#AND FUCKING!!! I DESERVE TO WORK FROM MY HOME TOWN. IN MY CULTURE. THAT HAS BEEN ASSIMILATED INTO '''FINLAND'''

[eliounora]

applied for a job I really want and I know I probably won't even get interviewed though I'm perfectly qualified and they will give it to somebody who went to a fancier university and who can afford to live in the capital and if they see me from the 400 applicants they'll think I'm some provincial country girl but I'm the best there is I am so smart and analytic and most importantly I have heart and I'm tired of compressing my potential because other people won't see it!!!!!!!

[thefirstknife]

New article with more details (from Jason Schreier who first broke the story). If you can't see it, I'll copy the whole text under read more.

About 100 employees were laid off in total (8%) and one of the main reasons listed is "underperformance," "sharp drop in popularity" and "poor reception of Lightfall."

So you know when for the last year and a half content creators have been shitting and pissing on the game as a full-time job and the amount of negativity and ragebait content became the only thing to make content about for them? Well they certainly won't take the blame, but I will let it be known. These people either don't understand the influence they have or they do and they're doing it on purpose, and I don't know which of these two options is worse, but I am 100% confident that their campaign of rage and hate contributed to this.

You don't base your entire community around constantly hating everything about the only game you play (despite clearly not enjoying it anymore) and somehow avoid galvanising thousands and thousands of people into perceiving the game negatively. Imagine being employees who have barely worked there for 2 years and the only community reception they've seen is 24/7 hate train for their work and then they get fired because of "poor reception" and "drop in popularity." How can they not take that personally? I am absolutely devastated for these people who delievered a banger product and who were met with an unrelenting barrage of toxic gamer children which ended up having more sway over their boss than them.

Which brings me to the next bit and that's FUCK THE CEO. He is now my mortal enemy #1. I am projecting psychic blasts directly into his brain. What an absolute spineless coward who is more willing to bow down to fucking gamers than to protect his own employees. This is absolutely rage inducing because this has happened before. From the article from 2021 about the toxic culture at Bungie:

Reading this shit from the new article absolutely fucking sent me into blind rage because I immediately remembered this. Another instance of employees suffering because of comments on reddit. And because of toxic players. And proof that leadership is not protecting employees and is instead siding with players.

Match made in heaven. Asshole gamer content creators and asshole CEOs, all of whom sit at home on piles of money made from someone else's labour. I hope they all explode. None of the people that worked on this game deserve this.

Another article with an infuriating comment from the CEO:

In an internal town hall meeting addressing a Monday round of layoffs that impacted multiple departments, Bungie CEO Pete Parsons allegedly told remaining employees that the company had kept “the right people” to continue work on Destiny 2.

"Kept the right people." Really. Veteran composers weren't the right people? Die!

Bloomberg article in full:

Bungie’s decision to cut an estimated 100 jobs from its staff of about 1,200 followed dire management warnings earlier this month of a sharp drop in the popularity of its flagship video game Destiny 2. Just two weeks ago, executives at the Sony-owned game developer told employees that revenue was running 45% below projections for the year, according to people who attended the meeting. Chief Executive Officer Pete Parsons pinned the big miss on weak player retention for Destiny 2, which has faced a poor reception since the release of its latest expansion, Lightfall. The next expansion, The Final Shape, was getting good — not great feedback — and management told those present that they planned to push back the release to June 2024 from February, according the people, who asked not to be identified because they weren’t authorized to speak publicly. The additional time would give developers a chance to improve the product. In the meantime, Parsons told staff Bungie would be cutting costs, such as for travel, as well as implementing salary and hiring freezes, the people said. Everyone would have to work together to weather the storm, he said, leaving employees feeling determined to do whatever was needed to get revenue back up. But on Monday morning the news got worse: Dozens of staffers woke up to mysterious 15-minute meetings that had been placed on their calendars, which they soon learned were part of a mass layoff. Bungie laid off around 8% of its employees, according to documentation reviewed by Bloomberg. Bungie didn’t respond to requests for comment. Employees who were let go will receive at least three months of severance and three months of Bungie-paid COBRA health insurance, although other benefits, such as expense reimbursements, ended Monday, sending some staff racing to submit their receipts. Laid-off staffers will also receive prorated bonuses, although those who were on a vesting schedule following Sony Group Corp.’s acquisition of Bungie in January 2022 will lose any shares that weren’t vested as of next month. The layoffs are part of a larger money-saving initiative at Sony’s PlayStation unit, which has also cut employees at studios such as Naughty Dog, Media Molecule and its San Mateo office. TD Cowen analyst Doug Creutz wrote in a report Monday that “events over the last few days lead us to believe that PlayStation is undergoing a restructuring.” PlayStation president Jim Ryan announced last month that he plans to resign. Many of the layoffs at Bungie affected the company’s support departments, such as community management and publishing. Remaining Bungie staff were informed that some of those areas will be outsourced moving forward.

[shiroi---kumo]

//So what inspired you to write Kumo? I'm very curious

|| So I actually started writing Kumo many many years ago before I created this blog

This blog was born of the fact that I lost the log in for my old blog so I simply moved him. I've been writing Kumo (on Tumblr) since 2014 in truth. (Whoo ten years now)

I've been apart of the FFU fandom since the old days of the Japanese fandom sites and artist website galleries and circles and when the series DVDs were releasing one at a time. I saw FFU for the first time when I was 15 and it was on one of the trial DVDs that had like 1 episodes of a few different shows per disc that came in my friend's NewType magazine.

I fell in love with Kumo at first sight. He's been my favorite character since day 1. Since I was 15. It's been 21 years and I'm still desperately in love with this man. Kumo isn't just my favorite character, he's my dream cosplay and has been since I was just a teenager. So I've been invested in him and everything he is and everything that concerns him since I was just a wee tot in high school, so picking him up as a muse was really just everything coming full circle.

I picked him up as a muse because despite my nervousness because no one knew him my RP friends at the time encouraged me to do so. They knew I loved him and they said they would write with me even if they didn't know him at all ( and they did 😊).

I learned quickly how easily I could cross him over with literally anything and how versatile of a muse he was but personal matters drew me back from writing and I took a break from Kumo for a while. My intense love of FFU sparked again speaking to other friends in 2020 and being on a layoff from work at the time because of the lockdown, I rebuilt Kumo's blog.

Here we are. Four years later. Drowning in world building and lore and at least 50 OCs deep. Kumo and Kiri (his older brother (yes I write him too)) have always been special to me. Since I was a kid, and I mean that with every depth of my soul when I say that.

I mean begged my grandmother to go up to town with me on my learner's permit driving to the store with every scrap of money from pop bottles and other various ways a 15 yr old in 2004 can manage to find money I could manage to find saved up for months just to buy the next volume of FFU (vol.5) because the DVD that has Kumo and Kiri's episode on it finally dropped after months of collecting these DVDs starting at vol. 1, one at a time. The release date for Vol. 5 of FFU was highlighted and circled in my school planner because I waited so long to watch Kiri and Kumo's episode. It was important to me and still is. I've rewatched that episode alone more than 100 times.

FFU was my SHOW.

I can't put that in words enough. I watch it at least once a year every year for the last 20 years because it is my "I'm depressed and I need to be happy so I'm going to watch a thing I love" show.

Kumo's face has the power to cure depression and end wars to me I swear to fuck. I cannot give you the proper words to explain what I mean when I say that it's been 21 years and I'm still desperately in love with this man.

His voice just soothes me. His face melts my depression away. He is just - the best. He's my favorite and it took a long time for me to let myself be okay with that because some of my IRL friends teased and mocked me relentlessly for liking FFU as much as I do, but I can tell you right now - it's been 21 years and I am still desperately in love with this man - so yes of course I would write him.

Of course I would write him and expand his world and give him the backstory and home world and proper culture he deserves. So fun fact, FFU ran for 25 of 52 planned episodes and was cancelled 1/2 through because SquareSoft went bankrupt. The second half of the series is referred to as "Final Fantasy: Unlimited After" (After 2 / After Spiral) and was only ever released as a script book that was never seen outside of Japan. The day I got my hands on it, I cried.

It's been 15 years of me owning the novel "FFU: Bond of Two / Twin Stars" for Google to give me the tech to scan a page and translate it but my god I'm reading it now. 15 years I waited to read this novel and we're doing it dammit.

I can't begin to tell you what I mean when I say FFU is my show but it is and it's not perfect and has problems and it's so quirky but it's my quirky and I adore it to pieces.

So really it only makes sense that I would go whole hog on world building build Kumo's entire society and culture from the ground up for him. The creators sure didn't so someone needs to. They gave me a cookie cutter outline of Misterica and now it's mine to go crazy with and do whatever I desire.

And Kumo is so fun to write. He's so fun to write and explore and listen to him talk to me to tell me about his life and his people. It's so fun to meet his family and his friends and his society as a whole. Misterica is so dear to me, I just - can't. I love them so much.

I've loved Kumo as a kid, so of course I love him now. It's been 21 years and he still has my whole heart.

[whiskeysmulti]

💕Miyuki when she's kicking ass \ o 3 o /

.Whiskey. send 💕 and I will make a Playlist for your muse- accepting!

This Little Girl- Kady Groves

My hands are clean, not yet a killer Ain't I your queen? And did you tell her? 'Cause you broke down all my shoulda known betters And I followed you home, throwin' sticks and stones

I'm two steps from the edge, whoa, whoa Don't push me over it Don't you know, don't you know?

Every girl is capable of murder, if you hurt her Watch out, you don't push me any further, any further You're not the only one walking 'round with a loaded gun This little girl is capable of murder, 'cause you hurt her

Don't you know you should never treat a girl like that? Got a good alibi, and my bag's all packed Don't you know you should never treat a girl like that? 'Cause the next one is gonna have a hammer pulled back 2. Little Girl Gone- Chinchilla

So I heard you're back in town And haven't changed a bit, man You get off talking down to the little man Time you get what you deserve

Wow You're so fucking stupid Been a while since my head was this polluted Lucky I know my own worth

So you, so you wanna fight me, are you big enough? Kick the back of my knee, are you serious? (Are you serious?) You keep on trying but I like your blood on my teeth just a little too much

So bite me, slap me round the face Now I'm twisting your arm 'till I hear it break I get stronger everyday, yeah

Little girl gone, got a gun from a gangster Run little girl, run little girl, bang ha

Say that again, I didn't quite hear you Messed with the wrong bitch in the wrong era I been at work and I got my badge of honour Honey, I've changed so much since I last saw you

Hands off my hair, how very dare you Ding ding, hold my earrings for my debut 'Cause I pack a punch backed into a corner Come at me, don't tell me I didn't warn ya 3. I Wish A Bitch Would- Delilah Bon (warning this song has references to CSA and the slut shaming/blame the victim aspects of rape culture, under the cut for length and those aspects, continue at your own risk, I just felt it really suited the atmosphere and themes in BF and Miyuki's background and personality for that verse)

Cold case after cold case Those bodies in the ground How do you feel knowing you covered it up Knowing she'll never be found How do you sleep How do you eat How do you live with such inner peace How do you sit with your wife and your kids And just carry on acting so normal like this Not enough evidence found at the scene But how do we trust, trust the police How do we ever go out on our own and truly feels safe 'cos I really don't So they're gonna blame girls for their clothes But what does that even mean She was eleven years old, only a child Wearing a hoodie and jeans The cycle repeats I feel the rage inside I feel the rage inside A demon in me I wanna make em' pay I wanna make em' bleed Cos they don't feel this Trauma, trauma, trauma, trauma, trauma Evil little predator your name ain't on no register The system failed that little boy But I am here to rid him of his monster Under the bed, under the bed, under the bed It's all in his head, he was afraid, he was so scared Never again, never-a-never again Never again, never again, never again Never-a-never again Never again, never again, never again Never-a-never again Never again, never again, never again Never-a-never again Never again, never again, never-a I wish a bitch would when I'm walking down the street I wish a bitch would just to find some release Don't trust no man Don't trust the police I wish a bitch would Never again, never again

[boop-le-snoot]

marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

[anomia-sama]

Akutagawa x Reader | Dark Chocolate

Pairing: Ryuunosuke Akutagawa x Reader

Warnings: Gender neutral reader (they/them), probably uncorrect english, curses, verbal aggression. 

Notes: Nobody asked for it, this Headcanon is just my way to wish you a happy St. Valentine’s Day, full of love, warmth and affection; even if you’re single, you deserve to celebrate love. Love for yourself, love for you significant others, love for your life! I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Small reminder: In Japanese tradition, only women give chocolates to men, but I wanted to write a more inclusive Headcanon, so I used Gender Neutral pronouns. There’s a huge difference between Honmei Choco and Giri Choco. The so-called Honmei choco (known as the "true feeling chocolate") is given by women to men whom they have romantic feelings for, like husbands, boyfriends or desired partners. It is a qualitatively better chocolate, and it’s generally quite expensive, but sometimes it can be home-made. The so-called Giri choco (known as "obligation chocolate") is given by women to male co-workers or friends, as a customary gift. It’s cheaper and less refined, but it’s a very apreciated symbol of respect and friendship.

◈ ━━━━━━━━  Headcanon ━━━━━━━━ ◈

Akutagawa is totally clueless about St. Valentine’s day. Seriously, he knows nothing about it! He has no idea of the cultural meanings of February 14th and he doesn’t know much about traditional gifts linked to this celebration.

First of all, he never had time to devote to such a nonsensical feast. And then, he never cared about useless things like romance and love. They’re like profanities to him. 

So, when he sees you offer him an elegant and refined dark red box full of assorted chocolate, he’s a bit confused. Like…what the hell are you doing, exactly? His deep and grey eyes sharpen in a frown, his cheek muscles unconsciously contract, but even in his confusion he looks so cute and adorable at your eyes.

He quietly stares at the box for almost five minutes, exploring every single detail of it, careful not to touch it. It’s a big and rectangular pack, he notices, closed with a thin ribbon, and he doesn’t imagine what it could contain.

It takes a while before Ryuunosuke finds the courage to look at you in the eyes and ask for clarifications. 

“What is it?”

Poor boy. It’s not his fault, he’s just a bit (a lot, actually) ignorant about certain things. 

He notices your bizarre and inexplicable look, that makes his gaze sharpen more and more by the second. His irises linger on your red cheeks, he can see how desperately you try to avoid eye contact and that makes him a little suspicious. Your entire body is shaking, it’s really a weird behavior…

“It’s a…gift. A Valentine’s gift, actually.” You try to explain, with trembling voice.

“A… what?”

Your heart beats so fast, in this moment. You don’t understand if the young man appreciates it or not, he just stands there, right in front of you, with a stern look and crossed arms. An unconquerable stronghold that turns your heart in dust every single time you’re in the same room. 

You don’t even know when you started being so attracted to him, nor when attraction became love. You really thought offer him Honmei Choco was the most natural way to express your feelings and confess to him. But…

“Chocolate, Akutagawa-san. Just chocolate.” You murmur, now embarrassed and quite in panic. You really don’t understand if he’s rejecting you or not.

Being in love with him is a daily challenge. Akutagawa is unpredictable, fierce, a broken soul… and, well, he totally lacks in social skills. You know it, you always knew it, but that doesn’t cushion the blow when it arrives.

“Are you trying to poison me or what?”

Oh god. Is he allergic or something? Does he hate chocolate? What did you do wrong?

Your eyes widen and you finally meet his gaze. He seems angry.

The truth is Akutagawa is not used to kindness. He doesn’t know what it means to receive a gift and something like pure and selfless love, so he just thinks the worst option is the most credible.

“N-No, Akutagawa-san, I could never…” 

“So is this because you failed your last mission? You really think you could corrupt me?”

His voice raises in a rough expression of anger, he makes you feel so small and defenseless. Ryuunosuke totally misunderstands your intentions, but you know you don’t deserve such a treatment, even if you love him and even if he’s your superior.

You put the box on his desk, firmly (because you’re upset, and you got the right to) but gently not to ruin it.

 “I don’t want to disrespect you, Akutagawa-san, you know, or at least you should know, how much I admire you. Think what you want about this gift, I let it here. Now excuse me, I have work to do.”

You get out of his office with fast pace, your eyes shining with tears you proudly don’t cry. 

At the door, you almost bump into Chuuya; the redhead was right there with a raised fist, ready to knock, but you barely notice him. You have rush to walk away.

“...The fuck happened?” He whsipers, following your silhouette with his eyes before enter Akutagawa’s office.

Obviously, the Port Mafia rabid dog has a terrible pout drawn on his face. He’s even more confused than he was before and now he even feels inexplicably weird. His chest is so heavy he’s not sure he can normally breath, his hands are closed in fists.

“Akutagawa.” Chuuya says. 

 “Chuuya-san.” The ravenette murmurs in response, looking at him and trying to mentally come back to his work. He has no time to think about these strange feelings, okay? He has no time to investigate why the hell he suddenly feels so bad.

“Here is a message from the Boss. He wants you to… wohoh! What do we have here?” The redhaired executive notices the box on Akutagawa’s desk and a sly smirk appears on his lips. He looks like knowing a thing or two.

“A box.” Akutagawa answers laconically. What kind of problem do they all have with boxes, today?!

“This is not just a box, man.” Chuuya seems quite intrigued and he delicately opens the box, peeking inside it. His ocean’s eyes widen a little and the older man whistles in appreciation. “My, my…”

“What?”  

“This is the most fucking expensive chocolate in town. The logo is unmistakable, it comes from a famous and refined bakery.” He explains, grinning while he crosses his arms. “From whom is it? I didn’t know you were such a successful Don Juan. No offense.”

Wait, a successful WHAT?!

Akutagawa’s pale cheeks are suddenly touched by a peach colored shade of pink but there’s something in his eyes that suggests Chuuya he not fully understand the situation. The two of them looks at each other for a while, the one with a perturbed expression, the other trying not to laugh. 

It’s Nakahara that breaks the silence: “Seriously, man. It’s St. Valentine’s Day, if you recieve such an expensive gift today, well... you know what it means, don’t you?” 

But, against Chuuya’s expectation, Ryuunosuke perseveres in his silence. The black-coated man starts feeling uncomfortable, realizing he truly has no idea of what the other executive is talking about and rapidly avoids his inquisitive gaze. Akutagawa is clueless, okay, but he’s not stupid at all. He perfectly understands he’s not perfect (someone in his past never missed a chance to remember it to him) and he can recognize his lacks.

Chuuya, on the other hand, he’s quite more understanding than other Port Mafia members, especially when it comes to emotions and feelings. No, obviously he’s not a softie, he just understands a little more human beings and their emotive nature, so when he sees how confused Akutagawa is he sighs in exasperation.

“Man, if someone gives you expensive chocolate on St. Valentine’s Day, it’s because they have feelings for you. They like you that way. It’s a way to confess and, trust me, this is clearly the chocolate box I would only give to someone I fell fucking hard for.” 

First reaction: shock!* 

To our poor Ryuunosuke it’s like receiving a punch right in the stomach. His cloudy eyes widen in surprise and he’s quite sure his not-so-stoned heart lost a beat or two. So… is this the true meaning of your gift? You were trying to confess to him? You wanted to make him feel your affection? You wanted him to feel…loved?

He hisses a curse and slowly hides his face behind his left hand. Shit. He yelled at you. He accused you, just because he never thought he deserves love and affection. 

“So? Whose heart did you broke?” Chuuya jokes, hearing Ryuunosuke swearing.

"Y/n L/n. I asked them if they were trying to corrupt me or poison me.” He admits with a gloomy and yet shocked tone. 

In his defense, he had no idea you could have feelings for him. Let’s be honest: he never cared about certain things, but he’s not blind nor deaf. You are good looking, understanding, kind, diligent, resourceful, supportive. He is...well, he’s a demon. How could he even imagine someone like you falling in love with someone like him?

Chuuya sighs again. 

“You rejected Y/n. Good fucking job, man, only an idiot like shitty Dazai could do something so stupid, you really are his worthy heir.” He says sarcastically. “They gave me chocolate too. But not such an expensive one, so I can assume their feelings are stronger then we can even imagine. Maybe you’re still in time to fix the situation. If you’re interested, of course. Are you?” 

His final question sounds definetly like an insinuation and a provocation at the same time. Akutagawa narrows his feral gaze in Chuuya’s direction, meeting his allusive smirk. 

He doesn’t say a single word. But he knows the answer. 

Later that night, you come back from your daily mission. A successful mission, you want to specify, just to prove yourself (and someone else) you don’t need to corrupt your superior, because you’re the best in your job. Failure can occur, of course, but it’s a true rarity for you. 

You just endend report to the Boss himself when you see a familiar shape standing in the corridor, next to one of the polychrome windows. 

Your steps hesitate, you’re still upset and embarassed so you’re not in the right mood to face Akutagawa again, but just a second later you see he’s holding your chocolate box. 

You just stop your walk, a couple of meters separate you from the man and despite distance you can see how nervous he is. 

“Dark chocolate.” He suddenly says. “Dark chocolate is my favourite. But I didn’t know it before tasting one of each kind in this box.”

He avoids your gaze and his words kinda hurt you. He never tasted different kind of chocolate before today?

“The box is still full. I...I thought, maybe... sharing such a good chocolate with you would be a good idea.” 

“It would be nice.” You say softly. “Dark chocolate is my favourite too.” 

Your voice is trembling again. You didn’t like at all the way he treated you some hours ago, but you can see in his gesture how hard he’s trying to remediate.

“I have to apologize.” He suddenly says, and your e/c eyes widens with emotion and surprise. You perfectly know how hard is to say sorry, for a man like him, but he did it. He really did it.

“No matter what you say, I have to.” He continues. “I just... had no idea. I’m not used to all of this, and probably I’m not wort-”

“Please, don’t say that.” You firmly interrupt him and he finally looks at you. 

“That’s not true. I made you the gift you deserve. And I...”

