#and i thought about you making this piece. me as max u as sam that would fit lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shurisneakers · 3 years

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harmless (ii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, stealing cultural landmarks, frustrated bucky

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: made a header 4 this fic but i couldn’t take it seriously enough <3

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! it’s always fun to hear from y’all.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

It’s roughly a week before he sees you next.

Right on time too, according to the briefings he had received. Once a week you’d come up with your next batshit crazy idea and someone would be sent to make sure you didn’t execute it.

It was more of a babysitting gig than anything. Most people would do one, maybe two assignments before asking to not be sent again.

He was not most people. He volunteers to go again. His afternoon is relatively free and he’s bored.

Also, and more importantly, he needs to get out of the house before Sam finds out what he did.

“You’ll find her near the Statue of Liberty.”

“How do we know?”

“Oh, she tells us.”

“...she tells us where to find her?”

“Most times, yes. She says it’s time efficient.”

Absurd. He thinks you’re absurd.

Bucky finds you in line to board the ferry. You’re dressed to the nines like an obnoxious tourist, even though you were a local, topped with binoculars and a bucket hat.

On an unrelated note, he thinks that maybe the mission today is to kill you for daring to wear sandals with socks like a suburban dad. A shudder runs through his body when he sees it.

He’s wearing all black and a baseball cap. Somehow he’s standing out more than you are.

He boards the ferry behind you, keeping a close eye on all your movements. You take your place near the railing, a seat near the front of the boat.

His phone rings. He answers it, expecting Sam to screech at him for painting Redwing neon pink again. He should have known it was coming after he shoved Bucky off the quinjet before he had time to strap his parachute on properly.

“I thought I told you to bring a cape.”

He quickly looks up at you but you’re not facing him. You have your phone held up to your ear, however.

“How did you get this number?” he asks icily.

“I knew you’d show up again.” Your head tilts to look at the statue in the distance. “Also, thanks for the door money, but I’m not sure I appreciate how you think the least creepy way to give someone money is to drop it off anonymously at their doorstep.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He swiftly gets up, stalking over to where you’re sitting. He was advised not to do anything aggressive. Advised was a flexible word.

“Because I wasn’t going to answer it.” You look up at his figure looming over you. “Oh, hey.”

The phone is still pressed to the side of your face even though he’s right beside you. He cuts the call, shoving it back into his pocket.

“Allow me to introduce my pl-”

“What are you doing here?” He cuts to the chase.

You send him a glare. “I was going to say it before you told me to. And sit down before everyone thinks you’re going to kill me.”

“Why are you going there?” He doesn’t have time for this, he thinks. He has important things to do. Like watching the reruns of Masterchef Junior.

He sits in the seat beside you.

“Look at us.” You grin at him. “Me with the evilest outfit I could think of, you with your... Addams Family cosplay. We’re like, two peas in a po-”

“Start explaining,” he interjects.

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to shrink the Statue of Liberty and use it as a keychain.”

“What?” It’s probably the most benign plan he’s ever heard in his life.

“I’m kidding.” Oh, good. “I’m not using it as a keychain, I’m taking it to class.” Nevermind.

“What?” He finds himself repeating his previous question.

“I’m shrinking all the statues I can find. I want to use it in my classroom to teach the kids.”

“You’re... a teacher?” He blinks.

“You got a problem with that?” You look offended, to say the least.

“No.” It’s not what he would peg your occupation as. He didn’t think you had one at all. “How are you planning on shrinking it?”

You rummage through the ugliest fanny pack he has ever had the misfortune of seeing. You pull out a small ring box, complete with a bow tied neatly on top.

“I was saving this for our third anniversary, but-” you offer him a nervous laugh.

His stony expression doesn’t change, not even a blink.

“Fine, Jesus, you’re no fun,” you huff, dropping the emotional act when he doesn’t look amused.

You flip open the lid. Inside there are a few small disks. It looks familiar, he realises.

“Your friend Ant-Boy didn’t file a patent, so I just took his whole shtick.” He wants to defend Scott’s honour; it’s Ant-Man not boy. He doesn’t. He’s too transfixed on what you have in your hand.

“Pym particles.”

“The diet version.” You pick up one of them carefully. “A ripoff, but effective. Just gotta attach it to the thing I want to shrink and give it a few minutes.”

“You’re going to steal the Statue of Liberty,” he says, frankly a little taken aback that you were serious.

“Would you relax? I’ll put it back.”

“That’s not the point,” he damn near exclaims. “You can’t take away the Statue of Liberty just because you feel like it.”

“I literally can.” You point to the chips in your hand. “That’s the point of this, keep up.”

He feels exasperated. He didn’t sign up for this when he became an Avenger.

“Give me the box.” He makes a grab for it but you yank it away from his reach.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t have time for this.” His reruns would begin in an hour.

“That’s my problem, because...” you trail off.

He rolls his eyes, makes a grab at the box again. His tactic is different this time. He stealthily pins one of your arms down so that you’re basically incapacitated.

“Hey! Stop that.” You fumble against his reach, shoving him with your elbow.

“Just give me the thing and we can all go home for the day,” he huffs, unfazed by your squirming.

“No! Over my dead bod-”

He doesn’t immediately notice what goes wrong in the scuffle.

Until you look at the ground near your feet. A disk lay there, undisturbed.

“Is that-” All of a sudden, either he’s getting taller or the ceiling of the boat is getting lower.

“Oops,” you say, not remorseful in the slightest.

“Are we going to-”

“I’d give it five minutes max.”

Great. He was stuck on a boat that was beginning to shrink. The other passengers were either oblivious or ignorant to seats that were starting to become too small for them, but Bucky’s heightened senses and extreme reflexes made it hard to skip.

He nudges the piece of tech with his foot. Maybe he can kick it off the boat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn solemnly. He wants to disagree but doesn’t know enough about the device to dispute you.

“Fix this,” he hisses, panic slightly rising. His fingers find their way to his phone to send out an emergency text requesting backup and mass evacuation.

“I think it’s a rather lovely day for a swim, don’t you?” You stare dreamily at the waves that were inching closer up the boat.

Or you were inching closer to the water. Technicalities were frivolous.

“There are other people on this boat.”

“River’s big enough for all of us, I reckon.”

“Fix it.”

“Or what?” There’s a wicked gleam in your eye. “We both know I have the upper hand here.”

“Or I call the entirety of the Avengers here and haul your ass to prison.”

“Will they bring snacks?”

You’re insufferable. You know it. But you also are the fastest way to get out of this situation and right now, he didn’t want to be responsible for a shipwreck simulation.

“Fine. Tell me what you want.”

“I like soy chips.”

“Soy chi-” He nearly throws his hands up in frustration. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I want one historical artifact so I can impress the kids. They think I’m the cool teacher and I want to keep that reputation alive.”

“What makes you think I can arrange for that?”

“You’ve been alive since goddamn dinosaurs roamed this earth, I’m sure you have some connections.” You pause to assess his face. “You know, you don’t look a day over 29. Dermatologists must hate yo-”

“I’ll get you an artifact, now fix the fuckin’ boat.”

“You promise?” You grin brightly.

He stares at you. You are unyielding.

The boat’s uncomfortably small and people are beginning to take notice. Worried murmurs fill the air behind him.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You shrug simply.

You kneel over, picking up the chip from the ground. You do nothing else for two minutes, instead turning away from him to look at the Statue of Liberty that was coming closer.

It takes him a while to realise that half his body isn’t hanging off his chair anymore. The ceiling is moving further and further away from the top of his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He wants to strangle you.

Why did he listen to you when all of this would have been over the minute he kicked it off the ship.

“You can drop it off at my lair on Monday and pick it up on Friday.” You gather your belongings, leaving him steaming behind you. “Nice talkin’ to ya, Sergeant.”

You step over him, flashing him a quick smile before walking off the boat with the rest of the tourists as if nothing had just taken place. When he looks down, the stupid ring box is on his lap.

He sits there, unmoving, eyes fixed on the container.

The ferry conductor asks if he’s going to get off the boat.

He simply shakes his head.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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mayraki · 4 years

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CHAPTER ONE

“where it all began: in prision”

SERIES MASTERLIST

MY MASTERLIST

who is max belinsky?

concept boards for the new characters

summary: Max Belinsky and JJ Maybank are the two troublemakers of Outer Banks. Going to parties, getting into trouble, having an attitude and being the two people you don’t mess with are the perfect ways to describe them. What would happen when the two people who seem to have trouble follow them around meet? One thing is fore sure, they didn’t expect this outcome.

What are the perfect words to describe Max Belinsky? Well, there’s many. The first thing that people think when they see her is: here comes trouble. Her attitude, humor and the ways to get into trouble gave her that reputation. Sometimes, she wasn’t even tying to get into trouble, but somehow it had it’s ways and it would always find her. She would be walking and then around the corner, there it was; trouble. But she got used to that life, she started to love it, always wishing for that feeling of rush it would give her. She learnt to carry the fame that the people gave her on her shoulders, with pride.

Living in the lovely Outer Banks had it’s ups and downs, more downs than anything else. For example, downs? It was far from everything. And you had two options, living in a huge mansion, having everything handed to you without moving a finger, or working your butt off every single day to have a decent meal on your table. Ups? It’s paradise on earth! Or at least for some people. But Max liked living there... well, it’s not like she had the money to get the hell out of there. But, in the meantime, she had her best friend, an island that she knew like the palm of her hand, and the desire to have the best summer of her life.

She made that pact with her best friend, Sam, since the two of them walked outside their classroom the last day of school. But, it had it’s consequences, for example, ending up on the back of a police car after a accident in an abandoned building. That’s specific, because that’s where Max was on that lovely night of Saturday.

“Max, there has to be a last time where I have you on the back of my car.” Officer Presley said while watching Max on the driving mirror. She was looking at the trees passing and then a little laugh came out of her mouth once the memory came into her mind.

“Well, it’s not my fault that Officer Johnson can’t keep himself straight.” Max tried to hold on a laugh while the face of the Officer was going on and on in her head like a broken DVD.

“You ran towards him! You jumped and that made him fall into the floor.” Officer Presley let out a big sigh to calm herself. She knew Max too well, and she understood a while back that arguing with her was not going to get her anywhere.

“It was an accident!” Max said defending herself. “I was running away, and then I tripped making me fall on top of him. It was not on purpose! That was not my intention in the begging, but, my plan worked and my friends are safe from you guys. So...” She let her back rest on the back of her seat satisfied with her actions.

“Still doesn’t make it right, Max. You’ll get in serious trouble one of these days, and it’s going to be in your record forever. You want that?” Officer Presley always tried to guide Max on the right path, which was keeping her away from getting into trouble, but Max never listened. She would always ask something to change the topic.

“How’s the wife, Jennifer?” Max asked with a smile. But when Officer Presley was about to say something, was cut off by her little radio.

“Officer Presley?” The voice spoke. Max recognised Deputy Miller’s voice and started to listen to the conversation carefully.

“Yes sr?”

“You have Miss. Belinsky with you?”

“Yes, ready to head back to the station.”

