#but I’ve been signing for over 10 years and I got my degree in Deaf Studies

[hello-eeveev]

I met another interpreter who likes D&D last week, and it got me thinking about signing spellcasters again. So hi! Have you ever considered the interplay between sign language and spellcasting components? The fact that many spells in D&D require verbal and somatic components creates some fun linguistic puzzles and opportunities for creative language use if a caster’s primary language is a sign language. Like:

- A Deaf spellcaster who signs the verbal components with one hand and simultaneously forms the somatic components with the other in an impressive display of dexterity as well as magical and linguistic mastery.

- A Deaf spellcaster who incorporates the the somatics for a spell into their signing (a la ASL number stories/ABC stories). They turn signs into somatics and somatics into signs. Each spell they cast is thought out, carefully crafted, and uniquely theirs.

I just. I love ASL I love mages I love it when people get creative with language, the special interests go brrrrrrr

[twinklecheeks]

Friends With Benefits (Jeff Wittek Imagine) Part 11

Summary: Jeff and Y/N have been hooking up for a while. The whole vlog squad assumes they’re dating and Y/N does too but Jeff doesn’t like labels. He eventually starts to express interest in Natalie.

Note: Planning on making this a multiple part series, depending on how good it does.  You’re 21 & Latina in this (maybe) series. Also, I’d like to apologize for the typos, if there is any. I’m just illiterate lmao.  

Side note: Sorry it took me over a week to post this! I just started my last semester of college and I also have a part time job, so I’ve been super tired. I’ll try to be more consistent.

Warnings! Pregnancy, Smut 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Word Count: 2k

Christmas Eve 12/24/2019

Y/n: *Wakes up and stares at Jeff peacefully sleeping*

Jeff: *moans*

Y/n: *looks down and notices Jeff has a boner* Hmmm *gently rubs the swollen tip of Jeff’s cock*

Jeff: *thrusts into y/n’s hand*

Y/n: *Smirks and quietly gets out of bed to lock the door* *Pulls Jeff’s boxer’s down and sees his cock slap against his abs* *Softly licks the base of his Jeff’s cock all the way to the tip and sucks the head*

Jeff: *moans* mmm fuck.

Y/n: *You use the entirety of your palms and fingers with just how big and long he is. You hum greedily as you do this*

Jeff: *wakes up and smirks* I guess it’s a very Merry Christmas to me.

Y/n: I can suck on your cock all day daddy *winks*

Jeff: *groaning at how fast you’re going* F-fuck baby the way you’re moaning. You’re gonna kill me *bucks his hips*

Y/n: Shhh, I don't want them to know I’m sucking your cock ;) *continues to deepthroat feeling him twitch*

Jeff: Oh my fucking god baby yesss. Fuck me, fuck me, over and over. I swear I’d be fucking you every nigh- JESUS FUCK *cums inside her mouth*

Y/n: *swallows and sucks his cock clean* That was a great way to start Christmas.

Jeff: *laughs* Me cumming in you?

Y/n: *smirks* Mhmmm, I love it when you’re in me ;)

Jeff: What time is it?

Y/n: It’s 7:42am. I think your mom is already up cooking.

Jeff: Well if you want to see the Christmas parade at 11 w/ Jonah’s family, round 2 in the shower has to be a quickie.

Y/n: *looks down at his cock* You’re still hard? You just came a bunch in my mouth.

Jeff: I’m always hard for you babe *winks*

*After the Christmas Parade*

Suzie: I loved the parade! New York is so pretty during Christmas.

Vardon: Christmas is also more fun w/ snow.

Jonah: Guys it was fucking freezing outside.

Y/n: It was only 38 degrees.

Jeff’s mom: Oh good you guys are back. Marie (Jonah’s mom) and I are almost done with the food.

Jeff: Ma you’ve been cooking since like 6am. Have you had a break?

Jeff’s mom: We also did some last minute shopping/ gift wrapping. Everybody gets to open one present today and the rest tomorrow.

Y/n: You guys open presents tomorrow?

Jeff’s dad: Yeah, doesn’t everybody?

Y/n: Well in the Hispanic/ Latinx community, we call today Hispanic Christmas. So we open our presents today and then we spend the 25th stuffing our faces in left overs. We open on the 24th cause we’re too impatient and yes, we know Jesus was born on the 25th.

Jeff: Maybe we can do that w/ the girls next year.

Jeff’s mom: *tears up* Oh god you’re going to have daughter’s next year.

Jeff: Maaaa don’t cry again.

Y/n: Oh we are definitely doing hispanic christmas. If my sister comes over, she’d want to open the presents like a week before. She’s the most impatient. One year, she opened presents at like 3-4pm.

Jeff’s mom: I’m such a cry baby. Now help me set up the table!

*everybody helps set the plates and food*

Jeff’s dad: does anybody want to start the prayer?

Jeff: I’ll do it.

Karyn: Really? The last time you did it was Easter 2005 and you couldn’t stop laughing.

Jeff’s mom: Karyn.

*everybody holds hands*

Jeff: oh Heavenly Father, thank you for all that you’ve brought us. I know that Christmas is about you but I’d like to say thanks. Thank you for keeping everybody here in good health because I don’t know where I’d be w/ out them. I’m grateful for the supportive family and friends you have given me and most importantly, y/n. I know we were very rocky until recently but you brought her into my life for a reason. She was changing me into a better person and I was too stubborn to accept it. Now she’s going to be the mother of my 2 amazing daughters. Those babies already have me wrapped around their fingers and they’re not even here yet. I can’t wait for the day y/n and I get married and have however many babies you give us but don’t make it twins each time cause that’s gonna make my hair gray fast

Jeff’s mom: Jeffrey-

Jeff: okay I’m just kidding… kind of but you know what I mean. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and the rest of my family. Amen.

Everybody: Amen

Jeff’s dad: Hun are you crying?

Y/n: *sniffles her nose* NO. Maybe…. I wouldn't have thought Jeff was religious.

Karyn: Only during Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter.

Jeff’s Dad: Karyn stop teasing your brother. Now that the prayer is over with, let’s eat!

Jeff’s mom: Marie and I spent all morning cooking. Also, since this is y/n’s first Christmas w/ us, I wanted to bring some of the food she eats during the holidays.

Y/n: What food?

Jeff’s mom: *shows the Pernil* (pernil is pork shoulder)

Y/n: NO YOU DIDN’T *tastes the food* AND IT TASTES JUST LIKE OUT MY DAD MAKES IT. How did you make it?!

Jeff: She asked me a couple of days ago what you eat during the holidays and I found your sister on instagram. I got the recipe from her.

Jeff’s mom: I saw that it was a Puerto Rican dish so I asked one of my friends who knows how to make it to show me the steps.

Y/n: Oooo imma try not to cry again but THANK YOU SO MUCH.

Jonah: Can we eat now

After Dinner

Y/n: I ate so much, I think I’m having triplets. But thank you once again. I was pretty nervous to come here because I didn’t know how y’all would react to me.

Karyn: Just know that when we get mad, it’s at Jeff cause he’s always the one that somehow messes up.

Jeff: What time is it?

Suzie: It’s 7pm. Should we watch Christmas movies and then open presents before bed?

Vardon: Let’s watch the Grinch

Jonah: *ignores Vardon* Any other suggestions? Please. ANY OTHER.

Karyn: Y/n what do you watch for Christmas.

Y/n: Well, my personal favorite is Jingle all the Way but the Christmas Line up in my family is usually Home Alone 2, A Diva’s Christmas Carol, A Very Brady Christmas, the I Love Lucy Christmas episode and other’s I can’t remember.

Jeff: I mean, we are in New York. Home Alone 2?

Everybody: Sure.

*After watching Christmas movies*

Jeff’s mom: It’s 9:45pm. I think we should be opening our one present before we go to bed.

Jeff: Youngest to oldest! So my niece goes first, then Vardon, Y/n, Suzie, Jonah, etc.

*Jeff’s nieces and Vardon opens their gifts*

Vardon: No way. Jeff got me airpods! Thank you *Hugs Jeff*

Jeff: You’re welcome. Now time for y/n to open her gift from me.

Y/n: Oooo okay. *opens gift and sees two little gold bracelets* what are these for?

Jeff: I always see babies w/ the small little charm bracelet. You mentioned your sister and you never got that from your parents but your older brother did. I wanted to do that for our girls even though they're not here yet. So once we pick out the names, we’ll get the charms.

Y/n: *sniffles* Dammit why do you keep making me cry.

Jeff: Cause I don’t want you to ever forget how much I love you.

Jonah: Can we move on from this sappy shit so I can open my gift.

Everybody: JONAH.

*After everybody opens their presents*

Y/n: Thank you so much for accepting me on such short notice.

Jeff’s mom: Hun we’re family now. You’ll always be a part of us. Same for the Antonyans. We know how much Jeff misses having us around since he’s been living in LA and y’all have been a family to him.

Jonah’s mom: I love Jeff like he my own son. He help us so much.

Jeff’s Dad: Y’all just have to make sure to visit us often. Get’s kind of lonely here w/ Karyn living in Kentucky, Jeff living in LA. I mean Steven lives in the city w/ his kids but we miss having all of you together here.

Jeff: I’m starting to think that having girls runs in the family. Karyn has a daughter, Steven has twin girls and now I’m gonna have twin girls.

Jeff’s mom: I mean you never know if the nurse made a mistake. They thought your brother was a girl for half my pregnancy. Then they did the last ultrasound a week before I gave birth to him and they said he was a boy.

Y/n: Oh god I don’t even want to think about that. I’m already stressed out about the babies possibly being deaf now I gotta be worried if the nurse misgendered them….

Karyn: The babies are gonna be deaf?

Y/n: Hmm?

Jeff’s dad: You just said there’s a possibility the twins will be born deaf.

Y/n: Fuck. I did say that, didn't I… Jeff, you wanna help me out here?

Jeff: Ummm. Damn we weren’t planning on telling anybody this for a couple of weeks. We got a call a couple of days ago after we did some genetic testing and the doctor said the babies have a high chance of being born hard of hearing/ deaf.

Karyn: My doctors told me the same thing. Luckily my daughter turned out fine

Steven: I wasn’t a carrier for the gene…

Jeff’s mom: We’ll love those babies no matter what. If we have to learn sign language for them, then we’d do it. I’ll fly out to LA once it gets close to the due date to help out.

Jeff: Thanks ma. Means a lot.

Y/n: Thank you so much. I don’t know if my own parents would forgive me by then to be there for the birth.

Jeff’s mom: Anytime sweetheart. My god look at the time, It’s 10:15, we have to go to bed before Santa comes.

Jonah: Haha, but santa isn-

Jeff: Jonah you better better not finish that sentence cause my nieces are here and I don’t wanna see the magic ruined for them.

Jonah: What I was saying was, isn't Santa a little late?… He should’ve been here by now…

Going to bed

Y/n: I am so stuffed. Christmas turned out a lot better than I thought.

Jeff: See, you had nothing to be afraid about. Also, good job on keeping the deaf thing a secret haha.

