#like a curly fry in the sky

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

curly fries | s.c.b

-> the first i love you m.list

pairing... bf!changbin x gn!reader tags... fluff, established relationship, beach shenanigans cw... a slightly cringe and unfunny joke that im only a little proud of

you don’t know what he’s about to do, but if the devious glint in his eyes is anything to go by, it’s going to be something loud for sure.

wc... 880 words a/n... thank u xi my love for helping me w this 😽 i've had this prompt in my files for months and i finally got around to writing it, i hope you all enjoy!

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Seo Changbin is beautiful.

Maybe it’s the way his natural hair curls into bouncy, raven locks. Or how his loose white button-up flows in the wind that blows gently against you, enveloping you in a warm breeze under the golden sun. Perhaps it’s his honey skin glowing as radiantly as the smile he constantly wears on his face when he’s around you—the same smile his bubbly personality urges you to reciprocate. You can’t be sure, really. It’s hard to pinpoint what makes the very incarnation of beauty beautiful.

Changbin’s hearty laugh snaps you out of your daze, his eyes twinkling as he looks at you.

“Baby, if you keep letting your food dangle out of your mouth like that, a seagull is gonna come down and swoop it up.” Teasingly, he points at the curly fry hanging out of your mouth, forgotten from the moment your hand had let go of it and slowly fell during your Changbin-induced trance. “Something on your mind?”

You blink once. Twice. Three times. Shoving the fry in your mouth, you shake your head.

“There’s nothing you’re thinking about?” Changbin probes, tilting his head in disbelief. “The way you’ve been staring at me—for like a whole minute, by the way—like I hung all the stars in the sky says otherwise.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Was just thinking about you and how you look so handsome today, I mean you’re always handsome, obviously, and wow, it’s quite hot, no?” You fan yourself with your fingers as heat rushes to your cheeks, though the flail of your wrists does absolutely nothing to help. “Well, I suppose it should be hot. We are at the beach after all, and you know it’s sunny so—”

Fondly, Changbin reaches out and tucks your windblown hair behind your ear. This halts your rambling, drawing out a shy smile as your boyfriend looks at you, admiration swimming in his pupils.

“You’re so cute. I love you.”

What.

Your eyes go wide. Your hand, previously reaching for another fry, stops dead in its tracks, going limp at your side.

Collecting yourself to the best of your abilities (which in this current state, were not a lot), you manage to sputter out a very elegant, “Huh?”

“I love you, silly. Say it back?”

You scan your boyfriend’s face. His gentle smile and sincere eyes warm your heart. He’s patient as he waits for your reply, but you can’t keep him waiting. Of course not.

Reciprocating his smile, you tell him, “I love you, too, Binnie.”

Changbin’s lips morph into a grin, and he leans over to press a sweet peck to your mouth. He jumps up from his beach chair, reaching his hand out, inviting you to take it in your own.

“Come on, let’s walk along the shore while there aren’t too many people.”

Though you lace your fingers with Changbin’s, a pout appears on your face and you make no move to stand. “I don’t want to get up yet. Can you carry me instead?”

Changbin crouches down and kisses your pursed lips, giggling when he feels the corners of your mouth pull into a smile. He brings his free hand to your face, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. Similarly, he mimicked this with your intertwined hands, rubbing soft circles into your knuckles.

“Of course,” he breaks away from the kiss, gently pulling you up from your seat. “Hop on, bun.”

Gingerly, you climb onto your boyfriend's back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he secures his hands around your thighs. He makes his way to the shoreline, leaving you bouncing gently with each step he makes.

“Hey, if I’m giving you a piggyback ride,” Changbin flashes a cheeky smile over his shoulder, "wouldn’t it be called a dwaekkiback ride?”

You roll your eyes, letting out a breathy laugh at the stupidly endearing joke. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, you loooooove me!” He picks up his pace as he trudges on the wet sand, screaming into the air, “You love me!”

“Binnie, be careful!” You laugh as he runs along the shore with you on his back. “You’re gonna trip and fall—”

Unceremoniously, Changbin loses his footing on a small mound of sand, falling and pulling you down with him.

Rolling onto your backs, the two of you share fits of giggles as the water comes up to brush your toes. Changbin sits up and skips further into the water, turning back to meet your gaze. You don’t know what he’s about to do, but if the devious glint in his eyes is anything to go by, it’s going to be something loud for sure.

“I love Y/n L/n!” Changbin announces proudly.

Loud is an understatement.

A few heads turn at Changbin’s boisterous voice, but you pay them no mind. Your attention is directed solely to the man professing his love for you to the entire ocean. You prop yourself up, digging your palms in the sand behind you. Matching his volume, which was a challenge in itself, you yelled to the water, “I love Seo Changbin!” 

As you stand up to join your boyfriend by his side, splashing in the shallow water, a seagull squawks in the distance, happily munching on an abandoned bowl of curly fries.

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taglist: @kflixnet @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny @starsandrqindrops @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @forlix @mires-empire @quesweebs @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @hanstarrs

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

#k-labels #changbin x reader #stray kids x reader #changbin #stray kids #stray kids changbin #seo changbin #seo changbin x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #changbin fluff #skz x reader #skz changbin #・₊✧ written in the stars

[kaytjohanna]

Journey's End: The Rise, Ch 1

(Figured I'd share this, since this is part of my AU stuff, and if you're curious in my writing, then enjoy!)

Snaxburg was long since out of sight.

Buddy softly brought down the ship, gradually as the fire died down, soft waves lapping beneath them, the sky free of ash and parasitic specimens, at long last, the sea calm and clear, and the nearest town in sight. Their paws skilfully steered the ship into the water, the balloon finally losing the last of it’s heat, each Grumpus softly gazing at them, graceful but ragged splashes greeting the hull, the current pushing them the last bit of the way, and into the soft, non-infected sands of the mainland.

Quietly, they sighed, pushing back their fringe of curled orange fur, emerald green eyes blinking slowly, helping each Grumpus depart off the ship, each paw shaky and each set of knees weakened, their crate of food and supplies long since emptied, the side of their airship battered and bruised and slightly singed with smoked fondue. Tired and partially starved, they were relived by what they had left, and that they shared it with Gramble and the others, though the former eating more, having been on such a place for longer, refusing to eat any of those parasites… then again, he might’ve been the most intelligent to avoid consuming any, or as little as possible, at all, even though it was more for love than for basic need.

It was oddly quiet, each Grump spreading out on that beach.

Buddy watched them all.

Wambus held Triffany close, as she sobbed, finally having an answer to her gramma’s disappearance, and he was an unreadable book, one that spoke of soft shock, a beating to his pride that may had been good for him.

Gramble fiddled with his paws, taking a deep, lonesome breath, feeling his arms and his head, knowing full well that love was right next to him, a love that took the form of Wiggle, who had come to understand, to acknowledge, that love and honesty was more important than fame.

Beffica sat on her own, pushing green-snak paws through the sand, gripping her locket close, reminiscing on what life would’ve been, ready to begin anew.

Cromdo leaned back on some rocks, kissing each blade of grass, grateful all of a sudden, to at least be alive and well. Something a lot of Grumps who went to Snaktooth couldn’t say, being buried alive.

Chandlo, holding Snorpy’s chocolate paw and still tasting the kwookie teeth, knew they had a long way to go together, but it wouldn’t be long for them, only now wishing that Eggabell could’ve seen their relationship bloom like the special sauce flowers.

Snorpy, gripping tightly to the curly fry arm of his boyfriend, relived for everyone’s survival, came to understand that, while he was so absorbed in his work to protect, he could not see how he’d pushed others away. But from that day, it would change. He hoped Elizabert was okay.

Floofty stood on their own for some time, only for a minimal amount, thinking carefully about their future relationships to a more personal degree, flinching at a paw of green peelbug gently resting on their shoulder of their now ally, Shellsy, whom had come to know that maybe riddles of a constant calibre weren’t so wise after all. They both shared a quiet moment, staring out into the sea.

And Filbo… Filbo stood the furthest from them all. His expression unreadable from where they stood.

Sometimes they wondered what they learned. What did they learn on Snaktooth?

Maybe, it was to understand. To comprehend. They were a bit more… brash, and sarcastic when they first arrived. Maybe it was to extend that, despite every fault and every cruelty thrown, whatever said or whatever done, tolerance and open-mindedness was something everyone deserved.

They smiled to themselves as they made their way down to Filbo, speaking and listening to each Grumpus one final time, daring to not even think about what might’ve happened, had they not gotten through to them all.

They all made it back alive.

Bodies filled with parasites that looked like food, but alive.

Alive.

“Hey Buddy, are you ready to go?” Filbo smiled at them, indigo eyes filled with a quiet mourning and a lease of hope.

“Yeah, I think so.” Budleguard hesitantly nodded, glancing back across the ocean, unease filling them. “I guess it’s time.”

The mayor nodded tiredly, gazing down the beach, his arm raised and waving like an orange flag. “Alright everybody, we should head out!”

His voice echoed down to each of the ten grumps who had survived, eyes facing them as they all agreed silently, paws rising from the sands and leaving food shaped prints behind, with only two sets being even remotely normal to how they were when first stepping foot on Snaktooth. Furs of many colours gradually passed the duo by, the sound of clunking wood signalling their movement. Too tired to even argue or disagree, seeing their mayor’s leadership at long last.

“… I hate to leave it like this.” Filbo sighed softly, his eyes only focussed on the erupting volcano of Snaktooth, his tail tucked between his legs. “Liz and Egg… what if they’re still out there?”

Gently, they trotted to his side, standing next to him.

“Liz and Egg can take care of themselves.” The journalist softly slung a comforting paw over a cyan shoulder, their tail softly reaching to hold his own.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right. If anyone can survive that horrible place, it’s them.” Filbo let out a quiet puff of air, invisible, but noticeable. Something still rested on his mind.

“Surely you can’t be thinking of going back.” They noticed all too well how their own voice shook in concern, mostly masked after years of mastering such a skill.

A moment of silence shifted between the sands, the waves lapping by their paws, and the only other sounds of the seagulls that flapped their white and turquoise wings above them, unaware of the horrors the group had encountered.

“No… no, you’re right.” Filbo slumped, meeting Budleguard’s eyes determinedly. “No one should ever set foot on Snaktooth Island again.”

“And that means, we have to move on. Doesn’t it?”

“I know. I can’t go wallowing in regret now. We’re barely even out of the woods.” Filbo allowed himself to be lead by Buddy up the beach, seeing that the rest of the Krew was waiting for them.

“That does remind me… where is everyone going to go?” Buddy asked, looking at the other grumps. “You all don’t look entirely uh… Grumpus.”

“I… well, if it’s nothing too imposing, I have a holiday suite we can all wait out the Snax fading.” Wiggle’s normal singsong voice was exhausted and parched, a weakened smile on her now dimmed face. “It might be wise, and besides, I think we’d all want some personal space, no?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Wambus spoke up first. “Might be wise if we all stick together or even close by from here on out.”

“A control group?” Snorpy piped up.

“Pretty sure that’s what it’s called. Don’t have much mind for science stuff.” Wambus shrugged.

“Buddy? Don’t you need someone to help figure out your story?” Filbo wondered.

“Yeah… it might be actually wise to hide the existence of the Bugsnax, and really do call the Bugsnax just, well, a hoax that Liz came up with.” Budleguard sighed.

“But… you had your story dawg, why?” Chandlo looked sad at that.

“Because look what Elizabert talking about Bugsnax did to all of you.” Buddy growled, looking down at their paws. “If we go on the news ranting about the existence of these parasites, AND say that we barely survived? No way there won’t be Grumps going there to try and hunt and spread them around.”

The air was stuffy, all too vocal about this realisation.

“I do hate to say it, but you have a very valid point.” Floofty grumbled. “With your lack of knowledge, you seem to have a lot of common sense. Bugsnax being realised would be all too tempting to academic and scientific appeal.”

“The history would drag in all too many archaeologists…” Triffany sighed.

“Don’t get me started on the business opportunities.” Cromdo nodded along, already focussed on other things despite escaping a mass swarm of parasites. “Geez, I was gonna sell ‘em off no matter what! Y’know, until we found out they were mother grumpin’ parasites.”

“My point stands then.” Budleguard gazed at them all. “The Bugsnax must be kept secret, to stop any risks from occuring. Are we agreed?”

Many nods were returned, paws of food held close as they muttered in worry and reassurance to one another.

“I can’t go home like this…” Filbo sighed, as a lightbulb visibly went off in his skull. “Hey, maybe I can stay with you Buddy?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I can help you write your story, a-and we can redo some interviews to make it believable!” Filbo smiled. “Would that be a good idea?”

Buddy thought for a moment. And smiled.

Smiled at their group of misfit friends, family and a fresh start.

“I guess I have a spare bedroom…”

