#16th sentence
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like clockwork someone who's been openly a sex pest for decades gets named as a rapist and sexual predator and we all get to play the hit parade with such classics as:
oh my god oh my god did you know this industry full of rich people who are rewarded for exploitative and abusive behaviour...has an issue with rape and abuse??? CAN YOU BELIEVE THERE'S ABUSE IN THIS INDUSTRY???? (yeah man we know. we've known for quite a while actually. for longer than I've been alive for sure.)
oh my god I can't believe there are rapists among us (1 in 3 women have experienced rape, who do you think is doing it?)
but he seemed so nice! (not really tbh)
well I met him and he never raped me and like, I'm really hot so if he was really a rapist he would have (Jesus fuck get help)
is it really rape to fuck 16 year old girls when you're in your 30s? (yeah it is if you fucking rape them mate)
can't believe everyone knew but never said!!! (they literally did say and also hey imagine if you will what reasons there might be too not say anything, such as, say, it's not your story to tell and the victim had expressed a wish to not be at the centre of a whole shitstorm)
Real Victims wouldn't go to journalists they'd go to the cops!!! (hey guys I have some upsetting news about the experience of reporting rape to the cops)
This is a conspiracy to make this irrelevant celebrity look bad! (please touch grass)
it's all just a bit of fun innit (no)
and every time we all over again have to go to this place where rape is simultaneously a significant threat and common experience (agreed) but also everyone who's ever talked about being raped is lying, and nobody's ever done a rape even if there's 20 years of documented evidence and on camera confessions and also their whole public persona is 'cheeky sex pest' (fucking. what?)
and then that guy hopefully gets cancelled and people feel a bit more guilty about watching him. and then they'll go HOORAY THE EVIL IS DEFEATED WE HAVE GOT RID OF THAT GUY THAT DID THE RAPES. OUR WORK HERE IS DONE. COMEDY/FILM/MUSIC/TV IS FREE OF PREDATORS NOW
and then 6.5 seconds later allegations will come out about someone else and we will start the whole thing again from scratch OH MY GOD CAN YOU BELIEVE THERE'S ABUSE IN THIS INDUSTRY???
#red said#it gets SO under my skin like how are people STILL SURPRISED?????#like this happens SO OFTEN you canNOT still find it this unexpected???#especially when it's someone like Russell Brand who is the kind of 2000s comedian who built his entire career on predatory misogyny as a bi#like I'm sorry I'm sorry this isn't a time you so moment#but some people you're like oh that's disappointing. he seemed like he might be sound.#others though. you cannot tell me at any point in the last 20 years anyone's looked at Russell fucking Brand#and not thought at least a little bit oh this man's a fucking nonce#'russell brand predated on teenage girls for years' may be up there in the least surprising sentences I've ever heard#i have never seen a man who's more obviously used to regularly using the phrase 'I waited until her 16th birthday so it's fine'#the fucking fedora ass incorrectly loquacious cult vibes '''''ironic''''' hipster misogyny known-in-thr-scene creepster#like we all know that guy right? sometimes he's a famous comedian and sometimes he's a 38 year old musician who only ever#dates girls under 18 and hangs out at spots frequented by students trying to show off both how hip he is and how he's got Adult Money#but the vibes. the vibes. tbf a lot of those fuckers in the 2000s were probably also modelling their vibes off him also.#the looming monster of rape in the abstract
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it feels like it was years ago but it was only april
#⛪.spilled blood#the 28th/29th#and then may 16th was when they stole the cat#we lived there for two full months after the fire#we just learned to ignore the scorch marks and the stains on the walls#the screaming that we'd hear every time we looked at the couch#I wonder if he's been sentenced yet#arson is supposed to be able to get you up to 14 years here#I hope to god the judge asks us to testify#because I remember every second of that night
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Tumblr definitely changed how tagging works and I literally hate it
It used to be only the first 5 tags would show up in search results for the tag, so like if you tagged a Fandom or a ship, but put it at like the sixth tag, it wouldn't show up in that tag
I hate it because I like to talk in the tags when I post but I don't like it to show up in the Fandom tag cause it's not talking specifically about the Fandom, so it just feels like spam
#i put a ship name as part of the 16th tag in a post#i counted#and i just went to check the tag and that post was in there#i hate that so much#and like it wasnt even the ship name by itself#it was as part of a sentence#tumblr i dont want my random thoughts to end up in tags just cause i started rambling 16 tags in#stop that
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Hey not so fun fact
Did you know there's a human flesh bound book in the Harvard library. Yeah, that's a thing. Its about meditation, the soul, and life after death.
#anthropodermic bibliopegy#Harvard#Harvard library#so the guy who did this said “A book about the human soul deserves to have a human covering”#I think that's fucked up#The skin was taken from an unclaimed female patient who died of natural causes#And apparently this practice of using human flesh to bound books dates back to the 16th century#Criminals sentenced to death would have their body donated to science and their skin donated to book founders
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In 1590, a young woman was burned to death at St George's Fields, London, for poisoning her mistress.
"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory
#book quote#normal women#philippa gregory#nonfiction#90s#1590s#16th century#burned to death#st george's fields#london#poisoning#death sentence#capital punishment
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Oh yeah, Wolfgang sure did proof his point that "aufbrüsten" is a real word, but seemingly not used in this century.
#he fucking went 'see? it's a word. ... why does the sentence look like that?'#it looked like that because it was from the 16th century. fucking early new high german#i can't even tell you how funny that is to me
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Finally back to the point i was before i lost hours of writing earlier today
I'm mostly sad because if it wasn't for that lost work, i would probablg be finished with this fic right now
But oh well, c'est la vie, que voulez-vous
I ain't mad about what i wrote to replace the lost parts and i will never be able to compare the two so i have decided to be proud of my writing instead
#me#writing#i am on 11/16th into the fic now#well... kinda#I MIGHT HAVE WRITTEN THE WHOLE ENDING ALREADY#i dislike writing out of order#but i already had two the last two sentences#and walking back home (before knowing i had lost the work) i was thinking about what i wanted for the last part#and the words came#so i wrote them before i would forget
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PERISHED ROSE, perished beautifully
Since the day those things took over, they told you you were destined for only the best, and you were the most perfect creature on the planet they had taken over.
You would lay on the fake grass in the most expensive attire fit for royalty while everyone else was in white rags. Everyone looked at you as if you'd be their savior, but where you looked was at the floor, not even bothered by the people surrounding you, wanting to touch you, be saved by you.
Your voice was like nails on a chalkboard to me, your blank face was one of disgust to me, your nonspeaking tongue was an open invitation to me.
What would it take for you to have a different reaction? With your face so blank, like a canvas, it needed to be painted with a new emotion.
I approached you, but you don't even look at me; your eyes are always on the artificial green at your feet.
Nothing made you angry, happy, uncomfortable, or fearful because you knew nothing could happen to you; those things wouldn't allow it.
We had a connection.
Winter came, making the rose wither.
It was another song, you on stage with that stupid face. You were up against one of the top three, not that it mattered since you had always been number one. You were perfect after all.
You both belonged to the same thing, owner; it said it wanted to know who was truly the best, even if it costed a pet.
Who knows what the blonde was telling you for you to break that blankless face. Anger never seen before, it was a true look of hatred as you grip your instrument.
When they dragged you away, I could only think, why wasn't it me? Why couldn't I get that reaction out of you? Like a baseball bat swinging your instrument at me and taking what's yours, my life, It was the only way to truly go out.
Whatever words reached your ears that day by the true savior flicked an impossible switch in your brain for you to swing at various living beings that day; of course, who would mind? Their lives belonged to you.
After the 16th life they finally put the bullet through your head.
It was bitter, such emotion, but it wasn't caused by me. It was the insane glare of hateful emotions directed at someone else. What did he have that I don't?