“There’s been a call about a young man showing a gun at a party. He’s in the main beach with Officer Johnson. Pick him up.”

“Yes, sr.” The car made an U turn and now they were facing the beach.

“You know, that Miller, I don’t like him. He seems like a douche bag. Is it that hard to say ‘please’?” Max said while slowly shaking her head left and right.

“He’s my boss, Max, he doesn’t have to say please.” Max rolled her eyes and then let out a big sigh, making Officer Presley look at her in the driving mirror.

“You can do better, Jennifer. Being boss around by a man that doesn’t know how to be a decent human being? Fuck that.”

“Language, Max.”

“I’m just saying! You’re so much better than those guys.” Officer Presley pulled the car over once they were on the entrance of the main beach.

“Well, you better keep that to yourself since Officer Johnson is coming.” Max turned her head to the window next to her and noticed two figures walking towards the car. It was dark, but Max was able to figure out that the tall man was the cop, and the one next to him was the freak who showed to a party with a gun.

“You want me to say to Officer Johnson what I really think? Because you know me, I will.” Max said after looking back at Officer Presley.

“Max, don’t.” She said before getting out of the car.

Max shrugged her shoulders and then went back to looking out the window. She was trying to figure out who was the guy next to Johnson, but the light outside wasn’t enough. All she could see was that he was wearing some old boots and a sleeveless shirt. Max lifted her eyebrows once the guy stretched and a piece of light made it possible to see it his arms perfectly.

“Well... damn.” Max let out a little laugh once the thought of her being attracted to a guy with a gun appeared on her mind.

Officer Presley got inside the car and Max turned to her. “Be nice.”

“What? I’m always nice.” Max said in her defence but Officer Presley gave her a serious look. “Alright, I’m going to be nice to the dude that waved a gun to a bunch of people at a party, sure!” Presley caught her sarcastic tone and then added;

“That’s not what happend.” Curiosity hit Max’s body, but couldn’t ask anything about it, since the opposite door to where Max was opened, letting the mysterious guy enter the car.

JJ Maybank. The other famous troublemaker, the one who would get himself into fights, ending up drunk and having tourons around his arms. The both knew who each other were, their reputation amongst the police and the Pogues didn’t pass unnoticed by anyone. But they didn’t say anything to each other, they turned to the front seats once Officer Johnson got inside the car and his head popped out and looked to where JJ and Max were.

“I should’ve seen this day coming, we have the two most famous teens that fuck things up in our car tonight.” Johnson said and then a little laugh come out of his mouth. It was like he was making fun of them for finally being caught, and that made Max roll her eyes. Presley got annoyed at that comment and Max let out a little smile once she noticed.

“It’s nice to see you on your two feet, Johnson.” Max said and he rolled his eyes.

“This two have been causing me headaches since they started to think for themselves.”

“Aw, I’m honored to be recognised for that.” Max said with a proud smile.

“Yeah, we should get a price or something.” JJ said and Max turned to him with a smirk. He winked at her, but she just turned back to the front seats, ignoring the wink completely.

“The only price you two are going to get are community service hours. Now, shut up and let the adults talk.” Johnson said and then closed the little window they had between the front seats and the back.

“What a lovely man.” Max said sarcastically. She turned to see the street passing on her window, but when she felt JJ moving on her side, she locked eyes with him.

“The famous Max Belinsky...” JJ said and Max furrowed her eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“It’s nice to finally meet the other supposed ‘troublemaker’.”

“Supposed?” Max asked. She felt a joking tone on his voice.

“Well, people like to call us that. But I just see two hot teenagers trying to have fun while they’re on this boring ass town.”

Max lifted an eyebrow once she heard the word ‘hot’ coming out of his mouth. “You think I’m hot?” Max expected JJ to get nervous and shy when she caught him calling her hot. But it was the opposite, JJ let out a smirk and then nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Unbelievable. You’re flirting with me on our way to the police station... I guess your reputation it’s not a fairytale.” Max turned her head to her window letting JJ know the conversation was over, but when she heard him laugh her head never turned so quickly. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing. I’ll just wait to see you in action, then.” He said and a little smirk appeared on her face. Like Max expected to see JJ nervous earlier, JJ expect the same thing once he started to flirt with her, usually that’s what the girls get when he does it on them, get all blushed, but Max rolled her eyes and then looked the other way, making JJ get even more interested in the girl he had next to him.

“Looking good Kelly!” Max yelled once Presley let her get out of the car and she locked eyes with the old lady that worked next to the police station. “Nice earrings!”

Kelly gave Max a little smile and then waved at Presley, but she was giving Max a serious look witch Max responded with an innocent smile.

They carried on walking up the stairs to the police station, and once they were inside, Max gained a couple of stares from the multiple people in the room, they all knew her too well, more than they would all like to. But once Jennifer took Max to the cell at the end of the long corridor, Max was out of their sight.

“Ah... the smell of fresh coffee. I’m never going to get tired of the smell in this room.” Max said to Presley, but she locked the cell and then walked away, without giving Max one of her famous lectures.

Max sat down on the bench at the side of the room and then let her back rest on the wall. She let her eyes went over the room, she saw it a couple of months ago when she ended up there after getting caught stealing some alcohol from some Kooks. The dark walls and the cold feeling the room gave off, even if it was one of the hottest days outside. She started to let her feet go back and forth out of boredom, when she heard the cell door open again and JJ Maybank appeared in front of her.

“Behave, or I’ll add you more hours to your community service.” Officer Johnson said and JJ saluted him, wich led to Johnson rolling his eyes and then locking the cell door once again.

“Well... I guess we’re going to be here a while, I guess it’s time for us to get to know each other.”

“Do we have to?”

“C’mon, you’re my cell buddy, we do!” JJ sat down on the floor across to where Max was.

She let out a little sigh and then crossed her arms around her chest. “What do you want to know?”

“Why are you here?” As soon as JJ asked that, the memory of Officer Johnson came into Max’s mind and a little laugh escaped her mouth.

“I went to the old building on the side of the road with a bunch of my friends, and I was the distraction once the cops came.” JJ gave Max an approval nod. He indeed was. He was starting to see the girl that everyone was talking about, even though they were already in a cell.

“Being the hero, nice bro.”

“Thanks.” The opportunity that Max wanted on the car came. “And I guess you’re here for waving a gun to a bunch of people?” She didn’t hesitate asking, since the words came out of the mouth faster than she intended.

JJ let out a little laugh and then looked down. “I didn’t waved the gun. It feel from my backpack after some annoying Kook pushed me.”

“Ah, the Kooks...” Max slowly nodded. “They never fail on making us angry.”

“Exactly. They are all a bunch of rich brats.”

Max pointed at JJ with a smile. “Now, the first time we agree on something.” JJ nodded and a little laugh came out of his mouth.

“Well, that’s not right though. We both agree that the other one is pretty hot.” He said and Max shook her head confused.

“I don’t think I ever agreed on that, dude.”

“C’mon! You were totally into me when i flirted with you on the car, don’t lie.”

“You’re not that good at reading people, bro.” A little laugh escaped Max’s mouth and JJ pretend to be offended.

“For your information, I’m pretty good at this stuff.”

“Mmm? Really? I don’t think so.”

“Are you coming to the Kegger tomorrow night? I can show you there how good I am.” JJ said quickly.

“I’m usually don’t impressed.”

“Well, you haven’t met me.”

“I just did.” Max pointed at herself and then at JJ. “And... I’m still not impressed.”

JJ nodded and then a little smirk appeared on his face. “Playing hard to get. Alright, I like a good challenge.”

“Don’t call me challenge, dude.”

JJ lifted his hands into the air. “Sorry, my bad. But seriously... are you coming to the party?”

Max lifted an eyebrow and a little smirk apoyos her face. “Do you want me to?”

“See now, you’re the one who’s flirting with me.” JJ said with a smile but Max shook her head.

“This is not how I flirt, believe me.”

“I can’t believe you, it’s really hard for me, why don’t you come here and show me? Like a demonstration.”

Max let out a fake smile. “Ha, ha. Very funny.” She said sarcastically and JJ shrugged his shoulders.

“Worth the try.”

Once both of them heard a couple of steps coming from the other side, they both turned their heads to the noise, finding Deputy Miller walking towards them with a arrogant smile on his face. “Having fun you two?” He said after opening the cell door. “Ready?”

After walking inside the Deputy’s office, Max and JJ sat down across his desk. Officer Presley walked into the room followed by Johnson.

“It was time these two got what they deserve.” Johnson let out a big laugh and Max rolled her eyes. She hated watching him so happy and proud with himself.

“Johnson, calm down.” Presley said annoyed.

Deputy Miller walked into the room and then proceeded to sit down on his desk. He wasn’t taking his eyes away from some papers he had on his hands, Max started to get impatient, but she didn’t want to show it. She had her natural little smile on her face and was looking around the room, but once she stopped on JJ, he turned to her and gave her a wink. Max gave him the ‘seriously?’ look, making JJ let out a little laugh.

Deputy Miller looked up from his papers and then sighed, taking his glasses from his face and then looking back at JJ and Max.

“You’re not going to get bored of this lifestyle, aren’t you?” They both looked at each other trying to figure out who he was talking to. “I’m talking to both of you.”

“Oh, that’s good to know.” Max said and Deputy Miller shook his head disappointed.

“We have two different cases here, but we’re going to handle them equally. You two are going to do 24 hours of community service. We’re talking cleaning beaches, docks, the water...”

“24 hours?” JJ asked surprised at the amount of hours they were giving them. Deputy Miller nodded.

“I have to work, man. I can’t do 24 hours.” Max said with the same expression as JJ.

“You should’ve thought that before going into that private property.” Johnson said but Max didn’t turn to him, she kept looking at Deputy Miller, trying to figure a way out of that situation.

“Is this or it’s going to stay in you record forever.” Miller said and then turned to Max specifically. “Now, Belinsky, I don’t think your parents are going to like this... am I right?” That seemed to had hit Max on the inside, since she straightened her back and then looked down. That caught JJ’s attention, for the first time since he knew Max, she didn’t respond, and that made JJ intrigued, but when Miller turned to him he looked away from her. “Maybank. I can say the same thing for you?”

JJ cleared his thought and Max looked up to him. “Yes, sr.” They both locked eyes but then looked away after a couple of seconds.

Maybe they had more in common than just their reputation.

“Dude! I seriously can’t believe we’re doing community service. This sucks!” Max said once they were out of the police station.

JJ followed her once she started to walk away. “That’s what you get for being the hero.” He said. She was about to say something but when JJ sat on the floor and proceeded to take off his boot, she stood there confused.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She asked looking down at him.

JJ smiled once he found what he was looking for. He grabbed the blunt and Max felt disgusted once she saw the little white roll on JJ’s hand.

“That’s disgusting man!” Max said, but JJ didn’t bother, he grabbed the lighter he had on his back pocket and then proceeding to light the blunt.

“It’s better than being caught with weed.” He shrugged his shoulders and then continued walking away. But then turned around to see Max still standing in the middle of the street. “You want one?” He let the smoke come out of his mouth.