That group of smiles was the first thing they shared after getting off the ship.

~~~~~~

This is the opening for my Queen Buddy AU, so if you wanna learn more, feel free to read the rest of Ch. 1 of Journey's End via the link, or send me a dm if you have any questions! https://archiveofourown.org/works/39832920/chapters/99729159

~ Kay

#bugsnax #fandom #fanfic #ao3 writer #cross posted on ao3 #fanfiction #fic writing #archive of our own #ao3 fanfic #ao3 stuff #bugsnax au #this is way too fun #hope you enjoy! #hope you enjoy!! #tagggggsss #writing #writers of tumblr #creative writing #trust me its gonna get more twisted #evil laughter #i also totally wouldnt mind seeing how the artists percieve the work #id love to see how they see the situations >:) #btw alegander is in this so #idk if thats a dealbreaker but #snakolytes #snaktooth #watch out for tags #keep hydrated #idk if anyone will actually do art im half joking #but if they do id love to see xD

[alex123456moralas]

The Best Restaurants in Nassau

Nassau is known for the Fish Fry strip on Arawak Cay. Serving dishes like conch fritters and rice and peas in eyes-too-big-for-belly portions, this row of rustic wooden restaurants is a local institution. It's not the only or the end-all of Nassau's dining options, however. The Bahamian capital is also home to some top-notch fusion, steak, and Mediterranean-inspired eateries. Here are a few of the most well-known options.

Explore the incredible attractions of Nassau and make your trip worthwhile. Also, book flights with the Lowest Flight Fares to avail of impressive deals. There are several places to discover here and learn more about this place. So take flights from New York to Nassau, and make sure to spend ample time strolling the place.

Cafe Matisse

Just a few blocks away from Parliament Square, this eatery specializes in Italian food. But there's more to this restaurant than pizza and pasta. Some of the highlights on the menu are carnosaurs (a Sardinian flatbread) starter and the Ossobuco (slow-cooked shanks of veal slow-cooked) served with a saffron-infused main dish of risotto. To experience the restaurant in its absolute best, reserve an appointment in the lush floral courtyard.

Curly's Bar and Restaurant

With wood-paneled walls as well as seats in leather, the restaurant is among the most sought-after restaurants on the Fish Fry strip in Nassau. The conch fritters in the shape of golf balls as well as the vibrant conch salad get rave reviews in this restaurant, but whatever you choose to eat, expect to see your food packed to the max. If you can, make some space to eat the dessert of guava duff. It's a steamy, guava-flavored pudding served in the rum.

Bahamian Cookin' Bar and Restaurant

The restaurant was founded with the help of Grammy in 1986 in 1986, this Downtown eatery is currently run by three generations of Bahamian women. The recipes for sauces and seasonings have been refined over the years and they show. The most well-known dishes are the soft finger grouper and the buttery baked plantains, and mac and cheese with golden tops. Are you looking for something to wash the meal down? Choose the classic Bahama Mama cocktail or a zesty lemonade switch.

Cleo Mediterraneo

Wood, wicker, and whitewashed, this upscale restaurant is situated in its own SLS Baha Mar hotel. It offers a wide range of food options on the menu. Greek spanakopita (spinach pie), Lebanese kibbeh (beef and bulgur wheat croquettes), as well as Israeli Couscous, are only one of the choices. The restaurant offers a great range of cocktails, too. Try the Cleo Colada made with coconut vodka, pineapple juice, and lime juice fresh. It's the restaurant's signature drink.

You can easily book your cheap flights to Key West with the Lowest Flight fares and enjoy a trip.

La Caverna

The food served at La Caverna, near Love Beach is clearly Italian. Lasagne, carbonara pizza, pizza, and homemade tiramisu are on the menu. A hint of the Bahamas is in the cocktails menu but. Alongside negronis and espresso martinis, you can also enjoy the classic Bahamian Sky juice - composed of coconut condensed milk, water, and gin. There's also The Bahama Mama, made with three different types of rum as well as fruit punch.

Athena Cafe & Bar

This is the best Greek eatery in Nassau There are more than a dozen white and blue flags flying across the roof. The menu is filled with traditional dishes, including stuffed grape leaves, Tzatziki souvlaki, and gyros. for something more Bahamian, go for the conch dish. The most comfortable seats are on the shaded terrace that runs all around the dining area. It's an ideal spot to watch people eat while you dine.

Carna

The seafood and the steaks are star dishes at this restaurant in Goodman's Bay. There are over 10 varieties of steak available and three kinds of wagyu as well as a tomahawk as big as a tennis racket. The most impressive thing on the front of the fish, however, is the tower that's fit for a king that is comprised of two levels of lobster tails, oysters as well as king crab and prawns. The restaurant also boasts an impressive wine menu which includes around 200 different bottles.

Oh Andros

There's always a high-priced dish of food whenever you go to Oh Andros on the Fish Fry strip in Nassau. The menus served at this wood-walled eatery are usually Caribbean like conch fritters rice and peas, mac and cheese as well as fried plantains. If you're hungry, go for the seafood platter. It includes four Swais (white seafood) fillets 8 lobster tails, shrimp rice, plantains, and pikliz, which is a slaw that's spicy.

#lff #lowestflightfare #flights #cheapflights #holidays #vacation #travelgram #travelphotography #photography #trip #wanderlust #traveling #adventure #travelling #travelblogger #explore #linkedin #content #blog #placestovisit #worldplaces #travel #bestplacestogo #letsgoplaces #wonderfulplaces #amazingplaces

[gawki]

#artists on tumblr #sketch #doodle #drawing #ink #art #dragon #serpent #sleepy #like a curly fry in the sky

[wormstacheangel]

Day 4 of @one-more-offbeat-anthem follower celebration <3

“Clear night. Wanna come out with me?”

Cas looked up when he heard Dean ask him from across the library table, but he didn’t hesitate to accept the offer. Enjoying the blushing cheeks of his new boyfriend as he tried to act nonchalant about asking him out on a date. It was getting easier for Dean to invite him to places, it was always so easy for them, but since they talked about their feelings, Dean has been more hesitant. As if Cas might have changed his mind and will deny him anything.

They ended up laying on the hood of the impala; shoulders pressed together as Cas pointed up at the sky and made up stories of the stars that made Dean laugh. They were finishing their dinner, Cas enjoying Dean’s curly fries more than his regular ones when he looked up when Dean chuckled.

“I’m glad you’re comfortable to steal my food now.”

“I don’t think we ever hesitated to eat off each other’s plates.” Cas picked the nicest curliest fry and gave it to Dean to enjoy. Dean always commented how the nicest curly fry tasted the best. “I saved you the best one, though.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Dean opened his mouth, and Cas fed it to him without a second thought. Enjoying the blush and shy smile on his boyfriend. “Talk to me more about the stars.”

Cas dropped his trash in the paper bags on the floor before he laid on his side to look down at Dean. He looked shocked before he relaxed with an easy smile. Cas smiled back, his hand reaching to caress the freckled face gently.

His finger gently followed a pattern of freckles on Dean’s nose. “Well, these right here-” Dean laughed, nose scrunching up, but Cas didn’t stop. “Are one of my favorite stars. They make a small constellation I like to call...cute.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Maybe so, but don’t interrupt.” He moved his finger down to trace the top of his cheek. “And this one is called adored.” He moved down his jaw. “And this one it’s called treasured.” He poked at his chin, his thumb gently swiping at his lower lip. “The one here is called precious.”

“Do I have that many?” Dean reached to gently tug Cas closer from the back of his neck, his fingers in his hair as he tilted his head up.

“You have galaxies,” Cas whispered as their lips brushed together. “And every single one is loved so much.”

“Prove it.” Dean smiled before they were kissing under the stars.

#okay done for today! now im gonna read other peoples fics #destiel #fic #destiel ficlet #offbeat1k #destiel fic #wormstachewrites

[into-the-daniverse]

Exist For Love | Jamil x ??? (ft. Camia, Leon, Alec, Asra, & Nadia)

In which, Jamil celebrates another Heartsong Festival with his friends and family, and also prepares a gift for another special someone.

A day late for Valentine’s Day, but inspired by the most recent tale! Jamil, my biggest romantic, would never pass up an opportunity to shower his loved ones in gifts, so I just had to write something for him and this event.

(I was also able to make this into a bit of a split timeline series, so surprise to those tagged at the end. I hope you enjoy! 💖)

Title: Exist For Love by AURORA 2.3k words (total series count: 8.3k words)

Normally, Jamil was awake by the time dawn came, sitting in Camia’s rooftop garden with a cup of coffee or tea, or preparing breakfast downstairs. But today was different, and he slipped from the bed he shared with his friends long before the sky lost its quiet darkness, careful not to disturb either Camia or Leon. He had no spell to cast to keep his actions silent, but he was still able to tiptoe around the shop without waking them or Alec and Asra, and he put his plan into motion.

Out of all the holidays and celebrations he had grown up with or discovered during his travels, the Vesuvian Heartsong Festival had always been one of his absolute favorites. A day devoted to showering his loved ones with gifts and praises? He couldn’t think of a day better spent.

Before the sun’s first rays had even ghosted over the horizon, Jamil had decorated the interior of the shop from top to bottom with colorful streamers, heart-shaped pillows and fuzzy throws on the couch, heart-shaped garland wrapped around the railing of the stairs leading up to the next floor. He had started brewing coffee just as the sun peeked up and was able to turn and hand Camia her own cup just as she entered the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said, giving her a warm smile.

She laughed through her nose, taking the cup from him. “You know, every year I think I’ll beat you awake—”

Jamil laughed. “And every year I just get up earlier.”

Smiling, she rolled her eyes. “I can’t stand you.” Taking her cup with her, she started walking back towards the stairs. “I’m going to water my plants. Don’t you dare finish making breakfast without me.”

“I haven’t even started yet!”

She waved at him over her shoulder before disappearing, and he heard her walk towards the stairs to her garden. Once he was sure she was out of earshot, he hurried to pull out all of the ingredients he would need to start breakfast. He had picked up bread from Selasi yesterday to dip into eggs, fry, and cover with powdered sugar and berries. He had some spiced sausage and fish to roast, and eggs to cook, and just as he started boiling water for tea, Camia returned.

“Jamil.”

He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway of the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest, a pout on her face. “Hey, everything’s still cooking!” He gestured at the pans still sizzling around him. “You only said not to finish before you came back.”

Shaking her head, she bumped him with her hip at the stove, taking over the eggs from him as he started on the tea.

A few moments later, they both heard Alec’s door open upstairs, and she ran across the hallway into their room, where Leon was assumedly still sleeping. Not for long, Jamil thought with a quiet chuckle, and from the look on Camia’s face she was thinking the same. Neither of them could make out exactly what Alec was saying, but they could hear Leon’s dramatic moan of protest well enough.

While Alec wrestled with Leon to drag them out of bed, another set of feet came down the stairs, and Jamil turned to look as Asra entered the kitchen, white, curly hair going every possible direction, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Ah! Good morning,” Jamil said, holding out a cup to Asra, who took it with a grateful smile. “Surprised to see you up so early.”

“Well,” Asra interrupted himself with a yawn. “You know what Allie’s like today.”

Jamil did know, as they all did. While he considered himself to be the most romantic person he knew, Alec was probably a close second. Though she never managed to wake up as early as he did, she was just as excited about the day as he was. And judging by the growing sound of her arguing with Leon as they came down the stairs, this year was no different.

“I’m going to throw your gift in the garbage, you pest,” Leon grumbled, their hair loose and in their face as they were practically dragged into the kitchen by Alec.

Alec rolled her eyes, a wide grin on her face as she took in the dishes around them. “Oh, shut up—look! Breakfast is done!”

Before Leon could retort something about not being able to look, Jamil took their arm to lead them to the table, distracting them with a quick kiss on their cheek. They pouted slightly, but gave in, sitting down with Asra on their left, Jamil on their right. Camia and Alec helped bring the food to the table, Camia sitting next to Jamil, and Alec next to her, and then they all dug in.

The food was, of course, delicious, and Jamil tried not to look too proud when it was all cleared away. They all spent a few minutes chatting away and cleaning up, but once the kitchen was spotless, Alec pushed them all into the back room to exchange gifts. She claimed a spot on the floor, Asra next to her, and the other three sat on the couch.

This was probably Jamil’s favorite part. Not even seeing what his friends had gotten for him, but the looks on their faces when he handed them their gifts.

He gave Camia the newest book from a romance series she had been interested in for years—that he had been reading behind her back—and she laughed as she handed him the same book, both of them doubling over against each other on the couch.

“I think we’ve known each other for too long,” he said through tears, and she just continued to laugh, shaking her head at him.

Next, he gave Leon their gift—a new dress he had been working on for a while, a soft green that looked very nice with their skin and their dark eyes, and the fabric was something Leon had picked out themself one day at the market. Their eyes sparkled once they felt the dress and realized what it was.

“I almost completely forgot I picked this out!”

Jamil chuckled. “I thought you would, but better late than never.”

“It’s never late coming from you,” they said, and handed him their gift—small silver hoop earrings that he put on the second he opened the box they were in.

Alec was hard to get to sit still for her gift, but once she did, she almost screamed when he pulled out a new set of bangles, and she immediately put them on, giggling as they jangled around her wrists. She gave him some new colored charcoal, which he was immensely grateful for, as he had been out of his for quite some time.

Last, but not least, was Asra, and when Jamil pulled out a multicolored shawl, Asra and Alec yelled at the same time.

“I figured you needed something to match that, uh, colorful hat of yours,” Jamil explained, as Asra pulled the shawl from him excitedly. Alec groaned dramatically, covering her eyes.

“Jamil, you’re enabling him and his awful fashion sense!”

Asra stuck his tongue out at her, spinning around in his new shawl, a bright smile on his face. “He just likes me better.”

As the two of them started to bicker, Jamil laughed, standing from the couch. By now, the sun was steadily rising in the sky, and the sounds of the city outside were getting louder by the minute. He was still in his sleepwear, which was really just a pair of old pants, and he went back upstairs to change for the day.

Humming a waltz softly to himself, and listening absentmindedly to the noise from downstairs, he fished out a light pink sherwani with darker pink and green flowers woven over it, and matching pants and slippers. He ran some oil through his hair and his beard that smelled of jasmine, sandalwood, and vanilla, and pulled up half of his hair, a few strands falling out to frame his temples as the rest still sat on his shoulders.

When he came downstairs again, Camia whistled at him, Leon stretched across her lap. Alec and Asra were back in Alec’s room, judging from the sound of their voices, probably picking out their own outfits for the day.

“I haven’t seen that in a long time,” Camia said, and Jamil nodded.

“It’s hard to find an occasion for it, but today will do.”

Camia opened her mouth to say something else, but a knock at the front door stopped her. Jamil glanced out the front window, seeing the back of a palace carriage waiting in front of the shop.

“Ah, that’ll be for me.” Jamil smoothed down the front of his sherwani. Before walking to the door, he went over to Camia and Leon, pressing a quick kiss to each of their cheeks. “I love you both, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Say hi to Dia for me,” Leon said, and Jamil promised he would.

It was still early enough that the streets weren’t too busy as Jamil rode in the carriage to the palace. He smiled as he noticed the decorations in the square, the marketplace, streamers hung down alleyways and store fronts. He caught glimpses of lovers holding hands in the streets, of families heading to the market to celebrate, and his heart swelled.

He reached the palace in no time at all, and was led to a salon, where his cousin was waiting, though not without stopping a few times to say hello to people he knew throughout. Before even opening the doors to the salon, he could hear music drifting down the hall, Nadia’s graceful piano playing bringing a soft smile to his cheeks.

As soon as he pushed open the doors, she glanced up at him, looking radiant in the morning sun.

“Jamil, good morning.”

“Good morning, Nadia.” He closed the distance between them in a few strides, wrapping her in a warm hug. She let out a noise of surprise, but laughed, and hugged him back. When they let go, she shifted on the piano bench, gesturing for him to join her. He did, nudging her shoulder playfully, and she nudged him back. They both started to play a piece together, neither focusing too much on accuracy, and Nadia turned her head to him.

“How has your day been so far?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “It’s been great. I’m glad we’re able to spend some of it together.”

“I’m glad as well,” she said, smiling. “I know I am in quite high demand these days as Countess, but you’re no easier to get a hold of at times.”

Jamil laughed. “I wish I could disagree with you. But that’s what today is for, isn’t it? To spend time with those who matter most.”

“It is.”

They fell into conversation, still playing at the piano, until they finished their piece and moved to sit on the couches in the salon. Here Jamil was able to pull out the gift he had brought for her, tucked away in a small traveling bag—a few delicate tools for her machinery that she had been lamenting the loss of for months.

Nadia was thrilled, and she marveled over the quality of the tools for a long minute before remembering to give Jamil his own gift. With a clap of her hands, a few servants walked inside the salon, carrying an extremely large canvas.

“Dia, I won’t be able to carry this back to the shop,” Jamil said, shaking his head with a smile.

She waved her hand, and the servants began to flip the canvas so he could see what was on it. “I hardly expected you to. I will have it delivered to the shop. I just wanted you to be able to see it first, and for me to see your reaction.”

Jamil barely heard what she said and didn’t catch the satisfied look on her face as his jaw dropped open when the painting was revealed to him.

It was of him—him, Camia, Leon, and Alec. It looked like a memory, a snapshot of a moment, the four of them performing together in the town square. Sunlight filtered around them, faces artistically blurred as if they were in motion. Jamil could almost hear the song they could have been playing, the sound of the crowd around them.

“How…?”

“I had an artist at one of your more recent performances.” He could hear the smile in Nadia’s voice. “They were instructed to capture as much of the moment in the moment as they could, and then the rest was done from memory. I hope you, and the rest of your friends, enjoy it.”

“Oh, Dia, I love it,” Jamil whispered, swallowing back tears. “They’re all going to love it. Thank you.”

Nadia stood, gesturing to the servants to leave, and they did, but not before leaving the painting propped up for Jamil to stare at. “You’re welcome. It was very hard to keep this a secret.” She leaned gently against his arm, and he smiled, still looking at the painting.

“I can’t imagine.”

They heard a clock chime, and Jamil jumped slightly, wiping at his eyes.

“Gods, I hadn’t realized I had been here for so long already.” He glanced out the window at the sun already high in the sky.

“And here I thought I had managed to dodge the predisposition to engage in long-winded talks that runs in our family,” Nadia said, dryly, and Jamil laughed.

