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sirona_ficsFriends! Romans! I would like to draw your attention to the following piece of news (WELL. I say news, but it's probably only news to me. STILL. I AM EXCITE AND I WISH TO SHARE SAID EXCITEMENT). So, without further ado (in the second half of the article, in The Story section):
SEBASTIAN STAN HAS BEEN SIGNED UP FOR SIX MARVEL MOVIES, TO REPRISE HIS CHARACTER OF BUCKY BARNES
THIS IS THE MOST EXCELLENT NEWS OF ALL TIME. MY FACE RIGHT NOW:
AND ALSO:
BECAUSE More under the cut below. ALSO, HIS FUCKING EVERYTHING.
ETA: LOOK, THIS IS JUST TOO GOOD NOT TO POST IN FULL. (Ganked off![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
somehowunbroken, because I have basically been STARING AT THAT PIC for an hour now.)
Meanwhile, yesterday I spiedpennyplainknits doing the five word meme, and, well. Y'all know how I feel about memes. >.>;; Everyone's favourite subject, et cetera, et cetera. I feel the need to warn you that from this point on, this post is the longest post I have ever done that doesn't involve some kind of story, so. Enter at your own risk.
England
WELL. Penny, you know me so well. /0\ I just. Look, ten years of conditioning, I really have no choice. :) I spent my formative years there; I grew up, learned to see the world through their eyes, learned tollerance and warmth and manners and common sense and generosity; learned to rely on myself, to stand on my own two feet, to be responsible for my own fate. I fell in love with its green and pleasant land, fell in love with winter skies and mists and rain and verdant green fields, with gardens and houses and birds and the countryside. It got to the point that just flying over England, coming back after a break at home, I could tell the moment we crossed over -- and not just because of the Channel. The patchwork of fields and borders, so utterly unique, I would see it and my heart would unclench, and I would feel at home. Fuck, but I miss it.
Bucky
BUCKY. MOTHERFUCKING. BARNES. I have SO MANY FEEEEELS FOR BUCKY BAMF BARNES. Okay, so imagine you're this kid growing up in the 20s and 30s, The Great Depression, and there aren't a lot of options around you. And then your parents pass away, and somehow it's just you and your best friend, this skinny kid who just doesn't know when to walk away from a fight; who never learned to keep his head down and just get on with it. And if you grew up with that kid, protected him from the bullies he'd pick fights with, watched over him when he was sick, scrounged any and all spare cash you could because you knew sooner or later you'd need it to take care of him; and somehow over the years, that kid became your reason for going on, and nothing could touch you when he'd look up at you and smile, and really see you, not an orphan with no prospects but you; and if that kid's only dream was to serve his country, to be useful, could you ever look him in the eye and tell him you don't want to go, not if that meant leaving him behind?
I can't imagine what it must have been for Bucky, leaving Steve behind, knowing that Steve needs him but really having no choice, no choice about staying or going, not if you ever wanted him to look at you the same way again. And fuck it, he'll go and do his best, and just hope to god Steve never got picked up, because losing Steve might be the only thing to break Bucky Barnes, after all.
And then he gets taken as prisoner, right, and fuck, he thinks he might really die here, but he'll be fucked if he ever tells them anything, not with Steve back home, defenceless, fuck you, pal, Sargeant James "Bucky" Barnes, 357295, US Army. It's the last thing Bucky will do for him, but he'll do it right.
And then Steve, new and improved Steve, Bucky thinks that's it, his mind's properly gone this time, no doubt about it, but those eyes, he knows that look in those eyes and he's only ever seen it out of one face, and he doesn't care about the rest of it as long as those eyes stay the same, that look in them, it's the nearest thing Bucky Barnes has to a religion. And sure as hell, he'll follow those eyes anywhere, regardless of the body they're attached to, and he'll keep their owner safe no matter what it costs him, because it's the only thing he has in this world, and without it the world is meaningless, and he wants no part in it.
