Harrow's necromantic power includes the ability to create underlighting whenever it's necessary.

Bonus:

:)

i know its the mets, but this is the coolest shit i’ve ever seen a human being do

Wtf????

Smoove with it too 

This is the kind of shit you see in anime that shows that a certain character is stronger than other characters. 

“Pathetic.  You can’t even hold the bat you dare step to the plate? Have you no respect for the sport?”

reminds me of this gif

Baseball players are to be feared

All The Good Girls Go To Hell (3)

Summary: When Sam marries into Y/N’s family he naively believes she’s a little princess incapable of putting a step wrong. But once he comes face to face with evidence that proves she’s far from angelic which also implicates his own brother in her misdeeds, Sam finds himself battling against his own moral judgement.

Characters: Step Dad!Sam x Step Daughter!Reader, Uncle!Dean x Niece!Reader.

Words: 2162.

Parts: 4 of 7.

Warnings: stepfather/stepdaughter relationship, oral sex (male and female receiving), sexting, rough sex, degradation, dirty talk, female masturbation, bratty!reader. Assume all tags will apply to every chapter and warnings may differ/alter as story progresses.

A/N: This chapter absolutely got away from me and I’m not even sorry. Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr​ but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Masterlists/taglists can be found in my bio. Subscribe to Patreon and get access to fics two weeks before Tumblr for as little as $3.

Chapters four and five already available on Patreon.

SERIES MASTERLIST

In the days following, Sam barely registered your presence. You walked into a room, he left. You spoke to him, he would change the subject and direct his conversation elsewhere. You tried to make eye contact, he would look right through you as if you were a ghost. This time you’d pushed him into a mood so foul he acted like you didn’t even exist.

Everyone around you noticed. Bobby relished in the fact you were in “deep shit” for once and your mom somehow looked at you differently. If Sam, of all people, was upset with you then you had to have pushed the boundaries a little too far if he was willing to turn against you.

You started trying harder. Anything to make him register your presence; dressing more provocatively, even more so than before, dropping things on purpose so you’d have the excuse to bend over in front of him. You could tell it was having the desired effect, amused when you’d catch Sam bristling at the sight of your barely-dressed ass right in his face.

Keep reading

Yeah I’ve totally got a type lol

Once again, a neural net tries to name cats

Last year I trained a neural net to generate new names for kittens, by giving it a list of over 8,000 existing cat names to imitate. Starting from scratch, with zero knowledge of English or any context for the words and letter combinations it was trying out, it tried to predict what letters might be found in cat names, and in which order. Its names ranged from the strange to the completely nonsensical to the highly unfortunate (Retchion, Hurler, and Trickles were some of its suggestions). Without knowledge of English beyond its list of cat names, it didn’t know what letter combinations to avoid.

So I decided to revisit the cat-naming problem, this time using a neural net that had a lot more context. GPT-2, trained by OpenAI on a huge chunk of the internet, knows which words and letter combinations tend to be used together on the English-language internet. It also has (mostly) figured out which words and letter combinations to avoid, at least in some contexts (though it does tend to suddenly switch contexts, and then, yikes).

When I trained GPT-2 on the list of cat names using Max Woolf’s colab notebook, it still retained a lot of what it had learned from the rest of the internet. Gone were the strange names like “Tilly-Mapper” and “Balllucidoux” - it had a bunch of real words it could use instead. Here are some of the names it came up with - and the Morris Animal Refuge (who you may remember from that time they used neural net names for their guinea pigs) has given some of these names to some highly adoptable kittens.

First, neural net can do fancy:

Taffeta Pompompur Monocle Tom Glitter Notion Tinnitus Cheesemonger M. Tinklesby Linklater Soap

It can also do the opposite of fancy:

Scat Cat Butthole Gangrene Moisture Grotesque Petard Oilbag Buttwig The Cream Meatbag Dr Fart Fudge Putty Scumbag Constipation BUTT

And it can also do names ranging from tough to downright sinister:

Miss Vulgar Lillith The Vamp Elle Fury Deadbolt Romeo of Darkness Starmaker Fist Warning Signs Bibles Smoked The Firestarter Higher Rune Scarlet Be Thy Coat Kill All Humans Bones Of The Master Mr. Sinister Evil Whispers Spawn Serendipitous Kill Stranglehold

(Starmaker and Sparky Buttons are from a litter that had upper respiratory infections that damaged their eyes, but even though their world is kinda cloudy, they love to play and cuddle.)