Every human scattered, terrified of their savior being replaced by a monster, a cold, heartless charmer who took first place. What would they do without you?
But they do not understand how truly lost I am without you. It's not fair for humans to think they had connection with you.
You only spoke one sentence since those things took over.
"Ivan. When I die, I want to die perfectly. It's only fitting for a perfect rose like me."
I always hated you in a way. The way you never reacted to anything, but that day you spoke you had an emotion I still can't identify.
My goal was to make you have a reaction toward me or anything before you died. I never knew why.
I never knew what it was.
"Tonight, the perfect rose will die ugly, and a better one will bloom beautifully.
I finally rid of you and make that freak always by your side watch."
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Undesirable encounter
(Claude Frollo X Female reader)
Synopsis: You were the new seamstress in Paris and Frollo suspects that you were harboring Romani in your shop. It looks like your first start was more tense than you expected...
A/n: I confess that I am in love with the Hunchback of Notre-Dame and I especially love the book. I hope you readers like it, and if you want to give me tips I accept (you can correct me too) If you want other Disney characters, you can ask me💕.
Part.2 (Final)
(Guys, I don't know if you know, but the word "gypsy" is a slur and should not be used, the correct one is "Roma" Or "Romani people" I put "Gypsy" only in Frollo's lines since you know the type of person he is.)
It was just another ordinary day in Paris, you had arrived in the city a few months ago and worked as a dressmaker. You immediately became known for the beautiful dresses you produced for the girls and the beautiful clothes for the boys too. You had an excellent aesthetic sense.
But what you had in the way of talent, you also had in the way of kindness. When you heard about the persecution of the Romani people, you felt touched by the situation and decided to help them. It was very risky, but you weren't going to stand by and let it happen like the other citizens of Paris were doing, letting themselves be manipulated by Frollo and his hate speeches. There was a basement in your house that you used to store fabric and sewing materials. You took advantage of that room to help some Romani hide in case of emergency if they were being chased by the guards and if there was no time to run to the court of miracles.
And so it went on, you were extremely careful not to leave any traces, until one day or another these "rumors" ended up reaching the judge.
You were sewing up the sleeves of a client's dress, which had been placed in the moulage to make it easier for you to work, and your attention now turned to the bell that rang as soon as the door was opened. Immediately, the atmosphere of the place changed when you saw who had entered. You knew those clothes, the face worn by age and you couldn't forget that look of superiority and pride, because himself thought he was important and better than everyone because of his opposition and faith. Looking behind those glass windows, you could also see some of his men at the front of the store:
“Bonjour, madame.” Frollo said sternly, snapping you out of your thoughts. That thick, authoritative voice gave you the creeps. “I'd like to know who owns this establishment. Your husband is here?”
“A-Ah! Good morning...” You forced a smile and stuck the needle into the moulage so you wouldn't lose it. “Your Honor, I'm the owner, and no, I don't have a husband.”
As you said this, the judge looked you up and down with contempt. Of course, in the 16th century, a young woman like you not being married was a disgrace to society, and on top of that, being able to read and owning your own business was even worse. You weren't tense or nervous with him in your store, on the contrary, you were so calm... After all, you cleaned out the basement and removed any evidence as soon as a family of Romani's moved out recently:
“I've received information that you've been harboring gypsies in your house and I'm here to find out the facts, have you been harboring gypsies?” He got straight to the point.
“No, sir.” You pretended to be as honest as possible, fortunately you were good at lying.
“You know that if you lie, the sentence for insubordination is death...” He moved closer in an attempt to intimidate her.
“My conscience is clear. You have permission to investigate my store, since my words don't apply to you.”
“If I wasn't allowed to, seamstress, I'd still make a point of searching this place from top to bottom, whether you agree or not.”
The older man signaled for some of his men to enter the store before you could protest or complain. Since you were the only one who seemed to have enough courage to go against the judge's ideas when you were right. They went in and started rummaging around for clues, looking everywhere, even under the skirts of the dresses on the mannequins.
Frollo looked you up and down in an nothing unobtrusive way, you didn't notice the glances, but as soon as you did, it gave you the creeps and you avoided looking back at him. He had never noticed you in the city before and he noticed your accent, deducing that you might be a foreigner. The judge couldn't take his eyes off you, you were a very beautiful woman and seemed so delicate, and it seems that some feeling awakened in him when he saw that you were without gloves and your dress showed your shoulders. He came out of his thoughts when a guard approached:
"Sir, we've looked everywhere and found nothing..." Being a clever woman, an idea came to your mind: perhaps it would be better if they looked at everything to leave you alone.
"Have you looked in my basement, gentlemen?" you asked, kicking the rug that hid the small door in the wooden floor of your store.
Frollo was suspicious, but sent his men in to search every corner of the small cellar. Fortunately, they didn't find anything either, just sewing materials and expensive fabrics. After looking around in vain, the men left the store, leaving you and the judge alone:
“I apologize for this inconvenience.” He said as you went to the moulage to finish the dress.
“You shouldn't believe every rumor out there, Your Honor, not all of them can be true.” You said politely. “but apologies accepted, I know it was for the good of Paris and you care a lot about the city.”
Returning to work, you thought he would leave after all that had happened and notice you "busy" sewing, but no, he stayed in the store while walking slowly around analyzing his surroundings:
“This basement...” He pointed to the carpet above the small door. “Why was it hidden?”
“I don't see the need to show everyone that I have a basement here.” You replied nonchalantly. “and besides, I think that old door would spoil the pretty look of my store.”
Frollo didn't seem to believe in that very much, but you shrugged and continued sewing. There were a few seconds of silence, you could only hear his footsteps coming towards you and could feel that man's gaze on you all the time, causing you a certain nervousness or fear. What did he want anyway?
“Do you want anything else?” you asked in an attempt to break the silence and take your mind off the discomfort of feeling his gaze on you, stopping your sewing and looking at him now.
“I just want you to know.” He said, standing close and looking at her with disgust. “I'll keep an eye on you, I won't trust a literate, single woman so easily... I know women of your kind.”
“I don't think who I am or what I do has anything to do with helping... Ouch!” You interrupted yourself with pain when you felt the needle pierce your finger. It was normal for this to happen when were working with sewing, but it had never been this deep, Maybe it happened because of the anger you was feeling at that moment.
Immediately you dropped the needle out of sheer instinct, and in a quick and daring moment Frollo grabbed your hand with a certain amount of force, bringing it in front of his face, which had a small smile of satisfaction on it. The judge was a sadomasochist, he enjoyed seeing someone in pain, especially when it was someone he thought deserved such a punishment. You were shocked by his attitude, you weren't expecting it and didn't know how to react. What was he doing? Frollo continued to hold your hand, watching the small drop of blood ooze from your pricked finger, but his attention wasn't just there, it was on your fingers, your soft skin and the sensation it brought when you touched it with the contact of the warm hand and his, which was a little cold:
“What are you doing?” You asked, with a bit of hatred for such a vulgar and daring attitude, and he laughed a little.
“What would the church think of a woman exposing her bare hands in front of a high-ranking man like me?” You had no reaction for fear. Gradually his fingers entwined in yours and you saw that his eyes went to your small cleavage and your bare shoulders. “And it's not just your hands that are exposed...”
You quickly pulled your hand free and he looked at you incredulously:
“My hands are only exposed because I can't wear gloves when I sew, and you still don't have the right to do that. It's in the Bible; If your eye or your hand causes you to sin, throw it away!” A small smile came to Frollo's face when he heard that.
“So bold... It's typical of women like you to turn away from guilt in order to confuse men's minds with pagan thoughts, but that doesn't matter any more...”
He walked away, heading for the door to leave, but first his attention turned to you:
“It was a nice chat, seamstress... I want you to make me a cloak and sew me a pair of gloves, I'll be expecting you to deliver them tomorrow night.”