So in the end Bucky Barnes falls, but he falls knowing Steve is safe for the time being; and really, he thinks as the cold seeps into his veins and his muscles and his skin and his bones and his heart, it was a good life, he's proud of it; and if it has to be over, then at least he acquitted himself decently; and if there's a god out there that thinks it wasn't right to love his best friend, another man, like he was a part of your very being, like you couldn't breathe without him, well, that god can fuck the hell off, too. Bucky doesn't need him. He has those eyes telling him he's good, worthy, someone to be admired, and Bucky Barnes needs no other validation.
AND IF BUCKY BARNES DOESN'T COME BACK, IT WILL BE THE SINGLE GREATES TRAGEDY OF MY LIFE, EVEN BEYOND FIREFLY AND FARSCAPE AND PUSHING DAISIES.
And there could be another thirty paragraphs here about Bucky waking up into the future, but it's no future like anything Howard Stark ever waxed lyrical about, and when he actually understands that he has woken up, WHEN he has woken up, knowing that even if Steve survived the war, he would be long dead, because men of their time, they barely survived their fiftieth or sixtieth birthday. And I could talk about what that realisation does to him, before a couple hours of poking and prodding pass and he walks out of the lab, sore and exhausted and heartsick, only to find a familiar body sitting with his head in his hands, almost curled in on himself, tension evident in every line of his body, and at the sound of the door and footsteps on the floor his head shoots up, and those eyes, that look in them, Bucky feels the room tilt, and then there are strong arms around him and a scent so achingly familiar, and his brain takes a short break to reboot, but his body knows where he is, what is happening, and his hands are fists in Steve's shirt, and his eyes don't dare leave Steve's for fear it's all an illusion, and, and.
And don't even get me started on what happens when Bucky finds out about Tony, and Tony gets what it actually means that they've dug Sargeant Barnes out of the mountain ice shelves, for Steve, for this thing between them. BECAUSE THE ANGST, I CANNOT EVEN. I am probably going to have to write that one day, because THE FEELS, SERIOUSLY, THE FEELS.
Writing
Is the only thing that keeps me truly sane. It's the thing that keeps me going most days. It's the thing that burns inside my chest, the idea, the spark, the thing that wants out and will tear and chew and rip its way out of my chest and my brain and my fingers any way it can. It makes me feel alive like few other things; it gives my life meaning. A lot of people I know get discouraged if they don't get (rave) reviews and praise; I'm lucky enough that people seem to like what comes out of my brain, but the truth is, I write because I can't not write. Because the words won't stay silent. Because if I try to keep them inside, they will turn me insane, they will do an Alien on me; I might as well decide to stop breathing for a lark.
Words, words make me tick. Always have, always will. The right word, in the right context, at the right time, induces such an endorphin rush as to be likened to a climax, a braingasm. When I say I'm a language slut, I am not kidding, or exaggerating, or paraphrasing. IT IS LITERALLY WHAT I AM. So yes. For me, writing falls right at the bottom of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, along with food and clothing and shelter. I do it, or I'll go mad. The most accurate description of what writing is for me can be found in Charles Bukowski's So You Want To Be A Writer? If I have a prayer I say every day, hopefully, reverently, this is it.
Cake
WELL. I MEAN. CAKE. Who doesn't like cake? Especially for someone like me who is an "I love you, therefore I feed you" kind of personality, cake is basically my love taking physical form. You watch. If I love you, I will bake for you every day and twice on Sunday. <3
I mean. You all remember Love in the time of Marmite, right? There's a reason Arthur is what he is, and reacts the way he does, which is because HE IS BASICALLY ME IN THAT SITUATION.