“No, unfortunately that’s impossible to get around, Countess,” he teased.

They hugged once more before he left, and he accepted her offer of taking another carriage back into the city, especially as it had only gotten more crowded since he arrived. As he told the driver his next destination, a warm feeling started to grow in his chest. Now, he only had one more gift left to give, and it was the most important one of the day.

✨Timeline Split✨

@atypicalacademic​‘s Haider — Everybody Needs A Home

@asras3rdeye​‘s Oz’mandias — Ocean In My Veins

@valhallanrose​‘s Tamryn — When I Take Your Hand

@sunrisenfool​‘s Valeriy — Everything Good In Life

#the arcana fic #daniverse fic #the band #jamil #Alec al-saleh #camia #leon #the arcana asra #the arcana nadia #haider wazim #oz'mandias #tamryn olenev #valeriy radosevic #jaan-e-man #valjam #jozy #tamilee #hehe I love you all #hope you like this

[dont-offend-the-bees]

It’s Big Bang time again and I’m back like a bad penny!

This took me a l o n g time, mainly because I got very ambitious with that first drawing and didn’t account for energy crashes or technical knowhow limitations, but I did my best and I’m pretty darn stoked with the results! Click/open in new tab for full quality etc, it’s a big one!

I had the pleasure this time of working with @khoshekh42, who’s always a delight and who’s brought something real damn cute to the table this year! Her fic isn’t up yet but y’all HAVE to go read it when it is, I’m here in advance hyping it up rn, go read it if you like meet cutes, gay narrative mirrors and library flirting- don’t lie, you like at least one of those things. I’m gonna reblog this post again with a link when it’s up, please read and give her love, she’s worked very hard through a very busy and stressful time!

Love and thanks to my wonderful writer, to all the excellent new mods at @dghdabigbang for taking over and doing a stellar job keeping the homefires burning, to the people who’ve been sweethearts offering me reasurances about my art when I was tearing my hair out and sure I’d bitten off more than I could chew- and huge, HUGE thanks and love for One Thousand Years to everyone who reblogs my art, leaves comments on the fic, and just reblogs and comments in general because it is, frankly, creatively life saving!

Close ups and image descriptions below the cut! ^^

[I.D: Three digital paintings of characters from Dirk Gently, rendered with shading and charcoal brush outlines.

Top Image: a mostly greyscale painting of Todd Brotzman and Dirk Gently from the waist up, surrounded by library bookshelves, leaning towards each other over a counter and smiling. Todd has dark and slightly messy hair, stubble, and is wearing a button up shirt. His expression is wistful, soflty smitten. Dirk has neater hair, and is wearing a shirt, tie, and a leather jacket. His grin is bright and cheerful. Todd is holding up a yellow USB stick, and Dirk is reaching out to take it. Emerging from the memory stick is a vividly coloured bubble that occupies the top half of the painting, of a stylised Silas Dengadamor and Panto Trost looking at each other warily before a backdrop Wendimoor. Silas is coloured in shades of green, and has soft features, curly hair, a short beard and a fancy waistcoat. Panto is coloured in shades of pink, has sharper features, loose wavy hair and a cloak. The backdrop is of blue green trees, orange purple skies and a yellow moon- the enormous, grinning face crescent moon of Wendimoor.

Bottom left image: a mostly greyscale painting of Amanda Brotzman from the waist up on a plain grey background, wearing a stripey shirt and leather jacket, and prominent winged eyeliner. Her long, dark hair is in the Rowdy undercut ponytail, with wavy wisps either side of her face. She is leaning on a table, gesticulating with a yellow french fry, and looking out at the viewer with knowing eyes and an impish grin.

Bottom right image: a colourful stylised painting of a couple of fantasy birds. They are round and cute, styled after warbler birds, with dark blue plumage, teal wing feathers and curly magenta tail and head plumes. The bird in the foreground is perched on a tree branch with strange colourful Wendimoor berries sprouting from it. The bird’s face is angled towards the viewer, with three beady eyes visible. The other bird is soaring past a background of yellow-orange sky and treetops, wings fanned out and tail plumes trailing. End I.D]

Keep scrolling for misc. close-ups if you like! ^^

#dirk gently's holistic detective agency #dghda #brotzly #pantlas #dirk gently #todd brotzman #amanda brotzman #panto trost #silas dengdamor #wendimoor #my art #the first piece took so long i had to go very simple for the next two djfddknsadff my time management this year has not been stellar #happy with how it came out tho ^^

[cosmiceverafter]

ALEX! 😭 I’ve missed him so much!!!!! He looks so good.

Ugh, Jesse’s statue. 🖕🏼

Michael being so excited and nervous, fixing those beautiful curly fry hair curls! My heart ♥️ His face seeing Alex with Forrest. IT HURTS! #ouch — But I know things will be okay. Michael is so in love and that just makes my heart so happy.

There’s the Forlex. Ps: Tyler looks like the BEST kisser 💋 🤤 🔥

ALEX SHIRTLESS. The thirst is real here!!!! And then his arms… that white shirt.

Here we go… Deep Sky. They want to recruit Alex. Ok, but I’m here from him leaving the military and joining DS. Knowing secrets. Oooo, aliens 👽 mmmhmm. Alex would be high up in the society. But if he goes too deep into it, he won’t be able to be around anyone. Forrest wants him to go with him….

Awe Rosa painting 🖼 🎨 ewwww Wyatt go away. Ew poor Rosa having to be around him.

Kyle in his coat! “Stupid ass” to Max haha I love it. I’m loving all the Kyle! This is what we needed last season. Good for you Kyle. You tell Max what’s up!

I like how this guy calls Liz “Roswell.” Ooo, did she leak the info?!

#alex manes #malex #michael guerin #roswell new mexico #Forlex #forrest long #rosa ortecho #kyle valenti #max evans #rnm spoilers #rnm season 3 #cosmic live watch #RNM 3x01

[wastelandcth]

We’re Going Home - cth

part of nation of two

summary: Petra reminisces on Calum’s first date mistake and how the safety of a car changed her world. Calum thinks of a place to runaway to. 

author’s notes: This was a lot of fluff and me looking out the window while it rained. Enjoy!

warnings: Not much, just two lovestruck fools missing one another.

masterlist || request || previous part || next part

Calum had never been a fan of the rain. It reminded him of early mornings when he'd wake up to the rainstorms outside his window and how the ache in his bones practically begged him to stay in bed and drift off to sleep for a little while longer. The rain was just another disturbance in his life. If it rained, his soccer practice would get canceled and he'd have to walk back home, the rain soaking his clothes and weighing down his backpack. Once the band had taken off, the occasional rainstorm put another sour mood on Calum. Outdoor shows would get canceled or delayed, leaving Calum to stare out of the tour bus window as rain droplets raced to the bottom of the windows. If the rainstorm was severe enough, planes he needed to take would get grounded until the storm passed and he wouldn't catch his connecting flight. The rain also meant that sometimes plans he had that included Calum being outside would end with him soaked and left shivering, his bones aching for warmth and dryness the rain usually scared away. The rain outside of Calum's hotel window filled him with a sadness he couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the fact that the tour had been taking a toll on his body and that he missed his bed and his mug he always used in the mornings while at home.

Or maybe it was the fact that Petra was showing him the view from whatever restaurant she'd been eating at.

"I'm telling you, the second you've settled back in here at home, I'm taking you here and you're going to eat the best french toast you've ever had," Petra said, her camera showing the Pacific Ocean in all it's vastness.

Calum had never been one for jealousy. But as he watched the blue sky and blue ocean on his screen, his body ached with a want to be there next to the woman he loved. He'd do anything to be sitting next to Petra at a cafe, eating amazing french toast and watching the ocean waves. He would do anything to be next to her, holding her hand and listening to her laugh about the way the birds seem to hover above their table in order to steal a french fry or two. So yes, Calum was jealous.

As Petra looked out at the ocean, from where she'd been sat enjoying a glass of ice tea, she couldn't help but chuckle at herself. She'd been trying to get out more and more these days. With Calum gone, she wouldn't have to worry much about having to stop whenever Calum was spotted by fans and waiting for them to chat for a bit before continuing their errands. She'd gotten used to the dates she'd go on with herself, eventually timing them out so that she'd be able to talk to Calum for at least a few minutes before he'd be whisked off to his next engagement with the band. Their first date had also been close to disastrous, according to Calum who told Petra later on, because of his band's engagements. But Petra had just laughed and assured Calum second chances were worth giving.

Petra had arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes early, wanting to save a secluded table for both her and Calum. She knew who he was, of course, she knew who Calum Hood was, and she assumed he'd want privacy when it came to things like first dates. so arriving a few minutes early to get the table near the back of the coffee shop was just something she'd wanted to do for him. The coffee shop had been one that Petra had only been to once when she'd gotten lost after a wrong turn and had ended up in the neighborhood. The outside of the building was a white brick, reminding Petra a lot of those old western stores in the movies.

The inside of the coffee shop, which had smelled of fresh coffee and pastries, had large lamps overhead, giving the already bright building an even brighter indoors. The dark green tiles and dark wood accents around the inside were calming, feeling like a place where Petra could sit down for hours and read a book. Usually, she'd bring a book with her wherever she went, but she had left her most recent read in the backseat of her car, not expecting to have much time to read while out on a date. She'd be too busy getting to know the man with pretty brown eyes who she knew was talented enough to get anyone he wanted, and yet he still chose to invite her out to coffee.

"So, Petra, what do you think about coffee?" he'd asked over the phone one day.

They'd been doing this for a while now, talking over the phone during the slow moments of the day where each other's company was comfortable. Petra had learned a lot about Calum during the soft voices exchanged over phone calls. She'd learned that his favorite snack at the moment was fruit gummies even if it made him sound childish, which it didn't. She'd learned that he'd been busy writing a new album with his band and that usually meant he'd disappear off the face of the earth for a couple of days when inspiration hit, but he'd always try and send her a picture or funny meme to let her know he was still very much alive. Petra had learned that Calum, although usually quiet and reserved according to himself, could talk for hours about anything that crossed his mind during those moments in their calls.

"I don't think I'm well versed in coffee if I'm honest," Petra had admitted, "I never know what to order whenever I do end up at a coffee shop."

"Well, how about we go out and find your drink? I know a great spot where we can start," Calum said happily, "You up for it?"

"Yeah, that sounds fun, as long as I don't develop a caffeine addiction," she teased and looked over at her calendar, "How about Wednesday?"

"It's a date."

And it was almost a date, except for the fact that Petra had sat at the coffee shop for almost an hour and had yet to see Calum. Sure, LA was known for having horrible traffic and Petra herself had gotten stuck in it while on her way to the shop, but an hour with no text or calls from Calum had just made her cranky and annoyed. She'd ordered a coffee by herself, regretting her choice as soon as the bitter liquid hit her tongue, and had forced herself to finish it before she eventually decided to call the date done and over with. The walk back to her car had been quick, her head throbbing with annoyance and a hint of embarrassment. She'd been halfway home when her phone rang, Calum's name played across the screen.

"Petra, I'm so sorry!" Calum breathed out, "I know I said I'd been there almost two hours ago but things got crazy at the studio and I know that sounds shitty but I hope you can forgive me and maybe I can make it up to you!"

If Petra had known Calum at least a little less than she did, she would've never picked up the call, she would've let him go to voicemail and maybe not even call him back ever. But she knew Calum wouldn't have stood her up on purpose and she knew that if they really were going to make something more of their phone calls and occasional flirting over text, she'd have to understand what his job entailed sometimes. She was an adult, she knew dating meant sometimes people make mistakes and that working around them was what would make it worth it in the end. 

"Calum, it's...I'm not going to say it's fine because I would've appreciated even just a text saying what was happening,' she sighed, "But maybe we can try again soon, yeah? I had a pretty shitty coffee again, which I am blaming on you," she said with a teasing tone, hoping that Calum caught on to it.

"How about tonight?" Calum asked, his voice hesitant as if he was expecting rejection, "I could pick you up and we can just drive around, maybe pick up some of those burgers you were telling me about? I promise to be on time."

Petra had ended up agreeing to his second first date proposal because he sounded genuine and she couldn't help the flutter in her heart at the mention of the burgers. She'd told Calum about them almost a month ago and knowing he'd remember such a small detail made her a little more hopeful about this working out after all.

"I'll text you my address," Petra chuckled out, "Drive safe, okay?"

Calum's car, which would become a haven for them both at different times in the future, was quiet as they both looked out at the city lights. Their stomachs were full, the burgers and french fries they'd shared making their silence a comfortable one. Calum had profusely apologized the second that Petra's door had opened, the bouquet of flowers in his arms a peace treaty as both of them rode off into the evening.

"The flowers, they're from the same flower shop?" Petra asked as she glanced over at Calum. who'd been focusing on the road.

"Oh, um, yeah," Calum chuckled, "Apparently the cashier and manager were taking bets to see if we'd gather the nerves to go on a date or not," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing as he turned his head to look at her, "Had to tell them about tonight."

"Bets?" Petra laughed and shook her head, "Cherly and Carly, right? The one with the curly hair? She practically bullied me into telling her what had happened when we met," she teased.

The date, which had gone off without another problem or disastrous time issue, had been the most fun Petra had ever had since she'd joined the dating scene in LA. She hadn't expected such a relaxing way to spend her evening to be with an international rock star like Calum. She'd laughed so hard her ribs hurt and had sung out loud in the car with him until her throat was sore. By the end of the night, when the safety of Calum's car had come to an end and the driveway to Petra's house was in view, they both sat in comfortable silence. The engine of the car, which hummed quietly between them, the only noise around as they both glanced at each other.

"I had a lot of fun tonight, I'm glad we did this," Petra said softly, breaking the silence and smiling as she saw the relieved look that washed over Calum's face.

"I'm glad we did too. Again, sorry about earlier today," Calum mumbled and sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh, it's fine, really. Just make sure I get to hear whatever masterpiece you came up with first, yeah?" she teased, leaning over the center console to press a kiss onto his cheek, "Text me when you get home, okay? Drive safe!"

Calum listened to the familiar ring playing from the speaker of his phone, waiting for Petra to pick up. His eyes were busy, focused on the mirror in front of him as he tried to deal with the unruly curls he’d let grow out after Petra insisted on seeing how long they could get. He was halfway across the world, in a hotel he couldn’t pronounce the name of, but it was his last morning there and Petra had no idea that by this time tomorrow he’d be back in her arms. After weeks and weeks of being away, promoting an album that would change the band’s sound and image, Calum was going home to be with his girlfriend. He’d be leaving gloomy Europe, with rainstorms that never seemed to end and accents that he had trouble understanding at times, for the endless sunshine and love that LA had recently shown him. 

“Hi gorgeous,” Petra chuckled as she picked up the phone, “You’re calling quite early for someone who went to bed four hours ago,” she teased. 

“Hi Pebble,” Calum teased, the nickname earning him a groan from across an ocean, “I missed my girlfriend, couldn’t sleep without your snores.” 

“I’ll hang up if you’re just going to tease me,” she threatened with a light laugh, “I miss you too, bub, only a few more days though!” 

“Yeah, you better be ready for me to be stuck to your side for weeks,” he mumbled and chuckled, zipping up his toiletries bag and picking his phone up off the counter, “I’m expecting an amazing brunch spot reservation.” 

“Oh you know me, I’ve got all the connections,” she laughed quietly, “Do you have a busy day today?”

“Mhm, a lot of interviews,” Calum mumbled, his shoulder holding his phone up against his ear as he finished packing the rest of his thumb up, “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to call you again until tomorrow.” 

“That’s fine,” Petra said, the smile evident in the way her voice rose, “You know I’ll still send you an endless amount of pictures and memes.” 

“And I love you for it,” Calum chuckled, “I’ve got to go now, but I’ll talk to you soon?” 

“Of course, have a nice day! Blow them away, bub!” she said happily, her voice warming Calum’s body at the thought that he’d be with her so soon. 

“Will do, Pebbles,” he smirked, laughing quietly as Petra kept her word and hung up the call. 

The ride from the airport back home had been a blur to Calum. All he recalled was stuffing his bags into the back and buckling up, the bright skies and warm weather making him regret the hoodie and thick beanie he’d worn to try and hide from the prying eyes. If he wanted his surprise to truly work, he would need to remain unseen in public. But by the time the car had turned onto the familiar street of his neighborhood, Calum began to squirm in his seat, the excitement of being so close to Petra overcoming him. The car had barely stopped before Calum was unbuckled and out, his bags dragging behind him as he threw out a thank you to his driver as he ran to the front door. The light, which was usually off by the time morning came, was still on; acting as a guiding light for Calum to know that he was truly home.

His key unlocked the front door, leading him into the house he’d begun to call home soon after Petra had come into it, and he was met by the familiar bark of his old dog. Setting his bags down by the entrance, Calum toed off his shoes and pulled off the hoodie that had kept his warmth contained within him. His back ached from the long flight and he was starving, his tummy rumbling at the thought of food, but that wouldn’t stop him from crouching down and petting his dog as he waddled over to him. Duke’s tail wagged from side to side so quickly it was a blur of black and white, his paws landing on Calum’s thighs as he sniffed Calum making sure it was really him. Calum had been so busy greeting his best friend and kissing his stinky head that he hadn’t heard the footsteps coming from the hallways. 

“Duke, I’m sure it was just the mail person again, or the neighbor walking their pup,” Petra mumbled, her eyes widening as she was met with the sight of her boyfriend standing in front of her, “C-Calum?” 

“Hi baby,” Calum grinned, straightening his back out and looking at her with wide eyes, “Surprise!” 

Calum hadn’t had the chance to say much else, the force of Petra running into his arms and hugging him had knocked the breath out of him. His arms wrapped themselves around her waist and pulled her even closer, if that was possible, and Calum’s nose nuzzled against the top of her head. They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing one another in, making sure that they were both truly in the same room again and this wasn’t some cruel dream they’d both wake up from alone in a bed oceans apart. Petra had been the first one to pull away, her eyes meeting Calum’s before she’d cupped his face in her hands and pulled him in for a kiss. 

“I missed you so much,” she mumbled, leaving kisses in between her words, “What’re you doing here? I thought you still had a few days?” 