Now or never, Y/n. Now or never. 

“ ...If you let me, I will give you the love you deserve, too.” 

Ryuunosuke needs some time to process what you said. He stays there, his eyes in yours, incredulous. Now he feels even more guilty about the way he treated you. 

How is it possible? Even after that, you still have feelings for him? Even if he yelled at you, even if he’s nothing more than a cruel and merciless rabid dog?

The silence between the two of you is dense and heavy, but not as much as your breath. He doesn’t say a word, again, and you have no idea of what to do. You did your best, today, and more. 

But, you know, Akutagawa is not a word man. He doesn’t know well how to verbally express his feelings, he’s instinctive, a man of action.

“Can I kiss you, Y/n?” 

Honestly, he thinks it’s kinda weird to ask something like that. But Chuuya always says consent is important and Ryuunosuke is a quiet learner. He doesn’t want to desrespect you, ever again. 

You are so surprised to hear this question, and yet so happy, your eyes are filled with tears. So...does he accept your feelings? And even return them? 

You slowly nod in affirmation, walking at his direction, and just a second later you wrap your arms around his body in a strong hug he tries to return properly. He’s a bit tense and awkward, but he holds you very tight. 

And then he does it. 

He presses his lips against yours, not gently, not softly, but with the quiet and passionate desperation of someone always yerned for love.

Yes, Akutagawa is totally clueless about love, St. Valentine’s Day, affection, human feelings. Totally clueless.

But he will learn, with you by his side. He will. 

* Sorry, only Italian readers will fully understand this, but I had to.

[nastybuckybarnes]

A Broken Fairytale  -  Eleven

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Reader AU 

Summary: Sold by your mother, you work as a servant for the King and Queen of Acadia. The Prince, much to his initial dismay, takes a liking to you. When a wicked woman intervenes, your life is nothing more than a prison sentence. With a war on the horizon and a betrothal to a missing Princess that he can’t escape, Bucky is forced to be the Prince -and King- that his father wants. A pawn in a bigger game than the two of you realize. 

Warnings: Language (Maybe), Fluff, 

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Have another part of this series! I hope you guys enjoy! I haven’t updated in a fat minute but we’re getting to intense places with this series pretty fucking soon. Enjoy this cute lil fluffy part

UNEDITED IM SORRY IN ADVANCE!

~*~

“Will you be joining me tonight?” You ask, fingers brushing against the back of his hand as the two of you walk through the palace garden. “Tonight?” He questions, looking over at you in confusion.

“Yes. The celebration. I plan on joining in the festivities. Mother and I agree that it’s a good way to familiarize myself with my kingdom and my people. And I think you should join me. After all, this is to be your kingdom, and these will be your people too.” He purses his lips as the two of you enter the Palace, Steve waiting with a smile on his face.  

“I had planned to spend the evening indoors, preparing for the wedding and the union of the two kingdoms.” You turn to him with your eyebrows raised.

“Is that not what you’ve spent the last few weeks doing? Come now, James. It’s but one night. One night of fun. Of music and games. It’s a celebration of my safe return and of the joining of the two kingdoms. Are you not going to join a celebration dedicated to your future wife?” His eyebrows raise and he looks at Steve for help. The blond raises his hands and shakes his head with a chuckle. “I’m not about to get into this conversation.”

You nod, grinning at him. “Wise choice, Steve. Now James, will you join me in becoming familiar with the people of what will soon be our country? Or will you stay indoors, as you have for the past month, brooding and allowing work to consume you?”

He scoffs, feigning offence. “I have not been brooding! I’m simply preparing. Doing kingly duties.” You shake your head and tug on his hand, forcing him to look at you.  

“You’re not king yet. And I am not yet queen. You and I should enjoy what little time we have left before we’re thrown into our duties. Let’s enjoy it. When will we have another opportunity to bond with our people… with each other? Please join me.” He sighs and Steve chuckles, knowing you’ve got his friend wrapped around your finger.

“Alright. I’ll join you. We’ll attend the festival together and we’ll have one night where we don’t need to worry about anything. Does that satisfy you?” You nod, grinning from ear to ear, then peck his cheek.

It’s the first kiss the two of you have shared since you were in Acadia. It’s a quick, chaste thing, but it has heat rushing to his cheeks, turning them a pretty pink.

“Alright, it’s settled,” He says with a goofy grin. You nod, beyond happy that he’s going with you.

Throughout the morning you find it hard to stay focused on your lessons, and your tutors make sure they point it out. But today you couldn’t care less. You’re finally making your first true appearance as Princess of Corona. You’ll be meeting the people in your country, not as a peasant, but as a Princess.

“You haven’t stopped smiling since you returned from your walk with James,” your mother muses, combing your hair gently.

“What’s happened that has you in such high spirits?” She asks. You sigh and glance at her in the mirror. “James agreed to accompany me to the celebration tonight. We’ll be meeting our people together, for the first time. I’ll be able to learn firsthand what my kingdom is like. I’m more than excited.” She smiles and kisses the top of your head.

“You deserve everything in the world, my dear. I hope you enjoy yourself tonight. Do not let any thoughts distract you from what your heart desires tonight.” You nod, turning around as she gets up and walks to your closet.

“Now... this one...” She pulls out a cream coloured dress, far simpler than the extravagant gowns you’ve been wearing. It’s trim is all navy blue, and the fabric itself resembles velvet. It has strings that criss-cross across your torso, but it doesn’t look too tight at all. In fact, it looks rather comfortable.

She helps you into it then ties you up in the back, smiling brightly when you turn to look at her.

“You look gorgeous, darling. Now, one last thing...” she scurries over to your dresser and opens a large wooden box. Your jaw drops as you see all the tiaras sitting inside.

“Your father and I didn’t want to overwhelm you with them. We wanted you to become comfortable in your new home, get used to being royalty before having to bear the weight of the crown. But now... I think you’re ready for it, if only for one night.” You nod, bowing your head as she places a dainty silver tiara over your hair.

You stand up straight and roll your shoulders back, eyes on your reflection.

“You, my daughter, are going to make a magnificent Queen,” she whispers, kissing your cheek then hugging you tightly. You hug her back, letting out a shuddering breath as you try to reign in your emotions.

A knock on the door startles you and you pull away from your mother, taking a deep breath before allowing the person to enter.

James walks in, looking handsome as ever in a dark blue shirt with the crest of Acadia hanging from his neck. His pants are dark and tucked into his shiny boots, and he’s got a thick black cloak hanging from his shoulders. Atop his head sits a pretty golden crown that’s only slightly larger than yours.

“Are you ready to go, my darling?” You smile and nod, taking his outstretched arm with ease.

“As I was telling my daughter, you have fun, James. Allow yourself to have tonight to be free.” He nods at your mother’s words, bows his head, then looks at you with hopeful blue eyes.

“Shall we?” He asks softly. You nod, eyes eager and excited. “Yes, we shall.” He leads you out of your room and then out of the Palace. Outside, three horses are waiting. You recognize your mare immediately and a smile lights up your face.

“Steve had suggested that we ride to the festival. It may give us more time to admire the kingdom and all of its beauty. As James says the words, his eyes don’t leave your face.

“I think that’s a marvellous idea.”

Steve sits atop his horse with a grin on his lips as you and James walk over. The brunet helps you mount your horse, though you insist you’re fine, then quickly mounts his, looking at his cousin and waiting for the blond to lead the way.

He does, setting a moderate pace, and you and James follow behind him, riding side-by-side.

It’s beautiful.

The last time you rode through the kingdom you didn’t get to fully admire the scenery. There are flowering trees everywhere, and all the plants are lush and green. The sky is turning a lovely purple colour with the setting sun, and the wind smells of flowers and citrus.  

It’s amazing.

“Do you like it?” James suddenly asks, watching the way your eyes swim with unshed tears.

“I love it,” you whisper, sniffling slightly. “I can’t believe this is the place I’m lucky enough to call home.” He nods, smiling softly at you.

“Once we are married, our lands will only thrive. There is nothing that can destroy this beauty. However, the beauty here is nothing in comparison to that of your heart.” You look down bashfully and shake your head.

“Don’t try to deny it. In the weeks we’ve spent together, you’ve only further proved how your kindness knows no bounds, your compassion is endless.” You look up at him and his eyes are so genuine that you can’t help but smile.

“Alright your highnesses, we dismount here and walk the rest of the way. It isn’t far.” Steve hops off of his horse and James does the same, the latter hurrying to you and gripping your waist to help you down from your horse.

When you’re standing steady on two feet you lift your hands to his shoulders, eyes meeting his shyly.

“Enough of that, you two,” Steve chastises playfully, pulling you out of your trance. You hurry after the blond prince, glancing over at James with a longing look in your eyes. He hurries after you, linking his arm with yours again.

You open your mouth to speak but no sound comes out as you get distracted by music in the distance.

“Ah yes, there are no celebrations quite like the Corona ones,” Steve muses, a lightness to his step as he leads you to the main square of the town. As soon as you turn the final corner, you’re overwhelmed in the best way possible.

A small group of people have gathered with instruments, women singing in a mixture of English and the native language. Young children dance around, wearing flower crowns and holding onto biscuits that seem to be covered in syrup.  

“It’s marvellous,” you whisper, a smile on your face. A little girl glances over at you then does a double-take, her jaw dropping. She tugs on her mother’s dress and points to you. Her mother looks to where she’s pointing and smiles brightly.

She curtsies low, her daughter attempting to follow. The people around her quickly catch sight of you and follow her lead, bowing down low. This continues until the square is silent and everyone is bowing to you.

“Please, rise,” you request softly, smiling when they all stand back up.

“Welcome, your highnesses. We’re so very pleased that you’ve graced us with your presences,” a short balding man says, cheeks rosy as he smiles.

“It’s our pleasure to be here. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you tonight. And I hope that we all can enjoy ourselves without the pressures of my royal titles. I would like to know my people, my culture. Not as Princess or future Queen, but as a woman who’s eager to learn about her past.” The people all nod and in an instant the music starts up again.

“They love you already,” James whispers. You look up at him hopefully, wanting to make a good first impression on your people. A small tug on your dress makes you look down and you grin at the little girl. The same one who spotted you first.

“Hello sweetheart,” You whisper, bending down and scooping her up in your arms. “That’s a beautiful crown you have,” You say. She grins and grabs at her flower crown.

“You’re a princess, just like me.” Her eyes widen and you giggle. “Yes, you are. Did you make that crown all by yourself?” She shakes her head and points over to where a slightly older girl is hiding behind her mother’s legs.

“Is that your sister?” The little girl nods and you hum in agreement, walking through the crowd to the woman and her other daughter.

“Hello, your highness,” the woman says. You smile at her. “Please, we don’t need to formalities tonight.” She nods, one hand smoothing the hair of the older girl.

“Your sister told me that you made her flower crown,” You begin, crouching down so you’re at eye level. She nods nervously and you smile. “Would you teach me how? I’ve always wanted to make flower crowns. And you make them so beautifully.” Her eyes widen and she looks up at her mother, who nods with a smile. The little girl in your arms squirms until you put her down, then takes your hand and her sister’s hand and pulls the two of you to a small stand with baskets full of different flowers.

“You’ve gotta make sure you have enough... and that they’ve got long stems,” the older girl explains softly, grabbing a couple of handfuls of flowers. You copy her, then sit down on the ground, ignoring the dirt that smudges on your dress.

The little girl shows you how to make the crown, giving you pointers whenever you need them.

“What’s your name?” You ask gently. She bites her lip before responding. “I’m Amelia. And this is my younger sister Anastasia.” You repeat their names and the little girl grins, tying off the end of her crown and holding it up to show you. You do the same and her younger sister falls onto her back laughing.

Your crown is less than impressive.

You frown at it and she giggles. “It takes practice. Momma taught me how a long time ago. Now I sell them at the market on Sundays.” You nod thoughtfully.

“Well, may I borrow yours? You can wear mine.” Her jaw drops. “Y-yes...” She carefully takes her flower crown off and leans to you, placing it on your head after you’ve removed your tiara.

“Thank you, Amelia. Now, here’s yours.” You carefully place your tiara on her head and her cheeks flame.

“You look beautiful,” you tell her. She thanks you then hurries to her feet to go show her mother. With a giggle, you stand back up, dusting off your dress, then walking through the square, mingling with different people for hours.

When you finally find your way back to James, you have a honey-dipped biscuit in your hand and three more flower crowns on your head. The Prince seems to be in a bit more of a predicament. He’s being swarmed with little girls, all trying to get his attention.

You watch for a while, a smile on your face as he interacts with the children. He catches your eye then grins.

“Excuse me? Mr. Prince, sir?” He looks down as a young girl, no older than five, tugs on his pant leg.

“The music is nice... and I wanna dance.... but nobody will dance with me.... so my mommy told me to ask you...” His face softens and he stoops down to her level.

“I would love to dance with you. What’s your name?” She smiles. “I’m Aethelfled, your highness.” He nods and stands up, taking her hands.

“Well, Aethelfled, will you honour me with this dance?” She nods eagerly and he lifts her to stand on his shoes, then leads her in a basic dance to the music. She’s laughing and giggling, and soon Steve joins him, dancing with another lucky young lady.

You’re soon being dragged into a dance as well, two young girls each holding one of your hands as they dance around, giggling wildly. You dance in a circle with them, the three of you slowing as the music changes to a more upbeat and lively tune.

Guitar’s strum and someone plays a gemshorn, the music making you feel light and airy inside. Another person starts banging on some makeshift drums and the girls grin, starting to jump and dance around with you again.

You laugh from a good place within, grinning from ear to ear as more and more people start dancing with you all.

A man starts singing, the words flowing beautifully in the language native to the land, and you find yourself absolutely entranced as you pick out a few phrases and words that you understand.

Soon enough, nearly everyone is dancing or clapping along to the music. Your eyes catch those of Prince James and you feel your stomach flutter.

You make to dance over to him when you’re intercepted by an older man, a great big smile on his face as he expresses to you how happy he is that the princess has returned safely.

You nod along, thanking him thoroughly.

The music dies down then slowly fades. There’s a beat of silence before applause breaks out across the crowd, your hands coming together repeatedly and hard enough to have your palms stinging.

“Come, Princess! We now celebrate your safe return with offerings to the Gods, and we shall release lights to the sky, to thank them for bringing you home to us, for answering our prayer,” the short man says, offering you his arm. You take it with a smile and allow him to escort you through the town and towards a large clearing.

Dozens of people are already here, with hundreds of lanterns just waiting to be lit and sent up to the sky.

People gather around a boulder in the ground, bowing their heads then placing small objects in front of it.

“This is where we come together as a kingdom to make offerings. And for the past twenty years, we’ve asked for nothing other than your safe return. And the Gods have given that to us. So we must thank them now, and we will continue to thank them.” You nod, intrigued by the display.

A little boy places a flower crown on the ground, whispers something, then bounds back to his mother with a huge smile on his face.

“What is it that they are all saying?” You ask, desperate to absorb as much of your culture as you can.

“Most just whisper a small thank you, but it is generally said as such ‘Tha sinn a ’toirt taing dhut, airson do fhreagairt air ar n-ùrnaighean.’ It roughly translates to ‘we thank you, for your answer to our prayers’.” You nod thoughtfully then lift your own flower crown off of your head.

You eye it for a while before looking at the balding man.

“Can you help me translate something? I’d like to give thanks as well.” The man nods eagerly and walks with you over to the boulder. There’s an inscription upon it and it takes everything in you not to run your fingers along it.

You get down onto your knees, much to the surprise of the people around you, and bow your head.

The man whispers the words you’d requested into your ear, and you repeat them slightly louder.

“’Tha mi a ’toirt taing dhut, airson mo thoirt air ais gu mo theaghlach, mo dhaoine, agus airson dòchas a thoirt dhomh.’” You place the crown onto the ground then repeat the words in English.

“I thank you, for bringing me back to my family, my people, and for giving me hope.” You hear someone kneel beside you and glance over, smiling at James and Steve. They each nod to you then bow their own heads, whispering words of thanks themselves.

Slowly, everyone in the vicinity kneels down and whispers thanks and prayers, most directed at their princess, but some directed at the Prince as well.

You raise your head after a moment longer and take a deep breath.

“Your highness,” you turn to the woman and smile gently at her.

“Would you like to do the honours of releasing the first light in the sky? To announce your safe return to your people?” You nod and take the lantern from her with a smile. She carefully lights the candle inside it and you watch it for a moment before lifting your hand up and over your head, the lantern hovering for a moment before taking off up into the sky.

Slowly, dozens of lanterns start floating, yours leading the way to the sky.

An arm is around your waist and you look up, slightly startled until you realize who it is.

“I’m glad you brought me out here tonight,” he whispers playfully, thumb rubbing circles on your waist. You smile up at him. “I’m glad you joined me.” He leans his cheek against the top of your head and the two of you watch as the lanterns flood the sky, signalling to everyone that the Princess has finally returned.

[xpeachesncream]

off the grid | six

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 3.7k

chapter warnings: smut chapter! unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slight dirty talk, cussing, possible inaccurate depiction of transportation, events and whereabouts in South Korea since i only did my research thru the internet, fluff

notes: will be wrapping this up in the next few chapters!

> series masterlist <

Jimin was going to be busy for majority of the day with his parents, which left you feeling a little sad. But, you knew he had to do what he had to do and he had offered to come by and spend time with you tonight. As you were about to head out and explore on your own with the tips he had given you, a call from an unknown number popped up on your screen.

"Hello?"

"Y/N!" Jungkook's voice came through on the other line. "I hope you don't mind, I asked Jimin for your number not too long ago."

"No, you're good." You chuckled. "What's up?"

"Wanna hang out with me and Tae? We're gonna head to Common Ground."

"Sure!"

"Sick!" He exclaims. "I'll send you our address. Do you think you'll be okay heading over?"

"Yeah, I got it." You responded, remembering Jimin's directions to his place in the event you ever needed anything.

"Okay, just let me know if you get lost and I'll come find you." You chuckled before responding with a simple 'okay' to end the call. You were confident in your memory of the directions, which led you to their place in a matter of minutes. They didn't live too far from Yana, and you remember Jimin saying so since Yana doesn't drive and would simply take public transportation to and from places.

Upon your arrival at their apartment, Taehyung was cleaning up in the kitchen while Jungkook was throwing on a jacket. Jungkook gave you a little tour of their apartment, which was surprisingly clean and smelled of vanilla birchwood. Sooner or later, the three of you were off into town to visit Common Ground, which was considered Korea's first cultural space that was made out of shipping containers. The view and the entirety of it was pretty neat, and you kind of wished Jimin was here, but Jungkook and Taehyung were just as great of travel buddies. They talked a lot about their hometowns and what it was like moving to Seoul, plus how they truly value Korea and it's culture. You were coming to learn what a truly spectacular and beautiful place it was, and it was even more refreshing to hear from the boys themselves how much they loved being from Korea.

After navigating through the crowds and having spent more money on souvenirs and clothes, the three of you decided to eat up and grab some grub. For a minute, you lost Jungkook because he ran into some people he knew, leaving you and Taehyung to eat together.

"This place is neat isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's really cool. Thanks for taking me along." He nodded as his lips poked out while eating his food. You thought it was the most adorable thing.

"You know, Jimin's been really happy since you guys started spending a lot of time together."

"Oh yeah?" You giggled. Yes, Taehyung. Expose him.

"It's actually really nice to see." He chuckled. You knew him and Taehyung had known each other the longest out of their group, but he still held a very tight relationship with Jungkook, Hoseok and Jin. "He's always been the one to take care of people. I just wanna see him happy. He does a lot for the people he cares about."

"I know, he's really the sweetest person I've ever met. He's an angel."

"He was really destroyed over his ex." You continued to listen. "He loved her, a lot. He did everything for her and sacrificed a lot to keep her happy. But she couldn't reciprocate it 100% and that killed him time and time again."

"How long ago was that?"

"About a year ago? Even then, he tried not to have any bad blood with her after she had mistreated him. He has a good heart and mind. He deserves someone good who can take care of him." Your stomach fluttered with the countless butterflies, but most of the happiness you felt, also turned into anxiety. The days were counting down and you wouldn't be here for much longer. "He really, really likes you Y/N."

"I-I do, too. But-" Taehyung looked over at you, concerned. "I'm not going to be here for much longer." You shrugged. "It really sucks."

"Why don't you stay for a little more?"

"Work. My life is back in LA." He nodded. As much as it hurt you to say that, it was true. You wished it was easy to pick up your things and move around the world, but part of you felt silly for even thinking that over a holiday-solo-vacation love story.

"It's gonna be hard, but I honestly don't think Jimin cares. I think he'd make this work with you."

"But is that fair to him? Our time difference and-and, who knows when I'll get to physically see him again? Hearing what he went through.. what if I can't give him what he deserves?"

"I know all of it sounds like a mess and like it would never work, but don't you think you two meant for a reason?" He wasn't trying to be Jimin's right-hand at the moment, he was doing this because he truly could see how the both of you genuinely felt for each other. He hadn't seen Jimin have this glow, this type of genuine happiness to him in a long, long time.

"I don't know, I guess I'm just scared, and I would never want to put Jimin through anything he doesn't deserve."

"I get you." He replies. "But I do hope you know how much he cares about you. Like, I'm really not doing this because he's my bestfriend and all." He laughed. "But because I want to see the both of you happy."

"Thank you." You smiled at him toothlessly, the thoughts now flooding your head. All you wanted to do at this point was run into Jimin's arms and never let go. It would be your new safe haven. All you wanted was Jimin.

The rest of the day with Taehyung and (finally, again) Jungkook was chill, as you grabbed some desserts and played around at a nearby park before heading home to rest. You felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit you, so you took a quick shower, threw on an oversized tee and shorts before retreating to the bed for a nice, late afternoon nap. You quickly texted Jimin that you'd leave the door unlocked so he could just walk in case you were deadass knocked out and couldn't hear the knocks or phone ringing.

