wave in his direction. Phi'l frowned, baffled for a micron.

“Ah. You mean my attire.” Phi'l looked down ruefully at the perfectly tailored dark suit, the subtly silken waistcoat, the fine dark tie. This level of formality had been one of those errors he could have avoided if he had been more experienced with the culture. Here, in this Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York City, New York, United States of America, Terra, he stuck out like a bin!‘ti in a yarm'ot patch. Initially he’d chosen the attire because it felt familiar, comfortable, like the SHIELD Consortium uniform he’d spent his whole career in. He wasn’t sure he knew how to dress ‘casually’ anymore. Either here or on his own home-world.

Phi'l’s expression must have slipped into something Clint Barton found disconcerting. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that. It's…I like it. You look, uh, y'know. Nice. Good.”

The warm glow Phi'l felt in his chest at the Terran’s words was also unfamiliar. He glanced away, hoping the man didn’t recognize how pleased he was at the compliment. He wasn’t sure his reaction was proportional. Or…appropriate.

“You, also…look good,” he said tentatively, hoping it was the correct thing to say. He looked up. This Terran’s emotions were always so close to the surface, his expression so honest, so unguarded. Clint Barton seemed unconvinced but there was a trace of high color on his cheeks as he looked back openly. Phi'l could smell the heat in his face, the blood rising up, so close to the surface of his skin. Warm, alluring.

“Aw,” he said, “not really. Everyone says I look like ten miles of bad road.” Clint Barton self-consciously picked at the edge of one of the plasters that criss-crossed his forearms.

Ten miles of…what? What did that have to do with—? But the Terran’s pained expression was easy enough to read.

“You don’t,” Phi'l said, with maybe just a little too much force. Clint Barton looked up, startled. “…look like…road. You're— ”

Phi'l paused, off-balance, feeling his way. His last scholarly paper on intertribal diplomacy among the VosTo'kk of Altair Six had won two Imperiale Awards. His efficiency and ability to communicate within the Consortium was, although it wasn’t a word he would have chosen, legendary. He routinely declined speaking engagements that would have funded his retirement twice over, had he been interested in retiring. Why was being honest with this Terran so difficult? He took a breath and went at it from another direction.

“Clint Barton, the first time I saw you, you were actually rescuing a kitten from a tree.”

Clint Barton laughed. “Well, you helped—”

“The second time I met you, you had just given a homeless man all of your currency.”

“That’s why you had to buy me coffee. Maybe that was part of my evil plan.”

“—and your coat. And scarf. And it was 0.5C.”

Clint Barton shrugged, looked down at the tabletop. “I could get another coat easier than that guy.”

“Then there was the time that I happened to observe you jumping out of the third floor window of the Alcot building to apprehend a man who had just stolen a student’s backpack, fracturing your foot.”

“And you rode with me to the clinic. You didn’t hafta do that.”

Phi'l paused helplessly, trying to summon the strength to speak clearly. He sat back in his chair. “You’re impossible,” he finally said.

Clint Barton huffed out a breath. “Believe it or not,” he said, “it’s not the first time someone told me I’m a pain in the ass.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, where I come from, you’re impossible.”

Clint Barton looked up.

Phi'l stumbled on. “You simply…couldn’t exist. You could only have come from here. I’ve never met anyone like you in all of the wor—, all of the places I’ve been. You are a unique construct of this place, this time. And it is so improbable that I would have met you just by random chance that it takes my breath away. I didn’t know that someone like you could exist.”

Phi'l didn’t add that the desire to take his Terran man into his care, to treasure him, to protect him, had been growing over the weeks since their first encounter and was, by now, almost overwhelming.

“I sometimes feel I’ve been waiting my whole life to have met you,” Phi'l finished softly, just now realizing the truth of it.

He realized he had erred, had overstepped convention with his honesty, when he looked up and saw the Terran’s shocked expression.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry if that was too—”

“No, no!” Clint Barton’s voice was pained, urgent. “I,” he said, “you—” Then he seemed to give up all at once and grabbed Phi'l’s hand.