“I missed you too,” Calum chuckled and smiled, “A few interviews were canceled and they sent us home early. I just got in about an hour ago.” 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad to have you back,” she whispered and nodded, pulling him into another kiss that left Calum giggling against her. 

“I am too.” 

Something Calum loved about the ocean was the vastness of it. Sure, he was absolutely terrified of the secrets it held and the fact that much of it was unexplored, but sitting on the hood of his car with Petra by his side as they both stared out at the waves made of all worth it. After a shower and a much needed snack, Petra and Calum had made their way over to the brunch spot that overlooked the ocean. After a lot of french fries and kisses shared between the two of them, the drive to the ocean was peaceful, both of them taking each other in. By the time they had made it onto the beach, the sunny skies were covered in a fog of clouds. It would be Calum’s luck, after all, to have the rain follow him wherever he went.

“Do you think it’ll rain?” Petra asked, her eyes meeting Calum’s even through the dark sunglasses they both wore. 

“I hope not, I thought I had escaped the rain,” Calum teased and pulled her close, “Come on, let’s walk in the sand a bit.” 

With hands held tightly, their arms swaying as they strolled down the dandy beach, Calum found himself at peace. The past couple of weeks away had left him wanting more from his relationship and wanting to do more for Petra. In the past, the mere thought of a future with someone would’ve had Calum running for the hills. But with Petra it all made sense, he wanted to be by her side every day, to see her go through her day and be there to make her smile. As the first few droplets of rain fell from the sky, he realized that this future, the one with Petra, was all he’d been missing. Their stroll was cut short, much to Calum’s displeasure when the curtains of rain got closer and closer. The waves roared next to them, the ocean alive and ever more powerful as the rainstorm above them finally let go. 

Calum looked over at Petra, who had tugged on his hand and before Calum knew it, they were both racing back to the car. The sand hadn’t made it easier for them to run, both of them stumbling as they raced through the beach in fits of laughter. By the time they’d both shut their doors and panted out breaths, they were completely drenched and looked as if they had jumped onto the ocean itself. They sat in silence watching the view outside of the safety of the car. Watching the waves crash onto the ocean and battle with the clouds above them that were spewing out rain. It was all so violent and sudden, but Calum’s eyes shifted to watch Petra. 

He watched as her eyes widened, watching the storm in awe as his chest rose and fell with each breath she took. He watched as her hand ran through the curls, that not even the rain could mess with, trying to shake the water out of them. She was beautiful without even having to try and Calum was out of breath. But Calum didn’t mind, not at all, because Petra could make even the thing he hated the most a beautiful sight. 

“We should run away to Sydney for a bit,” he mumbled quietly, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as Petra’s eyes met his, “I want you to meet my family.” 

join my taglist: @hoodhoran​ @moonlightcriess​ @mxgyver​ @calpops​ @karajaynetoday​ @notlukehemmo​ @calumrose​ @devilatmydoor​ @lowkeyflop​  @conversecake​​ @hemmo1996-5sosvevo​​ @ashtonsunflower​​ @2fangirl4u​​ @multistann​​ @wiiildflowerrr @himbohood​​ @in-superbloom​​ @ashtonsunflower​​ @suchalonelysunflower​​ @killmywildflower​​ @sebsbrokentoe​​ @nicebasscalum​​ @itwouldburnupintheatmosphere​​ @mikelitorisdotcom @letmereadpls​​ @hardcandyhemmo

#calum hood x reader #calum hood x oc #calum hood blurbs #calum hood imagines #calum hood fics #5sos x reader #5sos x oc #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos fics #5sos #5 seconds of summer #calum hood #gemma writes #calum hood fanfic #5sos fanfic #nation of two cth

[alana-k-asby]

INKLINGS CHALLENGE STORY, FIRST ACT

...

She had her own bedroom, small though it was, in the attic of Halfway House, which was a farmhouse. Every room in the house was a bedroom, besides the kitchen, one dining room crowded with an enormous table, and the three bathrooms.

The morning after she was installed there, Regina appeared in the kitchen, pale-faced and embarrassed, to meet her fellow-inmates.

Three persons were there in the kitchen before her. One was a slim, tall, pale man of uncertain age and stooping shoulders, with oddly yellow hair and a slack face. He wore an apron and stood over the stove, painstakingly scrambling eggs in an old frying pan. He dropped the spatula as soon as he saw Regina, and was kicked by another person who stood near him cooking bacon.

This second person frightened Regina as soon as she saw him, for reasons which stood below the articulable. She looked away from his lips, which were like long, fat worms that curled and shivered when he was not speaking. “Girl,” he hissed at her, and his lips went tight and wide.

After a moment, she realized he was meant to be smiling.

She shrugged to lose the impression he made on her, and inched her way over to the sink, where she washed her face. The third person in the kitchen came and stood by her, leaning backward on the sink. “Bathrooms all occupied?” said a hard feminine voice.

Regina nodded. Drying her face with the nearest towel, she looked at the other woman, who turned out to be short and curly-haired. The woman stared at her boldly out of dark eyes. Her hair was unrecognizably colored, and she wore loose denim all over.

Regina was wearing the clothes she had entered prison in, which comprised a dark skirt-suit. There had been reporters when she had gone to prison; no one cared about her now. “The Heiress Murder,” they had called it, although the judge had called it “involuntary manslaughter.”

“What did you do?” The short woman asked. “Or don’t tell me – you’re innocent.”

“Criminal negligence,” Regina said, the answer she’d gotten used to giving. Everyone knew what that meant. It meant that something had happened accidentally, and they had found someone wealthy to blame. Her fortune had gone into trust, and it wouldn’t be hers again until her sentence was finished. Meanwhile, the government was free to borrow from it.

The tall woman snorted. “Not me. I beat my boyfriend to death. He deserved it.” She slurped some coffee, and dropped her plastic cup into the sink. The coffee splashed Regina. “Ever wonder whether we’re living in some vile timeline, not supposed to be here, things were supposed to be a lot better, but some stupid little thing went wrong?”

Regina glanced at her eyes evaluatively, and draped the towel, which was not terribly clean-smelling, over the dish rack. “All the time,” she said.

“Don’t look so shocked,” the woman said dourly. “I read.” She sauntered away, out onto the porch. Regina followed with her eyes, and saw that the porch was fitted as a common room, with poorly-padded wicker furniture. Its shelves and porch furniture were stocked and strewn with outdated books.

“What else is there to do?” Regina murmured; it was a prison saying.

She looked around uncomfortably. Yellow-haired fellow was rubbing the dropped spatula on his filthy shirt, looking at her with big eyes. Worm-lips nodded at her again. “Bacon be ready soon. Ya hungry?”

“Very,” she said. “Is that for all of us? It’s good of you.” Flattery was a survival skill.

“I’m a good guy,” he said, in a way that let her know he wasn’t. She smiled ingratiatingly, and wondered why men and women were so commonly confined together. She decided to follow Short Gal onto the porch and find something to read.

Once she was there, however, she could look only at her surroundings. Out there, beyond the screened porch, all around the house – there was nothing but rolling Wisconsin hills, blue Wisconsin sky, and rowed Wisconsin cornfields. She turned about and saw there was even a little wood far to the south.

“Lord God in Heaven, I’ve been so beauty-starved,” she said. “I’m going for a walk. You coming?”

Short Gal stared up at her from a worn-out Nurse Ames book. “Do you always talk like that?” she asked.

“Yes,” Regina said. “It keeps the men away.”

Short Gal laughed after a moment, and returned to her book. It was always an acceptable answer.

Regina went outside.

There were four other inmates of Halfway House at that time beside the three she met that first morning, and shortly after she arrived, Regina incurred the enmity of all of them except Yellow-hair.

There came a Sunday afternoon when they sat about the dinner table, eating together with the House-mother, a woman who only visited once a week and seemed painfully bored by them and by her job.

The dinner was half-eaten and cold; but the three other women were weeping. The four men were shouting. Regina stared at them, holding her hands over her ears, and pressing back in her chair. The House-mother stood against the wall, looking terrified. “Stop it, stop it,” she shrieked. She was just a former inmate herself, hired by the people who owned the property.

How it had happened, Regina was not certain. She had decided to come down to dinner with her hair down. She had put product in it and straightened it, and felt it looked all right. But things started going wrong as soon as they sat down. Regina had felt oddly – so dizzy at one moment; so emotional at the next; and then the Yellow-Haired Fellow was staring at her and saying things that Regina was certain were Short Gal’s thoughts. It got more mixed up from there; and then at some point a barn-cat had leaped in through an open window, jumped on Regina’s shoulders, and started rubbing up against her hair. Her hair had sprung out in a crazy, kinky cloud; and everyone had gone mind-lost.

Regina wanted to flee, but she would be docked a week’s pay if she broke a rule, and one rule was that you couldn’t leave the table without being excused when House-mother was there. She looked at House-mother and tried to say, “Dismiss us!” But it came out of someone else’s mouth.

Someone ran into the room, then – someone Regina saw distinctly, but couldn’t speak to. She was a slim girl with a beauty about her that seemed perfectly ordinary as to arrangement of features, yet somehow bewildered Regina with its rare precision. The girl wasn’t affected by the hubbub at all. She ran up and put something white over Regina’s hair, and then leaned down and whispered, “Keep it bound and covered, or this will go on happening.”

And sure enough, everyone calmed down and became exceedingly grumpy. House-mother excused them and left at speed; and Regina went upstairs and came down again with her enormous red hair braided and wound around her head as usual. She wore over her hair the white cap that girl had given her. She kept trying to say something, and forgetting; but later, on the porch, when evening quieted them all, she managed to ask. “Did anyone else see that girl at dinner?”

“Dinner?” Worm-lips asked. “Don’t talk to me about dinner. And don’t you dare come down with your hair all crazy again.” She had turned him down thrice by then, and he hated her deeply. She sometimes caught him staring at her, just working his jaw and mulling over his hatred. She could almost hear him thinking, “Kill her... no... something worse...”

Everyone else was agreeing. None of them had noticed the girl, but they had all gotten the point that Regina’s hair had somehow caused all the trouble. Regina looked at Yellow-Hair, and saw he was the only one not saying anything. He looked uneasy and sorry and worried. Regina gave him a small smile, and stood. “Bed for me,” she said, and slipped through them, toward the attic. Worm-Lips tried to trip her as she went.

...

There were a few other incidents. Regina said something about Worm-Lips to a new girl, a silly, romantically-minded girl, Moira by name. Warned her, and told her that Worm-Lips had killed a young child by punishing it viciously. That had turned Moira off Worm-Lips, which was good; but Moira had told others, and it had come back to him. And Worm-Lips had screamed at Regina, so white-faced: “Who told you? How did you know? No one ever knew!” Regina hadn’t realized, when she told Moira of it, that it wasn’t common knowledge.

Regina was certain Worm-Lips was going to assault her, but the form that assault took in the event shocked everyone who heard about it, even getting into the newspapers. She woke in the middle of the night feeling drugged, hardly able to move, with a terrible stabbing sensation between her legs. She tried to jerk away. In the dark, people stood over her, and a few held her down. “She’s waking up,” hissed someone; it was Worm-Lips, she knew. “Put the pillow over her face while I finish up. Don’t kill her; I want her to know.” She could not even struggle, but she distinctly heard Yellow-Hair weeping and begging. “No, no, not mine, not mine,” he cried. “It’ll be born stupid. Don’t use mine, please!” Something long, hard, warm, and plastic finally entered her, went much too far in; and she screamed into the pillow and blacked out.

Worm-Lips was sent back to prison. They couldn’t transfer everyone to other houses, although everyone had been involved; so they contented themselves by getting rid of the ringleader. They offered to transfer Regina herself; but she asked about the locations of all the other houses, and when she heard that they were all in the city, she refused.

They also made three appointments to get her an abortion, meaning entirely well; but she refused. The first time, she made an excuse. The second time, she explained that what happened wasn’t the baby’s fault. The third time, she unbound her hair. The action confused the counselor, who was not familiar with the superstition shared by the inmates about Regina’s hair; and nothing unusual had happened – except that at the end of the conversation the counselor assured Regina that she knew exactly how she felt, she completely understood, and of course she couldn’t trample all over her conscience like that. She went away, and no one official bothered Regina about abortion again.

The women inmates mocked her about it for a long time, though. “I guess she loves you after all, Georgie,” Short Gal said to Yellow-Hair after they found out she’d refused the abortion for the third time. “She wants your baby.”

“She doesn’t want to kill it,” he said unhappily. “That’s not the same thing.”

“You’re an idiot,” Short Gal said fiercely. She had been the one holding the pillow over Regina’s face, and it made her sick with guilt and fear to remember it. Regina knew this as surely as she knew that Short Gal’s hair was growing out mud-brown.

Regina turned to Yellow-hair. "I don't want to kill him, but I also want him. Not because he's yours; because he's mine."

He was so miserably ashamed he couldn't look at her, but she heard him whispering, "He. He's mine."

Now Regina was four months pregnant and beginning to show; and everyone left her alone with the instinct to protect the young and their mothers which nearly all persons feel, however corrupt. That didn’t stop them all from hating her, however. The women hated her for her beauty, she had discovered; though in her own eyes she was no longer beautiful; not since she had seen the strangely ordinary and bewilderingly lovely girl at that awful dinner. (She kept trying to wonder how she had left, which way she had gone. Had she seen it?) The men hated her for not wanting them, not even a little bit. And they all hated her for being someone they had wronged, and who made them feel guilty by never stooping to an angry word about it. From the very first morning after the assault, Regina had quietly ignored everyone in the house. If they tried to force themselves on her attention, she would uncover her hair and begin to unbind it, and they would turn scared and find business elsewhere.

Oh, she was brave before them all, the ones who had sinned against her! But alone in her room, she pitied and loathed herself in turn; begged God for comfort, and felt it at one moment, and missed it the next. What had she begun to believe about her hair? That it made her special? What nonsense; she had lived with her hair all her life, and nothing like that dinner had happened before. It was the girl, she decided. The girl must have been hanging around. She was the special one; she was the beautiful one. Regina was simply a destroyed woman with a smudged brick for a face and three times as much hair as anyone had a right to.

...

It was midnight, and Regina was climbing out a window. It was cold, but she was well-bundled. A sense of excitement suffused her as she thought about the adventure before her, and she felt the baby move responsively inside. The baby seemed intelligent, and she frequently met him in dreams and shared her heart with him. She held out hope that he would not be born deficient, as poor Yellow-Hair feared. The man was still at Halfway House, but he avoided her out of very deep shame. She wished they would transfer him somewhere for people like him, for both their sakes.

She walked on the grass, to avoid making any noise. It was a brilliantly dark night, the sky crystalline and starry, the air cold but not too dry. She was wrapped up against the cold , but as she walked she unfolded a double-wide white fleece scarf her mother had sent her just that day. It was so beautiful and warm! And it smelled faintly of incense; her mother had perhaps worn it to Church. She carefully wrapped it around her neck and head, and then stopped short. Besides the sensation of warmth it gave her which was very welcome, the scarf gave her an utterly startling sensation of aloneness – of protection – which she had never experienced in her life. She breathed in and out in bliss and found it took no effort at all to keep her mind on good thoughts. She began moving again, heading for the garage where she kept, under a tarp, an old bicycle she’d repaired.

...

Halfway House lay at the north end of a short, overgrown road. Trees leaned over the road from either side, turning it into a cathedral’s center aisle. At the south end lay an abandoned homestead. Between the two, on the east side of the road, there was a Wild Wood of goodish size. Regina usually felt quite sick with fear when she rode past the wood; but tonight she felt not a hint of it. She didn’t even notice when she’d gotten past the wood, and soon she arrived at the homestead. She rode her bike down the overgrown drive, past the empty house with curtains still in the windows, and right up to the enormous barn. Its walls were structurally sound, but the roof had gaping holes in it. Regina found the barn’s hayloft the ideal camping-out spot. It had shelter enough for safety, but allowed her to watch the sky. She would lie there, drinking beauty for an hour, perhaps singing to herself or offering the beautiful prayers of her communion.

The Northern Lights were due to be visible tonight, the newspaper said. She had seen them last night as well, from her attic window; but tonight was the big show, and she would get a wider view.

She brought her bike inside, turning quickly to look at the empty house when she thought she saw a light inside; finding nothing there but a star that shone through two successive windows on opposite walls.

In the hayloft, she climbed up onto a platform above the floor, by way of a built-in ladder, moved the canvass that protected it from bird droppings, and swept the platform with a little broom she kept there. Very few wild animals would climb the ladder; she was safe. She made several trips, bringing her supplies and sleeping bag. Once she was up for good, she started a little cannister fire, which she would put out once the light-show started. She heated some chocolate, set up her bedroll, and read some Albert Payson Terhune with her flashlight. She changed positions, feeling the baby might be a bit squashed.

Turning off the light a few minutes later, she checked the sky, and found the northern lights flickering palely green and blue.

Fire turned down, she sat holding the chocolate in her thermos, with gloved hands. She gazed and drank; set her vessel aside; and gazed some more. She pulled out her little wooden open-hole flute after a while, and played. It all seemed so good; it was, perhaps, God’s way of making up for all the other things.

The first sign that things were about to change was the stampede. A distant thunder seemed to spring up, though the sky was clear. Slowly, Regina pulled herself from her beauty-drunk trance and looked about. The thunder came swiftly closer. It was beneath her. She lay flat on her stomach and leaned over the edge of the platform. A torrent of white deer was stampeding through the barn – entering at one end, and exiting at the other. She had never seen so much as a picture of white deer, and was almost certain they were not native to Wisconsin. She watched, stupefied. And then, too, she could almost have sworn that someone was riding the very first deer; but she could not be sure, and of course that was impossible anyhow.

After they were gone beyond the barn and off into the distance, she lay staring, feeling electricity move through her body again and again.

Then the wind began. It started as an eerie mimicry of the flute she had been playing earlier, carried back to her on a far, whining wind, as if the echo had gotten lost and was only now finding its way back. Again electrified, she stood up and leaned on a post, listening hard. It was fading; she would lose it. Swiftly she unwound the scarf, tearing it away from her head and ears. She held it tightly in her hand; tilted her head to listen.