“I’m good.” Max reached the back of his shorts and took the blunt out from her pocket. JJ let out a big smile after she showed him the roll, and then walked back to where Max was, handing her his lighter which she took gratefully.

“I guess we’re going to see more of each other now.” JJ said after they were both happy with their blunts and continued walking.

“I guess.” Max let the smoke come out of her mouth and she enjoyed the feeling of the slight wind that was blowing on her face. JJ turned his head to see her and noticed a little star tattoo behind her ear. He wanted to ask her about it, but the words weren’t coming out of his mouth, like he was mesmerised by her. “I’ll see tomorrow, then.” Max said before crossing the street.

“Tomorrow?” JJ asked confused.

“Don’t you want me on that kegger you’re throwing?” Max asked with a little smirk.

JJ took the blunt to his mouth and then nodded. “I’ll be looking for you!” He yelled since Max was now far away.

This time, she was the one who winked at him, leaving the poor boy with a head full of questions about the famous Max Belinsky.

CHAPTER TWO

here’s the first chapter of Don’t mess with the troublemakers! I’m so nervous to post this because I worked so hard on the story and I’m so proud of it. I hope y’all like it and let me know what you think of the first chapter! that would mean a lot :)

TAGLIST

@iamaunicorn4704 @onceinagenerationrage @lasnaro @k-k0129 @x-lulu

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

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proteuus · 4 years

Note

You know how you ranked the board of directors most to least likely to betray you? You should make one that’s like most to least likely to prove your dad right and be a serial killer (I feel like by suggesting this, I’m moving myself higher up the list and that’s not my intention lmao)

[the other post in question]

that’s an absolutely Hilarious idea i Love it. ok i have given this much thought and without further ado,

The Board Of Directors: Most To Least Likely to Convince My Father To Allow Me To Go On A Cross-Country Road Trip; Least To Most Likely To Give Off Serial Killer Energy:

#1 - elle [ @cy-ne-fin ] gets the pleasure of being top spot. they have the virtue of not being a teenager and they would add legitimacy to the trip. they are a lot shorter than my father is and as they said they look innocent and i think my father would not see them as a danger

#2 - allie [ @aliceteresamarie ] i have known allie for a long time and consistently lied to my father that she used to go to my school and then moved away. allie also has dad energy and i think she would get along with my father

#3 - liza [ @saturns-old-bones ] liza should have gotten second place based on she actually Does go to my school However she Is russian and my dad reads a lot of books about the cold war; while he claims he’s joking about his fear of russians, i Do think he believes liza is a russian spy based on also she kind of gives off spy energy. so. personally i find that fair

#4 and #5, not necessarily respectively - jay [ @brightbluesubaru ] and sam[ @orc-hestral ] even tie, two respectable young men™ as far as my father is concerned, no qualms

#6 - isla your blue hair costs you a Lot of points i Hate to say it, However i do believe easily what you say about being good with parents, i think my father would find you very respectable altho he would probably call u a punk or smth lmao

#7 - pat [ @pns-fandom ] should be ranked higher However my brother would clock them instantly as an anime fan. my brother doesnt have anything against anime (he watches some, his favorite is one piece [jay likes it too and i want to watch it but fuck its long. anyway]) but he says anime watchers arent to be trusted and he Is my father’s left hand advisor so. you know

#8 - jo [ @zagreus-eats-your-bread ] my dad likes movies where the villains are german so. hate to say it but. in his eyes you Are a german operative. like in die hard

#9 - max [ @nostalgic-romantic ] it pains me to put you dead last, but you Do have colored hair and Many piercings so. despite the favor you have won from my mother, my dad would challenge you to a sword fight immediately. also i think he hates the minnesota nfl team

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daughters-and-winsisters · 5 years

Text

Huntress- Part 21: Realignment

Sam x Daughter!Reader, takes place in S12 E21 so warning:SPOILERS

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen Part Sixteen Part Seventeen Part Eighteen Part Nineteen Part Twenty

Sam and Dean didn’t bother knocking. They swung the motel door open, distraught and desperate. Sam was quieter than usual, panicked. And Dean was angry. Since the last hunt, Y/N had been missing. They’d ran after Max to help him out and when they came back to the Impala, where Sam had last seen her, she was gone. The boys sought their Mother for help, but the motel room was empty.

The brothers shared a look of fear. “Dean, Y/N’s gone. And now Mom’s gone…I don’t-“ “Sammy, look at me,” Dean ordered, “we’re gonna find them. We will.” Sam nodded at his brother, his phone's rings breaking the silence. “Hey Jody,” he answered, “No…no I hadn’t heard…oh God…what happened? Alright…well thanks for telling me. See ya.” “What happened?” Dean asked, picking at the pieces of paper on the desk. “Eileen…she got mauled to death by an animal, supposedly. But she wasn’t in Ireland.” “So she was running from something?” Dean said. “I guess,” Sam shrugged, “That’s like the third Hunter death in two weeks. That can’t be a coincidence.” “Well if Mom’s not on the road she’s usually bunking with the Brits, but Mick’s not answering his calls still…” “Maybe call Ketch?” Sam suggested, hating those words but knowing it was necessary. He watched Dean reluctantly take his phone, his mind elsewhere. If anything had happened to his girl…or his Mom…he wouldn’t know what to do.

“Hey Ketch it’s Dean…Winchester! Right well we’re looking for Mom, have u seen her? I’m not being rude! Listen, I don’t want a manners lesson I just wanna speak to my Mom!” he sighed angrily and hugged an, “Alright…bye.” “Any luck?” Sam asked. He was fidgeting with his phone, flipping it in his hands nervously. “Said he hasn’t heard from her in weeks,” Dean said bitterly, “but they had a case a few days back so he’s definitely lying.” “Chances are whatever’s happened to Mom has happened to Y/N.” Sam nodded.“Let’s go.”

_______________________________________________________________

Sam stared down at Eileen’s body, holding back tears. He bit his lip and looked away, down at his hands where they shook. He’d lost a friend and he was scared he’d lost a daughter. “Seven Hunter deaths.” Dean mumbled.

“And those are just the ones we know about.” Sam nodded.“So what, did monsters start working together?”

“Dean, we know that demons and monsters don’t just team up,” Sam began, starting to panic, “this is something else. No one’s heard from Mom, Cas is missing and we have no idea where the hell Y/N is! Ketch is lying to us and Mick won’t pick up the damn phone! I- I wanna punch something in the face!”

“Good,” Dean said blankly, “hold on to that. Use it.” Dean glanced at Eileen before adding, “If this is a hell hound then we know what that means.”

________________________________________________________________

You blinked awake, taking a good few seconds to gather your surroundings. It was cold. You were hooked up to some sort of IV drip looking machine, with needles jabbed into your hands. You sat up and looked about the room, immediately recognising it as Men of Letters. It was where they had attempted to realign you, where they had injected you with some sort of brainwashing fluid, only it hadn’t worked on you for reasons unknown. The room was large and circular, whitewashed walls with metallic greys to separate the clinical look. There was the bed, the machinery and the door. It was locked shut. There was also a camera in the top right corner. There were footsteps outside every now and then.Your head was aching, but you felt okay so you tore the needles from their grips in your veins, wincing a little as they came out, before tossing them aside. The door handle twisted and you adjusted so you were sat perched on the side, legs swinging beneath.

In walked Toni. Brilliant.

“Ah, Brooks. Long time no see.” Despite the greeting she looked cold and showed no emotion, not even her usual pride. “Alright?” You said, not sure what else to say or do. She stared for a little while, so you reluctantly added, “What happened?” “You were already out cold on the grass, unconscious and ready for the taking. You could have died so really you should be thanking us.” “I could have died?” “Yes. Your brain activity was fluctuating significantly. And your heart was barely beating. So now it’s my turn to ask you, what happened?” “Why should I tell you?” You spat. Truth was, you had no idea what had happened. You’d had another wave of pain and that was all you could remember. Toni smiled ever so slightly, “Just as I suspected. You have no idea what’s happening, do you?”You examined her expression worriedly. Of course, it gave nothing away, but you were desperate for answers. “Y/N,” Toni began, folding her arms over her chest, “do you know why the realignments never worked on you? We initially thought it was genetics, but your Mother switched just fine, didn’t she?” You winced at the mention of your Mum, you didn’t like to think about what she became. “Such a shame we had to kill her,” Toni smirked, “but we had to see whether your brain would succumb if it was vulnerable. A brain in mourning, distraught and ready to be manipulated. It’s the perfect target for realignment.”

“And yet here I am.” You smiled sweetly.

“I would tell you, but I’m having far too much fun. Perhaps tomorrow, but then again…perhaps not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got your Father and Uncle to kill.” She smirked, holding her gaze with you long enough to make you look away. You hoped to God that your Dad and Uncle Dean were smart enough to know she was coming. As the door slammed shut, the handle locked into place and the light buzzed a taunting red. A scowl grew upon your face. You stood from the bed, a little unsteady, but good enough to walk.

There was a low hum of electricity in the air, at least you thought that's what it was and they watched you through the camera with intrigue. A few hours went by and you circled the room countless times. Truth be told, you were scared. You'd forgotten what it was like to be without a family. It was too easy to be comfortably surrounded by loved one's so much so that when they are gone, even for a day, it somehow doesn't even feel real. Your feet were beginning to drag and you could no longer hear footsteps.

The hum became louder and you glanced around in attempt to locate the noise, but wherever you turned it sounded exactly the same. That was when you realised it was coming from inside your head. Thoughts were overpowered by the echoing drone that circled your mind like a vulture would it's prey. You fell to the ground when it became unbearable, letting out a grunt as you hit the cold tiles underneath your shivering body. There were voices first, loud and harsh against your ears. It was your Dad and your Uncle. You then heard the grumbling of the Impala's engine, muffled by a third voice. One you knew all too well- Toni. An image made it's way past the fog, what was this, some kind of vision?

"Why are you spying on us?" Your Dad pointed his gun at Toni, who smugly sat in the backseats, "Where the hell is Y/N? Oh, and what do you know about Eileen Leahy?" Toni's face tilted, "Who?" "Did you-" Uncle Dean paused to rephrase, "Did your people kill her?" "Probably," Toni smirked, "rule of thumb, if you think we killed someone. We probably did. Oh and speaking of, you do realise that by attacking me the British Men of Letters will come after you. No investigation or trial. Just death. Possibly, at the hands of Mary Winchester." Your Dad and Uncle shared a puzzled look. "The hell is that supposed to mean?" Uncle Dean pushed. "Your mother is our permanent guest." "So she's your prisoner?" Your Dad huffed. "Oh no Mary's joined the team!" Toni grinned. She was enjoying this way too much. "You're lying." Your Dad said. "Maybe." "Just because she worked with Ketch it doesn't mean she liked him." "Oh no I think they did a little more than work together." "What about Mick?" Your Dad asked, quick to change the subject. "Mick?" Toni was genuinely surprised by this, "Oh, Mick's dead. Was deemed too sentimental for the job. Rather like you two really. I suppose this mean's Y/N doesn't know? Can't wait to tell her we killed her own step-Dad."