Y/n: Hey! It’s been on my mind since we found out. WAIT. Jonah and Suzie.

Jeff: What about them?

Y/n: they were there…. What if they tell everybody else.

Jeff: Suzie would never… Jonah on the other hand… I have little faith in him.

Y/n: I’m afraid to check my phone.

Jeff: Same. I haven't looked at it all day. On the count of 3…

Y/n: One….

Jeff: Two.

Y/n & Jeff: Three. *looks at phones*

Y/n’s phone: 82 text messages & 24 missed calls

Jeff’s phone: 77 text messages & 21 missed calls

Vlog Squad GC

David: Was what Jonah said true?

Natalie: Is it serious?

Jason: Y’all I’m so sorry

Zane: There has to be a way to fix it. My babies will be okay right?

Erin: I’ll postpone my wedding until the babies are okay

Carly: Oh no Carly and Erin jr :(

Corinna: The babies are gonna be deaf?

Mariah: Is it confirmed?

Heath: Have y’all seen other doctors?

Matt: Guys they’re busy. I don’t think we should be spamming them on Christmas.

Toddy: We’ll stop one they answer us!

David: I’ll put in whatever money you need for surgeries or anything.

Jason: Guys stop. They’ll tell us everything once they’re ready.

(end of conversation)

Jeff: I’m gonna kill Jonah.

Y/n: Oh hun, so will I…

The next chapter might take a bit because I’m still thinking what will be in it. You guys can give be suggestions and I can give you credit for it!

Comment if you want to be on the taglist!

Taglist: @elvlogsquad​ @siemprestan​ @zavidzobrik​ @galxydefender​ @iminlovewithenchilidadas​ @ilsolee​ @ranprivate @one-sweet-gubler  @sunwardsss @shamalamashams @michellemxndes

[ashestoashesjc]

A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend On A Couple's Retreat

Short Story 1/2/(3)/4/5/6/7/8/9/10

"RrRRrrrr... grrr? <Hey, uh, babe... seen my arm anywhere?>" rang Sett's voice throughout their cigar box of a house as he rummaged through closets, opened cabinets, overturned couch cushions. 

Shutting and latching the front door behind him, Ulrick began flipping through the stack of envelopes clutched in his right hand. "Huh? Oh…”

“Okay, so… don’t get mad,” Ulrick began, as meekly and guilt-tinged as one can make a shout. “But... there was this huge, I mean HUGE silverfish…” 

“GRrrr! Rrrrr. <Dude! Not cool,>” could be heard as Sett stomped his way to the foyer. 

“I know! I’m sorry! I’m weak!” moaned Ulrick. 

Sett sighed as he entered the cove and laid his single remaining hand on Ulrick’s left shoulder, the other sleeve draped flaccidly at his side. “Grrrr. <Well, yeah.>” he said. Ulrick snickered. 

“You know, having your boyfriend kill a bug for you is exceedingly normal,” Ulrick said, separating the bills from the letters that weren’t bills. There were very few that weren’t bills. “Almost conventional.” 

“Rrr. <True,>” Sett replied. “Rggrrrr. <Probably while the arm’s still attached, though.>”

“A mere quibble.” 

“Rrrrgrrr? <So, where is it now?>” Sett asked. 

“Ugh. Still getting cozy with the silverfish, I’d imagine,” Ulrick admitted, guilt creeping back into his voice. He covered his eyes with his free hand and shuddered. “In… the shower.”

Sett sucked air through his teeth in a compassion-filled cringe. 

“Yeah,” Ulrick sighed, resigned to his trauma. 

“Grrrr. <Don’t worry,>” said Sett. “Rraarr. <I got it.>” 

Ulrick slid his hand down his face with a grateful groan. “God, I love you.” Sett pulled him forward by his collar and pecked his forehead.

Continuing to sort through the mail, Ulrick came to a red envelope and, seeing it addressed to Sett, handed it over. “Looks important.”

Confusion clouded Sett’s eyes for the first few, slow moments spent undoing the envelope’s seal flap, until suddenly, a surge of realization like lightning drove him to violently tear the crimson paper away.

As he scanned the contents of the letter contained within, words failing to do his emotional state justice, Sett began to fist pump wildly, God help anyone in the flight path of his singular elbow. Ulrick looked on in entranced bewilderment.

“Was there itching powder in that envelope?” asked Ulrick.

Sett shoved the creased letter in Ulrick’s face, his manic energy not yet dissipated. Ulrick took it and held it out at arm’s length until his eyes brought the words into focus. 

“A couple’s retreat?” he wondered aloud, lowering the paper enough to peer over the top at Sett.  

“Grrgrrrr. <An all-expenses paid couple’s retreat.> Rrrrrr. <At a swanky resort.> GrrrrRr. <Complete with water skis.>”

“This is from a contest?” he asked, rotating and inspecting the sheet. “When did we enter a contest?”

“Rrggrrrr? <You know those entry slips we’re getting in the post all the time?>”

“The ones I’m always throwing away? I’m familiar.” 

“RrrRrrrrr ggrrrr. <Well, your aim could use some work, because some of them wind up in the mailbox,>” said Sett, with a shrug.

The sound that next filled the room, colored with exasperated mirth, was one Sett was used to Ulrick making, though one that never stopped bringing a flush of heat to the place where his heart used to be. 

He grabbed Ulrick by the hips and the two began to sway back and forth. “Rrrrrr. <Just imagine it,>” he purred dreamily. “GrrrRRrrrr rrrrRrrr grrr...arrrr? <Massages, rock-climbing, a luau. And… did I mention waterskiing?>”

Swaying still, Ulrick looked up with his head cocked. "I've... never heard you mention waterskiing before."

"GrrRrrrrrr. <I enjoy a lot of things I don't talk about.> Rgrrrrgrrr. <Like country music, or bad chick lit,>" Sett said before twirling and dipping Ulrick in a blur. "Rraarrrr. <I'm a multi-layered zombie.>"

Breaking clumsily away from the songless dance and squeezing the bridge of his nose, Ulrick set down the remainder of the mail on the side table by the entrance and looked his boyfriend over. “It’s totally free?”

“Grrarrr. <It’s totally free,>” confirmed Sett. 

Ulrick raised an eyebrow. “No catch?” 

“Rrr… <Well…>”

-

“And streeetch! That’s right! Streeetch!” 

At the front of Meadow Grove Resort’s famed yoga studio balanced - one foot planted on the ground, the other hooked deftly behind her neck - Chrysanthemum Smith, a remarkably limber 60-year-old instructor, urging her out-of-shape contest winning students to achieve the same feats of flexibility.   

All around Ulrick and Sett, a pretzel factory’s soon-to-be-discarded collection of heinous, gnarly undesirables had been given life in the form of sweaty middle Americans. 

That pretzels went through a less agonizing process being baked at 500 degrees was a fact Ulrick was both confident in and envious of. His legs were angled in a way he was sure he’d feel for weeks to come. 

Sett, on the other hand, had apparently been a contortionist in a past life, the way he bent himself into poses, well, a pretzel would gawk at, holding each position stoically before moving gracefully on to the next. It also helped that he couldn’t feel what would leave most tendons shredded rags.

Ulrick gave up the pursuit of dislocating his pelvis and instead went to poke Sett in the cheek. Through his mask, Sett made a chomping motion at the finger, though remained otherwise totally still. "Okay, but this kind of bites, right?" Ulrick signed. 

"A little. And not in the fun way," Sett signed back.

On a pair of blue, rubber mats to their left were two women - one in a biker's jacket and tattered, patched jeans, short red hair tied into a haphazard ponytail; the other a dark woman donning a shaved head, flower-patterned maxi dress, and combat boots - the former of whom suddenly grabbed Ulrick's attention with a nod. 

"You're telling me," she signed. 

And in an instant, they were no longer alone in the hazy, secluded sphere that made their reality.

So taken aback was he that he blurted aloud, "You sign?" 

The yoga instructor shushed him from her place at the head of the wide room, leading him to duck down sheepishly. With the forced inclusion of an overly casual air, he said more than asked, "You sign."

"Oh, yeah," the woman chuckled gruffly. "Mom's Deaf." 

Taking a sudden interest in the conversation, Sett's head swiveled to the leather jacket-clad woman. "Shit yeah!" he signed with fervor, eliciting a harsh snort from the woman. The instructor's head whipped around to glare her way, but went ignored. 

Sett's hands jumbled for a moment before he continued. "I mean, I'm sure that must have been very difficult for your family and--"

She gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Nah, don't worry about it. She's capital 'D' Deaf. A congenital thing. Whole family's been signing forever."

Her wife - Jen, they later learned - chimed in with, "Di does it at home, too. She's taught me half the lyrics to Boys for Pele." 

"Wow!" Ulrick said with teeth-clenching enthusiasm. "That's so great! Isn't that so great, Sett?"

The mask did nothing to conceal Sett's raised, beaming features. "That's so great!" he signed. 

"I'm sorry!" bellowed the lithe yogi, shattering all delusions of serenity. "Am I boring you?" 

Several overlapping voices came to the general consensus of "Christ, yes."

One of the husbands, portly and somewhat resembling the famously affable capybara, asked, somewhat less affably, why they were being stretched into taffy when they should be outside taking one-on-one lessons with the beach volleyball instructor. He was joined by a few surly “yeah!”s. 

They were met with an unimpressed crossing of the arms. Though it should be noted Smith’s foot was still being held comfortably behind her head. 

"I would suggest, in the future, that you more closely scrutinize contest entries," Yogi Smith advised in as calm a manner as it seemed she could now manage, though with an unmistakable edge to her voice. "In order to partake in our facility’s more... physically involved activities, you’ll first need to align and cleanse your mental, emotional, and spiritual energies.”

This provoked a studio-wide groan, with the exclusion of Jen, who seemed just eager enough to cancel out the cloud of grim impatience encircling her. 

“Unless, of course,” Smith said, shifting poses to something favoring the letter ‘G’, “you’d prefer to construct your own schedules. In which case, a full price admission to Meadow Grove Resort remains available.”

She sleekly extended her right leg, pointing its foot pin-straight toward the sliding studio doors. “Don’t, as the masters of yore were wont to say, let the door hit ya.” 

When no one moved and the room went quiet enough to hear an acupuncture needle drop, Smith resumed a standing position and bowed three times to each division of the studio. “Namaste. Namaste. Namaste.” 

Chrysanthemum Smith had in no way undersold how ‘aligned and cleansed’ couple’s therapy and its airings of dirty laundry and subsequent ferocious dissolutions of decades of marriage; couple’s pottery, the same thing but with clay vases; and couple’s finger-painting, a bonding exercise in shared humiliation, would make their minds, emotions, and souls through sheer gut-rending hilarity.

Ulrick almost didn’t want to stop watching people who, hours ago, seemed all confidence and bravado, now being brought to tears by an instructor’s criticism of their macaroni art lacking ‘depth.’ 