Travel
Travel is the other reason for my existence. I live to travel, visit new places, re-visit old ones. It charges me up like nothing else in my life; it inspires me and challenges me to grow and opens my mind and is basically something I wish to be able to do at least for a weekend every month. Since I can't, I have to resort to armchair travelling -- which is why my default state is with my nose buried in a book or sitting with my laptop in my lap and reading/typing, taking a trip inside my head in the only way I know how. It is an absolute essential if I am to carry on living. My biggest nightmare is being trapped somewhere in a mundane job with no means of escape every so often, be it physically or inside my head via the medium of books or stories or films or a good TV series. I am so close to that nightmare at the moment that sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat at night. I will do anything necessary to avoid it.
Also, obligatory Clint/Phil rec (this is getting to be a habit, isn't it. A WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL HABIT ♥).
Stockholm Syndrom and other drugs by AlchemyAlice
Basically this made me GIGGLE MADLY at all kinds of inopportune moments. Hilarious and insightful and just plain adorable. <3 I have such, SUCH a huge weakness for people taking care of Coulson, BECAUSE HE NEEDS IT EVEN IF HE DOESN'T EXPECT IT (WHICH MAKES HIM ALL THE MORE DESERVING). Also I will never, ever, get tired of Clint calling Coulson 'sir'. BECAUSE, WELL. MY KINKS, LET ME SHOW THEM TO YOU. (H50 crowd: #shockingly unsurprised)
AND NOW:
THE DON'T LET THE BASTARDS GET YOU DOWN PARTY POST
Okay, enough is enough. Woke up this morning in a FUCKING FANTASTIC mood, where I had Rihanna's Cheers (Drink to that) stuck in my head, and I want to say to you now: CHEERS FOR THE FREAKING WEEKEND. And I want to buy each and every one of you A MOTHERFUCKING DRINK.
Just for one fucking day, I want to keep this strange high I find myself on. It's probably being slap-happy as a consequence of having something like four hours of sleep last night because REASONS (aka GODDAMN IT, TONY, YOU MARVELLOUS BASTARD), and I am probably going to cruise today on pure adrenaline alone, but FUCK IT, I SAY.
Let's, for this one day, forget that when I got into work today at 7.30am I took out three boxes of pills out of my bag, because that's the state of my throat and my head at the moment; that my hair is a disaster that needs my hairdresser's intervention immediately, that god, my nails, I DON'T EVEN WANT TO TALK ABOUT THEM. Let's forget that apparently my period is imminent (going by the state of my face), and my body doesn't quite conform to what society as a whole terms 'Beautiful', and hey, it just so happens that I'm turned on by guys going at it.
Let's instead talk about my FUCKING SPECTACULAR brain (ILU brain, I promise, I don't care what you put me through), and that around 23,000 BCE my tits and arse would have been fucking worshiped; let's talk about how I have no less than four brain twins on this here flist (you guys, you know who you are, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH), with that number set to rise steadily if the Avengers Friending Meme is to be believed. Let's talk about you guys, all of you, who make me feel so damn loved, every single day, regardless of what might be happening in your lives; your generosity and support often makes my endorphin levels go all silly on me. Let's talk about just how many of us share the same thoughts, ideas, love of Certain Things; how we have one of the best support networks IN THE WORLD that runs on PURE LOVE.
amcw177 (I am NEVER going to need to think of a way to remember that user name, amirite, Charlie? <3) and I were talking the other day about how we wished so fucking much we could throw a party full of people on our flists, fandom people from all over, because WE ALL FUCKING ROCK, ALL RIGHT, and that party, IT WOULD BE SOME EPIC SHIT. And it would be the most fabulous, positive party EVER.
