Tina: So What Are You Doing For Valentines Day?

Ha me

All Because

I like cat whiskers

And

Tyler Oakley

And

Shane Dawson

Because I like YouTube

I like Fall Out Boy

And

Panic! At The Disco

And

My Chemical Romance

And

Twenty One Pilots

Because I like music

I like Sherlock

And

Doctor who

And

Supernatural

Because I like Tumblr

I like The Hunger Games

And

Divergent

And

Percy Jackson

Because I like books

I like a lot of things

That most people

Don’t know very much about

It’s like a disease

Once you like one

It’s all over

OTP’s

And

Fanfics

And

Stalking

Comic Con

And

Vid Con

And

Meet ups

I like a lot of things

And

I’m in a lot of fandoms

And

I have a very suspicious feeling

That it all started

Because

Mr. And Mrs. Dursley

Of number four

Privet Drive

Were proud to say that

They were perfectly normal

Thank you very much.

Hi all! I worked on my Bingo card right before the show started! Im attaching a blank version if y’all want to make your own :) *please tag me if you do so I can see your predictions!*

It’s difficult

Deleted Scenes From The Cruel Prince

(Some of these are alternate storylines)

These are all of them, both deleted and alternate storyline. I highly recommend buying this TCP edition 🫶🏼 as it comes with gorgeous artwork and a neat velvet cover!

It's my 6 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

This is beautiful

the umbrella academy headcanons:

hargreeves wasn’t that bad. in the end, he really didn’t want them to forget where they came from, so he made a point of letting them learn their native languages (e.g.: russian for vanya, german for klaus, etc).

diego never stutters when he speaks spanish.

a sure sign that vanya was pissed for real when they were children was her mumbling darkly in russian under her breath.

allison never found out where exactly in africa she’s from (her mother asked to stay anonymous so allison couldn’t reconnect with her ever, even when she grew older), so she makes an effort to study a little bit of everything so she’ll never be caught off-guard in the event of knowing someday. she’s currently working on her luo.

i know the reason luther tends to sound british from time to time is because that’s really his actor’s natural accent slipping through, but i’d like to think it’s also because since he was the last one left in the house, he began to acquire a few of sir reginald’s speaking habits.

klaus was particularly good with languages because of the variety of ghosts he tended to attract when sober. on a whim, he studied russian as well, just so he could reach out to vanya on the days she got too frustrated with violin practice.

ben loved all asian languages equally. indian, filipino, japanese, etc. ? he’s (mostly) proficient in all of them.

diego has a habit of substituting Spanish words for English ones when he thinks he isn’t explaining himself well enough.

as adults, after they’ve settled the whole apocalypse business and start working on their family for a change, they decide to study each other’s languages because a.) it’s one way of being there for each other, b.) they’ll have more ways to communicate from now on, and c.) it’s one less barrier between all of them.

they start with russian because vanya was put in last place her whole life and they all agree that she deserves to be prioritized for a change. they keep it under wraps as a surprise, but diego accidentally spoils the whole thing by dropping russian curse after russian curse in front of her when he finds out klaus has done something particularly naughty with one of his knives yet again.

imagine vanya’s beaming smile when she hears her adoptive brother swearing in her mother tongue, and in a rare display of emotion, she actually leans up on her tiptoes to peck his cheek. diego goes so red that number five teases him about it for days.

they move on to spanish without telling diego as well, and the first time they converse with him is during breakfast, when they’re all awake and helping out in the kitchen because mom isn’t around to do things like this anymore. it takes him a few minutes to realize that he’s been talking with his family in spanish, but when he finally does, he smiles so widely that even allison is concerned that he’s finally snapped.

klaus is a surprisingly patient teacher when it comes to german lessons. they ask him to teach them instead of looking for another instructor because at least that way, his non-stop blabbering makes sense somewhat.

it’s more endearing than annoying nowadays, though, and number five blames his attachment on the fact that he’s going through puberty again, never mind that it actually does feel nice whenever klaus praises his enunciation or ruffles his hair playfully when he gets too frustrated.