The whining wind, or breathy flute sound, started up again quite close. Suddenly it was in her face, blowing harder than any wind she’d ever known. She couldn’t breathe. She turned, trying to get free of it; but it kept in her face like an annoying little brother.

She knelt down and grabbed her things, meaning to go right home with whatever she could carry in one climb. But the wind, incredibly, forced her upright again. Her scarf was whipping around in one hand; her flute was screaming in her other.

The strangest thing was the way the wind pushed at her hair, back and forth, as if it had fingers.

Regina was suddenly possessed of the oddest belief – a conviction that the wind wanted her to unbind her hair. She uttered the Holy Name; the wind paused and then pushed at her hair harder. She almost laughed, it had so much personality.

Regina shoved her scarf and flute into the front of her coat. Then she began tearing the pins from her hair. “Stop, you’re not helping,” she told the wind.

It stopped; and that thrilled her worse than anything. She kept unpinning, and took out the bands as well. There was dead silence in the barn, and she stood there terrified and excited.

“Well?” she asked. And then lightning came – a ball of it, rolling about the barn for a moment, and then leaving. Regina reached up and felt her hair, trying to understand why it seemed to be pulling at her scalp, and found it was standing all about her head in a ball.

“Oh, my dear Lord,” she gasped, knowing that Something was Happening, but not knowing how she ought to feel about it.

The next moment she felt something seize her by the hair and lift her off the ground. It ought to have ripped her hair right out of her head, but Regina felt energy pulsing through every strand of hair, pushing back, equalizing the force. Whatever sort of thing had her, there was no doubt her hair was conductive to its energy.

She was flying through the air; she was above the barn. She was staring down at the overgrown road. The movement had paused. She looked around; realized she was high enough to see the curvature of the Earth. She decided not to try and look behind or above her; she was terrified at the thought of seeing who or what had her. God had her, whatever else did.

Then the world seemed to go suddenly flat. She was moving at an incredible speed, over the road, straight toward Halfway House. All about her, the Northern Lights danced.

And then in a moment they went out, and she was lying in front of the farmhouse in the grass, on a sweet-smelling, summery night, looking up at a cloudy sky that was just beginning to release a warm rain. She lay there heaving and looking at the sky and wishing she could cry.

The baby inside turned over sleepily and stretched a bit. Stumbling to her feet, Regina went around to her window, climbed back in, and stumbled into her bed. The blankets and sheets and pillows were gone; so she fell asleep in her coat, and slept deeply.

[navegandoaciegas]

I love my baby to death

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, tiniest bit of angst but really tiny I promise, 3.5k words, set after Endgame

Summary:  “Say, hypothetically, there’s a 100 year old fossil who’s a bit confused most of the time but he’s got the spirit, right?, and he’s outside with a packed duffle bag, what would you do?”

You were supposed to enjoy a solo roadtrip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invites himself along and you can’t say no to his happy face.

A/N: I haven’t slept in a week because of nightmares and I just needed something to cheer me up, I guess. Reader took Steve’s side in CA:CW and spent two years with him as a nomad. You can choose to see her and Natasha as a platonic relationship or a romantic one, it’s up to you.

masterlist

Read the sequel to this here

“They’re just so fuckin’ gross I don’t understand how you can eat them.”

Bucky sends you his best death glare as he continues digging in his soggy cardboard In-N-Out fries.

“We could have literally stopped by Arby’s three miles west of here” you continue, “they have the best fries. We’re missing out, clearly.” you deadpan eyeing his food skeptically. 

“The curly ones? God no, they’re so spicy. I don’t know why you like your food to hurt but I don’t.”

“Okay, first of all they’re not spicy at all, I don’t know where you got that from. And second, they have a taste at least, unlike these.” You reiterate your point by swinging one the fries in his face. Bucky just grabs your hand and bites the fry, almost biting your fingers off too.

“Yeah, like that god-awful spicy chicken you forced on me the other day? No thank you, ma’am, I’ll stand by my own food choices.” 

You snort. “Not my fault your post-Depression ass can’t handle anything other than salt and black pepper. But sure, go ‘head and enjoy your sorry excuse of a meal, Buck.”

“People from your generation sure love complaining, huh? Back in my days you ate what your mama made you and never bitched about it, or else you went to bed hungry.” 

God, he’s such a grampa. You make a show of rolling your eyes and huffing in annoyance. He likes his senior citizen card a bit too much. He tries to stifle a laugh when he sees the look on your face and just shakes his head at you. 

California (and Bucky Barnes) has stolen your heart and you’ve loved this road trip so much you often wonder why it took you being snapped and facing the end of the world twice to retire from the avenging business. 

Fresno is interesting, to say the least. 

He wanted to stop by, saying something about wanting to see “an old pal from the war” ’s hometown for himself, and you’ve been dreaming about exploring Yosemite for as long as you can remember.

-

Online pictures of Yosemite National Park were stunning but the real thing is just breathtaking. 

You never thought camping would become your thing and you never imagined you’d enjoy stargazing so much. In five months you’ve discovered how big of a nerd Bucky really is and he’s been trying to teach you the names of all the stars and constellations. 

He sees Big Dipper, Orion, Ursa Major and Minor; you see pretty twinkling lights and the occasional shooting star. Nevertheless you sit through hours and hours of explanations, because when he speaks of the things he’s passionate about, Bucky is the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You know, the stars are one of the things I missed the most.” he says softy, furrowing his brows as he does when he remembers something from the past. “Stevie and I used to do that as kids sometimes. We’d sneak out of our houses and go on the roof of this abandoned building to watch the stars. Now there’s so much goddamn light everywhere, you can’t even see them anymore.”

Sometimes when you stop and think about it, really think, you can’t imagine how hard it must have been for them, having everything, even the night sky taken away from them. 

“Steve never told me.” 

“He probably missed the stars too.”

You eye him looking for clues on how he might feel, but you only see a sad smile on his face. “You miss him, don’t you?”

“Every damn day.” his voice cracks and you hold him closer.

“I know Buck, I miss him too. I miss him so much that sometimes I feel like my life has no direction without my Captain.” You’re barely holding back your own tears at this point, “But we’ve got Sam if we need orders, yes?” but you still try to make him smile. You’re always going to try for him.

Your attempt works and he snorts. Always bring Sam up to cheer Bucky.

“I hope he was happy, you know.” he says, “I hope he made the right choice and never regretted a thing. I hope that now he looks back and thinks he wouldn’t have had it any other way. His happiness is all I could ever ask for.”

You cling to each other that night and cry until the early morning. It feels good to let it all out, to let Steve go and look at the future. You’ve lost too much but tonight you only have hope.

-----

New York

Five months before

“Words on the street is you’re retiring your crusty old ass from the field.” 

Sam is leaning on the door of your hotel room with his arms folded and a pleased look on his face.

“Rumors travel fast in this post-apocalyptic word, I see.” you say as you continue stuffing a duffle bag with all the clothes you have left.

“How are you?” Sam asks, with his newly found Captain voice. You wonder if it’s something in that damn shield that gives them that stern commanding tone.

“Tryina analize me, Sammy? I’m not one of your guys at the VA.”

It’s not like you’re pissed at Sam, you love him with all your heart, you’re just angry at the world and Sam’s the one standing in your way right now.

You hear him sigh, “I know what you’re feeling right now, I understand why you would think that-” “Don’t” you interrupt him, “Don’t give me that speech, Fury did that for you already. I’m not running away from my problems.”

“I’m not saying that-” you really don’t want him to talk today, so you stop him again “No but you’re thinking it.”

“I know what it’s like.” he says raising his voice “To lose who you care the most in the world. We all lost someone important but you lost Natasha and I know, trust me I know what you feel right now, because it’s what I felt when I lost Riley.” 

You stop and swallow the tight lump in your throat.

Your eyes well up with tears as you turn to look at him. You’ve been so blinded by your own pain and anger you didn’t stop for a moment to think about others. “I’m sorry Sam, I shouldn’t have treated you like that.” you say sobbing.

Why did she have to leave you?

Stupid, stupid Natasha. Why did she have to sacrifice herself for the world?

Why her?

He hugs you tight and rocks you back and forth. “I understand why you’re leaving and I’m not here to stop you, I promise. Just keep in touch, yes? Text me everyday so I’m not tempted to track you down and fly wherever you are to see if you’re good.”

You smile for the first time in a long time.

“Don’t worry Sam, you’ll get tired of all the selfies I’ll send you, eventually.” 

“You know I’ll never get tired of this pretty face.” he says raising his eyebrows suggestively, making you laugh. “Good, that’s my girl. I missed this laugh so much.”

You stay in his arms a while longer until it’s time for you to leave.

“This is not the only reason I’m here.” he says and clears his throat, “Say, hypothetically, there’s a 100 year old fossil who’s a bit confused most of the time but he’s got the spirit, right?, and he’s outside with a packed duffle bag, what would you do?”

“What?” you manage to stammer out. “Bucky just... wants to...tag along?” 

You are now as confused as Bucky is most of the time.

Sam shrugs. “I guess? You know he’s weird like that.”

What he really means is he’s just like you, lost and confused and in desperate need to live a little, but he doesn’t say it out loud. There’s no need to.

“So, would you mind if he came too?”

You see Bucky standing outside, leaning on your SUV. He’s cut his hair short and he looks hotter than you would like to. He turns around and waves at you with a big smile on his face. Like Sam often says, you too like his energy.

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

----

Denver, Colorado

It’s a long way from New York to Colorado and if you’re honest, you’ve loved every minute of it and you’re glad Bucky came along with you. He’s witty, laid back, snarky, smart and overall a fun guy for someone who was a prisoner to nazis for 70 years.

“Look all I’m saying is I think Edward is a fuckin’ creep. Would you like it if someone stood in your room and looked at you while you sleep?”

“But is that someone a hot vampire, Bucky?”

“It literally doesn’t even matter.”

“Stop saying literally Buck, you’re a 100 year old man, not a valley girl.”

-

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Lemme check a map.”

“Bucky it’s on the screen there, Google says we have 20 minutes left.”

“But can we trust this Google guy?”

-

“All I’m saying is if you made and enjoyed congealed salads you probably don’t deserve your right to vote for the future of this country.”

“I mean...fair enough?”

-

“Do we count blipped years or not?”

“At this point it, it barely makes a difference in my case, doll.”

“Honestly you’ve got a point, old man.”

-

“How are you so calm right now?”

“My standards are so low it’s practically impossible to piss me off.”

“But you aren’t even a little bothered?”

“Chill, it’s just a flat tire, it’s gonna take 10 minutes to fix.”

“Buck we talked about the things that are unacceptable. ‘Chill’ coming out of your mouth is one of those.”

It’s your second week in Denver already, and you’re having the time of your life. 

Bucky is spooning you like he usually does. You think back to the first time you’ve shared a bed and you almost giggle at the memory. 

“Uh, Buck?”

“Yes?”

“We might have a problem.”

He enters the room after you and his eyes widen when he sees it.

There’s a bed in the room.

A single bed.

You weren’t expecting much from this place that gives you ‘Bates Motel’ vibes, but you thought you’d have two beds, or at least a couch.

“I’ll just sleep on the floor, don’t worry about it.”

“What?” you shriek “Absolutely not, I’m not letting you suffer all night. We’re going to share.”

“But I-”

“No buts, you know how many times I slept with Steve? I’m used to you supersoldier men by now, I’m no longer affected by your kicks.”

He stays silent. “You and Steve used to…?”

Only then you realize you could have phrased it better.

“God no, I meant just, ya know, share bed.”

He smiles and nods. Why does he look relieved?

Now he clings to you every night, and most times he’s the little spoon because he likes to be held. You used to hate sleeping tangled with someone else until you woke up on top of Bucky, his hands caressing your back, and he told you he had the best night of sleep he’s had in decades.

There’s a lot of things you do just because they make him happy, actually.

But how could you not?

There’s no point in denying your feelings.

----

Salt Lake City, Utah

God, you love Utah.

You drive through immense stretches of red desert whilst Bucky blasts Nicki Minaj like his life depends on it; that’s how it always ends up when he rides shotgun.

He insisted on visiting Monument Valley despite it being out of your way, but you can never find it in yourself to refuse him anything, so you drove 9 hours straight from Denver to the southern border of Utah just so he could see a place that looks a lot like the ones in those Western cowboy movies from the 50s and 60s he loves so much.

“Yasha would have hated it here so much.” you say as you pull over the Airbnb you’ve rented for a couple of days in Salt Lake City.

He snorts, “Yeah, I bet she would have.”

You thought time would heal all wounds and that someday you might stop feeling the void in your life when you think of her, but now you know you’ll never stop hurting. She was such a big part of your life for so long that your heart will never stop aching for her. 

Sometimes you think how she never got to see you again after you were snapped. 

You wonder if she ever stopped missing you.

You know you’ll never not miss her.

-

You’ve driven for more than humanly possible in two days, but he’s a supersoldier and you’re really stubborn, and now you can’t wait to sleep in a nice bed for the first time in a long while. Usually you just make do with motels, but tonight you wanted to treat yourselves.

You enter the place and notice immediately the two queen size beds. 

You should be relieved, and if it was 4 months ago when you first shared a bed you would probably be, but now you’re so used to his warm body next to yours, his flesh arm over you and his face resting in the crook of your neck that you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to fall asleep without him.

“I’ll go shower first if you don’t mind.” you say as you mentally berate yourself for your thoughts. 

Your goal to not fall in love with Bucky Barnes flew out the window somewhere in the green fields of Western Iowa, but at this point you’re just treading a dangerous path and you know you’re going to get hurt.

There’s no way Bucky feels the same about you, right?

You get out the shower, put on a t-shirt you’ve stolen from Steve ages ago and get out of the bathroom, only to stop when you see Bucky on the bed you claimed as yours.

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind but I feel better when I sleep with you.”

Maybe he does.

----

Nevada

Technically it takes roughly 43 hours to get from New York to Sacramento by car. It took you almost five months.

You’ve been covering Interstate 80, stopping and visiting towns, cities and parks along the way as you pleased, sleeping in seedy motels, your SUV or that fancy ass tent Bucky bought somewhere in Ohio. You’ve begged Bucky to drive from Salt Lake City straight to Sacramento, stopping only when it’s absolutely necessary; you’ll be visiting Nevada after California anyways, so for now you’re just enjoying the scenic drive, with the windows rolled down and the air messing up your hair.

“What’s that song called?” Bucky asks and raises the radio’s volume.

“That’s Dani California by Red Hot Chili Peppers.” you answer absentmindedly, distracted by the seemingly endless stretch of black asphalt and yellowish nothingness around it.

She’s lover, baby and a fighter

Shoulda seen it coming when I got a little brighter

Bucky sings along and smiles glancing your way.

“I like this.” he exclaims when the song ends “Can we listen to it again, please?”

You smile softly and play it again. If there’s one thing Bucky is capable of is listening to the same song on repeat multiple times until you’re so sick of it you don’t ever want to hear it again.

 Who knew the other side of you

Who knew what others died to prove

You never thought Bucky would be like this, or that you’d be privileged enought to see this side of him.

There’s a big smile on his face and the orange hues of the sky reflect in his clear eyes. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the vibranium one resting on the car’s door and he looks so different from the man haunted by his past and loneliness you met in Budapest all those years ago. He looks so carefree and relaxed now, so happy. 

You are proud of him.

California rest in peace

Simultaneous release

California show your teeth

She’s my priestess and I’m your priest

I love my baby to death

------

San Diego, California 

You’ve hiked the hills of southern Cali and gone parapending in Torrey Pines. You landed on a breathtaking beach with beautiful dark sand and soon found out, much to Bucky’s dismay and utter disgust, that it was a nudist beach.

He grumbled something about ‘hygiene’ and ‘decor’ and you just laughed at his flustered state.

“First time seeing a naked woman, old man?” you asked in between fits of laughter.

You didn’t notice the sea lion swimming next to you in La Jolla and not even Thanos’ creepy gang could have scared you as much when you turned around and looked him dead in the eyes. Bucky got his revenge filming you as you shot out the ocean with a shrill, covered in algae and terrified. 

You are loving the San Diego area so far. Minus the sea lions.

“Hey I- uh- do you mind if I take the car? I wanted to go do some shopping.” Bucky tells you.

He’s really embarrassed for some reason.

You shrug and mumble a ‘sure’ before going back to basking in the sun by the pool of the hotel you’re staying at.

“Okay, I-I guess I’ll g-go then, I’ll come pick you up at 5.30 for dinner.” he stutters out.

Weird, you think, but you don’t give it too much thought. Bucky is like that.

-

Dinner time rolls around and as promised Bucky comes pick you up on time.

You’re wearing a short green dress with white daisies printed on it and a pair of strappy white sandals. You look good and you know it; Bucky knows it too, judging from the glances he tries to sneak your way.

“So, uhm-” he clears his voice, “I know it’s going to sound weird but I promise it’s not. Can I- Can I blindfold you?”

Can he...what? You could split me in half and I’d be glad about it, you’d like to say.

“Kinky. You could at least buy me differ first, tho.” you settle for something safer instead.

He blushes three shades darker than his usual color and you take the black scarf he’s handing you, barely concealing a teasing smile.

He drives around for a while. When you get to your destination the first thing you hear is the waves beating on the shore and the smell of the ocean. He helps you get out and guides you somewhere.

“Wait here.” 

You hear him park the car in reverse, open the trunk and fiddle with something. He comes up behind you and removes the blindfold. You feel his hot breath on your neck and it sends tingles down your spine straight to your pu- “You can look now.”

When you open your eyes you are stunned for a moment. You turn around with a big smile that turns even bigger when you notice the blankets and the little picnic he’s assembled in the trunk.

“Buck, this is- I can’t believe you remembered.”

Somewhere in Colorado you mentioned how romantic you thought Sunset Cliffs were, and how much you wished you could do something like this. It was a fleeting moment, a thought uttered out loud absentmindedly over a couple of drinks in some bar. You were tipsy and you were running your mouth about all the things you’d want in a partner to some random girl who became your best friends for the night.

