only old men have those now

Seduction- Natasha Romanoff Smut

Pairing- Natasha Romanoff x reader/O/C

Words- 2213

Summary- after an unsuccessful mission, you and Natasha decide to lounge at your place, only to give into your deepest desires (I kinda fucked up the first summary coz I was planning a different plot but yeah, and as I looked at it today I realised that the summary was wrong)

Warnings- smutty smut, girlxgirl, swearing, unprotected sex (yes girlxgirl can end with bad shit but glove it before ya love it)

A/N- this is my first proper fic on this account, and me being me, I decided to make it hella smutty

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Inktober Day 6. Water

So I know this is canon divergent but I wrote it just before The Golden Circle was released! Thought I may as well post it for Inktober.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Eggsy, darling. I’m sorry. JB has passed away.“


”….ah.“


Every sinew of muscle in Eggsy’s body has frozen. Blood now icy inside his veins, the cool misty fog numbing his brain.


"I’m sorry, dear,” Harry takes his hand across the Round Table, stroking across the golden band on Eggsy’s ring finger as Merlin stands awkwardly, debrief from Moscow finished. “He passed away in his sleep last night.”


“I forbade Arthur from telling you,” Merlin adds quietly, staring at the floor. “I didna’ want yeh distracted on such a sensitive op. Those monarchists have instincts like razor wire, they’d’ve knocked yeh block off at any change, however slight. I’m sorry.”


“S'alright.” The words filter out of Eggsy’s mouth mechanically. “He had a good run. Docs only gave him 2 years after that  terminal cancer diagnosis, an’ old mate got almost five. At least he weren’t in pain.” He smiles, as his insides burn like paper, curling up and crumbling to ashes.


“I might head home now, yeah? I’ll have dinner ready when you get back, babe,” he addresses Harry, pushing his mahogany cushioned chair back as the two elder men start to protest.


“M'fine. S'all good. See ya.”


He’s out the door before either of Kingsman’s seniors can get a word in.


Eggsy’s strong. He’s been through hell and back, in his thirty years. His dad gone by age eight, replaced by a sleazy, malevolent arsehole who beat him, Mum and Dais black and blue ‘til Eggsy got good enough at hurting people to do something about it. Seen his husband die through a laptop screen, and come back sans left eye, but with heart entirely open. He’s one of Kingsman’s best- he’s never broken cover, always held it together under even the most trying circumstances. Merlin trained him well.


He makes it all the way home to Mayfair, closing the immaculately painted front door behind him, before he cracks. And when Eggsy cracks, the whole dam fucking bursts.


There is nothing but pain. Body-rending, piercing, gut-grinding pain, as Eggsy screams into the soft embroidered sofa cushion Daisy made for him at school last year. Grief that slams into him, wave after wave, that leaves him gasping chokingly for air as his throat swells up. Vision that fails him as he collapses into a shaking heap by JB’s dog bed, stroking the last few hairs that cling to the well-worn fabric as he cries until his ribs threaten to crack within his abdomen, straining against his skin.


This sort of suffering  transcends coherent thought. It could’ve been hours, days even, when Eggsy finds himself stripped, wobbling beneath the warm spray of the shower later, his tears combing with the droplets of water that cascade down his scrunched face.


-the warm bundle he cradles to his chest after cold, unforgiving water is dumped on them both by a derisive Charlie, holding the shivering JB to his own cool chest-


-the way JB used to galumph down the stairs as soon as he heard the slightest rustle of a food package being opened-


-the gormless, grinning, bug eyed face of Eggsy’s first and only pet when he pulled the pug in for a tight cuddle, dragging his fingers across a keg belly carpeted with khaki fur- THAT ISN’T WARM ANYMORE BECAUSE HE’S GONE-


His chest is ripped open by the projector film of excruciating memories. A dull thud sounds when he punches the tiles on the wall in front of him. Then another. Another.


Again and again and again, his hand a throbbing pulp of blood and mangled cartilage, tiles a fist-shaped shattered mess,  a feral scream erupting from his peeled back lips-


Until lightning-fast arms catch his wrist in hand, and a warm, suited body enfolds his own soaking one. 


Harrt Hart steps into the shower, fully clothed, and lets Eggsy howl his hurricane of grief, rage and agony into the shoulder of his bespoke, and gently lowers them both to kneel upon the puddling shower floor, beneath the relentless torrent of water.

yesterday i learned that removal of pubic hair for women is not a new thing but as old as the middle ages and there were recipe books to mix tinctures for hair removal and a victorian guy named ruskin was so repulsed upon seeing his wife’s pubes that he couldnt have sex with her an annulled the marriage, because all his life he only been seeing those fucking paintings and statues of smooth baby women, and hairy women were considered more aggressive and unagreeable, so yeah the fucking pedophilic hairless beauty standard is old as fucking time and who even said it only began during the world war when razor companies wanted to keep selling razors but there were no men? 

anyway i really feel like, now, i should draw a whole bunch of very naked and very hairy women.

Study Partner: Part 6

Pairing: Reader x Bucky
Word Count: 1.2K
Warnings: Bruises (from training), fluff, dat sexual tension

A/N:

Feedback is always appreciated. Let me know if you want to be added to the tags list.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Groaning, you drag yourself out of bed. Having a nap always made you feel worse, but you had needed it. Everyday for the last week you had been both mentally and physically exhausted.

A week ago, you hesitantly approached the gym. Slowly pushing the doors open, you spotted Clint, Nat, Steve and Sam training. Steve and Sam were sparring while Natasha and Clint were weapons training.

“Hey - hey guys,” you stammered, nervous with what you wanted to ask,

“Hey, Y/N,” Steve greeted you as he effortless dodged a punch from Sam, “What’s up?”

“I, um, wanted to ask you all a favour,”

Nat and Clint put down their weapons and walked over to the sparring ring, while Steve and Sam stopped trying to get the upper hand on each other.

Steve glanced at you, quizzically, prompting you to elaborate.

“I want to learn how to fight,” you confidently state,

“Oh, Y/N, I don’t know,” Steve glanced at Clint, Sam, and Natasha who were giving you disapproving looks, “Have you ever learnt how to fight before?”

“Well, no,” you admit. Steve looks as if he’s about to straight up deny your request, so you quickly tried to redeem yourself, “I mean, I did gymnastics all throughout my childhood,”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to be able to learn to fight,” Natasha spat,

“I have to try!” you reason, “Please, I need to learn how to at least defend myself. That night, at my old apartment, when those men were punching and kicking me… I need to learn,” you stopped yourself before you admitted how you felt that night, scared and weak.

Everyone’s faces softened and Steve almost looked at you with pity.

“Go get changed,” Steve smiled, “We start now.”

It had only been a week, but you were beyond exhausted. Although everyone assured you that you were learning fast and progressing further then they had expected you to.

On top of daily training, every night Bucky would be waiting at the dining table for you and your History study. 


Your phone buzzed, lighting up from the coffee table across the room. You stumbled over to it, still groggy from your nap.

Squinting at your phone, you turned down the brightness to see Bucky had just texted you.

Are we still on for tonight? Where are you?
From Bucky :)

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corvuscruorente  asked:

One question and a comment: 1: Where is that Jaime passage about wanting to be Arthur Dayne and becoming the Smiling Knight? I don't remember it anywhere. Would like to go back to it to get it in context. 2: Re: LF's Harry the Heir plan and how it would play out, to me it all smacks of the same stuff Robb's northern reconquest plan was made of: When plans are exposed in detail like that in the text, you can expect they will go horribly wrong.

1. It’s in Jaime VIII ASOS, the chapter set in the White Sword Tower:

And he’d held his own against the Smiling Knight, though it was Ser Arthur who slew him. What a fight that was, and what a foe. The Smiling Knight was a madman, cruelty and chivalry all jumbled up together, but he did not know the meaning of fear. And Dayne, with Dawn in hand…the outlaw’s longsword had so many notches by the end that Ser Arthur had stopped to let him fetch a new one. “It’s that white sword of yours I want,” the robber knight told him as they resumed, though he was bleeding from a dozen wounds by then. “Then you shall have it, ser,” the Sword of the Morning replied, and made an end of it.

The world was simpler in those days, Jaime thought, and men as well as swords were made of finer steel. Or was it only that he had been fifteen? They were all in their graves now, the Sword of the Morning and the Smiling Knight, the White Bull and Prince Lewyn, Ser Oswell Whent with his black humor, earnest Jon Darry, Simon Toyne and his Kingswood Brotherhood, bluff old Sumner Crakehall. And me, that boy I was…when did he die, I wonder? When I donned the white cloak? When I opened Aerys’s throat? That boy had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but someplace along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead.

As I said on Twitter, this is my favorite ASOS chapter of his. The characterization is really strong and clear across the board, as immediately following the passage above, Jaime bounces off each of his fellow Kingsguard knights in turn. GRRM does a terrific job of contextualizing the Kingslayer within the institution that has bound him for most of his life: our POV compares Loras to his younger self, puts Balon Swann through the same gauntlet he faced, etc. By testing them, he’s testing himself.  