I’m a particular fan of the Very Weird cat names:

Honeystring Dr Leg Tom Noodle Pinball Scene Peanutbutterjiggles You’re Telling A Lie Beep Boop Thoughts Bobble Bun Atmosphere You Name It Whiskeridoo Sparky Buttons

Seemingly This Guy Various Authors Chicken Whiskey Fish Especially Thelonious Monsieur Ringo Shuffles Sweet Cakes EXTAs (Eye Stalks) Checker Spin Donut Quin Two Patz Grandpa He Glad Funky Moe Fluttering Feelers Accepted A Tribute Chewie Bean PLEASE Gregory Chimney Notable PRODUCT LEGEND Weird Science Platinum Not Suitable For Character the Enforcer

Did I mention these cats are adoptable? If you live near Philadelphia, you live near these kitties!

Bonus content: yet more cat names!

Ok I can’t stop laughing at Scat Cat Butthole

most of these are functionally indistinguishable from what people actually call their cats

I’m obsessed. “Scarlet Be Thy Coat” and “Bones Of The Master” are especially fascinating. 

This blog and all forms of naming warrior cats is hereby replaced with this AI. Clan leaders are obscolete

I am deadass naming a cat Mr Sinister someday or so help me

The Winter Soldier And The Housewife: Part 7

Is short. Is trash

---

1951 - Brooklyn, New York

The sound of rain hitting the window of your modest home was the soundtrack to your artistry. You dabbed your paint brush in the tray of acrylic paints on your right, and made brush stroked on the blank canvas before you.

You tilt your head as you paint, the picture you were meaning to paint was unknown to you yet, as it usually did. Unless you had a certain idea in mind of what you wanted to paint, a clear image, your paintings were of your own intuition.

You put the brush to canvas, and just went with it.

On days like this, with the rain falling and hitting the glass of the studio Bucky had built for you, that's all you wanted to do. Just put the brush to canvas and do what you felt was next.

It was your choice of activity to do this afternoon while it was raining and chilly. You could’ve gone to the shops, like Bucky had told you many times over were quite nice. Or you could’ve called Dot and gone to the salon together, but none of those had really suit your desires.

What you really desired to do was get your hands dirty. To feel the paint on your skin as you created something wonderful. The salons and the shops grew old, tiresome, but the act of painting was always refreshing.

As you dipped another brush in another color and began to make another stroke on the canvas, a hard knock on the front door stopped you.

You set your brush down and stood from your stool behind the canvas. You grabbed a spare rag and wiped as much of the paint off of your fingers as possible.

You left your little studio and made your way through the house to the front door. Before opening the wooden door separating you from the outside world, you smoothed down thick worn sweater from the wrinkles that formed.

You placed your hand on the door knob and turned, swinging the door open. When you had come face to face with the man on the other side, you furrowed your eyebrows and frowned.

“Can I help you?” As you questioned the man before you, he smirked in a predatory, deadly way.

“Yes I believe you can.” He stepped toward you, speaking in an English accent.

“My husband isn't home. Maybe you should come back later.” You didn't like the feeling you were getting from the man, the voice in the back of your head telling you to run, telling you to slam the door and run.

“Your husband…” He looked you up and down, his hands folded behind his back.

“Yes, my husband.” You repeated yourself, hoping that it would deter him enough to leave.

You had never seen anyone quite like him, and though he was rather handsome with his slicked back raven colored hair and his icy blue eyes, there was something unnerving about him.

Something…dangerous. Something that frightened you right to the very core. You grasped the necklace around your neck and shuffled back, not wanting to invite him in, but wishing that he would go away, leave your house and leave you.

“Well I suppose my interest is in you and not your husband.” His English accent and his voice was husky but smooth.

It would’ve been claiming if it weren't for the man himself making your skin crawl. He almost seemed…other worldly.

“Me? What do you want with me? I don't even know you.” You took another step back as he took a step forward.

“No,” he took another step forward, “but I know you.”

He stretched out his hand, reaching for you.

You stepped back against the wall, corner by his imposing frame and the wall by the sitting room. You didn't know what he wanted, or why he was here, but you wanted him to leave.

You wanted Bucky, and you wanted him to leave.

“You're afraid. Good. You should be.” He placed his hand on your forehead, a devilish smirk creeping on his face.