After saying that, he left, leaving you with no reaction to what had just happened. You were angry, but at the same time relieved that he hadn't found out. As soon as he left, you stared at your hand, which he touched and intertwined with his large, thin fingers. You'd have to be more careful now, he'd be stalking you and the reason wouldn't just be because he suspected you of helping the Romani people, it would be because of something else and you know exactly what it was and what his intentions were...
End...
#the hunchback of notre dame#disney#disney x reader#fanfiction#claude frollo#frollo x reader#judge frollo#claude frollo x reader#clopin trouillefou#judge claude frollo#thond#esmerelda#disney villains#disney villains x reader#captain phoebus
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The Memory Keeper
Chapter 1 : List.
Pairing : Noa x human reader
Warning : A bit of mourning. Otherwise, all clear for this one!
Summarize (please I'm so bad at writing these!): A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.
Words : 3.2k
A/N : It has been a long time since I've written something and it feels pretty good to get back at it with this story! I hope you'll like it and do not hesitate to share your thoughts or like/reblog, it's always appreciated! As English isn't my native language, I'm sorry if you find mistakes or weird wording in there, let me know if you find some and I'll be glad to correct them!
Enjoy your reading 😊
The Memory Keeper masterlist.
It wasn't going to be a difficult day. The list was ready, the tasks the same as the day before and the day after. You had to go to the river: catch a fish, fill the flasks with fresh water, bathe… You had to get on your horse and on the way back, stop at the 16th tree on the right, get off, walk 30 steps and fill the bag with blackberries. You had to avoid the brambles and avoid tripping over the prominent root. Get back on the horse and ride home.
Prepare the fish: remove the head and tail, the skin, gut it and remove the bones, light a fire to cook it. Yes, evolution had done many things, but it must have missed the episode where it was necessary to improve the human digestive system. So the fish still had to be cooked.
The garden had to be tended. Over the years, it had evolved too. It had been a long time in the making. A vegetable garden, tomatoes, green beans and, you couldn't quite remember how, artichokes had found their place too. An apple tree was easy to grow. It took time, but it was easy. And then there was this little gem you'd stumbled upon one day: a rosebush. It was an important one. You had to take care of it too.
You always had to do something.
Your hands knew what to do and how to do it. Your legs took you where you needed to go, and at that particular moment, they had led you to your horse. You had to remove his saddle and bridle, check his hooves and remove any stones that might have got stuck on them. Run your hand over his belly to loosen the skin compressed by the girth. And don't forget to give him a drink. When it came to eating, he found everything on his own, except perhaps an apple, which you gave him from time to time to thank him for his help. He knew how to ask, too. In fact, he huffed and gave you a nudge.
Okay, an apple.
He followed you to the apple tree and you climbed onto his back. You could reach the branches, but it was always difficult to keep your balance. Especially when your right hip wasn't working properly. And you sighed. It really wasn't convenient.
You had to go on with the list, what was next?
“ Hearing my voice at least once and speaking so I don't forget.”
This was important. You had to remember how to speak. The world had forgotten, but you must not. You had no right to forget.
“Say something new.”
And you looked around.
“It's cloudy today.”
Which meant rain wasn't far off. Your horse was now grazing beside you.
“You should take shelter.”
You smile, you'd said one more sentence today. Your horse's ears twitched as if to say “I do what I want” and you shrugged. After all, he was the one to decide. But you didn't want to get wet in the rain. You patted his neck and went off to find shelter in your wooden hut.
You've lived here for a long time. A very long time. So long that you no longer needed a torch to light up the big room when night fell or when the clouds darkened the place. You knew exactly where the shaky table was, the armchair with its deformed, hollowed-out seat and even the little plastic pot you kept forgetting to put back on the table to avoid getting your feet caught in it. And despite the years, you never tripped over it.
You were right to come home. You'd just had time to put the water flasks and the cooked fish on the table when a torrent of water hit the floor. The end of the list would have to wait. The timing was perfect, as your stomach signaled that it was time to fill up, and the smell of the wood-fired fish made your mouth water.
Settling back in your armchair, you ate the fish, watching the rain fall against the hut's only window. Eating with your hands was no longer as disturbing as it had been at first. There were a lot of memories that had slipped away over time, but you almost smiled when you thought back to the embarrassment you'd felt the first time you'd had to eat like that. If you'd known back then where you'd end up…
A sigh.
Drops tumbled against the window and some seemed to challenge themselves to get to the bottom first. They were following the path traced by others before them, but obviously not all roads were good ones to take. Some raindrops went straight down, others tried to cut off their opponents' path, and still others weaved in and out to create their own path. Then a raindrop caught your eye. It seemed the most likely to win the mad race. It glided and slalomed proudly until it landed delicately on your windowsill, blending in with its sisters who had landed there before it.
You turned your eyes to the last piece of fish, which you brought to your mouth.
You took one last look out the window, and that's when you caught sight of it.
A shadow.
A shadow had just moved past your window. The rain kept on pounding against it and you could see the trees in the distance stirring in the wind, and you were sure you saw the shadow moving, quickly to the right, but the shadow was gone. There were only raindrops, only the wind, and you could even hear the dull roar of an incipient thunderstorm.
A deep breath. You had to.
Then a sigh.
The rain and wind must have played a trick on you. If the storm picked up, you definitely wouldn't be able to finish your outdoor to-do list. But that didn't matter, there was still plenty to do inside.
First you had to tidy up. Keeping the interior clean and tidy was important, so you couldn't leave the water bottles on the table. You grabbed them and stepped over the little plastic pot that stood between the table and what you could call a kitchen. At least, that's what you would have called this part of the hut back in the day, because there was only a broken sink and a cupboard without a door. You passed the front door and it rattled against the latch in the wind. You had managed to install a branch across the door, allowing you to keep it closed in bad weather. However, as it didn't close very well, the wind always managed to rattle it between the branch and the latch. But you got used to the noise. So you walked past the shaky door to put the water bottles in the cupboard, and when you heard a suspicious rustling sound, you jumped, staring at the door.
You frowned at the unusual sound. You had been holding your breath, but the wind suddenly whistled through the doorframe, which was sorely lacking in hermetic seals. So you breathed out, taking a calmer breath. The wind. Mother Nature was definitely testing your nerves tonight.
Well, you still had to change your clothes. Night was coming on and you couldn't possibly sleep in your day clothes. You stepped over the little plastic pot again and made your way to the wooden chest beside the fireplace to find a t-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts with a hole in the left knee. Maybe one day you'd find a stray piece of fabric while walking through the forest, so you could mend it. But you hadn't yet got to the list asking you to explore the surrounding area.
There were 7 lists divided into 4 sections, themselves arranged in 12 categories. It was your way of keeping track of time. You no longer counted the days, let alone the years; you'd long since lost the very notion of time. But to grow crops, harvest the fruits of the forest and simply follow nature's millimetric events and be able to anticipate them, you needed a reference point. The lists, though mostly identical, were that reference point. Hanging on the wall with pieces of wood you'd carved yourself, they determined your days and the things you had to do.
You didn't really know when or how you'd started making these lists. But judging by the ink, half washed away by the years - some of the lists had even gone back to being blank - it must have been a long time ago.
You put the current day's list back in its place. Tomorrow, you'd have to complete it while carrying out the next one. But there was one more thing you needed to do indoors before settling into your armchair for the night. One last important thing.
From the chest, you took out a picture frame. The corners were worn, the wood had crumbled and you had to handle it carefully to avoid getting splinters in your hands. You set the frame down on the floor by the fireplace, knelt in front of it and reached into the jar on your right to pick a rose petal, which you placed carefully in the right-hand corner of the frame.
You struggled to swallow.
That's where it always got complicated.