But their confinement was over and they were free to roam the grounds as they saw fit and Sett, without even feigning to look for a map of the resort, made a beeline for the largest body of water (and the largest gathering of humans) he could sniff. Ulrick was still surprised at times by how agile Sett could be on his feet when on the hunt for blood - or recreational watersports - and struggled to keep up. 

Their long-awaited waterskiing adventure began almost as soon as they arrived at the lakeside, the instructor needing a volunteer at that instant to man the skis while he lectured another guest on the controls of the boat. At nearly a head taller than anyone else present, Sett didn’t need much more than a raised hand to stand out. 

Things were going great; Sett mounted on skis as long as he was tall, the boat revving greedily for take off. At Sett’s thumbs up, the runabout hammered off in a thunderous roar. And then, all at once, things were going wrong. 

The envisioned majesty of skimming the motionless calm of the crystal river was halted abruptly with a leaden Sett stumbling mid-lake in his skis, trying and failing to correct himself, going feet-over-head, and sinking like an anchor to the agitated silt of the riverbed below. 

Ulrick, though he jumped with concern at the first hint of a misstep, expected a brief swim back, perhaps slowed a bit - but not much - by Sett's stoney limbs. He’d been the star diver of his local swimming hole as a teen and still maintained some of the underwater dexterity, though nowadays tended to lurk the floors of bodies of water like a carnivorous bottom-feeder; eating habits included.

But then a few minutes passed, and nothing. A lifeguard and two of the more experienced swimmers among the guests plunged into the river and searched for fifteen minutes, cracking the surface now and again for a gulp of air, all to no avail. The water was too cloudy with sediment to see past a certain depth, and the orange-purples of dusk were beginning to settle in. They'd need to return in the morning with a diving team.

It'd now been forty-five minutes, and three of the resort’s other guests were consoling Ulrick, one herself on the verge of waterworks. They'd just witnessed a man - someone's significant other - torn tragically from life's teat, and in front of the man he loved, no less. 

Ulrick, for his part, was positively miffed. 

"When I get my hands on him..." Ulrick started, before one of the grievers tossed him a teary-eyed questioning look. "Er, that is... would that I could only put my hands on him... again..." he corrected. 

Just as Ulrick had begun mentally reviewing the basics of the Arts of Throttling, a movement, barely noticeable, shook the surface of the lake. Then bubbles, then the full break of the water as a head rose into view. Then the screams of onlookers as, in the fading light, a ghastly lake monster began its murderous approach. Then screams of a different kind as people began to make the connection proper. Then there was weeping, fainting, more than one declaration of faith renewed. It was a miracle!

Later, after insistences for medical attention were politely but firmly refused and the religious stragglers begging for just a smell of Sett’s waterlogged clothes were shooed away, Ulrick asked why he waited so long to resurface, to which Sett said, "GrrrrRRrr. <Well, at first I was just sort of embarrassed.> RrrrrrrGrrrRrrr? <Then I thought, "How often do these people see miracles?>"

"Oh, sure," groaned Ulrick. "A man comes out of a lake after half an hour and it's a miracle. A man comes out of a grave after a few months and it's "Grab the torches and pitchforks, everyone!""

"Rrrr. <Babe.>"

Ulrick gave a pouty grumble. "I'm just saying. One's a little more miraculous, is all." 

Sett pulled Ulrick's head into his chest and stroked his hair. "GrrrRrrrRrrr. <Shh, I know, dude, I know.>" His heavy, soaked clothes and lack of body heat didn't chill Ulrick as much as they should have, and though a fine coating of sand covering him from head to toe gritted against Ulrick's cheek, it only made Ulrick rub his face in rebelliously. 

"Okay," Ulrick said, resting his fists on Sett's chest and gazing up into his eyes. "What's the next activity? I think we’re... due-au for a luau?" The moment the words left his lips, his face collapsed into disgusted regret.

“Rgrrr... <Actually…>” Sett said, wrenching off his mask and shaking the excess water from his hair, teasing a blush out of Ulrick. “GgrrrRrrrr? <Doesn’t watching the stars by the lake sound pretty relaxing?>”

Ulrick grinned and took a seat on the shoreline, running his hands through the tufts of ryegrass stretching out in waves around him. He tapped a spot to his right and Sett, half-cocked smile in tow, came lumbering over to take it. 

Hours flurried past, changing nothing about the image of the intimately silent pair but the number of stark white pinpricks in the sky they beheld. 

They threatened to sit silently basking in each other forever. 

And then Sett said, “GRrrrrgrrr, rrgrrr, graargrr. <So, Diane and Jen gave me their number, and they want to plan an outing.>” 

Unease shot through Ulrick’s veins, but he held his tongue in search of the correct words. “O-oh?” 

“Grrr? Rrgrrrrr. <Isn’t that cool? People want to spend time with us,>” said Sett, ensorcelled with the twinkle of every new star. “Rrrrr. <With me.>”

“That might be…” began Ulrick, before noticing the glimmer in Sett’s eyes and faint lift at the corners of his mouth as he stared up towards a great unknown. He sighed. “It’s going to be great.” 

Sett rested his hand on Ulrick’s, their fingers interlocking. He smiled, and the two gazed into an ever-darkening firmament, speckled with a thousand stars and a thousand futures. 

[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.”

Tags:  @hellomissmabel​ @howdoesoneadult​  @nykitass​ @danimuhle​ @iwillbeinmynest​  @shifutheshihtzu​ @passiononfire​​  @learisa​​ @widowvinter​​  @kaaatniss​ ​ @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​​ @denialanderror​  @k-nighttt​​ @givemethatgold​​ @manders2487​ ​ @afangirlrambles​​ ​ ​ @polkadottedpillowcase​​ @bluebrrn​ @saysay125​​  @aikibriarrose​ @saharzek​ @mmauricee​ @imhereforbvcky​  @whenallsaidanddone​ @supernatural508​  @scarlettsoldier​  @natalie-nightcourt​  @im-beautifully-sewn​  @lovemarvelousfics​  @feistytravel​  @tbetz0341  @nearly-whitches​  @jamie-leah​  @shliic  @dessinemoiunehistoire​  @lucywinchester2000​  @solarbarnes  @a-proper-chicken​  @movingonto-betterthings​ @seekingkairos​  @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​  @part-time-patronus​  @natashasnight  @fairislesheets  @new-romanticz1989​

[rimmers-swimming-certificate]

Red Dwarf fanfic - Comatose (12/19)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 |  part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11

Rimmer carefully examined the two guitars, one leaning against the wall of their sleeping quarters and the other, right next to it, doing a reasonably convincing impression of the same thing.

“No,” he said. He shook his head. “No no no, Holly. It’s totally different. You need to make it look the same.”

They had been at this for over an hour and for some reason Holly still wasn’t getting it.

From the viewscreen, Holly appeared to look from one guitar to the other. In actual fact, Rimmer knew that she was looking from the microcameras positioned around the room, and around the whole ship. They were always on, always aware, giving the computer a 360 degree view of everything that happened on board. There were no secrets from Holly. Rimmer tried not to think about that too hard, because thinking about it reminded him that Holly knew exactly what he had used to get up to with Inflatable Ingrid when he had been alive, and he would rather not think about that, thank you very much.

She looked for a long time, eyes flicking from right to left as she appeared to switch her gaze from one guitar to the other. Finally she sighed in exasperation. “They’re the same, Arnold,” she told him.

Rimmer, crouching on the floor near the two instruments, shook his head. “No they’re not. They’re completely different.” He pointed to the first guitar, the original. “This one here, it’s black, yes, but it’s more of a charcoal black, whereas this one,” he pointed at the second instrument, “This one is very clearly onyx.”

“Clearly,” Holly said. Rimmer caught the sarcasm in her voice, and he didn’t care for it.

“And you see the damage on this one? The cigarette burn on the front there? On this other one, it’s about a millimetre too far to the left.”

Holly sighed. “It’s the same. I did a complete three dimensional scan of the thing. I can guarantee with 101 percent certainty that they are identical.”

“Er… 101?” Rimmer frowned. “You can’t have more than 100 percent certainty, Holly.”

She frowned. “Can too,” she said. “And I’m 106% certain of that.”

Rimmer placed his head in his hands and wondered, not for the first time, how the universe could have been so cruel as to sentence him to an eternity in deep space with these idiots. “I don’t care if you think it’s a million percent accurate, Holly, they’re not the same. Come on! You’re a supercomputer with a reported IQ of six thousand. I mean, granted you lost a couple of zeros from that figure over the years, and to be perfectly honest I was never convinced by that whole ‘six thousand’ boast in the first place, but despite all that, surely a computer should still have a better eye for detail than I do.”

Holly rolled her eyes theatrically. “Well yeah,” she said. “I do. That’s how come I can see they’re the same.” She sank into silence for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, look. You’re right, I should have a better eye for detail than you. So there’s only two possible explanations for why we disagree.”

“Go on then,” Rimmer told her.

“First one is, I can’t see any difference because there is no difference. They’re exactly the same and you’re the one that’s wrong.”

“No, that can’t be it,” Rimmer told her dismissively. “What’s the other possibility?”

Holly frowned. “I’ve forgotten,” she said. “Funny, I knew it a minute ago.”

Rimmer raised his eyes upward in a ‘give me strength’ gesture to a God that he didn’t believe in, and who, if he ever had existed in the first place, had almost certainly long since abandoned the remaining crew of a long-forgotten mining ship. “Great,” he said. “Fine. Let’s agree to disagree. Just move the cigarette burn one… no, one point five millimetres to the left, and adjust the colour.”

“If you say so,” Holly intoned. The cigarette burn shifted to the correct position. Rimmer looked at it again, and frowned. Actually, now it was too far to the right. Maybe Holly had been right after all.

Well, there was no way he was going to tell her that. He’d never hear the end of it.

“Great,” he said. “Just one thing to check.” He reached out with one hand and strummed his fingers across the strings of the holographic guitar. The sound was hideous; a discordant mess that made him cringe in discomfort and wish that he was deaf. “Perfect,” he said. “Where is Lister anyway?”

“About twenty metres away, heading in this direction,” Holly told him.

“What? I said warn me when he’s on his way.” Rimmer jumped backward, away from the door, and sat down on his bunk at the exact same moment Lister entered the room. Either Lister sprinted those twenty metres, or Holly had miscalculated again.

Lister looked around the room before settling a suspicious gaze on Rimmer. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Going on?” Rimmer said. “Nothing. What makes you think anything’s going on?”

Lister’s suspicion appeared to deepen. “Because when I walked in here, you leaped back like you’d been doing something you shouldn’t, and then sat down on the bunk trying to look nonchalant.”

Rimmer nodded. It was Holly’s fault of course. If he’d had just a few more seconds to prepare, he could have been much more convincing. Luckily, it wasn’t as though he was saving the gift for a special occasion. It was done, or as done as it was going to be.

He got to his feet. “Well, something was going on, as it happens,” he said.

Lister nodded. “I know. That’s what I said. So, what were you up to?”