2. That’s a fair point! Littlefinger’s definitely headed for a downfall eventually. But the relevant Ghost o’ High Heart prophecy and the need for Sansa to learn about the depths to which he has sunk keep me leaning toward it happening in the North, though as @racefortheironthrone noted, the latter factor could certainly be resolved with a nice chewy villain monologue.

2

Requested by anonymous


“Just checking in on my former girlfriend,” Loki told the Avengers as he vanished from the tower. Though, not before making JARVIS glitch, breaking a few of Tony’s things, and attacking Thor.

The Avengers looked at each other, with Natasha giving a death glare to anyone who looked at her, until their eyes landed on you.

“He couldn’t mean…” Tony said, pointing at you.

“Unfortunately, he does,” you admitted. “That was before he went crazy.”

“You mean he wasn’t always like that?” Clint asked with surprise in his voice, though that earned a glare from Thor.

“He used to actually be super charming, and sweet at least to the people he liked. He is the god of tricks, after all. Not the god of murder,” you pointed out.

“Coulda fooled me the last couple times he visited,” Bruce commented.

“I’m the only one he hurt, so I think he might be going back to his old ways a bit,” Thor pointed out.

“Speak for yourself. I’m going to have to reboot JARVIS,” Tony said.

“I might have bad taste in men, but at least I left before he went super crazy,” you pointed out, hoping that would preemptively deflect some of the comments you know will be said later.

“That is true at least,” Steve said with a nod. “Still, I worry a bit for you now for if Loki pays more of those kinds of visits.”

“I’ll be able to handle Loki,” you stated, stretching a little.

“I have to ask, what kind of ‘handling him’ do you mean?” Tony asked.

You were confused for a moment, before blushing and shaking your head at his joke. “Shut up.”

Confession

I feel mad/envious/jealous idk, when I look at media and see the representation for black men. I mean. They have all shades of black men represented. They use media, movies, and most importantly commercials and advertising to dissemble negative stereotypes about black men. Look at the Cheerio, Swifter Sweeper commercials how they are attempting to break the stereotype of deadbeat fathers for black men. But they rarely if ever do the same for us black women. When the black women is considered “beautiful” she is closest to looking white. They still put black women in these Mammy, Aunt Jemima roles. When we are in roles they are created by us. Hardly ever will they look to cast a real black women. Normal, beautiful, smart, like most of us are. Maybe that’s too much of a threat.

There is a part of me that feels black guys have acted like that one friend that acts like they don’t know u in front of the popular kids. Or are being accepted because they support white supremacy. They say “white girl are best”. Black men in Hollywood rarely have a black women on their arm. I look at how these black
men treat black women now and say disgusting things about us that a old white people would say. I can only imagine the things they would say while non black people are having a laugh at how uncivilized black people are, For some reason I don’t think they would stick up for us, I think they would defend themselves and say they aren’t like “those black people”.It seems to me that black men have attempted to distance themselves from us enough to be accepted the dominant society. (But still want to keep us in their pocket for things like black lives matter to support them)
This is just my theory on how it works.

Where are you tonight, comrade Christopher?
I listened to Blood To Bleed today
 and thought of you
The way you looked at 18
Close-cropped buzz cut,
Serious chocolate eyes
Buddy Holly glasses
and
When you marked those Xes
On your hands, I thought
I could die for you
You are the reason
The only men I am attracted to
 are Russian.

I wonder what you look like now that we are old.
We were once young together.
I dreamed about you once a month for 15 years
I wish there was a way to tell you that
that did not make me sound insane
I wish I could tell you how my 
favorite fantasy was so innocent:
us slow dancing to Billy Bragg

A Russian
Straightedge 
Socialist
Do you have any idea
how you changed my world
my views
my perception
my life
I would not want to know the person
I would have become
Had I not met you
Every fiber of my being now
has been created by 
my contact with you.
I search the stars at night, comrade
knowing you are still
My true North

obstinatecondolement replied to your post: is it like super loser-ish to go to denny’s alone

I mean, I am a loser, so maybe not the best source to trust here, but I don’t think so

i trust you entirely. i just wasn’t sure bc usually the only ppl i see eating alone at restaurants are old men with giant newspapers and i don’t usually have newspapers to read. like i have a stack of them actually from when i was taking the train and couldn’t say no to the ppl handing out the metro newspaper but those are several months old now and someone might notice.

Remember Me Pt2

Summary: You are the other third of the End of the Line Squad, trying to get Bucky to remember you and Steve. After the battle in the helicarrier you set out to find him again, but he finds you first. ((Read Part 1 here))

Warnings: Pretty moderate fight scene, blood, angst(ish)

Word count: 1818

A/N: This took me forever, and it’s probably terrible. Sorry guys, I hope this isn’t cringe-worthy at the very least. 

Originally posted by blackinjustice

Bucky had gotten good at hiding his tracks. Maybe you would have found him sooner if Steve was out of the hospital, but you decided you couldn’t wait that long; Bucky couldn’t wait that long.

It took a lot of convincing, a team of doctors, and about half the Avengers to keep Steve from joining you, but in the end he agreed as long as you’re at 100%. You were closer to 80%, but that was about as good as you were gonna get.

You had narrowed your search down to a single street, witnesses said they saw him passing through every night at the same time. It had been a long time since you’d been there, but there was no way you’d forget what home looked like.

You, Bucky, and Steve had all lived on the same road once upon a time, and although the bricks were worn down and painted over it still looked the same. This was where you first met them, where you helped one of their moms make dinner when they had you over, where you chased the streetlamps like baby suns lining the broken road, imagining a sunset and a prince and a happy ending. Growing up had only taught you that there were no happy endings, but there were happy in-betweens, and it was the least you could do to remember those.

It was no wonder why Bucky would come here, if you had the chance maybe you would too. You didn’t have amnesia, but seeing those old time-worn buildings again were bringing back memories you never knew you forgot. Memories like punching Steve’s bullies (most of them were too scared to hit a girl, so you got a few good hits in before they split) and chasing after Bucky when he grabbed your hand and ran to whatever it was he wanted to show you. More often than not his ‘great discovery’ was a new flavour of milkshake he wanted you to try.

Looking at it now, there were really only two things that had changed. One being the streetlights, they weren’t orange and warm and familiar anymore, they were those pale solar lamps that always seemed to turn on too early and make the cracked pavement look more eerie than cozy. The second difference was the group of suspiciously monochromatic men who had begun open-firing at you.

Now, you may have been 90 odd year old, but back in your day the people who fired guns at a seemingly innocent passerby were usually bad. And if that wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the red Hydra symbol branded into their skin was. They must have found Bucky too, but if they wanted to get to him first they would have to climb over your dead body, and you could promise them that you didn’t die easy.

You took down two of the five no problem, sweeping their feet out from under them and ending their train of thought with a quick and harsh stomp to the pavement. Of course their heads were between the ground and your foot, but it wasn’t enough to kill them or crack their skull seriously. They’d wake up with a headache the same as yours after the helicarrier and their vision would be spinning the like yours was but-

Wait. Spinning? You had been dizzy from a fight before, but the world never whirred around like it was doing now, not even after a good roundhouse kick. It must have been your concussion acting up again. Steve had warned you not to push yourself. You didn’t usually listen to him in the first place, why would you start now?

You expected to be shot by now, but when you looked up from the wall supporting you there were no bodies left standing. None that you wanted to hurt anyways.

James Buchanan Barnes was standing in the middle of the alleyway, dropping an almost lifeless body onto the ground. The white streetlight only brought out the cold in his eyes, until they floated over and it was like the hate flinched when they locked onto you.

Bucky remembered those eyes. Not just from the helicarrier anymore, he saw them when he closed his eyes, bright and happy and careless. He remembered a shiny car with no wheels and a man with slicked back hair and a mustache. He remembered you literally jumping beside him before he pushed you to go talk to him. He remembered your million dollar smile lighting up the whole world when you came back and said you got a job with The Howard Stark.

You knew that look, it was almost like you could see his thoughts projecting across his pupils. The words slipped past your lips before you knew you were so much as thinking them.

“What do you remember?” Because you knew he remembered something. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have come home every night. He wouldn’t have saved you, not on the helicarrier and not now when it was his enemies and his fight and his demons. You wouldn’t have been able to find him if he didn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember where he learned the line, but he heard his voice playing it over and over in his head when he thought about you, followed by your laugh and the tingling of your fingertips against his knuckles or your lips against his cheek.

“Isn’t that the million dollar question?” And you did laugh; it was a sad kind of laugh because you missed hearing those words and you missed Bucky and you missed the 40’s. You missed it all so much that you couldn’t help the watery eyes or the bone-crushing hug you gave Bucky. You missed it and you thought you lost it all when you woke up beside Steve 70 years later, but you hadn’t lost a thing, it had only been waiting for you to look for it again.

