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kenobers · 5 months ago

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Gangs of Coruscant | mobster!Obi-Wan Kenobi x fem!Reader

Chapter Two: The Godfather Espresso Blend

← Chapter One

After her run in with Coruscant's most notorious crime lords, reader finds herself working in one of his diners. Obi-Wan makes her feel anything but easy. However, sometimes he's a little less frightening when he's sweaty. tw: Mafia!AU, sweaty Obi-Wan a/n: I actually meant for this and the next part to be the same chapter, but this was so warm and gooey that I figured I'd separate it from when shit starts to get real. Disclaimer: Yes, this is a romanization of the concept of the mafia, but it is also a fictionalization based on the structure of the Jedi Order. No character in this story is based on any real life mobster and no plot point is based on an actual organized crime story. I am aware that most crime lords do not look like Obi-Wan Kenobi nor am I encouraging anyone to actually try and get with a made man (or woman). Please direct all complaints to Marty Scorsese. God Bless.

Obi-Wan paid well.

Technically it was the Jedi Order that paid well. Legally, it was Dex. But your checks always came hand delivered and signed by Obi-Wan Kenobi.

It turned out you liked the waitressing job much more than you thought you would. If the diner was a front for mob activity, as you'd originally thought, that was none of your business.

Dex was a good boss. He was a big, burly man with a booming voice, and his bushy mustache covered much of his lower face, but you could always tell he was grinning. You were certain the man had lived every lifetime possible. He had a never ending slew of stories and postcards from every system lined the walls of the diner.

For the most part, the folks who frequented the diner seemed to be alright. The regulars had begun to learn your name - well, except for one elderly gentleman, who had thin hair tied in gold colored plates that reached his shoulders and had managed to call you by every variation and sound-a-like except for your actual name. You didn't hold it against the chap. You just appreciated the effort and the hefty tips. It was nice to have some semblance of community.

At first, being in the diner had felt suffocating. You would be lying if you said Obi-Wan didn’t make you nervous. The man had a kind smile and his eyes made you a little weak in the knees. He was beautiful, he was considerate and, once again, he paid well.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was keeping you here to surveil you. Or that he carried a gun with him. Or that he was an infamous crime lord. Maker knew you were paranoid about doing something to make him suspicious. You knew that’s why he dropped by so often; he was waiting for you to slip up.

There were some days, however, where you could almost pretend this wasn’t the case. Like when he came in during lunch one afternoon. Instead of the usual tan and white suits, he wore a gray tank top with a Mandolorian band printed across it and a faded pair of green basketball shorts. His auburn hair still looked strategically placed, even when sweat had plastered it across his gleaming forehead.

“Obi-Wan!” Dex greeted, shuffling out of the kitchen with a plate of food in each hand. “I take it you’re here for some protein?”

Obi-Wan laughed, “unfortunately not, although I wish I had the time. I’m just here to pick up coffee for Anakin and Ahsoka.”

“Ah, (yn) will be right on that,” Dex nodded your way and realized you’d been starring. You dropped your head, then glanced up as if it was the first time you’d noticed him. However, you could tell from the amusement on his face that the silly little ruse hadn’t worked.

Who could blame you for looking? It wasn't like a mobster in Adidas was an every day sight.

He slid down the counter to where you were stationed by the coffee pot and handed you a slip of paper with two orders on it. The first neatly written request for a white mocha with almond milk, complete with a smiley face and a thank you. The second was for a large coffee with a lethal amount of extra espresso shots and a particular amount of vanilla flavoring written in undeniably male handwriting.

“I figured it might be easier just to have them write it down,” he said. Over the corner of the sticky note, you caught sight of his forearms, each adorned with a brown leather bracelet, and prayed that he couldn’t see your eyes popping out of your head.

“Thank you,” you managed to whisper, getting to work on the order.

Your hands followed the instructions with ease, but the focus didn’t meet your eyes. They resisted the urge to turn back to the sweaty crime lord, acutely aware that he was studying you.

“I never asked what brought you to Coruscant.”

You peered up at him like a deer in the headlights. As if you were unsure whether or not he was speaking to you, you glanced behind you - only to realize you were the only one behind the counter.

“Well,” you started, pausing to add just the right amount of syrup to the first order. “I actually came here to work at the hospital.”

There was an awkward moment of silence, before Obi-Wan sheepishly went, “Ah.”

You gave him a small smile. It wasn’t his fault you’d lost the job you’d uprooted yourself for. Still, he looked a little guilty.

��But,” you continued, moving to the second order. “It hasn’t been bad working here. A fresh start is a fresh start in any package.”

He hummed thoughtfully and your heart stuttered a little at the musicality.

“That’s an excellent philosophy. I don’t think I could’ve mustered up the same amount of patience when I was your age.”

Heat rose to your face. You managed to squeak out a little “thanks!” as you whirled around to grab the vanilla syrup, pretending to fumble for it before turning back to him. Maker knows why this conversation was giving you heart palpitations.

Because his arms are, like, really strong, one voice in your head giggled. Another protested, or it’s just because he’s showing some interest in you. A third one shut them up, it’s because he’s hot, scary and he’s showing interest in you.

“And what about sign language? How did you end up interpreting of all things?”

You looked up at him, a tad surprised. He wore a soft smile and seemed unnervingly laid back. There was a curious glint in his blue eyes, but it wasn’t prying, like it had been that night in the warehouse. He was genuinely conversing with you.

“I was a bit of a hypochondriac and thought I was going deaf when I had an ear infection in high school, so I started learning some basic phrases. Then I just found a passion for it. It’s a fascinating language and culture, really.”