You realize you’re tearing up when his fingers grace your cheeks.

It feels nice to be cared about so much. It’s been too long since someone took such good care of you.

“I thought I’d do something special for you.” he says with an adorable blush.

“Thank you Bucky, I love this.” you hug him tightly and bury your face in his chest, inhaling his scent.

“Anything for my girl.”

“When did I become your girl, huh?” you ask teasingly.

“Probably when I invited myself on this trip.”

You both laugh at that.

You swallow hard when you see the look on his face. God, how did you miss the signs? You were always a better sniper than a spy, Yasha always told you.

Your heart is beating out of your chest in anticipation as he leans down slowly and your lips brush lightly. His hands are on your waist and yours on his broad shoulders. He kisses you timidly at first, and more passionately as he gains confidence. 

“I wanted to do this since Bucharest.” he confesses after your lips part.

“Took you long enough, Sarge.”

But it was worth the wait.

-

Tonight’s sunset will be burned in the back of your mind permanently. 

You kiss and laugh some more, and feed eachother seedless grapes because they’re the only ones you eat. He’s brought strawberries, white wine because you don’t drink red, hummus and pita and an assortment of cheese and crackers.

You kiss and talk, cuddle, laugh and kiss some more all night.

You’ve accepted long ago that you’ll never fill the gaping hole in your lives, but that night when you make love to eachother the void in your hearts that Steve and Natasha left behind doesn’t seem as encompassing as it usually is.

---

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please reblog and comment, feedback is always appreciated 🥺🤲 might fuck around and write Bucky’s POV too.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n

[dweemeister]

Oklahoma! (1955)

Composer Richard Rodgers was in search of a new songwriting partner in the early 1940s. His previous partner, the lyricist Lorenz Hart, was devolving into an alcoholism that would soon claim his life. Wanting to transform Lynn Riggs’ rustic play Green Grow the Lilacs into a musical, Rodgers would find a new lyricist in Oscar Hammerstein II, who had not been involved in any Broadway successes for some time. Rodgers and Hammerstein’s 1943 adaptation of Rigg’s play was Oklahoma! and – despite widespread predictions that Broadway audiences would only flock to modern, urbane works – it became the longest-running Broadway musical for another dozen or so years. It began one of the most fruitful, important, and accomplished musical theater partnerships in the medium’s history.

Interest in a cinematic treatment from Hollywood’s major studios for the first Rodgers and Hammerstein musical came almost immediately after the initial reviews for Oklahoma!, but the rights went not to a movie studio, but a film equipment start-up known as the Magna Theatre Corporation. Magna’s owners intended Oklahoma! as a test for the Todd-AO widescreen process (a rival to Cinerama), but more on that and the film’s unique distribution history – which involves RKO and 20th Century Fox – later. Most importantly, the lack of studio executives to appease meant that Rodgers and Hammerstein could have full control over the film’s structure and musical/narrative changes for this adaptation. Directed by Fred Zinnemann (1952’s High Noon, 1953’s From Here to Eternity) – an unorthodox choice, given his expertise for morally complex dramas and no musical experience – 1955’s Oklahoma! is a harbinger for the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical films to come, and an inextricable part of the duo’s legacy.

Somewhere in the Oklahoman countryside, amid corn as high as an elephant’s eye, is the clean-cut cowboy Curly McLain (Gordon MacRae). Curly is en route to the farmstead of his crush, Laurey Williams (Shirley Jones in her cinematic debut), and Laurey’s aunt, Aunt Eller (Charlotte Greenwood). There, Curly invites Laurey to the box social scheduled for later that evening. Annoyed that it took him this long to ask her out, Laurey decides instead to go the box social with the Williams’ antisocial and intimidating farmhand, Jud Fry (Rod Steiger). Elsewhere at the train station, another cowboy, Will Parker (Gene Nelson) might be singing about how much he was entranced by Kansas City, but he is searching for his sweetheart, Ado Annie (Gloria Grahame) – herself entranced by traveling salesman Ali Hakim (Eddie Albert in brownface).

No members of the original Broadway cast reprised their roles for this film, which also stars Barbara Lawrence and character actors James Whitmore, Jay C. Flippen, and Roy Barcroft.

As Curly, MacRae is like a Broadway stage version of the characters Gene Autry or Roy Rogers might have played in another decade. MacRae, who started his career as a Broadway and radio singer, had just run down the end of his contract with Warner Bros. (signed in 1947) when he appeared in Oklahoma!. At Warners, he starred in a number of musicals including Look for the Silver Lining (1949) and opposite Doris Day in On Moonlight Bay (1951), but he had only starred in a film adaptation of stage musical once before. MacRae, despite a long hiatus from the Broadway stage, is a natural here: charming and exuding a natural chemistry with co-star Shirley Jones. This exterior, however, is not without malice – as seen in the scene where Curly tries to influence Jud to commit self-harm. Cut from the same baritone cloth like contemporary Howard Keel (Frank Butler in 1950’s Annie Get Your Gun, Adam Pontipee in 1954’s Seven Brides for Seven Brothers), MacRae never achieved the popularity that other stage-to-screen musical stars of the ‘30s and ‘40s did (and, of course, Julie Andrews much later on).

The film’s surprise package for audiences in 1955 was in Shirley Jones. Jones, rather than subjecting herself to a vetting process by a director, casting director, or studio executives, was hand-picked by Rodgers and Hammerstein. Stunned by her 1953 audition for the premiere of South Pacific but wanting more experience for the then-nineteen-year-old, the songwriting duo kept Jones in mind for future productions and signed her on a contract (Jones was the first and only singer to be contracted to Rodgers and Hammerstein). With a few years of Broadway productions under her belt, Jones still came to Oklahoma! lacking an understanding on how to tailor sharper emotions to a film camera. With Fred Zinnemann’s assistance, she navigates Laurey’s light romantic comedy scenes and tumultuous friendship (if one can call it that) with Jud maturely – one could scarcely believe this is her cinematic debut. For Laurey, she accentuates the character’s naïveté, especially in respect to how she acts around men and romantic idealizations, without feeling grating or overacting (a common problem when approaching characters without much life experience) the part. Jones’ excellence in Oklahoma! would land her the lead in Carousel (1956), with other Hollywood hits in Elmer Gantry (1960) and The Music Man (1962) to follow.

As their artistic collaboration progressed, Rodgers and Hammerstein did not shy away from asking heavier questions in their musicals. Their first two projects, Oklahoma! and the musical film State Fair (1945) are relatively airy, flighty compared to their successors – the darkness of morality in Carousel, the racist beliefs of the lead character in South Pacific. Foreshadowing that later drama in successive musicals is the misanthropic (not just misogynistic) character of Jud Fry. Played by Rod Steiger, Jud is a villain without any redeeming qualities in the original musical. Steiger’s Jud remains a reprehensible character, but Steiger – as have most other actors who have played Jud in on stage in the decades since – positions Jud as more of a loner whose social ineptitude results in an unchecked covetousness over Laurey. To some reading that last sentence, that distinction between portrayals of Jud may not make any meaningful difference in one’s negative opinions about the character and his actions. Yet, Steiger’s portrayal of Jud – as sloppy, maladjusted, knowing little else about life other than farm work – is nevertheless a refinement on the character Rodgers and Hammerstein originally did not give much thought to.

Zinnemann’s dramatic tendencies needed moderation, as they sometimes threated to overshadow the musical features. Although, to Zinnemann’s credit, as a dramatist first, he imbues Oklahoma! with a dramatic fervor that came to define all Rodgers and Hammerstein musical film versions after it – something that one never received from the somewhat assembly line-like musical from Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) and Fox. Oklahoma! was Zinnemann’s first widescreen film, as well as the first time he shot in color.  The emotional intensity of his earlier movies would be antithetical to the sweeping rural cinematography that he and cinematographer Robert Surtees (1959’s Ben-Hur, 1971’s The Last Picture Show) and Floyd Crosby (1931’s Tabu: A Story of the South Seas, 1960’s House of Usher) needed to capture. Zinnemann, Surtees, and Crosby offer sumptuous images of the Arizona countryside (Oklahoma’s oil wells proved too plentiful and distracting for the production) and the inviting blue sky that overhangs the cornfields sweeping across the land. With widescreen cameras rather new around 1955, the cameras wisely stay further back in interior scenes (shot at MGM’s studios in Culver City, California) with numerous people, directing our gaze centrally with brilliant blocking from the actors. The staging nevertheless feels like a stagebound musical during some interior scenes, like a lower-budget MGM musical with a trivial plot.

The widescreen cinematography, of course, was purposefully a showcase – see the shots of Gene Nelson spinning his rope directly towards the camera in “Kansas City” and the shot of an overly-excited auctioneer hammering their gavel and having the gavel nearly break the camera in another. Magna Theatre Corporation intended Oklahoma! to be a demonstration of their new Todd-AO 70mm process, in hopes of competing against Cinerama (which used three synchronized projectors at once on a curved screen). Because some theaters could not support the widescreen prints, two different versions of Oklahoma! exist: one in Todd-AO and another in CinemaScope (the latter a 20th Century Fox invention). This review is based on the Todd-AO print – which I recommend over the CinemaScope print – that currently is streaming on Disney+. Another note about the Todd-AO print: the first two films shot on Todd-AO 70mm – Oklahoma! and Around the World in Eighty Days (1956) – were shot in 30 frames per second (FPS) rather than the standard twenty-four. Thus, the Todd-AO print will appear slightly smoother in motion than most all other films, including modern ones.

Why 30 FPS for film screenings in 1955? Higher frames per second result in less noticeable light flickering and more dynamic colors (these effects for movies shot at higher FPS rates only apply to films shot on film stock, not digital). However, film projectors with a Todd-AO print would run hotter, requiring simultaneous cooling of the film while it ran through the projector. All subsequent films shot on Todd-AO reverted to the standard twenty-four frames per second.

Diehard musical fans often consider Fred Zinnemann’s Oklahoma! the most faithful – narratively, musically – of all the Rodgers and Hammerstein film adaptations. Deleted from Oklahoma! are two songs: Ali Hakim’s chauvinistic “It’s a Scandal, It’s a Outrage! [sic]” and Jud’s brooding “Lonely Room”. The former has among the least musical interest in the entire musical, but “Lonely Room” might have been a helpful source of characterization of Steiger’s Jud (the limited vocal range required for the song would suit Steiger). Otherwise, some of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s most iconic songs are present, starting with “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’”. Sung solo by MacRae on horseback (as opposed to being sung completely offstage in the original stage version), it serves the same purpose as the title song from The Sound of Music (1965) does. It establishes Curly’s character (mostly), and establishing the vast environs where the film takes place. The atmospheric opening shot of the camera moving through the corn and opening up into a grassy landscape might seem corny inane, but what a visual message it sends for one of the early widescreen American movies. Curly’s solo leads into “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top”, as he attempts to woo Laurey into accompanying him to the box social. A brief visual aside to allow viewers who do not know what a surrey looks like is a touch that a stage musical cannot provide, but this song – along with my choice of the best song in the musical, “People Will Say We’re in Love” (which gives MacRae and Jones a lovely duet with the production’s most romantic melodies) – exemplifies the rapport between MacRae and Jones and their two characters.

There remains charm aplenty across the musical score. Gene Nelson’s rendition of “Kansas City” is by no means essential to the plot of Oklahoma!, but it is a diverting number with some fancy footwork by not only Nelson (essentially the film’s comic relief and using a perfect, non-jarring voice for such a role), but Charlotte Greenwood and the scene’s extras as well. And then, arriving late, there is also the lively title song, delivered by MacRae with a similar energy as he employs for “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’”. “Oklahoma” became the official state song for Oklahoma in 1953, replacing a lesser-known song, “Oklahoma – A Toast”. Credit must also go to the extras and chorus for spearheading the song for its second half, as well as Robert Russell Bennett for his gorgeous (and definitive) vocal arrangement.

As its theatrical release drew near, details of the distribution of Oklahoma! would depend on which print a theater received. If a movie theater screened the Todd-AO 70mm print, Magna handled the distribution; if they showed the anamorphic CinemaScope 35mm print, the responsibility fell to RKO. RKO – the studio that gave audiences King Kong (1933), Citizen Kane (1942), and distributed all Disney movies until Rob Roy: The Highland Rogue (1954) – had fallen into turmoil by the mid-1950s and, by decade’s end, would be the first of the Big Five Hollywood studios to cease operations. The studio’s tyrannical owner, the eccentric Howard Hughes, disemboweled the studio from the inside out, and is a story for another day. Due to Hughes’ mismanagement, RKO withdrew from distribution and, in their place, came 20th Century Fox. Todd-AO and Fox shared theatrical and home media rights until Fox’s purchase by Disney in 2019; Todd-AO and Disney retain the split-ownership arrangement over Oklahoma!.

Though Oklahoma! is not usually part of most cinephiles’ and musical nerds’ pantheons of great Hollywood musicals, its contributions to the subsequent Rodgers and Hammerstein film adaptations are unmistakable. The duo’s closeness to numerous parts of the film’s production, the stunning widescreen cinematography, and the casting of actors with proven musical ability are hallmarks to be replicated, even in lesser adaptation such as South Pacific (1958) and Flower Drum Song (1961). For Rodgers and Hammerstein, they were so pleased from working with Fox that they continued to provide the rights to their musicals for all of their works’ adaptations with the exception of Flower Drum Song (which went to Universal). Like their work on Broadway, their best music and best movie adaptations of their musicals was yet to arrive. Oklahoma! marks a solid, healthy start to that run of adaptations, a hallmark of mid-century American moviemaking.

My rating: 7.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Oklahoma! #Rodgers and Hammerstein #Fred Zinnemann #Gordon MacRae #Shirley Jones #Gene Nelson #Gloria Grahame #Charlotte Greenwood #Rod Steiger #James Whitmore #Richard Rodgers #Eddie Albert #Oscar Hammerstein II #Robert Surtees #Floyd Crosby #My Movie Odyssey

[anthonyed]

buckytony for “it’s cold, you should wear my jacket”? only if you’re still taking prompts !

Thank you for requesting, Ava! I hope you like this:) (from this list)

-//-

Bucky Barnes loves people.

He genuinely loves them; the way they interact, the way they act and react and all of their emotions especially their unsurmountable passion – Witnessing that in itself can be electrifying.

Secretly, Bucky wishes he could taste that much passion at least once. 

Subconsciously, he seeks them out in people he’s around – Hoping even if it’s not his own, at least, someone would be kind enough to share theirs.

-

When he first tries to acclimatize to the ecosystem in the Avengers tower, he sticks a lot with Bruce because Bruce oozes tranquillity.

Bruce has weekly tea dates with Natasha, whom Bucky kinda remembers but also kinda doesn't. But since he's leaving all those memories behind and moving on, he doesn't wallow into that part of his past too much. 

He joins them on their tea dates. Natasha later invites him for Yoga sessions and once Bucky is confident enough to be alone with her, he joins her.

They practice various poses for hours and at the end of each session, Bruce will pop in to lead them through meditation. Which is all good; a reliable system in the building if you ask for Bucky’s opinion.

But Natasha occasionally goes on missions and Bruce on some personal trips; sometimes both of their trips coincide and Bucky's left fending for himself.

These are the times when he pops out of his room, feet padding in the direction of boisterous laughter which comes from Sam Wilson and Clint Barton; resident's children.

They teach him how to play video games and curse in 21st century slang. He learns slurs and cuss words which he then practices on Steve for personal entertainment.

There's also Miss Potts who flutters in and out of their life like a hummingbird.

Bucky first meets her on an early Monday morning; sitting alone at the communal kitchen table talking to herself (which he later learns was to an earpiece).

She's thoughtful in a way that nobody else is.

She loudly complains about Tony Stark while jabbing at the coffee machine pointedly, making sure Bucky could see what she is doing - And he realises half-way through that she is teaching him how to operate the machinery without being obvious about it.

She's lovely; Bucky likes her very much.

He also likes Jim Rhodes, who is worse than Miss Hummingbird. 

Who visits during the Memorial Day, gets stupid drunk trying to out drink Stevie then uses Bucky as his beanpole for the entire afternoon recounting all of his favourite military tales until he passes out.

Bucky doesn't mind; Colonel Rhodes smells nice under all the alcohol and he makes very funny jokes. 

There’s also the fact that Tony Stark loves him very loudly and proudly.

Like Stevie, he thinks; Tony Stark is Colonel Rhodes’ Stevie (Or maybe it’s the other way around, Bucky needs more time to figure that one out.)

Harold 'Happy' Hogan catches Bucky stepping out of the tower one night and offers to drive him in one of Stark's long weiner cars. When Bucky says no thanks, he crooks a finger and shows him where the motorbikes are.

"Are you sure...?"

"As long as you don't crash," Happy tosses a set of keys and Bucky accepts it, reluctantly.

But the ride he gets that evening is both soul-shifting and addictive, and he feels more reluctant returning the key when it ends.

“Never mind,” Happy tells him, “These are accessible any time, just ask JARVIS for them.”

And Bucky thinks Happy is cool that way. So, when he's coming home from long rides then on, Bucky makes sure to grab burgers with extra fries for him. Happy likes them curly; Bucky remembers that too for him,

Bucky meets Tony Stark on the battle-field for the first time. Static, machine-modulated voice tells him to watch his "sexy six" and Bucky blushes three shades darker under the afternoon Sun.

Later, after long countless observations, Bucky learns Tony Stark flirts like he breathes; no intentions what-so-ever beneath his wicked tongue.

But Bucky's got a heart too tender just blooming out of ash like baby phoenix and he couldn't help but get deeply affected by each one of those passes Tony throws at him.

He blushes like a red rose in July; warm and pretty and everyone notices the weakened state of his knees.

From Bruce to Natasha to Stevie, Sam and Clint. Hell, even Happy and Miss Potts could see past his breastbone where his heart flutters out of control when Tony Stark is around.

Come Halloween, Colonel Rhodes passes through; staying for one night and in the span of less than five hours he's been around, he corners Bucky in the kitchen and asks him what his intentions are.

Bucky stutters through his response; even apologizes for his over-reaction to Tony Stark's meaningless flirtation.

But Jim Rhodes cocks his head right and squeezes his arm. He says if there is anyone he'd trust to make his Tony happy, then it would be: "You, Sergeant Barnes"

Colonel Rhodes flies early on November 1st, but his words stick long and hard in Bucky's brain for weeks on end.

Then one day, an idea strikes him.

He rolls out of the bed with a sense of urgency; sending texts to both Bruce and Tasha, apologizing for not being able to make it to today's tea session and he hops into the elevator; pulling his shoes on, one after another.