Once again, you reached into the jar and pulled out 7 petals. You always needed 7 petals. You placed 6 of them in a circle on the dry twigs in the fireplace and began humming a song whose words you'd long since forgotten. But you remembered the feeling. You felt a lump in your throat, and you often wondered how you managed to keep the song going.
You hummed, and on the last petal, with the help of a needle, you delicately traced his initials. You had to be careful not to press too hard, you shouldn't pierce the petal, just brush against it enough to see, if you concentrated hard enough, the outline of the letter you were drawing. You also had to blink a few times to see clearly what you were doing. It was important to get it right. Once you'd written the letter on the petal, you laid it at the center of the circle.
It was always at this moment that your hands shook. You needed a moment. Just a bit of time.
You had to wipe your hands over your eyes, the most important thing was to handle the two flints on the floor with care. Your hands had to be steady, not shaking. You interrupted the song to get your breathing under control.
Inhale.
Breathe out.
Grab the flints.
Inhale.
Exhale.
A sharp stroke.
The clatter of the stone threw sparks onto the pile of twigs and a flame sprang up. You started humming again as the fire slowly consumed the wood until it reached the petals of the circle.
A tear.
The fire continued to progress and you stared desperately at the petal in the center, quickly ridding yourself of the tears that were blurring your vision. The flame touched the edge of the petal and you watched the letter “C” burn away and disappear into the ashes.
The flame faded as the twigs gradually disappeared and, once gone, you slipped the petal on the frame back into its jar.
Now you had to put the frame away. Your fingers brushed the edge of the picture inside of it. Despite the years, you had managed, by some miracle, to keep the photograph almost undamaged. At least, sufficiently intact that you could still distinguish the shape of an ape in the center of the picture, despite the cracks.
He was a force of nature. You had taken this photo on a December day, you still knew because you could still discern the white flakes clinging to his dark fur. Back then, you loved taking pictures.
What did they call you again?
The memory keeper.
Even after all this time, it still made you smile. You gently squeezed the frame between your fingers, keeping it balanced on the knees you'd just tucked in towards you. This way, he was a little closer to you.
You made an extra effort to remember the day. He was standing high enough to see everyone around him. He must have been talking about something important; he always had that powerful, soul-piercing stare when he was saying something important. But he always looked…
“Grumpy.”
You concluded your thought in a whisper that knotted your throat. Grumpy. You almost expected to hear him growl, his ego bruised, every time you reminded him that he was sometimes a little too grumpy. “Grumpy because a lot on my shoulders,” he'd snap back at you. “No, grumpy because you're old” you'd always reply, your eyes always playful. And you were the only one who could say such a thing, with the only result being an amused snore coming from him.
And you felt yourself take a deep breath. Of all the pictures you'd taken, this was the last one you had left. You had to put the frame back in the chest, so your fingers tightened even more around the wood. Your head tilted slightly forward, closing your eyes as the wood touched your forehead.
Tonight was difficult.
You took another deep breath, and before the knot in your throat hurt too much, you straightened up and went to put the frame in the chest.
“Caesar, tonight is really difficult,” you whispered, watching the shadow of the lid close over the frame.
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It had been a restless night. When your eyes opened the next morning, they felt heavy and swollen, and you found yourself rubbing your eyes to try and make the heaviness go away.
Today, there was much to do. After changing from your night clothes to your day ones, you removed the branch blocking the door and let the sun shine in, warming your skin. The fresh early-morning air caressed your skin and you took a few seconds to smell the distinctive light scent that follows a thunderstorm.
No sooner had you taken a few steps forward than your feet bumped into something hard, causing you to lose your balance. In a fraction of a second, you found yourself on your butt on the ground, a stabbing pain in your right hip that had failed to move to stop you from falling.
“Ouch!” was the only thing that slipped out of your mouth.
You straightened up slightly, remaining seated in the grass, to see what had caused your fall and a pile of apples laid exactly under the wobbly small porch that covered your front door.
God, what a dummy not to have put that away last night. You thought to yourself, looking down at your hands full of dirt. You'd have to go to the river to clean it up, and now you'd just have to take your night clothes with you because you'd also have to wash the ones you were wearing-the mud from the storm must have dirtied your current clothes.
A pile of apples. You thought as you rubbed your hands together.
A pile of apples. You glanced at your right hip. Pfft, if you'd made Caesar break it to put it back in its place, you'd never have fallen today. In fact, you'd have avoided more than one fall.
All because of a misplaced pile of apples.
A pile of misplaced apples.
And like a light bulb switching on, your gaze suddenly fell on those apples that actually had nothing to do there. You hadn't gathered them the day before.
Then you heard it. A muffled purr came gently from behind you. Surely you should have turned around, stood up and dealt with it, but you'd found yourself rooted to the spot, eyes glued to those apples, waiting as an orangutan appeared in your field of vision.
And you refused to look at him, your hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking. You weren't afraid. No. But for some obscure reason, your brain had simply decided to freeze.
The orangutan once again let out a rumble, softer this time, and held out his hand to you.
“I'll help.”
His voice made you blink several times. You did your best to snap out of your stupor, but this time your eyes agreed to look at him, and the orangutan seemed delighted.
Just one more moment. It took another second, just one, to see your hand slip into his and before you knew it, you were back on your feet.
“Raka, we must go.”
The second voice surprised you a little. It sounded familiar and your eyes fell on a chimpanzee, a little further away, who had just finished saddling a horse. You frowned, your horse? You were trying to determine whether it was really yours, but the distance didn't allow you to be sure. There was only one way to find out.
So you whistled.
The horse shook its head and the chimpanzee didn't have time to grab the reins before your horse galloped off to meet you. They were going to take your horse… in exchange for a stack of apples?
You grabbed the reins and stroked the horse's neck as he snorted. He chewed the bit and blew heavily through his nostrils.
For a fraction of a second, you forgot about the two large apes who, from the sounds they were making, weren't particularly happy to have lost a chance of obtaining a second means of locomotion: in your peripheral vision, you could see another horse quietly grazing.
Your hands still knew what to do, and it didn't take you long to remove the bridle and bit from your horse's mouth.
“He doesn't like it.” you said simply.
And only silence answered you, so you showed the bridle to the two apes.
“The bit, he doesn't like it, he's not used to it.”
Your answer didn't seem to convince them. They stared at you, dumbstruck, and if you paid close enough attention, you could almost see their mouths hanging wide open. And that left you bewildered. What didn't they understand? You'd heard them talking, so that certainly wasn't the problem.
“You can't take my horse.” You went on, starting to remove the saddle.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that they were staring at you as if you'd just landed from the sky.
“If you want a horse, there's a wild herd to the south, past the river.” And you pointed in the right direction.
They remained silent as tombs, but the chimpanzee followed the direction you pointed with his eyes.
“Just be careful, the group's stallion isn't very friendly.” You thought it important to tell him.
Your gaze fell back on them and the orangutan, Raka, if you'd heard correctly, hadn't moved a muscle. The chimpanzee, on the other hand, was staring at you thoughtfully, as if he was trying to put together a puzzle with a missing piece. He then moved towards you inquisitively, perhaps, confused?
“Echo, speak?”
It was certainly the most surprising sentence you'd ever heard in your life.
#planet of the apes#kingdom of the planet of the apes#fanfiction#noa x human reader#noa x reader#pota#kotpota#oc/reader
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Hello everyone! Thank you for your patience. I've finally finished formatting and queuing up Friedrich Engels' Socialism: Utopian and Scientific.
For this reading, I based the text mostly off of the downloadable PDF of Socialism: Utopian and Scientific found on the Marxist Internet Archive. However, seeing as this version had several typos, and even missing sentences, I supplemented it with the PDF found on Archive.org.
The Marxist Internet Archive also has an annotated web version of the text, which I find to be quite an easy read. I highly recommend this version if you have the patience to sit down and read a large chunk of it at once.