SO LET'S HAVE IT HERE. Pull up a chair/cushion/bed/hammock/anything you like, and LET'S TALK ABOUT YOU. Tell me what makes YOUR life FUCKING SPECTACULAR today, whether it's your kids, your SO, your cat/dog/parrot/goldfish, THE NEWS I POSTED EARLIER, an email a kind soul sent you, a song that makes you want to dance like a madman/woman/person, a proper cup of tea/coffee/chai, JGL's THIGHS IN THOSE PANTS, the wonders of nature that are AOL and his face and Tom Hardy and his everything (and WHAT A HARDSHIP it was, looking for those photos, LET ME TELL YOU), Sherlock coming back in LESS THAN A MONTH'S TIME, and also THIS PICTURE, SCOTT MOTHERFUCKING CAAN, MICHAEL FASSBENDER'S FAAAACE, Rachel Weitz's FUCKING EVERYTHING, Gina Torres BEING THE BOSS OF EVERYONE, JEREMY RENNER, FOR FUCKING SERIOUS, THE PERFECTION THAT IS MATT BOMER, THE MOST GORGEOUS CAST ON TV, MARK SHEPPARD, GQMF, RDJ BEING FRIGGIN' ADORABLE, how your eye make-up came out just how you wanted it this morning, how your mouth is THE MOST INCREDIBLE THING ON THE PLANET (save for possibly Tom Hardy's), how they should be writing odes about YOUR face, not bloody Helen of Troy's, how your breasts look SPECTACULAR in that top, and your ass, THEY SHOULD BE SO LUCKY, about how you outsmart the guys in your office/school/etc three to one, about that story you wrote/that pic you drew/that graphic you fixed/that vid you put together that made you say DAMN I'M GOOD, about the fact that you're the only one who stayed up on that board after everyone else fell off, about how those cupcakes turned out SO FUCKING RIDICULOUSLY GOOD. I don't care. TELL ME HOW AWESOME YOU ARE (BECAUSE YOU ARE, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU). TELL ME ABOUT THAT PAIRING THAT MAKES YOUR HEART ALL AFLUTTER, THAT YOU WANT TO WRITE/READ ALLLLLL THE WORDS ABOUT. TELL ME A STORY ABOUT BOYS IN LOVE, AND IF YOUR LOVE OF TROPES RIVALS/MATCHES MINE.
LET'S HAVE A FUCKING PARTY. IDGAF, IT'S GOT TO BE AFTER 5PM SOMEWHERE IN THE WORLD. HAVE A DRINK ON ME (even if it's a cup of tea/coffee/etc). <3 Don't be shy. Come squee. Spread the word. Get to know your new friends. TALK ABOUT AWESOME THINGS.
HERE, LET ME SET THE MOOD.
Also, I am just tickled pink by ALLLLLL the awesome fic that has been posted/will be posted shortly, because, GUYS,pocky_slash's Domesticity 'Verse Big Bang and its prequel went up yesterday!!!!! THIS IS HOW EXCITED I AM RIGHT NOW:
And also IMMINENT CLINT/PHIL PUPPY FIC FROMdelicatale. I CANNOT EVEN. *______________* Me right now:
Anyway. Today will be a bits-and-pieces kind of day -- Coffee Shop AU (AT OVER 13K, IT IS PROCEDING AS NORMAL FOR THE TWO OF US), Sherlockmas assignment, a beta job, edits on cop!Erik AU (because I'm feeling as positive as it's possible for me to feel, and if I don't tackle it now I NEVER WILL), and other random plot bunnies. Also I hope to be chatting to ALL OF YOU ABOUT EVERYTHING EVER. \0/ \0/
THIS IS THE MOST EXCELLENT NEWS OF ALL TIME. MY FACE RIGHT NOW:
AND ALSO:
BECAUSE More under the cut below. ALSO, HIS FUCKING EVERYTHING.
ETA: LOOK, THIS IS JUST TOO GOOD NOT TO POST IN FULL. (Ganked off
somehowunbroken, because I have basically been STARING AT THAT PIC for an hour now.)Meanwhile, yesterday I spied
pennyplainknits doing the five word meme, and, well. Y'all know how I feel about memes. >.>;; Everyone's favourite subject, et cetera, et cetera. I feel the need to warn you that from this point on, this post is the longest post I have ever done that doesn't involve some kind of story, so. Enter at your own risk.England
WELL. Penny, you know me so well. /0\ I just. Look, ten years of conditioning, I really have no choice. :) I spent my formative years there; I grew up, learned to see the world through their eyes, learned tollerance and warmth and manners and common sense and generosity; learned to rely on myself, to stand on my own two feet, to be responsible for my own fate. I fell in love with its green and pleasant land, fell in love with winter skies and mists and rain and verdant green fields, with gardens and houses and birds and the countryside. It got to the point that just flying over England, coming back after a break at home, I could tell the moment we crossed over -- and not just because of the Channel. The patchwork of fields and borders, so utterly unique, I would see it and my heart would unclench, and I would feel at home. Fuck, but I miss it.