RImmer folded his arms. “I resent that, actually,” he said. “I resent the fact that you just assume I’m ‘up to’ something, like I’ve always got some nefarious scheme on the go like some cartoon bad guy on one of those terrible TV shows you like to watch.”

Lister sighed. He sat down and shook his head. “Will you relax? It’s a figure of speech. When you say ‘What are you up to’? it means ‘what are you doing?’ It’s like when you bump into your mate unexpectedly and you go ‘Alright?’ it doesn’t mean you think there’s something wrong, it’s just a way of saying hello.”

Rimmer frowned. Was it? He wondered what the correct response was in that case. He suspected that maybe he shouldn’t have been saying “fine thanks’ all those years. “Yes, I know that. Obviously,” he said.

“So, what were you up to?”

Rimmer straightened up proudly. “I was making something, actually,” he said. Keeping his eye on Lister to see his reaction, he indicated the guitar with a wave of his hand.

Lister looked confused. He glanced around the room, then back to Rimmer “Okay. What were you making?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? The gui…” he stopped. The guitar had disappeared. “Er, Holly, where did it go?”

Holly appeared back on the screen. “Where did what go?” she asked.

One of these days, he was going to send one of the skutters into Holly’s inner wiring and have them perform a lobotomy. The result couldn’t possibly be any worse than what they had now. “You know what, you stupid computer. The thing that we just spent an hour making, and that you have now blinked out of existence. Put it back.”

“Oh, right,” Holly said. “Why didn’t you say?”

The holographic copy of the guitar reappeared next to Lister’s real one. Lister looked at it, then back to Rimmer, and then to the guitar again. “Is that…? He said. He took a step forward, toward the guitar, then hesitated. “Is it real?” he asked.

“Well, no,” Rimmer told him. “It’s a hologram.”

“No, I mean can I…” Lister reached out hesitantly, as though he expected for the guitar to disappear, or for his hand to pass through it as it would the genuine instrument. When his fingertips connected with the neck of the guitar. His eyes widened in surprise, and his hand closed around it.

“You did this?” he asked.

Rimer tried to look modest. “Well, Holly helped. A bit. But basically, yes.”

Lister plucked one of the strings with the well-chewed nail of his right index finger. It reverberated unpleasantly around the room, and Rimmer tried not to cringe. Lister plucked each string in turn, eyes closed and an expression of pure joy on his face. When he opened his eyes to look at Rimmer again, he was smiling in a way that Rimmer didn’t remember seeing in… well, since the accident.

“Why?” he asked.

Rimmer frowned. “What do you mean ‘why’?

Lister strummed the guitar, the fingers of his left hand pressing the strings to play a chord. Or they would have, if the guitar had been anything close to in tune. It occurred to Rimmer that perhaps he should have asked Holly for it to be slightly less true to life in that regard. “You hate my guitar. You’ve threatened to have the skutters smash it up more times than I can count. You said it was noise pollution, hazardous to health. You said it should have a warning sign on it.”

It was a fair point. He had said and done all of that. One one occasion, before he had died, he had come within inches of actually snapping the damn thing in two. Until Lister had jumped down from the bed in a panicked attempt to save it, and crushed Rimmer’s foot. He’d limped for a week after that.

He looked away, feeling awkward suddenly. The truth was, Lister had given him something, when he had placed his arms around him and allowed him to experience his first real hug in… well, he wasn’t sure, but it had been a hell of a lot longer than three million years. When he had kneaded the tension out of his neck and shoulders, when he had let Rimmer touch him and not recoiled in revulsion. Lister had given him something, and he had wanted to give him something back.

Not to mention, there was a chance that he might feel a teensy bit guilty for something he had thought a few days earlier. It wasn’t his fault, of course; it wasn’t like he could be held accountable for the thoughts that popped unbidden into his head, but after Lister’s seizure, he had, briefly, hoped for worse news. It wasn’t that he would exactly be happy if Lister needed to stay as a hologram, but he definitely wouldn’t have been unhappy about it either.

He shrugged. “I didn’t have anything better to do,” he said.

Lister gave him a look, and Rimmer was certain that he understood. He understood the first reason, anyway, though he was frustratingly perceptive and there was always a chance he had picked up on the second one too. “Thanks man,” he said. “Come ‘ere.” Still clutching the guitar to his chest, Lister wrapped his arms around Rimmer. For a moment, squashing the guitar between them.

Rimmer hesitated, before he put his own arms around Lister. It felt so good. He tried to remind himself that it was Lister that he was hugging. Slobby, revolting Lister whose dirty laundry set off the chemical waste alarm on two separate occasions. Lister, who he had once watched wake up, strain five cigarette butts out of a warm can of lager with a tea strainer and chug the drink for breakfast. He was disgusting, and right now, Rimmer didn’t care one bit.

“You don’t know what this means to me,” Lister added.

No, Rimmer supposed. He probably didn’t. He had never been musically gifted. Of course, neither was Lister -- in fact, if there was such a thing as the opposite of musically gifted, that was Lister -- but he enjoyed it. He could lose himself in it and forget his troubles. Rimmer had always envied him that ability, and he knew that being cut off from it, whether it was temporary or not, had been difficult for him.

Finally, Lister patted Rimmer on the back, the universal signal for ‘that’s enough hugging now’, and took a step back. Holding the guitar reverentially in his hands, he brushed his fingers over the smooth surface of its body and the rough damage of the cigarette burn.

“It takes a lot of power to generate,” Rimmer told him. “Keeping you and me going at the same time is taxing enough on power reserves as it is, so Holly tells me it’ll disappear when you’re not using it, so she can use the power for other things. You’ll need to ask for it when you want it back.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lister agreed, still stroking the guitar like it was some kind of pet.

“And don’t spend too long playing, or we might need to skimp on light or heating.”

No reply.

“Lister, did you hear me?”

Lister wasn’t listening anymore. He had sat down on Rimmer’s bunk and started to pluck the strings one by one, a faraway look on his face.

Rimmer nodded, satisfied. He backed away a couple of steps, then headed for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” Lister asked him.

“Away,” Rimmer told him. “I’ve done my good deed for the day. Just because I gave you that thing doesn’t mean I should have to suffer though listening to you play it.”

(next)

(Thanks once again to @norwegianpornfaerie for betaing)

[onthebackline]

Music for Deaf People

Wowee, the second year of my university life has definitely been eventful. Pretty much every assignment this year has been horrendous and honestly quite draining, but of course, there is one obvious exception which has completely saved my motivation and willpower to complete this degree.

Subwoofers seemed like an attainable but daunting goal when we first heard about it; since Winterland 2016 (remember that fun-filled experience?), in the first year, we were prepared to fill the concourse at the uni again with fun and interesting rides and attractions to bring in people from all around Wycombe. So when our lectures told us the success of Winterland had prompted a local charity, with a 23 Acre grass field, to try putting on their own music festival, and that they wanted us to work with them to make this the biggest event they’ve done yet. 

What? 

Winterland wasn’t the stressful failure I thought it was? External parties wanted to use our event management skills with their resources to put on another event? woo-wee. 

So I've spoken on this all before but we were put into the four main management teams: Logistics, production, Talent and marketing. I started in logistics but was moved to help liaise with the Talent team and the stage manager and was eventually fully inducted into the production team and for the last few weeks leading up to the event I had become the second stage manager and had to make sure that everything was going to run smoothly within that department. really a lot of the work for the second stage had already been done and I was simply making sure that people still had the right information, such as the most updated versions of the stage times and besides that, I was helping other productions members, in whatever way I could.

(Subwoofers flyer)

SUBWOOFERS 2018 was amazing, it was easily my favourite assignment of the year; there were so few problems on the day and the sun was absolutely beaming. The expected stress was about in the morning, as still, some jobs had to be done from the day before, signs were to go up, traders and a few rides were still to arrive. And a most recent addition, 300 deck chairs had to be unloaded in front of the stage. I managed to arrive 15 minutes late as I woke up at 6:59AM and missed the coach at 7 and had to leap into a taxi. 

So upon arriving we were quickly given jobs based on what still needed most urgently doing, regardless of their roles in the teams, (i’ll get back to this later buts it’s important) and the rest of the set up was fairly quickly done, which was good as the attendees were starting to arrive and the site was soon to open. deck chairs got unloaded, Herace fencing went up, queue systems were built, and then re-built as sections of ped barrier were stolen to quarantine the main stage and front-of-house booth. The only photo I have of myself on site is me helping the logistics team leader trying to put those really dodgy signs together, you know, those ones that have been around since bucks live was conceived? Those things are in dire condition...

(Oh look, it's me wow)

Being the second stage manager was probably the easiest thing I've done in my academic life. A quick comparison to Winterland here; when I was managing the second stage 1.5  years ago I overestimated my own knowledge and realised that I had severely over advertised myself, there were loads of things I hadn’t considered and had to make quick solutions. It was all very messy.

This time around though, I had at first decided to avoid production on this event, and see what I could do for the logistics team. However, things went as they did and I got pulled in by the “Production Gals” to sort out backline stuff and see that the second stage was up and running on time. Since Winterland, it was obvious that I had somewhat of a better idea of what would need to happen to make sure my stage would be a success. 

There was one problem with this. The production team were too good. Every time I had an idea, a suggestion or a question that I thought hadn’t had much thought to it, I’d have about 4 people reassure me in harmony, about what has been done and how I shouldn’t have to worry about that specific aspect. Every time I was worried about something I’d simply mention it and my fears would be washed away by this angelic production choir. (Adrienne, the main stage manager, said “Don’t worry, we got this Michael” literally 3 times every meeting) My stage had a tent, power, all necessary backline, PA equipment and a flipping engineer before I even knew I was running it. 

The day went so quickly I barely noticed, I had to make sure that my stage was on time with all its acts and there were no major disturbances to the lineup. In reality, about 80% of my stages’ artists either started or finished late, but due to the wonderful inexperience of the talent and production teams (in relation to solo artists), myself and the delegated engineer decided that the 20 minute changeover times were ludicrously overestimated and that we could be “flexible as fuck” with this lineup. this worked out nicely, and my stage stopped playing music before curfew, just for the record.

(Jack Little performing on the second stage at Subwoofers)

The biggest problem I faced all day was making sure artists got to the stage on time, I was constantly using the radio to contact the production office and see if the artists had arrived on site and that they were ready to be at my stage when needed. some artists made their own way and others couldn’t be found in time, but because the lineup was as flexible it was almost not an issue.

Dan was late, by the way. 

The only artist who was also in our class turned up 10 minutes late for the only set he had been booked into; although it didn’t really matter because he could have almost doubled his set time without infringing on the artist following him. No one seems to know what he was doing when he was asked after, but he seemed to enjoy his stroll for about 100 yards across the main field before he arrived at my tent. He put on a good show though when he did go on. Everyone enjoyed Dan the Guitar.

The day rounded up quietly, my stage stopped playing music at exactly 5:40pm and we had a soft close up till 6pm, as I asked a nearby steward to close up the side of the tent one by one, encouraging people to leave. After a quick sweep of the tent for litter, I set the engineer free from my control and allowed him to de-construct all his equipment and pack it all down. I went back to the life of odd jobs, trading 21mm spanners with people and chatting back and forth on the radio helping find lost event staff and going on suntan lotion runs.