---

Bucky groaned and stretched his arms above his head as he glanced again at the clock. Time was moving agonizingly slow, and every glance he made toward the clock made time seem to move in reverse.

He was looking forward to the end of his day, and the comforts of returning home to you. He hadn't told you yet, but he wanted to take you away for the weekend to the cabin upstate that his parents had owned.

It would be a nice weekend, and Bucky knew how much you loved being in nature. He was hoping that this weekend could be rather romantic for the pair of you, some time spent together out of the bustling city.

He had most of the weekend planned if you had said yes, and other than stopping for a few supplies, if all things went well, you could both leave after he was done work.

With another heavy sigh and another glance at the clock, Bucky decided he’d had enough. He would take an early day, it wasn't as if he couldn’t afford them.

And seeing you, seeing your beautiful smile was worth more than being stuck at work.

Bucky stood and grabbed his coat from the back of his desk chair and slung it over his arm. Bucky pushed his chair in and started walking away from his desk, briefly mentioning his departure before actually leaving.

As he drove away from work and toward the quieter portion of Brooklyn, and the neighborhood your home was in, he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

It wasn't until he parked the vehicle and got toward the front door that he noticed something was amiss.

Every day he came home from work, he could heard music playing from inside the house. It didn't matter how loud, or from where the music was playing from, he heard it.

The silence, which could’ve simply meant you went a day without music, wouldn’t have been enough to raise concern, but Bucky knew better.

“Y/N?” he entered the house and called out your name once, then twice.

When he received no answer, Bucky dropped everything. He took the stairs two at a time as a level of panic he hadn't felt in a long time set in.

You wouldn’t have up and left without calling, without leaving a message of some kind. But the more Bucky searched and called out your name, the more frantic and concerned he was.

“Y/N!” He tried again. “Sweetheart are you home?” He stood in your bedroom, hands running through his dark hair as he racked his brain, urged himself to think like the man he used to be, the assassin who could details within details.

He couldn't. He tried to focus on what could have happened, but he felt lost. Bucky was lost. Where could you have gone, what could have happened to you?

It was very unlikely that the avengers found you this quickly and without incident. There would have been signs of them, Bucky would’ve known.

This was something else.

As his clarity came back, and Bucky was able to think through his worry, the darker side of him took over. When he realized what must have happened, who must’ve been here, Bucky lost what little control he had over the assassin.

“Fuck!” he raised his hand and slammed it down on the wooden dresser, the furniture splintering under his strength. “God dammit!”

Bucky vowed, promised, that Loki would not get away with this.

His anger, his rage was building. He was going to destroy everything in his path, and then when he tracked down Loki, when he got you back, there would be absolute he'll to pay.

---

Tags list: @avafayek @snoot-snoot-toot @perrythefrickenplatypus @bvckys-doll @elfmama @oneweirdfangirl @champangebucky @sebastianstansqueen @i-alyssa

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST

((OOC: So I took a Sequential Illustration class this semester and we had to do 4 pages of a comic. So I chose to do a comic of the Hogwarts Founders surprise surprise. I used the Sorting Hat song from Order of the Phoenix as the narration. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out!! If you have any questions feel free to ask! :) ))

Ménage À Trois: Part 12

“Tony, she's just a kid.” Pepper tried to reason with him, tried to make Tony's temper and his irritation with the whole thing be lessened by her presence and her soft spoken words.

“I know.” He unintentionally bit back. “Why do you think I’m doing this? They’re Avengers, Pep. I don't care if their super soldiers or not, they’re Avengers. Y/N's a young kid, they’re 105 and 101 years old. They won't remember her and the kid will be broken. Its not fair to her.” Tony squeezed Pepper's hand and gave her a kiss as she left his side and left the office without another word.

Tony sat back in his chair and sighed, a headache forming at the front of his skull, the pain growing more intense with each throb, each bang that went off in his mind.

He didn’t want to be that guy, the guy who had to lecture everyone around him when the time was right, but that is what he became.

The attack on New York, he lectured Loki.

When Cap through all caution to the wind and tried to save his lover and best friend, Tony lectured Steve.

When the spider kid hitched a ride into space, Tony lectured.

Now, after everything else he had dealt with and still had to deal with, he had to lecture you. You didn't listen to the very clear instructions he had laid out for you, the agreement he had you sign could’ve been well null and void, but Tony wouldn't go quite that far.