You blinked, realizing you’d said all that while making direct eye contact with him - the longest you’d probably looked him in the eye since meeting him.

He chuckled, capping the lid on Anakin’s espresso death.

“That’s admirable, my dear,” he said easily, placing both drinks in a carrier and tucking a generous tip into the metal jar. “And very cute.”

You could’ve melted into a puddle of coffee right then and there.

However, it wasn’t enough to win you over. You couldn’t let your guard down around him.

“He knows you aren’t trouble, doll,” Dex had assured you after Obi-Wan had dropped off your third paycheck a few days later. “He just has to be vigilant, he’ll do you no harm.”

You hadn’t realized how tense you had become until Dex spoke. You sighed, “I know, he just….he makes me a little nervous.”

Dex let out a hard laugh. “You wouldn’t be the first pretty girl to say that about him.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you opened the envelope. Two checks fluttered to the freshly cleaned counter. A yellow sticky note was attached to the bottom one. You frowned - what if this was a test.

Your fingers shook slightly as you picked up the sticky note, turning it over in your hand to read it.

Meant to drop this off last week, forgive me.

You’re doing very well. :)

O.K

You traced the smiley face, feeling heat rush to your own face. Then you picked up the second check.

$1,000 made out to (yn) (ln)

For an excellent first month.

X Obi-Wan Kenobi

Shock didn’t begin to cover how you were feeling. You pressed the sticky note to your racing heart. It was probably just to ensure your silence and cooperation. However, you knew he had no reason to do that. It was more likely...

Well, frankly, it was more likely that this was just an act of appreciation and kindness from a man who had the means to do so.

Those little voices in your head collectively sighed.

Maybe it's okay to fawn over a crime lord sometimes.

#gangs of coruscant #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #mobster!obi wan #mafia au #Tera Sinube mention

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shu-bullshit · 1 year ago

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hi!! what watercolors do you use? your paintings are always so vibrant and have such a mystical vibe to them and I’m curious lol

super sorry if you’ve already answered this, tumblrs search function fights me whenever I try using it 😭

Hi! No worries I haven't and I'd love to talk about watercolor :) I use several, in transparent > opaque order:

Schmincke > Holbein cake colors > Nicker poster colors

(family pic)

Some notes:

Schmincke: Expensive but really good, vibrant, if on a budget maybe you can get a couple blocks of colors you really like. If you're committed to watercolor I definitely recommend getting a palette. I made my own custom set. Loooove the blues.

Holbein: this is a Japanese brand, so it was actually easier to get in China than the US, I got on Ali Express. It's slightly more opaque but not exactly gouache. It looks like the really cheap kind of cake watercolor palette but a lot more vibrant. It sets on paper with a kinda of sandy texture and I really love it. It's also a bit more dense than traditional transparent watercolor, so you can also layer with it easily.

I think the 24 color set is a lot more worth it than the 12 color set. Problem is I don't think they sell blocks individually, or at least hard to find.

These recent ones I posted are the combination of these two paints above.

Nicker: Again Japanese brand. I heard this is what Ghibli studio use? But it's affordable. I could get individual jars (jars are much better value than the tubes) in China, but in the US I've only found sets on Amazon so far.

It's smooth, and still remains a good saturation when diluted compared to other gouache/poster colors I've used. I don't use this alone as much now, but this is something solely done with Nicker I made a couple years ago 👇 as you can see it has good coverage. So when I did this I didn't layer up I just painted inch by inch.

But I have to say, how a watercolor painting turns out is really up to the paper! In my opinion paper is even more important than the paint, it influences vibrancy and textures more than you would think. So I always encourage my friends to get good paper rather than expensive paint. I use Arches hot press for formal works most often, but for a cheaper option I also love Fabriano (the two lil ones above are on their postcard papers, really good enough). Both are great for layering up.

And last, you can Photoshop them :D

These stuff sure cost a lot in total, but it took me a long time to figure out and collect all these, they don't really run out that fast if you don't do very large paintings. You can definitely try it out bit by bit, and enjoy the excitement of using a new paint on the way!

#long post ahead #watercolor #my bullshits

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thistransient · 1 year ago

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For the past two years there's been a zodiac themed display of fun postcards designed by a variety of artists in the gift shop of the Museum of Contemporary Art. Looking forward to the Year of the Dragon, I'd been planning to go for a while and finally headed over. To my dismay it was not there! However, I was prepared to undertake one of my favourite activities, pestering an unsuspecting employee about it in Mandarin. Props to that man, who actually made a phone call to somebody about it, who called him back after investigating, whereupon he wrote down an address and phone number for me, because it turned out the whole thing was not organised by the museum but by a print shop. He suggested I call them first, but he was unaware that my least favourite activity is calling strangers on the phone in Mandarin, plus the location was only a ten minute walk away. The museum itself seemed plagued by an unusual amount of tourists and school children today, so I decided to skip the whole thing and go on this quest.

I was rewarded en route by a street full of seasonal decoration shops preparing all the shiny things for Chinese New Year (is this not also a kind of modern art??), and a wander down some alleys I would never have otherwise wandered down. Finally I found the place, Retro Jam 印刷, which to my good fortune had the sought-after postcards on obvious display. They seem to do all manner of screen and risograph printing, and also sell supplies and prints. I can't speak to the quality of services but I had a great time poking around in the latter. Across the street was a place called Risograph Museum, which as far as I can tell was unrelated to Retro Jam, and was not a museum but a small shop of prints and cute items where I also flipped through cards to my heart's content (apparently the main Risograph Museum with printing services is in Taichung).