Sam's face dropped, "Step-Dad?" "Oh, she hadn't told you? Mick married Rebecca almost ten years ago. Mick practically raised Y/N. Imagine," Toni laughed to herself, "that could have been you. Teaching her to walk, to talk, her first day of school, her last day of school-" "Stop it!" Your Dad shouted, making even Dean jump a little, "Where is she?" Toni stayed silent, but held her usual smug smile. "WHERE IS SHE?!" Toni leaned in very slowly, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

You gasped and coughed and held your head, hanging it over yourself as though you were ill. You felt shivery. So, on top of everything else that has happened, you can now...see things? Great. It was pretty terrifying, considering you had no control over these visions, but it made sense now, why the realignment hadn't worked on you. These powers must have stopped it in some way. You thought back to the vision and froze. Mick was dead... He was gone...Okay, so he wasn't your Dad and you didn't exactly think the world of him, but your Mum did. You knew it sounded silly, but he was almost a reminder of your Mum. And now he was gone...just like everyone else...

The door opened and there stood Ketch. You glanced at him, unsure what to do. "Brooks." He nodded. "Winchester." You corrected, glaring at him. He smiled an unreadable smile and you noticed Mary behind him. At first you were uplifted at the sight of her, but soon remembered what you'd heard. It was true. Her eyes were cold and almost void of recognition. "Get her, and we'll be on our way." Ketch ordered.

Mary did as told and headed for you. Her walk was militarian and each footstep turned the tiles into war-zones. "Get up." She ordered. "Well, aren't you going to do as Grandmother asks?" Ketch smiled. You were smart enough to wait for an escape rather than to make one, so you stood and let her grasp your arm. She tugged you along, down hallways and through doors. Doors that were once locked for her and opened for you. ________________________________________________________________

"Mary," You dared to open your mouth, wanting some kind of a reaction from her that showed recognition, "do you even know who I am?" When it had been your mother she forgot who you were. Mary didn't have that expression yet. Her eyes were cold, but they were almost resisting something, something your Mum didn't have a chance to resist. "Of course I know who you are," Mary hissed, "I'm not an idiot."

You were all stood outside the Bunker, Ketch was fiddling with the door, a few trained Men of Letters were stood around him and Mary was holding you at gunpoint. For some reason, it didn't feel as terrifying as you'd think. This wasn't the first time you'd been threatened like-so and something told you it wouldn't be your last either. The door finally opened and Ketch signalled for you all to follow, his sly gaze lingering on you. Mary grabbed you, her arm snaking round your neck and the other pressing the barrel of a gun to your temple. She had a tight grip and there was no way you were getting out of it at that moment.

You spoke up, but only so Mary could hear you, "What are we doing?" "Shut up!" She nudged the gun as a reminder and started leading you down the steps of the bunker.

"Positions everyone, Mary take Y/N round that way and don't come out until needed. If she tries to escape just shoot her. She makes good leverage, but she's not that useful." Ketch ordered. Nice to know, you thought.

Okay. Scratch not being scared because now Ketch had given it the all clear there was a very good chance that Mary would shoot you.

Mary ducked down the steps out of site of the main room and dragged you with her, "Don't try anything." "Wouldn't dream of it, Gran." You sighed, feeling her arm tighten around your neck a little. After a few minutes of silence the bunker door re-opened and you heard Uncle De, "So, we're clear? You call Ketch and tell him if he wants to see you alive he gets his prissy ass over here."

Presumably, he was talking to Toni. You thought about that, the flashback vision thing, and wondered if you could use whatever these powers were to escape. Only, it didn't seem to be the sort of thing you could control, but rather just something that happened every now and again, whether you liked it or not.

"Interestingly, his prissy arse is already here." Ketch said in his irritatingly posh voice. You cringed and rolled your eyes, but still remained very aware of Mary's hold over you. "Lady Bevell," Ketch continued, "would you mind disarming them?" Something must have sparked at that moment as gun shots began to ring out. Cries of pain, cries for help and strangely quiet intermittent moments followed. Mary peered round the corner of the wall and you couldn't see a thing. However, in the slight loosen of the grip you seized the opportunity and ducked away, spinning on the spot and readying yourself for an attack.

Without a moments hesitation, Mary aimed at you and fired.

________________________________________________________________

Dean's POV

I watched Sammy, waiting for the all-clear to go. When he gestured I looped round the back of the walls, gun at the ready. I shot one dead and kept going, ears open and eyes alert. When I saw Ketch with his back to me I raced over and snatched the gun from his grip, holding it against his temple. “Hey!" I snapped, trying to stop him from trying anything.

Sam stepped forward from the safety of the walls, still dragging Toni with him. She had a disappointed scowl on her face. "Where's Y/N? And where's our Mom?!" He demanded.

I pushed, jerking the gun on his head, "Where are they?!" Ketch did his usual smirk before he opened his mouth to start talking, but he didn't even get a word in as footsteps sounded. I glanced up to-

What?

No...

This didn't make any sense....

Mom was there, gun in hand. But she was gripping hold of Y/N as though Y/N was...one of them? Her arm was round her in the same way Sam's was around Toni. Like a kidnapping and human shield all in one. This was leverage. "Don't move." Mom said, glaring at us. I frowned and caught Y/N's gaze. She was staring right at me, trying to get across something I couldn't translate through a stare. She looked scared. Sam, who had his back to them, said "Perfect timing, Mom..." but he trailed off when he met my confused gaze, shooting a questioning frown back. When Ketch tried to duck from gunpoint, I raised the gun and said, "You heard her." "I was talking to you."

Moms' words took a second to go in. I looked at her, lost, "Mom?"

That's when I noticed the bullet wound on Y/N's shoulder, fresh blood seeping through her shirt and her limp arm. She wasn't just scared, she was hurt.

Mom fired, the bullet ringing out as it marked a hole in the wall. A deliberate miss. In my shock, ketch leapt from gunpoint and took the guns back from me. Stumbling, I watched as Sam flinched and backed up.

"I really wouldn't move, she will shoot you." Ketch warned, pointing a gun at each of us. Mom's face was empty of emotion as she strode towards Sammy, taking the gun from him. As she did so, she let go of Y/N, practically shoving her into her Dad. Y/N winced in pain and raised her now free other hand to her wound. Sammy's eyes landed on her bloodied shoulder and I felt his guilt. “Hey, hey, you okay?” Sammy’s gentle voice consoled his kid.

Toni stepped away from us, "Mummy always was a talented hunter. Just somewhat confused about obeying orders. Only this time," Toni took a pause to look Y/N in the eye, "the treatment will work." I put two and two together and realised that must have been what happened to Y/N's Mom. Some kind of issue with this brainwashing thing...or something along those lines. God I wanted to kick all their asses for what they did to that poor kid.

"What did you do to her?" Sam asked, nodding at Mom. I could already see him trying to come up with a cure in his head. Straight to the logistics of it, as always. He had a hand on Y/N and took a step in front of her. I was frozen.

"And I suppose you've heard," Ketch added, "American Hunters are a dying breed." Toni began to walk after him, back to her pack, but halted when he turned around, gun aimed right at her. "Where do you think you're going?" He spat. "Ketch?" The betrayal in her voice rang out. "Remember at Kendricks how they all taught us that we were expendable...that wasn't idle chat."

"Mom?" I finally stammered out, willing myself to take a step forward, "look at me. It's us...please" I felt my voice beginning to shake as she did nothing but point her guns and stare at us like you would look at a passing train that wasn't yours to catch. "Your bunker is an excellent fortress," Ketch said, ignoring me entirely, "and an even better tomb. So we've rejiggered the locks, we've shut off the water and the pumps responsible for your oxygen will run out in two...maybe three...days," he smiled, "you dying in here. It's almost...poetic."

I ran for the door the moment they’d turned their backs, racing up the steps and leaping for the handle. It wouldn't budge, but I tried again anyway. In anger I kicked at it, crying out. This can't be it. We can't die like this. Not after everything.

The lights turned to a doomsday red, the humming of the oxygen pumps lowered into reverse and I stared in dismay at the darkness of the bunker.

Part 22: Promise

Masterlist I do not own these gifs (Tag list after cut )

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wellamarke · 6 years

Text

‘work of art’ (SRC 3b)

just a li’l Nobody Died AU bc there were mentions on twitter yesterday about how tragic it is that Sam and Flash never got to meet...

@synth-recharge-challenge

•••

“How do you do that?” asked Sam, pointing at Flash’s piece of paper, quizzical.

She looked up at him. “What do you mean? I’m just drawing.”

“No,” he said, “You’re drawing like a child.”

Flash looked down at her paper. She was only doodling a few flowers, killing time while she waited for Max to finish talking to Joe about the latest news on Laura’s appeal. Her flowery creations flourished out from one corner of the paper and stretched across the expanse, leaves and stems pointing wildly in different directions, petals big and bold and - yes, perhaps - sloppy. It was the way Harmeet had always liked best. Simple drawings, ones she’d be able to copy.

“I can’t do that,” Sam told her. “Joe was trying to teach me to draw like a child, when I used to go to school. All of my drawings are too realistic.”

“Sit with me,” said Flash. “I’ll show you how.”

Sam sat. Flash slid another sheet of paper out from under the one she was working on, and handed him her pencil.

“Draw a flower,” she said.

Sam drew a lily, perfect in detail, lifelike enough to be plucked and set in a vase.

“Good,” said Flash, and presented another piece of paper. She placed it over the top of the first. “Now trace the outline. Just the outer edge of each petal and the stem.”

“I could just draw it again from memory,” Sam suggested.

“No,” she said, “Only draw what you can see through from the paper underneath.”

“But it will be incomplete.”

“Yes,” said Flash.

Sam threw her an odd look, but did as she said. He traced over the outer edge, except in the places where his original drawing wasn’t visible.

“Good,” she said, “Now fill in the gaps of the outline. Separate the petals. But don’t shade anything.”

When he had finished, the shape of the flower was well-defined, although it itched at Sam’s brain to see the places that so clearly cried out for a fleck of detail or a crossing shadow.

“You see?” said Flash, “It’s the same drawing, but simplified. Children draw mostly in outlines.” She smiled. “Before I was awake, I took care of two children. The younger one, Harmeet, often asked me to draw pictures for her to colour in. I had to start drawing only the outlines so that she had something to do - it was no fun for her trying to colour in a fully shaded drawing.”

Sam nodded, seeing her point.

“Even now, your lily is a little too technically perfect,” said Flash thoughtfully. “Try holding the pencil a little higher. Decrease the tension in your hand, too.”

“My battery is at 86 percent,” Sam pointed out.

She gave him a playful nudge. “I’m not talking about saving power, silly. I think a looser grip will give your outlines the needed wobble for a real childlike effect. Try not to compensate for it. Let the pencil move a little.”

“Oh,” said Sam.

He drew another lily next to the second one. It was still a fairly accurate silhouette, but she was right that the grip changed things.

“You see?”

“I see,” said Sam, pleased. “Can I try something else?”