He would still give you the funds to take your dream trip, to escape and see the world while you had the chance and the means, he would honor that. If he did nothing else, he would honor the agreement even if you hadn't honored your side.

But there was still the matter of actually speaking to you, informing you that not only had you recently gotten fired, but you would have to be banned from Stark Tower.

It was for your own good. It would help ease the pain once Tony informed you that the operation to restore their minds to the rightful place had been completed. It was over, your fake marriage to the two men was finished.

“Come in, kid.” Tony wasn't eager about this conversation.

You were a good kid with a good heart, but you were just that. A kid. A young woman who hadn't done much in the world, who had probably only been in love once.

And what you felt for Steve and Bucky, it wasn't real. None of it was real. They were plagued by some twisted and corrupt memories that falsified in their minds.

You were the one who was going to be left heartbroken and devastated and they wouldn't know any different. A trip to your dream destination, a chance to get a fresh start would be good for you, even if it was just for a few months.

“Hey kid,” Tony stood and sighed, “we have to talk.”

He looked your way, watched you shuffle in slowly, your hands shoved into the pockets of your hoodie. Your yew’s were downcast and it had looked as if you’d been crying but he wasn't sure if you knew he knew or if you were upset because of what Steve and Bucky were going to have done.

“Who told you?” You shift your weight from foot to foot, asking the question without actually needing an explanation.

Tony leaned on the front of his desk with his palms resting against the edge. He sighed and shook his head, wishing he didn't need to have this conversation with you, and wishing that it had ended differently.

“We appreciate your help while we needed it-" Tony began and finished almost immediately after as the first few tears rolled down your cheeks.

“It went well, if you want to know.” He felt his anger dissipating the longer your tears rolled down your cheeks.

You had truly fallen in love with them, despite him telling you not to.

“Are they…did they…” you wiped your tears away, sniffling before finally looking at him.

“They’re back to normal.” Tony stood up straight and grabbed an envelope from the top of the desk, turning it over in his hands. “The money we promised you.”

He handed it over to you, expecting you to take it. When you had looked away, again, and hadn't reached out to take it, Tony retracted.

“It's not fair.” Your bottom lip trembled. “Why would you do this to me? Why would you put me in a position where I would…”

Tony let you finish.

“Why would you do that?” You made yourself look at him, made yourself face him. “Were you being deliberately cruel? Or did you get some sick fun out of watching me?”

Tony set the envelope back down and crossed his arms over his chest. “I gave you fair warning. I told you not to do anything too physical. I told you it wouldn't last. You didn't listen to me.”

There was a pause, and then you spoke again. “What the hell did you expect would happen? Do you actually think I’m one of your AI fuckups that can turn my emotions off? Do you actually think that’s possible?”

Tony placed his fingers on his temples and started massaging. His headache was morphing into a migraine, a blinding and almost unbearable pain.

“I wanted you to listen to the adult! I know better! You…you’re just a kid. You’re naïve! There's a reason I said to keep as much distance as possible! You didn't listen to me and now you fucked up!” Tony grabbed the envelope again, thrust it toward you.

“Take the money, take the trip Pepper arranged and start fresh. Take the time to figure out what you want in life and start to heal. Stay for a week or stay for the year, just take the time for yourself.” Tony held it out, he didn't retract.

“Take it.” He urged you again, and this time, you listened.

You grabbed the envelope, pulled it to your chest. You ran your thumb over the raised ink as you stood there in a daze. It was over, it was really over.

They didn't remember you, they wouldn’t care. And you were left heartbroken.

“For what its worth-" Tony wasn't allowed to say the rest to you.

You turned on your heel and tore out the door, slamming it shut behind you.

“-I'm sorry, kid.”

♤♡♤♡

Bucky blinked once, then twice. He opened his eyes and focused on the bright lights hanging above him, and the beeping from the machine beside him.

“Hey fellas, glad to see the fossils brought back to life.” Bucky turned his head, smiled at Nat when she smiled at him.

The procedure to fix their minds was complete, and they would need to take a few days to heal, but it was done. He wondered if it had worked, if everything was set right again.

“Nat,” Steve coughed from the bed beside Bucky's, “how long have we been asleep?”

Nat looked from Steve to Bucky and back again. “Day and a half.”