Afterwards I had ambitions to go to IKEA and get a duvet cover for an IKEA duvet I'd come into the possession of recently (via a friend distributing loot household items before moving back overseas), so I walked to Beimen Station when hunger struck. I am not the kind of person who can simply walk into a strange restaurant. Usually it requires extensive investigation and two to three back-up schemes, which is not really something I care to do while sitting outside the metro by a noisy intersection. The primary way to streamline this procedure is to focus solely on curry. There was a place called Curry Lab. Tokyo (with the punctuation, yes) conveniently near IKEA, and it had a solid 5 stars, which induces suspicion because that generally means the place gives some discount or bribe for good reviews, but I chanced my luck.

It was dishearteningly dark within when I got there despite being 16:31 (with 16:30 opening hours listed) but the employees were present and the door was open, so I asked exactly when business commenced and they turned on the light and told me to sit down.

Lo and behold, I really would rate it as one of the top 5 Japanese style curries I've had. Something about the spices and the onions. I was impressed. I even indulged in a pudding afterwards, which was equally delightful.

Google Maps' estimation of the crowd level at IKEA had me a bit wary but it was pretty empty and I had a grand time feeling the fabrics, sniffing the scented candles, and restraining myself from purchasing an orb to ponder (I already have a lantern at home, one spherical glowing light fixture is enough unless I move into a bigger place). I even got the duvet cover I went there for and nothing else!

(imagine how immense my willpower must be in the face of these, for 499元 🙀)

When I finally got out it was rush hour and thus time to squish into the MRT like sardines. I have lived here long enough to have no qualms about moving people who will not move themselves. No more timid 不好意思 from this 外國人, it is time to 讓開! (Perhaps I give myself more credit than I'm due in terms of audacity, as more often than not the wave of humanity entering the train car behind me would propel me forward one way or another, I've simply learned to proactively embrace that inevitability.)

I've been feeling unexpectedly resilient regarding going out and doing things lately, although it may be because in going out I'm procrastinating on what I should be doing at home (although I am still thinking about it and making notes while walking around). In this way being outside feels more like a break instead of a torment 🤔 We'll see how long it lasts, but I might as well enjoy it.

#maybe 'pestering' gives the wrong impression considering the man is there to be asked questions of #but i generally feel like i'm bothering people because i in my customer service days dreaded human interaction

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olderthannetfic · 2 years ago

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To the anon who responded to my speedrunning friends story:

"The fact that those very normal milestones made you uncomfortable sounds like a red flag about the other person and the dynamic of the friendship, not about the speed at which the friendship was progressing."

Oh I agree. My point was less that a friendship progressing fast is inherently worrisome, and more that if it's progressing fast, you should evaluate whether you're actually okay with the speed and this person and this case. It's easy to get caught up in the giddy feeling of really clicking with someone and ignore the ways you're letting them get overly familiar because you don't want to hurt their feelings by challenging them. (In this case, the discomfort was less over them wanting to send me something, and more on the sheer capslocked excitement that made it hard to say no, the fact that they asked me twice but didn't pick up on my reluctance the first time I failed to answer and only got MORE excited and capslocky the second time, and the fact that the "postcard" was actually a big envelope containing a postcard, a letter and a keychain, which they ended up paying over THIRTY BUCKS to send, and it all felt a bit lovebomby. But once again, I'm not blaming them for my bad communication. As I said in my original anon, this was a clear fuck-up on my end. I should have just said "No thanks, I'm good". The problem was that it literally felt like kicking a puppy at the time.)

Nor do I think age gap friendships inherently lend themselves to being overly parental, though with this person it absolutely felt like they were expecting me to be their parent or therapist or both. They hadn't moved out of home yet, had a strained relationship with their own parents, and it absolutely felt like they were pushing me to fulfill that need for them.

Also, I had to double-check, but the age difference was actually over 10 years - when we stopped talking, they'd just turned 17, and I would soon turn 29, and at that point we'd been friends about a year and a half. I was a bit taken aback when I found out how young they were (a couple of months into talking) because of how knowledgeable and skilled they were at so many things from art skills to political theory to various random niche things they've picked up like cryptography and lockpicking. So I mentally adjusted my attitude from "this is a peer" to "this is literally a fifteen-year-old, bear in mind what you say to them and how you say it" but I feel like I pivoted too hard into... what, babying them? Spoiling them? Overcompensating for our gap in age and life experience by feeling like it was primarily on me to manage disagreements or relationship dysfunction? I don't even know, but I still wonder how I could have resolved that better short of just not getting "talk every day"-levels of close to them to begin with. Which might have been better. Certainly for my mental health - their ever-increasing, insatiable demands on my time and attention came at a time when I was already struggling with heavy IRL demands and barely holding on as it was.

Oh, also. I had a barely-active RP blog of a character from our fandom. They made several RP blogs for the fandom, including one for that character's canonical love interest, and kept replying to my RP posts in shippy ways. On the one hand, I'm extremely glad I had the sense to not engage with that. (I'd only briefly resurrected that RP blog to begin with and dealing with this made me abandon that RP blog for good.) On the other hand, I'm once again kicking myself for not having a clear and solid "Hey, so you know we can't do a shippy RP, right?" conversation with them. Especially since months later they were guilt-tripping me with "I'm sad that you don't RP anymore :( " shit as part of their "venting".