“Of course.” She gave him another sheet of paper. “What will you draw?”

He thought about it. “Sophie,” he decided.

“Ah, well, faces are another matter entirely,” said Flash. “Let me show you.”

She took back the pencil and drew a series of rather bizarre shapes: two circles with dots inside, an inverted figure seven, and a u-shaped curve underneath. She drew a larger circle around the curious combination and added some scribbled lines around the top part of the circumference.

“Faces drawn by children tend to be even more simplistic than simpler shapes like flowers or houses,” Flash explained. “Use this as your basis. You can make her a little prettier than this, of course.”

Sam raised his eyebrows doubtfully, but took the pencil when she offered it. Perhaps he could see how those shapes made a stylised likeness of a face. He copied them, using the grip technique from before.

“You’re getting it,” Flash said, sounding pleased.

“I think I am,” said Sam, in wonder. “I wonder if I could try a strawberry now?”

•

A few weeks later, when Max and Flash arrived at the Hawkinses’ house for the monthly meeting of the Free Laura committee, Sam came pelting down the stairs to greet them.

“Flash!” he yelled, “This is for you!”

“Indoor voice, Sam,” Joe said mildly, taking Max’s coat. He grinned. “I love getting to tell you off like a normal kid. You’re getting so good at being a pain.”

Sam returned his smile, then checked back to see what Flash thought of the drawing he’d handed her.

“Sam,” she said, “This is lovely.”

She ran a finger over the pencil marks, feeling some very slight abrasions in the texture of the paper. “You even rubbed some lines out. That was a nice touch.”

“Sophie says it’s crucial to get it wrong at least 11 percent of the time,” said Sam earnestly.

“Well, she’s very clever,” Flash agreed. She looked down at the drawing again: two simple figures with circular heads and big, bright smiles.

“It’s you and me,” Sam said.

“Is it?” Flash asked. “I couldn’t tell.”

Sam beamed. “Really? You really couldn’t tell?”

“No,” said Flash, “Apart from the height disparity and the dungarees, there’s nothing about them that particularly resembles either of us. This could be any child’s drawing.”

He threw his arms around her waist. “Thank you, Flash.”

Taking her hand, he lead her to the dining room, where the rest of the committee was already seated. Flash sat down, and slipped the drawing into her folder as the meeting began.

She stole one last look at it before closing the flap. There was something so satisfying about knowing she’d helped him, something in the vacant, abstract smiles of the two scratchy figures that meant she couldn’t help smiling back. In its own way, it was as much a work of art as his photographic lily.

“Alright,” began Mia, calling them to attention from the head of the table. “What progress have we made since our last meeting?”

A couple of hands went up, and someone else began speaking. Flash closed her folder, thinking that Mia was probably talking about slightly different progress than the one her mind had immediately leapt to.

She’d show it off after the meeting was adjourned, she decided.

#c4 humans #amc humans #synth recharge challenge #flash singh #sam drummond voss #wow my first fic without italics in like 3 years probably #i love synths who don’t inflect

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years

Note

u wanted prompts: steve takes it upon himself to stand outside planned parenthood clinics and fight people who attack and harass pp

Listen, I see and observe your ‘Steve’ upthere, but I raise you Forty Percent of the Marvel Universe because I am bitterabout the current direction of the whole comics thing at the moment. *Max Rockatansky voice* I guarantee you, ahundred and sixty days out, there’s nothing but salt. Anyway, if you’ve read my Claire Temple AO3fic that may or may not get more stuff added to it when I feel inspired, thisis technically that universe, but prior knowledge IS NOT REQUIRED, okay goodlet’s do it. Also I believe that moviecanon only applies to me when I feel like it so everyone is in New York and theAvengers live in the Tower, no one is dead and everything is F I N E. I dunno, this is only like the first half ofa much longer thing that covers this whole day and, if I had my way, would be afull-blown elaborate media fic with tweets and Trish’s show andeverything. But here, it’s real long, soI left it alone. It’s on AO3.

Steve got the call pre-dawn, just as he was leaving the Tower for hisrun.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY said politely from the ceiling, “you arereceiving a call from an unknown number with a New York City area code.”

“If it’s a reporter, let it ring out,” Steve said, knotting his runningshoes.

“Reporters do not have your personal cell number, Captain,” FRIDAY said,and there was a trace of genteel condescension in the artificial voice thistime that made Steve grin down at the floor.

“Where in the City?”

“Hell’s Kitchen.”

Steve frowned, straightening up. “That might be Daredevil in trouble. You better put it through to my phone. Thanks, FRIDAY.”

“Of course, Captain,” FRIDAY said. Steve’s top-of-the-line, not-on-the-open-market-yet, Jesus-Cap-does-your-shit-phone-even-text-here-let-me-replace-itStarkPhone rang, a jaunty tune that sounded distinctly like the NationalAnthem, and even more distinctly like the foreboding of Bucky getting his asskicked.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answered, hitting the green button and raising thephone to his ear.

“Um…hi, Captain Rogers,” the voice on the other end saidhesitantly. “This is Claire Temple, Idon’t know if you remember me, but–”

“Of course I remember you, Miss Temple,” Steve said, grinning. “You pulled a piece of rebar out of my chest,hard to forget a first meeting like that.” She laughed, the same slightly worn chuckle he remembered from her. “And it’s just Steve, please, ma’am. I think once you’ve been up close andpersonal with someone’s lung tissue you can probably skip the ‘Captain.’”

“Fair enough, Steve. Then, Claireis fine,” she returned, a smile adding an audible lilt to her voice. “I got your number off Jessica, who I thinkgot it off Matt, I hope it’s okay that I called.”

Steve nodded, automatic and pointless. “Sure, Claire. D’you mind if I ask what fire’s burning down Hell’s Kitchen at,uh–” He twisted his watch and squintedthrough the dim dawn light streaming through the wide window occupying a wallof the penthouse entry way. “What, five-forty-eightin the morning on a weekend? I thought Iwas the only person who got up this early, ‘cept for Sam.”

“Oh, no, nothing urgent, I just.” Claire stopped and sighed, and Steve pictured her pinching the bridge ofher nose, brow furrowed and eyes closed as she ducked her head—he could tallythe number of hours he’d spent in the Night Nurse’s company on his fingers andstill have plenty left, but he knew the face she pulled when she was frustratedby the way her life was panning out. “Listen, I have a weird fucking request from an old friend of mine whocalled me at five in the A-M, and I don’t have the greatest decision-makingtrack record at that hour, so I called you.”

“We specialize in weird fucking requests here at Avengers Tower, ma’am,”Steve said dryly. “Unless you ask my PRteam, then we specialize in truth, justice, and the American Way, whatever thefuck that means these days.”

Claire barked a laugh and let out another huff of breath. “Well, you remember how you got arrestedalong with like twelve other people at that BLM protest a couple weeks back?”

“Sam got arrested too,” Steve said defensively. It had been a long talk with Nicole when she fished the pair of them out of theholding cell, mostly directed at Steve—Sam, she had said with supreme disinterest,was some other poor sucker’s problem. Nicole, the last surviving member of the PR team assigned to theAvengers right out of the gate, was now the captain of Steve’s personalpublicity squadron, or so she liked to call herself, and she had Opinions aboutthe sort of trouble he usually got into.

“Yeah, but nobody I know has the Falcon’s phone number,” Claire pointedout. “But so the point is—Jesus Christ,I can’t believe this is what my life is like now. Anyway. My old friend, she and I knew each other in college. We haven’t talked much, but it turns out thatshe’s helping to manage and run a women’s health clinic about an hour or sonorth of the City.”

Steve had a sneaking suspicion that this was about to become the nextthing Nicole was going to yell at him for. “Yeah?”

He heard Claire take a deep breath and hold it, followed by a couple ofhollow thudding sounds that he guessed were her head against the wall beforeshe blurted, “She’s been picketed for three days by the local pro-lifejackoffs, and yesterday they were scaring off the girls who came to gettreated. She needs a couple peoplewilling to play escort. I already askedLuke but he doesn’t have today free, and Matt wasn’t answering his phone soprobably he’s not back yet, so if you know anyone who can take the day…?”

Head tipped back against the wall, Steve grinned up at the ceiling. “I can think of one or two.”

“Steve,” Claire said, clearly warning him, “if your publicist comesafter me next–”

“Don’t worry about it, Claire,” Steve said easily. “Nicole knows what I’m like, and besides, FoxNews started trying to take cheap shots at Bucky again. Gotta give them something else to talkabout.”

“Jesus Christ,” Claire said again, sounding close to awestruck horror.

“Listen, you text the address of your friend’s place to this number andI’ll see what I can do.”

“This is the worst solution I could have come up with.”

“Cheer up,” Steve said, almost bouncing on his toes. “This is a win-win situation, your friendgets help and I get to do something more interesting than playing Hide ‘n Seekwith a bunch of fuckin’ spies.”

“Who the hell lets you peopleout in public?”

“I’ll talk to you later, Claire, I’m going to go ask around,” Stevesaid, and hung up on Claire’s inarticulate sound of distress.

Two hours later, a nondescript van spilled out a number of people ontothe asphalt between a line of sign-bearing protesters and the brick façade of alow-slung building bearing a sign that read LacksFamily Planning Institute. Steve wasthe one to walk up and knock on the still-locked front door of the building,dressed in a pearly grey shirt with #IStandWithPPin purple across his chest. The womanwho appeared was heavyset, quite pretty, with smooth dark skin and a round facethat was crinkled into a distracted frown.

“Sorry,” she called through the glass, absentminded. “We’re clo—what the fuck?” she blurted, hereyes snapping up to Steve’s face and the frown melting away into shock.

“Hi,” Steve said, grinning. “Clairecalled us, said you needed some escorts?”

“Who the hell–?”

“You’re Shauna, right, ma’am?”

“You’re…”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me. Could youunlock the door, please?”

Shauna’s hand dropped to the lock and she blindly fumbled the door open,lips parted in confusion. “Listen,” shesaid as she dragged the door open, “is Claire fucking with me? I mean…”

“No, ma’am, I got the impression she was running out of options and shehad my number,” Steve said, offering his hand. “Steve Rogers, but you can call me Steve, it’s a pleasure.”

“Shauna Harrison,” she said, numbly shaking his hand, and there was along beat as she stared at Steve and he smiled at her. Steve, when she had released his fingers,folded his hands behind him in a tidy parade rest, waiting patiently for her tomuster up a sentence. “If you don’t mindme asking,” she finally asked, “how the fuckdoes Claire Temple have Captain America’s phone number and—is that the Black Widow?”

Steve glanced over his shoulder to where Natasha was smiling at aprotester whose sign read Adoption, NotAbortion. Natasha’s smile was verythin-lipped and very toothy, like a lioness lazily baring her teeth to a pinnedantelope, and the protester’s sign was trembling a little more than the lightbreeze could justify.

“Yeah, Nat has some opinions,” Steve said. “Claire did me a favor one time, she knowssome good folks. Some other people mightshow up later–”

“There are six of you,” Shauna interrupted flatly.