Bucky groaned and pushed himself to sit, feeling like he'd been hit in the head with a jackhammer. He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck before he hit the green button beside him, as a way of asking for pain killers.

“We're good then?” Steve asked a second question as he sat up against the bed, touching the hospital band on his left hand with his index finger.

“You two fossils are great.” Natasha came to sit on Bucky's bed, brushing his hair back with her fingers. “No disfiguring scar.”

“Have you checked on Y/N?” Steve drew Nat's attention back to him, blue-green eyes full of worry. “Have you told her?”

Natasha’s face fell and her jaw went slack. She looked back and forth between Steve and Bucky, hoping that what she heard was incorrect.

“Y/N?” She locked eyes with Bucky, waiting for him to speak out against Steve's question.

“She needs to know we didn't forget her.” Bucky shifted his position to get off the bed.

“Y/N? Your…” Natasha stopped and licked her bottom lip.

“Wife, Natasha. She's our wife.”

♤♡♤♡

Permanent Tags List: @darlingtholland @thehyperactiveteen @jennmurawski13 @emogril @swoopswishsward @mccloudchloe @marvelsangels @mcenziehughes @kiki5283 @veronawrites @peytonsmallone @chetanyasblog @bouquetoftacos @sonjashuterbugjohnson @sunandmoonchild158 @lost-forest-heart @summerartist4life @beardburnsupersoldiers @rvgrsbrns @captainchrisstan @wendaiii @rynabarnesrogers @stareyedplanet @theunwantedomega @gloryevans @katsav17 @fandom-basurero @awesomerextyphoon @chrisjaay @glimmering-darling-dolly @xbuckyxnastyx @laughsandlivia

Tags List: @jasmine-flower1 @katsebastiannn @rissysthoughts-blog @cinefine @pegasusdragontiger @tilltheendwilliwrite @thinkaboutmara @stareyedplanet @katshrev @diariesofthebeautyobsessed @fangirl4mbct @i-alyssa @star-spangled-beard-burn @optimistic-babes @dsakita @wehavetofearignorance @pinfeathers1967

If you guys haven’t read komorebi on ao3 yet, then idk what you’re doing, because god that fic slaps

“Fish rarely get love from people in the way that dogs or dolphins do when they should.”

(Source)

The Winter Soldier And The Housewife: Part 4

---

Warnings: This series will contain elements of dark!Bucky that may make some people uncomfortable. Please, if you are not comfortable with dark!Bucky please do not read this series. This series is also going to be for mature audiences only. Please abide by that.

A/N: SMUT at the beginning of this. SMUT

---

1949 – Brooklyn, New York

“You look beautiful.” The compliment was whispered in your ear as his arms snaked around your waist. “Every inch of you.”

The compliment was met with a gentle nip to your neck, his hands moved to your hips. As he pushed his chest to your back and held you flush against him, he kissed his way down your neck .

Your head fell back to his shoulder and your eyes drifted closed as you sighed under his touch and his kiss. Every inch of you was coming to life as he stroked your hip bones through your party dress.

“Bucky…I have to get ready.” You placed your own hands over his to push them off, to finish getting ready for the party he insisted you go to.

“We have lots of time, doll.” He nipped your earlobe playfully.

“We're going to be late…” Your protests shifted to a low moan when Bucky started to undo the buttons on the front of your dress.

His right hand slipped in the opening of the bust of the dress, his hand grabbing and squeezing your left breast through the silky bra you chose to wear. As he squeezed your breast, as he drew another moan from your lips, his left hand had worked its way under the bottom, his metal fingertips brushing against your stockings.

“Bucky…we're going to be late.” Your faint and weak protest fell on his deaf ears.

“We have time.” Bucky's voice grew huskier, deeper as he squeezed your breast and stroked your thigh. “Let me in, doll.”

You spread your legs without protest and moaned his name as he rolled your hardened nipple batten his fingertips. You could feel his breath caressing your shoulder sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Good girl.” He moved the shoulder of your dress down, kissing the exposed skin as he removed the layer of satin. “You're already wet aren’t you?”

You were unable to answer, not unwilling but unable. Your words became gasps and whines, moans as he stroked your thighs. You wanted him to touch you, you wanted him to stroke the part of you that was desperate to feel his fingers filling you.