I also did my best to annotate the text in this run, mostly with Wikipedia links to relevant historical figures or events, as well as a number of economics-related definitions as well. Requests for specific annotations to be included as the sections roll out are welcome.
Serialization will begin on this Friday, August 16th, 2024, with new updates on Tuesdays and Fridays. The formatted version of the text is 38 parts, which I expect will run until basically the end of December of this year. I plan on following this up with the appendix to Socialism: Utopian and Scientific, titled The Mark, which is about 7,000 words. However, my feelings might change, and we may end up reading something else. As always, recommendations for socialist, communist, and anarchist texts are welcome. Currently we have The Principles of Communism by Friedrich Engels and Blood in My Eye by George Jackson on our suggestions list.
Once again, thank you everyone for your patience; I can't wait to reread this with everybody.
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How To Be Native American: Five Tips To Acknowledging The Indian In You!
Wonder why you're writing this. Debate with yourself about the form and the function. By making a performance out of your criticism of the inherent performativity of being a white-passing Native, is that denying or adding to the power imbalance that actually white people already have over your life, your identity, your culture? Ponder blood quantum for the seventh time today and really just sit down and ask yourself, "Is this going to be the metaphor that justifies my existence within my culture to white strangers online?" Accept it probably won't be and write this inadvisably anyway. They weren't ever going to get it anyway, but for once, this isn't about them.
Do your research! Take your knowledge and academize it. If you can't cite your sources when you try and explain why this privilege is killing you, are you really a victim of genocide? Or are you just 1/16th Cherokee Princess? FUN FACT: So many people are "Pretendians" that anthropological scholars are trying to examine the psychology behind why! You know why, of course. They feel so alienated from their culture as settlers that they cling to whatever they can, like mud on a duck's bill, steadily reshaping Turtle Island in their image. Remember that by criticizing Pretendians you simply give people more reason to assume you're one. Pretend this is fine.
Read Braiding Sweetgrass again. It won't help, but the words are familiar enough by this point that you can start the grief process a full three chapters ahead of the words you're thinking in your head. Wonder if this is all you'll ever get to have: Stories of dead grandmothers and dead strawberries and dead nations, bones piled upon bones with none of the nitrogen fixing jack shit. Think about how you have never gotten to braid sweetgrass with someone who understands who and what you are. Reread the last few sentences because your tears have blurred the ink so badly at this point it's like trying to be fluent in a language no one will teach you.
Brush your hair out, because you have gingery ringlets rather than sleek, thick flint. Your name is Red Fox Jesus Man and you've only got a little bit of a complex about it. Think about how, when people claim you look like Jesus, they aren't talking about the Middle Eastern Jew, they're talking about the Italian. You aren't even a little bit fucking Italian. Microaggressions are a form of racial validation, right? Especially if they aren't intended to be, right?
Light a candle for your dead grandfather. None of his stories got passed down onto you or your mother or your father. Maybe none of your great-great-grandfather's stories got passed down to him either. This is a comfort, in a selfish, self-destructive way. If you don't know the names of the teachers in the Mission your people were sent to, that is a sort of pyrrhic victory. Not a meaningful one, but scraps will fill your stomach if you settle for enough of them.
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|Ink| 01
Tattoo artist!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader
Genre(s): Strangers to lovers, One night stand, Unexpected relationship
Smut Warnings: Intoxication, unprotected sex, Soft!Dom Chan, Switch!Reader, Degrading, Creampies, Breeding kink
Synopsis: You needed to get a tattoo covered up, one you got for your ex. You’re in a new city and go to the closest tattoo parlor by your apartment. The main tattoo artist and owner just so happens to live across the hall from you. Drunken actions turn into a spiral of emotions and your first healthy relationship.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Part 2 ࿐ྂ
The black ink of a slightly faded tattoo stared back at you, right on the inner part of your left wrist.
It’s been almost a year since you broke up with your last boyfriend, the relationship lasting far longer than it should have. The toxicity and constant insecurity while being with him took a toll on you until you finally broke.
Moving to Seoul was an abrupt decision. Your main goal was to just get as much distance as you could from him, in hopes he’d fade with your memories.
This tattoo on your wrist fails to help you forget about him though.
You had gotten it as a matching couples tattoo. Despite all the warnings from people and the internet to never get matching tattoos with someone, you had made yet another impulsive decision.
Your old tattoo artist, who’s worked on majority of your tattoos, is now too far away. You’d have to take time off work to see her, and with the recent dent in your bank account due to the move, you couldn’t afford missing a day.
You turned to face your nightstand and grab your phone off the wooden furniture.
A quick google search leads you to: Stray Kids Studio. It’s not a common name for a tattoo parlor, but the prices are in your range. Ratings say they’re good and when you’re able to find their Instagram account you see countless amazing pieces.
Still, with another glance at the tattoo, you don’t know if you’re able to cover it up well enough to forget the original design.
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
“The 16th?” A smooth voice confirms, the subtle sound of clicking on a keyboard could be heard over the phone.
After a week of consideration you finally decided to make an appointment at the tattoo parlor.
“Yeah, any time after… 3 pm? It’s a small tattoo, fine line.” Another hum is followed after you answer. “We have an appointment for 3:30 pm, two of our artists. Are you looking for color or traditional?”
“Traditional.”
“That works! Our artist Chan will be the one to cover your tattoo up. Just make sure to bring in some sort of identification and payment, we’ll get you to the back as soon as we verify everything.”
You had already given them your name, so the appointment was finalized after you gave them your number and email so they could contact you in case you forget.
You still weren’t sure how the tattoo will end up, it’s almost worst to have a shitty scribble on your wrist than an old couples tattoo.
Luckily it isn’t his initials, only a small outline of a hummingbird from an intimate inside joke between you two. It’s totally not as if it makes your chest burn hot with rage and jaw clench at just how fucked up that relationship was.
Maybe a blacked out wrist wasn’t so bad after all.
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
“You sure you’re up for going out tonight?”
One of your friends sit behind you, sitting on the edge of your bed as she watches you get ready in your mirror.
You glance at her through the mirror with a beauty blender in hand. “It’s been a while since I went out, I need to make the most of my twenties.”
She sighs with a small smile and shake of her head. “Your impulsive decisions are going to get you in serious trouble. Not just shitty tattoos or moving to a whole new city. We’ve made it this far without my phone ringing from the county jail.”
You roll your eyes at the hint of sarcasm in her last sentence, shoulders slumping. “I’m not going to hop in someone’s backseat of their car or anything. I’ll stay close.”
“Sure.” She chuckles before pushing off the bed to help you with your hair.
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
It’s been what feels like years since you last were at a club. The hot air from a crowd of people and the nauseating bumping of loud music.
Some places could be really chill, not so cramped. This place, the White Rabbit, is extremely busy on Saturday night.
Knowing this however, you’ve taken some precautions.
A group of your friends already have a booth claimed, a tray of clear liquor shots.
“Tito’s, Everclear and Absolute Vodka.” One of your friends, a small and usually energetic blonde, pointed at each round of shots.
“I can alreayd feel the vomit in my throat.” You mumble, grimacing but picking up one of them readily. With a chaser in hand you shoot back the first one.
Then the second, third, onto your fourth.
Throughout the night, past 3 hours, the shots kept coming. You tried your best to pace yourself, not wanting to get alcohol poisoning.
It was hard when you wanted to get that fuzzy warm feeling fast in your chest. Fast, ended up with it all crashing at once like a train wreck.
“Where are you going?” One of your friends slurred, trying her best to yell over the music and conversations all at once. “Bathroom!” You lied, purse around your shoulder and phone in hand.
You can’t remember if you still had your wallet, but you left your credit and or debit cards at home beforehand. You could afford to get another ID if you did happen to leave it.
What you instead did was go outside, taking in the biggest breath of your life to calm down the spinning feeling in your head.