(Bucks Live Lettering)

Overall the day was pretty breezy, it went a LOT better than I ever expected it to, this being because there were many small and recurring problems leading up to the day as well as assumed bad reception by the public. Now the marketing team inevitably did a good job, and it can’t be denied that the sunny weather had a part to play in our turn out, but I was still sure that there were going to be quarrels and arguments between everyone, but it just didn’t happen. It was kushty, to say the least. 

https://www.bucksherald.co.uk/news/picture-gallery-thousands-enjoy-fun-in-the-sun-at-saunderton-music-festival-which-has-a-woof-in-its-step-1-8494970

http://www.bucksfreepress.co.uk/news/16211630.Thousands_flock_to_first_ever_family__deaf_and_dog_friendly_music_festival/

[airasora]

Congratulations, by the way! May I ask what you will be doing there? I assume learning sign language, but it sounds rather intriguing!

Thank you very much and I’m really excited for it myself! This has been my goal, my dream education and job, for the past 3 years and I’ve been fighting so hard not to give up along the way. Given my medical issues, gallstone attacks so pain and hospitalization and operation, and then regular stuff with terrible teachers or classmates and stress and, oh my god, I’m just so happy that part is over and I can really FINALLY move on with what I actually want to do!

So, story time! I guess since I now have the chance x’D

Three years ago, summer 2014, I was almost done studying to become a social and health helper, which is basically someone who either works in a nursing home or as a home carer, basically helping and supporting elderly who can’t support or take care of themselves. This was never, not once, what I wanted to work with. I enjoyed it, but it was merely a springboard for me to get into physiotherapy which was what I really wanted to do.

When I realized that I just simply couldn’t go through with the SAHH education - due to me having major issues with stepping into someone’s private home, and all the security involved and such gave me slight anxiety - I decided to drop out of that education and go into a “college”.

We don’t have actual colleges where I live, meaning we don’t move to a campus and do majors and such. We have what is called a gymnasium, something you usually do after 9th or 10th grade. I didn’t do that back then because I wanted to experiment before I chose what to do with my life. So after 10th grade I took a tour guide education and a massage therapist education and then tried the SAHH education where I, at that point, had decided to become a physiotherapist.

But I went into a three-year “regular school” education which is obligatory to take other educations, like bachelors, which a degree in sign language is. It takes 3 and a half years.

Those three years are finally over after much blood, sweat, tears, literal pain and struggle xD

My GPA ended up being rather mediocre due to my grades dropping considerably here in 2017 because of my gallbladder attacks and then the operation. It took a lot of study time away from subjects I already struggled with. I left the sucky subjects to the last year like an idiot x’D

Due to my GPA being rather mediocre I was certain I wouldn’t get into the sign language school. I have a lot of good qualities, and that’s not just me tooting my own horn. Given my resume, where I mention both my tour guide education, my language skills, my theater experiences and so forth, I did have a voice in my head saying I deserved this and they should let me in. But then there was my mother’s voice, the realistic one, who reminded me that some people look at the GPA and then that’s all that matters rather than which subjects you got good or bad grades in.

Obviously, it’s more important that a deaf interpreter is good with languages and people-related subjects than subjects such as math and so forth.

Despite this, I was prepared to not get into this education this year. My backup plan was to get a job this year and try again next year. Or pray that some idiot would say no to a spot in the school and then it’d be given to me xD

I was so very much prepared for the rejection when I got the mail. And instead I got an acceptance letter.

It was like 10 minutes past midnight, I literally gasped and ran into wake my mom who was of course asleep. She didn’t understand a word I was saying cause I was bawling so she took my phone from me and read the mail herself. She was so shocked, so happy and so proud.

I think I would indeed have accepted it if I hadn’t gotten in. I was mentally prepared for a year with just a whatever job. I wouldn’t have been happy, but it would have been ok. My mom knew this, so she was surprised that I was bawling that much. I think it’s partially because I’m a proud person… I don’t like failing, I don’t like not feeling good enough.

2017 hasn’t been kind to my ego since four out of the five subjects I was studying were my worst subjects. I definitely felt cracks in my confidence with every bad grade I got. So getting this letter of acceptance, a letter saying I was good enough despite a mediocre GPA, a letter proving they believe I’d be skilled enough to do this… it was just a huge relief and an ego boost.

I’m just happy in a way I can’t possibly describe.

On a side note, but also related to this, I’m planning to create a new channel! Once I’m getting more and more skilled in Danish sign language, I want to make a channel dedicated to making Danish sign language covers of Disney songs! Maybe from other animated movies as I move along x3

I’ve come across plenty of ASL (American sign language) covers of songs on YouTube and they’ve been super educational! But I haven’t been able to find much with Danish sign language, which is understandable. So I want to be able to do this, not just for fun, but also as a way to study and train myself.

I hope others, Danes or not, would be interested in me making these covers! I’m planning to make them as fun as possible, perhaps with just tiny costumes or whatever x’D

[biofunmy]

The Dolphins Are Awful. Brian Flores Is Fine.

DAVIE, Fla. — Before agreeing to become the head coach of the Miami Dolphins last winter, Brian Flores consulted his former high school coach in Brooklyn. The response was, sure you’ll have to face New England twice a year, but even Bill Belichick has to retire at some point.

“They won’t be great forever,” Dino Mangiero, who coached Flores at Poly Prep Country Day School, advised him. “Miami might be a really good place to land.”

And at some point for Flores, it might be. It is impossible to judge an N.F.L. head coaching career that consists of two games with a franchise that has gutted its veteran talent and is rebuilding with fragile youth and the hoarding of draft picks.

But after losing to New England by 43-0 on Sunday — the Super Bowl champion and A.F.C. East rival for whom Flores worked the previous 15 seasons — the winless Dolphins have been outscored in two games, 102-10. The team might not be merely bad, but historically futile.

To many observers, Miami’s front office seems to be tanking to secure the first overall pick in the 2020 draft. Safety Minkah Fitzpatrick, the team’s No. 11 draft selection in 2018, asked out and was traded to Pittsburgh on Monday. Every position, Flores said recently, is up for evaluation.

On Sunday, the team’s owner, Stephen Ross, told reporters that he remained committed to rebuilding for long-term success. The Dolphins have five first-round picks and four second-round picks over the next two drafts. Flores, 38, has a five-year contract.

“I think he’s the right guy to lead us through these times,” Chris Grier, Miami’s general manager, said Tuesday.

Still, black head coaches tend to have the most precarious hold on jobs with the most vulnerable teams and the most limited opportunities for a second chance helming a staff elsewhere. Last season, five African-American head coaches were fired.

So far, Flores has shown a rare ability to remain even-keeled during one of the rockiest starts to an N.F.L. head coaching career, with no outward sign of anguish or regret. That stoicism is fitting perhaps for someone whose life has been built on a refusal to despair. He is the son of Honduran immigrants, born to a family who lived in the frayed Brownsville neighborhood of Brooklyn, where violent crime has declined but where official neglect, gang feuds and ruthless poverty have been corrosive.

It is one thing to lose football games. It is another to grow accustomed, as Flores has said he did, to helping his mother carry groceries up 20 flights of stairs when the elevators failed at the Glenmore Plaza housing project.

“I’m very prepared for difficult moments,” Flores said Monday. “I learned resiliency at a very early age.”

Flores and three of his four brothers have master’s degrees. And Brian appears to have become only the eighth N.F.L. head coach in the modern era from New York City, — no one’s idea of a football hotbed — according to the Elias Sports Bureau, the league’s official statistician.

Flores possesses a singular identity in professional football — black and Latino at a time when there are only two other African-American head coaches (Mike Tomlin of the Pittsburgh Steelers and Anthony Lynn of the Los Angeles Chargers) in the N.F.L. and one other Hispanic coach (Ron Rivera of Carolina).

While Belichick, Flores’ mentor, is the epitome of a gruff, taciturn coach who reveals little, Flores possesses a blunt candor. During a training camp practice, he played eight consecutive songs by Brooklyn-born Jay-Z as a rebuttal to then-Dolphins receiver Kenny Stills, a social activist who criticized the rapper as being tone-deaf after he formed an entertainment and social justice partnership with the N.F.L.

But Flores also gave an impassioned defense, rarely done by the league’s coaches, of the right of Stills and the ostracized quarterback Colin Kaepernick to kneel during the national anthem in protest against racial inequality and police brutality.

“They’re bringing attention to my story,” he said. “I’m the son of immigrants. I’m black. I grew up poor. I grew up in New York during the stop-and-frisk era. I’ve been stopped because I fit a description before. So everything these guys protest, I’ve lived it, I’ve experienced it.”

The Flores family story reflects the classic American immigrant experience. Yet his ascent in America’s most popular sport comes as the Trump Administration attempts to bar most Hondurans leaving a Central American country overwhelmed by poverty and violence from seeking asylum in the United States. The administration has also tried to end the protected status of some 57,000 Honduran immigrants, many of whom have been in the U.S. for more than 20 years.

“What’s interesting about Flores is that he’s part of multiple identities,” said Danielle Clealand, an associate professor of politics and international relations at Florida International University who studies Afro-Latinos in Miami.

As an N.F.L. coach in a sport fundamental to American identity, Flores has challenged the notion in a divisive political climate that immigrants do not belong in the United States, Clealand said.

“We have to think of the diversity in those communities and how they have integrated into our society, ” she said.

Asked what he thought of the President Trump’s plan to severely restrict Hondurans from entering the United States, Flores said Thursday through a team spokesman, “My journey is the answer to that question.”

With Flores on the sidelines, the Dolphins, are the only N.F.L. team with a black head coach and a black general manager, Grier. Ross, the team owner, is the founder of a nonprofit called RISE — the Ross Initiative in Sports For Equality — whose mission is to use sport to help improve race relations.

But Ross’s reputation for progressiveness grew complicated in August when he held a re-election fund-raiser in the Hamptons for President Trump. Stills, the receiver, criticized Ross via Twitter, writing, “You can’t have a nonprofit with this mission statement then open your doors to Trump.”

When Stills also criticized Jay-Z and Flores responded with his calculated playlist, the move drew mixed reaction. Mangiero, who coached Flores in high school, said he chuckled at Flores’s feistiness.

But the Miami Herald responded harshly on its editorial page, saying that Flores’s musical choice was insensitive and “looked like a smirking taunt, giving the back of his hand to a real-life American plague.”

Flores said he was challenging Stills to perform at a higher level and to not become distracted by events outside the team. Whatever scrutiny he received, Flores said at the time, he would continue to coach his own way. “If anybody’s got a problem with that, we’ve just got a problem,” he said. “We’re going to agree to disagree.”

Days later, the Dolphins traded Stills, an extremely popular player, and Laremy Tunsil, an emerging star at left tackle, to Houston. Asked if the trade was personal or political, Flores told reporters, “Not at all.” The compensation received by the Dolphins, which included two first-round draft picks and a second-round pick, “was something we couldn’t turn down,” Flores said.