imagine the siblings fighting together in perfect harmony, and their opponents being so confused because the battlefield is just one crazy mish-mash of different languages being hurled in all sorts of directions.

they learn mandarin last, but not because they forgot, no. they learn it last because they all agree that it’s the hardest, and they want it to really stick because this is their way of honoring their fallen brother. sometimes, they find themselves talking to thin air in mandarin, asking for ben’s opinion, despite the fact that they don’t even know if ben is there at all or trailing behind klaus as usual.

number five in particular develops a habit of talking to ben, asking for his opinion on things and ranting to him about their siblings’ idiocy on particularly bad days. once, he asks klaus to tag along with him to the department store. they head straight to delores’ display, and number five introduces her to ben in perfect mandarin.

ben keeps rolling his eyes at all their botched pronunciations, but at the same time, he’s just so, so happy, because here they are: his family, still a touch too dysfunctional, and yet much stronger because they’re all together again and helping each other heal - slowly, but surely, of course - from almost three decades worth of emotional and mental abuse. and if klaus sees ben wrapping his arms around their siblings sometimes, on days when the strain of being superheroes gets too much again, then he simply smiles before turning the other way, content to shut up for once.

i just looked it up and the highest recorded pitch for a softball player is 77mph by monica abbott and i did the math and it would take a 77mph softball pitch the same amount of time to get to home as a 114mph baseball pitch. the fastest recorded baseball pitch is 105mph. furthermore an average highly competitive softball pitch is like 72mph which is the equivalent of a 110mph baseball pitch and softball players hit that commonly and the defense can field it and get the runner out in less than 3 seconds i love women and softball goodbye

Catcalling the Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings/tags: drunk Reader, humor, terrible flirtatious comments, and lots of appreciation for the Ass of Hell's Kitchen

Summary: A night out takes an amusing turn when you accidentally and drunkenly catcall the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

a/n: This little one shot is brought to you thanks to the Murdock Tuna Team who not only inspired the idea, but helped create some of the flirtatious banter. I just couldn't resist the idea of catcalling the Devil in the black suit, okay? Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Pushing open the door of Alchemy, you stepped outside and onto the sidewalk. The sweltering heat of Hell’s Kitchen greeted you, the humidity mixing with the sticky sweat already coating your skin and adding another uncomfortable layer of dampness. But it still felt far more refreshing outside in the humid evening air than it did inside the busy bar with countless other sweaty bodies packed together. The usual buzz of the city at night was even welcoming in comparison to the loud music that had been steadily aggravating the pounding in your head for the past twenty minutes. 

Walking unsteadily in your heels, you turned to the right and made your way over towards the corner of the building and away from Alchemy's main doors and thumping music. One of your hands reached up as you stumble-walked, grabbing at the neck of your dress and peeling it off of your wet skin to allow some air to flow inside and cool your heated body. You’d spent a good portion of your evening drunkenly dancing with your friends as you celebrated Elise’s birthday tonight, which was why you'd decided to wait for your Uber outside of the bar–so you could catch your breath before heading home. 

As you neared the alley, your ankle unexpectedly twisted when your heel caught in a crack along the sidewalk. A surprised gasp slipped past your lips as you began falling forward face-first towards the pavement. Your hand released the neck of your dress and instinctively flew out to your side, your palm landing against the brick of the building just in time to awkwardly catch yourself. Struggling to steady your inebriated self, you stayed bent in half as the pavement swirled beneath your black heels. 

Once the spinning had finally stopped, you threw your other hand out and began to desperately claw your way back upright with both hands along the brick. Limping forward, you leant up against the side of the bar and tried to ease the pressure off your now sore ankle. With a low groan you attempted to find a comfortable position against the brick, supporting your weight more fully along the wall and resigning yourself to waiting right here for your Uber. Internally you cursed yourself for wearing such tall heels and drinking as much as you had tonight–hopefully you hadn’t actually injured your ankle. You’d probably be regretting your decisions in the morning, especially since you still had to go into work. 