A groan slipped past your lips, squatting down to the ground to clutch your head between your hands.
You took deep breaths to stop your chest from heaving and trying to throw up the poison in your system.
Your ankles felt weak, vision going spotty. It had been so long since you last partied that you didn’t realize your tolerance was so shit. It made you want to take the longest sleep of your life.
Something cool touched your temple, leaving a wet spot on your flushed skin.
To your right was a man, all black outfit and bottle of water in hand. The streetlight did a poor job of providing enough lighting to see his face but you could make out the slight smile of amusement.
“Where’s your friend? Friends? Need me to call a taxi?” His voice is slightly deep, a little more raspy than anything but what catches your half lidded eyes is the silver jewelry on his lips.
You point to your own lips, head tilting to the side absentmindedly.
“Did that hurt?” You mumble, eyes widening at just how slurred your speech sounded.
He chuckle, squatting down to mimick you and press the water to your free hand. “Did them myself, always hurts more.”
That’s when you notice two other guys, seemingly hanging back and waiting for him with the open door of a taxi.
He follows your gaze and points at the yellow car with his thumb. “Wanna ride with us? Or we can call a different one for us and you take that one.”
The answer is obvious in your drunken mind, a car ride with an attractive sounding man makes your face flush more.
“Friend.” You mumbled back instead, your mind not letting you forget about your friend you drove with you. Your car should be nearby, she said she’d be the designated driver but you lost each other in the crowd after your something odd shot.
He nods with a hum and stands back up, the water still in your hands. He looks back at his waiting friends who almost instantly sigh and close the door.
It makes you raise an eyebrow as the two walk over and the stranger pulls you up abruptly.
You would have screamed in fear, the situation suddenly feeling like a kidnapping, but he set you back down immediately as soon as you regained proper footing.
“Do you have your phone with you? Try calling her.”
Your purse suddenly felt heavier, the reminder of the cellular device in there making you blink your eyes rapidly and look down at it.
Luckily muscle memory helped you type in your password without much thought, but you held the screen up to him with squinted eyes.
“Her name is Haeji.” You slurred, feeling too nauseous suddenly to stare at the bright light for too long.
The stranger looked down at the phone screen and let out another small laugh. He hesitated at first, but clicked on the contact app nonetheless and scrolled till he found Haeji’s name and number.
She was panicked at first, hearing a male voice after picking up the call, but he was able to explain before she drew conclusions.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t run off!” Haeji sighed in relief, crouching down to your drunken form as you hummed back. “Nooo, I said I wouldn’t get in someone’s car.” You replied with a slurred giggle.
Haeji looked up to thank the three men, but found them already waving down another taxi and preparing to leave.
“C’mon, let’s get you home.” She mumbled, looping an arm under your left arm with your right arm over her neck.
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
Getting a tattoo post hangover is not ideal. You hoped they couldn’t tell how exhausted you were, with sunglasses and hood up.
You hadn’t bothered applying anything more than mascara and lip balm, not in the mood to try and look presentable.
The person at the counter you spoke with truly didn’t match his voice, it was only did he address you by confirming you’re who you are, did you realize it was the same guy.
“I’m Felix, if you decide to book another appointment with us; I’ll be the one you’re most likely talking to.”
He smiled a sweet smile, pearly white teeth and slightly scrunched nose. You couldn’t help but internally oogle at how attractive he is.
Next, he gestured to a curtain, pulling it back for you to see a short and well lit hallway. “It’s the one in the far right.” He pointed to it, the door with a big silver 4 on it.
“He’s just coming off lunch break so you won’t be waiting for long.”
You nodded and stepped into the room, the decor minimal but sleek at the same time. It didn’t feel cold like a standard office would but the lack of colors and mostly blacks with dark grays provided a layer of mystery to whoever your tattooer is.
Hopefully he’s not the opposite of Felix, zero smiles and a deadpanned voice. At the same time you didn’t care, just wanting to cover this tattoo up as fast as you can.
“I’m sorry- usually I like introducing myself in the lobby but I ended up a few minutes behind.”
The rushed words and opening of the room’s door made you break out of your thoughts.
Familiarity struck you, silver lip piercings and protective atmosphere.
He seemed to recognize you too, a smile breaking out on his face. “You sure you shouldn’t be at home right now? You looked pretty shit faced the other night.”
Your tongue clicked and shoulders sagged at his easy teasing. “I was just a little rusty, should I be concerned about you though? Don’t want my tattooer to be hungover.”
He mimicked the noise you made earlier with a slightly more sarcastic click of his own. “I’m guessing you made it home fine?”
His coat was hung up on the door, making your eyes trace his bare arms. In the middle of August it’s to be expected people wear tank tops but you weren’t prepared for the gains this guy had.
Not the mention the think black lines of a tattoo of his own swirling from his elbow up.
“Who did that peice?” You hummed absentmindedly, head tilting to follow the curves. He glanced down at his own arm and tapped it twice.
“My good friend, he works here too. Changbin. If this is your style I recommend coming back for something similar.”
He grinned at being able to promote one of his friends, and bringing back another customer at the same time.
“Maybe, I’m more into meanings behind tattoos.”
“What meaning is the one I’m covering up then?”
As he asked this question he’s pulling out a drawer to gather his things and snap on black rubber gloves.
You laid back onto the tattoo chair, left arm already stretching out to rest on one of the arm rests.
“Something to do with my ex.” You mumbled back, shoulders slumping.
“I know- cliche, and not a good idea.”
He chuckled in agreement, eyebrows raising at he looked at the poor quality humming bird.
He grabbed a tablet from one of the cupboard tables off to the side along with his Apple Pencil, drawing app already pulled up and ready to do.
“So what style are we going for, any inspos?”
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
Making a design went smoother than you thought, he was able to draw a sketch pretty fast with help of your input.
When he put the stencil on your wrist, it looked promising as it did well to blend in with the muddled lines of your old tattoo.
The finish work as way better however.
“You can’t even see it…” You mumbled in shock, moving your wrist side to side as if trying your best to pick out the old tattoo.
“That’s the point.” He replied with a small chuckle, always prideful when a client compliments his work. Even more when said client is gorgeous.
He did a last wipe before applying the protective layer over it. “You know how to care for it as I’m assuming, and if you ever want to add something more or schedule for another I’m sure any of us will be more than happy to.”
He lead you back out to where Felix was still stationed, the blonde giving his usual friendly smile.
“Everything go well?” He asked as he pulled up your name. “Definitely, glad I was able to find such a good parlor. I was nervous since it’s obviously not my usual.”
“What place do you usually go to?” Chan asked, right hip leaning on the counter as he took off his gloves to throw away.
“It was called 8-Teez, it’s far away and I just moved.”
Felix turned around the monitor as he finally was able to pull up the payment screen.
You grabbed your card along with cash, knowing to always tip your tattoo artist.
“There’s a really good Pho place over at 7th Street, if you ever need a good food suggestion.”
You grinned at the hidden implications of his words, or, what could be there at least unless he really was just being nice.
“Yeah? I live right by there. Those new high rise apartments.”
Chan’s eyebrows seemed to raise at what you said before pointing a finger at himself.
“Me too, Apartment 143.”
You gasped as you grab your Apartment key and show him your number. “146!”
"Only 3 rooms apart." He said with obvious shock in his voice, Felix leaning over the desk to look at the key too. "Wow, what a coincidence!" He laughed while tilting his head to the side to make sure he was reading it correctly.
"Guess I'll have to drop by one of these days, Y'know, see if you're taking care of my work right."
You shook your head with an amused smile. "Totally; and I'll make sure to order takeout for two, Y'know, because starving artists and all."