Bucky
BUCKY. MOTHERFUCKING. BARNES. I have SO MANY FEEEEELS FOR BUCKY BAMF BARNES. Okay, so imagine you're this kid growing up in the 20s and 30s, The Great Depression, and there aren't a lot of options around you. And then your parents pass away, and somehow it's just you and your best friend, this skinny kid who just doesn't know when to walk away from a fight; who never learned to keep his head down and just get on with it. And if you grew up with that kid, protected him from the bullies he'd pick fights with, watched over him when he was sick, scrounged any and all spare cash you could because you knew sooner or later you'd need it to take care of him; and somehow over the years, that kid became your reason for going on, and nothing could touch you when he'd look up at you and smile, and really see you, not an orphan with no prospects but you; and if that kid's only dream was to serve his country, to be useful, could you ever look him in the eye and tell him you don't want to go, not if that meant leaving him behind?
I can't imagine what it must have been for Bucky, leaving Steve behind, knowing that Steve needs him but really having no choice, no choice about staying or going, not if you ever wanted him to look at you the same way again. And fuck it, he'll go and do his best, and just hope to god Steve never got picked up, because losing Steve might be the only thing to break Bucky Barnes, after all.
And then he gets taken as prisoner, right, and fuck, he thinks he might really die here, but he'll be fucked if he ever tells them anything, not with Steve back home, defenceless, fuck you, pal, Sargeant James "Bucky" Barnes, 357295, US Army. It's the last thing Bucky will do for him, but he'll do it right.
And then Steve, new and improved Steve, Bucky thinks that's it, his mind's properly gone this time, no doubt about it, but those eyes, he knows that look in those eyes and he's only ever seen it out of one face, and he doesn't care about the rest of it as long as those eyes stay the same, that look in them, it's the nearest thing Bucky Barnes has to a religion. And sure as hell, he'll follow those eyes anywhere, regardless of the body they're attached to, and he'll keep their owner safe no matter what it costs him, because it's the only thing he has in this world, and without it the world is meaningless, and he wants no part in it.
So in the end Bucky Barnes falls, but he falls knowing Steve is safe for the time being; and really, he thinks as the cold seeps into his veins and his muscles and his skin and his bones and his heart, it was a good life, he's proud of it; and if it has to be over, then at least he acquitted himself decently; and if there's a god out there that thinks it wasn't right to love his best friend, another man, like he was a part of your very being, like you couldn't breathe without him, well, that god can fuck the hell off, too. Bucky doesn't need him. He has those eyes telling him he's good, worthy, someone to be admired, and Bucky Barnes needs no other validation.
AND IF BUCKY BARNES DOESN'T COME BACK, IT WILL BE THE SINGLE GREATES TRAGEDY OF MY LIFE, EVEN BEYOND FIREFLY AND FARSCAPE AND PUSHING DAISIES.
And there could be another thirty paragraphs here about Bucky waking up into the future, but it's no future like anything Howard Stark ever waxed lyrical about, and when he actually understands that he has woken up, WHEN he has woken up, knowing that even if Steve survived the war, he would be long dead, because men of their time, they barely survived their fiftieth or sixtieth birthday. And I could talk about what that realisation does to him, before a couple hours of poking and prodding pass and he walks out of the lab, sore and exhausted and heartsick, only to find a familiar body sitting with his head in his hands, almost curled in on himself, tension evident in every line of his body, and at the sound of the door and footsteps on the floor his head shoots up, and those eyes, that look in them, Bucky feels the room tilt, and then there are strong arms around him and a scent so achingly familiar, and his brain takes a short break to reboot, but his body knows where he is, what is happening, and his hands are fists in Steve's shirt, and his eyes don't dare leave Steve's for fear it's all an illusion, and, and.