Reaching up, you ran the back of your hand across your forehead in an attempt to remove some of the sweat that had accumulated there. But just as you’d begun to lower your hand back to your side, movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. Your head turned in the direction of it, your vision spinning momentarily before everything came back into focus. Though the second your brain managed to make sense of the black blur on the rooftop, your mouth fell open. Because there on the roof just above you was the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“There’s no way I’m this drunk,” you muttered to yourself. 

You watched as the dark figure crouched down low on the corner of the building, his body hunched like a gargoyle overlooking the street below. He was only a few floors above you and seemingly searching for something with the way his head was scanning the street below as it moved back and forth in sharp movements. With his back turned towards you while he was lowered in a crouch, you had been left with a perfect view of his backside under the city lights. Whether it was due to how absolutely glorious the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’s ass looked in his black pants while you were almost directly beneath him, or due to the handful of shots and cocktails you’d recently drank down, you’d suddenly loosed a long, low whistle out into the night.

Immediately the Devil’s head snapped over his shoulder the second you’d whistled. Eyes growing wide in shock, your body straightened against the wall behind you instantly. You hadn’t even realized you’d just catcalled the Devil until you’d actually done it. And now he was crouched atop the roof and staring right down at you.

For a long time you stood there locking eyes with the masked man–or so you assumed, considering you couldn’t see his eyes beneath the black on his face. Neither of you moved,  neither of you spoke, yet a tension had quickly formed in the air. 

Until a peel of laughter bubbled right up out of your mouth.

The Devil’s head tilted sharply to the side as the sound echoed through the alley beside you. You threw a hand up to cover your mouth, trying to stifle the noise, but somehow that only made you laugh harder. Because no one would believe you about this later. But your laughter fell short when the Devil rose to his full height on the rooftop, spinning around to face you with a fluid grace that had made your head spin in return. Biting down on your lip, you fought back another round of laughter as tears began to form in your eyes. You’d only managed to reduce your amusement at the situation to barely restrained giggles before he spoke.

“Something wrong?” the deep voice called out.

You shook your head quickly, the Devil briefly blurring into three Devils above you. Throwing your hand up into the air, you sent him a single thumb’s up. “No!” you answered, stifling another giggle. “Everything’s fine, Devil. Just–just appreciating the view.”

His head cocked to the side even further, the sight reminding you of a dog. Another giggle slipped out of you before you could stop it. Though you once more bit down on your lip when the vigilante began to expertly climb his way down the side of the building. Openly admiring his body as you readjusted your position against the wall–which was currently still single-handedly keeping you upright at the moment–you watched as he easily made his way from the roof to the alley. If it hadn’t been for the curious, pleased smile that was clearly spread across his lips when he came to stand just a few feet away, you might’ve felt nervous that he’d suddenly taken as much of an interest in you as you had in him. 

“Appreciating the view?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Your ass.”

The Devil’s lips twitched at your bold honesty and you bit back another giggle. This whole situation was so unbelievable it was actually absurdly hilarious.

“So you’re saying that you interrupted me solely just to whistle at my ass?” the Devil inquired. “Did I hear that right?”

Pushing away from the wall, you stumbled forward a step, squaring your shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes–or where you thought they were. “Yeah. Couldn’t exactly resist,” you answered, your words slurring a bit as you spoke. “You’re carryin’ an entire bakery’s worth of devil’s food cake back there.”

You wildly waved a hand towards the Devil’s lower half, sloppily gesturing towards his ass. His head once more tilted curiously to the side, the grin on his lips growing even wider in clear amusement. 

“Devil’s food cake?” he questioned.

“Y’know,” you said, waggling your eyebrows suggestively at him. “‘Cause of all that–that cake you got back there. Wouldn’t mind a piece, personally.”