#skz#stray kids#bang chan skz#bang chan#bang chan x reader#bang chan smut#bang chan fluff#tattoos#tattoo artist
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Study Session
michael gavey x reader
A/N: a fufilled request :)
TW: smut!, dry humping, titty sucking, size kink
word count: 1,283 words
“C’mon you can’t be dumb and weak, that’s just pathetic” Michael rolls his eyes as he holds the flashcards in front of you.
“I already said it’s 1536 and I’m not weak or dumb.” You glare at him.
“You have to know the full date. You know that.”
“That’s stupid.”
“May 19th.”
“I knew that!” You protest and snatch the cards out of his hands. You begin to look at the answers on the cards. “And I knew that was June 16th and that was March 3rd.” He tries to grab the cards back.
“You won’t learn anything if you do that.” He snatches them out of your hands with ease. “And like I said before, not very strong.”
You shove him. He doesn’t go very far. “I’m not weak.”
“Yes you are. You’re tiny compared to me.” He teases and you push him again. “Stop that you little brat.”
You snatch his glasses and stand up, taking a few stops back. You stick your tongue out at him.
“Oh very mature.” He stands, holding his hand out. “Give them back.”
“No.” You say like a petulant child.
He sighs before reaching out to try and grab them from you but you’re a little too quick this time. You dart to the other side of the room and you actually have him chasing you now.
“This is silly.” He says as he stops. You’re cornered now.
“Boo hoo Michael hates fun.” You say with a fake pout.
He holds his hands out for his glasses once more and you try to dart away. He grabs you firmly around your waist and pushes you back on his bed, realizing that he’s going to have to wrestle them out of your hands. You giggle as you fall down, playfully fighting back but he gets on top of you, gripping your wrists firmly with one hand and pinning them above your head. He puts his glasses back on with his other hand, not quite yet realizing the position he’s put you in.
“Michael?” You murmur out and he looks down at you. You can feel how hard he’s gotten against you due to all the movement and he can see the slightest glimpse of your panties from how your skirt has ridden up.
He brings himself back down to reality. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to. I-I can’t control it.” You know he is referring to the very obvious tent in his trousers. He’s clearly about to get up but you see your chance and you grind yourself against him. He lets out a strangled groan.
“Maybe now’s a good time to tell you that i’ve liked you for a while.” You say softly as you look into his eyes. He can practically feel the lust radiating off of you. “Do you-”
You’re cut off before you can finish the sentence as he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is hungry and needy and you feel all his emotion through it.
“I’ve liked you for a while too.” He murmurs before kissing you again. You can feel him rubbing up against you subconsciously. “Um… you should also know that I haven’t done this before.”
“Done what before?” You know what he’s referring to but you want to make him say it.
“Sex.” He says nervously.
“Who said we were going to have sex?”
“Nobody! I mean - that’s not all I want or something. W-We don’t have to!” He stumbles over his words, feeling like he’s fucked it all up now. “I really like you!”
You giggle. “I’m just teasing Mikey. We can have sex.”
“You’re such a little shit.”
“Well if you don’t want to then I can just leave.” You begin to sit up but he puts his hands on your shoulders to push you back down.
“No, I want to. I definitely want to.” There’s a very intense look in his eyes and you just kind of nod in response.
He looks down so he can unzip his trousers and pull his length out. By the time he looks back up, you’ve taken your top off. His jaw drops at the sight of your lacy bra and he realizes it matches the tiny glimpse that he got of your panties. He immediately lifts up your skirt to check if he remembered correctly.
“Michael!” You scold him for looking under your skirt without asking.
“You wore a matching set to study with me?” There’s a stupid, cocky grin on his face as he asks the question.
“Shut up.” You murmur in response with flushed cheeks from your embarrassment.
“You really do have a big fat crush on me.” He teases. “Don’t girls usually wear shorts under skirts or were you just really wanting to flash me your panties?”
“I swear to God, I will leave right now.”
“No, don’t go. I’m sorry.” He teases gently with that dumb grin still on his face before he leans down to give you another peck on the lips.
“You’re lucky I like you.” You grumble before you reach for the clasp of your bra.
A bra that clasps in the front; he feels like he’s going to go fucking feral.
“I’m a very lucky man.” He breathes out as you reveal your tits to him. “Oh fuck.” He groans like a desperate preteen boy before palming them with both hands. If he wasn’t rock hard before, then he sure is now.
“Perv.”
“Whatever.” He very clearly doesn’t care as he begins to suck on your right breast. You run your fingers through his hair, whimpering as he licks over your nipple.
“Are you going to suck my tits all day or do I get to pop your cherry?” You ask and he rolls his eyes.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“Of course you don’t. Virgin.” He pinches your nipple. “Ow!” You glare at him.
“Can I still fuck you?”
The audacity.
“You’re paying for plan B.”
He grins at your answer and pushes your skirt around your waist. He decides to keep your panties on and just push them to the side. You feel him rubbing his tip against your opening. He looks at you with pleading eyes. “Can I put it in?” You nod right away before you feel yourself stretch around him. He’s just so goddamn big.
“Oh fuck.” You whine as he begins to thrust in and out of you. He goes slow and concentrates so he doesn’t become a one pump chump. He watches as your hand goes down to rub your clit. He’ll have to learn to do that for you next time.
“God, you feel so good.”He moans as he feels your creamy, tight pussy around him. It makes him fuck you a little faster now.
“You’re so big, Michael. Feel you in my tummy.” You whimper out as you squeeze a bit around him.
“I-I’m cumming. I’m cumming.” He can’t stop himself when you say such things to him and he doesn’t even ask before he cums inside you. You squeeze around him in tandem when you feel him fill you, managing to reach your peak as well. “Sorry…” He breathes out. He may not have finished right away but he sure as hell didn’t last long.
“It’s okay. You did good.” You praise him as he pulls out of you. Michael puts your panties back in place right away because he likes the idea of you keeping his cum inside you. “Perv.” You mutter.
“Your perv.” He grins and lays his head down on your chest. “Does this mean I get to be your boyfriend now?”
You pretend to think for a moment.
“Of course it does, idiot.”
taglist (comment to be addex): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 7 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi
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In 1596, nearly 200 'gypsies' (some of them women) were put on trial at York and 106 were sentenced to death.
"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory
#book quote#normal women#philippa gregory#nonfiction#90s#1590s#16th century#gypsy#on trial#york#death sentence#capital punishment
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Christmas Surprise
Pairing: Sergeant!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Summary: I don't want to spoil it, read and find out 💕
Warnings: mentions of war and army stuff
A/n: Merry Christmas, folks. I hope you all have a blessed day. I think it's kind of obvious what the story is about, but I hope you like it.
Read this pls❤️
Xxxx
"It's a pity James won't be making it this year. He's scarcely been around for Christmases since Papa passed, and Y/N seemed to have changed that, I thought. Though I suppose he is part of the army now, and they need him for war and all that."
"I was under the impression that all soldiers in training got Christmas off. But I know nothing about military matters, so don't trust my judgment."
Y/N stood in the hallway as her sisters-in-law spoke, Rebecca and Rudy (I made Rudy up for the sake of the story). Her heart beat heavily in her chest as she stared at the framed sketch of James Buchanan Barnes, drawn by Steven. G. R. .
With a smooth of her hands down her apron, she walked into the kitchen. The chatter instantly and awkwardly shifted to the peas that stood on the counter, and Rudy scattered to look for the rolling pin, that was tucked into the front pocket of her apron.
"It's alright, I heard. And Rudy's right. Jamie was supposed to come home four days ago, but for some reason him and his commando friends got refused dismissal or something."
Rebecca sighed, setting down her eggnog, and went to Y/N, laying a hand on her shoulder.
"Y/N/N,"
"Becca, it's quite alright. I really understand your concern, I do. I just feel bad for Jamie. He often spoke of his fondness for Christmas."
Rebecca gave another sad sigh and looked at Judy, who understood the silence.