“B-Bucky…” You dug your nails into his arms and rolled your hips against the hand that was on your thigh in desperation. “Please…”

He smirked against your shoulder, his metal hand slipping underneath the panties covering your swollen and dripping heat. It was natural, only natural to be soaked around Bucky.

It seemed that everything he did turned you on.

“You’re dripping, my love.” He used two fingers to stroke your swollen pussy lips. “You want me to touch you? To push my fingers inside your tight little cunt?”

You gasped and whined, pushed your hips against his hand. The way he spoke into your ear, the crass words he used to describe your dripping heat was delectable instead of detestable. He was so skilled in everything he did, every action and stroke of his fingers was already enough to make you cum.

“You have to tell me baby.” He crooned in your ear, halting the motion his hands were making on your body.

“Yes, Bucky.” You turned your head and locked eyes with your fiancé, your hero. “Touch me, Bucky. Make me feel good.”

He closed the distance, he captured your lips in a breathing stealing kiss. As his lips moved against yours, his thick fingers slipped between your swollen pussy lips. Slowly, tantalizingly and agonizingly slow, his two fingers sank into your heat, stretched your walls.

You pulled away from the kiss and moaned his praise. The feeling of being stretched on the cool metal of his artificial hand was blissful, pleasurable.

“I'll make you feel good, baby.” He pinched and pulled on your left nipple before removing his hand entirely from your breast.

He moved his hand to your neck, holding your jaw softly in his hand as he made you look into the dressing mirror in front of you. The pad of his thumb had stroked your jaw bone with the same gentle nature that he stroked the back of your hand when holding it.

It was an act of dominance, the way he held you, the way he made you look at yourself as he finger fucked you, but it was gentle. He wasn't rough, wasn't a bastard bent of dominating you through harsh actions and punishments, but with a gentle reminder that he was your fiancé; he was in charge.

“Look at yourself, baby.” He cooed in your ear as he twist his metal fingers that had sunk into your heat. “Look at yourself while I fuck you with my fingers.”

You did, you followed his direction and you looked at yourself. Bucky was flush behind you, his right hand wrapped around your neck and his left hand beneath the hem of your dress.

His deep brown hair was cropped shorter than it had been lately and styled effortlessly. His steely blue eyes were a shade darker with last and passion, his lips formed into an almost predatory smirk.

“Bucky…” You writhed and gasped, arched your back as he added another finger. “God…Bucky…”

He pumped his fingers in and out of your stretched pussy, his thumb stroking and teasing your hardened clip. Each stroke of his cool metal against your clip and the pumping of his fingers was bringing you closer to the edge.

“Look at yourself as you cum on my fingers.” He nipped your neck, tightened his hand ever so slightly around your neck. “Look at you darling, you’re going to come undone on my fingers.”

You couldn't look away even if you wanted to. You couldn't turn away as you writhed and jerked your hips against his palm, your toes curling as building orgasm hit you.

You gasped and whined, moaned his name like a prayer on Sunday as your pussy walls squeezed his metal fingers. The immense pleasure made your curl your toes, made you see stars.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N.” He encouraged you, he urged you on even as your cum dripped from your pussy lips onto the plush carpet below you. “You’re my little harlot aren't you?”

Bucky pumped his fingers two more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your dripping slit. As he pulled his hand from under your dress, he let go of your neck and instead wrapped that arm around your waist.

“Yes, Bucky.” When he placed his metal fingers against his lips, you found yourself mystified as he sucked your cum off the metal, and moaned.

---

“You're so lucky!” The pretty redhead you and Bucky had attended the party with had leaned over to speak in a raised whisper. “Look at him. He's so dreamy.”

You cast a glance her way, noticing the shade of red lip Rouge matched the dress she wore. “Who?”

Dot, was her name, and she was the steady gal Bucky's war buddy was going with. Her red hair was pinned behind her head in an solid 1940’s fashion, the tight curls bouncy.

“Bucky!” she laughed lightly and pinched your arm. “I mean he's just so….”

You turned away from Dot and focused on back on Bucky. Since the events earlier in the night, not only had your legs still felt like jelly, but you could almost swear that you still felt your own sticky cum pasted between your thighs.

“You are one in a million, Y/N. Landing a handsome war-hero like Bucky. He's so charming and charismatic. And his eyes…”

You felt uncomfortable with the way Dot was speaking about Bucky. It wasn’t envy, nor was it worry that Dot was after your man, but there was something unsettling there.