***

The hideout Bucky was staying in wasn’t the warmest or the nicest place you’d slept, but it had a roof and it had Bucky, and that was more than you could ask for. You didn’t mind the cold anyhow, after decades frozen in ice it didn’t seem to bother you much. What did bother you was that Bucky didn’t seem bother by it either, and there was only one explanation for how he could still look 25 and not feel the coursing chill that soaked through the walls of rotten wood.

Before you joined Steve on his suicide mission you were working with Stark on something that could preserve a person for centuries, you called it the cryo-chamber. It hadn’t been finished or tested before it got stolen though, Hydra swooping in and extracting all your progress before blowing the whole lab up.

“You’re bleeding.” You had to push back your curiosity and worry on the subject somehow, because if you kept thinking about it you would ask, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer. Howard and you had hypothesized that it would hurt, being frozen at temperatures that cold and so fast, and to think you could have been the source of that kind of cruelty towards anyone, let alone Bucky, well it wouldn’t end well.

“It’s fine.” Bucky didn’t even look at the wound, only sat down with a grunt and rested the back of his head against the crumbling wall.

“At least let me look at it.” Bucky watched you stepping closer, slowly, like you were worried he’d run away if you got too close too quick. He probably would if he didn’t get this feeling between his ribs, like somewhere between the shards he called memories and the concern flooding your eyes you had become his whole world.

You reached out to lift his shirt over his wound and he flinched. He didn’t mean to pull back, he wanted to feel your fingers tracing his skin, he wanted to remember. It wasn’t enough to recall E/C orbs or sweet laughs that made the world innocent again, he wanted to think of more than a pretty dress and carelessly curled hair. He wanted to remember why he felt like he could trust you this much, and why he felt so crushed when he saw you in danger.

You waited for him, keeping your hands exactly where they were until Bucky’s hands ran over them and guided them to the bloody fabric on his stomach. The soft smile you awarded him was enough to make him forget the pain.

You fixed him up as best you could. He would’ve been better off with stitches, but the limited resources around you and the fact that you weren’t a nurse impeded that plan. Bucky didn’t mind, you had always been good at fixing things. He appreciated how close you got to him and how focused you were in stopping the bleeding, it gave him time to trace the lines of your face. He got the same feeling looking at you now that you’d get from opening a book you had read years ago and forgotten the plot of. Familiar and entrancing and absorbing.

When you were done you rubbed your temples and groaned, your post-concussed headache was crawling back and it wasn’t a feeling you were grateful for. Bucky looked up at you like a puppy, worried for the only thing he knew he had.

“Are you hurt?” You regretted shaking your head so fast, it only made the building pressure worse.

“Do you remember when Steve used to get real sick, and we would sleep outside his door when his mom had to go to work?” Bucky looked away for a second, squinting like he was searching the disintegrating room for clues before nodding lightly and coming back to you.

“Yeah, I would sit against the door and you would put your head in my lap.” You let a little pride swim into your smile to show him he was right.

“Could we do that now?” Bucky didn’t have to think very long on it, he was realizing he would do just about anything to be closer to you. With another nod you scooted closer and rested your aching head on his lap, wrapping your arms around his waist like you always used to. Bucky’s fingers went into your hair, playing and braiding the strands like it was second nature to him. Maybe it was - he couldn’t remember how many times he’d done this before - he only knew it felt nice. Warm and comfortable and relieving.

“I missed you so much Buck,” He could tell by the way you breathed his name that you meant it, like it was a lost secret you hadn’t said in a long time but never forgot about.

And maybe the stream of good that flooded through him when he heard that meant he missed you too.

i-find-my-way  asked:

hi! :) I saw your post about pansexual being the type of bisexual you are and liking more than two genders while still identifying as bisexual. would you mind explaining that to me? I'm not sure what you meant by that and I'm just curious and would like to be corrected if I've been defining those terms incorrectly. thanks!

Bisexual people like two or more genders. It’s an old word, from before nonbinary people began to be recognised in the West as having distinct genders (instead of just being gender-nonconforming men or women), which is why the prefix is bi-. The word was made when we thought there were only two genders. Now that our understanding of gender is shifting, the definition for the word is shifting to accomodate it.

The word “bisexual” has a lot of history. Bisexual people have been oppressed and invalidated and have fought on to be recognised, and that’s part of my heritage as a bisexual woman. I won’t give up that identity just because the word for it was made a long time ago with a prefix that confuses people sometimes.

The word “pansexual” doesn’t have the same heritage. I think a lot of people identify only as pansexual, and not bisexual, partly because of misunderstandings about the definition or because bi people get a lot of shit, and “pansexuality” — the word, not the concept — is shiny and new and there’s not the same gross history of being oppressed or invalidated attached to it. There’s also the common mistaken belief that bisexual people never include trans or nonbinary people in their attractions, which is why identifying as pan appealed to me as a baby bisexual.

But I think of pansexuality as a specific type of bisexuality, because really, it is. Bisexual people experience attraction to two or more genders, and pansexual people experience attraction to people of any gender. Which is more than two.

So. I’m bisexual. And “pansexual” is the type of bisexual I am.

S/O to trans people
  • Shout out to all those trans boys who are told they're "dykes". Shout out to all those trans girls whose parents tell them "boys don't wear make-up." Shout out to all the trans men and women who lived through the wrong era where they couldn't transition or identify as trans, and are now stuck in the wrong body because they feel as if they're too old to transition. Shout out to all those trans kids that don't know what wrong because there's no public trans education and they don't know what is wrong, just that SOMETHING is wrong. Shout out to literally every and all trans boys, girls, men, women, guys, ladies, bros, brahs and any other descriptors because not only are they dealing with an extremely difficult problem of gender identity and self identification, but they also have to deal with the ignorant shits in the world.
  • So if you are trans, you are brave.
  • Don't let anyone tell you you're not brave.
  • You all have my utter respect for you're strength and courage
  • Trans is beautiful
2

Request: Could you do a destiel one where the reader is listening to Elvis on headphones then CAS gets into it and he wants to buy some music of him on his own and he asks Dean to drive him to the store and then Dean asks what music he wants. CAS tells him not to make fun of him for it then admits it’s Elvis and he says “I can dig Elvis” and Sam breaks down crying with reader is just comforting him. Idk but PLEASE. -phan2k15

Word Count: 1,443

Pairing: Dean x Cas (destiel), Sam, Dean, Cas, x Reader.

Warnings: None? I don’t think?

A/N: tHIS KILLED ME OK but I loved the idea so thanks for requesting!

~

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog

Cryin’ all the time

Well, you ain’t never caught a rabbit

and you ain’t no friend of mine” You danced to the music, dancing around your room letting the music blast knowing Sam and Dean weren’t home for the day, letting the music take over.

“Well they said you was high-class

Well, that was just a lie

Yeah they said you was just high-class

Well, that was just a lie

Well, you ain’t never caught a rabbit

and you ain’t no friend of mine-” you stopped paying attention to the music and dancing when you realized Cas was in the doorway watching you, making you feel embarrassed. “Cas! God don’t you ever knock?!” you yelled with anger, turning off the music coming from your Ipod after.

“Don’t use my father’s name in vain, Y/N.” he warned, giving you a mean look. “S-sorry, just..why are you here? If you’re looking for Dean him and Sam went out earlier and won’t be back till late tonight.” you sighed, rubbing between your eyes and on your nose. “Oh- well I was looking for him, but then I heard your..music? and it was pretty.. catchy as you humans would say?” he said with a confused look.

“You liked it?” you asked with a smile. “Yes, what is it?” “Elvis. He’s a really good singer” “May-may you play more?” He asked, sitting on the corner of your bed. “Sure thing! you said happily, finally finding someone who had the same music interest as you. You could never tell Sam and Dean about your love for Elvis because they’d probably make fun of you, even though Dean likes classic rock himself.

~

"Hey Y/N? We’re home!” Dean yelled from the kitchen, walking into your room after. “Hello Dean.” Cas smiled, standing up to give him a warm hug. Dean wrapped his arms tight around him, taking in his scent and smiling to himself. “I missed you, but what are you doing here?” Dean asked. “I stopped by to see you but you were gone so I spent time with Y/N.” he smiled at him, then smiled at you, making you smile back.

“Ah, what’d you crazy kids do?” Dean joked, sitting on the edge of your bed with Cas next to him. “We listened to music, Can you take me to…to…uh…what is it called?” Cas asked you, looking at you with confusion and sadness that he couldn’t remember. “The music shop down the street.” you smiled. “Yeah, the music shop. Can you take me so I can get music, please?” he asked his boyfriend, giving him puppy eyes that he knew always worked. “Ahh okay, only for you.” Dean smiled, brining him in for another hug, making you smile to yourself.

~

“So what kind of music do you want babe?” Dean asked happily, looking at him then looking at the road. “Um..Y/N told me you might make fun of me if I tell you..” Cas said awkwardly, folding his hands in his lap and looking out the window, feeling his heart pound faster and faster, not to help whenever he’s with Dean it pounds so much he thinks its going to explode, but that’s how much he loves him.