Jimin had been helping his parents do a ton of revamping at their café, while also holding down the fort and doing what he can to help during peak hours. He was exhausted, nonetheless, but was excited to see you. He jetted off to the loft with food from the café to for some dinner, all while chuckling at the text you sent, wondering what the hell Jungkook and Taehyung had put you through today to knock you the hell out.

"Y/N?" He calls out softly. No response. He gently shuts the door and chucks his shoes to the side befofe laying the food out on the kitchen counter. It's peacefully quiet, even as Jimin climbs up the steps to the bedroom area. He smiles to himself as he sees you deep into the duvet covers, sleeping deeply like a baby longing for their afternoon nap. He sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing through your hair, thumb softly caressing your cheek. You slowly open your eyes and smile, immediately sitting up to throw your arms around him. He laughs into your hug, pulling you in closer and running his hands down your back.

"Miss me?"

"I did."

"Aw." He chuckled. "Come here." He cups your cheeks and places a kiss on your lips.

"What a nice way to wake up."

"Yeah? What did TaeTae and Kookie do to you today?"

"Nothing, we just walked around Common Ground." He nodded.

"That's it?"

"We may have played around at a nearby park before going home."

"There it is." He laughed. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving, actually." You stretched.

"I brought some food from the café. Mom said I better feed you well." You chuckled.

"She's the sweetest." He had quickly brought you over to the café the other day, his mom and dad being the sweetest, and most loving people you have ever come across. You could immediately tell where Yana and Jimin got their mannerisms from. His mom couldn't stop holding onto you and telling Jimin how pretty you were, almost like she was telepathically communicating with her son and telling him to stop fucking around and get with it. You couldn't help but giggle at the look on her face.

"Come on." He nodded for you to follow him downstairs. He had paninis laid out, freshly toasted, with chips and more dessert. You pushed the coffee table in the living room forward a bit so that you both could sit on the floor and enjoy a good movie while eating the food. He had asked you more about your day and if Taehyung or Jungkookie had talked shit about him while you guys were out. You couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the serious conversation you and Tae had.

"Mm, actually," You finished up your sandwich and quickly washed your hands before heading back to the living room area. "Me and Taehyung had a pretty serious talk."

"About?"

"You, what else?"

"God, what did he say?"

"Nothing." You laughed, seeing his facial expression change.

"You can't say that you had a serious talk then not talk about it."

"Aw, is someone upset?" He pouted.

"Yeah, cause I'd like to know and I thought you cared about me." He dramatically responded. "I see that you don't, since you'd rather keep me hanging on a string like this."

"You're so dramatic, Park." You pinched his side, making him laugh. His laugh was certainly becoming a weakness for you. "He just told me that you've been really happy since we've been spending time together." He nodded.

"I mean, he isn't wrong."

"He also said that you really cared about me." You looked at him blankly, trying to read his expression and body language. He smiled at you, his cheeks getting hot and rosy.

"He also isn't wrong there."

"Taehyung really knows you, then."

"Since high school." He shrugs.

"That's about it, though." You spared him the rest of the details being that you really didn't wanna spoil the evening with such sad and negative thoughts about how your time was coming to an end here. Frankly though, you knew you had to deal with it sooner or later. That talk was coming either way.

"Hm." He says, pushing the coffee table up more towards the tv and throwing a blanket over both of your legs. He silently swung his arm over your shoulder and kept watching the movie on the tv. It was awhile before he broke the silence again with a sigh, his eyes still glued ahead of him. "I really like you, Y/N. I like you a lot. It's a little scary, but you don't know how much you drive me crazy with everything you do."

You held onto his hand that was hanging loosely from your shoulder and looked over at him. "I really like you too." At this point, you feel his eyes on you. They linger from your eyes, down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

"Then will you let me take care of you?" All self-control had gone out the window after seeing the look in his eyes. It was full of passion and lust, but nothing dark. He just wanted to be close to you and make you happy. He cared, and he wanted you to see that.

"Yes." You say breathily as his face edged closer to yours. He cupped your face with his free hand, instantly pressing a kiss onto your lips. The kiss began to deepen quickly, with Jimin tracing your bottom lip with his tongue, asking for entrance. You gladly let him proceed as your hand rests against his jawline. You took the initiative to pull yourself onto his lap and straddle him, your breathing slightly hitching when you feel his hardened member through his grey sweats. Your tongues are beautifully dancing around as he holds you tightly while you grind your hips against his.

"Hey, wait. Are you sure about this?" He pulls away, knowing the moment is intensifying by the minute. "You know I wanna do right by you, Y/N. I don't wanna do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"I'm sure. I want this. I want you." You respond almost at a whisper, your lips slightly grazing his. He simply nods and brings you back with a kiss. You gently palm his member, making him hiss and groan slightly at your touch. You continue to grind your hips onto him, slowly humping him into insanity.

"Fuck Y/N, honestly, you're going to make me cum if you keep moving like that." You chuckled.

"Don't." You plant kisses along his jaw line, watching as he shuts his eyes and tilts his head back. "I'd want you to do it inside me." You whisper in his ear.

"Y-You can't say things like that." He moaned.

"Or what?"

"You're an instigator, you know that? A really cute one." He says as he chuckles and gently lays you back down onto the ground. He whips your shirt and shorts off, quickly unhooking your bra and tossing it aside. His eyes widen at the sight of your exposed breasts. "So fucking pretty." He curses under his breath as he lightly sucks on your neck and around your breasts, before grabbing a nipple in his mouth and toying around with it with his tongue. You grip onto his hair as you slightly arch your back in pleasure. He bites onto his bottom lip before placing a trail of kisses down your stomach and down to your inner thighs before rubbing your covered clit through your soaked panties. He gently presses his lips onto your covered clit, making you yearn for more. "You're so wet."

"J-Jimin." You weakly call out. "Please."

"I got you, baby." He slips down your panties and inserts a digit into your throbbing pussy. You let out a small moan as he pumps his digit in and out of you, before inserting another two, with his thumb circling your clit.

"Ohhhh, fuck!" You squeal as you continue to feel his fingers stretching you out. You feel your wetness dripping out with every pump and covering areas of your inner thighs before Jimin releases his fingers and has you lick them clean. He lets out a small grunt watching your tongue circle and suck onto his fingers. He then latches onto your clit with his mouth. You feel his tongue swipe down your folds, teasing you with an in and out motion. You jut your hips upward but Jimin does a hell of a job preventing you from moving up any higher. You squirm in his grip, feeling your high coming close. "Jimin, fuck! You're gonna make me cum." You see his eyes look up at you, this time, full of lust. He simply nods as he continues to let his tongue suck you dry and explore the insides of you - the sight being enough to tip you over and make you climax. "Jimin!" You yell his name as your body twitches from underneath his grip. He gives your pussy one last lick, causing you to tremble at the sensitivity.

"You're so fucking pretty when you call my name." He says almost at a whisper. "How else can I make you feel good, baby?" He places soft kisses along your neck and jaw. You tug on his pants, causing him to chuckle and toss his shirt and pants off to the side.

"Please."

"Please, what? Use your words, beautiful."

"I want you deep inside of me. I wanna feel you." He bites onto his bottom lip and smirks. You run your hands down his chiseled abs and his V-line, completely in awe of how beautiful this man truly was. He was driving you crazy, everything about him. His eyes, his soft hair, his scent, his body. Good god.

He removes his boxers, making his hardened cock spring out. It was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen - perfectly long and thick, with veins running upward in various places. You pump him a few times, causing him to let out small moans, before placing your thumb on his reddened head to spread the pre-cum around his tip. He lowers his body back down onto you, his member teasing your entrance and gently grazing your folds. He kisses you passionately before you watch him grab his cock and place the head at your entrance. He inches in, lowering his body back down and bringing the blanket over your bodies while watching your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"You okay?"

"Mhm." You let out, your nails already digging onto his back. He kept a steady pace and slowly eased you into it. Your moans became breathy as he picked up the pace, his hands now keeping your legs opened wider for him. "Mmmmff, Jimin." You pleaded. "Just like that."

"Fuck, babygirl. The way you call my name." He quickly tilts his head back before ramming his body into yours as he became a little rough with it. Your thighs were folded up near your stomach as he held it there and continued to thrust in and out of you. With him picking up the pace, you felt yourself about to reach your climax and cum again.

"God, I'm gonna cum." You continued to moan loudly, until you were gripping onto the blankets and your eyes were rolling back once again. He greatly slowed down his pace, letting you ride out your high once more while placing kisses along your breasts and your lips. He wraps his arms around you and brings the blanket over while he sits back against the couch and lets you straddle him once more. The blanket comfortably sits below your waist, your eyes locked with his. He simply smiles at you, tucking a strand behind your ear and caresses your cheek. You gently and slowly ride him as you lean into his hand and place a kiss on his palm. His hands drop down to your waist, gripping onto them as you kept a steady pace while resting your hands on the couch behind him. You pick up your pace as you watch him squirm underneath you. He begins to call out your name, his hisses and groans accompanying the sound of your wet pussy riding him into the sunset.

"Y/N, fuck. Y-You're gonna make me cum." He tilted his head back, his hands losing grip around your hips as you rode his cock faster. "L-like that." He stutters. "Ugh, god." He hisses. You can tell he's about to let go with the way he's holding back his moans.

"J-Jimin, hmmmmph." You tilt your head back as you feel yourself about to cum for the third time tonight. "Please cum with me." You plead as your moans get louder.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna cum." He spits out as his fingers deep into your hips. You feel him fill you up completely as you ride out the rest of your high, Jimin's head now resting against your chest as you hold him close. You both stay in the position for awhile to catch your breath. After a moment, he looks up to meet your eyes and smiles, kissing you on the lips before helping you off his lap. He helps clean you up a bit before cleaning himself up and throwing his shirt and sweats back on. You fix the blanket onto the floor and drag some pillows down from the couch so you could lay on your stomach somewhat comfortably on the floor.

"You don't wanna get up to the bed?" Jimin laughed as he kneeled and rubbed your back.

"No, I'm too comfortable now."

"That good, huh?"

"Shut up, Jimin. Leave me alone." He laughed louder.

"I'll go grab another blanket." He says, going into the storage closet to grab another thick blanket to drape over your bodies. He lays next to you, his back resting against the couch as he propped his elbow up and rested his head on his hand. He continued to rub your back as you both looked over at the TV, the movie now nearing the end.

"I have to rewind the movie." You pouted, making Jimin chuckle.

"Go ahead." He watched as you flipped the remote up and brought the movie back to the last place you remembered seeing. You sunk your body into Jimin's, his lips lightly pressing on your head. Not even 5 minutes back into the movie, you felt your eyes getting heavy.

"Ah, I'm getting so sleepy though."

"You took a nap earlier. What do you mean?"

"I worked out a lot today." He laughed and lightly tickled you, making you hit his hand away.

"I see that. Go to sleep."

"Are you going to stay?" You mumbled.

"Only if you want me to."

"Of course I do." He smiled. "But what are you going to do?"

"Watch anime or whatever is on Netflix. Don't worry about me."

"Mmkay."

"Goodnight, baby." He whispers in your ear before kissing your cheek. The word baby made the butterflies come back (and the pussy throb, yet again, but you shoved that in the back of your mind because you definitely didn't have energy to go another round, as much as you wanted to).

Jimin watches as you quickly fall asleep, smiling to himself while he continues to play with your hair. He was happy. So happy. More than he's ever felt before and he wasn't sure how you were doing it. He was caught in your spell and he didn't even see it coming. You had him so undone. All he wanted to do was make this work with you and he was willing to, more than you knew. He didn't care about the time difference, he didn't care about your life being back in LA, he just didn't care about anything you've worried about because he believed you were worth it and he was going to put in this effort. You could figure everything else out later, but he just wanted this to be.

Alexa, play: Vibez x Zayn

[soulwillower]

crush culture • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: fic where Richie and reader have been best friends since kindergarten, and have always had feelings for eachother secretly, until one day richie gets a girlfriend (just to take his mind off her), and the reader gets jealous and distances herself from him? he obviously gets upset by this- and things go on from there? sorry if it’s too specific! love u!

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of death, fighting, mentions of an abusive relationship, intentionally pissing off richie, a bit of angst, richie is an oblivious idiot, but reader is MUCH more of an idiot, like dude lmao, but i think that’s it, unedited tho

this isn’t rly based off crush culture, but i took the title from conan gray’s song :)  

[losers + reader are 18+ in this!!!]

3.8k words L O L :))

♡

you swear to god, you’re getting sick. that’s what this was, for sure.

it started about a month ago, when you started to get headaches and terrible hollow feelings in your stomach. it happened everywhere - in the line for coffee, in class, driving home from school, at the dinner table. but it got a hundred times worse at night and then seemed to triple in force every morning when you woke.

and it all came at you some time after richie announced he had a new girlfriend.

you were really sick the few days after that, enough that you stayed home from school and laid in bed, the pit in your stomach sinking. it didnt take long for you to realize how bad richie’s girlfriend was - she treated him like a dog, like he embarrassed her - and he didn’t even seem to mind. he just brushed off every offhand comment, rolled his eyes with a grin when she told him she didn’t want to see his friends or when she told him to stop talking. 

he still seemed to like her, anyways. and that thought made your stomach convulse.

so then you had to distance yourself from richie because it hurt you to see him with her. it hurt you to see him with someone who didn’t treat him like the incredible person he was. 

so yeah.

you say you’re sick, but you know that’s not really true. it’s easier than accepting reality at this point, though, so you spew this nonsense (to yourself, mostly) in order to justify ignoring your best friend of nearly a decade because christ, he is becoming unbearable.

like the other day, at lunch while you were all sitting in the courtyard. it was your first time eating with them again after almost a week and a half, as you’d been eating alone in your car recently to avoid richie. “rich, why’d you take off the nail polish?” bev asked, out of the blue, sounding disappointed as she grabbed his free hand and examined it.

he blew smoke out of his mouth slowly and you had forced yourself to look away, the sight of richie doing nearly anything these days being pretty dangerous for you. it also made you sigh a bit - you knew he only smoked at lunch now, since his girlfriend hated it.

“don’t want my paws to be prettier than y/n’s when we hold hands.” he had joked, wagging an eyebrow at you. you’d shook your head and looked to the ground in lew of a real response, just as you had been doing a lot recently.

you'd missed richie’s frown at your reaction, but you did catch his next statement as it was added on, “nah, actually it’s because the ol’ G-F didn’t like it. thought it looked too girly.”

you, stan, bev, and mike all stopped chewing to look at richie, in varying stages of bewilderment. you'd cleared your throat quickly but decided against speaking up just as richie’s phone started to ring. he’d answered it nearly immediately, the enthusiasm of which made you feel like you’re going to be sick again - because richie never answers your calls until the last possible minute.

god, jealousy is a fucking disease.

“hey, sugar.” he had purred suavely into the phone and for some reason, hearing him call someone else sugar had you abruptly rising, gathering your things and nearly running off to put as much distance between you and four-eyes as you possibly could, because you’re not sure how much more you could take.

after that, you were absolutely sure it was just pure denial on your part.

as far as you could tell, richie wasn't noticing too much. he still phoned your house every day, just to be met with your mother telling him you 'weren't available,' and then he'd call your own phone, which you'd let buzz itself into a dark hole on your bedside table while you stared at it solemnly, guilt heavy on your mind as he left voicemail after voicemail. 

he doesn't deserve it, you think as you open the doors to the school library, backpack on your shoulders. but you can't help it. you're not his girlfriend, and you're not mature enough to accept that with any ounce of elegance so instead you just ignore him all together. at least you're self-aware, right? that ought to count for something.

you shake your head just as a voice catches your attention, “well look who decided to show up!”

richie's sitting at the usual study table in the very back corner of the library, a spot tucked away by rows upon rows of dusty books and an alcove of couches. bill sits at the head of the table, scribbling his chicken scratch handwriting onto graph paper, mike next to richie with a textbook spread out flat. across from mike is stan, writing out his statistics work. 

all three of them wave at you before going back to their work, whereas richie just watches you expectantly. his feet are kicked up on the table, textbook balanced on his lap as he hovers on two leg chairs. his smile is as blinding as always, a dimple faint on his left cheek and full eyebrows raised in jest. his curls frame his face perfectly and you want to scream.

but you take your seat next to stan with a tight lipped smile, not really sure how to respond to richie. are you even allowed to be flirty with him like you used to? he still does it on the rare occasions when you do see each other - but that itself is the issue, you figure. his flirting is just a joke, a tiff from one friend to another. but you can't see him as just a friend, and that’s unfair to him.

so you stay quiet, which makes it infinitely more awkward.

richie clears his throat and you pull out your work with an awkward expression, the minutes slowly churning by in what has to be the quietest hangout with the Losers yet.

you feel the tension building in your body and in the air, and you're not sure what's wrong with you or why you have so much resentment towards richie in this moment, because he's not done one single thing to offend anyone in the last ten minutes.

then richie's phone rings suddenly and mike jumps a bit as he's startled out of the passage he's reading. you all look down to richie's screen, where his girlfriend's name blares up at you and all you can feel is white hot jealousy coursing through your body.

richie looks half way exhausted and annoyed at the call, which you find extremely odd and out of character, not to mention persistently frustrating.

as you all stare at the phone, the tension in the room stretches tighter and tighter, like a rubber band and you can't breathe -

"uh, why is she calling you?" mike asks, as if this was something that was forbidden or shocking in any way, and for some reason, that is finally it.

the rubber band snaps.

"how could you forget, mike? they're in love!" you say with mock enthusiasm. 

bill shoots you an alarmed look that you probably should read into or at least consider for a moment, but instead you're looking directly at richie, as if challenging him.

he blinks at you and clenches his jaw, "she and i haven't really been... talking recently." richie says lightly, shooting a glance to mike.

“well then maybe you’re just not right for each other.” you quip, the blood boiling in your veins. richie's eyes snap to you and you see the fire behind them as he suddenly breaks.

“sorry, did i miss the divine intervention when god floated down on a cloud of marshmallows and deemed you expert in relationships?” he says abruptly, making your eyes widen at his outburst. he continues, “because last time i checked, you’re a bit of a failure in that department. so i don't need some jealous, disappearing-act wannabe criticizing my life when she's barely even in it.” he seethes. it’s near quiet in the library anyways, but his words seem to silence the entire town.

with a quick glance to your right, stan and bill sharing an uncomfortable look, and mike is staring down intently at his work with wide eyes.

you want to die.

does richie know? has he known this whole time that you're just deeply, painfully head over heels for him? 

"i'm so sick of your bullshit. maybe you're jealous because you want what i had, but you’re being really fucking rude."

you nearly cry. or scream.

“criticism doesnt equal jealousy, okay?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting even opening your mouth. you're so intent on covering for yourself, you don't even take into account the phrasing he'd used when referring to his girlfriend, instead fighting with richie in order to keep your secret from him.  

this is not how you’d intended today to go. he stares at you, eyebrows furrowed in a way that almost makes you keel over in sadness, the guilt of the situation falling too heavily on your shoulders and crushing you.

it’s tranquilizing to see him like this -  he's fuming, but he's also got bright, glistening eyes which you think may be filling up with tears.

“i didn’t really ask for your input, though.” he mutters, cheeks reddening as tears definitely well in his eyes behind his lenses. “you can’t just ignore me at your every whim just to come right back and tell me what's good for me.”

you blink, shaking your head quickly, deciding to back off. now is not the time to fight, especially when you know he’s right. you had no idea it was hurting him like this. "richie, i... i just wanted-" you gape at him, extremely embarrassed.

“-i don’t fucking care what you wanted, y/n.” richie says sharply, causing you to shut your mouth so quick your jaw clicks in the silence. clearly, even the other boys are perturbed by richie’s actions and everyone’s staring down in silence at their homework.

it’s quiet like that for a few minutes, the tension so thick that you’d need a jackhammer just to chip away at it. but stan rummages through his bag suddenly, pulling out two painkillers and dry swallowing them. you don't look at anyone else, your stomach hollow and your heart thumping so hard in your chest you think you may explode.

"d-do you have a headache?" bill asks, looking at stan with concern. the sudden voice causes you to perk up, head flowing with humiliation at the fight you and richie had just had in front of your friends.

“yeah, but it’s not that bad. i guess i’m used to it.” stan says, pen between his teeth.

“just because you’re used to something doesn’t make it any less unhealthy for you.” you say louder than necessary, your mouth suddenly deciding to speak without consulting your brain. 

the glare of pure frustration that richie throws you pierces your lungs and suddenly makes you feel lightheaded. 

your pettiness doesn’t go unresponsive, of course, and mike sighs into his hands, standing up to gather his things. "alright. i can't study when you two are like this. i'll see you guys later."

richie sighs quietly and bill and stan mumble good-bye's. the library goes back to quiet for maybe three more minutes, until you see stanley start to fidget like he usually does when he's anxious. and then you notice it after a few seconds, too.

richie won't stop tapping his foot on the desk.

for everyone's sake, you try to ignore it, because you know richie can't help his compulsions - especially when he's upset (which, your mind painfully reminds you, is all your fault).

but it's driving you crazy.

“-if you keep doing that i’ll throw you out that fucking window rich, i swear.” stan mutters not unkindly, his eyes rolling to meet richie with a concerned gaze as richie stares out the window.

you raise your eyebrows, “what’re you even looking at?” you ask, trying to mend a bit of the open, festering wound you’d created in you and richie’s friendship.

without looking at you, richie shrugs. “checking to see how high the drop is. may be worth it to have schnoz just toss me down. it would certainly do you a favor right? gettin ol’ trashmouth gone for good.”

what was he saying? you look at him, scandalized. stan and bill don’t even say anything about the offensive nickname as you gape at richie. "what the fuck?" is all your brilliant mind can think.