“I mean he won the purple heart for bravery and sacrifice. He's a true, national hero.” Dot sighed again, and stared wistfully at her own date.

“Did I tell you that Bucky and I went on a date before the war?” Dot twirled a few strands of your curls around her finger. “Bucky went with this tiny guy from Brooklyn. Steve, I think his name was. We went to Coney Island and had the best time.”

A stab of jealousy and envy finally hit you. Bucky went on a date with Dot before the war. He went to one of the best places in New York with the woman you were sitting next to, and the image of him kissing her in a dim alley was maddening.

You were envious, jealous.

“Doesn't matter now though. Bucky only has eyes for you. I swear I’ve never seen a man look at a woman like that before.” Dot placed her hand on your arm. “He looks at you like you’re his whole world.”

Your attention shifted from Dot, to Bucky. Your handsome fiancé, your war-hero, was leaning against the bar with a drink in one hand and the other shoved into the pockets of his deep blue suit.

His steely blue eyes were watching you, so completely focused on you, it had seemed if the whole world had faded and you were the only thing remaining and the only person that mattered.

As you stared and watched him watch you, Bucky set his glass down and straightened himself up. He pushed himself off the bar and strode toward you and Dot, his eyes still locked on you.

Your breath was bated and you were unable to turn away, even as he came to stand in front of you with his hand extended.

“Dot, I’m gonna steal my best girl from you.” He teased and winked as he yanked you from your seat, pulling you into his chest.

“You go ahead, Bucky. Y/N needs to be shown a good time.” Dot giggled softly as she waved her hand in dismissal.

Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist and lead you to the crowded dance floor. As he came to stand in front of you, he slid his metal arm around your waist, and held your hand with the other.

“Enjoying yourself, doll?” Bucky held you close, whispered just for you.

“Of course I am, Bucky.” You leaned into him, relaxed into his warmth.

“New Years Eve.” He slid his hand down to the small of your back. “New decade and a new chapter of our lives, baby.”

You looked into his blue eyes, looked into the blue pools that drug you further down. He was handsome, like Dot had proclaimed many times, and you were lucky.

Bucky was yours, and you were his.

“We're getting married in a month.” Bucky spoke with pride.

He slipped his hand from yours, keeping his metal hand at your back, and rest his palm against your stomach. Heat penetrated through your dress and into your flesh, warming you from head to toe. “And then we can give you a baby.”

Marriage. A baby. Bucky.

“I can't wait to see you pregnant.” He tightened his hold on you, rubbed his hand over your stomach with glee.

Marriage.

A baby.

Bucky.

---

Permanent tags list: @darlingtholland @thehyperactiveteen @jennmurawski13 @emogril @swoopswishsward @mccloudchloe @marvelsangels @mcenziehughes @kiki5283 @veronawrites @peytonsmallone @chetanyasblog @bouquetoftacos @sonjashuterbugjohnson @sunandmoonchild158 @lost-forest-heart @summerartist4life @beardburnsupersoldiers @rvgrsbrns @captainchrisstan

Tags list: @avafayek @snoot-snoot-toot @perrythefrickenplatypus @bvckys-doll @elfmama @oneweirdfangirl @champangebucky @sebastianstansqueen @i-alyssa

She SNAPPED

honestly missionaries are evil. the idea of traveling the world to tell people Who Didnt Fucking Ask that their beliefs are wrong in the hopes that theyll adopt your beliefs seems sinister

An Inuit hunter asked the local missionary priest: “If I did not know about God and sin, would I go to hell?” “No,” said the priest, “not if you did not know.” “Then why,” asked the Inuit earnestly, “did you tell me?” ~Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

remember when mic pointed out that aizawa might see oboro in hitoshi

well

[ ko-fi // dm me about commissions!! ]

This is Foxglove. It’s a classy umbrella boutique in Hong Kong, that sells silver-handled English “brollies” but it has a big secret. Foxglove caters to the fantasy of being a British spy.

There is one umbrella’s silver handle that will open the door to the posh, luxury world of the gentleman spy. 

The dining room and bar look like a private jet. 

The hallway looks like a cruise ship. 

Then, there’s a room that looks like a high-speed train car.

There’s one other hidden entrance that can only be accessed by guests who know to place their hand on a floral painting at the end of a corridor until it glows. This signals the undercover bartender to open the door where a classic library awaits, a hidden sanctuary of leather club chairs, marble counters and books all around.