“Babe, I know I joke around with you but I won’t make fun of you. Besides, if you don’t tell me how am I suppose to know what to get?” he laughed, taking his hand and holding it, giving it a tight squeeze for a second. “Elvis. I want some Elvis records.” Cas sighed, scared for his reply.

“Elvis huh, so Y/N got you into Elvis?” he chuckled to himself, making Cas upset. “Y-yeah..” “Awesome, you need to know some good music.” he smiled at him, taking Cas to surprise. “You mean, you don’t think its funny?” “Nah, I actually like Elvis to be honest.” Dean smiled, pulling into the music shops driveway.  "Now let’s go get you some Elvis records buddy.“

"Hello, do you know where we can find some Elvis records?” Dean asked the lady at the stand politely. “To your left, can’t miss it.” she smiled, and they left with a thank you. “Holy cow! they have tons!” Dean laughed, looking at the row of records all by him. “I- I didn’t know there was so much, which do I choose?” Cas asked confusingly, biting his lip trying to decide which is right, and which isn’t.

“This one’s pretty good, do you want it?” Dean asked, showing him one of the records. “Yes, that will work.” he smiled happily, hugging the record to himself. “Ok now, don’t fall in love with it.” Dean winked at him, making Cas blush. They paid the lady and left to go home, to listen to Elvis for god knows how long.

~

“We’re back!” Dean yelled happily, laying his keys on the stand and hanging his coat up, Cas following behind still holding on tight to his record. “Ola amigos! Cas, did you get it?” You smiled, running up to him and leaving Sam behind at the table while Dean goes and sits with him. “Is this the right one?” he asked, handing you the record. “Yup! Nice work dude, you too Dean.” you said patting his back and walking over to Dean after, sitting at the table. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering Twist And Shout, the fanfic he read. He always found his brother and his boyfriend adorable, like they were meant to be. One day he was doing research, and came across Twist And Shout.

“What begins as a transforming love between Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak in the summer of 1965 quickly derails into something far more tumultuous when Dean is drafted in the Vietnam War. Though the two both voice their relationship is one where saying goodbye is never a real truth, their story becomes fraught with the tragedy of circumstance. In an era where homosexuality was especially vulnerable, Twist and Shout is the story of the love transcending time, returning over and over in its many forms, as faithful as the sea.”

He had to read it. It sounded so interesting, so magical and so amazing. But he never expected it to make him cry for 3 hours into a pool of his own tears. “Uh- wow Dean, surprised you allowed him to get Elvis, isn’t he a little…old school?” Sam asked nervously, trying to hold the tears and thoughts back. “Hey, I can dig Elvis. He’s a cool dude” he smiled, wrapping his right arm around Cas’s shoulders and hugging him tightly, making Cas smile softly.

Fuck, of course he had to say those exact words. Sam’s really regretting reading that story now, more than before. “Uh- I have to..use the..yeah bathroom.” he said shakily, pulling out his chair and leaving as fast as he could before he bursts into tears in front of everyone.

~

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…But I..can’t..help..falling in love with you.” Sam heard the record play, making him cry more. He really felt like a teenage girl right now but who could blame him, that story was sad as hell.

*knock knock* “Sammy, you okay in there?” You asked, leaning your head against the bathroom door. “Y-yeah, I’m fine just..don’t feel well.” he lied. “Let me in.” you ordered, and he listened. He unlocked the door and you ran straight in, closing it after. You turned around to see his cheeks all puffy and red. His eyes looked swollen, and his lip was quivering. “Sammy honey what’s the matter?” you asked softly, sitting next to him on the floor and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“It’s nothing…It’s just…hard.” he cried.

“You read it too, didn’t you?” you asked softly, rubbing up and down on his shoulder, knowing exactly why he was crying because you also, have read it too.

“Maybe..”