A huff of laughter slipped past the Devil’s lips and you brightened at the sound as it registered in your intoxicated ears. His positive reaction was only going to encourage you now.

“Are you… flirting with me?” he asked incredulously. “Because you do realize who I am, right?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst guy I’ve hit on tonight,” you replied with a shrug.

The Devil laughed, shaking his head as his attention dropped down towards his boots. A grin lingered along his lips, something almost bashful. But your focus openly shifted back down to the profile of his ass, your eyes appreciating the way the dark fabric stretched over him. 

“Y’know it’s my friend’s birthday tonight,” you told him, swaying unsteadily on the sidewalk. “Didn’t realize you were the one bringin’ the cake.”

A snort of laughter met your comment, your smile growing wide as you watched the Devil’s head rise back up. He was smirking now, something mischievous in the way his mouth had twisted beneath the hard line of his mask. 

Grinning back at him, your right hand cupped around your mouth as you leaned forward towards him. “But maybe you can let me blow out the candle,” you drunkenly half-whispered.

He shook his head at you, but the mischievous twist of his lips remained beneath the black fabric of his mask. “You're a bold drunk, aren't you?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you mumbled back, your eyes fixing along his lips. Without even thinking, you blurted next, “Wouldn’t mind climbing you like a building.”

Another surprised snort of amusement fell out of him as he shook his head at you once more. “You’re full of so many terrible lines,” he teased back with a chuckle. “You do realize that, right?”

“Oh I’ve got plenty more,” you assured him with a nod, exaggeratingly waving a dismissive hand in the air between you both. “Don’t you worry. Could totally do this all night.”

“Oh really?” he asked. “Is that right? Because I certainly can make time for this.”

Your hand stopped flapping in the air between you both, a single finger raising up. “Okay, wait,” you amended. “I have an Uber coming. So maybe not all night, but probably a few more minutes.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, his smile briefly slipping. “Shame because this is turning out to be the most fun I’ve had so far in the mask.”

“Wanna make it more fun?” you asked, grinning suggestively at him.

The Devil’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he tried to bite back his growing smile. Something warm heated you, starting at the base of your skull and trickling down to your toes. Your eyes focused back on his mouth as your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You'd only been jokingly flirting, but now…

“Hate to be the voice of reason here,” the Devil began, “but I don't sleep with intoxicated women that I meet in alleys. I much prefer sober consent.”

“What a pity,” you mumbled, face contorting into a pout. “Never would've thought the Devil was a gentleman .”

“I'm full of surprises,” he teased.

You hummed thoughtfully in response, taking a step into the alley towards him and stumbling a little in your heels. Ignoring the growing throbbing of your ankle, you focused on the thrill of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen actually letting you flirt with him. You wanted to enjoy every minute of it, even if you probably wouldn't remember this moment too clearly in the morning.

“Anyone tell you you’ve got a pretty mouth?” you asked him. 

The Devil shook his head, his smile returning. “No. Can't say the criminals I meet are too fond of passing out compliments when I'm hitting them,” he replied.

“Well you do ,” you assured him. “You really, really do .” Eyes narrowing at the plush lips of his still quirked into a smile, you studied the shape of them amongst the faint bit of dark stubble. “Reminds me of my boss. Now that's a mouth I'd love to do things with,” you drunkenly confessed. “But see,” you continued, pointing a firm finger at the Devil’s chest, “ he’s an asshole. Not fun like you.” 

The Devil’s head tilted to the side again, his grin growing into a smirk. “Oh he is, is he?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered. “Great ass, huge asshole. I’m–I’m sure there’s a stick shoved in there somewhere.”

The Devil barked out a laugh into the night as you reached into your purse and pulled out your phone. Squinting as the bright light assaulted your eyes, you saw that your Uber was mere minutes away. You loosed a disappointed sigh.

“Your ride almost here?” the Devil asked.

“Unfortunately,” you answered, returning your phone to your purse. “Unless you wanna be my ride tonight?”