Just, argh. I really didn't want to say anything to them that would assert my boundaries or challenge them until things boiled to a point where they couldn't continue, huh? It's so surreal to have been manipulated like that by someone TWELVE YEARS younger than me, and even now it feels vaguely scummy for me to accuse them of manipulation or hold them accountable, but this attitude is also exactly how I let things get so bad in the first place. The mentality of "I'm the adult (by quite a wide margin) so anything that goes wrong is on me" is extremely hard to shake, and I let it lead me into "they're a child so they can do no wrong"-style infantilizing. At the same time, I unquestionably helped this along by failing to say no clearly when I needed to. What's weird about it to me is that this has never happened to me before. If anything, I'm a pretty blunt person who prefers giving and receiving direct communication. I already had a very good idea of what different kinds of manipulation look like, from bitter experience. And later in the friendship, after things started spiraling into dysfunction and while trying to salvage it, I started being a lot more clear about things they said or did that I wasn't okay with. But by that point it was too late to put things back on track.

Sorry for the wall of text, this got longer than I meant it to and I'm sure the peanut gallery will have a field day with this pathetic attempt to summarize a year and a half's worth of dysfunctional friendship into a few salient paragraphs. I don't think I'll even dare looking at the notes on this one, because I feel like people will just tell me it's my fault and it's scummy of me to accuse a teenager of being manipulative when I was the one failing to set clear boundaries until it was too late. It took me two years to get over the sheer repressed and belated RAGE from the emotional abuse and how long I let it go on insufficiently challenged, I already spent too long feeling like this was all my fault. But maybe someone else will find this insightful or helpful.

And it was, 100%, emotional abuse by the end. I haven't gone much into it much because frankly even typing it up brings out that rage in me again, but picture your typical clingy-insecure abuser who accuses you of not caring about them because you were DMing in parallel with them and with someone else. Picture someone so afraid of change, and so entitled to a certain static version of you that lives in their head, that they will use words like "mourn" to describe their reaction to you making slightly less fanart for your shared interest than usual, or when you start engaging with your fandom more through streaming than through fanart. Picture someone who, when you ask them how their day went, responds with "Are you pretending to care?" Picture someone who, when told "You can't control your emotions but you can control how you act on them", responds with "I LITERALLY CAN'T", and fill in the blanks. And some hard-won advice: If someone responds to you that way, don't try to parent them, don't reassure them that you don't hate them, don't send them helpful links. Set. A goddamn. Boundary. And make it clear that you cannot and will not be friends with someone who claims not to be able to manage how they act on their emotions.

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thatsgonnaleaveamark · 2 years ago

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4, 6, 16, 21, 26 and 31 for the asks? -captain

4. What do you wear when you have to dress nicely? Honestly I never go to any events where I have to dress up so I actually don't know. I know I'd be uncomfortable in a dress/skirt but also in a suit so I guess I'd just go with my usual jeans (the ones without the patched up hole on the knee lol) and shirt with an open button up or something.

6. What do you use to keep your place when you’re reading a book? I currently have about 5 books I've started reading and I'm using a mix of library receipts, free bookmarks, postcards and random scraps of paper.

16. Describe your favorite hoodie. How long have you had it? What makes it unique? My Ghost Files hoodie! Got it last fall and I've been wearing it almost every day when going out, it's super comfy. It's black with the white Ghost Files logo on it and it also glows in the dark which is so cool.

21. What’s your favorite period in art history, your favorite famous work and/or your favorite style of art? Answered here. Shorter answer: Cave paintings, Monet's landscape impressionism and paintings of ships on rough waters.

26. Can you cook or bake? If so, what are some of your specialties? I think I'm pretty decent at cooking and ok at baking but mostly make simple things. My favorite things to make that usually turn out pretty good (for my tastes at least) are pasta with spinach and tomato sauce, chicken quesadillas and oreo cheesecake.

31. What’s the last music video you watched? Oh I like never watch music videos lol. Gotta go check my youtube history. Technically it's Never Gonna Give You up bc April 1st where I clicked on the link knowing it would be that but I just enjoy the song haha. I also watched part of Love From The Other Side from the new Fall Out Boy album. But I usually only listen to the songs.

thank you!! :)

#ask things #its been years since ive last watched full music videos and that was the mcr danger days vids and the fob young blood chronicles ones #still love both cause theyre like short films and really cool #but havent watched them in forever

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laird-o-gerblins · 2 years ago

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Through the sheer force of 27mg of methylphenidate I'm going through my hoard-drawers, which have been maturing for over a decade now.

Growing up my mum's always encouraged throwing shit away that's no longer needed, as my grandad was a grade A+ super-hoarder, he had a cabinet under the stairs full of stuff that might be useful, some day, and heavens knows what in his room (separate from my gran's room) - all I *heard* about was the money stashed in his mattress (most of which has gone towards his and my gran's care expenses bc a working class family can't have elder care and keep more than £15k *inclusive of property* (read: family homes).

So to get to the actual point of my post, I've been torn for years between "get rid of xyz, it's not useful, you don't need it," and what I'm beginning to see is probably that good old autistic/ ND attachment to inanimate objects. There are some things here that are straight up junk - training notes my weirdass old boss insisted trainees take, fuckin' plastic bags, paintbrushes that are good for nothing but I felt guilty throwing out bc my aunty bought them for me when I was twelve.

HOWEVER there's also some shit that actually brings a smile to my face (now that I'm a little older and some of that ol' non-practicing culturally catholic guilt fell away.) Like the postcards I got on a school trip to Italy, when I'd been instructed to buy some for my cousin who collects them, forgot to buy at any of the actual historical site gift-shops we were at, then panic-bought at the airport before the trip back to Scotland. There's also the imprints from my orthodontics work, that's actually pretty cool to look over. Spent years remembering them every few months or so and thinking, wow, there's no way I should be keeping them.