He seemed taken aback by the widespread attention paid to the Stills/Ross/Jay-Z controversy. To Richard Lapchick, the founder and director the Institute for Diversity and Ethics in Sport at the University of Central Florida, Flores attempted to perform a delicate balancing act. In playing the Jay-Z songs, Prof. Lapchick said, Flores appeared to be “toeing the company line.”

But Flores’s plea for social justice was something few coaches outside of the N.B.A. ever address, Lapchick said, excepting the mass demonstration of solidarity that occurred across the N.F.L. on Sept. 24, 2017, after President Trump criticized protests during the national anthem.

“He realized, ‘My players do have opinions,’ and if he wants to successfully coach them, he can’t be dismissive, as the playlist seemed to indicate he was,” Lapchick said.

As a New Yorker, Flores is another sort of rarity in the modern N.F.L. His only current compatriot is Jacksonville’s Doug Marrone. Other New Yorkers who have coached include the legendary Vince Lombardi and the less than legendary former Jets and Eagles coach Rich Kotite, with his career record of 41-57.

Flores’s parents — Raul and Maria — immigrated from Honduras in the 1970s, speaking no English, seeking a better life, and his father spent as many as 10 months each year away as a merchant seaman. An uncle, Darrel Patterson, then a Brooklyn firefighter, became a father figure, taking the Flores brothers bowling and on trips to a video arcade. Traveling home one evening when Brian was 12, he said he spotted a Pop Warner game and asked his uncle if could play.

Patterson, 66, and now a fire safety educator, remembers the football origin story somewhat differently: He visited the family’s apartment in Brownsville on a beautiful fall weekend, only to find the brothers watching television. When asked why they were indoors, Brian or one of his siblings, replied, “Mom doesn’t want us outside; she thinks it’s too dangerous.”

Patterson said he took the brothers in his station wagon to a youth league game in Howard Beach, Queens. Brian ran an impressive 40-yard dash and was pointed to the team equipment van, where he grabbed a helmet and shoulder pads. But no one in his family had ever played football and the shoulder pads felt awkward.

“He had the pads on backward,” Patterson said. “We turned them around and from there he excelled.”

Flores received a scholarship to Poly Prep Country Day, an elite academic and football school, commuting more than an hour across Brooklyn by bus and subway. He struck Mangiero, his coach, as Flores strikes many people — serious, driven.

At Boston College, Flores played safety and linebacker, but a leg injury in 2003 ended any slim chance of playing professionally. So Flores famously wrote to every N.F.L. team looking for a job. He took an entry-level post in the Patriots’ personnel department in 2004. His duties included getting coffee and picking up dry cleaning. He slept on an air mattress in a friend’s attic for a time. He climbed from scout to assistant coach, to the de facto defensive coordinator last season as New England won its sixth Super Bowl.

Miami players describe Flores as New England players did. Quarterback Ryan Fitzpatrick: “He’s been great being upfront.” Linebacker Vince Biegel: “Steady Eddie.”

Flores often recalls his mother, Maria, who died of breast cancer in March, shortly after the Dolphins named him head coach, forcing him to practice his reading when he was little and wanted to cut the lessons short. She would grab him by the ear and tell him, “We’re going to do this right now.” So that is how he plans to rebuild the Dolphins: Move forward. Persevere.

“You always know that if you put your head down and work hard,” he said, “things normally turn around and get better.”

Alain Delaqueriere contributed research.

Sahred From Source link Sports

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2O9ZDDR via IFTTT

[brian-cdates]

5 Long-term Side Effects of Bulimia & Anorexia

Eating disorders take a toll on your body and the side effects of bulimia and anorexia are vast, including side effects like:

 COMMON SIDE EFFECTS OF BULIMIA

Unwanted shifts in weight

Eroded enamel on teeth and tooth decay

Ruptured or damaged esophagus

Irregular heart beat and heart failure

Dehydration

Weakened kidney and heart muscle

Electrolyte imbalances

GI irregularity and constipation

Russel’s Sign (scratches on fingers and hands from self-induced purging)

Swollen salivary glands

Acid reflux

Sore throat and hoarse voice

Facial swelling

Blood in vomit

Feeling faint

Low libido

Red eyes

Mood swings

Depression and anxiety

COMMON SIDE EFFECTS OF ANOREXIA

Weight loss and thin appearance

Loss of appetite

Brittle hair and nails

Flakey, dry skin

“Peach fuzz” hair that grows on body (lanugo)

Constipation & bloating

Cold body temperature

Anemia

Abnormal blood counts

Fatigue

Dizziness and fasting

Bone Fractures, Stress Fractures & Osteoporosis

Amenorrhea (Losing your period) & Infertility

Irregular heart beat and heart failure

Dehydration

Kidney damage and failure

Elevated liver enzymes and Liver damage

Seizures

Low blood pressure

Depression and anxiety

  Despite our awareness of the side-effects of active eating disorders however, something rarely discussed with individuals in eating disorder recovery are the long-term side effects of bulimia and side effects of anorexia—even once you’ve chosen to pursue a new healthy lifestyle.

I call this “Post-Recovery Recovery”—the side effects of bulimia and anorexia that happen to your body AFTER recovering from an eating disorder (especially a long-term eating disorder)—and I’ve been there, got the t-shirt.

In my personal eating disorder recovery from a 15 year battle with anorexia, the words “You could die from this” often fell on deaf ears.

While I experienced my fair share of “unhealthy side effects” (such as peach fuzz hair on my body, anemia, a heart arrythmia, osteoporosis, elevated liver enzymes, fainting and dehydration) once I decided to pursue recovery MANY of these anorexia side effects improved tremendously.

However, after I chose a new recovered lifestyle, I soon discovered, my health was not all “rainbows and butterflies.”

After 15 long years spent trying dozens of diets,; following hundreds of food rules; going in and out of multiple hospitals, treatment centers, and tube feeding interventions; and fighting for my life, my body is FAR from perfect, and while I am 100% recovered in my mind, my body has taken its sweet time to catch up.

Here are 5 Long-Term Side Effects of Bulimia & Anorexia No One Talks About in Eating Disorder Recovery (and what to do about them):

 5 Long-Term Side Effects of Bulimia & Anorexia No One Talks About in Eating Disorder Recovery

SIDE EFFECT #1: YOU HAVE “GUT ISSUES” (BLOATING, CONSTIPATION, IBS)

Individuals in eating disorder recovery often complain about “gut issues” with gut side effects in Bulimia, Anorexia and Eating Disorder Recovery including:

Feeling bloated or excessively full after meal

Chronic constipation

GERD/Heartburn

Poor appetite, or insatiable appetite (like they have malabsorption)

IBS

Loose stools and diarrhea

Abdominal cramping

Nauseas

To a great degree, it makes sense that after a period of time spent NOT listening to your body’s hunger-fullness signals, eating processed diet foods (Diet Coke, sugar free candy/gum, frozen dinners), abusing laxatives, nutrient deficiencies and significant stress, your gut health would NOT feel well in recovery.

Enter: “Leaky gut” or intestine permeability—gut distress wherein your digestive system and gut lining get weak, “leaky” and/or imbalanced in gut bacteria, triggering both the ongoing struggle with anorexia and bulimia, as well as leaving your gut not feeling well in eating disorder recovery.

The Real Causes of Gut Side Effects in Eating Disorders

Other much less buzz terms and presentations of impaired gut health that I see daily in my own functional medicine, nutrition and therapy practice include:

Bacterial and fungal infection

Bacterial overgrowth or “SIBO”

Parasites

Healthy-unhealthy gut bacteria imbalance (“Dysbiosis”)

IBS

Food intolerances

Constipation

And a host of ALL the other side effects discussed in this article

Understanding the Gut-Eating Disorder Connection

Your gut is the gateway to your health and IF and WHEN our healthy gut bacteria and healthy process of digestion is thwarted and stressed, then “gut issues” and other associated health issues experienced in eating disorders and recovery ALSO occur (i.e. anxiety and depression, autoimmune disease,  thyroid dysfunction, blood sugar  and hormone imbalances, etc ).

Think of the gut like a domino.

If it falls, then the OTHER “dominoes” of your health will also fall—often in the form of the diseases and imbalances you are MOST genetically susceptible to (Krautkramer et al, 2016)

My Experience

Unfortunately, in my own experience, this was (and is) the case, but most of my medical care providers and treatment programs at the time just discounted my “gut feelings” as:

“Just part of recovery”

An excuse to get out of drinking milkshakes and takeout pizza

The need for Miralax, Colace, prune juice and other stool softeners

“All in my head”

An excuse to restrict my food and not eat gluten or dairy

For weeks and months at a time, I’d suck up eating disorder treatment, eating Pop-Tarts, Twinkies, Snickers Bars, Ben & Jerry’s, fast food challenges, Nestle chocolate tube feeding formulas, Boost shakes, Honey Nut Cheerios, Goldfish and pretzels, and the occasional green vegetable, going through the motions, but rarely feeling great inside (BOTH in my head and in my gut).

While eating disorders DO often cause an adverse reactions to otherwise considered “normal” Standard American Diet foods, this is not to discount the impact that processed foods and lack of gut health support can have on perpetuating poor gut health and the ongoing link between eating disorders and gut bacteria imbalances.

Looking back on the accumulated 3-4 years I personally spent in hospitals and treatment centers with these conventional re-feeding treatments and neglected gut health care, I am more than anything thankful!

Without them, I would have not discovered the amazing connection between gut health and brain health and eating disorders (the brain-gut connection) (Borgo et al, 2017), NOR would I be able to look back on the countless “food challenges” and exposures that helped me develop “thick skin” to NOT freak out (in my eating disorder brain) if I was to eat a bite of a (gasp) cupcake or Twinkie .

Side Effect #2: Your Metabolism SLOWS DOWN or SPEEDS UP

“Why do I keep gaining weight?!” OR “Why do I have a hard time holding on to my weight?!”

Metabolic dysfunction impacts individuals in recovery on both sides of the spectrum—some people with histories of eating disorders struggle to maintain a healthy weight as it seems their body puts on 5 to 10 to 20 more pounds by simply looking at food, and others in recovery from eating disorders (particularly long-time anorexia) struggle to “hold on” or maintain a healthy weight.

What gives?!

One word: Stress.

Eating disorders do a number on your stress levels—often also referred to as “adrenal fatigue.”

In the stress response, cortisol levels (your stress hormones) are elevated or suppressed in the struggle to “keep up” (i.e. the eating disorder), and eventually over time, this stress wreaks havoc on your metabolism.

What is your Metabolism?

Your metabolism is a representation of how efficiently your body is at using your energy (food and energy stores in your cells, muscle and organs) for ALL your cellular processes and body functions.

If you have a “fast metabolism” it typically means your body burns your energy like a furnace. However, it can ALSO mean you have impaired digestive pathways (and your body is actually STRESSED and/or unable to absorb or use your energy to the best of its abilities), often due to a leaky gut or blood sugar imbalances caused by a period of chronic dieting and under-eating.