Zipping your purse back up, you heard the Devil let out another laugh. Your smile grew along with your surprise at this whole interaction. You hadn’t anticipated just how fun the masked vigilante actually was considering how he spent his evenings. It was a shame you’d never meet him again.

“Have you fallen tonight?” the Devil asked, still grinning at you.

You held up a hand, preventing him from continuing his thought. “If you're about to ask if I fell from heaven,” you slurred, “then I'm disappointed in your lines, Devil man.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and laughing softly. “I’m just concerned you might have a concussion because of your continued flirting with a known vigilante. You should probably get your head checked out.”

“ You can check me out,” you teased coyly, sending him an exaggerated wink.

The Devil’s mouth opened, about to reply, but then his face darted over your shoulder, the corner of his lip twitching. You frowned when he took a step back, aware the gesture meant this entire interaction was quickly coming to an end. You didn’t want it to.

“Think your ride’s about here, actually,” the Devil said, further backing up into the alley. “Seems this is where I say goodnight.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t go yet!” you begged his retreating form. “I didn’t get any devil’s food cake!” you called after him. “How ‘bout a piece to-go? Sharing is caring!”

But somehow the Devil had quickly disappeared into the darkened alley, the only proof of his presence the echo of his laughter bouncing off the brick walls. The sound sent a pleasant chill up your body, a smile still lingering along your lips as you teetered on the spot staring after him.

The pounding in your head hit you almost immediately after the sound of your alarm hit your ears. Groaning miserably as your entire body protested waking, your hand blindly flew out from beneath the sheets and felt around for your phone. Opening your eyes, you immediately hissed in pain as the bright light in your bedroom burned them. You blinked rapidly, trying to push past the growing throbbing in your head in order to shut off your irritating alarm. 

Silence finally settling once more in your room, you tossed your phone back down onto your nightstand and rolled onto your side before immediately halting. A wave of nausea hit you instantly and you squeezed your eyes closed, hoping to fight the feeling back. You needed to get up and get ready for work. You had twenty minutes to wash up, brush your teeth, and throw on clothes before you had to be out the door or you'd be late, and you could only imagine how irate your one boss would be if you were. You didn’t have time to get sick.

After a few moments, you were grateful when the nausea subsided. Cautiously you tested things, slowly opening your eyes again before tentatively pushing yourself upright in bed. The pounding in your head continued to rage on, another pathetic groan slipping past your lips. Drinking like you'd done on a weeknight last night had been a horrible idea. Vaguely you recalled the evening in flashes–doing rounds of shots, dancing with your friends, flirting with some guy. Most of the night remained a blur, though.

Feeling half-alive, you climbed out of bed and focused on getting ready for work. You'd briefly washed off in the shower, scrubbing yourself just clean enough to remove the scent of alcohol that felt like it was seeping out from your pores. Then you brushed your teeth vigorously before swirling some mouthwash around in your mouth, the taste of which had you fighting bile once more back down. Then you threw on whatever clean blouse and slacks your hands touched first, shuffling through your apartment towards your shoes as you pulled your pants on.

It had ultimately taken you more than twenty minutes to get ready for work and to get out the door since you'd had to stop and brace yourself against a wall or piece of furniture multiple times–either due to the pain in your head or the roiling in your gut. Then you'd been in a hurry making your way out of your building and towards the office, the morning sun and the usual city traffic only further aggravating your headache. By the time you'd finally gotten to work, you were more than ten minutes late and out of breath. 

“I am–” you pushed open the door to the office, panting hard as you spotted one of your bosses leaning against your desk, “–so sorry. Was trying to get here on time but I went out last night. This morning was a struggle.”

“Well you're here now, at least,” Foggy said, glancing up from a paper in his hands at you. His brows creased together as he eyed you, his nose visibly scrunching in distaste. “Though you smell like you slept in a bathtub of liquor and you look like you woke up to fight a pissed off honey badger.”