BUT THEY'VE MADE MY DAY! I get to look back at my old teeth from before the braces and a million extractions, when I was a kid who felt out of place and didn't know why because I've never really heard of being trans never mind not being a boy *or* a girl, and my being out of step socially isn't that big of a deal in a small country school, and my extreme distractibility and emotional outbursts are simply dealt with instead of being examined as proof of Something. But this lil kid tried their best even when they were told their best wasn't good enough, and they took their insecurities about their fucked up teeth and turned it into a fun joke, calling themself a "vampire were-rabbit," because that Wallace and Gromit" movie was stuck in their head.

I'm really glad that lil kid stuck with themself long enough to become me and I'm finishing this fucking post before my wet eyes develop into actual tears thank you and good Timezone.

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literaticat · 2 years ago

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Hi Jen, thank you for answering the questions :) I'm an illustrator with a few books published. My literary agent found me online and signed me a few years ago. However, my agent hasn't really been able to help me land any work. The children's book illustrating opportunities I had were all from my social media. So I'm wondering, should I switch agent because of that? Is it normal for literary agent not finding the work for illustrators? And how do you usually find work for your illustrators?

Ugh I've been avoiding this one because it feels complicated but now there's nothing new in the inbox so .... let's get into it, working backwards.

There are two ways of selling books - let's call them "active" and "passive."

Active selling means what you probably imagine an agent doing -- I have a manuscript or dummy that I am pitching / submitting to editors in the hopes that one of them will buy it.

Passive selling is when editors / art directors come to US to hire one of our illustrators or authors for a project - so this is usually for illustration jobs and Work for Hire writing jobs. "Passive" sounds like there's no work involved but actually that's far from true. We promote our illustrators -- we have a website we have built that is visited by lots of publishers, we do weekly illustration spotlights that go directly to hundreds of art directors and editors, we do LookBooks and physical postcard mailings, we have an illustration instagram specifically to push our illustrators work, etc etc.

The thing is -- we can put our illustrators forward as much as possible, we can make sure publishers know that our illustrators are amazing and point them to our website and talk them up -- but they will only approach us when they actually have a potential project for them to illustrate, and we can't MAKE them have an appropriate project. You know what I mean?

(This is why so many illustrators also turn their hands to writing and do both, sometimes illustrating other people's work, sometimes illustrating their own. Because if publishers aren't offering enough great illustration opportunities -- you can make your own. Plus, having your own books for me to actively go out with is yet another way to get on people's radar!)

Also, I'll be real with you: The illustrators who get the most opportunities are the ones who put themselves out there the most and have great social media and a beautiful portfolio and new material of their own. Because we can highlight you and make people aware you exist, we can lead art directors toward you -- but if you aren't ALSO posting interesting things, updating your website and instagram, etc to keep it fresh and keep your name out there -- they aren't going to remember when it comes time to hire an illustrator.

SO ANYWAY. To answer your questions (???? lol)

how do you usually find work for your illustrators? by promoting them AND encouraging them to promote themselves - yes, I'd say that most illustration-only jobs DO come because of either social media or because the editors have seen the illustrator's work before in some other way, previously worked with them or something like that. It would be impossible to say if the job is coming because of OUR website or socials or because of something YOU did - it's probably a combo of both! ALSO: I encourage them to try their hands at creating books of their own so we have even MORE chances to sell!

Is it normal for literary agent not finding the work for illustrators? I mean - its normal for agents to TRY, to put their illustrators out there and do what they can. But they aren't magicians. If you are doing a style that publishers aren't into at the moment, or you never update your social media or website so your work looks old, or whatever -- they can't MAKE illustration jobs appear for you. Ideally the your efforts and your agents efforts compliment each other.

Should I switch agents? I don't know. If you are unhappy or uncomfortable or you don't think they are doing anything for you -- by all means.

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shurisneakers · 4 years ago

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if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically. “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up.

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.” He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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kyotakumrau · 3 years ago

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2021.12.12 Hazuki Souen at Nakano Sunplaza

Again it's mostly parts of MCs or rather what I remember and can make out from my badly scribbled notes. The gap between the performance time and talking time again was pure Hazuki😂

The event was filmed so hopefully we will get some short videos on insta and then a dvd/br??

A very cool start with the the screen in the background all red, it matched the theater with curtains of Nakano Sunplaza so well!!

Hazuki wore a black suit, the jacket was a short loose type.

He had the same musicians who joined him last time as well. (you can see a shot with everyone on twitter)

♪♪♪♪

At first MC he joked a bit about feeling nervous, talked about turning 39 and also joked about the problems with the pedal on the floor he uses to control the display - it was not attached so staff came to fix it and Hazuki made a whole performance of choosing the right spot near his designated "T" and finished with giving the staff a pat on the shoulder😂

To the contrabas guy who was the same guy at the last Souen without a chair the whole performance - 'Ah this time you have a seat' 😆

♪♪♪

2nd MC was much longer because they were ventilating the venue. Hazuki joked it's good he's doing Youtube now because he can talk for 10 mins about nothing no problem. And he encouraged everyone to take a toilet break if they need it, he will be okay talking by himself, will he?😆

He went to his little stand and took some pill?mint?, swallowed it and gave us a hilarious look 'what ya lookin at?'😂

Some staff members started to set additional music score stands behind him.

Then he talked about ticket sales, the 89 tickets left and that he's wondering what's the number now, hopefully not like 83😂

He asked the audience if we bought the photobook and then if we watched his yt stream of him signing them. He commented that it was streamed at weird time when ppl were most likely working.