If you have a “slow metabolism” it typically means your body’s digestive process, blood sugar balance and/or stress hormone pathways are stressed and sort of like walking through the mud after a hard rain in stiletto heels, your metabolic processes (digestive, stress response, blood sugar balance mechanisms) “walk” less smoothly and efficiently. They get stuck clomping through the muck.

Why is My Metabolism Off in Eating Disorder Recovery?!

Whichever side of the spectrum your metabolic presentation falls on (“fast” or “slow”) in eating disorder recovery, the bigger question is WHY is it STILL “off”—even though you are “taking care of yourself” and no longer neglecting your body now?

Here are 4 reasons your metabolism is off in eating disorder recovery:

Chronic Dieting & Under-eating Backfires

One of the most poignant studies of this phenomenon is the “Biggest Loser” study (Fothergill et al, 2016), wherein researchers followed and tracked the metabolic efficiency of former “Biggest Loser” TV show contestants 8 years after being on the show and experiencing amazing weight loss results from their 12-week stint spent dieting. The findings? Every single contestant had gained their weight back, despite eating “healthier,” and their metabolisms were 1 to 2 times LESS efficient than they had been previously (i.e. they required about 500 calories less for weight maintenance than previously).

Thyroid Dysfunction Happens

Other research has shown that individuals with both bulimia and anorexia experience the consequences of thyroid dysfunction (Altemus et al, 1996) (Warren, 2011)—the organ responsible for making sure your metabolic processes are working in tip top process. Hashimoto’s (thyroid autoimmune disease) is also highly correlated with eating disorder recovery, often characterized by unwanted weight gain or weight loss, food intolerances, fatigue and impaired metabolism. If your thyroid levels are “off,” (i.e. a TSH value above 2, or T3

Blood Sugar Levels Are Unstable

Blood sugar is what gives you energy and balanced blood sugar levels are a sign that your body is using energy properly.

In an ideal world, when you eat, blood sugar levels go “up” (slightly) as insulin rushes in to your cells, giving them energy, then gradually come down with time back to a balanced flatline state of natural, normal energy—no caffeine or sugar needed.

However, in eating disorders, after a period of binging/purging or active restriction, your natural process of blood sugar balance gets off!

Blood sugar levels either get extremely high (hyper-glycemia) or super low (hypo-glycemia) (Mirsa & Klibanski, 2011) as your body becomes less and less able to tap into normal digestive enzymes and blood sugar balance processes since your eating patterns tend to be more extreme.

Over time, the eating disorder conditions your blood sugar levels to function the majority of the time in these extreme states (i.e. under-eating, restricting proteins or fats or carbs, binging and purging, fasting). Couple this with the high chance of “leaky gut” and other gut imbalances in eating disorders, and malabsorption of nutrients in the first place ALSO prevents your body from getting the “proper nutrients” and absorbing the just-right-amount of energy and nutrients to keep your metabolism revving in tip top speed.

Reactive hypo-glycemia (eating but blood sugar dropping) (and insulin resistant hyperglycemia (as seen in diabetes) (Prioletta et al, 2011 )may also occur.

You Get a New “Set Point”

On the opposite end, in research of individuals in recovery from anorexia, researchers have found that those who fought the battle for a longer amount of time, suffered from metabolic “damage” or side effects that entailed needing at least 1.5 times the amount of caloric load as other “normal controls” of their same size and stature (Kaye et al, 1988), and that their bodies were in hyper-calorie burning (Zipel et al, 2013) and hyper fat-burning mode (FASEB, 2008) (Dellava et al, 2009) . Researchers speculate this to be due to the catabolism (break down) of body tissues and organs, as well as long-term malnourished state and a body that “soaks up” nutrition to repair body damage once recovery ensues. Leaky gut and unhealthy gut bacteria from malnutrition also impair healthy metabolic pathways making malabsorption a common phenomenon others experience in recovery as well (Kane et al, 2015)

In short: Chronic dieting, under-eating, over-exercise and/or body neglect tend to backfire.

SIDE EFFECT #3: Adrenal Fatigue

Tired despite sleeping for 7-9 hours?

Need coffee to function?

Crave sugar or artificial sweeteners?

Wired and tired at night or difficulty sleeping?

Hangry before meals?

Afternoon sleepiness or need naps often?

Frequent headaches?

Easily anxious, wound up or depressed?

Horrible PMS?

Adrenal fatigue or “HPA Axis” Dysfunction  is a common phenomenon experienced in individuals in the aftermath of an eating disorder, due to the side effects of chronic long term stress on the body.

Although stress is a NORMAL part of life, and we all experience stress on a daily basis, TOO MUCH STRESS WITHOUT PROPER RECOVERY can throw off our cortisol response.

Cortisol is your stress hormone responsible for helping you “fight or flee” in the fight or flight response. However, if cortisol is constantly called upon and unable to help you fight or flee with the mounting stress, HPA Axis Dysfunction and hormone imbalances are a given.

Even in recovery, as you’re taking care of yourself, your body may still be healing for the time it spent living on edge constantly.

It’s vital to recognize that stress goes FAR BEYOND just mental and emotional stress as well. It can also be physical. Other common stressors include:

Common Stressors in Eating Disorder Recovery

Lifestyle Stressors

Burning a candle at both ends

Bluelight screen exposure (long times on screens)

Social Media comparison/endless scrolling

Trying to be all things to all people/people pleasing

FOMO (lack of downtime for yourself)

Less than 7 hours of sleep most nights

Overtraining

Imbalanced exercise (i.e. doing HIIT/cardio all the time without mixing it up)

Not talking about your stress (bottling it up)

Not doing things you love

Exposure to chemicals in beauty, cleaning and hygiene products

Plastic tupperware/container use

Lack of outdoor/nature and fresh air

Lack of play and fun

Endlessly Google searching answers to your health questions

NSAID use (headaches, etc.)

Birthcontrol and long term medication use

Disconnection from community/meaningful relationships

Food Stressors

Frequent coffee/caffeine consumption

Artificial sweeteners (most commercial stevia included)

Eating packaged, refined or processed foods

Low water intake (less than half your bodyweight in ounces)

Tap water (not filtered)

Frequent eating out (more than preparing/handling your food)

High focus on calories, diet plans and food rules

Lack of Vitamin P (pleasure in foods)

Low carb intake and/or Low fat intake

Lack of quality protein (amino acids for your brain)

Dairy (conventional) consumption

Grains and “gluten free” processed products (with gluten-cross contaminants)

Binging/Purging and erratic eating habits

NOT listening to your gut

Consider how you could dial back on ONE of these things….just ONE to start.

 SIDE EFFECT #4: Getting Your Period Then…Losing Your Period

You got your period in recovery…then you lost your period.

Hello?! Where did your period go?!

A woman’s period is her monthly health “report card”—a sign that her hormones are working as they should (especially if PMS is minimal)—and a sign for the woman in recovery from an eating disorder that her body is in a more “stable place.”

However, some people find they get their period back for one or two cycles, only to find that their period goes missing AGAIN—even though they are taking care of themselves.

Healing from an eating disorder is not always “rainbows and butterflies” or “Happily Ever Afters” for your body and the loss of your period can be due to multiple factors that are only corrected with time, consistency, patience, and self grace and love.

As mentioned previously, stress is the #1 driver AGAINST your period happening—and in the case of disordered eating, this is the #1 reason why amenorrhea is common.

Adrenal fatigue or impaired cortisol function equally (negatively) influences estrogen and progesterone presentation (hormones needed to make your period happen). If cortisol is either too high or too low, estrogen levels are “thrown off” and the last thing your body wants to do is be fertile or have a baby.

Blood sugar levels and insulin growth factor production (normal insulin levels) ALSO are key players in healthy hormones. If your blood sugar balance is off (due to poor digestion and/or stress), then research supports that the period may still be “missing” in recovery (Cominato et al, 2014)

In addition, since your hormones are produced by fats you eat and fat oxidation—including cholesterol—if your digestive pathways are still healing, you have leaky gut OR enhanced fat “oxidation” (you burn fat really easily) from metabolic dysfunction—then hormone production (namely estrogen and progesterone are going to be an uphill climb).

Some women can STILL experience ovulation, despite no shedding of their uterus lining (i.e. bleeding), but more often than not, the period won’t happen until stress levels (inside and out) continue to be addressed. This is not ideal however, as iron overload and osteoporosis are also common in women who do not have regular periods.

SIDE EFFECT #5: Autoimmune Disease

Autoimmune disease affects 1 in 4 women, and 1 in 6 men—and, research shows if you’ve had an eating disorder, the prevalence and incidence of autoimmune disease goes up nearly two fold.

There are more than 30 Autoimmune diseases that range from Crohn’s Disease, to Celiac Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, Lupus, Hashimoto’s, arthritis and osteoporosis.

No matter what condition or symptoms an individual has, the universal theme of an Autoimmune Disease is the same—the immune system is suppressed and the body attacks itself.

Enter: Inflammation, increased cortisol (stress hormone), food intolerances and leaky gut or intestinal permeability.

One study (Raevuori et al, 2014) of 2342 patients who received treatment for an eating disorder found nearly a 2:1 greater ratio risk of having an autoimmune disease (regardless of genetic history), compared to healthy controls (particularly hormone and gut-related diseases). The researchers also speculated that the relationship between Autoimmune Disease and eating disorders may be bi-directional, asserting that Autoimmune Disease can further drive psychological symptoms [such as OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder and tendencies), depression and anxiety seen in eating disorders] since Autoimmune Disease is characterized by inflammatory anti-bodies that attack the person’s own body cells—including brain cells and neurotransmitters.

Another study of 930,977 volunteers, confirmed this hypothesis as participants with autoimmune conditions were up to 75% more likely to develop/have histories of anorexia, bulimia and EDNOS (eating disorders not otherwise specified).

Causes of Autoimmune Disease

How does the immune system get “suppressed” and autoimmune disease happen in the first place?!

Considering that 80-percent of your immune system is produced in your gut, the bigger question is: “How is your gut health?” If your gut health is poor (i.e. eating disorder behaviors) or you have a “leaky gut” (intestinal permeability), then you are more AT RISK for developing an autoimmune disease (Mu et al, 2017 ).

Since “leaky gut” is both a common side effect of eating disorders AND a trigger to eating disorders (Lam etal, 2017), autoimmune disease likelihood makes total sense.

Currently research is being conducted on the prevalence of “leaky gut” and autoimmune antibodies in individuals before and after re-feeding, with the authors believing that the increased presentation  of leaky gut arises from current conventional eating disorder treatment protocols (i.e. Ensure shakes, processed foods, etc.), enhanced stress levels and lack of education of proper gut health support during treatment. (Grigioni, 2016)

What to Do About It?!

Regardless of what Side effects you experience in eating disorder recovery, there is always room to feel better and improve your health in your post-recovery recovery!