You laughed lightly, the noise further irritating your head as you hurried over towards your desk before making your way around it. “Yeah. I'm aware,” you replied. “I'm sorry. My friend had a birthday last night and I went out to celebrate. I definitely drank too much and I completely regret it. I promise I learned my lesson.”

“Certainly not the best decision,” Foggy agreed. “But I'm glad to hear that. Maybe next time–”

“You're late.”

Your head darted over your shoulder at the sound of your other boss. Grimacing at the stern look on Matt’s face, your shoulders slumped as you set your bag down onto the top of your desk.  

“I know, I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock,” you apologized. “It was a one time thing, it won't happen again, I promise.”

“Good, it better not,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe to his office. The corner of his lip twitched upwards for a second before he raised his coffee cup to his mouth, hiding the smile threatening to spread onto his lips. “Fog's right though, you smell like you bathed in the alcohol instead of drinking it. Can you even remember your night out?”

Chewing your lip awkwardly, your brows furrowed as you tried to recall last night. Though the sight of Matt standing there casually leaning against the doorframe drinking his coffee, the buttons of his sage green dress shirt struggling as he did, was making it hard for you to focus.

“Uh, bits and pieces of it?” you answered. 

“Mmm,” he hummed out, lowering his coffee cup. “Well, hopefully your evening was worth showing up late for. I certainly enjoyed my night, though. Woke up in a good mood this morning, actually.”

Your eyes narrowed at the smile on his face, something tickling at the back of your mind at the sight of it. But Matt smiling instead of scolding you when you messed up was an unusual occurrence, one that had you hesitantly and distractedly lowering down into your desk chair. 

“Which is why I brought doughnuts for everyone this morning,” Matt continued, gesturing a hand towards your desk. “I hope you still have an appetite after all the alcohol.”

“They're so good,” Foggy told you. “They’re from that new bakery a block over.”

Foggy slid the white box you hadn’t noticed on your desk over towards you. You watched as he flipped the lid open, the strong and sweet aroma of sugar and chocolate hitting your nose. Your stomach rumbled hungrily as you eyed the delicious chocolate pastries.

“Since when do you bring in doughnuts?” you asked, glancing back over at Matt.

He pushed off the doorframe, shrugging his shoulder. “I don't know,” he said, a strange smile drawing itself wide across his lips. “For some reason I woke up with a craving for devil's food cake and I just thought I’d share.”

With a deep chuckle Matt turned around, making his way back into his office. Head tilting curiously to the side, your eyes lingered along his backside as that strange feeling of something trying to reach the forefront of your mind returned.

Matt Murdock One Shot/Shorts Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @ardent-crow @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl

Modern Howlies

Okay, I know it’s really unlikely and unrealistic and what not but I don’t care

Just imagine: The Howling Commandos alive in modern times. Not through science or serums or cryofreeze, those stubborn assholes just won’t die. They are mildly crotchety old men who wave canes at family reunions and play bingo on weekends and still try to be involved with espionage whenever possible because their retirement home is just so BORING. (Whenever possible is limited to when Gabe and Peggy’s grandson Antoine and their niece Sharon bring them little pieces of ‘classified’ information and asking for advice, and it’s a far cry from their commando days but it’s something so they’ll take it. One more game of scrabble and someone is getting punched) (yes they are all in the same retirement home. Practically attached at the hips they are, especially now that most of the families have spread and moved onto their own lives.)

Then one day Sharon comes in, jittery and more excited than they’ve ever seen her and tells them that They. Found. Cap! Alive! That night the nurses find out that 90 year olds can still be as rowdy as twenty year olds if they are excited enough.

Golden haired fucker doesn’t visit them till after aliens invade New York and for that Dernier repeatedly sacks him upside the head with his cane when he does finally come. (They’d never missed being in the action so much as when they had to watch Cap on the tv, fighting fucking aliens without them to watch his six. And maybe they are a little jealous of these Avengers, but sue them, he was their Captain first.)