He turned back to see there was no one else on stage, musicians all wend on that break😆

Then Hazuki joked again about doing it all by himself and started pretending there are other lynch members on the stage, starting with Akinori. He turned back with 'No Akinori!!'😂 then he actually went to Akinori's spot and tried impersonating him. "huh venue's so big". Hazuki's 'Akinori's voice' was hilarious🤣🤣🤣

But then Hazuki said he can't continue with other members because if he tries with Reo and others we will write about it on twitter and he will get in trouble with Reo🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Next was the problem with his water, he found some black dot thing floating in his glass, what do you usually do - take the thing out with your finger or just get new water? Hazuki's the first😂

Then was again the topic of his 39th birthday and the rest of musicians came back.

He joked that next time he maybe we should have a bingo game (fans laugh and clap) "as a prize I'd take off one item of clothing until I'm naked"😂😂😂

Hazuki announced 3 additional musicians joining for the next 3 songs, something we haven't had at Souen before nor at lynch, instruments he hasn't had any contact with since like junior high - trumpet, trombone and sax!!!

♪♪♪

This part was just so so cool!!! And they played Akina's 'Kazari janai no yo, namida wa'😲❤️❤️❤️

Hands down the brass band section was my favorite tonight, even over the cover of ain't!

3rd MC. Hazuki joked a bit about how as a kid he wasn't interested in instruments like that because only rock was cool, but now he thinks those are amazing instruments to express oneself.

He then took again his pill/mint and actually asked us 'what ya lookin at?'😂

(he was taking Ryukakusan direct/龍角散ダイレクト it's for your throat, can be used when use your voice a lot)

He joked that so far he hasn't talked much about covered songs because he's nervous, but we can check the setlist postcard we receive later, usually this is the cool part of Souen, when you can get introduced to new songs and artists. And it's through Hazuki's covers😆

Hzk: 'compared to the 1st song time, now I'm not nervous at all, I could even eat.' Hah don't believe you😆

♪♪♪

After Luna Sea, kuroyume and DIR covers he did talk a bit about the songs. He said they were such good songs, that he has similar feelings to us fans [having artists he admires himself]. Then he also said buying tickets to see concerts, especially right now things are more expensive, we're all such 'super amazing people'.

Then he had to make it less serious by joking about how he focused so much when singing one part in Yurikago (and he said this song was the highlight tonight for him) that he was standing with one leg slightly bend just looking at the lyrics on display without any dramatic hand gestures, proceeded by showing us exactly the angle etc😂

Next, he asked us if we bought 'Funeral' and do we want vol.2 - he got big applause for yes. With a surprised 'you liked it that much?' he said he will ganbarimasu.

He also talked about wanting to play in an even bigger venue next time, started in club Phase with 150 ppl to Nakano with over 2000 ppl. No annoucement for next one, but he wants to do it next year or year after.

Then he went to change because next block of songs will be 'oh so intense'. When he walked off the stage the pianist started to play Keibetsu, when Hazuki came back on stage he joined for one verse 😆

Hzk: you got a bonus 2nd play!!2回お得🤣🤣🤣

♪♪♪ btw they used🔥🔥🔥 on stage so it did get intense😆

The last MC.

Hazuki said he hated singing when he was much younger, was self-concious that he's not good at it, but then he found rock music and wanted to become a vocalist. So very different to what he'd thought in the past. He wants to get better and life is long, we can make things happen. Let's grow together.

At the end, fans started to get up and Hazuki received standing applause❤️

#hazuki #葉月 #奏艶 #souen #setlist #attempt at live report #nakano sunplaza

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onbearfeet · 10 months ago

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Fun fact: I kinda saw this happen once--not with a gun, but with handcuffs.

It was March 1998, so pre-9/11, and my eighth grade class was on our school trip to Washington, DC to look at museums and shit. To pacify us little gremlins, the tour included a stop at a store I can only describe as Every Souvenir Shop In One Place. Seriously, you want postcards or keychains or little plastic replicas shaped like literally any DC monument? This place had them. And so every time we went through a museum or a memorial or whatever, we were all hustled past the gift shop at top speed because We Will Stop At The Universal Gift Shop Later. (The exceptions to this were the Holocaust museum and the Smithsonian, at both of which my teachers were too busy screaming at my shithead classmates to notice me buying books.)

So by the time we got to this shop, about halfway through the trip, we were pretty psyched. But the shop didn't ONLY sell souvenirs. It was also a joke/magic shop. You could get your switchblade combs, your whoopee cushions, and (of course) your trick handcuffs with the little switch that let you pop them open. EVERYBODY bought at least one of these.

And EVERYBODY took theirs in their carry-on to play with on the plane. That is, everyone but me. Which was good for me personally, because handcuffs turned out to be on the short list of things you couldn't take on a plane even before 9/11. Meanwhile, I'd gotten busted by the metal detector at the National Mint a couple days earlier and was now taking no chances with handcuff confiscation. Handcuffs in checked baggage only, that was my strategy. Get those babies home.

So as we all lined up at the meager-in-hindsight security check, I got to watch as one kid after another got their trick handcuffs confiscated and tossed into a nearby bin. By the third or fourth kid, the guard (no TSA yet) was just holding out the bin to receive them. I had big glasses and a guileless expression, so when my backpack passed the X-ray and I said I didn't have cuffs, the guard believed me and passed me through the metal detector.

At which point my English teacher (whom I adored) pulled me aside and muttered, "Okay, I know you have cuffs, so where'd you put 'em?"