"what, you can dish it but you can't take it?" richie says sharply. he shakes his head, looking upset. "i'm tired of trying to be friends with a fucking brick wall."

then he's gathering his one notebook and swiftly exiting your alcove in the library in a wind of cigarettes and cologne. 

you blink, his words sinking in and making you sigh shakily. your stomach feels hollow as you remember the expression of glee on his face when you'd walked into the library, and how completely different and broken he'd looked as he'd left. you think you're going to cry.

“every minute that you don't follow him digs yourself deeper into this grave, you know.” stan says, giving you a stern but encouraging look.

you let out a shaky sigh and scramble to grab your bag, tripping over your feet as you run out of the library, flying down the staircase faster than you've ever gone and making it to your lifelong best friend just as he reaches his car in the parking lot.

"-a brick wall?" you ask, out of breath. you see richie hold back an eye roll, his arms crossing over each other as he serves you a look of discomposure.

he shrugs helplessly, looking as if he's at his wit's end.

"what do you want me to say, y/n? you've been avoiding me for weeks. i know i'm annoying and obnoxious and whatever, but i'm not blind." he says, making you swallow as guilt pangs through your chest. you have been so fucking selfish, haven't you?

it hurts to hear him say that about himself. 

he sniffles a bit, sounding choked up as he goes on, "i've had a rough couple of days - weeks, even. but every time i'm near, it's like you've had more than enough, and you just leave. am i that repulsive? why do you suddenly hate me?" he asks, looking desperate as his eyes rim red, filling with tears again.

“what did i do?” his voice cracks as he whispers the sentence and your heart breaks in two.

your own vision goes glassy as he continues, "-i've needed you, y/n/n. i'm lost, i'm seriously not okay and you just don't care at all."

you're stunned for a moment, mouth opening and closing silently as your mind races to rush something out, anything,because you aren't sure you can bear to see richie look at you like this for one more second. but your silence comes off wrong to richie, and tears slip out of his eyes.

“don’t you love me?” he asks, voice hoarse and cutting right through you, deeper than any knife ever could. "don't you want me to be happy?" he adds and you take a shaky breath, looking helplessly at him, where you're met with nothing but glassy eyes and tear trails. your heart is slamming in your chest, tears falling from your eyes and you can't breathe.

"a-are you?" you ask, trying to keep your tone even although it comes out just as vulnerable as you feel. “h-happy. with her?”

richie freezes at your words, mouth slightly open and you watch a single tear course over his high cheekbones and down to his bottom lip as it shakes faintly. you curse yourself for the longing to feel those very lips against yours.

"i was." he whispers, voice shaking as he rubs his face with his hand under his glasses, the moisture of his fallen tears clinging from his long dark lashes onto his slender, shaking fingers. "and then - and then i lost you. and y'know, i got my girlfriend so i could distract myself, but she made me feel like absolute shit all the time and so i went and broke up with her, but -" he hiccups through his tears and you blink, biting your lip as tears cascade down your cheek in wet trails.

they broke up?

he broke up with her, and he's going through this breakup and trying to better himself after she tore him down and you've just been ignoring him - he thinks you don't care about him, that you don't love him. you start to cry harder. 

"-i thought she'd distract me from you. i-i'm sorry." he says, his voice muffled by his hands as they cover up his angelic face, his shoulders shaking as more tears fall. "i'm so sorry."he repeats. 

you see double for a second, completely shocked by his words as the breath leaves your lungs. he tried to distract himself from you... and he’s so hurt because of what you did. 

but finally, for the first time this whole damn day, you find the right words. "i-no, richie, i'm sorry, please - fuck." you break, letting out a sob as you rub your eyes furiously in search of any relief from the guilt ripping you in two. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm so sorry, i can't believe i did this, i didn't want to hurt you, i'm just so selfish." you babble, his sniffles making you open your eyes.

he looks so alone and so vulnerable as he hugs his arms around himself in search of comfort, tears still falling from his bright eyes and down his rosy cheeks. 

he looks devastatingly beautiful in the golden sunlight of the afternoon, a breeze ruffling his curls lightly. "just please, i can't - i can't deal with you hating me. please, please, please."

he's pleading with you and you think you may be sick from the guilt and sadness that envelopes you, so you spring forward and wrap your arms tightly around him. the force of your body pushes him against the side of his car and the way he clings back to you like you're the last thing holding him to earth just makes you cry even harder.

"i don't hate you, richie. i love you, i love you too much." you say, your body shaking as he just holds you tighter against him. "i'm so sorry, i didn't mean any of it. you're right. i was just jealous... i'm so sorry. i was so jealous of her, i couldn't see you be with her." you mumble. "i'm so sorry."

richie pulls you back gently at your words, his eyes wide and wondering as you look at each other. "what?" he asks so innocently, his eyelashes wet and dark and his lips parted. 

you can count the freckles on his nose and cheeks, you're so close. you can feel his shuddering breath against your face as he huffs in a breath. your hands hold onto his shoulders and you decide to fuck it, you just have to tell him how sorry you are, to explain yourself.

"richie, i'm in love with you. and - and when you and her got together, it hurt so much, and i didn't want to deal with the fact that i couldn't have you, so i just ignored you. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry." you say it quickly and in one breath, looking down at your shoes and how they point straight towards his.

"you're in... love with me?" he says weakly, sounding hopeful as you finally look back into his eyes guiltily. 

you laugh wetly, "of course i am, richie. how could i not fall head over heels for everything about you?"

he tears up again at your words, but this time it's accompanied by a beautiful smile and a light, wet laugh. he shakes his head, his arms circling your waist tighter as he presses his forehead against yours. your butterflies tickle your stomach at your proximity.

"fuck, y/n. i can't believe i spend my time trying to get my mind off you." he says and your breath hitches a bit. "do you have any idea how long i've been in love with you?" he asks quietly, and you let out another small laugh out of shock, but it's wet and gleeful.

"i'm sorry." you whisper, your finger curling around a strand of the dark hair on his head. he shakes his head, your noses rubbing slightly. "it's okay, y/n. i love you so much. please let me forgive you." he says, pulling a smile out of you that you don't think anybody else ever could. you nod shortly, looking into his eyes as one last tear falls. 

he kisses you tenderly then, taking your breath away.

richie fills up your every sense as he clings to you desperately, his lips salty from your combined tears and his arms strong. his tongue is gentle as it runs along your lips and enters your parted mouth, one of his hands sliding up to tilt your head up towards him. you're breathless because of him for the millionth time in your life and you decide kissing richie is the only thing you want to do forever. 

you pull away slowly, and as you lean back he presses a chaste second kiss to your lips, causing you to grin. 

you barely make eye contact as you pull apart and then you greedily pull him back to you, his lips finding yours yet again with a sweet, loving laugh.

"i love you too, rich." you mumble against his lips. he sighs almost dreamily as you pull back, biting your lip and laughing when he opens the passenger door, gesturing to it with a shy grin.

"now can i please buy you a burger?" he asks, almost bashfully, and your heart does somersaults. you nod and kiss him again, his hand falling to the small of your back, palm wide and fingers lower than you'd expected. he pulls away and his grin is loving, his eyes hooded in pride as you caress his cheek softly before you slide into the car seat.

he holds your hand the whole night and refuses to let go until you slip through your front door at near midnight, blushes on both of your cheeks and lips kiss-bruised.

the butterflies you feel as you fall asleep with a grin on your face are the exact same ones richie feels as his head finally hits the pillow, a giddy smile on his own face as he smiles to himself in the dark halfway across town.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx@brxken-heartsclub @clownsloveyou @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier   @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s  @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters

[impossiblelibrary]

Today's rant brought to you by: Queer Eye Japan, can we all just try to be as kind as they try to be?

After watching the Queer Eye Japan super short season, I wanted to google to see the overall reaction to the show, make sure that my western eyes were correct in seeing the care that was given to the culture. Were cultural taboos, other than being outwardly gay, crossed? So I find this article in the top results and other than the perspective, why tho? Tokyoesque.com had an article with a higher reading level, with surface level appreciation but at least better written.

I can't get over this hate article though. Unfounded, dumb, wrong and incorrect. Do not go forward unless you like that blistering kind of anger from me.

But the reasons just get weaker as the article extends: "Hurts the country it set out to save?" Looking for white savior much? They did not go to save Japan, they gave some free shit to like 4-5 people, think smaller.

Their culture guide wasn't gay enough.

You want to suggest any lgbt insta models or celebrities, use your platform to raises some up?

"There is a growing sexless culture in Japan for married and unmarried people, and it is perilous watching Queer Eye present this without any context behind what is driving this behavior."

Sexiness is what the fab 5 embrace, unfortunately and it was probably discussed behind the scenes of how much talking about sex was allowed or polite and the conversation of not having sex is closer to the tip of the tongue rather than the feeling of sexiness. The West is not the ones blasting that information. It is across multiple Japanese printed newspapers and online stories by now and the "context" is still being discussed and debated amongst Japanese. So I don't think any outsiders should be weighing in or "explaining" this phenomenon. We can repeat what we have been told but guessing at the reasons is not our place. The reasons illustrated by the author of the article seem lacking, a take but not the only one, but who am I to speak on that being in a sexual relationship with someone who pulls from that culture?

Kiko begins to lecture Yoko-san on how she “threw away her womanhood” (referring to a Japanese idiom, onna wo suteru) by going makeup-free and wearing drab, shapeless clothes.

The mistranslation by the subtitles fixed by this author was necessary information. But Kiko didn't lecture her on it, it was brought up by Yoko before any of them arrived, that was her theme, that was what she had decided to focus on. Meanwhile, if you watched Jonathan, he understood there was no time to spend on makeup and skincare so provided her a one instrument, 3 points of color on the skin to feel prettier. That and the entire episode being the 5 treating her like a woman on a date, not trying to hook her up, which is what they did in American eps.

"In teaching a Japanese woman, who already struggles to find time for herself, how to make an English recipe, Antoni is making great TV and nothing more."

So Antoni shouldn't have taught her apple pie because it's too exotic for a Japanese woman. (Can you smell the sexism?)

He didn't make an apple pie, altho Yoko did mention her mother made that for her when she was a kid. He made an apple tartine after going to a Japanese bakery who makes that all the time. Then highlighted the apples came from Fuji in true Japanese media fashion. Honey, American television doesn't usually highlight where the ingredients come from. A Japanese producer told him to do that. So all worries handled within the same ep. She got Japanese ingredients, had the recipe shown to her and then made it for her friends in her own house. Did the author actually watch this show or nah?

"beaten over the head with his western self-help logic. “You have to live for yourself,” he says."

The style of build up the 5 went for was confrontational but in a "I'm fighting for you" way. It's hard to describe, but the best I can say is, a person has multiple voices in their head, from parents, siblings, society, and maybe themselves. By being loud and obnoxious, American staples right there, they are adding one more voice. You deserve this, you are amazing, you are worth it. I know this is against most Japanese cultural modesty, but maybe it shouldn't be.

Sarcasm lies ahead:

Apparently: mispronunciation is microaggressions, not just someone who had a sucky school system. Yea okay, They're laughing at the language not at how stumbling these monolinguals are with visiting another country. Mmhm. Japanese don't say I love you and don't touch and that should stay that way instead of maybe, once in awhile, feeling like they can hug. Yeah, let's just ignore Yoko's break down that she had never hugged her lifelong friend after hugging strangers multiple times. Maid cafes are never sexualized in Japan ever, just don't go down that one street in Akihabara where the men are led off by the hand sheepishly blushing. Gag me. And Japanese men love to cry in front of their wives and would never break down once the wife leaves. I have never seen a Japanese movie showcase that move. Grr.

"I identify as many cultures."

So you're a Japanese man when it's convenient for you to get an article published? Are you nationally Japanese or just ethnically or culturally?

Homeland is an inherently racist word?

"After the Bush administration created the Department of Homeland Security after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, a Republican consultant and speechwriter Peggy Noonan urged, “the name Homeland Security grates on a lot of people, understandably. Homeland isn’t really an American word, it’s not something we used to say or say now.”

Yes, let's use a Washington Post article rather than a etymology professor. Yes, the google search results increased after 2001 Homeland Security was used but the word has been around since the 1660s and I've read multiple turn of the century lit on white people returning to their homeland, i.e. the town off the coast they were born in.

"But" is not disagreeing. I think the repeated offender for the author is the not acknowledging the makeover-ees feelings. But, that is how LGBT have decided to deal with the inner voices that invade from society. They are just that, not our own, they are the influence of society, and we can choose, we have to choose, to be influenced by someone, anyone else.

Karamo can't speak about being black when an Asian is speaking about being Asian, even though the Asian gay man was feeling alone. It's called relating bitches, and I'm done with people saying that is redirecting the conversation, it's extending the conversation. That's how we talk, the spotlight is shared, especially when someone's about to cry and doesn't want to be seen as crying, time to turn the spotlight.

The gay monk wasn't good enough, you should have invited the gay politician.

Yeah, causes I'm sure a politician has all the time in the world for a quick stint and cry. They picked a Japanese monk who travels to NY because they had a guest who travels to the West too. Did you want him to stop traveling back and forth? Did you want a pure, ethnic and cultural Japanese gay man who has no ties to the west to talk to this Western educated young man? Seriously?

This is just not how it works in Japan.

Being in a multi-cultural marriage between two rebels, discussions on facets of culture are plenty in my household. Culture should be respected enough to be considered but not held on a pedestal like we should never adjust or throw some things out. LGBT being quiet and private for instance. "Being seen" was Jonathan's advice, and a good one especially for a Japanese gay man that was called feminine since he was a kid. Some gay men can hide, but as Jonathan said, he couldn't hide what he was, he couldn't hide this. So fuck it. Don't hide. It's actually more dangerous for a feminine man to come off as anxious rather than gay and proud. It makes you more of a target if they think you won't fight back. Proud means, Imma throw hands too, bitch.

This is also from the civil rights playbook going back to Black America: never hold a protest or a fight without the cameras, without being seen. LGBT have found the more seen they are, in media, in the streets, the better off we are. When LGBT Americans were being "private" about our lifestyles, we died, a la 1980s. They won't care if you start dying off if they never saw you to begin with.

And hence why I think the author's real anger is from these 5 being seen dancing flamboyantly in Shibuya, in Harajuku, afforded the privilege of doing this safely because of their tourist status, cameras and very low violence rate in Tokyo, loud and obnoxiously. Honestly, they wouldn't have been invited or nominated if they didn't want that brash American-ness coming into their home, just for a taste, at least.

Here's my real anger, my own jealousy: Japan's queer community currently does not have marriage or adoption rights. US does, so we have progressed further. But we are also not that many years from being tied to cow fences with barbed wire, beaten with baseball bats and left for dead overnight. If things are so bad over there, maybe take a few pages from the civil right playbook we took so much time to perfect and produced by the Black Americans who fought first. But so far, I only hear loss of jobs and marriages, which we still have here too. Stop trying to divide us, we are one community, LGBT around the world and we are here to try to help. Take it or leave it, it's not like we're going to go organize your own Pride parade for you.

Rant over? I guess. Is this important enough to be put in the google results along with his. Hell no, anyone with half a mind can see he's reaching more than half the time. And any argument about: this wasn't covered! There are a shit ton of conversations that are not covered in the 45 min they have. They are not a civil rights show, it's a makeover show, doing their best in that direction anyway. Know what it is.

Next blog post, what research I would guess was happening behind the scenes for each of the 5? I'm pretty sure I saw Jonathan doing Japanese style makeup there...

[emilyofjane]

Why the Disney Princesses definitely need therapy: a Hot Take

Snow White

Losing her parents as a child and having to learn to take care of herself at a very young age (Snow White is 14 in the movie, and judging by her work ethic, she appears to at least have some experience with living independently before moving in with the 7 dwarves)

Lack of socialization due to isolation

Depression due to isolation and loneliness. This makes the whole “Someday My Prince Will Come” thing much more believable, because Snow White really isn’t in any sort of immediate danger and doesn’t need “saving” or whatever; she’s just tired of being alone and wants human companionship. (And tbh who can blame her? The poor girl’s literally talking to birds and moved in with the first group of humanoid creatures she could find ffs)

This one’s a bit of a stretch, but I’m pretty sure Snow White would also have an unhealthy fear of strangers and/or an irrational fear of being poisoned after the whole apple fiasco

Cinderella

Being raised in an abusive home environment for most (if not virtually all) of her life

The complete lack of positive social interaction throughout her life has probably led to problems with social withdrawal and isolation at some point, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has repressed symptoms of chronic depression due to loneliness.

Her closest emotional confidants are literally two talking mice, and that just screams “My only friends are animals because their love is unconditional I’ve been invalidated and unloved by every human being in my life” (aka extreme emotional neglect)

She probably has tons of questions about her biological parents that were never answerd because, again, her stepfamily hated her, which would obviously lead to some emotional baggage

If we consider Cinderella III: A Twist in Time to be the new canon, she definitely has some unresolved PTSD from her near-death experience (the “almost getting crushed to death in the carriage because it was transforming back into a pumpkin” scene)

Aurora

Existential crisis because the three fairy godmothers basically rewrote her entire identity as “Rose” and hid the fact that she was a princess

Never knowing who her real parents were as a child, leading to emotional baggage similar to that of Cinderella and Snow White mentioned above

Either the emotional burden of having to make up for 16+ years of lost time with her biological family, or the grief of losing her biological family without ever getting the chance to know them (idk whether Aurora actually got to meet her parents by the end of the movie or if they died before she woke up, because I don’t remember exactly how much time had passed while she was in the coma)

Speaking of the spindle prick-induced magical coma (which is a really long-winded and inefficient way to kill someone honestly, idk what Melificent was thinking), Aurora also has to deal with the emotional burden of how much time has passed while she was in a coma, which would only further feed into the existential crisis and emotional trauma in bullet points 1 and 3.

(Also, off the record, but Aurora’s entire life post-movie is just a hot fucking mess and she really deserves a second movie exploring that concept imo. I know that Sleeping Beauty has already gotten a live-action villain spinoff, but the story of Aurora herself really deserves to be reexamined under a modern lens also. Aurora is easily one of the most overlooked Disney princesses and tbh she deserves more love.)

Belle (feat. the expanded lore from the live-action movie)

Witnessing her mother die from the plague in their own home

Being forceed to move from the more culturally progressive city of Paris to the unnamed “poor provential town” in the movie, where she is clearly the odd one out and is subject to gender inequality on a daily basis (in the form of being publically shamed and socially ostacized for being an educated woman)

Being regularly sexually harassed by Gaston, which is further exacerbated by the villagers and their close-mindedness. Not only is Gaston’s behavior enabled and encouraged by the villagers, but they even go so far as to idolize Gaston — as shown during his namesake song — despite his obviously predatory actions, simply because he is a cishet white man that they find conventionally attractive

Watching her father get arrested despite being 100% innocent...TWICE

Also being arrested when her father is wrongly convicted a second time, by none other than her abuser

Watching her lover — who besides her parents was the first person in her life who truly loved her and respected her intellect despite being a woman — nearly die in her arms, as well as everyone else in the castle (who ALSO respected her regardless of her gender) nearly die at the same exact time.

...And you know, Stockholm Syndrome or whatever. (But tbh, given how everyone in the castle was very kind and respectful and how the Beast was a tsundere at best, Belle would probably suffer far more from PTSD brought upon by Gaston and her previous environment than from “Stockholm Syndrome” in a castle where everyone actually treated her like a normal fucking human being. Unpopular opinion I know but as a sexual assault survivor this is literally a hill I will die on.)

Jasmine

I’ve actually never watched Aladdin all the way through, so unfortunately I can’t give a full analysis of Jasmine’s conflicts...but I have seen that gif of her saying “I am not a prize to be won” and that just screams “I’ve suffered a lifetime of female objectification and gender inequality despite my social status, and not even in the highest position of authority possible am I allowed to have a voice” and idk about you but that is really fucked up man

Ariel

PTSD from being manipulated by Ursula to give up her voice and nearly losing everything (both her previous life in the ocean and the promise of a new life on land with her love interest) because of it

Near-death experience from *vague hand gesture to whatever the fuck that was at the end of the movie*

Inevitable depression from abandoning the only home she’s ever known (the ocean) and leaving her friends and family behind

She’ll probably also need some form of behavioral therapy to help her adjust to her new home on land, whose culture is still extremely foreign to her — and maybe even additional therapy for social anxiety, given how her first 3 days of human interaction were so mortifyingly embarrassing that she’ll probably be laying wide awake at 3 AM and thinking “oh my god I can’t believe I looked Eric’s parents dead in the eyes and brushed my hair with a dinner fork” for the next 10 years.