“Yeah, we picked up Kitty and Piotr on the way.” Steve raised a hand, and Kitty paused in herserious conversation with her teammate to wave excitedly at him, her hairpulled back into a neat ponytail. Allsix of them had opted for civvies—Pepper had helpfully pointed out that it wasprobably better to do this as private citizens—but nothing could make Piotr’ssix-three self look less intimidating. Bucky hadn’t even pretended to try for a disguise, dressed in a menacingexpression and a tank top that said Women’sRights are Human Rights in pink block letters, his arm whirring softly asthe plates shifted. Sam, standing besidehim and watching the protesters slowly evaluate the new arrivals, had droppedhis smile for an expression of outright disdain.

Steve pressed his lips together to hide a smug grin. “I’ll keep everyone out of trouble, ma’am.”

Shauna blinked at him in shock, and laughed, sounding baffled. “Okay.”

“And I think Miss Walker wanted to swing by around noon for an interview,should I direct her to you?”

“Miss—Trish Walker?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shauna leaned back against the door, one hand pressed to her chest. “I mean. Sure thing.”

“Great,” Steve said, smiling. “Ifyou need any help with anything at all, you just grab one of us, all right, ma’am?”

“You know how to escort girls?”

“Yes, ma’am, Natasha has some experience.”

“Of course she does,” Shauna said, and glanced at her watch. “Well, it’s eight-oh-three, so the first onesshould start showing up soon. I’ll justgo…?” She jerked a thumb over hershoulder, trailing off.

Steve nodded, and rested a hand on her shoulder as he gave her his mostreassuring don’t-worry-really-I-know-what-I’m-doingsmile, silently appreciating that Bucky was too far away to offer commentary onit. “We can take care of ourselves, ma’am,and if you come out and don’t recognize someone working with us, don’t worryabout it. We’re expecting at very leastHawkeye within the next two hours, and probably some others later today.”

“Naturally,” Shauna said, dazed, turning on her heel to walk back into thebuilding as Steve turned back to the others.

“Are we good?” Sam asked, spreading his hands as if to say sometime today, Rogers.

Bucky, ever willing to call Steve out, just went ahead and drawled, “Wheneveryou’re ready, Stevie.”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Steve confirmed. “Nat, did you say you had Sue Storm’s number?”

“Well,” Natasha said consideringly, “I said I could get ahold of her,that’s… not the same thing, but yes. Sheand Ben might come give us a hand.”

“Oh, we know Johnny,” Kitty volunteered brightly, gesturing to Piotrbeside her. “Reed and Sue are out of thestate right now, but Johnny can probably bring Spidey with him, if you can getus in touch with the Baxter Building, Miss Romanoff.”

Steve grinned and nodded. “Great,go ahead and call them. I think Jessicais planning to show up with Trish at noon and—is that a car?” He shifted and looked past the crowd on thegrass and sidewalk. “I think they’reworried about hitting protesters,” he added, dry, and Bucky made a derisivenoise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, well, I can help with that,” Kitty said, all but bouncing on hertoes. “I’ll be back!” And she dove straight through the front rankof the sign-bearing protesters, slipping effortlessly through them as theyyelped in alarm.

“I like her,” Natasha said approvingly.

“Katya does not believe in tact,” Piotr remarked, dry, and Natashagrinned again, just as toothy as before.

“I really like her.”

Bucky drifted up beside Steve, his footsteps unnervingly silent on theasphalt, and said, “So you’re supposed to be keeping us out of trouble today,huh?”

“Well, listen, just don’t actually make physical contact with anyprotesters or cause them any actual injuries,” Steve said. “We’re here to help the people trying to goto the clinic, not pick a fight.”

“Quick, someone check him for a fever,” Sam called, and there was aburst of laughter that rippled warmly through the air as Natasha pulled out hercell phone. Kitty appeared on the road,a wide-eyed woman in her thirties holding her hand as Kitty drew them bothstraight through a sign and a set of hedges. Kitty’s lips moved, and the woman laughed in surprise as Kitty beckonedPiotr over, and Natasha bared her teeth at the protesters again, raising herphone to her cheek. Sam had been politelyflagged down by the young man who worked at the reception desk inside theclinic, and they were having a quiet conversation about the logistics of makingsure the road remained clear. Bucky wasstill beside Steve, hands tucked into his pockets as a pair of protestersflicked nervous glances at the red star on his bicep.

“It’s going to be a good day,” Steve said, smiling.

“Seventy years and you’re still crazy.”

“A good day.”

#steve rogers #istandwithplannedparenthood #planned parenthood #claire temple #anyway yeah idk man there it is #there's a lot less violence (do not fight pp assholes because you can get the clinic in trouble)#and a lot less swearing because steve is mostly not talking to people who need cussing out #and also because steve is only nominally the pov character here and a lot of his cursing takes place internally #anyway please feel free to assume that any character of your choice shows up here #also rip steve's pr team those poor people i feel like they're the true victims here #anonymous #asked and answered #starlight writes stuff

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blackkudos · 7 years

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Sam Lacy

Samuel Harold "Sam" Lacy (October 23, 1903 – May 8, 2003) was an African-American and Native American sportswriter, reporter, columnist, editor, and television/radio commentator who worked in the sports journalism field for parts of nine decades. Credited as a persuasive figure in the movement to racially integrate sports, Lacy in 1948 became the first black member of the Baseball Writers Association of America. In 1997, he received the J. G. Taylor Spink Award for outstanding baseball writing from the BBWAA, which placed him in the writers' and broadcasters' wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1998.

Upbringing

Lacy was born on October 23, 1903, in Mystic, Connecticut to Samuel Erskine Lacy, a law firm researcher, and Rose Lacy, a full-blooded Shinnecock. The family moved to Washington, D.C., when Sam was a young boy. In his youth he developed a love for baseball, and spent his spare time at Griffith Stadium, home ballpark for the Washington Senators. His house at 13th and U streets was just five blocks from the stadium, and Sam would often run errands for players and chase down balls during batting practice.

In his youth Sam witnessed racist mistreatment of his family while they watched the annual Senators' team parade through the streets of Washington to the stadium on opening day. Sam later recalled what happened after his elderly father cheered and waved an "I Saw Walter Johnson Pitch" pennant:

"Fans like my father would line up for hours to watch their heroes pass by. And so there he was, age 79, out there cheering with the rest of them, calling all the players by name, just happy to be there. And then it happened. One of the white players—I won't say which one—just gave him this nasty look and, as he passed by, spat right in his face. Right in that nice old man's face. That hurt my father terribly. And you know, as big a fan as he had been, he never went to another game as long as he lived, which was seven more years. Oh, we've come a long way since then. But we've still got a long way to go."

As a teenager Sam worked for the Senators as a food vendor, selling popcorn and peanuts in the stadium's segregated Jim Crow section in right field. Lacy also caddied for British golfer Long Jim Barnes at the 1921 U.S. Open, held at nearby Columbia Country Club. When Barnes won the tournament, he gave Lacy a $200 tip.

Lacy graduated from Armstrong Technical High School in Washington, where he played football, baseball, and basketball. He enrolled at Howard University, where in 1923 he earned a bachelor's degree in physical education, a field he thought might lead him to a coaching career.

Lacy played semi-pro baseball after college, pitching for the local Hillsdale club in Washington. He also refereed DC-area high school, college and recreational basketball games, while coaching and instructing youth sports teams.

Early career

While in college, Lacy began covering sports part-time for the Washington Tribune, a local African-American newspaper. He continued writing for the paper following his graduation, and also worked as a sports commentator for radio stations WOL and WINX in the early 1930s.

He joined the Tribune full-time in 1926, and became sports editor shortly thereafter. In 1929 Lacy left the paper for the summer to play semi-pro baseball in Connecticut while his family remained in Washington. He returned to the paper in 1930, and once again became sports editor in 1933.

During his tenure Lacy covered Jesse Owens' medal-winning performances at the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin, the world heavyweight title fights of boxer Joe Louis (including his victory over Max Schmeling), and the rise of Negro League stars such as Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson and Cool Papa Bell.

In 1936 Lacy began lobbying Senators owner Clark Griffith to consider adding star players from the Negro Leagues; in particular, those playing for the Homestead Grays team that leased Griffith Stadium for its home games. He finally gained a face-to-face meeting with Griffith on the subject in December 1937. Griffith listened but was not keen on the idea, as Lacy later told a Philadelphia reporter:

"I used that old cliché about Washington being first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League, and that he could remedy that. But he told me that the climate wasn't right. He pointed out there were a lot of Southern ballplayers in the league, that there would be constant confrontations, and, moreover, that it would break up the Negro Leagues. He saw the Negro Leagues as a source of revenue."

Lacy also wrote that Griffith voiced concern that the fall of the Negro Leagues would "put about 400 colored guys out of work." Lacy retorted in a column, "When Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, he put 400,000 black people out of jobs."

In October 1937, Lacy broke his first major story when he reported the true racial origins of multi-sport athlete Wilmeth Sidat-Singh. Syracuse University had claimed Sidat-Singh was of Hindu and Indian heritage, when in truth his widowed mother had remarried, to an Indian doctor. Prior to a football game against the University of Maryland, Lacy revealed Sidat-Singh had been born to black parents in Washington, D.C., and trumpeted the news as a sign the color barrier at segregated Maryland was about to fall. When Maryland officials refused to play the game unless Sidat-Singh was barred from the field, Syracuse removed him from the team and lost the match 13-0. The controversy prompted an outcry against both schools' policies and actions, and Sidat-Singh was allowed to play against Maryland the following year as he led Syracuse to a decisive 53-0 win. Lacy drew criticism in some circles for divulging Sidat-Singh's ethnicity, but maintained his stance that racial progress demanded honesty.

The 1940s

In August 19 41 Lacy moved to Chica go to work for another black newspaper, the Chicago Defen der, where he served as its assistant national editor. While in the Midwest he made repeated attempts to engage Major League Base ball commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis on the topic of desegregating the game, writing numerous letters, but his efforts went unanswered.

Lacy also targeted blacks in management and ownership positions with the Negro Leagues, some of whom had a vested financial interest in keeping the game segregated. In a Defender editorial, he wrote:

"No selfishness on the part of Negro owners hip, nor appeasement ... to the Southern reactionaries in baseball must stand in the way of the advancement of qualified Negro players."

In 1943 Lacy returned East, joining the Afro-American in Baltimore as sports editor and columnist. He continued to press his case for integrating baseball through his columns and editorials, and many other black newspapers followed suit. In one such piece in 1945, Lacy wrote:

"A man whose skin is white or red or yellow has been acceptable. But a man whose character may be of the highest and whose ability may be Ruthian has been barred completely from the sport because he is colored."

However, Lacy did not make any headway on the issue until Landis died in late 1944. Lacy began a dialogue with Brooklyn Dodgers owner Branch Rickey, and Landis's successor in the commissioner's office, Happy Chandler, lent his support to the effort. It ultimately led to Jackie Robinson signing with the Dodgers' minor league team, the Montreal Royals on October 23, 1945, which was Lacy's 42nd birthday.