And don't even get me started on what happens when Bucky finds out about Tony, and Tony gets what it actually means that they've dug Sargeant Barnes out of the mountain ice shelves, for Steve, for this thing between them. BECAUSE THE ANGST, I CANNOT EVEN. I am probably going to have to write that one day, because THE FEELS, SERIOUSLY, THE FEELS.
Writing
Is the only thing that keeps me truly sane. It's the thing that keeps me going most days. It's the thing that burns inside my chest, the idea, the spark, the thing that wants out and will tear and chew and rip its way out of my chest and my brain and my fingers any way it can. It makes me feel alive like few other things; it gives my life meaning. A lot of people I know get discouraged if they don't get (rave) reviews and praise; I'm lucky enough that people seem to like what comes out of my brain, but the truth is, I write because I can't not write. Because the words won't stay silent. Because if I try to keep them inside, they will turn me insane, they will do an Alien on me; I might as well decide to stop breathing for a lark.
Words, words make me tick. Always have, always will. The right word, in the right context, at the right time, induces such an endorphin rush as to be likened to a climax, a braingasm. When I say I'm a language slut, I am not kidding, or exaggerating, or paraphrasing. IT IS LITERALLY WHAT I AM. So yes. For me, writing falls right at the bottom of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, along with food and clothing and shelter. I do it, or I'll go mad. The most accurate description of what writing is for me can be found in Charles Bukowski's So You Want To Be A Writer? If I have a prayer I say every day, hopefully, reverently, this is it.
Cake
WELL. I MEAN. CAKE. Who doesn't like cake? Especially for someone like me who is an "I love you, therefore I feed you" kind of personality, cake is basically my love taking physical form. You watch. If I love you, I will bake for you every day and twice on Sunday. <3
I mean. You all remember Love in the time of Marmite, right? There's a reason Arthur is what he is, and reacts the way he does, which is because HE IS BASICALLY ME IN THAT SITUATION.
Travel
Travel is the other reason for my existence. I live to travel, visit new places, re-visit old ones. It charges me up like nothing else in my life; it inspires me and challenges me to grow and opens my mind and is basically something I wish to be able to do at least for a weekend every month. Since I can't, I have to resort to armchair travelling -- which is why my default state is with my nose buried in a book or sitting with my laptop in my lap and reading/typing, taking a trip inside my head in the only way I know how. It is an absolute essential if I am to carry on living. My biggest nightmare is being trapped somewhere in a mundane job with no means of escape every so often, be it physically or inside my head via the medium of books or stories or films or a good TV series. I am so close to that nightmare at the moment that sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat at night. I will do anything necessary to avoid it.
Also, obligatory Clint/Phil rec (this is getting to be a habit, isn't it. A WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL HABIT ♥).
Stockholm Syndrom and other drugs by AlchemyAlice
Basically this made me GIGGLE MADLY at all kinds of inopportune moments. Hilarious and insightful and just plain adorable. <3 I have such, SUCH a huge weakness for people taking care of Coulson, BECAUSE HE NEEDS IT EVEN IF HE DOESN'T EXPECT IT (WHICH MAKES HIM ALL THE MORE DESERVING). Also I will never, ever, get tired of Clint calling Coulson 'sir'. BECAUSE, WELL. MY KINKS, LET ME SHOW THEM TO YOU. (H50 crowd: #shockingly unsurprised)
AND NOW:
Okay, enough is enough. Woke up this morning in a FUCKING FANTASTIC mood, where I had Rihanna's Cheers (Drink to that) stuck in my head, and I want to say to you now: CHEERS FOR THE FREAKING WEEKEND. And I want to buy each and every one of you A MOTHERFUCKING DRINK.