"The workshop please, Mister JARVIS," he requests.

He knows Tony's in. Heard him talking to Miss Potts this morning about clearing out his schedule and Bucky hopes with all of his beating heart that his plan wouldn't face any rejection from Tony.

Stepping into the shop, breathless from all the emotions boiling in his chest, Bucky blurts out: "Come out with me."

Tony stark; stunned behind his protective eyewear, arms bare through his singlet, drops the welding torch he's been manning with a loud clang.

"Now?" he asks.

Not 'Are you kidding me?' or 'No fucking way'; but, 'Now?' he asks while wiping his fingers on a cloth, looking ready to follow like he’s been waiting for Bucky to come around since ages ago.

Bucky grins at him. "Yeah," he nods, "It’s cold, you should wear my jacket." He tosses the extra pair he'd grabbed from his closet and Tony catches it with an ease and an amused grin.

“Your jacket, Sergeant? I could swoon.”

“Good,” Bucky says, watching him pull it on. “I was hoping you would.”

Ten minutes later, they're speeding on the freeway on one of Tony's bikes; late Autumn breeze licking where their skins are uncovered, and it's freezing cold. But Bucky could only taste the warmth from Tony’s body plastered against him; his arms, tight and securely locked around his midriff. Like bursts of sunlight in a snow-storm.

They stop for dinner at one of the diners Bucky had been to twice before - could vouch for their food - and he's more than glad when Tony wipes his plate clean with the last fry.

When he packs for Happy like he usually does, Tony watches him with a curious kind of softness in his brown eyes; so, Bucky shares their little story with him.

On their way back home, they pull over at the side of the freeway that’s shaving the top of a small hill overlooking a neighbourhood and it’s guarded by a long silver railing which Tony hops over; waits for Bucky to follow with his hand out-reached for taking.

Bucky grabs it; clutches onto like a lifeline, at the same time, a fragile china, and they shuffle down the grassy slope; mouths split in wide grins, chuckles bursting out of seams and when Tony comes to a stop somewhere in the middle, Bucky does too.

"It's not always you get to see stars," Tony says, fingers tangled with Bucky’s like he wants to be and he's beautiful; eyes cast skyward, wonder glimmering in their warmth, lips curved in a soft angle -

He looks like the star itself has descended to earth; burning bright before Bucky's eyes and - Jesus Roosevelt Christ. What kind of heaven is that? Bestowed on Bucky, like a blessing beyond any worth and he doesn't know what to do with himself right then. 

You leave me breathless: he longs to say. You make me feel blessed beyond what I deserve, make me feel more than I know I ever could and it would be my goddamn honour to love you, I swear - Would be my Goddamn fucking honour to love you, sweetheart.

 But he doesn't say all that; would have choked on his tongue before he could even manage half of them out, so he swallows his spit and watches Tony watch the stars until his swollen heart explodes into confetti rain in its cage and -

And then, Bucky breathes; inhales lungs full of cold air prickling like icicles throughout his chest – shuddering, and when Tony looks down from the night sky at him, Bucky cups his jaw with trembling fingers and strokes his cheek with a thumb.

"You drive me insane," he tells him. "But you also keep me sane.”

“You’re like Bruce with his tea and Tasha with her Yoga. You’re what Sam and Clint describe how they feel when they play video games, or how Stevie says drawing makes him feel. You make my heart hop a mile like a bunny rabbit but also soothe me like balm, and if that’s how it feels to be passionate in life, then you’re my reason why.”

The stars blink up in the sky, the sound of the traffic along with the bone chilling November breeze witness Bucky empty his soul for Tony to take in the middle of a hill slope, somewhere upstate. 

But Tony, he's silent; for the first time since Bucky had known him, he's holding his tongue. And Bucky wishes he doesn't. 

Wishes, he would say something; anything at all. Or he would smile, or grin, and let Bucky taste passion for the first time from his tongue - One that is his own for a change, not someone else's. 

But neither happens; nothing happens. 

Tony doesn't say a word or show any signs of either acceptance or rejection; even if his breath catches in a sharp inhale exactly one time and he presses his hand over Bucky’s on his face. 

But neither could count in the face of how violently Bucky had cleaved his gut open for Tony that night.

They get on the road again soon after and Bucky's skin starts to itch from growing worries; wondering if he’d crossed a fine line between them because Tony's silence is eating him alive.

He stays pressed close to Bucky’s back for their entire ride home; hands locked tight over Bucky’s midriff and somewhere in the middle, Bucky feels the heat of Tony's cheek through his leather jacket; pressed between his shoulder blades, injecting trickles of hope into his spine.

When they reach the city and later the tower; when Bucky pulls into the garage and turns off the engine, neither of them gets off the bike.

For Bucky, he pretends the journey's still not over so he could savour the warmth plastered onto his back just a little while longer.

As for Tony, Bucky finds out why he’s staying when the locked arms around his waist breaks and one of the hands wander upwards; coming to rest over where Bucky’s heart trips and races; the prickling sensation along his nape doubling and he stops breathing all at once.

When he does inhale, his spine bones shudder from the forceful way he sucks in a breath. Evidently feeling the tremor, Tony chuckles close to his ear and tells him to, “Take it easy, James. I’m trying to feel if you’ve told me the truth, or made up a beautiful lie.”

A giddy exhale escapes Bucky’s chest in a soft puff air. Feeling suddenly bold just from that statement, he leans back into Tony’s hold and presses his own hand on top of his.

And he savours the silence along with the sweet scent of Tony tinged with metal and grease, and Bucky could swear, he feels Tony’s heartbeat through the layers of their clothes. From behind their ribs and flesh and through their lungs, and it feels like the meat of their hearts have merged into one; singing to the same symphony in the womb of their home.

Later, once the tune has sunk into his marrow, Bucky quietly asks, “What’s the verdict, sweetheart?”

Their hands still lay, combined over Bucky’s chest and it’s heaven to be this close with someone you ache for – Bucky knows. He never forgets to count his blessings these days; he just hopes that this one never finds its end at all.

If he could whisper a wish into the air, he’d ask God to let them stay this way forever. But this goes both ways, and Bucky may be selfish but he’s not entirely cruel; he wouldn’t subject Tony to what he doesn’t want.

So, he gives him another out; prods, “Am I a liar or am I not?”, when Tony doesn’t answer him the first time around.

But Tony seems to desire what Bucky wants – Which. What a miracle is that?

He says, “Shh, James Barnes. Let’s just stay like this longer,” and Bucky’s poor heart, in all of its new born tenderness; speckles of ash still present from when it was reborn like a phoenix  - Finally, finds its wings and soars high. 

#buckytony #winteriron #mine #*fingers crossed* i hope you like this #thank you for the help may #prompts

[sadaboutniall]

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

sorry I suck at updating. happy valentine’s day, here’s a new chapter!! 💕💕 have a lovely valentine’s 

Chapter Eight. May.

When all of this is over, I; Love me like there ain’t another day, lead with the heart, ain’t that the only way? Keep thinking ‘bout how much I changed today.

It’s surprisingly easy, then, for Niall and Lu to figure things out. It’s easy to fall into the routine of two people who can’t get enough of each other—for Niall to swing by the cafe every day after work, and for Lu to clear her weekends to watch Niall coach. They have dinner together more often than not, Ruairí sleeping at Niall’s feet while he sits at Luna’s kitchen table. They kiss on the couch and fuck on a wool blanket in front of the fireplace, Niall’s lips at Luna’s neck, Luna’s fingers clawing down his bare back. Afterwards, she likes to lie with him and trace the scratches with her own fingers, caressing the patterns that mark him as her own. 

Niall tells her that if they don’t keep it on the downlow news of their relationship will travel the island fast, and Luna will never escape questions about it—it makes her think back, so far back, to that night on the roof, when he mentioned how much Inis Mór loves its gossip. She remembers watching him that night, freezing cold on the roof of her unfamiliar flat, wondering what it would be like to truly know Niall. All she’d wanted to do then was reach out and touch his hand, feel his skin against hers—now, she does it nearly every night, without thinking twice. 

It’s one of those nights, in early May, when things change forever. 

She’s lying all over him in her bed, the way they both like to after sex, his hand tangled up in the curly mess of her hair, her fingers tracing patterns against his bare chest, the smattering of chest hair starting to bloom out across his freckled skin. Luna has the windows open and the smell of spring is delicious through the windows, even this late in the night. As a gentle breeze billows her curtains, Niall slides one hand up Luna’s bare back, from where he’d been resting it at the curve of her ass, coming to a gentle stop between her shoulder blades. She glances up at him, feeling his chest rise as he takes a deep breath, ready to speak. 

“Do you remember my mate Conor? From the Paddy’s Day party?” 

As if Luna could forget the way Conor’s brother had cornered her in the kitchen. She nods, and Niall exhales quickly. 

“Well he works at this pub down  in Dublin, helps manage it actually, and he rang me this morning while I was at work to ask if I wanted to come down and do a bit of a gig at the weekend.” His eyes are trained on the ceiling, his chest still as he holds his breath, waiting for Luna’s reaction. 

“Niall,” Luna sits up in bed, and, finally, Niall looks at her. She can’t quite figure out why he looks so nervous. “This is fucking amazing.” 

Niall breathes out a giggle, hands coming up to cover his eyes for a second. When he moves them and looks at Luna again, they’re sparkling wet. “I know it’s nothing big, just a mate doing a favor but I—my first gig in Dublin, Lunes.” 

“It is something big,” Luna doesn’t even try to temper the excitement in her voice—Niall never makes her feel embarrassed about how she reacts to things, not the way Ida, the way her old job, used to. “It’s something massive, actually, Niall. I’m so proud of you.” 

Underneath Luna, Niall flushes beautifully, his pale skin warming up with pride, love, a little embarrassment. Luna feels an impossible swell in her chest, a balloon of pride that she can’t keep from flying away, that makes it impossible to act like the chill, unbothered, cool girl she’d tried so hard to be in New York. Instead, she cups Niall’s cheek with her hand, feeling the way his skin burns up under her fingertips, and leans in for a kiss. 

-- 

And so, Luna takes her very first trip to Dublin. 

Niall can’t wrap his head around it, the fact that Luna’s been living on Inis Mór all this time and has never been off the island—not even to Galway, the closest mainland city—and Luna can’t quite figure out how to explain to him that nothing off the island is of interest to her when the island has him. Instead, she tells him it’s all for the best, anyway, that he’ll be the best tour guide or her first foray into the rest of Ireland. He smiles, and  wraps his arms around her middle on the ferry over to Galway, his body sheltering her from the violent wind and the bitter cold. Spring is tantalizing in the air, Luna can smell it in her every breath, but winter clings on nonetheless, biting and threatening. 

On the train ride from Galway to Dublin, Luna and Niall sit across from each other, Niall’s guitar at pride of place in the seat next to him. Niall takes the seat travelling backwards,  so Luna can get a proper view to  watch out the window as the Irish countryside blows past her, a blur of impossible green and infinite horizon. He falls asleep somewhere near Mullingar, in the middle of the country, and Luna finds herself watching him more than the passing landscape—the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the tangle of freckles on his neck, the gentle parting of his lips, the constant, comforting rise and fall of his chest as he dreams. 

They arrive in Dublin late that night, the city illuminated by golden street lights and car headlights in a way the island never is, and as they board the Luas on their way to Conor’s flat Luna finds that she’s not taking in the sights around her, but staring instead at the sky above, squinting, strangely desperate to catch a glimpse of any of the stars that make the Inis Mór nights so bright. 

All she can see are lights from planes, taking their passengers far away.

— 

In the morning, Luna wakes up to the sound of Niall’s laughter. She’s on the air mattress in Conor’s living room, where she and Niall had fallen asleep the night before, and she can tell from the sound of his laugh that Niall’s only in the kitchen, a room away, chatting with Conor. But for some reason, it feels like a million miles. 

She stretches out in bed, the air mattress creaking and deflating underneath her, and lets the sounds of the city wake her up, too, so that if she closes her eyes she can pretend this is New York—can feel like she’s back in Williamsburg, Ida next to her, the city bustling below them. As much as she denies it, as much as she loves her life on Inis Mór, Luna can’t shake the fact that there’s a part of her, small it may be, that misses living in a city. But then she hears Niall again, his giggle from the kitchen, and the feeling slips away without a second thought. 

Niall is where she wants to be. 

She pads into the kitchen, the sleeves of Niall’s sweatshirt pulled down over her fingers, and stills in the doorway for a second, the morning’s first smile working its way across her face as she watches Niall and Conor laugh over some video on Conor’s phone, their heads close together so they can both look at the screen. It hits Luna like a pang in the stomach, the fact that Niall is so far away from his friends all the time—the fact that, by staying where he is, he’s losing out on all of this. 

She thinks about herself, too, her early days in New York, before things got so bad. The late nights out with her friends and Ida, crashing at whoever’s apartment was closest to the bar they’d ended the night at, waking up in the afternoon in a pile on the couch, heads throbbing with hangovers and someone, the least hungover usually, standing with her phone out, writing down everyone’s order for the bagel place. Looking at it now, a million miles away, a whole ocean between it all, Luna knows that those moments were the most precious: those exhausted mornings, giggling over Snapchat stories from the night before, splitting bagels so everyone could get at least one bite of every flavor. There was no better feeling than that—nothing more intimate than the morning after the night before. 

Standing in the doorway of Conor’s flat, Luna realizes that Niall hasn’t had the chance to have any of those mornings. 

He hasn’t let himself. 

“Hey, petal. You’re up!”

Luna shakes herself out of her thoughts, eyes focusing on Niall, who’s looking at her with a smile on his face that makes her heart flip the same way it did back in January, when he walked into the cafe for the first time, wind blown and nervous. “We made a fry up, I put yours in the oven to keep it warm.”

“Thank you,” she tells him, her voice coming out a little croaky from lack of use. “That’s nice of you.”

“Wasn’t gonna leave you starving,” Niall smiles, standing up and making his way over to the coffee pot. “Sit down, lover, I’ll get your coffee ready too.” 

— 

Despite Luna’s dreams of spending the afternoon wandering around the city hand in hand with Niall, she finds that they hardly have any time to sightsee before they find themselves packed into the pub, Niall sitting next to her on a barstool, jiggling his leg up and down anxiously. It feels to Luna like there are more people in this pub alone than on the entire island of Inis Mór. She puts her hand on Niall’s knee, and feels him calm down, just a notch. 

She’s only on her second Guinness (and Niall’s barely managed to get halfway through his first), but it’s been a long time since Luna’s been drunk in a bar, and she can feel the effects of it—the alcohol coursing through her in a way it only does when you’re surrounded by other drunk people, the heady smell of the bar adding to her intoxication. She’s overwhelmed, like she knew she would be, but it’s not as bad as she anticipated—not scary and claustrophobic, but fun, something new and different and familiar, all at the same time. She drops her head onto Niall’s shoulder and closes her eyes, safe and sure here, with him by her side. 

— 

Niall gives, without a doubt, the best performance Luna has ever borne witness to. 

He starts playing to a loud, rowdy, packed pub, his voice barely carrying over the sounds of friends chatting to one another, their laughter flitting across the room—but by the time he’s three songs in he’s got the whole place captivated, all eyes on him, smiles on faces and pints raised in the air. By song five people are shouting out requests and Niall’s taking them, slinging a few jokes in between songs, and Luna could swear her heart has never felt so swollen, her stomach never so full with butterflies.  

It’s midway through his set, when Niall makes the ground fall out underneath Luna’s feet. 

“I wasn’t planning on doing this tonight,” he says into the microphone, “because I wasn’t sure anyone would be interested, but you lot seem like a kind enough audience. I wrote this tune myself, if you don’t mind me playing it? It’s called This Town.” 

— 

This Town is about Cormac. Luna can tell from the first lyric. It plays in her head on repeat for the rest of the night—through the rest of Niall’s set, through the heart-stopping smile on his face when he sits back down next to her afterward, through the unfathomable hour of strangers coming up to them and offering to buy Niall a pint for his performance, clapping him on the back and letting him know how much they enjoyed listening. It plays on repeat while Luna tells Niall how proud she is of him, leaning in for a kiss and tasting the Guinness on his lips, the lyrics on his tongue. It plays on repeat through the end of the night, too, Niall helping Conor put away some of the glasses after they lock up, Luna feeling like she’s watching herself through someone else’s eyes, spilling beer everywhere when she tries to help. 

Niall cleans up her mess without a single complaint, but Luna can’t stop feeling sick to her stomach. 

This Town still plays in her mind late that night, when Niall goes down on her in Conor’s living room, the air mattress rocking below them, and it plays in her mind the next morning, when they finally do walk hand in hand through Dublin, Niall stopping for selfies every time they pass a tourist spot. It plays on her mind when they board a train to Galway in the early afternoon, and, still, on the ferry back to Inis Mór late, late that night. Niall drives her home and they make out in the car for ages, his hands up under her sweater, windows open to let the spring air in. It smells like Niall and newness—the coming warmth, the longer days, the hope and life and breath that spring brings to everything. 

It smells, to Luna, like everything thawing away. 

— 

Luna’s grateful for work on Monday, the constant orders and customers a distraction from the feelings that she knows are out of line. Niall adores her, she tells herself as she brings Mr. O’Keefe his usual coffee, a song is just a song, and nothing more. 

But it’s hard to shake, Niall’s voice, “over and over, the only truth, everything comes back to you.” For so long, Luna realizes, Niall’s voice has been something special for her—something she hears in her cafe, in her bedroom, in her bathroom when the shower is on. Niall’s voice is the soundtrack to her washing dishes, to her curled up on the sofa reading while he plays guitar across the room. It’s the soundtrack to long car rides in the middle of the night, the moon and stars illuminating the cliffs ahead just for them. It’s the soundtrack to them, to Niall and Luna, and it hurts her more than she thought it would—more than it should—to realize that she has to share that with the rest of the world. 

When Niall bustles into the cafe that evening, Luna can’t hide her excitement. It feels like a million years, a million miles, since last night, when he pulled her in for one more kiss before driving home to his mom’s house. His cheeks are redder than usual when he comes up to the counter, despite the warm spring day outside. 

“Hiya,” Luna leans over the counter for a kiss, her anxieties melting a little when Niall’s lips meet hers. “You alright?”

“Lu,” Niall’s breathless, handing his phone to Luna across the counter. “Look at this.” 