yn �-�:��Q�-�

Two in the same-part 1

Pairing: Bucky x reader
Summary: Hydra did the same to you as they did to Bucky and, when he breaks away from them, you go with him but find that you don’t really fit in all that well at the tower.
Note: This is a weird one but I’m starting the part two anyway (I’m thinking I’m only doing two parts but could do more). There will be a lot more angst in the second one and getting to know the character.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Winter!” You bellowed in your natural, thick Russian accent across the freeway.
Your partner was edging closer and closer to the other man with a look of nothing but uncertainty scratched painfully into his features and body language. He wasn’t listening to you whatsoever so you dashed to his side and grabbed his metal arm with your own, hearing a slightly muffled clank underneath your fingers. 
A second figure appeared from behind an upturned bread van with a hole in the undercarriage wielding a handgun and a small blade. Automatically, you aimed the rifle in your right hand’s scope directly at her heart but didn’t pull the trigger yet. She laid her preliminary weapon on the tarmac in front of her, giving you a quick nod of surrender before turning back to the other man, awaiting orders. You trained the gun at her and the man once she stopped before him. 
The only reason you weren’t killing both of them while they were helpless was because Winter appeared afraid, something you had never seen.
“Red, hold back. I think I know him.” Winter ordered you absently.
“He’s our mission.” You refused, still holding the gun levely in an outstretched, black draped arm at the man in question.
“Trust me, Red. He won’t hurt us, I don’t think.” Your partner assured you warily, taking a few more hesitant steps towards the other two.
“I do trust you.” You muttered, watching him walk from you treacherously.
You had known nothing more about the target than his physical appearance and the fact that he would be difficult to contain and take out. Strangely, he was looking at Winter as though he knew him and that put you severely on edge, not to mention the twitch now developing in your bionic arm causing you to fear it malfunctioning. 
The serum pulsing around your veins made you hyperaware of the other two’s movements and gestures as they spoke to Winter. The red-haired woman continued to keep an eye on your perpetually raised gun over his shoulder whilst the man tried to convince Winter to come with him.
“Red! Come here, you’ll be safe.” Winter shouted roughly, reverting back to Russian as he did so.
Mistrustingly, you forced your heavy boots towards him, kicking debris from cars away from your feet as you glided to him. You came to a halt just feet behind him, the heavy gun resting heavily at your side and ready in case of attack. Winter may think he knows them and they him but you weren’t important to them; you were sure they could take you down and find no one to protest but prayed that Winter would not allow his partner’s death.
“Who are they?” You demanded harshly through gritted teeth.
“He-I know him. And he says he won’t hurt you if you put down the gun.” Winter explained carefully.
“Why should I put it down? You’ve probably got snipers pointed at me right now.” You growled straight at the two opposite you.
“We came here alone. We don’t have anyone else.” The man vowed, holding persuasive eye contact for as long as he could.
“What about the bird guy flying around earlier?” You retorted snidely, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.
“I’m over here.” A voice came from behind your unprotected back.
The man with the mechanical wings was standing quite a way away. Quickly, you searched his unarmed appearance for concealed weapons and decided uncaringly that he wasn’t a threat.
“Red.” Winter started, placing his cold hand onto the crook of your cold elbow before carrying on empatheticly. “Please, I think we can trust them.”
“What, like we trust Hydra to mess you up every couple of years to leave you confused and helpless? I don’t think so.” You grunted, your gaze soft but steely.
Apart from physical size and shape, the two of you were equally matched: the metal arms, his left and your right; your dark hair casting soft shadows across your hardened features; and your strong, confident and not overly aggressive stance making both of you look in control together. He wasn’t much taller than you and, as you spoke, it was simple for you to not feel intimidated by the dark haired assassin standing before you like a mirror.
“Trust me, then. Put it on safety and that should make them happy. We both know how quickly you can use that gun, even if the safety is on.” He growled, swiftly clicking the switch on your end of the gun with a deft swish of the wrist.
“If anything goes wrong, remember the plan.” You ordered him, reluctantly swinging the semi-automatic over your shoulder on the black canvas strap.
“We don’t want or need to kill you, soldier.” The woman with the blazing red hair told you in a smooth Russian tongue.
“Isn’t that what everyone says?” You replied, smiling darkly.
“Bucky, do you remember me?” The blond man asked cautiously, still a fairly, but not exclusively, safe distance from you.
Winter didn’t respond to him. Unsurely, he looked to you for help like it was a exam that he hadn’t studied for. As a sign that you too were stumped by the situation, you shook your head and crossed your strong arms in front of you.
“So the two of you work as a unit?” The woman asked you, pulling your attention from the conversation happening between the others.
“That is our dynamic, yes. May I say your American accent is rather convincing, Natalia.” You commended her slyly.
“You remember working with me? Haven’t they blanked you?” She questioned you, astonished at your recollection.
Winter had moved closer to the man now and you shot him an apprehensive look, displeased and disconcerted by the space between you now. His head was low and you could tell he was having a hard time with whatever he was being told. Desperately, you yearned to go back over and do something about how weak he was but you were still trapped in conversation with your old partner.
“They never had to blank me.” You explained, dragging your eyes reluctantly back to her. “I never knew about my previous life. Did you get out, Natalia?”
“Apparently not far enough.” She complained, nodding to the gunshot wound in her shoulder that was leaking some blood and making the tactical suit’s fabric a darker grey around it.
“Who’s the guy talking to Winter?” You said, curious as to the identity of your target.
“That’s Steve. Captain America, maybe you’ve heard of him.” She said with a laugh as though it was supposed to be obvious.
“Actually, I don’t.” You told her truthfully, turning to examine his face more thoroughly.
Awkwardly, him and Winter were going in for a light and unenthusiastic hug, Steve doing most of the initiation and movement while Winter stayed stock still. You could see now that there must have been a serious backstory between them, and one that was as ancient as Winter himself.
“Not that I don’t love to see you guys talking to your old friends but we need to get out of here before the rest of those Russian guys show up. We could go to Tony?” The falcon man suggested, calling to Steve and Natalia.
“Yeah, we should go, Steve.” She reiterated, walking towards the two men.
Warily, you edged to Winter’s side, only a few inches from him as usual. He looked at you but didn’t say anything, preferring instead to take a minute step backwards so that your arms were just brushing each other, an act which was extraordinarily comforting for both of you.
“What’s your name? Bucky said it was Red but I wondered if you knew your real name.” Steve said politely, you staring bewilderedly at him the entire time.
“Red is my name.” You answered stiffly, not really relaxed will this line of questioning. “The Red Soldier, drenched in blood.” You recited the Hydra words blankly, staring into the man’s blue eyes with a cold and almost fierce indifference. 
“Can we save the ghost stories until we get back to the tower? I’m getting real worried about their guys.” Falcon said skittishly, nodding his head briskly at you and the other half of your deadly team.
“Would you like me to hotwire a vehicle for you?” You offered slowly, used to being immediately ordered what to do.
They all nodded simultaneously apart from Winter who simply gave you another look. It was always easy to communicate with Winter this way; he was a man of few words and you preferred silence to every sweet or melodic sound in the world. Without a word, the two of you walked in sync to a nearby SUV and broke the door open with a simple crack to break the lock. 
He climbed into the driver’s seat and waited patiently for you to start extracting wires from the underside of the glove box. 
In close to ten seconds, the black car was up and running, idling while you waited for the others. Instinctively, James jumped over into the passenger seat and left the position of driver in your capable hands. You crossed the front of the vehicle and leaped agily inside, slamming the door and unnecessarily revving the engine, a bad habit you’d seemingly picked up from nowhere. 
Steve, Falcon and Natalia packed into the rear and you awaited directions, lazily leaving one hand on the wheel with your other resting on the stick-shift. Eventually, Steve told you the general direction in which to drive and the tip: ‘you’ll know it when you see it’. 
Initially, you set off at full speed, haphazardly swerving around bits of broken car and bus without a care to put on your seatbelt. The three in the back were sliding around and hanging as best they could onto the seats, Falcon even toppling onto Natalia with a terrified apology.
“Hey, Red. Drive slower now or we’ll draw attention to ourselves.” Natalia advised you, leaning over the seat when you got to the open motorway.
Thankful to be receiving some sort of order, you eased the pressure off the pedal and slowed to 75, still slightly faster than the other cars on the road. The atmosphere in the car only thickened once the distraction of the engine’s roar and movement of the carriage ceased. Winter was still looking at you most of the time but occasionally watching the road and skies to help distinguish any threats that he notified with a quick jerk of the head.
Quickly, you got into a steady speed and partially relaxed though never fully, too hyperaware of the people both inside and possibly outside of the car. It occurred to you many times that this was a test from Hydra to assess your loyalty to the cause but you were swayed otherwise by the way Winter was behaving: nothing ordinary apart from his demeanour with you. Winter would never do that to you, you were sure of that, and that alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hours later, your eyes landed briefly on the exterior of Stark tower. It was lit up brilliantly like a great metal lantern and you understood what Steve had said. You slowed to a snail’s pace once you got onto the right block, studying the exterior of the luminous building for signs of a car port or garage.
“The passcode is S394.” Steve informed you once you were pulling up to the gate on the east side of the building.
Nimbly, you tapped in the code and waited patiently for the metal barrier to desist and let your party in. However, the entrance stayed firmly locked, even when you typed the code in a second time.
“Tony, let us in.” Natalia yelled out of the window furiously, directly to a security camera.
Immediately after, the heavy doors lifted up to reveal a massive parking bay as the ground floor of the building. Slowly, you eased the SUV into the secluded lot and parked perfectly in a corner space, remaining seated as you noticed a short man striding towards you across the smooth concrete.
“Who the hell are you? Steve, who are they?” He demanded impatiently through the window.
“Tony, he’s my friend. And she’s…well, she’s his friend.” Steve answered numbly, believable despite his lack of explanation.
“Well come on in then.” The other invited you, tiredly welcoming all of a sudden.
Everyone exited the car and you followed obediently, walking behind the others alertly with your head spinning around, analysing every dark shadow and corner in the lamp-lit area. You were so preoccupied taking in the new surroundings that you didn’t even notice the short man, Tony, now walking beside you.
“How does your arm work?” He asked curiously, just restraining himself from examining the mechanism in the fear you’d break him in two with it. 
“Take a look for yourself, I don’t know much or care.” You sighed, rolling your sleeve up to the elbow and thrusting the arm towards him.
As you stood in the massive lift with the others, he turned your hand over a few times and got a view from every single angle possible to figure out how it works. Occasionally, he would mutter about the advanced technology or even just an unsuppressed ‘wow’. You looked to Winter and found him scowling down at the man with the little goatee and bed-hair in a physical representation of mistrust, stopping only when you nodded reassuringly at him. 
You had always been more placid than Winter, even when you had been forced to fight one another. Hydra believed he was better able than you but, in reality, you let him win every time because you couldn’t stand to hurt him. Where he lashed out and became aggressive, you hid your thoughts tightly within your mind and closed off all responses.
“Is it detachable?” Tony interrogated you, quickly switching between questions. “Wait, can you feel this?” He said, simultaneously giving your arm a little punch at the shoulder.
“No, it is not detachable. Yes, I can feel that; it has pressure pads underneath each plate.” You responded boredly, pulling your arm away as the elevator doors slid open.
“Steve, I’ll be okay with them staying but we’re going to need to have a word.” Tony concluded, nodding to a smaller adjoining room to your right.
“Nat, can you stay with these guys for a minute? I’ll be back soon.” He said to Winter, like if he didn’t his friend would jump out of the window and run back to Hydra.
When Steve and Tony left the room, it stayed in an unbreakable feat of silence. All conversation evaded you three Russian assassins and kept the atmosphere still and untouched, as if frozen over like a lake in deep December.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter, Bucky now, managed to slip into the tower’s dynamic as well as any 98 year old cyborg could in this day and age. But you, the outsider with no memories, purpose or friends, excluding Winter because it was obvious he didn’t see you as one, couldn’t find a place to fit into that didn’t involve a high security prison cell. 
People, especially Tony had taken to calling you and Winter 'the twins’ and you were annoyed, not because of your own feelings, but how it reminded Winter of your similarities.
“I don’t know what you mean. Tony likes hanging out with you.” Natalia, who you found out went by Natasha now, argued after you explained what you were thinking about.
Nat had been one of them that would spend time with you doing mundane stuff like watching the tv or going to the gym. But she was busy a lot and preferred to go out with Clint when she wasn’t, leaving you alone most of the time. Any time there was a group activity, you followed Winter because you didn’t know what else to do and he was a familiar face.
“Tony doesn’t like hanging out with me, he likes hanging out with my arm.” You corrected, lifting your eyebrows resignedly.
“Just give it time. Once you get to know everybody, you’ll be fine.” She reassured you.
It was apparent that Tony threw lots of parties for altogether dubious reasons. Tonight’s one was going to be for the release of his Mark 249 suit, the third one since you’d arrived. This meant lots of people to socialize with and not a lot of places to hide.
“Whatever, just help me with the zipper.” Nat told you after receiving only a blank look.
You did as she said, moving uncomfortably in the tight dress she’d lent you for tonight. Wearing dresses and high heels had been part of your missions many times but always with a thick overcoat and gloves to disguise your unusual arm, unlike now: the steel surface of your right arm and the scarred flesh around it were fully visible and out in the open. Natalia had told you to wear the shoulderless dress like this because it made you look better but she wasn’t convincing you. It was only the fact that you knew nothing about fashion that you allowed it.
“Let’s go.” Nat said, heading to the door and looking really stunning in her red thigh-high piece.
You were much taller than her and, because the dress was short on her, it was even more brutally revealing on your longer legs. You felt quite self-conscious walking down to the party floor beside the lovely Natasha but pushed it as far away from your mind as your worrying would allow.
The room was packed out when you got there with Stark industries employees and rich friends of the man himself. You and Nat headed over to Winter and Steve because they were the easiest to spot. Annoyingly, you could already see people staring at the monstrosity protruding from your amputated shoulder and talking to the others about it in hushed whispers. The dance floor became cold and quiet as you passed through it with people pressing away from you.
Winter saw both of you walking in his direction and nudged Steve. His eyes landed on you for a second, taking in your appearance, but quickly moved to Natasha with a much warmer look in them.
The night carried on like this for a while until Natalia went to find Clint and you started following Winter instead. He was visibly displeased by this but you didn’t have anything else that you could do. You hadn’t realized how annoyed he was getting until he snapped at you.
“Stop following me, Red! We aren’t friends and you need to find someone else to cling onto.” He shouted angrily, quieting the people meandering around you.
Quickly, you nodded and lowered your head, mouthing an apology and turning away from him. You scuttled away, giving him exactly what he wanted. You ran to your room and locked the door hastily. You didn’t come out again until much later that night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Steve, have you seen Red today? She’s not in her room and I think I might’ve made her upset last night.” Bucky said guiltily, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
“I haven’t seen her either. Jarvis, where is Red?” He asked the A.I stiffly, unaccustomed to interaction with it.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers, Miss Red left the tower at 3:25 this morning and hasn’t been back. I have been unable to contact or locate her since.” Jarvis informed him politely.
Steve swivelled to talk to Bucky once more but his tall form was already bolting down the hall away from him.