And I gave her a big smile and said, "In the middle of my duffel." Context: my checked bag was an old Army duffel. Other kids made fun of me for not having a nice suitcase with my name on it, but it was the only luggage I had because my family is just Like That. Importantly, the process of opening and closing an Army duffel is less complicated than it looks, so most people who don't know the trick don't want to bother. Unless airport security was full of military vets (uncommon at the time), they'd leave the bag strictly alone unless the X-ray showed a bomb or something. Handcuffs weren't worth the hassle.

By sticking my possible contraband in the least accessible part of the deeply inaccessible bag for which I had been bullied all week, I had made myself the only kid in the class to actually get to keep a pair of the coveted trick handcuffs.

As it turned out, my shitty religious school encouraged students to buy shit like that every year only to get it confiscated at the airport as some kind of object lesson about not putting one's faith in material things or whatever. And I had just fucked up the lesson by being my oddball self.

Anyway, the answer to "what if you have Surprise Contraband in an airport?", in 1998, was "you get it taken away while your English teacher laughs so hard she needs to use her inhaler and the class weirdo smirks for no reason".

I still have those handcuffs.

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tj-crochets · 3 years ago

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🍓 for the ask game!

🍓 Do you have a dream project? What would you craft if you had infinite time and money?

Oooooh, tough one! I think I have to sort it by craft Knitting: there's this shawl that is the entire reason I joined Ravelry years and years ago. It's a star map of the night sky with all the visible stars as either yarn overs or beads. I'd want to knit that, but turn the circle shawl into like a dress or a skirt or a cardigan or something? Crochet: I...don't think I have a dream crochet project? I pretty much crochet anything I want to crochet. Hm...maybe the chameleon music box that plays "the lion sleeps tonight" that's by the same person as the UFO music box Sewing plushies: - Giant Toothless the dragon. Hands down. There are some AWESOME Toothless patterns out there and I will make one eventually. Kind of hoping one of my nieces ends up loving HTTYD so I can make the giant Toothless and then inflict it on my brother (like Toothpaste the Giant Squid I crocheted for them a while back lol) Sewing quilts: I have a few! I want to make an "Exploding Heart Quilt" (its rainbow triangles but a heart, and it's for my mom), a dachshund quilt (for my grandma), and I really really want to make my remnants quilt a whole quilt. For a while, my dream quilting project was the "Postcards from Sweden" quilt (rainbow triangles), but I made that one! Well. I still need to actually quilt it. But the quilt top is done!

Chain mail: something with scale mail. Anything with scale mail. I have the scales from knitting dragons, I just need to figure out a thing I can make with scale mail lol. Also a chain mail shirt for a plushie

#ask away!#crafter ask game #thisisarocktumbler #I also want to finish the plushie Rover #I got stalled out on the wire part #I still have the half-finished rover in a basket next to my desk #if I had infinite time and money I'd probably make quilts for all my friends and most of my family (lol)#and like every single baby anyone I know even slightly ever has #I LOVE making things for babies #I love my quilt from my grandma and the quilt my mom made me #and it's that they were made with love for someone in particular that I love the most #(even though neither was made for me lol)#making stuff for kids feels like getting to share that feeling of being loved #like that post about loving to the point of invention?#loved to the point of creation #I got side tracked in the tags again lol

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whats-wild-to-you · 3 years ago

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ALL IN (Jay Park fiction)

[Chapter 10]

The New Guy

Days went by after my little argument with Jaebeom. He left without saying another word, and I haven't heard from him since. Weirdly enough, Mr. Lee has been quiet too. And I'd rather stab my hand with a dull fork repeatedly then call Ji Hyun.

Looking out my office window, I marveled at the Seoul skyline. The sun was setting, and the mirrored windows of the surrounding buildings reflected all kinds of orange and pink shades. For a moment I forgot about Jaebeom. Although I was still mad at him, I also missed him. Unable to explain this sentiment, I shook my head, and refocused. I needed to finish this contract fast, so I could get out of here.

As if on cue, I heard a knock on my door, then James stuck his head in. "There's someone here to see you!"

Immediately my mind went to Jaebeom. Or maybe it was Chase. I didn't want to talk to either of them.

"I'm busy! I don't have time!"

Without any warning the person tackled James from behind, made him almost trip and fall to the ground. "Not even for your sister?"

Dumbfounded, I stared at Ji Hyun. I knew I was in trouble because she was scared of flying alone, but still made it all the way to Seoul.

"I'll wait here until you're done. Afterwards we'll go get some soju!"

I knew better than to argue with her, so in a defiant motion I shrugged my shoulders and focused back on the papers in front of me.

Ji Hyun kept her promise and remained silent for almost an hour. When I finished my work, I called James to my office and handed him the file. He asked if I needed the driver but Ji Hyun shook her head and so I told James to leave with him. Then it was just the two of us.

"Do you need to go home first and change?" She asked, inspecting my outfit.

"No."

"Okay, let's go!"

Ji Huyn actually compared Google reviews and found a 5-star-rated soju bar within walking distance. It was crowded when we arrived, and both of us rushed immediately to the only free table we spotted.

"Why are you here?" I blurted out after the owner placed a soju bottle on our table.

"I hate it when we fight. And now we fought over the phone, and I hate that even more. Min Ah, I came to apologize!"

"You could've sent a postcard." I was still too mad at her, although I realized Ji Huyn was being honest and remorseful.

"I guess I deserved that!" I couldn't help but chuckle at my sister's calm demeanor. Continuing to stay mad at her would've only made me look like a jerk.

"Why didn't you tell me you were in touch with Jaebeom?"

"He made me promise. And before you ask why, I don't know. You should talk to him about it!"

"I don't want to see him ever again!"