Just for one fucking day, I want to keep this strange high I find myself on. It's probably being slap-happy as a consequence of having something like four hours of sleep last night because REASONS (aka GODDAMN IT, TONY, YOU MARVELLOUS BASTARD), and I am probably going to cruise today on pure adrenaline alone, but FUCK IT, I SAY.
Let's, for this one day, forget that when I got into work today at 7.30am I took out three boxes of pills out of my bag, because that's the state of my throat and my head at the moment; that my hair is a disaster that needs my hairdresser's intervention immediately, that god, my nails, I DON'T EVEN WANT TO TALK ABOUT THEM. Let's forget that apparently my period is imminent (going by the state of my face), and my body doesn't quite conform to what society as a whole terms 'Beautiful', and hey, it just so happens that I'm turned on by guys going at it.
Let's instead talk about my FUCKING SPECTACULAR brain (ILU brain, I promise, I don't care what you put me through), and that around 23,000 BCE my tits and arse would have been fucking worshiped; let's talk about how I have no less than four brain twins on this here flist (you guys, you know who you are, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH), with that number set to rise steadily if the Avengers Friending Meme is to be believed. Let's talk about you guys, all of you, who make me feel so damn loved, every single day, regardless of what might be happening in your lives; your generosity and support often makes my endorphin levels go all silly on me. Let's talk about just how many of us share the same thoughts, ideas, love of Certain Things; how we have one of the best support networks IN THE WORLD that runs on PURE LOVE.
amcw177 (I am NEVER going to need to think of a way to remember that user name, amirite, Charlie? <3) and I were talking the other day about how we wished so fucking much we could throw a party full of people on our flists, fandom people from all over, because WE ALL FUCKING ROCK, ALL RIGHT, and that party, IT WOULD BE SOME EPIC SHIT. And it would be the most fabulous, positive party EVER. SO LET'S HAVE IT HERE. Pull up a chair/cushion/bed/hammock/anything you like, and LET'S TALK ABOUT YOU. Tell me what makes YOUR life FUCKING SPECTACULAR today, whether it's your kids, your SO, your cat/dog/parrot/goldfish, THE NEWS I POSTED EARLIER, an email a kind soul sent you, a song that makes you want to dance like a madman/woman/person, a proper cup of tea/coffee/chai, JGL's THIGHS IN THOSE PANTS, the wonders of nature that are AOL and his face and Tom Hardy and his everything (and WHAT A HARDSHIP it was, looking for those photos, LET ME TELL YOU), Sherlock coming back in LESS THAN A MONTH'S TIME, and also THIS PICTURE, SCOTT MOTHERFUCKING CAAN, MICHAEL FASSBENDER'S FAAAACE, Rachel Weitz's FUCKING EVERYTHING, Gina Torres BEING THE BOSS OF EVERYONE, JEREMY RENNER, FOR FUCKING SERIOUS, THE PERFECTION THAT IS MATT BOMER, THE MOST GORGEOUS CAST ON TV, MARK SHEPPARD, GQMF, RDJ BEING FRIGGIN' ADORABLE, how your eye make-up came out just how you wanted it this morning, how your mouth is THE MOST INCREDIBLE THING ON THE PLANET (save for possibly Tom Hardy's), how they should be writing odes about YOUR face, not bloody Helen of Troy's, how your breasts look SPECTACULAR in that top, and your ass, THEY SHOULD BE SO LUCKY, about how you outsmart the guys in your office/school/etc three to one, about that story you wrote/that pic you drew/that graphic you fixed/that vid you put together that made you say DAMN I'M GOOD, about the fact that you're the only one who stayed up on that board after everyone else fell off, about how those cupcakes turned out SO FUCKING RIDICULOUSLY GOOD. I don't care. TELL ME HOW AWESOME YOU ARE (BECAUSE YOU ARE, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU). TELL ME ABOUT THAT PAIRING THAT MAKES YOUR HEART ALL AFLUTTER, THAT YOU WANT TO WRITE/READ ALLLLLL THE WORDS ABOUT. TELL ME A STORY ABOUT BOYS IN LOVE, AND IF YOUR LOVE OF TROPES RIVALS/MATCHES MINE.