Tiana

PTSD from literally being turned into a frog

Overworking herself to the point of near burnout, and being unable to fully live out her prime adult years because of said burnout

Constantly dealing with shitty customers, bosses, and other white-collared people disrespecting her and treating her as subhuman because of her career choice, which is unfortunately a common shared experience among restaurant workers and those who work hourly wages

Since this movie takes place in the United States presumably before the 1960’s, it’s probably safe to assume that Tiana also probably had to deal with segregation, Jim Crow laws, and other forms of racism off-screen on a daily basis, which would obviously take a toll on her mental well-being and further exacerbate the issues mentioned in #3

Grief from losing her dad, which has likely been repressed due to her workaholic tendencies denying her the ability to properly take the time to mourn

I don’t even know what to categorize the whole witch doctor shenanigans as, I just know that she and Naveen are both going to need some SERIOUS therapy after going through all that shit

Rapunzel

Being raised in an emotionally abusive and controlling environment for her entire life

Being completely isolated for 18 years with no social interaction whatsoever with anyone except her own abuser

Existential/identity crisis from discovering that she’s actually a princess, that her “mom” was actually the one who kidnapped her as a baby and tried to cut her hair, and that everything she knew about herself and the world she lived in was essentially a lie to keep her obedient to Gothel

Near-death experience (the drowning scene)

Internalized fear and mistrust in strangers — and quite possibly in people in general — due to Gothel’s lifelong warnings that people in the outside world would only want to take advantage of her

Watching the woman who raised her MERCILESSLY STAB THE ONLY OTHER PERSON SHE EVER KNEW AND LOVED IN THE GODDAMN CHEST

Watching the woman who raised her LITERALLY CRUMBLE TO DUST IN FRONT OF HER VERY EYES

WATCHING FLYNN, THE ONLY OTHER PERSON SHE EVER KNEW AND LOVED BESIDES HER GODDAMN ABUSER, FUCKING DIE RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER before she miraculously healed him

Because Flynn’s revival was such an uncanny revival that not even Rapunzel knew how she did it, she obviously thought he was gone for good...and since Gothel was gone also, there must’ve been at least a split second before she healed Flynn where, for the first time in her entire life, she was completely and utterly alone. That alone deserves to be a bullet point because holy shit

I’m not even going to get into Tangled: the Series man this list is getting too long as it is

Elsa

Losing her parents at a young age

Abandonment and isolation issues (mostly self-inflicted due to her own fear of hurting others, see #3)

Internalized fear and self-doubt of her powers — and, by extension, fear and self-doubt in herself

Guilt from nearly plunging Arendelle into an eternal winter

Guilt from almost losing her sister (twice!) due to her own direct actions

(Coinciding with #3) Guilt from isolating herself from her sister to protect her, only to nearly get her killed by the very thing she was trying to protect her from

Anxiety. Just lots and lots of general anxiety.

(Omitting Frozen 2 for Elsa because I haven’t seen it yet and this list is getting too long)

Anna

Also losing her parents at a young age

Abandonment and isolation issues, but hers are moreso due to Elsa “shutting her out” as a kid and having no one else her age in the castle to interact with

Lack of socialization in general for much of her childhood, as well as any social anxieties/lack of social knowledge and etiquette/etc. that would come with it

Abusive relationship with Hans (I know it was only one day, but holy fuck that was a trainwreck. What Hans did to Anna is a literal breeding ground for PTSD and trauma)

Coming to terms with the fact that the trolls fucking erased her memories of Elsa having ice powers and that Elsa isolated herself to protect her (and not, you know, because she hated her or something)

Leftover guilt from holding a grudge against Elsa for most of her childhood for shutting her out, because NO ONE BOTHERED TO TELL HER THAT IT WAS FOR HER OWN GOOD and she never knew why

Basically Anna and Elsa both need joint therapy or family counseling or something because holy shit their parents did NOT handle this situation properly AT ALL

(Also omitting Frozen 2 for Anna because I haven’t seen it and this list is also getting too long)

Moana

Surprisingly, Moana’s movie was relatively tame — in fact, because her tribe returned to voyaging and she is now exploring the seas/following her passion, these events were arguably beneficial to Moana’s mental health rather than detrimental. The only emotional baggage I can really imagine Moana having post-movie is leftover grief from her grandma dying and maybe the stress of having to put up with Maui’s shit

[marireadshellblazer]

Hellblazer Issue #6

While I have read all of this before, I am trying to look at this, in some ways, like I am seeing it for the first time. I’m trying to bring out some of the initial, raw thoughts I had when I had read it the first time.

In keeping with the theme of showing the dark sides of society in these early chapters, it was only a matter of time before the subject of racism and white supremacy came up. This is such a tricky subject to approach no matter what medium is used (comics, novels, plays, TV, etc), and you could argue that it isn’t handled in the most…graceful manner. However, it is good that this is addressed in the series. These dark sides of humanity heavily characterize John’s world; parts of society that a lot of the more privileged members prefer to not see. For John, who sees the worst the world has to offer, these issues are all around him; loud, unavoidable, and heavily tainting even the brightest of moments. John is a cynical man, and it’s not hard to see why. Sadly, this is an all too real reflection of the real world.

I think that growing up the way he did and the area of London he lives in allows John to see a lot of the problems that the upper class (the snobs of the world) and most politicians choose to ignore and puts them front and center; hate crimes, crime just in general, poverty, prostitution/exploitation of women, and the effects this sort of environment has on the young people who can’t escape it. Now, I have never been to London, or Europe for that matter, so I’m not sure if this is just an exaggeration of what the area is like; Delano exaggerating the poverty situation in this area for story-telling purposes. Therefore, I’m not sure how accurate my assumptions are surrounding how “real” this portrayal is of the time this series takes place in. But, I did grow up in another big city; Chicago. And using what I know from life there, I can say that issues like these in certain neighborhoods and projects in and around big cities are very real and very hard to properly impress upon one who hasn’t experienced life there just how very dangerous and terrible they are.

When I left Chicago, I was stunned when I found out that, for people outside the city, gun violence and arson weren’t a normal part of life. Gang activity, using techniques to ward off pick pockets, and knowing which bakeries were fronts for drug smugglers weren’t common knowledge or part of everyday life. It honestly blew me away to see the reaction people had in the other parts of the Midwestern United States I have lived in when someone would go missing or get busted for using meth; the whole town would take it very personally. But for me I felt almost nothing; one person went missing here, but in Chicago, at least 4 people went missing, three died from a drive-by, and the mortician I’m friends with buried two bodies in one casket (one hidden below the other) in order to hide a murder victim who was taken out by the mob (I wish I was joking). So, suffice to say, as sad and disturbing a world John lives in, exaggerated or not, it feels strangely real to me. It’s in big cities like Chicago and London that I think racial violence gets particularly dangerous (don’t quote me on that. But the amount of people who die for being Hispanic/black in Chicago via gun is staggering). Big cities might be seen as colorful due to the mix of languages, ethnicities, and cultures, but it’s also because of this prejudice is often on full display. The more reasons there are to “other” people, the more people will find a way to do it. And it’s a terrible shame. I mean, there’s no reason for that crap. I mean, is it really so hard to at the very least be respectful to each other? SMH

So! That’s just a little bit on where I’m coming from/what’s effecting my reading experience! On to some thoughts!

Aight, well the comment about the Ralph Steadman painting, as it turns out, is not an exaggeration. I looked that shit up and, honestly, he’s not wrong.

I liked that they described creating corruption and as a demon’s real art. It helps hammer home that the corruption and darkness in the hearts of people are a demonic domain which brings the hellish reality in which John lives to life. Very nice.

I love that “weird sex attacks” is in the same line as suicides and cannibalism. Something about that made me double-take.

Nice Bob Dylan reference

Am I the only one that thinks Zed’s hair is weird? Era appropriate or not, I still think it’s weird.

Smooth John…very smooth.

I’m not going to lie, I snorted when I saw what Nergal did to those racists. There’s something poetic about forcing people who unwilling to have empathy and work with/understand others be unable to escape being together. Very nice descriptions of his process in creating the bigot-abomination. Also loving how Nergal is characterized here. He is truly gross. Just…the sewer demon orgy. I was not prepared for that, but I feel like I should have been.  

When they show the abomination leaving the sewers, something about the writing there made me think of The Mob Song from the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast. Anyone else get that vibe?

Now, as far as John and Zed go, I’m not sure if I’d call them a couple. Seems inaccurate. Would this be more like FWB? I mean there is clearly trust there, but we don’t see a lot of depth beyond that. I mean, chemistry? I’m not sure how to say. Not saying it’s bad or anything, but nothing that says “they so cute” either. Maybe this was intentional. 

I fucking love Ray. He is such a sweet man. Dude he just…he deserves better. He really does.

Also, once again, freaking love the cover art. 10/10.

Words I had to look up (also, for the derogatory words I include below I mean no offense; these were honest to God words that I didn’t know the meaning of and saw for the first time here. I figured, based on context, they were not good, but I didn’t really know the meaning. I wanted to share that part of my experience, so I included them here):

dole- benefit paid by the government to the unemployed (familiar with it, but never seen it in that context before so I was confused)

yid- derogatory word for a Jewish person

wog- derogatory word for anyone who is not white

fug- warm, stuffy or smoky atmosphere in a room (this is my new favorite word)

strewth- interjection, expresses surprise. I think it might be something akin to “fuck!”

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Winning at Life

As long-time readers will know, my life has, historically, been something of a car crash. I started writing this blog over a decade ago when I started university- an institution that I expected to be a hotbed of rebellion and independent thinking, but which turned out to be a factory for stamping out interchangeable, social-climbing, affluence-chasing berks. After awhile, I lost any sense of what I was doing there and just sort of drifted. I then spent my twenties pinballing between ill-advised relationships (often in budget hotel rooms) and getting my heart broken. During that time, I also stumbled into three jobs, all of which I hated and quit in spectacular fashion. Online, I spent the majority of time inviting the ire of very large sections of the populations and laughing at their frustration (who remembers that time I pissed off every Beyoncé fan on the planet- that was a personal highlight). I commanded a loyal audience, but beyond that little circle I gloried in being universally reviled. The right-wing hated me because I’m a socialist and generally believe that people deserve better treatment at the hands of their civilisation and because I’m quite liberal and also believe that, outside of supporting the welfare state where possible, people really should just be left alone. Liberals, however, also hated me, because I’ve never had any patience for virtue-signalling or folks who hide behind their oppressed status (real or sometimes imagined) as an excuse for being bullying, shouty cunts- and let’s be honest, modern liberalism is mainly about finding excuses to be cunts. Which seems redundant. The right-wing already have the monopoly on being fucking appalling, despicable people. But I digress.

My point is that I wrote well and entertainingly in large part because my life was kind of a wreck and because I was a belligerent walking anachronism, eternally odds with the society in which I lived. However, the reverse is also true. I have less to write about nowadays because I’m, er, happy. I mean, I’ve never really been unhappy for a sustained period, but my emotional spectrum was delineated by degrees of savage joy and blind fury rather than more normal, humane feelings. Nowadays, things are different. Quite a lot has happened since we last spoke dear reader. Not least, I’m engaged to be married.

I’ll give you a minute to wipe the look of slack-jawed yokel incredulity off your face, then I’ll explain what I’m on about. Done? Okay. Well, between COVID waves, I met an incredible woman- a tremendous geek with a penchant for binge-watching sci-fi nonsense and Agatha Christie’s Poirot; an adventurous soul who wants to take trips with me and see all the strange beauty my native isle has to offer, from the Northern lights playing over the Scottish Highlands to the brilliant blue waters of Cornwall and the hilariously misnamed English Riviera; a clever-clogs with a love of word-games like Scrabble who encourages me to write and improve my own fiction. She’s a joker, she’s a smoker, she’s a midnight toker, and she’s mine. It doesn’t hurt that she’s nearly 400lbs of hotness, either. To cut a long story short, I went up to visit her before I knew that another wave of COVID was going to hit and ended up unable to return home due to transport restrictions. Over a year later, things are finally getting back to normal, but we just work well together- well enough that I want to spend the rest of our lives together and so does she.

Another reason for my unaccustomed happiness is that I’ve now moved out of London to be with her. London was a cesspool and being there meant I was near the epicentre of British culture. Everywhere I looked, I was continually reminded of everything wrong with our dying, lunatic society. Sometimes it was something major: seeing a whole street that was no longer a public thoroughfare but a privatised domain with its own security staff who could move on anyone they didn’t like the look of. Sometimes it was something minor, like spotting Jodie Whittaker’s talentless fucking face adorning a billboard advertising the latest post-shitgate era of the once great Doctor Who (no, I will never fucking drop that). It was like having a splinter in my brain. Everywhere I looked, there was a fresh reason to be angry. I’m currently living in a small town on the edge of the Durham Dales. Nowadays, everywhere I look there’s rolling hills and bleak, barren moors. The sky at sunset here is the purest amber, streaked with pinks and reds. I’m told that, on the clearest, most moonless nights, I should be able to see the Milky Way, not just a scattering of individual stars. Here, I’m reminded that the stupid, mean-spirited, lowest-common denominator bullshit of the human race really doesn’t matter. Nature doesn’t give a fuck and it will remain breathtaking and hostile in equal measure no matter what we do. That soothes my soul in ways I can’t begin to describe. It’s possibly a sign of insanity that I take comfort in the knowledge that if I walked off the road in the wrong direction I could die of exposure before anyone found me, but there’s a rationale at play. I’m not being morbid. Rather, the fact that the landscape is so indifferent to me means that I can be truly isolated if I so choose. I’m not hemmed in by fences and warning signs and the subtle nudges of human expectation. I’m not one to take the foolish risks that would render my environment dangerous, but it’s liberating to know that I could. I may be a socialist who believes that the state should extend a helping hand where required, but I still understand the need not to be taken care of, sometimes.

Of course, there are days when I miss London. I miss its impersonal monumentalism. A curious side-effect of living in a small town is that the few people there are seem to feel more comfortable inflicting their company on me. There seems to be a rule in human nature that the smaller the group, the more it interacts with itself. I sometimes miss being able to walk down a street and not have someone wave to me or strike up a conversation. But I guess that’s what the Dales are for. The mildly annoying friendliness of the locals is a small price to pay for my bride-to-be- my Tess- and my freedom from London and its constant, grating reminders of the dubious achievements of mankind.

I’d like to get into a better schedule for writing and posting blogs, but please don’t be alarmed if some of my fire seems to be extinguished. I haven’t changed my views- they’re no less recondite, complicated and offensive than they ever were- and I make no apologies for the things that I said in anger. It’s just that I’m not angry right now, and so my commentary is liable to be less inflammatory. Until then, bugger off.

[cassiopeiassky]

Black Velvet

Alright everyone, it’s finally here.  I’ve been sort of salty about the lack of tall!reader fics for awhile now or maybe it’s just the ubiquitous short, petite, drowning in his sweatshirt descriptions that get under my skin but just couldn’t get a decent amount of inspiration to write one.  I have been known to throw in a mention of height randomly in my fics, but my usual workaround to avoid physical descriptions of the reader is to just write Bucky as like six and a half feet tall.  Hes a damn super soldier, he should be taller anyway he did not start out as short as Steve.  So one day I stumbled across this post by @invisibleanonymousmonsters​ and for some reason I can’t explain, an idea was finally unlocked in my brain later that same day.  (Inspired by a song?  Me?  No.  Never.)

It’s kind of all over the place, so buckle in.  It does take a sharp right into smutsville but also ends up flipping a u and landing in flufftown.  I don’t know.  I just write what the muse tells me to write.  

I would like to thank the incomparable @scottish-pepper​ for her amazing help and support while I wrote the thing - I couldn’t have done it without you, darlin.

Bucky x Tall!Reader

Modern day AU - think of a 40s prewar Bucky if he got a chance to grow up and lived in a small town 

Plot:  You have a terrible day of epic proportions but a beautiful stranger in a small town helps to make it better.

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual), smut, mentions of alcohol/drinking/bars, a brief mention of potentially disordered eating, mentions of a thunderstorm, and a very specific shitty family member.

Word count: 12K  Yep.  Knda got away from me

One last author’s note:   This fic includes some ASL dialogue; it is expressed in italics without quotation marks.  ASL is an incredibly beautiful and expressive language, and it’s in 3D!!  It also has its own grammar structure, rules, nuances, and regional differences, just like any other language, and it can be a challenge to fit it into a two-dimensional space.  Taking this into consideration, I’ve decided to write the dialogue with spoken English grammar because my ASL is really rusty and I don’t want to mess it up.

It’s hot.  Like 100 degrees in the shade with 95% humidity hot. The trees are wilted, flowers are drooping, and there isn’t so much as a glimmer of hope for a cloud in the sky to interrupt the sun’s torture of earth’s inhabitants.  The air is thick and still – there’s no movement at all – yet dangerously unsettled.  It’s the kind of weather that if you sneeze, you might cause a tornado in the next county over.  Of course your cousin would choose today of all days to get married.  And of course her mom pressured her into going black tie, increasing everyone’s suffering tenfold.

“I can’t believe I rented a room for this.  I can’t believe I spent $200 on a dress.  Why am I even here?  What did I expect?”  There’s no answer, but of course there wouldn’t be.  You’re alone in your car, driving back to a motel that you might not even stay the night in.  You’d rented a room because you figured you’d have a few drinks at the reception – you wanted to celebrate the bride, she’s one of your best friends – but at this point you might as well just make the hour drive back home.

About a block from the motel you notice a bar tucked behind a gas station.   According to the clock on the dash, it’s only 5:25.

Fuck it.  You deserve a goddamn drink after today.

You pull into the parking lot and are surprised by the number of cars, farm trucks, and motorcycles already parked.  There’s only one redneck limo, thank God – a pickup truck with a 10 inch lift kit and truck nuts hanging off the hitch, and in your experience driven only by incredibly insecure men – so that’s a good sign, right?  It must be a decent place with decent drinks if it’s this busy so early in the evening.  Maybe some of your day can be salvaged after all.

The hot, sticky air rushes in as soon as the car door is opened.  “Gross,” you mutter; the heat hits even harder after the air conditioning in your car.  Glancing over to the passenger seat, you see the hideous shoes your aunt Lydia pressed into your hands upon arriving at the wedding.  “You know what, Lydia?  Fuck you and fuck your ugly shoes.”  You put your heels back on just to spite her.

It’s a small-town watering hole, so of course all eyes are drawn to you when you enter.  And they stay on you as you find a seat at the bar – perhaps it’s because you’re a stranger, perhaps it’s because you’re overdressed.

But probably not.

The bartender approaches while drying his hands.  He’s got dirty blonde hair in a sloppy undercut, a wide, flat nose, and is wearing a concert tee shirt with the arms cut off to show off his full sleeve of tattoos.  

“Do you have blended drinks?”  He nods. “Strawberry daiquiri, please.”

“Sure thing.”

You pull out some cash, tipping generously because your drink is a pain in the ass to make, then look around while you wait.

The bar is cool but not cold, not brightly lit but also not uncomfortably dim, is bigger than it looks, and is even busier than the amount of vehicles in the parking lot would lead you to believe.  On one side there’s a jukebox next to a small stage with an empty but decently sized dance floor.  There are a few high tops, then a gaming area featuring pool tables, dart boards, and a few pinball machines.  On the other side of the bar you see a window with someone selling pull tabs, a station set up for calling bingo, a door to what’s probably the kitchen, and a popcorn machine filled with freshly popped popcorn.  Behind you and scattered generously throughout the building are tables, some with 4 seats and some with 6, and over half of them are occupied.

“Here you go, miss.” The bartender places your drink in front of you with a polite smile.  “Would you like a menu?  The full kitchen is open tonight.”

The thought is nauseating. “Mmmm…maybe later.”

“Too hot to eat?”  At your despondent nod, he grimaces and places a tall glass of ice water next to the daiquiri.  “Thought as much.  I’ll check back in a bit.”  You didn’t notice his name tag until now – his name is Clint, and according to the hand illustrations under his name, he’s fluent in ASL.

Unsure if he’s Deaf and fluent in lipreading or if he’s hearing, you both sign and murmur, “Thank you,” before bringing the drink to your lips.  It’s on the edge of being burned – just the way you like it.  Sipping on the sweet slush is pure bliss, cooling you down from the inside out as it tempers the heat of the rum.

You sign?  He doesn’t speak this time.  It’s not an uncommon reaction.

Yes.  I’m an interpreter.

His eyebrows rise in interest.  What made you go into that?

My high school offered it, and I ended up becoming really good friends with the teacher’s daughter, who is Deaf.  I made a lot of friends, got involved with the community and immersed in the culture, and I just loved it, so I figured, why not do this for a living?  My dreams of being a Triple Crown winning jockey went out the window by the end of 5th grade so…

He laughs, but not unkindly.  Yeah, I suppose you are a bit too tall for that.  But 5th grade?  Damn.   His face lights up, Hey, have you heard of PATH, International?  They’ve got a campus about half hour north of here.  If you like horses, it might be right up your alley.  

PATH International, or Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship, is an organization very close to your heart.  Yes! I volunteer there every Tuesday night.

The look of surprise on Clint’s face is priceless.  No shit? I’m there on Thursday nights!  You must be the other interpreter the kids are always talking about - they LOVE you!  And so do the horses.  You know, I was Ace’s favorite till you came along.  Now he won’t even look at me unless I bribe him with a treat.

You look again at his name tag, and the name clicks.  Wait, you’re Hawkeye!  The one that does the archery demos on horseback for the kids’ birthday parties.

He takes a theatrical bow. The one and only.

Clint “Hawkeye” Barton is nothing short of a legend at PATH.  Profoundly Deaf yet impossibly accurate with speechreading, he manages to blend both worlds perfectly.  He’s also a master archer both off and on horseback, which basically makes him a superhero in the kids’ eyes.  There are whispers that he travelled with a circus as a teenager, that he raises horses, and that he moonlights as a vigilante, but nothing has been verified and from what you’ve been told, he will neither confirm nor deny.  It’s very likely that there’s at least some truth to the horse raising rumor – Ace is technically his horse, he just loans the chestnut gelding to the program.  You’d been dying to meet Clint for a few years now but hadn’t been able to make it work.

It’s so good to finally meet you!

Likewise!  I’ve been meaning to swing by on a Tuesday to see who it is that stole my favorite horse’s heart, but I’m usually here.  His face lights up, Hey, I’ve got some ideas for a field trip for the older kids and adults but I need to team up with an ASL interpreter since I can’t technically work as a Deaf interpreter on my own off PATH’s campus.  You know, rules and shit.  You interested?

Absolutely!  Just let me know.   You dig a pen out of your purse and write your number and email address on a napkin. You know, I’m sorry, but I’m really not sorry about Ace.  He stole my heart, what can I say.

He’s a shameless flirt, but I never thought he’d actually prefer someone else over me.  But now that I’ve met you, I guess I can’t be too sore about it.  He seems to have good taste.  He takes the napkin with a grin and folds it up before putting it in his pocket, then looks to his left when a waitress waves for his attention and nods.  Duty calls.  Let me know if you need anything.