Phi'l gasped. The Terran’s basal metabolic rate was much higher than the people of his own world. The shocking warmth of his grasp hit Phi'l’s nervous system like the injection of a powerful drug, like a wave of plasma that swept though him, warming every part of him, igniting parts of his body he’d forgotten he even had through long years of nothing but the cold adherence to duty and the vast black emptiness of space.

He struggled, trying to keep his breath under control. Fought the sudden impulse to reach out and take more of him, keep more of this, hold him close, claim him.

“Phil,” Clint Barton said, “that’s actually the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.” The Terran’s expression was wondering, disbelieving. As earnest and open as a youngling’s.

Phi'l fought to focus beyond the salient fact of the man’s hand on his skin. “It’s true,” he said. “And it is only right that you should know it is true.”

A silence fell. And in that moment, in all of the galaxy, Phi'l was aware of only two things—the buzz and hum of energy of the Terran’s hand against his own and the deep amazing colour of his eyes. Then Clint Barton seemed to realize what he was doing and withdrew. He raised his hand to the back of his neck, rubbed at the short hairs of his nape with a grimace.

“Uh, Phil—would you like to get dinner with me?”

Phi'l blinked, trying to regain his composure. “Dinner? We have just eaten breakfast.”

Clint Barton’s expression showed him that he was missing something.

“No, I mean dinner dinner.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“How ‘bout you let me explain it to you tomorrow night, huh? What do you say, 8pm, Anthony’s down the street, meet you there?”

“I—”

The hard buzz of the communicator in Phi'l’s breast pocket startled him. If the ship was contacting him in what was nominally supposed to be immersive field work it was deadly serious.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I must take this.” He retrieved the communicator, disguised to look like a Terran phone, out without meeting Clint Barton’s eyes. “Yes?” he snapped in full command voice, only realising he’d forgotten his mild-mannered alias as an insurance adjustor when Clint Barton flinched across the table.

May’s tone was clipped, efficient. “Regrets for the interruption, Commander. We’ve just detected a HYDRA ship in orbit, we need you back up here.”

[[Read more, or the whole thing entire on AO3]]

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Fly me to the Moon

[Next Part]
A/N: Shamelessly saw some really inspiring art. Decided to write it. Probably only a three-four part fluff.

Summary: Rainbow drags Johan to New York for a thing. Johan finds out New York is pretty neat after all. 

WordCount: 3855
Warnings: None that I know of 

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It Must Be Magic: A Gold Family Fic

Summary:  Neal receives an unexpected morning visitor—his six-year-old brother, Gideon—landing him smack in the middle of a family drama.
Rating: G
Word Count: 5,775
A/N: For my Missy, @beliza-fryler. Happy birthday! Written for @a-monthly-rumbelling: icee, pixie, doctor. This takes place about seven years after the events of Passing Inspection, which DOES NOT need to be read first. Rumple never dies and neither does Neal. Gideon is born and a few years later, their sister Isabelle (Missy) comes along. It’s basically giant Floof Family feels. You’re welcome.

{ON AO3}

It Must Be Magic

Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. “Psst! Hey, Neal! Neal!”

The whispering, coupled with the insistent tapping on the bedroom window, disturbed his pleasant dream. He heard his name whispered again, and snorted himself awake, blinking up at the ceiling fan.

Still the whispering continued, getting louder and more demanding. A flash of red entered his peripheral vision, and he became aware of a small yet powerful presence hovering outside the master bedroom window.

“Gid?” Neal squinted at the dreamcatcher through the sun-streaked glass. “Kiddo, is that you?”

Grumbling under his breath, Neal threw back the covers and rose to open the window. His little brother scaled the siding and hopped over the windowsill with the exuberant grace of youth.

“It’s five o’clock in the morning and all decent people are sleeping,” Neal said around a yawn. “What are you doing?”

Gideon peered over his shoulder at the smooth, empty side of the bed and ignored the question. “Where’s Aunt Emma?”

“On her back in a field of wildflowers, till you woke me up,” Neal complained.

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