LET'S HAVE A FUCKING PARTY. IDGAF, IT'S GOT TO BE AFTER 5PM SOMEWHERE IN THE WORLD. HAVE A DRINK ON ME (even if it's a cup of tea/coffee/etc). <3 Don't be shy. Come squee. Spread the word. Get to know your new friends. TALK ABOUT AWESOME THINGS.
HERE, LET ME SET THE MOOD.
Also, I am just tickled pink by ALLLLLL the awesome fic that has been posted/will be posted shortly, because, GUYS,
pocky_slash's Domesticity 'Verse Big Bang and its prequel went up yesterday!!!!! THIS IS HOW EXCITED I AM RIGHT NOW:And also IMMINENT CLINT/PHIL PUPPY FIC FROM
delicatale. I CANNOT EVEN. *______________* Me right now:Anyway. Today will be a bits-and-pieces kind of day -- Coffee Shop AU (AT OVER 13K, IT IS PROCEDING AS NORMAL FOR THE TWO OF US), Sherlockmas assignment, a beta job, edits on cop!Erik AU (because I'm feeling as positive as it's possible for me to feel, and if I don't tackle it now I NEVER WILL), and other random plot bunnies. Also I hope to be chatting to ALL OF YOU ABOUT EVERYTHING EVER. \0/ \0/
Tags:
- bucky motherfucking barnes,
- caffeine why?,
- fandom is love,
- fassy's faaaace,
- geekery,
- grumpy growly erik is my favourite,
- happy-making things,
- heartseyes,
- i have all the ~feeeelings oh god,
- i love you guys,
- language geek,
- lookit the pretty,
- meme,
- mmmmm cake,
- my flist is awesome,
- pic spam,
- pimpage,
- plot bunies are evil and should be shot,
- ramble,
- random,
- rule britannia,
- storytelling hour,
- thinky thoughts,
- this is me,
- tom hardy is love,
- what even is this,
- what the bloody hell,
- why brain why?,
- writing,
- you are a goof what are you?
no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 06:51 am (UTC)I HOPE
THAT IT LAUNCHES TEN THOUSAND FANFICS
I THINK I WOULD EXPLODE FROM FEEEEEEELS
no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:00 am (UTC)I MEAN.
HAVE PEOPLE LOOKED AT HIM LATELY.
YOU MAY REST ASSURED THAT IT WILL LAUNCH AT LEAST A DOZEN FROM ME, AT LEAST.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:04 am (UTC)AT LEAST FOUR OF WHICH WILL BE PORN
BECAUSE LET'S FACE IT
I WRITE KIND OF A LOT OF PORN
AND I WOULD NOT EVEN TRY TO RESIST EVEN IF IT WERE POSSIBLE
no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:14 am (UTC)NOT TODAY
(PROBABLY NOT UNTIL I STOP SLACKING AND FINISH MY CHRISTMAS CARDS OMG)
BUT IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN BECAUSE STEVE NEEDS TO WALK IN ON THAT
no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:17 am (UTC)STEVE FUCKING NEEDS TO WALK IN ON THAT.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:20 am (UTC)LIKE
BUCKY HAS BEEN PATIENT, OKAY, SO FUCKING PATIENT, AND HE'S BEEN HITTING ON STEVE MORE AND MORE OBVIOUSLY
BUT STEVE, GOD LOVE HIM, IS NOT GETTING THE CLUE
SO BUCKY JUST DECIDES
WELL, FUCK SUBTLE
no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:30 am (UTC)(more than half of me wanted to name this icon "Steve's derp derp face", because what really)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-11 07:33 am (UTC)