Well, that improved your day considerably.  

For a few minutes, anyway.

“That’s an awfully girly drink for a woman like you.”  A cloud of stale cigarette smoke with an obnoxious sounding man in the middle of it takes the seat next to yours.  

You don’t turn to face him; you don’t even acknowledge him.  If that’s his opening line, then you really, really don’t have the patience to interact with him today. This is the guy that owns the jacked-up truck. You can feel it in your bones.

Clint makes a face from behind the drink he’s making, notices your annoyance, and shakes his head. “Dude, she’s got more alcohol in her glass than you and your four buddies combined, so don’t knock her drink of choice.  She’s also clearly not interested, and way, way out of your league.  Go back to your pull tabs and leave the lady alone.”

You can feel the guy’s eyes on you, but Clint keeps glaring daggers at him and he eventually leaves. You can overhear him tell his buddies, “Thought she’d be an easy lay, but you know what?  Even I have standards.  How do you fuck someone that tall anyway?  I’d need scaffolding!”  They laugh, but you continue to hold your head up high.  It’s nothing you haven’t heard some version of before.  He’s not clever.

Ignore them.  They’re lonely, small little men.

I know.  Thank you.  His protective gesture is touching and completely unexpected.  This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often because most people assume you can handle yourself.  You can – but it’s nice to not always have to be on the defensive, and today you’re at your limit.

No worries.  You look like you had a rough day, I figured you didn’t need Chad making it worse.  Clint winks and turns back to his drinks.

Well, he’s not wrong, but the day can only get better from here, right?  Right.  You nod to yourself then sit back and enjoy your drink.  Clint stops by periodically to chat, but otherwise you’re left alone.

Eventually it’s time for a trip to the ladies’ room, and you do your best to ignore the stares and chuckles that inevitably follow you.  In your semi-formal black dress you certainly stand out in a bar filled with cut off shorts and tee shirts, but that’s not why they’re staring.

In your black satin and lace, modestly platformed stiletto heels – affectionately known as your ‘fuck me shoes’ – you’re well over six feet tall.  Are they uncomfortable?  God yes, but they’re also beautiful and totally worth it.

The bathrooms are at the back of the bar, past the dart boards and pool tables.  You’re almost there when you hear something ping off one of the pool table lamps and see it ricochet across the aisle and onto the top of the glass and wood cabinets housing the pool cues.  

“How – how the hell did you manage that, Rogers?”  A man with dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass heads in your direction.  “You were supposed to throw the chalk to me, not your imaginary friend standing thirteen feet behind me.”

“Sorry, Buck,” a blonde joins him, looking appropriately apologetic.  “My aim was a little off.”

“Ya think?”

You slow your pace to watch them.  The guy with the dark hair is gorgeous – well, they both are, to be fair – but the one…damn.  His maroon tee shirt is fitted enough to show off his beefy physique, and his jeans hug his thighs and ass like they were made for him.  He throws off an air of cocky confidence with just a hint of danger, lending a genuine feel to his bad boy image.  Should you…maybe?  No. No, you absolutely should not. You’re not in the right mindset to try to soothe a man’s threatened masculinity just for a bit of company.

He and the blonde reach for the wayward chalk, but it’s just out of their reach.  It’s amusing to watch them try to grab for it, but you take pity on them eventually.

Time for your good deed of the week.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”  Stepping between the two, you reach up and effortlessly pluck the blue cube from its spot before dropping it into the dark-haired man’s hand with a smile.  “Here you go.”

Wide blue eyes look up into yours, but he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even smile.  He just stares.  Figures.

The blonde looks between you and his companion before clearing his throat.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

The unspoken rejection from the brunette stings.  Normally it wouldn’t get to you, but after today?  It does.  It really does.  So you swallow against the burning thickness in your throat and force back the tears with a fake smile.  “You’re welcome.”  A few more steps and you’re in the ladies’ room, which only serves to make matters worse when you step into an open stall.  As you turn around to lock the door, you can see your entire head in the mirror, poking out above the top.  A pair of women walk in and they giggle, so you quickly sit down.  There’s no point in taking it personally – it actually happens quite a bit in older buildings and you can fully admit that the sight is pretty funny – so you compose yourself and do what you came in to do.  You slouch when you stand in order to avoid accidentally looking into one of the neighboring stalls and go to the vanity to wash up.

Even the sink mocks you by making you bend almost in half to reach the water.

A woman with dark hair and bright red lips exits the far-right stall and joins you at the mirror.  “Oh wow, your shoes and dress are so pretty!”

“Thank you.”

“Did you come from the wedding at the ballroom?”

“Mmm hmm.”  You glance at her shorts and flowery sleeveless top and swallow your sigh – you feel like a fucking behemoth next to her.  “I think maybe I should have stopped by my motel room to change.”

“No, you look really nice!” She smiles up at you, “It’s really not unusual to have people dressed up in here on the weekends, you’re just earlier than we usually see it.  I’ll give you a tip, though, in case your feet start to hurt.  I know the place looks kinda crusty, but the owners take a lot of pride in it.  The floors are clean if you choose to go barefoot.”

Her unexpected kindness surprises you; you’re usually shunned by other women when you’re at a bar because all they see is your height, which they erroneously perceive to be an advantage in attracting men.  “Thank you. That’s really good to know.”  She turns to leave but you stop her when you notice something wrong with her shirt. “Hey, hon, you’re missing a button.”  The poor girl is busty, and she’s likely been flashing an unintentionally generous amount of cleavage for who knows how long.

She looks down and immediately sees the gap in her shirt.  “Well, shit.  I just bought this shirt.  No wonder some of the guys couldn’t look me in the eye.  Stupid boobs, always trying to pop out.  Why can’t they just make clothes that fit real people?”

“I feel ya,” you mutter as you start digging through your purse.  “Hold on, I’ve got something…here, try some of this.”

“Scotch tape?”  She looks confused as she takes it.

“Double sided tape.”

Her eyes get wide as she gazes up at you.  “You’re a genius.  And an angel. An angelic genius!”  She takes some and fixes her shirt, smiling brightly. Thank you so much!!”

Despite your incredibly shittastic day, you find yourself warming to her.  She’s nice.  “You’re welcome!  I didn’t want a bunch of creeps leering at you.  In a world of Chads, we women really need to stick together.”

“Oh, God, you met Chad?” She grimaces and shakes her head, “I’d like to apologize on behalf of the entire town.  He and his friends are not a good representation of the rest of us, I promise.  They don’t even live here, they were just permanently banned from the bar in the next town over and now they’re our problem, apparently.  But I promise, the rest of the people here are alright.”  She sticks out her hand, “I’m Peggy, by the way.”

You shake her calloused hand and give her your name.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. If you feel like some company, just come find me.  My friends and I will probably be here for a while, and you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, I might just do that.”  You flash a smile, genuine this time, and go back to your seat at the bar.  What the hell, maybe you’ll take her up on her offer after you finish your drink.  

A minute passes, maybe two, before someone takes the barstool next to you.

It’s him.  The gorgeous brunette.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”  You want to roll your eyes at your reply. Smooth.  Real smooth.

“My uh, my friends pointed out that I was rude earlier, so I wanted to apologize.”

You turn to him quizzically, giving him your full attention.  Is this really the same guy that was playing pool?  The sexy one that projected ‘bad ass’?  “For what?”  

His cheeks grow pink and it throws you off guard.  “It’s not nice to stare.  My ma taught me better than that – she’d slap me into next week if she saw how I acted. I ain’t usually like that, I’ve just never seen, uh…”

Here it comes.  The ‘I’ve never seen such a tall woman’ comment that leaves you feeling like a roadside circus freak show.

“Well, you just got an amazing smile.”

Wait, what?  “Huh?”

“I’ve never seen such a pretty smile.”  He shrugs and studies the bar top.  “Your eyes looked sad, though.  I dunno. I guess I was tryin’ to figure you out.” He turns back to you with an almost obnoxiously handsome grin, “My name’s Bucky Barnes.  Can I make it up to you?  Buy you a drink?”  

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to gauge his intent.  He seems genuine enough – he’s either a brilliant actor or you seriously misjudged him, which, in your current cynical mindset, is entirely possible.

You look up to see Clint watching as he dries some glasses.  Maybe he has some insight.  Is this guy decent?  He’s gorgeous but does he have a personality?  

Clint snorts, glancing at Bucky then back to you.   Yeah. He’s a pretty good guy.  He’ll treat you right.

Bucky looks like he’s swallowing a smile when you turn back to him.  “Yeah, I guess you can make it up to me.”

“Really?”  He seems genuinely happy at the prospect.

“Sure.”

“Great!”  Apparently that’s all the invitation he needs to turn on the charm.  “So what’s a gorgeous girl like you doin’ in a dump like this?

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh.

“No,” he shakes his head sheepishly, “It’s not.  Guess I’m really off my game today.  I can usually flirt, I promise.”

A beer and another daiquiri appear on the counter.  “Thanks, man,” Bucky nods to Clint.  “Hey, you wanna grab a table?”  He nods his head to the side of the bar by the jukebox.  “It’s quieter there.  We can chat and I can show you that I ain’t, in fact, the dumbass I’ve made myself out to be.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Why not?  Even if you don’t know Clint enough to trust him, the kids that you work with do, and you trust their judgement.  So if Clint says that Bucky is decent, you’ll believe him.

***

It ends up being a good choice.  Bucky turns out to be more than decent – he’s really nice, funny, respectful, keeps his eyes where they belong, and doesn’t ask if you play basketball.

He asks the basic questions and learns that you live about an hour north of here, that you’re an interpreter, you love to read, write, and draw, and yes, you were at a wedding. Tired of talking about yourself, you take advantage of him pausing to drink his beer and flip the topic.

“So what do you do?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m a mission systems engineer with NASA.”

You blink at him.  “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“A mission systems engineer with NASA.  I know, I –“

“Do you have top secret clearance?”

He looks thoroughly confused.  “That’s your first question?”

“Do you?  Or would you have to kill me if you told me?  Have you been to space?  Does the government have a plan for if an asteroid comes our way, or would we have to do like the movie Armageddon and wing it with a bunch of oil rig operators?”

Bucky appears to be absolutely delighted at your string of questions.  “Well, yes, no, unfortunately no, and I can’t tell you that because has to do with national security.”

“Fascinating.”  You sit back, thoroughly intrigued by the man sitting across from you. “What the hell are you doing in a podunk town like this? Shouldn’t you be in Houston?  Or D.C.?”

“I live here.” He chuckles at your unimpressed stare. “Yeah, I know it’s a small town – we got a bar, three churches, a motel, a gas station, and a diner that closes by 7 pm every day.  Our biggest draw is the ballroom on the lake shore and the hunting grounds in the fall. It ain’t exactly the heart of modern technology.  But I grew up here, my family and friends are here, and I stick around to help out on their farm.  I fly into Headquarters a few times a year, but otherwise I work remotely.”

“So what do you do?”

“The general gist of it is that I lead a team that designs, develops, and deploys missions.”

“To space?”

“Well, I mean, I work for NASA…”

“What are you working on now?”  You can’t help peppering him with questions – this is so fucking cool.

His eyes sparkle.  “You got top secret clearance?”

“No.”

“Sorry.  Can’t tell you anything,” he shrugs with a smirk.

“I…yeah, I guess I kind of walked right into that.  Wow.  So you’re really freaking smart.”

“I hope so!”

“Do you like it?”

“Being smart?”

“Your job, dipshit.”

He laughs, freely and openly, and it’s an amazing sound.  “I love it.”

You can’t help but stare at him.  “Wow. That’s…that’s just really, really fucking incredible.”

Bucky gets quiet.  “It is really incredible.  Thank you for thinking so.”  He looks up, then back down as he starts peeling the label off his empty bottle of beer. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve told about my job that didn’t either tell me I don’t look smart enough to be a mission systems engineer or ask me how much money I make.”  He meets your eyes again.  “Or both.  I get that a lot, too.”

You certainly know how shitty it feels to get those kinds of unsolicited comments based solely on appearance.  It’s one thing to have an impression, but to just say those things out loud?  “Well, they suck.  And they’re truly shallow if they think intelligence has anything to do with how you look.  But hey, at least they show their true colors right away so you can save yourself some time.” You lean forward, chin in hand, “Okay, so I know you can’t tell me about your actual projects, but can you tell me about your job?  What are your responsibilities?  What does a mission systems engineer do?”

Bucky lights up like New York City and spends the next 40 minutes going into detail about what he does, and you hang on every word; it’s impossible not to, really.  His enthusiasm for what he does is so evident that even if the topic weren’t interesting, you’d still be entranced.  And you thought he was gorgeous before?  His animated passion makes him absolutely breathtaking.

You’ve both finished your drinks and, perhaps not so surprisingly, he switches to soda when you do. When unordered appetizers arrive with your new drinks, you both look over to Clint, who just winks and shrugs.

“Well I ain’t gonna complain.  Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”  Bucky shoves an entire ham and cheese ball into his mouth, but then has to hasashafahasa because it must have just come out of the fryer.  “Ish hot!  Rearry hot!”

Bursting into laugher, you slide your ice water to him before cautiously taking a bite of your buffalo wing. Considering how much fun you’ve had in the last hour, it isn’t all that surprising that your appetite has returned. “Me neither.”

The hours fly by as the conversation eventually turns to other topics, and you find yourself talking about things you wouldn’t expect considering you’ve just met.  Bucky seems so open and honest that it’s difficult not to reciprocate, and if one doesn’t go into detail about what the other asks, it’s only because there’s so much to cover.  

Bucky dips the last bit of pretzel into the beer cheese sauce and pops it into his mouth.  “So if you don’t mind me asking, what made those pretty eyes of yours so sad?”

You take a long sip of your Coke Zero as you debate your next move.  Deflect or come clean?  You surprise yourself when you blurt out, “My aunt, Lydia.”

“Your aunt?”

You squirm a bit at the uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability, but you keep going.  “Yeah.  It was her daughter that got married today.  Marie and I grew up together – Lydia is my mom’s only sister, so she was the one that took care of me when my mom had to work double shifts, which was a lot. She did the best she could, and she means well, she really does, but she’s just so caught up with appearances. My height is a, uh, a definite sore spot with her.”

“Really?  Why?  What does it matter?”

“I think it comes down to the appearance thing.  Tall women are generally seen as less feminine, even straight up masculine.  Lydia is tall, too – not quite as tall as me, but close.  She claims that she got her husband through making herself appear daintier.  She only wears flats and follows all the newest fad diets to make herself as small as she can because she feels that being a tall woman puts her at a distinct disadvantage.”  You shrug, “She was one of the primary examples I grew up with. And to be fair, it’s not like she’s completely wrong.  In my experience, guys tend to feel emasculated by me.  And it’s not just men that seem to see me through a distorted lens.  Even from a young age – I’m talking 4th grade – I’d hear teachers tell my mom that I seemed so much more mature than my peers, that I didn’t need as much support, emotional or academic, as everyone else.  I got additional responsibilities and higher expectations.  The thing is, I wasn’t more mature.  I was just tall, so I looked more mature.  Eventually it kind of came true, though.  Other than my mom, who was single and working 2 jobs to keep me housed and fed, I didn’t really have anyone that would protect me or support me.  I guess no one thought I needed it, so I just got used to doing it myself.”

Bucky shakes his head, and you can’t tell if his expression is one of pity, sadness, anger, or something else.  

“But Lydia made everything a hundred times worse than it needed to be.  I already knew I was outside the norm, I didn’t need the reminders. But every time I’d hit a growth spurt she would share some nasty comment on it, as if telling me that boys didn’t like tall girls would somehow stop my bones from stretching.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Mmm hmm.  Despite my mom’s efforts – and the fact that being tall is actually pretty awesome – Lydia’s words really got under my skin, and even now they undermine my confidence sometimes.”  You gesture to yourself and the bar, “Obviously.  I should be at my cousin’s wedding right now.  I don’t go to many family functions anymore, because of her.  It just…it puts my head in a bad place.  You know, they say it takes five to seven positive comments to balance out one negative comment?  The negative is in everything she says.  Everything.  I love my family to pieces, but I just can’t handle her.”

“What did she say to you today?”  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Bucky is getting pissed.  

“She met me at the door of the chapel with a pair of her ugly black penny loafers.  Said that she told the photographer that I wasn’t allowed in any family pictures unless I was wearing them, because she didn’t want my Amazonian ass towering over everyone else and ruining the aesthetic.”

“Your…your ‘Amazonian ass’?”

“Eh,” you shrug and wave your hand dismissively.  “It’s not the first time I’ve been called an Amazon and far from the worst thing people have said. I mean, people say it to be cruel, but Amazons were fearless warriors.  I just think of it as being put in the same class as Wonder Woman.  The part that hurt was that she was prepared to make sure I wasn’t in the pictures, that she thought she could just erase my existence, simply because I’m too tall for her liking.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “I might be overstepping here, but what a heartless bitch.  No one should ever try to erase you, what a fucking idiot.”

“She browbeat Marie into dyeing her hair blonde for the wedding.  Marie hates it, but did it for her mom’s approval.”  You release a deep sigh, “But that’s Lydia, and that’s why I took my Amazonian ass out of there the second the ceremony was over.”

“Hmmmm.”  He gazes at you.  “You know she’s a princess, right?  

“Huh?”

“Wonder Woman.  She’s a princess. You know…Amazon Princess…it actually kinda suits you.”

“Seriously?”

“Damn right I’m serious. You’re tall?  So what.  You’re fuckin’ royalty.  Own it, Princess.  Correct ‘em. Make ‘em say it.  Amazon Princess.”  

“What?”

“Yep.  Say it with me.  Amazon Princess.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, but there’s something undeniably sweet about the way he’s pressing the issue. It’s not good enough for him that it doesn’t bother you – he wants it to be seen as a term of empowerment and to let people know that’s how you see it.

The moment is interrupted when a booming voice comes through the sound system.  “Alright everybody, it’s ten o’clock!”  Someone stands on the stage, holding a mike and looking more than a little tipsy.  “You know what that means!”

The bar cheers, “Free jukebox!”

A line forms immediately, and the music starts.

“Wanna dance, Princess?”

“Really?  You’re going to call me ‘Princess’ now?”

He shrugs with darkening eyes and a suggestive smirk.  “If it’s okay with you.”

If he keeps looking at you the way he’s looking at you right now, he can call you whatever he damn well pleases.  But he doesn’t need to know that.  “Yeah,” you murmur.  His gaze is so intense that you have to look around the bar to break it and gather your thoughts.  You happen to see Peggy; she’s standing next to the blonde that had been playing pool with Bucky, so she must know him.  She catches your eye, sees who you’re with, and gives a thumbs up with a huge grin. Well, alright then.  You grin back and remember what she said.  “Let’s dance.”

Bucky stands, stopping when he sees you toeing off your heels.  “Woah, what’re you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes?”

He shakes his head, “Princess, you don’t need to do that.  I ain’t too fragile to dance with a woman taller than me.”

“I know,” and you do, “But I can’t dance in these.  And my feet hurt.”

When you stand, you’re almost eye to eye with Bucky; if he were barefoot as well, you would be.

People are still lined up at the jukebox, selecting their favorites.  It’s exactly the mix you would expect from a place like this – classic songs like Brown Eyed Girl, Summer of ’69, and Footloose with more modern tunes sprinkled in  – the kind of music that gets everyone up and dancing.

Bucky is a great dance partner, and you’re having an absolute blast.  You don’t think about your aunt, the wedding that you’re supposed to be at, or how you are, without a doubt, the tallest woman in the bar.  He laughs, showing off the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, obviously enjoying himself, too.  

The jukebox switches songs again, and on comes the relentless, even rhythm of Black Velvet.  For the first few measures, you just stare at each other.  It’s the first song to play that isn’t upbeat, and you don’t know what to do until he makes the first move and pulls you close – close enough to breathe each other in. He stares as Alannah Myles’ smokey voice drifts over the steady bass, then spins you so your back is to him.  

If Bucky’s a good dance partner for upbeat music, he’s even better when it’s slow like this, when every move counts.  He’s enough to handle you, and more than confident enough to do so.

Bucky stays behind you, mirroring you with his hands resting gently at your waist.  Your back is against his chest, but his hips keep their distance. Just to experiment, you press yours back and hear a guttural “fuck” before he intentionally shifts.

Bucky is absolutely nothing that you expected.  “You’re a gentleman.”

You can feel the dark chuckle rumbles through him. “I wouldn’t say that, Princess.”  He spins you around, pulling you close but not too close, and runs his thumb along your neck.  “I just ain’t in the habit of taking what ain’t mine.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine.  Fuck. You like him.  One night stands aren’t usually your thing…but that’s not what this feels like.  He feels familiar.  Safe.  You like him, and he sure seems to like you. Your mind is already made up – you’ll take the chance and see what happens.  You hardly recognize your own voice when you ask, “Do you want me to be?”

“Thought I was makin’ it obvious.  Yes.”  He doesn’t hesitate and his eyes don’t leave yours.  “Are you offering?”  

You move your hand to the back of his neck and lightly scratch, watching with satisfaction as his pupils dilate even more than they were.  His lips part when you pull him closer, but he waits for you to close the kiss.

The second you do, his hands slide down to your lower hips before he tightens his grip.  He’s not timid; he kisses you as though you’re a well-known lover, deeply and intensely, without bothering with introductions.  

Bucky suddenly breaks the kiss, spinning you around again to pull your back against his chest.  This time, though, he allows his hips to rock into yours with the rhythm of the music, slow and steady and insatiable.  The way he moves makes it impossible not to think about fucking him; hell, you’re practically halfway there already.  His hands alternate holding you tightly to his body, maximizing contact, and running up and down your sides.  Your head falls back when his mouth finds your neck, and your legs go weak when his teeth nibble that spot beneath your ear.