She glances down at his phone, open to the YouTube app, and her hands start to shake before Niall speaks. She knows exactly what’s happening—it used to be her job, to help make things like this happen. 

“Someone recorded my gig down in Dublin,” he’s telling her, his voice so distant that it sounds muffled, distorted, in Luna’s ears. “It has a million views on YouTube, Lu. It’s—I’m going viral. People are asking if it’s on Spotify, I even had to take my Instagram page off private. Conor says I should come back down for another gig, people have been asking after me. I—Lu. I think we made it.”

####

taglist: @emmathefantomes @kara-246 @niallsguitarthings @crocodileniall @niallberry @thelifeofbo @adoremp3 @tinyfelthat @niallgolden @theresnooneheretosave @kare38 @youretheairibreathe @okaaayniall @bopbopstyles @ficnarry @nannav47 @coconutdawn @antisocialsocialclub5 @missy14us

join the taglist here.

#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #without fear #sorry I suck lol #thank you to rand otherwise this would never have happened lol

[arse-crack-thistle]

physical touch

rwrb and the five love languages | part three

in which a young ellen and oscar make a life-altering decision

The sun boils Ellen Claremont and Oscar Diaz as they stand outside Marlene’s Diner. Even in December, the Texas heat shows no mercy. The parking lot is full of cars for the lunch rush, and as much as her manager hates it, Ellen had to take her fifteen now. Oscar is on his way home.

Seems like yesterday he and a bunch of his white-collared buddies popped into Marlene’s and sat down at a table in Ellen’s section, but it was eight months ago. She thought she was about to get catcalled and a two-penny tip, but instead she gave the table advice on how to help David Morwitz, an Austin democratic candidate for state representative, gain more votes among young people. And Oscar wouldn’t leave until he got her number—for political reasons of course. That is until she made out with him after a Young Texas Democrats rally and he discovered the blue bonnet tattoo on her lower back.

He was fresh out of law school, hoping to build his political resume so he could run for office one day, and she was just finishing up her second year, living on tips and volunteering where she could. And, like all young lovers, they spent the whole summer and fall talking about their hopes and fears, their darkest secrets and greatest dreams.

“The Supreme Court, eh? One of the justices?”

“No,” she told him, “I just want to argue a case there. Set precedent.”

He smiled, showing off that goddamn dimple on his cheek. “You could go farther—the highest point even.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’m looking to help the little guy, Diaz. I can do that anywhere.”

“Then why not the presidency?” When she scoffed, he said, “Fuck you, I’m serious. I’ve seen you in action, Claremont. The protest you organized for the clinic they shut down? You’re incredible.”

That moment hugs her as she struggles to let go of Oscar’s hands. They’re rough from the field work he did in high school but also calloused from his guitar. She spent months learning the lines on his hands; she can draw them from memory, as he can with the curves of her hips.

His flight leaves in two hours. Ellen will have to watch the blue sky for planes, imagining him soaring away with his Walkman playing a worn-out Latin tape. Maybe if Morwitz won, things could be different.

But they’re not. She’s still filling coffee cups and handing out “yes, ma’ams” and “yes, sirs” like they’re pocket change. And he’s still going back to California to join an immigration law firm.

“Claremont,” he starts, “I don’t know what to say. These past few months—”

“I know,” she says. Lord, do not let her bawl in front of this man—not like she hasn’t before when the anniversary of her mother’s death came around. But still, she’s got to leave him with the image of the take-no-shit, strawberry-blond fireball she is.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. God, she’ll never forget this man even if she tries. His curly black hair swoops over his eyebrows and behind his ears. His sleeves seem permanently rolled up, his tie loosened. Oscar somehow carries the lackadaisical Cali-boy in his smile and the strength against generational oppression in his eyes. The sorrow of goodbye shows in his drooping shoulders. Ellen knows she can set them straight with one kiss on the lips and a hand somewhere else.

Instead, she drops his hands and looks away.

“Ask me to stay,” Oscar says, reaching for her waist.

Ellen can’t bear to look into his warm, brown eyes and tell him to go. She puts her hands on his chest and feels his heart beating under them. His beautiful, fighting heart. “I won’t do that, Diaz. If the situation were reversed, I’d slap you for suggesting it.”

He pulls her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “The situation’s not reversed, Ellen. Ask me to stay.”

Lord, every time her first name rolls off his tongue electricity shoots down her back, and now it meets the lightning rod that is his hand on her tattoo. It takes everything in her not to jump him in this parking lot. Damn the cars driving past them. Damn the diner patrons watching through the windows. Damn the Bible-thumper preaching from the street corner. The world should stop for her goodbye to the man that shocks her too her very core with one touch.

“Oscar.”

“Ellen.”

His forehead presses into hers, and his hand meets the other on the small of her back. She can’t help but wrap her arms around his neck, like they’re about to sway to an overrated pop song at a high school dance. He smells like he always does: cheap cologne and sweat, and holding him—being held by him—feels like taking a wrong turn on the drive home just so you can finish your favorite song.

“You don’t want me to leave, right?” Oscar asks.

“No, but this is crazy. You can’t stay here. What would you do? What would we do?”

Favorite song—favorite person be damned, too. Hasn’t it crossed his mind that his life can’t just transfer to Texas? The campaign is over, and his family and career are back in California. He’s being stupid, and she’s letting him.

Touching him makes her irrational, so Ellen lets go and steps back. “I mean, Lord help us, Diaz! Have you even thought about this?”

“What’s there more to think about? I love you and you love me! We’ll figure out the rest.”

“Oh, do not give me that ‘love conquers all’ bullshit! You’re smarter than that!” she says.

Her fifteen has got to be over by now, but fuck it. Her manager can wait. She’ll stand her and scream at Oscar; she’s developed quite an affinity for it. God bless him.

“Maybe it does—”

“Bull-fucking-sh—”

“No!” He grabs her hands, and she doesn’t fight it. “With all the shit we’ve been through, can’t you see it’s brought us here? Right now, Claremont. You and me. We’ve got something; we want the same things. Let’s do it. Come on, Ellen, let’s just fucking do it!”

And he kisses her. It’s not desperate, but gentle and resolute. Her hands find the nape of his neck again, and she tangles her fingers in his soft curls. Sunflowers bloom in her belly. Oscar squeezes her hips in his hands. Sweet baby Jesus. She can’t let him go. She’ll have to kill him first.

He pulls away—only a centimeter or two—and says again, “Ask me to stay.”

Eight months of this shit. Eight months of diner banter and canvassing and takeout movie nights and fucking in his motel room or her tiny-ass apartment or one of their cars. Eight months of law school papers and screaming matches and tequila and talking for hours until one of them crashes and the other cuddles up to fall asleep. Eight months of hands—his and hers—intertwined like they’re holding the Earth together.

“Stay,” she whispers. A car blares its horn, so she barely hears herself say it. But she does.

“Stay with me, and we’ll change the fucking world.”

As stubborn as she is, so is he. They match in some weird way, and Ellen can’t remember the last time she found a person like that. Fucking Oscar Fucking Diaz. She’ll get on her knees for him or step on his neck if he asks nicely enough. She’ll spend hours critiquing his debate strategies or peering over his shoulder while he proofs one of her assignments. She’ll bake him peach cobbler or devour his mole and anything it touches. Oscar’ll play the guitar, and she’ll sing along.

“Good because I already accepted a job with Representative Acosta. He’s from 54.”

“Fuck you!” Frustrated, angry, and smiling, Ellen shoves his shoulders. “I know where he’s goddamn from! But what the hell were you pulling my leg that far for?”

He puts on that Diaz smirk and trails a finger down her hip. “Pretty legs though.”

“I’ll fry you up and serve you for dinner if you ain’t careful,” she deadpans.

“Promise?” Oh, good Lord.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Ellen grabs his jaw, rubs a finger over that fucking dimple, and pulls him to her lips.

“I do,” she says.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part two, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so yeah it’s fairly obvious that i have a hard time keeping to a schedule BUT i think this turned out very cute (even if it’s not actually set during valentine’s) and even if i go past v-day, which will probably happen, i’m determined to finish romance week! anyways, thanks for all of your support! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

#rwrb #president ellen claremont #oscar diaz #throwback #my writing #rwrbromanceweek #rwrb fest #rwrb fanfic #fanfic #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #june claremont diaz #nora holleran #pez okonjo #princess bea #rafael luna #zahra bankston #valentines #valentines day #texas #election #queer books #queer lit #queer authors #love languages #physical touch #claremont 2020 #ellen claremont

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

60. “have you always been this beautiful?” + 68. “You owe me a kiss.” for sean/reader plssss?

Glitter in The Air (Sean X Reader)

A/N: This is just pure Sean Falco bubble gum cotton candy fluff just for Joz ☺️☺️😍

You held your finger above the mouse and debated which road to take:

Add him. It's only been four years, but he's bound to remember you.

Forget it. It’s been four years, how would he ever remember you?!

Without a second thought you clicked add friend on the Facebook name “SeanFalco92.” You typed out a little note just in case.

Hey, Sean.

I'm sorry about what happened at the University. You're a bit infamous. Not every day the quiet Irishman gives it to the campus police. That fire hydrant was ugly anyways.

Y/N, The Dark Room Princess

Then you switched off the internet to prevent yourself from nervously checking every ten minutes to see a response. So you poured yourself a cup of coffee and put your headphones in. It was gonna be an all-nighter on your grad school thesis.

Your computer made a loud ping noise that startled you from sleep you didn't realize you had fallen into. You raised your head and looked at the time “11am.” Thank God, still a few hours until you had to turn in your thesis. Then you were free to never worry about university again, until the loans rolled in. You groaned.

Still you adjusted yourself and your glasses to read the message that had come up alongside the friend request acceptance.

Hey! Yeah it's totally been awhile. How have you been? I felt the wrath of my parents when they bailed me out. Due for a bit of community payback for a few months. Sorry “Service.” Next time I won't get nicked.

Not quite sure about the dark room reference, but was thinking you should meet me at the carnival on Friday. I know I shouldn't be on campus, but I had tickets before everything went down. Care to be my reason for still showing my face after all that humiliation?

Sean

You shook your head and laughed. He definitely didn't remember you, and you weren't exactly sure what he was up to. Who turns down an opportunity to spend the night with Sean Falco?

You took your time replying. Showering. Eating lunch. Printing your thesis and assembling it. Not wanting to appear eager in your reply. He pinged again.

You there? It looked like you were online. Sorry, didn't mean to appear so needy or forward. I just thought it’d be nice to be reacquainted.

You cocked an eyebrow, cheeks flushed a bit and finally returned a response.

Yeah. I would like that. I live in the Madison apartments. Get to Union station (I'm guessing you lost your license?) and we’ll take the Gold Line back to campus. See you at 7.

Sean's comeback was immediate.

It's a date!

Your face grew even hotter. Fuck, it's a date.

-----

You couldn't help but be nervous as you paced around the front steps of your apartment complex. You felt confident in the cute outfit you rushed out and bought impulsively. Or how you bit the bullet and got your hair done too after you delivered your thesis. You claimed it was in celebration of the rest of your life and nothing to do with the tall, lanky Irishman now headed your way.

“Sean!” a bit startled as you turned around in his direction.

Curly hair a bit wild, his jeans looking industrial but you knew they weren't bought that way. The purple tee-shirt he wore somehow made his leafy green eyes positively stunning. His hand was outstretched with a flower held towards you.

“T’ought I might go a bit old-fashioned t’night,” you took the --- from him. “Maybe a bit o’ congratulations for finishing your t’esis paper.”

Glad your hair covered your ears because you knew the tips were bright red. You never remembered his lilt being that strong or noticeable. Maybe for some strange reason it was his nerves too?

“A Peony? Sean, these are my favorites! How’d you know?” you smelled it briefly before you tucked it away behind your ear. Pleasantly surprised. “Thank you.”

“I may have creeped around your photos a bit, hope ye don't mind?” Sean raised his hands and crinkled one of his eyes shut.

“This is my first flower from anyone, so I'll take some light stalking in the meantime. We should hurry though, the train leaves in ten minutes.”

The two of you side by side. You sat turned to face him, back towards the window of the car. Sean faced forward and stole sideways glances while you talked.

“So what does a young lady with a Masters in Art History do fer livin?”

“I want to restore old paintings at the Met in New York, but I'll probably be stuck here in Portland till I'm thirty. What about you, think you can bypass a degree and still be a photojournalist? Maybe and Irish Ansel Adams?”

Sean laughed, “How did you know any of that?” He looked directly at you with a gleam in his eyes.

“You really don't remember me do you?”

You took a chance and slid your hand into his to prevent him from picking at a loose thread in his shirt. Sean easily enclosed it without hesitation.

“Mostly!” Cheek hidden in his smile. “I just thought something about ye clicked in my brain. Can't figure out why, but was hopin’ going out with ye would jog my mind. Is t’at ok?”

There was no time to answer. Soon enough you were back on campus. You talked Sean into some french fries and corn dogs before tugging at his hand excitedly.

“Ok, the Ferris Wheel! Let's do that first? We should be able to see downtown, and it'll be dusk by the time we get on.”

Sean hesitated as his eyes glanced up towards the top. A flash of nerves behind his eyes, but he gave up and shrugged. Obediently following you in line while he ate, a bit sullen.

Surely the guy who just fought a fire hydrant and a cop wouldn't be scared of heights, you thought. Then you flashed back to that day Freshman year and Sean's panicked voice in the dark. His ragged breath and palms that sweat through your tee shirt as he held onto your shoulders.

You shoved a cheese fry in your mouth as the line staggered forward slow and steady. The conversation had died quite suddenly, but you knew you had to take the chance. Cheesy romantic comedy as this all was, who doesn't want to be with a hot guy alone stuck on a ride?

“Uh y/n?” The giggle was back in Sean’s voice now as you broke from your reverie. “You've got some..” His thumb swiped at the corner of your mouth before he lifted it to his own. “Cheese.”

“Thank.. you?” The tension was silent and awkward.

Then, as the two of you simply stared at each other, Sean let out a sound somewhere between a strangled laugh and a snort. It was infectious, and you instantly joined in. That type of laughter you aren't sure how people achieve, but it leaves you breathless and annoying to everyone in your sight.

“I don't know.. why..I licked.. my thumb,” he wheezed around the most childlike giggle. “It was like a weird compulsion.” The way he said the word came out like “way-rd,” and instigated more laughter from deep inside you.

It seemed to ease Sean’s apprehension as the two of you began to board the ride, though. A calm coming over him as you both quieted down. He white-knuckled the bar as it clicked into place over your laps. Eyes wide as it lurched into motion.

You brushed your fingers tentatively over his clenched fist. Sean had a glazed look in his eyes as you slowed and stopped multiple times. You inches towards the top. He really was frightened.

“I've just gotta get over this. I'm confronting my fear is all.” He sounded so serious with a hint of pride, you stifle a chuckle with a bite of a lip.

Sean peered slightly over the edge of the car and looked downwards. Then it halted suddenly and he grabbed your hand and covered it with his massive one. You squirmed around to hold it properly as he squeezed his eyes shut. The car swung back and forth a bit on the precarious side, even for you. One last time, and it would start spinning in its giant lackadaisical circle.

Forward. Pitch to a stop even harder than the last few. This time Sean buried his face in your shoulder, and you relished this surprising role-reversal. But then he looked up at you in the most serious manner.

“Have you always been this beautiful?”

At the same exact time you said:

“First claustrophobia now heights”

You both sat up straight and gaped.

Again simultaneously.

“How d’ye know I'm claustrophobic?!”

“Did you just call me pretty?”

For the moment, Sean was no longer afraid. Your sentiment about his fear distracted him long enough that he loosened up immensely. Long fingers scratched at his mess of curls while deep in thought. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, heart beating wildly in your ears.

Sean tugged at his chin with a forefinger and thumb. Obviously deep in thought as he gazed off into the sky. It was like a lightbulb finally popped on over his head.

“Jesus (jaysus) Dr Bacher’s photography course. Freshman year!”

You smiled, “By Jove I think he's got it!”

“T’at’s how ye know me. We got right stuck in that darkroom door. It was like a pitch-black tube really. Man I bloody well panicked.”

“I thought you were screwing with me at first! Your hands were so sweaty my tee-shirt was wet from where you were groping me. I kept thinking how every single girl in our class would've killed our professor to be stuck with the hot Irish guy. All that heavy breathing, my teenage brain thought it was sexual tension.”

“I was 18 wedged in a small space with a cute girl. It was claustrophobia, but it was also sexy.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and smiled. The two of you ignoring the ride and it's slow rotations. Still holding hands.

“I don't think I imagined that..” you struggled with the next line.. “parts of you were totally poking into me.”

Sean's mouth dropped open but he repeated his prior sentiment. A bit higher pitched. “I WAS 18 IN A SMALL SPACE WITH A HOT GIRL!” His lilt was more pronounced.

“Who gets a fear.. boner,” you rolled back into the hysterics from earlier on the ground.

Sean's face a deep crimson as his mouth tightened into a straight line. He looked away, but you knew he was playing along. Those eyes betrayed him with a hint of a smile.

“You told me if I got us out you’d take me on a date.”

“I said I'd kiss ye if we got out alive. Never knew how long it’d be til someone found us.”

“You did!” you agreed excitedly. “The door just needed hoisted up and back on the track. Which I did! Then we stumbled out and I practically threw myself in your arms for that kiss.”

“Wait, did we?” Sean turned back to you as the Ferris wheel slowed to another stop. Neither of you remembered it moving.

“No. Stupid ass Derek Sandoval was in the classroom waiting for you.”

“Oi! Watch now, he's still my mate.” Sean's turn to tease now.

“I bet he is.”

The two of you sat back in the car. Your fingers still entwined but the fright had melted away. Sean let out a long steady breath as he really looked out on the carnival and the multicolored lights as they danced around you. The stars blanketed the sky.

“Sean?”

His face heavenwards. “Yeah y/n?

“I think you owe me a kiss,” your words soft, almost a whisper.

Sean’s gaza came back down from the clouds. The music and noise from the crowds seemed to fade away as your breath caught in your throat. Without a second thought, he let go of your hand and put his arm around you. That soft mouth leaned over and almost melted with yours. Your bodies enveloped in a hug as Sean slid the tip of his tongue between your lips. Your own darted forward to fight with it.

Then the car hulked into motion again and you broke apart. A smirk on Sean's face revealed a dimple, and you joined in with a grin of your own.

“Well, that was worth a four year wait.”

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#robert sheehan #sean falco #sean x reader #fluff!! #sean x request