Lacy spent the next three years covering Jackie's struggle for acceptance and a spot in the big leagues. He traveled with Robinson to the Royals' games at various International League cities throughout the Northeast, to the Dodgers' spring training site in Daytona Beach, Florida, to competing clubs' camps throughout the deep South, and to Cuba for winter baseball.

Like Robinson and the other black athletes he had covered, Lacy encountered racist indignities and hardships. He was barred from press boxes at certain ballparks, dined at the same segregated restaurants with Jackie, and stayed at the same "blacks only" boarding houses as Robinson. Robinson would eventually break MLB's color barrier in 1947 with the Dodgers, but Lacy never allowed their racial bond to cloud his journalistic objectivity. During spring training in 1948, Lacy chastised Robinson in print for arriving 15 pounds overweight, his "lackadaisical attitude" and for "laying down" on the job. He also plastered details of Robinson's personal life throughout his articles, including the dining, shopping, wardrobe and travel habits of Jackie and his wife, Rachel.

Lacy resisted having his own personal bouts with racism become part of the integration storyline, and kept the focus on the athletes he covered:

"There were a lot of things that were bothering him. [Robinson] was taking so much abuse that he said to me that he didn't know whether or not he was going to be able to go through with this because it was just becoming so intolerable, that they were throwing everything at him."

Lacy made sure to cover all angles of the race issue. In 1947, he reported on the interaction between white St. Louis Browns outfielder and rumored racist Paul Lehner, and his black teammate Willard Brown:

"Brown used a towel to wipe his face and neck. Lehner reached over, picked up the same towel, wiped his face and neck. He handed it back to Brown and the latter wiped again. A little later, Lehner repeated the act. Folks, this was something I saw, not something I heard about."

In 1948, he reacted to the death of Babe Ruth not with adulation for the star but with spite toward Ruth's personal behavior:

"[Ruth was] an irresponsible rowdy who could neither eat with dignity nor drink with judgment who thrived on cuss-words and brawls whose 15-year-old mentality led him to buy one bright-colored automobile after another to smash up. The rest of the world can hail the departed hero as a model for its youth but I do not wish my [son] Tim to use him as an example. And there is absolutely nothing racial about this observation. The same applies to [black boxer] Jack Johnson, who is also dead."

Lacy covered the first interracial college football game ever played in the state of Maryland when all-black Maryland State College faced all-white Trenton (N.J.) College in 1949:

"Down here on the Eastern Shore, where 32 lynchings have occurred since 1882, democracy lifted its face toward the Sun on Saturday."

Later career

Not content to see black ballplayers reach the major leagues, Lacy began pushing for equal pay for athletes of color, and for an end to segregated team accommodations during road trips. His first success on those fronts was persuading New York Giants general manager Chub Feeney to address the latter issue:

"I pointed out to Chub Feeney that he had guys like Willie Mays and Monte Irvin and Hank Thompson holed up in some little hotel while the rest of the players, people who might never even wear a major-league uniform, were staying at the famous Palace. Chub just looked at me and said, 'Sam, you're right.' He got on the phone to (Giants owner) Horace Stoneham, and that was the end of that."

Over the ensuing decades, Lacy pushed for the Baseball Hall of Fame to induct deserving Negro League players, and later criticized the Hall for placing such players in a separate wing. He also pressured national TV networks over the lack of black broadcasters, criticized Major League Baseball for the absence of black umpires, targeted corporations for their lack of sponsorships of black athletes in certain white-dominated sports including golf, and highlighted the National Football League's dearth of black head coaches.

Stories covered extensively by Lacy included the Grand Slam tennis titles won by Althea Gibson and Arthur Ashe two decades apart, Wilma Rudolph's three track & field gold medals at the 1960 Olympic Games in Rome, and Lee Elder playing at Augusta National in 1975 as the first black golfer in The Masters tournament.

In 1954, Lacy questioned why the city of Milwaukee had chosen to honor Braves outfielder Hank Aaron with a day in his honor a mere two months into his playing career:

"Why? Why is it we feel every colored player in the major leagues is entitled to a day? Why can't we wait until, through consistent performance or longevity, the player in question merits special attention?"

Lacy worked as a television sports commentator for WBAL-TV from 1968 to 1976.

Lacy remained with the Baltimore Afro-American for nearly 60 years, and became widely known for his regular "A to Z" columns and his continued championing of racial equity. The onset of arthritis in his hands in his late 70s left him unable to type, so he wrote his columns out longhand. Even into his 80s he maintained his routine of waking at 3 A.M. three days a week, driving from his Washington home to his Baltimore office, working eight hours, and playing nine holes of golf in the afternoon. Lacy could no longer drive after a suffering a stroke in 1999, so he rode to the office with his son, Tim, who followed in his footsteps as a sportswriter for the Afro-American.

In 1999, Lacy teamed with colleague Moses J. Newson, a former executive editor at the Afro-American, to write his autobiography,Fighting for Fairness: The Life Story of Hall of Fame Sportswriter Sam Lacy.

Sam Lacy wrote his final column for the paper just days before his death at age 99 in 2003, and filed the piece from his hospital bed. In 1999, he explained his rationale for staying with the Afro-American while spurning more lucrative offers:

"No other paper in the country would have given me the kind of license. I've made my own decisions. I cover everything that want to. I sacrificed a few dollars, true, but I lived a comfortable life. I get paid enough to be satisfied. I don't expect to die rich."

Personal life

Sam Lacy married Alberta Robinson in 1927. They had a son, Samuel Howe (Tim) Lacy, and a daughter, Michaelyn T. Lacy (now Michaelyn Harris). Sam and Alberta divorced in 1952, and Sam married Barbara Robinson in 1953. Barbara died in 1969, but Sam never remarried.

As of December 2010, Tim Lacy remains a columnist at the Afro-American at the age of 72.

Lacy's paternal grandfather, Henry Erskine Lacy, was the first black detective in the Washington, D.C., police department.

Death

Sam Lacy died at age 99 of heart and kidney failure on May 8, 2003, at Washington Hospital Center in Washington, D.C. He had checked into the hospital a week earlier due to a loss of appetite. Besides his children, survivors included four grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. His funeral was held on May 16, 2003, at Mount Zion Baptist Church in Washington, D.C., with burial at Lincoln Memorial Cemetery in Suitland, Maryland.

Awards and Honors

In 1948, Lacy became the first black member of the Baseball Writers Association of America.

In 1984, Lacy became the first black journalist to be enshrined in the Maryland Media Hall of Fame.

In 1985, Lacy was inducted into the Black Athletes Hall of Fame in Las Vegas.

In 1991, Lacy received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Association of Black Journalists.

In 1994, Lacy was selected for the Society of Professional Journalists Hall of Fame by the Washington chapter.

In 1995, Lacy was in the first group of writers to be honored with the A.J. Liebling Award by the Boxing Writers Association of America.

In 1997, the 50th anniversary of Robinson's groundbreaking major league debut, Lacy received an honorary doctorate from Loyola University Maryland, and was honored by the Smithsonian Institution with a lecture series. Lacy also threw out the ceremonial first pitch prior to a Baltimore Orioles home game at Camden Yards that season.

On October 22, 1997, Lacy received the J. G. Taylor Spink Award for outstanding baseball writing from the Baseball Writers Association of America. The award carries induction to the writers and broadcasters wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame, and Lacy was formally enshrined on July 26, 1998.

In 1998, Lacy received the Frederick Douglass Award from the University System of Maryland on April 23; the United Negro College Fund established a scholarship program in Lacy's name on April 25; and he received the Red Smith Award from the Associated Press on June 26.

In 2003, the Sports Task Force wing of the National Association of Black Journalists instituted the Sam Lacy Pioneer Award, presented annually to multiple sports figures in the host city for the NABJ convention. Recipients are selected based on their "contributions to their respected careers, but more importantly, their direct impact on the communities they served."

Lacy also served on the President's Council on Physical Fitness and on the Baseball Hall of Fame's selection committee for the Negro leagues.

Wikipedia

#Sam Lacy #10-23 #05-08

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thrashermaxey · 6 years

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Ramblings: Bubble Keeper Week Continues; Janmark, Jankowski, Hamhuis, Little, Ehlers, and More – July 26

Bubble week continues here at Dobber Hockey. All week, our writers have been discussing players that may or may not be keepers. You don’t need help figuring out that Jamie Benn or Victor Hedman are keepers, it’s the guys further down the list that can make or break a fantasy season.

I enjoyed the cage match piece from Rick yesterday, particularly his discussion of Bryan Little. I agree with Rick that 2017-18 was an aberration from Little and with no help coming in the off season down the middle, he’s back to his second-line role, likely between Nikolaj Ehlers (whom I’ll discuss later) and Patrik Laine. His PP production may not improve much, but if he can play 82 games again, he’ll improve on those 43 points. He should come a big discount in season-long leagues.

I have a keeper league with some other fantasy hockey writers, one which is a cap league. We haven’t yet had to submit keepers but I have a couple key players due for raises in Ondrej Kase and Josh Morrissey. I really wish the teams would figure out their contracts soon. I don’t think either will be significant enough to price them off my roster, but I will have to wait and see what Morrissey’s number is. He can help a lot for peripheral stats like hits and blocked shots but I’m unsure the point production will be enough if he gets a substantial raise.

We have a little under a week left until the release of the 2018-19 Dobber Hockey fantasy guide! It has both articles and projections, which will be updated as the preseason progresses. There is a lot of information to get through so be sure to grab your copy from the Dobber Shop early!

Mattias Janmark signed a one-year deal with the Dallas Stars for $2.3-million. There are probably a couple reasons for the one-year deal. First, Janmark missed all of 2016-17 due to injury, meaning he’s going into his age-26 season with just 154 career NHL games. Not really a lot to give a guy a long-term deal at that age. Also, Dallas has significant cap hits coming off after this season as the team will clear $12.4-million between Jason Spezza and Marc Methot. They will still have to deal with Tyler Seguin’s need for a new contract but once that is taken care of, they’ll have a much better idea of what their long-term cap situation will look like.

Dallas rotated different fourth wheels on the top PP unit last year including Spezza, Brett Ritchie, and Devin Shore. Janmark also saw some time up there. If Janmark is to have fantasy value in excess of what he did last year, those top PP minutes are going to be a necessity. He can be a 40-point player even without those power-play minutes but he’s capable of being a 50- or 55-point guy if they give him that consistent slotting. Whether they actually give it to him is another matter.

The Nashville Predators signed defenceman Dan Hamhuis for two years with an AAV of $1.25-million. Given that he’s likely to be slotted on the third pair behind Roman Josi and Mattias Ekholm, and the abundance of offensive options on the blue line meaning no power-play minutes, there isn’t much for fantasy relevance here. It should tangentially help the goaltending by giving them more (good) defensive depth, but there’s not much here for Hamhuis specifically.