Pretty swanky, huh? 

Then, when you’re ready to go, take the elevator back down to the umbrella shop.

http://www.foxglovehk.com/

That is exquisite…

HOW did I not know about this? Grrr…I could have used it in a book!

wait so did Kingsman just film here or…?

A woman is transformed into a succubus without any awareness of it whatsoever.

She thinks that, in a simple stroke of luck, she’s just gotten very good at finding other people online who care about her special interests.

Men and women hang on her every word. They will do what she says. They will think what she thinks. They will get for her the things she wants.

Luckily what she wants is not power, not fame, not money or romance or sex. What she wants is to tweet about the long-canceled, long-forgotten, straight-to-VHS merch-shilling cartoon she adored as a child in the 90s. 

The series is trending #1 on Twitter overnight. Dusty old plastic dolls are suddenly worth millions. Bootleg clips surface by the dozens. The national economy pivots, just a bit, just a little, in the echo.

Her Twitter skyrockets to become the single most followed account in a week’s time. The interests of the world pivot to mirror hers.

She links her cats instagram, where she uploads all her cutest photos of her cats, along with merch hauls, pet care tips, advice for new cats owners, and brand recommendations.

Shelter adoptions surge in the wake, millions of cats brought home to houses preemptively stocked with all the necessary supplies, bedding, and accommodations.

She writes a loving review of the little-known books she’s reading, and it’s sitting at the top of the New York Times Bestseller list the very next day. The author is hardly prepared for the out-pouring of attention and love flooding her inbox the next day. 

The woman blogs about her favorite little tea set. Tea sales now outperform coffee in both popularity and revenue at every single Starbucks and Dunkin worldwide.

She posts about her herb garden, and interest in gardening surges to an all time high. People who haven’t had any passionate hobbies in decades are suddenly growing little basil sprigs, and remembering like a long-forgotten friend the joy of crafting with their hands.

There’s a new book title mentioned on her twitter every few hours, and libraries and book stores simply can’t keep up with demand. Libraries themselves are swarmed with unprecedented popularity, and massive funding increases are fast on its heels. And global literacy rates jump.

The more experienced denizens of the internet worry for her. They’ve seen this cycle before, where a personality reaches sudden unfathomable heights of popularity, only to be torn down a month later for being too cringey, too over-stayed, too problematic.

But by the nature of what she is, people cannot hate her.

Dedicated troll blogs feel a pang of guilt even tagging her handle, and delete drafts with a deep sense of shame. It makes them stop and wonder what joy they used to get out of cutting people down online. Most delete their accounts. Most think about buying a few succulents instead.

She sends a tweet “Please don’t use the internet to bully others ~(=^･ω･^)”

And the rest of the troll accounts vanish in its wake.

Six months later, she deletes her Twitter.

There is no fanfare. No announcement. No build-up. She simply misses the peace of living her own quiet life with her cats and her herb garden and her tea set and her many, many, many books.

The internet mourns for her. They speculate on where she went, who she is, and what could have caused this. Many of them would likely be able to find her real identity and track her down, but they don’t want to do that to her. They don’t want to do anything she wouldn’t want them to do. It’s in the nature of what she is.

She’s left them suddenly, the whole world, infected with a strange new compassion for the obscure, for the peaceful, for each other. The ripples don’t stop. Things sway in larger scale to the more benevolent, to the more environmental, to the more educational, as 7 billion people are inoculated with the desire to make proud the woman who simply loved plants and books and animals and compassion and obscure 90′s media.

Every now and then, she appears again. Always under a different account, a brand new handle, a nameless anonymous tag. She reappears to promote another book, or to go on long meandering rambles about her favorite Pokemon, or to review an old Warrior Cats fanfiction she loved from years ago, or to just post a few photos of her sprouting herbs.

Each time, people find it. Like moths to a flame, people gravitate to her and the views, notes, clicks explode. The book sells out. The Pokemon reaches #1 trending. The fanfiction author (now a married mother of three) opens her old email to the inexplicable sight of several-thousand new reviews. The herb photos simply make people happy.

And she’ll move on. Delete, remake, however often or much as keeps her happy. And people speculate every time that something of this nature goes viral that it’s her again, that it must be, but they can only ever guess.

She crosses people’s minds often. Usually with a smile on their face. Usually with a passing thought to do something just a bit kinder that day.