"Well, on a different note. We've managed to scrounge together some canned versions of James's favourites. It ain't the real deal,"
"But it's pretty damn near."
Rebecca finished Rudy's sentence, allowing a little humour to fill the space. Y/N chuckled lightly, picking up a can of peas. This Christmas would be their 5th without Rudy's husband Joe, their 3rd without their father, and their 16th Christmas without their mother. And now, it would be their 3rd with Y/N, and 1st without Bucky. The three sisters (minus Y/N, merely Bucky's girlfriend, but they went by that nickname), were left to spend Christmas by themselves.
A knock at the door pulled the three women from their thoughts. They shared a look: that was not a feminine knock. It could mean one of three things;
•James was home by some miracle
•They were about to geat dreaded news about James
•The old man next door sent by his wife for sugar
•Rebecca's secret admirer (though this thought was only shared by Y/N and Ruby, and had James been there, him too)
"I'll go get it."
Y/N rushed to the door, heart pounding excitedly. To her dismay, it was Tom, the butcher's son. Y/N's heart sank and her smile faded to an annoyed expression.
"Tom. What can I do for you?"
"Merry Christmas, beautiful."
Y/N sighed, about to close the door when he handed her an envelope. Y/N cocked a brow, hesitant to take it.
"What's this?"
"It's from the post office. Mr. Bennett asked me to deliver it to you. Says the sender pleaded."
Y/N reached to take it but Tom pulled it back.
"Uh uh, first, Malcolm sent you something, and you need to take it before I give you your letter."
Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes.
"I am not obligated to take it."
"Well I'm not obligated to give this letter to you. It's just a favour."
Y/N narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips into a fine line.
"Fine."
Tom picked up a wrapped tin box and handed it to Y/N. Her gut sank, she knew what was in the tin. Tom placed the letter on the box and left. Y/N retrieved inside silently and placed her belongings upstairs in her room. She locked her door and ripped open the paper, sighing heavily when she saw the note on top of the expensive boots she'd been dreaming about.
Just a glimpse of what a real man could give you. Merry Christmas.
The note read.
She felt too bad to open the letter she knew was from James.
-Fast forward to eating time-
After the girls had dished up and said Grace, they sat at the table, ready to eat. Another knock sounded at the door, a man's knock. But a specific pattern belonging to only one man.
"James!"
The three girls said together and got up, but Y/N beat the rest to the door. The door was jerked open, blowing Y/N's hair from her face from the friction. Her stomach swarmed with fiery butterflies when her eyes registered the man before them.
"Buck,"
His signature grin spread across his face before he stepped forward, dropping his bags. Before she knew it, her lover was crushing her bones (just about) in a hug. Y/N's arms wrapped around his neck as he stood on a step lower than her. She felt his figure move as he inhaled her scent.
"What are you doing here? I thought you weren't allowed?"
"I'm not. But no command from any general jackass is gonna stop me from seeing my baby on Christmas."
Y/N laughed, pulling away to flick his forehead before hugging him again. The 'three sisters' made quick work of fixing Bucky a plate while he freshened up upstairs. Y/N couldn't keep her eyes from James as they ate the lunch. She could see the beginning of stress on his features, the slight fatigue from training, but there was something else.
He'd always been a pro at masking his true feelings, but the usual "Bucky shimmer" in his eyes was missing. He tried hard not to lock eyes with Y/N over lunch, but he couldn't keep his eyes from her. Though it'd been a mere two weeks, he'd missed her.
"Becks? I feel something is the matter with James. But I don't want to worry him asking, or pry, he just- oh I don't know he seems off."
Rebecca put down the plate she was washing and turned to Y/N with her own signature look.
"If anyone knows him well, it's you. So I'd say to trust your gut."
With that, Rebecca returned to washing the dishes. Y/N smiled faintly at the tilted floors of the Barnes' kitchen and nodded to herself.
"If it's alright with you, I think I'm going to have a word with him. See if he's alright."
"It's fine by me. Judy's the one you should be worryin' about. Now go, shoo, before she comes back from her rendezvous in the powder room (yes I'm implying that she's taking a dump)."
With a giggle shared between the younger girls Y/N scurried upstairs, knocking on the door of the guest bedroom, her bedroom for the holidays.
"Give me a moment."
James called back.
"Jamie, sugar, it's me."
"In that case give me two moments."
Bucky sassed. At least he was being himself. Y/N pushed the door open, thankful it wasn't locked. She instantly knew what was off. The stupid boots from Malcolm.
"What happened to respecting a man's privacy?"
He frowned at her.
"Darling I don't believe you get much of that in the army, and besides, I don't want us to spend the little time we have together on the blessing of a day brawling about a stupid third party inconvenience."
"So the fella you've been seeing is called 'stupid third party inconvenience?'"
Y/N shook her head with a soft laugh.
"I'm not seeing anybody, James."
"Then what's this?"
He pointed toward the boots, that remained untouched. Y/N sighed, putting the lid over them.
"My letter is right next to them. You didn't even open it. Though perhaps a mere letter that I split my ass to get to you isn't 'manly' enough is it?"
"James, language, and please, let me explain."
His furrowed brows dropped slightly, and Y/N took his silence as her opportunity to explain.
"You remember that rich kid whose father owns the country club?"
Bucky nodded apprehensively.
"I accidentally knocked my bag off a table a few weeks back, and he assisted me in picking up my belongings. He hasn't left me alone since. He's had his friend, or more like servant Tom deliver things to me ever since. Tom wouldn't give me your letter unless I accepted his gift. And I knew what it was going to be, but I was so horrified at his gesture, that I felt too ashamed to open your letter. I'm sorry."
".....Well he's not man enough to enlist."
James said after a moment of silence. Y/N chuckled through her nose and nodded.
"And he's not man enough to deliver the gifts himself."
Y/N nodded, smoothing a hand down James's arm, and then took ahold of his hand.
"You're all I want, Bucky. Believe you me. There's no overly priced pair of boots that could make me change my mind about that."
It was Bucky's turn to laugh at her comment.
"But does he know you've got a suitor?"
Y/N nodded, an irritated expression across her features.
"He knew when I dropped my bag, he knew when I was at the train station to send you off and he waited there to talk to me. And the gifts have ampled since your departure."
Bucky's jaw ticked, and Y/N felt his fingers clasped around hers twitch.
"What do you say you and I pay him a visit and return his gift?"
"Isn't that a little rude, especially on Christmas day?"
"Dollface, we're amidst a world war, I couldn't give a damn about being polite to a jackass who's tryna steal my girl."
"Buck you know he'll never succeed, right?"
"I do trust so. But still, I want to rub it in his face."
"James, baby, come on. If we give him a reaction, he'll probably like it. It'll give him the impression that he's getting to you."
"You were always the clever one in this relationship. So what do you suggest we do, miss smarty pants?"
Y/N hummed, pretending to think as she rubbed her chin.
"Well, for starters, you never call me that again. And, perhaps you and I dress nicely, beg Becca to use her camera, and post him a picture of us with Christmas regards written on the back."
"Not mean enough."
"There's a twist?"
James cocked an eyebrow, intrigued.
"I'm wearing the boots he sent."
James's face broke out into a boyish grin.
"Sounds more like it. I'm in. Get dressed, dollface, I'll use my baby blues on Becks."
"Work your magic Sergeant."
Y/N called as he left the room.
Xxxx
Fin. Merry, merry Christmas, people. I've derailed a little, I'm sorry. Never forget the true meaning behind Christmas, and never forget that you're loved.
Lots of love and best wishes
(Yes I am planning on a pt.2 depending on how well this does)
#marvel cinematic universe#marvel mcu#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x reader#bucky barnes drabble#bucky needs a hug#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#james bucky barnes#beefy bucky#bucky angst#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes fanart#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fic rec#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes x female reader#buckybarnes#merry christmas
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