You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His voice is thick when his lips find your ear, “Wanna get out of here?”

You nod, taking his hand to lead him back to the table to collect your things.  “I’ve got a room at the motel a block away.”

“Good.”

When you take one last look around, you see Clint, still behind the bar, grinning at you like an absolute idiot.  Have fun!

“Oh my God,” you mutter under your breath, but you can’t completely hide the smile.

You step outside to find that the unbearable heat of the day has eased somewhat now that the sun has set. It’s still warm as the humid air kisses your skin, but with the breeze it’s sultry rather than oppressive.

You and Bucky look up at the same time – the stars are barely visible through the haze of clouds. There’s a thunderstorm rolling in on the western horizon.

Bucky walks you to your car, making sure you’re in safely before getting in his own truck and following you to the motel.  He jumps out of his vehicle and pushes you against the car the second you’re out of it, kissing you like it’s been days and not 2 minutes since his lips were last on yours.  

He doesn’t stop until the first few raindrops hit your skin.  Bucky looks up while you grab your purse and your aunt’s shoes out of the car, gathering them clumsily before locking the door.  It takes a minute for you to get your room key out of your purse, but you finally manage.

“Looks like the storm is already here.  Gonna be a good one if it got here that fast.”  He takes your hand, “Which room are you in?”

“Up the steps, furthest door on the left.”

Bucky leads you to the stairs as you both laugh while trying unsuccessfully to dodge the increasingly fat drops of rain.  He doesn’t let go of your hand until you need to unlock the door, and the second you hear the click of the lock, his lips are on yours again.  He pushes the door open and guides you through, closing the door behind him with a well-placed kick.  You drop your purse and the loafers, then step out of your heels as he toes his shoes off.  Still connected at the lips, he doesn’t see the things on the floor and trips over one of your stilettos.

“Oh shit!”  His eyes are huge, staring up into yours when he realizes he isn’t going to hit the floor because you’ve caught him by the arm. “Good catch, Princess.”  Both of you start laughing as he stands up straight, but the laughter dies out when his mouth find yours again.  Hungry hands roam your body while you reach beneath his shirt so your fingers can explore the taut muscles you just know are hiding beneath it.  Bucky grabs the collar behind his neck and pulls the shirt off altogether, and you are not disappointed.  “You like what you see, huh?”  

“Damn right I do.”  You’re breathless, pressing your lips against the salty skin of his collarbone.

“You sure know how to use that mouth of yours, don’t ya?”  He groans, then reaches down to grab the hem of your dress to lift it over your head before tossing it to the side.   “Goddamn, darlin.”  Bucky eyeballs you like a starving man at a feast before his mouth is back on yours, then moves his lips to the top of your breasts while he reaches around to unclasp your bra.  It joins your discarded dress as he pulls you close, groaning at the feel of your naked breasts pressed against his chest.  “I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you walkin’ into that bar tonight,” he bites your neck and you can’t stop the light whimper, “but I ain’t gonna complain. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Princess, I promise.”

You believe him.  And you cannot wait.

The two of you somehow manage to take a couple of steps toward the bed.  “I’ve wanted to do this since you smiled at me after givin’ me that chalk.  Those eyes, that smile, that dress, those fuckin’ sexy shoes.”  His hands find your hips, hooking your panties with his thumbs to push them down so you can step out of them.  “When we started dancin’ all I could think about was what it would feel like havin’ your legs wrapped around me, I want you so damn bad.”

You unbutton his jeans and fumble with the zipper, then pull his jeans and boxer briefs down at the same time, freeing a fully hard cock that is nothing short of glorious.  “Then either figure out how to multitask or stop talking and fuck me already.”

Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

He kicks off his remaining garments before pushing you against the nearest vertical surface – which happens to be the middle of the window, where there’s a strip of metal supporting the two panes of glass.  You aren’t sitting on the ledge, just leaning against it to keep your balance.  It occurs to you that maybe you should close the curtains, but you’re too far gone to care enough to do anything about it.

“Don’t you worry, Princess. I can do both.”  His arm is looped around your waist to hold you steady while your upper back presses against the cold strip of metal.  You’ve got one arm hooked around his neck and the other steadying yourself on the edge of the windowsill.  Bucky reaches down, takes hold of your thigh and lifts it to his hip. He lets go of your waist just long enough to guide his cock to your entrance – and he can slide right in because you’re so damn wet – and fuck, the way he stretches you is delicious.

“Christ, you’re so damn fuckable,” he moans in your ear, sending shivers throughout your entire body. “So fucking perfect…don’t need a bed or a chair, I can fuck you anywhere I want.  I could just bend you over, wouldn’t even need a wall.”  Between his thrusts, which are as maddeningly steady and slow as his dancing, the cool metal of the windowpane at your upper back, the flickers of lightening, and the crashes of thunder, it’s almost sensory overload. He’s holding you so tightly that you can’t move your hips much, so you’re completely at his mercy.  And he knows it.

Each move he makes is a sin; the angle you’re at all but guarantees he’s stroking your clit with every move.  Delirious with the sensations flooding your brain, you can only babble nonsense.  

“What’s that, Princess? Use your words, darlin,” Bucky

“So…so good…I, huh…”

He chuckles darkly, “What was that?”

He’s not playing fair but you really don’t mind – his confidence with you is a rarity and is such a fucking turn on.  “More.”

“More?  You want me to fuck you harder?  Is that right?”  He waits for your nod before flashing a wicked grin lit by lightning, then adjusts his grip on your thigh.  “Anything you want, Princess, you get.”

His thrusts come harder and faster, multiplying your pleasure tenfold.  Then he shifts his hand on your thigh, changing the support from holding it up to pushing it back, opening you further and allowing him to go even deeper.

Oh, oh fuck…

Your entire body clenches with your orgasm, so tightly you can’t even breathe, and your mouth opens in a silent scream.

Bucky follows you just seconds later with a growl of your name against your neck and a few last ragged movements.

He releases your thigh as he gently pulls out, but he doesn’t take his arm from around your waist. You lift yourself onto the windowsill, pulling him between your legs as you hold each other close and catch your breath while the storm rages outside.  He keeps his face buried in your neck as you run your fingers up and down his back, calming you both.  The thunder rumbles violently while lightning dances in the sky, but it doesn’t worry you. You’ve always found comfort in the chaos of a storm.

Eventually your legs start to fall asleep, so you begin to move.  Bucky notices and hikes both of your thighs up to his hips before guiding your arms up around his neck.  “Hold on, Princess.”  He reaches down and lifts you, carrying you the 5 feet to the bed.  After laying you down, he begins kissing you again, then starts exploring your body.  “I love being cradled in your thighs like this, but there’s something else I wanna try,” he whispers as he starts crawling down.  “Now I can take my time with you.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’s going.  “Really? Um, maybe I should shower first?” You’re sweaty from the heat of the day and just had some really incredible sex, so there’s no doubt in your mind that things are less than fresh down there.

“If you want to.”  He keeps on his slow descent, kissing everything in his path, “But I’m happy with you just like this.  I want you, right now, as you are.”

“But don’t you –“

“No.  I don’t.”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he looks up from his destination.  “I don’t care.”  And then Bucky dives in, devouring your pussy like he’d devoured your mouth.  He’s got you writhing in moments, all worries gone. But he’s a goddamn tease now that the initial urgency has been satisfied, bringing you to the edge and then backing off again and again in a beautiful torture.

You can’t do dirty talk to save your life, but you’re about to start begging when he finally looks up, chin glistening before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.  “Fucking delicious.”  Between the sight of him, his voice, and the sensations you’re feeling, your brain just about short circuits.  Then his fingers start to circle your entrance, teasing you, making you want more before he slowly pushes two in and curls them to press against that spot, and fuck it can’t feel any better, but then somehow it does.  You pull a pillow over your face but he shifts, reaching up to yank it back off and throw it across the room.  “No way, Princess, I wanna hear what I do to you,” he rasps, watching you with hungry eyes and a feral grin.  You’re almost there…almost…and then he puts his mouth back on your clit and your universe implodes.

One orgasm blends into another and you allow him to push your limits until you can’t handle it anymore. “Stop,” you gasp, and he does immediately.  “I’m – it’s too much.  I…wow.” You’re so oversensitive at this point that if he breathes too hard, you might jump out of your skin.

Bucky crawls his way back up to you, dropping kisses on your hot skin as he goes.  “You’re incredible, you know that?  I love how your body responds to me, I fucking love it.”

He kisses you again, and despite your sensitivity, your hunger for him grows.  Sitting up, you pull him with you then push him down to the mattress.  “Fuck yes,” he whispers hoarsely when you straddle him and slide down, pausing to glide your pussy along his hardened cock, but then you slide down a little farther before spreading his legs so you can kneel between them.  

It’s impossible not to groan aloud when your hands find his thighs; thick, tight, and incredibly well formed, they look like they were sculpted by a generous god.  “I might have to ride one of these later.”

“Please –“  Bucky swallows hard and licks his lips as he watches you in the dim, sporadically flickering light, “Please do.”

One hand moves to palm his balls while you part your lips to take him in as far as you can, reveling in his heaviness on your tongue while using your hand to stroke the base of his cock. You give it a bit, waiting until he’s writhing beneath you before you pull off and redirect your attention.  His eyes grow wide when your fingers start moving down beneath his balls to his taint, pressing gently to find the very root of his cock which will then lead you to the spot you’re looking for.  Pressing firmly when you find it, you begin rubbing tight circles.

“What are you – oh.  Oh.  Oh, fuck, Princess, oh fuck!”

It’s ridiculously satisfying to see him reduced to the same whimpering, quivering puddle you were not so long ago.  You make him come once, twice, three times without ejaculating, just because you can.  

Bucky’s got his forearm resting over his eyes as he shakes his head, and you take advantage of his distraction to shift your body into position.  “Holy shit.” He’s breathless, shaking,  “I did not know I had a spot that could do that.  Fuck.  I – oh Christ…“

You slide onto his cock, smiling when his hands automatically reach to grip your hips – the biology and technique can be explained later.  Leaning over, you kiss him deeply then stretch your arms above him to grip the headboard.  Rocking your hips slowly, so slowly, you watch him watch you.

Bucky’s lips form words but nothing comes out except for sighs and soft moans as you become more and more intoxicated by his need for you.  His hands wander up and down, touching your breasts, hips, ass, and everything in between until he pulls you down for another kiss.  “Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are?  You feel so good.  So fucking good.  Wanna make you feel good.  As good as you make me feel.”  Bucky kisses you again, sloppily, then wraps an arm tightly around you before flipping you both.

Now that you’re on the bottom and he’s back in control, he picks up the pace considerably.

You certainly aren’t about to complain.

His hands are grasping yours, holding them over your head, and your legs are locked around his hips as his thrusts eventually begin to lose their impeccable rhythm.  

Now neither of you are in control.

The pleasure has been steadily building, an inevitable tidal wave on the horizon.  Maybe it’s his confidence, maybe he’s naturally gifted, maybe it’s that his body seems to fit with yours just right.  Whatever it is, this is by far the best sex you’ve ever had, and despite already having multiple orgasms, your appetite for him seems to be insatiable because you’re greedy for the next one.

“Fuck, Princess, it feels so good having those legs wrapped around me,” he pants, “Goddamn, I can – I can feel you’re right there.  I ain’t gonna last much longer, come for me, darlin, give it to me now.  Oh Christ yes, that’s right, just – just like that.”

Your body obeys, giving him exactly what he wants.  The velvet sound of his voice, his incessant dirty talk, the way he smells and tastes – everything about him adds to your pleasure induced stupor.  The orgasm is so powerful that everything but Bucky goes black, and the only thing keeping you tethered to this world is the way he chants your name as he comes.

His body continues to cover yours as you wait for your racing pulse to slow.  He presses kisses to your neck, cheeks, lips, and eyelids, and finally your forehead before he gently lifts himself off to lay next to you. “C’mere,” he pulls you to him, and when you rest your head on his chest you can hear how fast his heart is still beating.

Thoroughly sated and soothed by the feel of his fingertips on your skin, it’s tempting to give in and fall asleep.  But not yet. Not if you want to sleep through the night.

Reluctantly, you rise. Maybe, if you’re really fast, maybe he’ll still be here when you get back.  It’s probably not the sane thing to do, but you really, really want him to stay the night.

“Where you going?”  Is that trepidation you hear in his voice?

You smile as you take in the sight of him lying in the bed, disheveled and clearly satisfied. “I need to shower.  And wash my face – I need to get my makeup off.  My eyes are getting itchy.”

“Can I join you?”  He laughs at your raised eyebrow, “No, Princess, not like that.  I’m gonna need some time to recover.”

“That’s good to know,” you smirk, “I was starting to wonder if you were a god wearing a mortal’s skin.”

Bucky blushes.  It’s adorable.  “Nah, no god here.  Just a man that’s never wanted a woman so bad before.  Still do,” he shrugs, “Just too worn out at the moment to do anything about it. You’re somethin’ special, I hope you know that.”

It’s your turn to feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you hold out your hand to help him up.  

The shower is tender and sweet, full of soft kisses and softer touches.  This man just keeps surprising you.

He’s toweling off his hair when his eyes meet yours in the vanity mirror.  “Is it okay if I stay?”

A slow smile spreads across your face – you couldn’t stop it if you tried.  “I’d like that.”  You slip into fresh panties and a tank top, turning to face him fully to admit, “I’d like that a lot.”  Bucky beams at you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and heads to the bed. You finish up a few minutes later and crawl in, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.  There’s nothing to hide behind – no makeup, no cocktail dress, no drink.  It’s just you, and this is a state that very few people see you in; no one you’ve ever dated has seen you this vulnerable until months have gone by.  Some didn’t see you this way at all.  “Don’t look too close.  I’m very unglamorous and monochrome without makeup.”

Bucky’s blue eyes stare in yours.  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”  His fingers trace your freshly moisturized skin.  “I think you’re beautiful.”

Outside, the thunderstorm has exhausted itself.  He pulls you close and breathes you in, and you both fall asleep to the sound of gentle rain.

***

When the sun peeks through the gap in the curtains at 6 am, you’re not even mad that you’re awake.  The sight of Bucky lying peacefully next to you is something you’re thoroughly enjoying.

“You’re staring.”  His voice, deep and gravelly, rumbles lightly into the silence as he opens his eyes.  “It’s because I’m decent and gorgeous with a personality, right?”

“What?”

Bucky smirks as he stretches and sits up.  “I should probably come clean.  The bartender from last night?  My parents took him and his sister in after their parents were killed in an accident. Clint and Carrie were lucky to survive – he lost his hearing and six months of memories and she was in the ICU for 3 weeks.  He and I have practically been brothers since grade school.”

It takes a minute, but you finally put the pieces together.  Oh.  Well, shit.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just really surprised to see you sign so I didn’t look away fast enough. I’m sorry.”

You sit up and slap him lightly on the shoulder.  “So, you knew what I asked him?

His smile broadens as he gives you puppy dog eyes.  Yes. Please don’t be mad.

You try not to smile back as you think about it but lose the battle and shrug.  “I’m not mad.  Maybe a little embarrassed, but we’ve known each other for what, 12 hours?  It’s not like you can tell me everything about you in that short amount of time.”  You give him some serious side eye, “Although you could have mentioned that when I told you what I do for a living.”

He studies your eyes like he’s trying to see into your soul.  “I told you a lot, though.”

“You did.  We both did.”  It surprises you, more than a little, that you aren’t horrified at how open and honest you’ve been with him.

Bucky reaches his hand up to cup your cheek and he pulls you in for a kiss.  “Good morning, beautiful.”  It seems like he doesn’t want to part, because he rests his forehead against yours.

Somehow your hand finds his neck, and you gently rub your thumb along his jawline.  “Good morning, Bucky.”

His stomach grumbles. Loudly.  “Wanna grab some breakfast, Princess?”

It makes you a stupid amount of happy that he’s not ready to leave you just yet.  “Yeah.  I just need a little bit to get ready.”

A half hour later, Bucky opens the passenger side door of his pickup.  “Your chariot, Princess.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking his offered hand and climbing in.  It’s an older truck, one with a bench seat, and it smells of hay, Bucky’s cologne, and sweat.  It’s not what you’d expected, but it suits him.

In this tiny little town nothing is open at this hour on a Sunday morning, so Bucky pulls his pickup onto the interstate to head to a fast food restaurant a few miles away.  You take the time to look around – the area is really pretty and reminds you of the drive to your grandparents’ house, all farmland and pastures.  Of course, you can’t help but stare at the horses whenever you pass them.  “Whoa.  They must breed Appaloosas.”

Bucky takes a quick glance out your window.  “Yeah, that’s the Carter farm.  They raise Appaloosas and alpacas.”  He’s quiet for a moment.  “You like horses?  Not everyone can randomly pick out that breed.”

“I love horses,” you murmur, smiling broadly when you spot a few foals among the herd.  You’re too busy looking at them to notice how he looks at you.

***

Breakfast is simple, just something picked up at a drive thru window, but that’s perfectly fine with you. Bucky doesn’t pull back onto the interstate though, he instead starts driving the winding country roads.  You don’t mind in the least; you simply sip your coffee, content to be exactly where you are.  Considering the hour, you aren’t even grumpy.  Stealing glance at the reason why, you hide your smile and take another sip.

Bucky’s fingers drum almost nervously against the wheel, then he seems to make a decision as he brakes sharply.  “Sorry, Princess,” he smiles sheepishly, “You up for a picnic?  I know a spot.”

His smile is infectious. “Yeah.”

He takes the left he stopped so quickly for, and then another left onto a dirt road, and a mile later he turns onto what looks like a seldom used service trail leading up to a fenced in pasture.  “Just a sec,” he pulls the truck to a stop, then gets out to open a gate.  Bucky quickly climbs back in, drives the truck through about 20 feet before turning in a tight circle to face the road, and closes the gate behind him before stepping up to your door.  “I got some blankets, do you want to sit in the truck bed with me?”

“Of course.”

He gets the blankets and spreads them out while you grab the food and coffees, handing them to him before you climb in after him.

“I would’ve helped you in, Princess.”

“Bucky.  I’m not five feet tall.  I can get into the back of a truck.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m fully aware of that.  But unlike the other shmucks you seem to have come across in your life, I ain’t gonna make you do something by yourself just because you can.  You deserve consideration and chivalry, too.”

What do you even say to that?  He’s the exact opposite of pretty much everything you’ve ever known.  It’s nice.

He sits down against a box that is attached to the back of the cab.  “C’mere.  You look cold.”  

It was hot when you’d packed your overnight bag so you’ve only got a tee shirt and shorts on, and luckily a hoodie that just happened to be in the backseat of your car.  “I am, a little,” you admit as you curl into his side, allowing him to cover your legs with another blanket that he’s pulled out.

He eats one handed, keeping an arm around you to keep you close and warm.

Everything smells clean and fresh now that the storm went through, and the morning air is chilly but fresh with the light breeze.  The radio plays softly, drifting through the open windows as you and Bucky eat and watch the fluffy white clouds drift by.  It’s the best picnic you’ve ever had, hands down.

“So where are we? It’s beautiful here.”

“My parents’ farm.”

You turn to stare at him. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yep.”

“Lucky.”

“I am.  Hey, I wanna introduce you to someone.”  He stands suddenly, not waiting for a reply.  You’re in the middle of a pasture, who the hell is there for you to meet?  Bucky brings his fingers to his lips and lets out the sort of piercing whistle that you’ve never managed to master.

And then…and then…

“Are you fucking serious.” Eyes wide, you bring yourself to a kneeling position as a steel grey Percheron comes galloping full speed towards the truck.  “Bucky!”

He turns toward you, face almost split in two by his grin.  The horse slows down, circling the truck and whickering before coming to a full stop right at the tailgate.  

“I’d like you to meet Sergeant.”  

“Oh my God, Bucky, he’s stunning,” you breathe, unable to help yourself as you slowly move forward to sit at the edge of the open tailgate.   Intelligent eyes take you in before a velvet muzzle finds your hand.  “Sorry buddy, I don’t have any treats for you.  But I do have ear scratches,” you murmur, firmly stroking the planes of his face before scratching behind his ears.  You giggle when he sighs, and again when he mouths gently at your hair.  

Bucky beams with pride as he pulls an apple out of the box you’d been leaning against, feeding it to Sergeant before sitting on the tailgate next to you.  “I’ve had him for 20 years.  I got him when he was just a colt.  Trained him myself.  He’s one of the reasons why I choose to work remotely – I just can’t imagine not getting to see him.”

“I don’t blame you at all, I don’t think I could’ve left this sweetheart either.”  Sergeant blows gently in your face, then nuzzles you hard enough to push you backwards.  “Oh my goodness, you are just a big baby, aren’t you, Sarge?  Oh, you like that?  That spot right there?”  You laugh lightly as the giant horse stretches his neck toward you, seeming to thoroughly enjoy how you scratch just beneath where his mane grows.

“He likes you.”  Sergeant looks over when Bucky speaks, but then turns back to you.

“Well, I like him.” Feeling eyes on you, you turn to Bucky. “What, are you jealous?” you tease.

“Yes.”  Bucky cradles your face in both his hands and begins kissing you.  Before you know it, you’re lying in the truck bed with him, making out like a couple of teenagers out past curfew.  Time slows even as it moves, and you’d swear the minutes stretched into a blissful forever as you lay in his embrace.  But the real world likes to force its way in, and the distant sound of a car’s horn brings you both back to your senses.

Sergeant is about 50 feet away, grazing peacefully as Bucky pulls out his phone to check the time.  “We, uh, we should get going.  I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands to myself, and my folks will be drivin’ by on their way to church in about 15 minutes.”

“Don’t feel like scarring them forever with the view of your naked ass?”  You sit up and start pulling up the blankets to fold them.

“Honestly?”  He shakes his head, “They’d probably cheer and then invite you over for dinner.”