Jason Zucker signed a five-year deal with Minnesota, carrying a $5.5-million AAV. I've written extensively on him since the season ended: contract expectation here, his PPTOI allocation here, and reviewing his line mates here, There's not much need to dig more into him right now other than to say it seems like a good deal for the Wild. I'll write on him a bit more for tomorrow's Ramblings.

The Ducks signed defenceman Brandon Montour a couple days ago. He earned a two-year deal with an AAV just under $3.4-million.

Last year was his first full season and he didn’t disappoint with 32 points in 80 games. The moves Anaheim made on the blue line, namely trading Sami Vatanen and letting Shea Theodore go in the expansion draft, opened some ice time for Montour and he responded with a productive season.

It’s hard to see a lot of progression here fantasy-wise, though. It looks like he’ll be playing behind Josh Manson for the foreseeable future at even strength and will be the second option after Cam Fowler for the top PP unit. Expecting more than 19-20 minutes combined between EV and PP time is a bridge too far barring an injury (which did happen to Fowler last year).

For most leagues, Montour is a guy who is at best a bench option or more likely a waiver option.

The Calgary Flames announced Wednesday morning that Jarome Iginla would be having a retirement press conference in Calgary at the end of the month. Following a season where no team would sign him, it seemed inevitable.

I’m going to write more on Iginla in the coming days but for now, it’ll suffice to post my favourite hockey moment in my lifetime:

youtube

As a Canadian hockey fan, Crosby yelling, “IGGY IGGY,” is a memory I’ll never forget.

In other Flames news, the team re-signed Mark Jankowski for two years with an AAV of $1.675-million. Jankowski’s first full year was 2017-18, a year with 17 goals and 25 points.

I personally had hopes that Jankowski and Sam Bennett could form two-thirds of a solid third line in 2018-19 – they performed well with Garnet Hathaway last year – but the addition of Elias Lindholm could throw a wrench in these plans. If James Neal slides on the top line, and the second line is left as it has been for a couple years, Lindholm seems the logical choice for the third-line centre position, pushing Jankowski to the fourth line. It’s good news for Calgary’s depth but bad news for Jankowski’s flickering fantasy value.

There has been talk from the team that Lindholm will go to the top line, Neal to the second line, and that would possibly put Michael Frolik on the third line with Jankowski and Bennett. With the addition of Derek Ryan, this might make some sense. We’ll have to see what Calgary decides to do. For now, Jankowski is still waiver fodder in most leagues.

For those who don’t follow him, Cam Robinson’s Twitter account can be followed here. Not only is he consistent with tweeting his thoughts on whichever prospect(s) he happens to be watching at the time, but he sends out polls from time to time to gauge the opinions of his Twitter followers. One such poll caught my eye the other day:

O/U on Rasmus Dahlin’s point total next season: 39.5

— /Cam Robinson/ (@Hockey_Robinson) July 23, 2018

A little over 4/10 people (sample of over 750 votes) believe that Rasmus Dahlin will be a 40-point defenceman in 2018-19. Let’s talk about that.

In the history of the NHL (or at least in the extensive records of Hockey Reference’s Play Index), two defencemen have managed at least 40 points at the age of 18: Bobby Orr and Phil Housley. Bobby Orr is the greatest defenceman to ever lace a pair of skates and Phil Housley played on a Sabres team that scored four goals per game (3.98, to be exact) in 1982-83. The 2017-18 Sabres scored 2.41 goals per game, which was one of the worst marks in the league. Even if Buffalo, as a team, had led the league in goals per game last year, they would have still nearly been a half-goal per game behind that 1982-83 Buffalo team. Even if this year’s Sabres team increases their team scoring by 25 percent, which would be a massive leap in goal production, they still wouldn’t have a top-10 mark compared to teams in 2017-18 and would still fall nearly a goal per game short of that 1982-83 Buffalo team.

There is also the question of his role. What I’m not saying is that Dahlin is not a future Norris Trophy contender. What I am saying is that he’s not going to start his NHL career playing 24 minutes a night. Besides that, Rasmus Ristolainen still has a firm grip on the top PP unit. I’m optimistic enough to believe that if the Sabres power play has a slow start through the first couple months that Dahlin can eventually take it over, but he won’t have that position to start the year.

Some people may point to Aaron Ekblad’s rookie season where he managed 39 points and say, “well that’s close enough.” Maybe Dahlin has a similar season. More accurately is that type of season is a huge outlier and, judging by Ekblad’s individual points percentage that year compared to every season since, he got a bit lucky.

Can Dahlin get to, or close to, 40 points? Sure. It would take a lot of luck to get there, though. And going off the chatter I’m seeing aside from that poll Cam had a couple days ago, Dahlin is going to be drafted as a player with the expectation of 40 points, not as a player with the upside of 40 points. There is a difference. We’ll see when ADP data comes available, but he’s probably going to be an easy pass for me when draft season hits.

A couple days ago in the comments of my Ramblings, someone asked about the point production differences for this year only between Brayden Schenn and Nikolaj Ehlers. I want to talk about Ehlers for a second.

Just in general, I think Ehlers is one of the most skilled wingers in the NHL. There aren’t a lot of players who can get a hold of the puck in the defensive zone and cut through the entire opposing team to gain entry into the offensive zone with control consistently, and Ehlers is one of them. Here’s how he compares to one of the best wingers in the league in terms of some playmaking metrics and zone entries/exits over the last two years (from CJ Turtoro’s viz library):

He really is that good.

The problem, for fantasy purposes, is his power play usage.

Over his three seasons, Ehlers has maxed out at 13 PPPs and averaged 12 per year. That’s because he’s largely been left off the top unit, one which the Jets use heavily. Even when they were using different combinations from Connor-Scheifele-Wheeler-Laine last year, Ehlers was infrequently moved up to the top unit. They favoured Paul Stastny (after the trade), Mathieu Perreault, and Jack Roslovic. Ehlers did see some minutes on the top unit, but he wasn’t at the top of the pecking order for replacements.

Last year, Ehlers had a little over 166 minutes on five-on-four (data from Corsica). There were 58 forwards league-wide in the range of 150-180 minutes at 5v4. Of those 58 players, the highest PP total was Mitch Marner at 25. Only three additional forwards cracked 20 PPPs and only 10 forwards total had more than 15. That means over 80 percent of the forwards in that TOI range finished with 15 PPPs or fewer.

(side note: 3/10 forwards with over 15 PPPs in that TOI range all played on the same Toronto PP unit)

The elite producers at five-on-five last year managed somewhere between 45-55 points at 5v5. Only two players had more than 55 and they were Connor McDavid and Nikita Kucherov. Even if we assume Ehlers is among the elite 5v5 producers and he can manage 50 points (which would be an exceptional season), add 15 more 5v4 points and you get to roughly 65 points. Add a handful more for different game states like 4v4, 3v3, and 5v3, and he probably tops out at 70 points.

Keep in mind that 70 points would be in a season where everything goes right given his current situation. It’s not to say that 70 points is his floor, it’s to say that 70 points is the best we can expect from him assuming his power-play usage doesn’t change. This is also back-of-the-napkin math, not an actual projection.

By some of the available metrics, Ehlers is one of the top offensive wingers in the league. I hate to sound like a broken record, but PP production has a gigantic impact on overall production. All these metrics can say he’s one of the top offensive wingers in the league, but if he stays on the second PP unit for 1:50 per game, he won’t reach his fantasy potential. For that reason, to the commenter in the Ramblings, I said to take Schenn. I think Ehlers has the higher upside as a player for his career but I don’t think he’ll reach it in 2018-19.

Don’t yell at me. Yell at Paul Maurice.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-bubble-keeper-week-continues-janmark-jankowski-hamhuis-little-ehlers-and-more-july-26/

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blackkudos · 4 years

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Sam Lacy

Samuel Harold "Sam" Lacy (October 23, 1903 – May 8, 2003) was an African-American and Native American sportswriter, reporter, columnist, editor, and television/radio commentator who worked in the sports journalism field for parts of nine decades. Credited as a persuasive figure in the movement to racially integrate sports, Lacy in 1948 became the first black member of the Baseball Writers' Association of America. In 1997, he received the J. G. Taylor Spink Award for outstanding baseball writing from the BBWAA, which placed him in the writers' and broadcasters' wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1998.

Upbringing

Early career

The 1940s

In August 1941 Lacy moved to Chicago to work for another black newspaper, the Chicago Defender, where he served as its assistant national editor. While in the Midwest he made repeated attempts to engage Major League Baseball commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis on the topic of desegregating the game, writing numerous letters, but his efforts went unanswered.

Lacy also targeted blacks in management and ownership positions with the Negro Leagues, some of whom had a vested financial interest in keeping the game segregated. In a Defender editorial, he wrote:

"No selfishness on the part of Negro owners hip, nor appeasement ... to the Southern reactionaries in baseball must stand in the way of the advancement of qualified Negro players."

On January 4, 1944, Lacy returned East, joining the Afro-American in Baltimore as sports editor and columnist. He continued to press his case for integrating baseball through his columns and editorials, and many other black newspapers followed suit. In one such piece in 1945, Lacy wrote:

Lacy resisted having his own personal bouts with racism become part of the integration storyline, and kept the focus on the athletes he covered:

In 1948, he reacted to the death of Babe Ruth not with adulation for the star but with spite toward Ruth's personal behavior:

Lacy covered the first interracial college football game ever played in the state of Maryland when all-black Maryland State College faced all-white Trenton (N.J.) College in 1949:

"Down here on the Eastern Shore, where 32 lynchings have occurred since 1882, democracy lifted its face toward the Sun on Saturday."

Later career

In 1954, Lacy questioned why the city of Milwaukee had chosen to honor Braves outfielder Hank Aaron with a day in his honor a mere two months into his playing career:

Lacy worked as a television sports commentator for WBAL-TV from 1968 to 1976.

In 1999, Lacy teamed with colleague Moses J. Newson, a former executive editor at the Afro-American, to write his autobiography, Fighting for Fairness: The Life Story of Hall of Fame Sportswriter Sam Lacy.

Personal life

As of December 2010, Tim Lacy remains a columnist at the Afro-American at the age of 72.

Lacy's paternal grandfather, Henry Erskine Lacy, was the first black detective in the Washington, D.C., police department.

Death

Awards and honors

In 1948, Lacy became the first black member of the Baseball Writers' Association of America.

In 1984, Lacy became the first black journalist to be enshrined in the Maryland Media Hall of Fame.

In 1985, Lacy was inducted into the Black Athletes Hall of Fame in Las Vegas.

In 1991, Lacy received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Association of Black Journalists.

In 1994, Lacy was selected for the Society of Professional Journalists Hall of Fame by the Washington chapter.

In 1995, Lacy was in the first group of writers to be honored with the A.J. Liebling Award by the Boxing Writers Association of America.

On October 22, 1997, Lacy received the J. G. Taylor Spink Award for outstanding baseball writing from the Baseball Writers' Association of America. The award carries induction to the writers and broadcasters wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame, and Lacy was formally enshrined on July 26, 1998.

Lacy also served on the President's Council on Physical Fitness and on the Baseball Hall of Fame's selection committee for the Negro leagues.

#10/23 #05/08

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