Soraru & the Ossans (042715)

Soraru: “The bicycle that passed by now had a middle-aged man who was singing while he pedaled, his songs were good I’ll have him come as a guest for Acosora.”

nqrse: “That’s me you know Sorarin, me me me~~~~~!!!!!! Ya~~~~~y!!!!!!”

Soraru: “The old man sitting next to me was a loud eater so I pretended to go to the toilet and changed seats… (^w^) It’s only impossible for me to deal with loud eaters…”

Soraru: “Sometimes there are middle-aged men that eat so grandly that I think ‘Are doing this on purpose’, but what is that, or rather I feel like those that I encounter are mainly middle-aged men.”

Soraru: “Even if a busty, beautiful girl confesses to me, if she’s a loud eater then I’ll have to think about it. Or otherwise, I’ll have to live my lifetime with that flaw. But I wouldn’t be confessed to in the first place it was a meaningless worry, that’s good”

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Welcome Home) Part 1

Originally posted by sebastianstahn

Summary: The reader is trying to find a place to live in Brooklyn. She then meets Bucky, a cute guy who offers her to move live with him as his roommate. But as their friendship develops, will it turn into something more?]

Word Count: 1,322 

A/N: Hey guys! I really hope you like this new series because I’m excited! I’m sorry if it starts out a little slow but I’m getting there so don’t worry. You’ll have your fluff in no time! Ask me if you want to be tagged in the next part part! Thanks! :)

—————————————————————————————

You flipped to the next page of your newspaper, sipping on your morning coffee. You circled some of the apartment listings with a red sharpie, until you got frustrated and crossed them out all together. You had been looking for an apartment  for weeks now and you still came up short. You banged your head dramatically in the wooden table, as your hands crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash can. You let out a soft growl. You then stopped slamming your head down when saw your friend Carrie come out of the hallway to where you were sitting. 

“Someone’s being a little loud this morning.” She huffed, strolling toward the kitchen for something to eat. You and Carrie had met in college and decided to move in together after you both graduated.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to find an apartment in Brooklyn I actually like.”

“I know, but one day you’ll find it.” She assured you. Carrie handed you a bowl of your favorite cereal and sat down next to you.

You chugged down what was left of your coffee and licked your lips. “So, how’s you and Joe? Have you set a date yet?” You asked, poking at her ring.

She shook her head, “No, not really. What we do know is that we want it in the spring!”

“See, that’s another reason why I need to hurry up and find a place. You and Joe deserve time alone without me barging in all the time.”

“Hey, you don’t need to worry about us. Take all the time you need.” She patted you shoulder. “And what about you? Any men in your life I should know about?” Carrie raised an eyebrow at you, a sly grin plastered on her face.

“Ha! Very funny Carrie.” You smirked.

“I’m serious. I haven’t seen you go out on a date in so long!” She whined.

 You rolled your eyes, “Place first, then guys.”

“Okay, fine.” She looked down at her phone and gasped. “I’ve got to get to work. I’m gonna be late. Talk to you later?” She tossed on her blazer and wrestled with her heavy purse.

You shooed her away with your hand, “Yeah, yeah go. You’re gonna be late.”

“Okay, bye (y/f/n)!”

“Bye!” She ran to the door and slammed it shut. You and Carrie only had time to see each other in the mornings. Carrie worked at an office all day while you worked at night as a bartender at a local bar. She would sometimes come in after work to the bar and hang out with me but those times became fewer and fewer since she got engaged with Joe. You got up from the table and decided to do some house cleaning before you had to go in at 6. You had actually came to New York to become an actress, but didn’t have much luck. So now you’re just selling drinks to old men in a bar to pay the bills.

“I really hope I find a place.” You looked over at the trash can filled with unwanted newspapers and fliers for apartments in the city. “Soon.”

—————————————————————————————–

Business was surprisingly slow, considering it was a Friday night. Your shift was almost over and you were wiping down the counters, while a live band was playing for the costumers. Sometimes, the band would drag you up the stage and force you to sing with them. You would always be embarrassed at first, but then you would quickly get into it. Distracted by the song, you didn’t notice a tall man walk in and tape a flier to your window. You eyes met him as he stood there looking out the window, into the street.

“Um, you can’t put up stuff without asking an employee.” You spoke up, getting his attention. He was a very handsome young man, with piercing blue eyes and silky brown hair. He appeared very muscular even though he was wearing three layers. His smile is what got you the most. It made your heart beat faster in you chest, while your face began to redden. 

“Uh sorry. I’m looking for a roommate and was wondering if I could put up a flier about it.”

“You picked a pretty interesting place to put it up.” You laughed, looking around the bar.

He laughed with you, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Can I see it?”

“Oh, yeah sure.” He ripped the flier off the window and placed it in your hand. You read the paper carefully. The apartment was in Brooklyn not too far away from your bar and had two bedroom, bathrooms. You glanced at the picture of the balcony which had one of the greatest views of the city you had ever seen. 

“Wow, this place looks amazing!” You beamed. You took one of the cut out numbers on the bottom of the paper and held it up to him. “I’m actually looking for an apartment in Brooklyn. You mind if I take one of these?”

“For you, of course.” He winked, making you blush even harder. “I’d love for you to be my roommate.”

“You barely know me.”

“That is true, but you barely know me either, Doll.”

You scoffed, “Do you want a date or a roommate? Cause if you want a date, go ask some other girl here.”

“I’m sorry.” He put his hands in his pockets, as he leaned his stomach against the bar table. 

“You want a drink?” You asked. He nodded as you slid him a beer. He drank the beer in one sitting and didn’t even blink as the alcohol flooded through his body.

“I’m Bucky by the way.”

“(y/f/n).”

“Well (y/f/n), I hope to be hearing from you.” He stepped away and walked out the front door, leaving you with a dumb expression on your face. You looked down at the number you pulled off the flier and the name underneath it.

Bucky Barnes. 

About an hour later, your boss Jerry told you to go home and that he could handle it from here. You gladly thanked him as you grabbed you coat and started walking home. You couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky and that apartment. The place looked absolutely amazing, but you weren’t so sure about Bucky. He seemed to be super flirty but in general, a nice guy. You didn’t think you would mind rooming with him. But he also made you feel a certain way that you hadn’t felt since high school, when you had a crush on the quarter back of the football team. God, he was so cute and you cute help but blush every time you saw him. You didn’t think it was a good idea to develop feelings over the person you’re living with. especially if you two did date, then break up. But his words kept replaying in your head, blocking all the negative thoughts in you mind.

“Well (y/f/n), I hope to be hearing from you.”  

You whipped out your phone and dialed the number on the piece of paper you ripped off his flier. Your phone began to ring but was shortly cut off.

“Hello?” You heard a voice answer the phone,

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, (y/f/n)? Is that you?”

“Yes, I was just wondering if you are still looking for that roommate?”

“Sure am. Why, do you want to be it?” You could hear his smile through the phone. 

“Yep! If you’ll let me.”

“Of course! How about you come to the apartment tomorrow morning and I’ll help you move in. Say around 9?” He suggested. You scanned through your schedule quickly in your head, trying to figure out if you were doing anything.

“That sounds perfect.” You smiled.

“Great! Well, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Okay, goodbye Bucky.”

“Goodbye, (y/f/n).” You hung up you phone as you made your way to your front door.

Wait ‘till Carrie hears about this.


@bovaria @crazyformychubbydumpling @squishybucky @stuckwithbuck @tumblinginoz @barnesdeservedbetter @feelmyroarrrr @redstarstan @totheendofthelinepal @canikeepit-imkeepingit @buckybarnesdaily @buckybarneswintersoldier @buckyodinson @time-to-dance-rey @hip5t3r-m3rmaaidd-biitchhh @julynineteenninetyseven @yellowtheremarvelfan @les-pomme-de-terre @learisa @100acresofwood @bucky-laufeyson @sebstan4real

‘’The only places I can’t really go are huge carnival-type things, where there could be some sort of stampede. It’s happened before. Which sucks, because I love carnivals, and I love fairs. I have a hard time accepting the fact that my life is abnormal. I admit it now, but I’m not going to stop grocery shopping just because it tends to be a very hectic situation. If I ever have a family, that’s when I would start to think about the inconvenience of it – if I had to explain to a 4-year-old why all those men are pointing cameras at us and why people are staring. At this point, I can handle it because it’s just me, and my friends are really good about it, too. If I had friends who made me feel bad about it, I’d feel like I was a burden to them.’’