Pausing your movements, you let that one sink in.  “…Oh. Well that would be just as awkward as the alternative.”

He shrugs.  “They’ve been dropping some not so subtle hints that they think I should settle down.  They’d be thrilled just to know I spent the night with you.”

You tilt your head a bit as you watch him.  “Don’t you date?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Really?  Why not?”

He shrugs again as you hand him the blankets, then he turns his back to you as he puts them in the box. “I dunno.  I guess I just hadn’t found anyone I wanted to actually spend time with.”  

“Huh.”

“What?”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he turns back around.  “That so weird?”

“No, I get it.  You definitely shouldn’t settle.  I guess…” he’s staring at you now, waiting for you to finish, “I guess I’m just a little surprised that someone hasn’t snatched you up yet.  Where I come from, you’re quite a catch.”

“You think so?  How’s that?”

Is he baiting you? Teasing you?  Genuinely curious?  It’s impossible to tell.  “I know so. You’re smart, kind, funny, and a stupid amount of gorgeous,” you pause to level a look at him, “but I suppose you already knew I thought the last part.”

Bucky barks out a laugh but at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

“You have an absolutely beautiful horse, which wins points with pretty much every person I know. Your parents took in a couple of kids when they needed a family, and you learned a new language so you could keep communicating with your friend.  You have every opportunity to move to another city, but you stay here to be close to those you care about.  And,” it’s dumb, really, how you’re suddenly too shy to meet his eyes, “You’re really good in bed.  Like, really really good.  You’re the whole damn package.”  When you finally look up, he’s staring at you again.  “There’s a perfectly real possibility that you’re a total asshole and that you’ve been acting this whole time – I’ve only known you for a day – but I haven’t seen any cracks.  I get the definite impression that I met the real Bucky, and he is one hell of a catch.”  

“Huh.”  He hops down and turns, holding out his hand to help you down.  Do you need to take it?  No, but you love that he offers anyway.  He doesn’t let go after he helps you out, instead choosing to hold your hand as he walks you to the passenger side.  Bucky only lets go because he has to, and once the gate is secured behind the truck, he takes your hand and holds it for the entire drive back to the motel.

***

Ever the gentleman, Bucky walks you back to your motel door.  

“Do you have to go?” The words are out before you can think too long on them.

He’s shaking his head before your entire sentence is out, “No.  Not if you don’t want me to.”

You don’t even care if you sound needy or clingy.  “Please stay.”

Just like you learned last night, Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

At least the drapes are closed this time.

***

A sharp rap at the door and an equally sharp call of your name interrupts your post-lovemaking bliss.  It’s your aunt.

“I don’t wanna,” you whine.

Bucky bristles, sensing your distress.  “That her?”

You nod before pulling a pillow over your head.  “I’m just going to pretend I’m still asleep.  Maybe she’ll go away.”

“Don’t worry Princess, I got you.”

You feel the bed shift and move the pillow.  “Bucky!”

He turns back to you, eyebrows raised, as another insistent knock echoes through the room.

“You’re naked!”  It comes out as a stage whisper, making you both snicker.

He flashes a shit eating grin.  “So?”

Is he really gonna…

With a dramatic huff, he stops to find his boxer briefs and quickly tugs them on.  Kind of.  They’re sitting awfully low.

First there’s the sound of the door swinging open, then Bucky’s voice, bored and borderline intimidating.  “Yeah?”

The following silence is deafening and you almost wish the room was set up so you could see your aunt’s face, but all you can see is the back half of Bucky’s sensational body leaning in the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?  I’m looking for my niece?  I thought this was her room?”

“You mean the tall, gorgeous drink of water?  About my height?  Killer smile? Was wearing, uh, let’s see, what was she wearing?  It’s been awhile and she ain’t wearin’ much of anything now.”

The blood rushes to your face, but you can’t even imagine how embarrassed Lydia is right now.  The thought is nothing short of glorious.    

“Uh,” he snaps his fingers a few times, feigning concentration, “Oh!  A black dress with the sexiest heels imaginable?  Sound about right?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“Yeah, she’s here.” His tone is still bored, but you think you can pick up on an edge of amusement.  Your aunt must be squirming by now, and it’s all you can do to not start cackling.

“I thought…well…the gift opening is in an hour.  I thought she was going to meet us for breakfast before –“

“She won’t be goin’ to the gift opening.  Or breakfast, but don’t you worry, ma’am.  I made sure she ate something.”

The not so subtle innuendo almost makes you choke on your own spit.

“You can’t – are you holding my niece hostage or something?”

He laughs darkly but yells out, “Princess, am I holding you hostage?”

Your own laugher, unable to be contained any longer, bursts out.  “Nope!” you call out, absolutely feeling as gleeful as you sound.

Lydia is practically apoplectic by now.  “But what about the gift opening?”

“She doesn’t. Want.  To go,” he growls, stooping down.  “And here, she doesn’t want your fucking ugly shoes, either.  Stop projecting your insecurities onto her – she’s perfect the way she is.”  Bucky closes the door – perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary – and you hear the sound of the lock sliding into place before he saunters back to the bed.

“Thank you for doing that, Buck.  I – holy shit, I cannot believe you answered the door like that.”  Your eyes are glued to how low his boxers are sitting – he’s showing more than just his happy trail.

“What?  Everything’s technically covered.”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“I – I’m not even sure how you managed it, but you basically turned your boxers into the dick version of a pasty.”

He grins, “Like I said. Everything’s technically covered.”  Bucky moves closer, crawling into the bed until he hovers above you. “But not for long,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck.  “Now, the way I figure it, we got another two hours till checkout.”

“Mmmmm…” you’d rather not think of the time.  It’s necessary if you don’t want someone from housekeeping to accidentally walk in, but you don’t want this to end.

He kisses you deeply before pulling back, looking just a little hesitant.  “And then, if you want, we could continue this back at my place? If you’re not in a hurry to get home?”

He’s kept his lips to himself for a few seconds, so your head manages to clear enough to process what he just said.  “What? Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I get it if you have to get back.  But,” he shrugs awkwardly, his current vulnerability at stark odds with his usual confidence, “I like you.  I’d like to spend the day with you if you’re free.” He kisses your neck again and nibbles your ear.  “We can do more of this.  I like this, too.  A lot.” He pulls back to look you in the eye. “But we could also do some talkin’. Maybe you’d let me take you out to a nice dinner before you head home?”

A smile, broad and genuine, stretches across your face.  “I’d like that.  I’d really like that.”  Even if you never see Bucky again after today, you’re hungry for whatever time you can get with him.   He’s addictive and you’ve never in your life felt more satisfied and safe than you do right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His borderline cocky confidence returns as his hands resume roaming the landscape of your body. “Good,” he mouths against your throat, and resumes his worship of you.  “It’s gonna be a good day, Princess.  A good fuckin’ day.”

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[hannjunkyu]

hello! i’m peyton  &  i’m going to be writing for han junkyu aka the cookie skeleton aka the cringiest man on either of the islands, probably (but he doesn’t believe in cringe culture so it’s okay!) go ahead and leave a  ♡  if you’re interested in plotting with us and i’ll send you an im!

𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑.   𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓.

twenty-one and clueless. do not ask him about his future.

very artistically-inclined. his parents (especially his mom) placed greater emphasis on self-expression and creativity than education while he was growing up, which greatly shaped the man he is now. he’s been painting for longer than he’s been reading, so you could say it’s his most ~refined~ skill

but he’s also been dancing and acting for a while, too. initially trained in contemporary dance, but he’s more interested in hiphop now! also super into singing... i’ll just say this: if it’s creative/artistic, he’s into it! does have a tendency to spread himself too thin and has always been this way, so while he has various skills, he lacks a specialization.

used to be really promising. claimed that he was going to be a star and everyone believed it. unlike most kids, he had a very clear plan and was headed in the right direction. plus, he was well-known in the community, well-liked. very respectable kid

perhaps his parents gave him the wrong impression bc he ended up dropping out of high school and he was like “haha you told me education wasn’t that important” and they were like “we didn’t think you’d drop out??!?!”

and then things started going downhill because he kept traveling to auditions and participating in online auditions as well for all kinds of companies (modeling agencies, acting agencies, idol agencies bc mf didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do, still kind of doesn’t) and most of the time he was able to pass the blind round but every time agents found out he’s a hs dropout, they put a strike through his name.

ended up FINALLY getting an offer in early 2020-ish but was told he’d have to relocate to seoul and, as it turns out, junkyu’s a fuckin coward. didn’t want to leave his people so he turned it down much to..... Everyone’s dismay

now he’s working part-time as a cashier / sales associate / whatever at graciegrace! wants to work full-time, but atm he’s stuck begging his coworkers to give him some shifts and upselling like crazy to try to prove that he!!!! deserves to be a full-time employee!!!!

yes it’s the most expensive store on the island... yes he only works there because he needs that employee discount... yes he wears exclusively graciegrace clothes while he’s on shift and nonchalantly strikes poses like he’s a fuckin model while he’s supposed to be cleaning the shelfs and organizing displays... mind ur business!

his parents don’t really like him atm because he had Such A Bright Future and now he’s a retail worker, so he’s living on his own which means he needs money even more bc he doesn’t have his parents to leech off of. if not to feed himself, then to feed his trio of hamsters. so he sells artwork as a side hustle

mainly commissioned stuff bc if he just painted what he wants to, it would be anime girls sipping lemonade by the pool and no one would buy any of his pieces, so. gotta give the people what they want..... he likes to work in a ~dreamy~ kind of style with pastel color schemes, but he’ll rly do whatever if he’s getting that coin

junkyu’s obsessed with anime. started watching it shortly before he dropped out of hs, got really into it as a method of escapism after he dropped out and realized that life is hard. 9/10 times, if he’s meeting someone for the first time, he’s going to compare them to some background character from a niche anime that only nerds like him would know. i’m Personally not an anime fan so i can’t provide examples but jus take my word for it

kind of speaks japanese? he’s been studying it for a few years because he wants to watch anime without subtitles and he’s...... decent, but not fluent by any means

currently has hot pink hair because (1) he wants to and (2) he’s matching with an anime girl he likes atm.... guess who she is

obsessed with all things pretty/cute. buys a lot of sweets simply for the packaging which he REALLY needs to stop doing because he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so they usually go to waste. collects stuffed animals, not afraid to admit it. will go crazy any time he sees a cat, dog or any other soft animal that will let him pet it. 

his wardrobe’s full of pink, his home is full of pink, his phone case is pink, his favorite pair of sneakers is pink. kind of shocking to anyone who’s just getting to know him because who the fuck can see SO MUCH of one color and not get sick of it... junkyu! that’s who!

still wants to be involved in the entertainment business, kinda too scared to leave so these days he’s planning on opening up a theater in town. except apparently there are certain qualifications you have to have and..... Money’s Involved..... so he’s currently working towards a ged, don’t ask him about it

has a ton of random luggage and packed boxes in his house bc he’s lowkey always thinking about leaving, just doesn’t really have the guts to actually do it.

doesn’t believe in cringe culture, which on one hand is good for him but on the other hand, bad for everyone else. kinda hard to handle sometimes because you want to think he’s joking when he acts the way he does, but he never is.

seems like an ~elegant artist~ when you see him from a distance, which is admittedly very intentional. dramatic, always thinking that people who might happen to spot him should fall in love with him immediately so he tries to be Oddly Mesmerizing in everything he does. the illusion always breaks when he opens his mouth.

goes for a run every single morning! if you live on starden island and happen to be an early bird, you’ve probably seen him far more often than you’d ever want to.

aesthetics:  rose petals on the floor, exaggerated confessions of love to distant acquaintances, muted cartoons in the middle of the night, strawberry icecream, sunny days, the feeling of a stranger’s dog coming over to greet you, clicking immediately with new people, the smell of fresh laundry, sunrises, 90′s anime, knowing you’re going to regret something and doing it anyway, neon shutter sunglasses.

[maddie-grove]

The Top Twenty Books I Read in 2020

My main takeaways:

I’m glad that I set certain reading goals this year (i.e., reading an even mix of different genres and writing about each book I read on this tumblr). I feel like it really expanded my horizons.

There are a lot of proper names on my Top 20 list this year, which possibly means something about identity? That, or I just tried to read more Victorian novels. 

Be horny, and be kind.

Now...

20. The White Mountains by John Christopher (1967)

In a world ruled by unseen creatures who roam the countryside in tall metal tripods, all humans are “capped” (surgically fitted with metal plates on their heads) at age fourteen. Thirteen-year-old Will Parker looks forward to becoming a man, but a conversation with a mysterious visitor to his village raises a few doubts. This early YA dystopia has gorgeous world-building (notably a trip to the ruins of Paris) and expert pacing. The choices Will has to make are also more surprising and complicated than I ever anticipated.

19. What Happened at Midnight by Courtney Milan (2013)

John Mason wants revenge on his fiancée Mary after she skips town following her father’s death...apparently with the funds that her father, John’s business partner, embezzled from their company. When he tracks her down, though, she’s working as a lady’s companion to the wife of a controlling gentleman who refuses to pay her wages, and John’s fury turns to sympathy and curiosity. This is a smart, well-plotted Victorian-set novella about a couple who builds a better relationship after a rocky start.

18. Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes (1943)

It’s 1773, and fourteen-year-old Bostonian Johnny Tremain has it all: a promising apprenticeship to a silversmith, the run of his arguably senile master’s household, and...unresolved grief over his widowed mother’s death? When a workplace “accident” ruins his hand and career, though, he must “forge” a new identity. Despite its jingoism and surfeit of historical exposition, I fell in love with this weird early YA novel. It’s a fascinating, heartbreaking portrayal of disability and ableism, and, to be fair, Forbes was just jazzed about fighting the Nazis.

17. Something Happened to Ali Greenleaf by Hayley Krischer (2020)

After universally beloved jock Sean Nessel rapes starry-eyed junior Ali Greenleaf at a party, his queen-bee friend Blythe Jensen agrees to smooth things over by befriending his victim. Ali knows Blythe’s motives are weird and sketchy, but being friends with a popular, exciting girl is preferable to dealing with the fallout of the rape. This YA novel is a complex, astute exploration of trauma and moral responsibility.

16. The Color of Law by Richard Rothstein (2017)

Rothstein details how the federal U.S. government allowed, encouraged, and sometimes even forcibly brought about segregation of black and white Americans during the early and mid-twentieth century, with no regard for the unconstitutionality of its actions. He brings home the staggering harm to black Americans who were kept from living in decent housing, shut out of home ownership for generations, and denied the opportunity to accumulate wealth for generations. It’s an impactful read, and I was honestly shocked to learn Rothstein isn’t a lawyer, because the whole thing reads like an expansion of an excellent closing statement.

15. My Friend Dahmer by Derf Backderf (2012)

In this graphic memoir, Backderf looks back on his casual, fleeting friendship with future serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, a high school classmate who amused Backderf and his geeky friends with bizarre, chaotic antics. Backderf brings their huge, impersonal high school to life, illustrating how the callousness and cruelty of such an environment allowed an isolated, troubled teen to morph into something much more disturbing without anyone really noticing. It’s a work of baffled, tentative empathy and regret that stayed with me long after I finished it.

14. Daniel Deronda by George Eliot (1876)

Gwendolyn Harleth, beautiful and ambitious but with no real outlet, finds herself compelled to marry a heartless gentleman with a shady past. Daniel Deronda, adopted son of her husband’s uncle, finds himself drawn into her orbit due to his helpful nature, but he’s also dealing with a lot of other stuff, like helping a Jewish opera singer and figuring out his parentage. I love George Eliot and, although this bifurcated novel isn’t her most accessible work, it’s highly rewarding. The psychological twists and turns of Gwendolyn’s story are a wonder to experience, and Daniel’s discovery of his past and a new community is moving.

13. The Plot Against America by Philip Roth (2004)

The Roths, an ordinary working-class Jewish family in 1940 Newark, find their quiet lives descending into fear, uncertainty, and strife after Charles Lindbergh, celebrity pilot and Nazi sympathizer, becomes president of the United States. This alternate history/faux-memoir perfectly captures the slow creep of fascism and the high-handed cruelty of state-sanctioned discrimination, as well as the weirdness of living a semi-normal life while all of that is going on. Also: fuck Herman and Alvin for messing up Bess’s coffee table! She is a queen, and she deserves to read Pearl S. Buck in a pleasant setting!

12. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens (1850)

Young David Copperfield has an idyllic life with his sweet widowed mom and devoted nursemaid Peggotty, until his cruel stepfather ruins everything. David eventually manages to find safe harbor with his eccentric aunt, but his troubles have only begun. Although the quality of the novel falls off a little once David becomes an adult, I don’t even care; the first half is one of the most beautiful, funny, brilliantly observed portrayals of the joys and sorrows of childhood that I’ve ever read.

11. The Rise and Fall of Adam and Eve by Stephen Greenblatt (2017)

Greenblatt examines the evolution and cultural significance of the story of Adam and Eve from the Bible to the modern day (but mostly it’s about Milton). I can’t speak to the scholarship of this book--I’m not an expert on the Bible or Milton or bonobos--but I do know that it’s a gorgeously written meditation on love, mortality, and free will. Greenblatt brought me a lot of joy as an unhappy teenager, and he came through for me again during the summer of 2020.

10. The Music of What Happens by Bill Konigsberg (2019)

Self-conscious seventeen-year-old Jordan is mortified when his widowed mother hires Max, an outgoing jock from his school, to help out with their struggling food truck. As they get to know each other, though, they realize that they have more in common than they thought, and they end up helping each other through a particularly challenging summer. This is an endearing, exceedingly well-balanced YA romance that tackles serious issues with a light touch and a naturalness that’s rare in the genre.

9. Red as Blood by Tanith Lee (1983)

In nine wonderfully lurid stories, Tanith Lee retells fairy tales with a dark, historically grounded, and lady-centered twist. Highlights include a medieval vampiric Snow White, a vengeful early modern Venetian Cinderella, and a Scandinavian werewolf Little Red Riding Hood. Fairy tale retellings are right up my alley, and Lee’s collection is impressively varied and creative.

8. A Room with a View by E.M. Forster (1908)

Unnerved by an impulsive make-out session with egalitarian George Emerson on a trip to Florence, young Edwardian woman Lucy Honeychurch goes way too far the other way and gets engaged to snobbish Cecil Vyse. How can she get out of this emotional and social pickle? This is an absolutely delightful romance that gave a timeless template for romantic comedies and dramas for 100-plus years.

7. My Ántonia by Willa Cather (1918)

Jim Burden, a New York City lawyer, tells the story of his friendship with slightly older Bohemian immigrant girl Ántonia when they were kids together on the late-nineteenth-century Nebraska prairie. It was a pretty pleasant time, give or take a few murders, suicides, and attempted rapes. This is one of the sweetest stories about unrequited love I’ve ever read, and it has some really enjoyable queer subtext.

6. Mister Death’s Blue-Eyed Girls by Mary Downing Hahn (2012)

In 1956 Maryland, gawky teen Nora’s peaceful existence is shattered by the unsolved murder of her friends Cheryl and Bobbi Jo right before summer vacation. Essentially left to deal with her trauma alone, she begins to question everything, from her faith in God to the killer’s real identity. Hahn delivers a beautiful coming-of-age story along with a thoughtful portrait of how a small community responds to tragedy.

5. The Lais of Marie de France by Marie de France, with translation and introduction/notes by Robert Herring and Joan Ferrante (original late 12th century, edition 1995) 

In twelve narrative poems, anonymous French-English noblewoman Marie de France spins fantastically weird tales of love, lust, and treachery. Highlights include self-driving ships, gay (?) werewolves, and more plot-significant birds than you can shake a stick at. Marie de France brings so much tenderness, delicacy, and startling humor to her stories, offering a wonderful window to the distant past.

4. Maus by Art Spiegelman (1980-1991)

In this hugely influential graphic novel/memoir, Art Spiegelman tells the story of how his Polish Jewish parents survived the Holocaust. He portrays all the characters as anthropomorphic animals; notably, the Jewish characters are mice and the Nazi Germans are cats. I read the first volume of Maus back in 2014 and, while I appreciated and enjoyed it, I didn’t get the full impact until I read both volumes together early in 2020. Spiegelman takes an intensely personal approach to his staggering subject matter, telling the story through the lens of his fraught relationship with his charismatic and affectionate, yet truly difficult father. 

3. At the Dark End of the Street by Danielle L. McGuire (2010)

McGuire looks at a seldom-explored aspect of racism in the Jim Crow South (the widespread rape and sexual harassment of black women by white men) and the essential role of anti-rape activism led by black women during the Civil Rights movement. This is a harrowing yet tastefully executed history, and it’s also a truly inspirational story of collective activism.

2. In for a Penny by Rose Lerner (2010)

Callow Lord Nevinstoke has to mature fast when his father dies, leaving him an estate hampered by debts and extremely legitimate grievances from angry tenant farmers. To obtain the necessary funds, he marries (usually!) sensible brewing heiress Penelope Brown, but they face problems that not even a sizable cash infusion can fix. This is a refreshingly political romance with a deliciously tense atmosphere and fascinating themes, as well as an almost painfully engaging central relationship.

1. Mansfield Park by Jane Austen (1814)

Fanny Price, the shy and sickly poor relation of the wealthy Bertram family, is subtly mistreated by most of her insecure and/or self-absorbed relatives, with the exception of her kind cousin Edmund. When the scandalous Crawford siblings visit the neighborhood, though, it shakes up her life for good and ill. I put off reading Mansfield Park for years--it’s practically the last bit of Austen writing that I consumed, including most of her juvenilia--and yet I think it’s my favorite. Fanny is an eminently lovable and interesting heroine, self-doubting and flawed yet possessed of a strong moral core, and the rest of the characters are equally realistic and compelling. Austen really made me think about the point of being a good person, both on a personal and a global scale.