"Too bad, because he's coming right at us!"

I whipped my head around so fast, I almost fell off my chair. Behind me Jaebeom and Chase were approaching our table fast. "I suppose you didn't have anything to do with them showing up here?" I asked my sister, without taking my eyes off the two men.

"Not even Mom and Dad know I'm here!" She replied and I could hear the surprise in her voice.

"Mind if we join you?" Chase put on his best smile. I turned away, watched Ji Hyun as she shrugged.

Her and Chase stared each other down, while Jaebeom and I avoided each other's eyes.

"How long have you been here?" Chase asked Ji Hyun. She clicked her tongue, then answered through gritted teeth. "I got here a few hours ago."

At that point I didn't know what was tougher. Watching Chase and Ji Hyun bicker or trying to ignore Jaebeom. Eventually I got up and without saying anything, grabbed Jaebeom by his shirt and dragged him out.

I led him away from the bar and slowly walked down a narrow street, still holding on to his shirt.

"You could've said something!"

"You, too!" He defended himself.

"I didn't even know whether you knew who I was? I mean, I was a nobody at school, no one knew me, but you, you were the cool kid."

"Even back then I knew your name!"

"I'm sorry for getting mad at you and calling you names!"

"You never called me names."

"In my mind I did!" I replied, and a faint smile danced around my lips. "So you got in touch with Ji Hyun and asked about me? Why?"

"I don't know. It kinda happened!"

"Liar!"

"Alright, okay. There is a reason, but we can't have that conversation right now."

"Why not?"

"Min Ah..."

"When will you tell me?"

"Soon, I promise! But you have to promise me something, too. Don't ask Ji Hyun!"

"I won't. I promise!"

Liar!

Another week passed and I hadn't heard anything from Jaebeom. He said he would fill me in on his big secret soon and that I shouldn't ask Ji Hyun about it. But why would I? My sister said she didn't know the reason. Was she lying to me too?

"I need to get my mind off this!"

"Are you okay, Ms. Song?" For a moment I had totally forgotten James was in my office, sitting on my big leather couch, quietly sorting through files.

"Everything's fine." I said out of habit, but right now I could really use someone to talk to.

"If I may be so brazen, I think you've been working too much. Since you moved here I haven't seen you doing anything fun."

"You're not wrong, it's just, I don't know anyone here."

"I don't want this to sound weird, but I'm invited to a party tonight. If you wanted to, you could join me!"

I thought about James's proposal. It wasn't a bad idea, I loved parties and socializing. I didn't know what kind of party it was, but James was a sensible man in his 30s. Surely it couldn't get too wild.

"Deal. But I'd have to go home and change!"

"Of course! I can pick you up afterwards."

I nodded excitedly. I was looking forward to having a good time tonight and occupying my mind with something else other than Jaebeom.

At home, I rummaged through my closet in search of something to wear. James told me as I was leaving that I wouldn't have to dress too formal, which made my search for an appropriate outfit even more difficult. All I had in my closet were formal dresses and suits.

"This may work!" I held up a pair of jeans that I could dress up. After a little while I found a strapless bodice and high heel sandals. Satisfied with my findings I hopped into the shower. I got dressed quickly and applied makeup. My hair was cascading down my shoulders in soft waves. Admiring the final result in the mirror, I patted my shoulder proudly. "Well done, Min Ah, well done!"

James texted me at exactly 9.30pm, letting me know he was waiting outside. When I got into the car, James gulped audibly. "Don't get any ideas, this isn't a date!" I warned him. The last thing I wanted to do was hook up with my own assistant.

2 hours later...

"I'm so sorry! I just recently moved here... I know this isn't an excuse, but..." I beamed at the guy sitting next to me.

"It's okay. I prefer it that way."

Right when I entered the club I found myself checking out a guy, casually sitting at the bar, sipping on his drink. In a matter of seconds I decided to approach him, seeing as there were no females swarming him.

To my surprise, and delight, I found out he was this really cute, laid back guy who also happened to be a musician. When I gushed over the song playing, he casually tapped my arm and pointed to himself.

"That's your song? Wow! I love it! And I'm not just saying that because you're right next to me."

"Thanks!" He smiled brightly at me and it felt like staring directly into the sun.

Before I knew it, it was past 2am, and most people were starting to leave.

"I should get going too." I said defiantly. To my surprise the guy sounded just as unenthusiastic. "Yeah, I have an early morning as well!"

"It was nice meeting you!" I said extending my hand for a handshake.

"Would it be too much to ask for your number?" He said, still holding my hand in his.

I shook my head, a smile dancing around my lips. He handed me his phone and I handed him mine. After getting my phone back I waved at him and turned around to leave.

James was waiting for me outside the club and we both walked over to his car.

"I saw you had quite some fun tonight."

"I did! Thanks for bringing me along!"

"It was my pleasure!"

On our drive back to my place I kept staring at my phone. Although I had only met him a couple hours ago, I felt weirdly attracted to him. My fingers hovered over his name in my contacts. Maybe I could send him a text that I made it home safe.

Is it too much, too soon?

I never knew with these things, but I knew I wanted to see him again. For the first time in those past few months I didn't think about Jaebeom. I didn't think about what could've been. Instead I thought about what might be.

My phone ringing pulled me out of my daydream. Upon checking the called ID, I saw it was him.

Chris Yu calling...

#h1ghrmusic #h1ghrgang #jay park #jay park scenario #jay park aomg #aomg imagines #aomg jay park #aomg scenarios #park jaybum #jay park imagines #jay park fanfic #jay park scenarios #jay park imagine #park jaebum

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