All is well, though the rest home gets a few interesting stories because even now they can convince Steve to do some ridiculous shit if they push hard enough. It’s entirely worth the property damage to see him grinning like he hasn’t since before Sarge fell. (And that’s still a gaping wound in all of them, especially now when they are almost all together again. But it’ll never be all of them because Bucky is never coming back)

Then DC happens and they see SHIELD fall on the news (HYDRA, fucking HYDRA the whole damn time and Gabe grips his chair so hard his knuckles turn white because where are Antione and Sharon, are they okay?) and most importantly they see a dead man trying to kill Steve and what the fucking FUCK!?

SARGE!?

WHAT THE HELL SARGE!?

Then hydra’s Intel hits the web and well.

Now it’s war. (It was before, but y'know. Fucking personal now, that’s their Sarge)

So they pour over every piece of Intel they can get their hands on (which is everything the black widow put out their because they may be old but they are the god damn Howling Commandos and their captain and their Sargent need them) and they pull up bases for Cap to tear apart. On her good days Peggy is on the phone helping them and it’s almost like old days and it’s the most purposeful they’ve felt in years

But their most important mission is finding Bucky and bringing him home. And like hell they are sitting this one out. Fuck that, that’s their boy out there somewhere. So they get their leads, they fear up as best they can and they set out. It really does feel like they old days then. Dugan still wears that damn hat and he still has that fucking mustauche. Monty still wears his beret and Dernier still shouldn’t be allowed near explosives (or maybe he should, if you ask Dugan his opinion.) and speaks mostly in French so he and Gabe can have private conversations just to annoy the others. Peggy makes them promise to bring him to visit her when they find him and sends along a letter addressed to Sargent Barnes of the Howling Commandos.

It takes a while, and Steve rants at them to get back to the home before something happens nearly every day on the phone but sorry cap technically we don’t need to take orders anymore, but finally they find him in some old safe house that really is a house in Europe.

Bucky looks out his window one day and see a group of old men standing on the walk staring at him and just feels confusion and familiarity and then - are those the men from the museum? Yes, yes they are! Holy shit it’s the fucking commandos! How are they here, they are ancient, what the fuck guys!?

He sneaks out the back and the chase begins.

They follow him across Europe yelling at him to come home every time they get close no matter who is around (to damn old for this shit, get your punk ass home you little fuck, don’t give a damn who can hear us) and Dernier keeps lecturing him in French. They nearly choke on their coffee the first time he responds in perfect French, something snarky and oh so Bucky and the fucker takes that opportunity to disappear into the crowd. Asshole.

There are close calls and sarcasm and somewhere along the line Morita shanks somebody and Gabe beans a hydra agent over the head with an IV pole and Dugan knocks another one out with his walker.

Just, ninety something year old howlies chasing Bucky across Europe and despite his winter soldier training managing to keep getting the drop on him.

jack abbot, cynical, suicidal, war veteran who listens to police scanners and barely cracks a smile. whose name is spelt with one ‘t’ not two. who writes letters for family members of deceased veterans. who will low ball a teenagers measurements so, she can have the abortion. who does his job while donating blood with the bag strapped to his leg. who’s a great doctor and equally great teacher that will absolutely go to bat for his team but, quietly scold you if you did something you shouldn’t have but, praise you because you did it right. who is kind, compassionate and caring. who has seen the worst but still chooses to believe in the best. who’s the type of friend to say ‘you’re in my spot’ when you’re standing at the edge of a roof. who makes food delivery jokes and bug analogies and says ‘so what?’ because everyone hesitates sometimes. who’s a certified yapper and hype-girl and wants you to know that you’re doing an amazing job and you’re appreciated when you’re going through a particularly tough time. who speaks openly about being in therapy and recommends said therapist if you need someone to talk to because ‘i haven’t jumped off the roof, have i?’. jack abbot who was perceived as one way at the beginning of the season and turned out to be entirely different at the end.