Taylor Swift Billboard Interview 2014

Billboard Woman of the Year Taylor Swift on Writing Her Own Rules, Not Becoming a Cliche and the Hurdle of Going Pop

Taylor Swift never doubted that her fifth album, 1989, would sell 1 million copies in its first week. But others were not so confident. “Everyone, in and out of the music business, kept telling me that my opinion and my viewpoint was naive and overly optimistic – even my own label,” says Swift, recalling the run-up to 1989’s October release in the vast living room of her penthouse loft in downtown Manhattan. “But when we got those first-day numbers in, all of a sudden, I didn’t look so naive anymore.”

In fact, 1989 moved 1.29 million copies in its first week, the biggest seven-day sales of any release since 2002, according to Nielsen SoundScan. Swift, who turns 25 on Dec. 13, became the first artist to hit that 1 million-week milestone three times – breaking a record not just for women or twentysomethings, but all musicians. It was an accomplishment that she engineered, maintaining worldwide ubiquity throughout 2014 with the European and Asian legs of her $150 million-earning Red Tour, a savvy and accessible social media presence, and tireless promotion, taking on everything from TV appearances to a role as New York’s “global welcome ambassador.” And as she made the leap from country to pop, her fans stuck by her, eager to follow an idol charting her own course.

Swift asserted her freedom and influence more than ever in 2014, including moving from Nashville to New York’s chic Tribeca neighborhood and pulling her music from Spotify, which led to widespread debate over streaming and compensation for artists. She also revealed a burgeoning feminist consciousness, delivering an impassioned defense of actress Emma Watson’s speech at the United Nations about gender equality and assembling a social circle of strong young women including Lorde, Karlie Kloss and Lena Dunham. “Taylor is like this force of protective energy,” says Lorde. “She looks after everyone she knows. We’re both interested and involved in the workings of the industry. I have this thing in my head that she should do seminars – ‘Swift’s 13 Steps’ or something.”

Swift was raised in Wyomissing, Pa., the daughter of Scott Kingsley Swift, a financial adviser, and Andrea Finlay, a former marketing executive. The family, including her younger brother Austin, relocated to Nashville when Swift was 14 so she could pursue her musical ambitions. “Working in those writers’ rooms,” she says, in between sips from a Starbucks cup, “writing several songs a day with several sets of collaborators, it teaches you discipline.” Since the release of her 2006 debut, Taylor Swift, she has won seven Grammy Awards and has sold more than 30 million albums and almost 80 million song downloads worldwide, according to her record company, Big Machine Label Group.

Still, given today’s music business climate, BMLG president/CEO Scott Borchetta admits that it was tough to gauge realistic expectations for 1989. “When you have the entire industry saying, 'Well, it might only be 800,000, but that’s a great number,’ you start to question if the market could bear it,” he says. “My job is to make sure she had all the information.” And Swift’s job, of course, is to push past all that. Says Borchetta: “I learned a long time ago: Don’t ever doubt the power of Taylor Swift.”

There has been so much talk about you moving to New York, but people forget that you grew up in Pennsylvania, just a few hours away.

Oh, yeah – people have no idea! I summered at the Jersey Shore every year. When I first discovered that I was in love with performing, I wanted to be in theater. So growing up, New York City was where I would come for auditions. I was 10, but I was as tall as a 16-year-old, and then you’d have a 22-year-old who could play 10, and they’d get the role. Then I started taking voice lessons in the city, so my mom and I would drive two hours and have these adventures.

I went to a Knicks game a few weeks ago, and people were like, “Oh, it’s your first Knicks game!” I actually have a photo of my first Knicks game. I was 12 years old and I was in a halftime talent competition, but I didn’t win because the kid who won sang “New York, New York,” and I was like, “Here’s a song I wrote about a boy in my class …”

You have been criticized for the tone of the 1989 song “Welcome to New York.” Has it made you think any differently, hearing people say that this is a difficult time to afford to live in the city?

Absolutely. But when you write a song, you’re writing about a momentary emotion. If you can capture that and turn it into three-and-half minutes that feel like that emotion, that’s all you’re trying to do as a songwriter. To take a song and try to apply it to every situation everyone is going through – economically, politically, in an entire metropolitan area – is asking a little much of a piece of a music.

I’m as optimistic and enthusiastic about New York as I am about the state of the music industry, and a lot of people aren’t optimistic about those two things. And if they’re not in that place in their life, they’re not going to relate to what I have to say.

It must be a challenge for you to move around, even in this city. Do you have favorite places to go or things to do?

The only places I can’t really go are huge carnival-type things, where there could be some sort of stampede. It’s happened before. Which sucks, because I love carnivals, and I love fairs. I have a hard time accepting the fact that my life is abnormal. I admit it now, but I’m not going to stop grocery shopping just because it tends to be a very hectic situation. If I ever have a family, that’s when I would start to think about the inconvenience of it – if I had to explain to a 4-year-old why all those men are pointing cameras at us and why people are staring. At this point, I can handle it because it’s just me, and my friends are really good about it, too. If I had friends who made me feel bad about it, I’d feel like I was a burden to them.

How did the decision crystallize to make 1989 a pop record?

Max Martin and [Karl Johan] Shellback [Schuster] were the last people I collaborated with on [2012 album] Red, and I wished we could have done more and explored more. So going into this album, I knew that I wanted to start with them again. Then I thought, “Wouldn’t it be amazing to work with Ryan Tedder?” And then I was with Jack Antonoff and Lena Dunham at the beach, and we started talking about our favorite '80s music. All of this started happening organically, and I found myself gravitating toward pop sensibilities, pop hooks, pop production styles.

When I knew the album had hit its stride, I went to Scott Borchetta and said, “I have to be honest with you: I did not make a country album. I did not make any semblance of a country album.” And of course he went into a state of semi-panic and went through all the stages of grief – the pleading, the denial. “Can you give me three country songs? Can we put a fiddle on 'Shake it Off’?” And all my answers were a very firm “no,” because it felt disingenuous to try to exploit two genres when your album falls in only one. I never want to pull the wool over people’s eyes, because people are so much smarter than a lot of marketing professionals give them credit for.

So what did that mean at the writing level?

This was just me following where I’ve been headed for years. “I Knew You Were Trouble” was a big signal flare. When I did something like that, that I thought people were going to be freaked out over, and it ended up spending seven weeks at No. 1 on the pop charts, it felt like I had tried on something new that fit really well. So for this album I decided, “Hey, that thing I tried last time? I’m going to make my whole wardrobe into that.”

What was your working relationship with Max Martin, who is credited as the album’s co-executive producer?

He doesn’t do interviews, so people create this Wizard of Oz-type persona because he’s seemingly so mysterious. But if you get in a room with him, he’s absolutely warm and kind and funny, and honestly, out of the goodness of his heart did so much extra work on this album and never asked to be named anything. I started to experiment and work with other people, and Max knew that I wanted to make an album, not a collection of songs that sound like they’re recorded in different studios by different people. So he volunteered to record pretty much all the vocals – even things he didn’t write or produce. He would come in and spend his day away from his kid, away from his wife, and volunteer his time and not ask for anything. And the more that he did that, the more I realized that he deserved credit for that. That’s what made him feel to me like co-executive producer.

Did you want “Shake It Off” as the first single for the sound or for the message?

Both. This album is not about boys. It’s not about something trivial; it’s not about revenge or breakups. It’s about what my life looks like now. And that song is essentially written about an important lesson I learned that really changed how I live my life and how I look at my life. I really wanted it to be a song that made people want to get up and dance at a wedding reception from the first drum beat. But I also wanted it to be a song that could help someone get through something really terrible, if they wanted to focus on the emotional profile, on the lyrics. Because I’ve had people say things to me like, “When my mom died, I listened to this every single day to help me get out of bed.” And then I’ve had people say, “I danced to this drunk at a wedding reception.” If they want to forget about the lyrics, they can, but if they want to hang on every word, they can do that, too.

Billy Joel recently said that one reason he stopped writing songs was because people started reading too much of his personal life into his lyrics. Has the way everyone plays connect the dots with your songs become a hindrance to your writing?

I’ve been dealing with it for so many years now that I expect the media to do it, I expect fans to do it. Human curiosity is never to be underestimated. But I don’t have anyone whose feelings are on the line except for me. If I was in love with someone right now, I don’t know how I would handle everyone else weighing in on our stories, because when you’re in a relationship there are a lot of secrets and a lot of sacred moments that you don’t want to divulge. I, however, am 24, perfectly happy being alone, and one of the reasons I’m perfectly happy being alone is that no one gets hurt this way.

What was your biggest challenge this year?

Convincing members of my team that [the pop move] was a good call. People seem to love the album, and we’re all high-fiving each other, but I remember all the sit-downs in the conference rooms, where I would get kind of called in front of a group of people who have worked with me for years. They said, “Are you really sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to call the album 1989? We think it’s a weird title. Are you sure you want to put an album cover out that has less than half of your face on it? Are you positive that you want to take a genre that you cemented yourself in, and switch to one that you are a newcomer to?”

And answering all of those questions with “Yes, I’m sure” really frustrated me at the time – like, “Guys, don’t you understand, this is what I’m dying to do?” The biggest struggle turned into the biggest triumph when it worked out.

You have assembled this salon of really famous women around you – Lorde and Lena and Karlie. How did you build this posse?

Every one of my friendships has a unique and odd beginning. I was watching Girlsand I thought, “How mind-blowing is it that this girl is writing, directing and acting in this incredibly profound, raw, authentic view of being a woman in your mid-20s?” So I went to Lena’s Twitter and she was following me. I saw her quoting my lyrics. At first I was afraid, because I thought she was being ironic or making fun of me. Then I looked down further and she’s talking about my music all the time. So I followed her, and immediately got a direct message back saying, “When can we hang out? We need to be best friends.”

With Ella – Lorde – her album came out and I thought it was amazing, so I sent her flowers and congratulated her on a great first week. And I get this text message from one of our mutual friends, [Rookie editor/actress] Tavi Gevinson, and she says, “Lorde is freaking out because she said some stuff about you in an interview and she feels so terrible.” She essentially had said that I’m too perfect or something like that – something that did not even mildly offend me, that I thought was cute. She felt so bad about it, so I said, “It’s no big deal. We should hang out sometime.” We met up in New York and walked to a park near my hotel, and we ate Shake Shack burgers and got attacked by monster squirrels who wanted our food. I could keep going – Karlie and I met at the Victoria’s Secret show …

Did you set out to gather these strong females around you? How much is accidental and how much is it because it was the right moment for that?

I never thought too hard about it, but you’ll notice a lot of celebrity-type people tend to surround themselves with people whose lives revolve around them. You’ll have a posse of these exciting and fashionable cling-ons, and it’s because those celebrities need to be fawned over.

I feel uncomfortable being the No. 1 priority in my friends’ lives – I want to be there to make their lives more fun, if they need to talk, to be there for spontaneous and exciting adventures, but I don’t want friends who don’t have a life outside of me. So whether it’s Karlie, who loves what she does in fashion, or Lily Aldridge or Lena or my [childhood] friend Abigail, whose job is making sure that veterans get their compensation checks, the one thing they all have in common is that they love what they do. They have me in their life because they want me in their life, not because they gain from it.

Your mom has been central to your work and your life. Between moving here and meeting all these accomplished women, has that relationship changed at all?

My mom has allowed me to grow up one year at a time. She was very protective when I was a teenager, when every other person would say to us, “Are you going to become a trainwreck? When are we going to see you going off the rails like …,” and then they would name these other girls that they perceived to be trainwrecks, which was lovely. So it wasn’t just “Don’t drink until you’re 21,” it was “Don’t be seen holding a glass that they could think alcohol is in.”

Everybody wanted me to become a cliche. And I wasn’t going to let it happen, and my family wasn’t going to let it happen. And now I’m allowed to be 24, almost 25, which is nice.

What’s your advice for women looking to get into singing or songwriting?

You’re going to have thousands of decisions to make that will shape the public’s perception of you. Let those decisions be your decisions. Don’t let them be some man in a suit’s decisions, or some A&R guy with a beanie’s decisions.

You have always been so active in promoting new artists. How do you listen to and discover music?

I buy it on iTunes. Things I see trending online, friends on Twitter who tweet about new music. iTunes has really good recommendations – “You like Lorde, you’ll probably like Broods.” Well, I do like Broods! Thank you, iTunes.

Which brings us to Spotify. Did you anticipate that your decision was going to be such a lightning rod?

No, not at all. I wrote an entire op-ed piece [for The Wall Street Journal] back in the summer that was essentially foreshadowing this decision. I’ve talked about it openly and directly, and there’s nothing more to elaborate on. Until Spotify starts to fairly compensate the creators of music, I’m not going to be a part of it.

Which websites do you read most often?

No. 1 one is Tumblr, because it allows me to experience my fans’ sense of humor. They’re sharing not only stories but also GIFs and memes that they’ve created.

I love Buzzfeed, because they do a really good job of making news funny, or making a complete news story out of a non-news item. Like how I carry my purse in the crook of my arm, and they’ll do a slideshow on it. Somehow they come up with these random things to write about that are highly entertaining.

You’re coming off of your third million-selling week. Now that you’re really only competing against yourself, do you see a time when you’ll step away from trying to go bigger every time out?

I have no idea what’s going to happen to me, that’s the thing. I was really hoping that we could convince people to go out and make 1989 a part of their lives, and that maybe a million people would want to do that. And essentially, my fans wanted to make a statement about music, too. Because they read my op-ed piece, and it was sort of an unspoken pact between us. They proved that they still want to invest in music, that it’s important enough to spend their hard-earned money on.

Does it still feel like a struggle to get the acknowledgment for your own work? Even Imogen Heap, who worked with you on the album, wrote on her blog that she had “assumed Taylor didn’t write too much of her own music … and was likely puppeteered by an aging gang of music executives.”

Everyone’s got their own relationships and dramas, so they don’t have time to create a complex opinion of every celebrity. Do I get offended when people don’t fully understand how much of the workload is done by me? No, they’re busy with their own lives. If someone has studied my catalog and still doesn’t think I’m behind it, there’s nothing I can do for that person. They may have to deal with their own sexist issues, because if I were a guy and you were to look at my catalog and my lyrics, you would not wonder if I was the person behind it.

When I’m in a room with a writer for the first time, and I bring in 10 to 15 nearly finished songs as my ideas, I think they know that I’m not expecting anyone to do the work for me. I’m not going to be one of those artists who walks in and says, “I don’t know, what do you want to write about?” or one of those things where they say, “So what’s going on in your life?,” and I tell them and then they have to write a song about it. I wouldn’t be a singer if I weren’t a songwriter. I have no interest in singing someone else’s words.

(x)

Winding backroads and arrow-straight highways,
all part of the map of veins and arteries that overlap and connect across the body of the continent they call their home

All they’ve ever known is the hum of the asphalt numbing their bones
and the fiery burn of 80’s hard rock chasing down the backs of their throats,
pooling deep in their bodies to become as much a part of them as
the hairs on their head and the green of their eyes

No one else can understand the significance of maps folded over so many times they tear at the seams,
or why the rush of wind through a cracked window while speeding down the road with the needle at seventy is a lullaby that never fails to soothe their souls

Dad hammered these nails into his boys,
built them up frame by frame into who they are;
brothers who were made for finding their names in passing license plates
and who found solace in curling into one another on the backseat when Dad couldn’t lift his foot off the pedal

Every town, every city, chipped away at their bones,
honing them, making them leaner and urging them taller,
leaving their stamp, their brand, in the curve of the boys’ eyes.
They always were the ones to leave,
to watch those places fade into the horizon behind them

Reality is escapable when all they can see is the headbeams of their car illuminate the road like twin moons.
It’s almost easy to forget the reason why their roots have spread from their feet to curl down and around the lines and pipes that Dean knows as well as the places in Sam’s cheeks where his dimples appear when he smiles

Landscapes and hills,
valleys and fields,
all rolling into one huge blur that washes the walls of their minds

Under that roof and inside those four doors is their home,
the only one they’ve ever known besides those matching places in their brother’s heart

Stars overhead, cast by a million hands to land on the black canvas drawn across the sky,
and Dean pulls them into a field.
It’s never easy to leave the driver’s seat, to unhook himself from the place he knew he was meant to be since the age of twelve,
never easy to take his foot off the gas when his blood is singing that same song on loop,
the one telling him about roads less travelled and streets so well-used that the two solid lines in the middle have all but faded away.
But for Sam, he does it,
because just like he has his own melody coursing through his veins, he knows that Sam’s plays to a different tune,
one that hums at a frequency Dean’s never been able to hear.

This self-induced wanderlust is a disease,
one that tastes of exhaust, fast food bags and the laughter of their brother in the air along the dashboard.
It’s something that has been melted into the marrow of their skeletons and crafted into the muscles hugging their bones.
It started out as duty, as a war torn path of vengeance by two boys huddled together as a man with too many lines on his face flies them through the night on the back of a black eagle.
Now it is their life, those two boys grown into men with their own burdens weighing down their souls.
Thank God they can find some age-old peace in the hum of the tires below their feet.
The only things that have remained constant in all these years is that long stretch of highway beneath them and the presence of that kindred soul beside them on the leather that long ago molded to fit to their bodies.

They could go anywhere as long as they had each other.

— 

we were made for this

for the Sam & Dean Poetry Challenge
prompt: wanderlust