While it can be extremely frustrating for your mindset to be in one place, but your body still feel like it’s lagging behind or trying to catch up, there is more for you in your continued healing.

Work with a functional medicine practitioner or nutritionist to address underlying stressors and conditions impeding your gut health, hormone health, blood sugar balance and all-around wellbeing together.

Some lab testing may be warranted depending on your own side effects and symptoms, including:

Comprehensive Functional Blood Work

Stool Testing

SIBO/Bacterial Overgrowth Breath Testing

Urine Organic Acids Testing (gut test)

Hormone DUTCH Urine & Saliva Testing

Based on results, dietary guidance, supplements and lifestyle “therapy” and medicine (i.e. de-stressing your body) help markers improve.

Above all: Know patience and consistency will pay off AND…you are worth it.

The post 5 Long-term Side Effects of Bulimia & Anorexia appeared first on Meet Dr. Lauryn.

Source/Repost=> https://drlauryn.com/wellness-knowledge/5-long-term-side-effects-of-bulimia-anorexia/ ** Dr. Lauryn Lax __Nutrition. Therapy. Functional Medicine ** https://drlauryn.com/ 5 Long-term Side Effects of Bulimia & Anorexia via http://drlaurynlax.tumblr.com/

[obsessedauthorchan-blog]

Shakespearean - Chapter 10 - Wally

AO3 | Wattpad | FanFiction

Chapter Summary:

What happens after dinner.

Alternatively, the before-they-share-a-bed-awkwardly part of the story where tension is resolved so they don't have to share the bed awkwardly (unfortunately. maybe I'll write that another time.).

Notes:

Okay, everybody, I know it has been a forever and a half since I posted last (it hasn’t actually been a whole month yet, but I definitely wasn’t counting at all). I am super sorry about that. I had a really rough month, and it actually had nothing to do with the holidays or anything. I had a lot going on, as usual, but I also had some crazy mental stuff going on, including realizing that I actually am depressed (I’ve been in denial for a while) and mentally debating about whether or not I should come out to anybody as bisexual. Depression’s a bitch, and being a gay Christian can be super hard guys. Especially in the Bible Belt, not gunna lie. Anywho, with a new year comes new motivation, and feeling accomplished makes me feel happy, so here’s the latest update for you guys! Remember, every fifth chapter is from a perspective other than Jay’s, and this one is from Wally’s! I hope you guys like this one, because, as I remember, writing Wally’s perspective was a lot of fun for me. Enjoy, frands! (And thanks for putting up with my impromptu and un-forewarned hiatus!)

Story:

Wally West was satisfied.

He was almost always satisfied when it was Alfred doing the cooking. That man knew what he was doing in the kitchen. He was a food ninja just as much as he was a regular ninja. It was one of the reasons why Wally loved coming over to Dick's house for dinner.

The main reason, though, was Dick, himself.

Dick was so awesome. He was so funny and super smart. He was proud and he was a little shit sometimes, but Wally liked that about him, too. Dick had a genuine desire to help people, too, as shown by his desire to be a social worker. Criminal Justice is a difficult field in itself, but social justice was a particularly difficult and financially unrewarding career. Wally was actually really glad that Dick had elected to put off starting his career until he had gotten his master’s degree. It gave him more time to be free and enjoy his youth before the hard life of a social worker sucked all the energy and joy out of him.

Not to say that Wally didn't think that it was a needed job or a fulfilling career. Between being such good friends with Dick and Roy and knowing people like Bruce Wayne, it would be hard for Wally not to have a certain understanding for how hard the world could be for people without good parents, or any parents, and he had a definite appreciation for the people who sacrificed their time to help the kids who suffered at the hands of the cruel world they all lived in.

But that didn't mean he didn't wish Dick had picked something... happier.

Once everyone had finished dinner, they all dispersed. Jason had collected his stuff and left for the night, Tim driving him home, Damian had been sent to his room since he still wasn't behaving, Conner and Cassandra (the cutest couple ever, in Wally's opinion) were chilling like they usually do, Clark had gone home to get ready for more classes tomorrow, and Babs was getting advice from Bruce about the case she was working on. Meanwhile, Wally and Dick had headed up to Dick's room.

"You staying over, Walls?" Wally knew Dick well enough to know that he wanted him to stay.

"Of course. As if I could pass up on the cinnamon rolls Alfred is almost certainly making for breakfast tomorrow."

Dick chuckled, shaking his head at Wally's undying love for food. They got to Dick's room and went inside, making Dick remember something. "Shoot, Walls. Damian was being a little turd and broke the roll-away bed you usually stay on. We haven't had time to get a new one to replace it." He surveyed the room, taking in the modest desk, queen size bed, and the comfortable chair in the corner. Dick was only living with Bruce until he finished his master’s degree, then he fully intended to get his own apartment. He didn't like depending on Bruce for anything, something that Wally could sort of understand but didn't really approve of. "I'll just sleep on the floor tonight," Dick decided, his internal martyr complex making its regular appearance.

Wally rolled his eyes. "You are not sleeping on the floor in your own home, Richie Rich. I'll sleep on the floor."

Dick crossed his arms stubbornly. "No way. You're a guest."

"Oh please, Dick. I practically live here at this point. I know your mansion better than I know my own apartment."

They both stared determinedly at each other for a good thirty seconds before Dick relented, sighing. "Fine, but you still aren't sleeping on the floor. Neither of us will."

"Then I'll take the chair."

"Nobody is taking the chair, Walls." Dick shifted his weight on his feet. "It's a queen size bed. If you're going to be too stubborn to let me be a good host, then we can share it. We're both skinny enough to make it work."

Wally tried not to let his nervousness show. Wally West sharing a bed with the Dick Grayson, arguably one of the most attractive and most eligible bachelors in all of Gotham City, was not the best idea. Mostly because Wally was hella gay and he'd had a huge crush on Dick pretty much since they'd met.

Still, what was he going to say? 'Nah, Dick, I think I'll just go home instead. I'm too straight to share a bed with my best friend for one night.' Because that doesn't just scream closeted gay.

And the cinnamon rolls, though. Those are important. Those are worth it.

"Okay, Dickie. You're the boss." He gulped noisily, hoping Dick didn't notice.

The two of them went about their nightly routines, brushing their teeth and changing into sleepwear. Wally would have been happy that they had sleepwear at all, except that Dick's was only pajama pants. He slept shirtless, all that glorious, lean muscle on display for Wally to drool over and dream about.

Wally hated his life.

They didn't go to bed right away, because they never do. They stayed up for a figurative forever, actually, talking, playing games on their phones, helping each other with the subjects that they were having a hard time with, etc. Dick had a bachelors in Criminal Justice, but his masters was in Social Work. That wasn't really one of Wally's strong suits, but he was good at the science part of it. He himself was working on a master’s degree in Chemistry, so he was pretty useful.

At one point, Cassandra came in to say goodnight. Wally had been working on his sign language for years, but languages in general didn't really come easy to him. At all. Even still, his consistent practice – and help from Dick and Cassandra – was paying off because he was able to have a pretty decent conversation with Cassandra. She wasn't deaf, so she could understand perfectly fine if he spoke aloud, but she loved it when someone took the time to communicate with her in her own language.

When the two of them finished up their conversation with Cassandra and she left for her own room _ without Conner, to the relief of both boys (they were understandably protective, even with someone as trustworthy as Conner) – Wally had gone back to his textbook, wanting to get some last bit of studying in before they inevitably went to bed for the night.

Before Cassandra came in, Dick had been watching a documentary on social work for one of his classes. When Wally realized that he hadn't played it again he looked up, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. Upon doing so, he saw Dick looking at him with an unreadable expression. It was actually just a bit unnerving for Wally, who had long ago learned to read pretty much every emotion and thought Dick had. It was a by-product of being best friends since childhood, and the thought that Wally was losing his touch worried him.

"Dick, you okay?" Wally wasn't sure he would get an answer, and he wasn't sure he really wanted one either, but after a few seconds' hesitation, Dick responded.

"You've put an awful lot of effort into learning sign language, Walls."

Wally was no less confused than before. What did that have to do with anything?

Oh god. Please, please, please don't mean that Dick thought Wally had a thing for Cassandra. Please.

"She's your sister, Dick. Might as well be mine, too, so it just makes sense to try, right?" Wally really hoped that explanation covered it, because this was getting a little weird and a lot awkward.

"Really? That's why?" Dick didn't look as though he disbelieved him, but he didn't exactly seem to think that was the whole story either.

"Yeah," Wally said slowly. "Why else would I do it?"

Dick shrugged. "I don't know. It could just be that you're really nice. I wouldn't exactly put it past you to learn a language for pretty much anyone, honestly."

Wally squinted his eyes, his confusion growing. "Okay? So what's the problem?"

Shaking his head, Dick turned his chair back to facing his desk and looked back to his computer screen. "No problem. Not a one. Nope." He popped the 'p', telling Wally that he was most definitely, without a doubt, hiding something.

Rolling his eyes, Wally put down his text book and marched over to stand in behind Dick. "No. We are not doing this." He grabbed Dick's chair and spun it around to face him, placing a hand on the back of it by Dick's shoulder and leaning down to put his face in Dick's personal space. "If you don't tell me what's up then it's going to bother me for a small eternity. So what's bothering you?"

Dick kept his mouth shut and shook his head, refusing to say a word. Wally sighed and resorted to his last measure. The puppy dog face.

Eyes wide and innocent, lips turned down in a small, pouty frown, and overall expression looking downcast and dejected, Wally knew Dick would never be able to resist. Sure enough, after only seconds of eye contact, Dick caved, spewing everything out at once. "You're just a really nice guy, Walls, and it's so sweet that you've put so much effort into learning sign language for Cassandra even though she understands you when you talk and literally nobody minds translating what she says for you, and you're always doing nice things like that, Walls, that's just who you are. You're such a great guy and I love it, that's why I love you, and I just- oh shit," Dick shrank back from Wally, refusing to look him in the eye, apparently displeased with what he'd said.

Wally couldn't imagine why Dick would be upset about what he said. Wally thought it was beautiful. Still, if Dick was going to shy away from Wally, how was he going to kiss him? He raised his free hand and poked Dick's cheek. "Hey, Dickie?"

Dick shook his head, eyes downcast and expression regretful. That just wouldn't do. Wally moved his hand down to Dick's chin, gently coaxing him to turn his head and look at him. When he had finally managed to get Dick to meet his eyes, he smiled. "What was this I heard about you loving me?" Wally asked playfully.

Dick groaned and looked away again. "I didn't mean it like that, Walls. No homo, right? I just meant kind of like a brotherly love. Like family, you know?"

Wally snorted, refusing to let his doubt and insecurity win. "Liar," he said, and then he kissed him.

Dick was unresponsive at first, but Wally was patient, for once in his life. This one thing he wouldn't rush, because if he was wrong, if he had somehow gotten all the signs wrong or misinterpreted them out of wishful thinking, then he wanted to make the best out of this kiss. Just as Dick finally let himself loosen up and enjoy it, Wally pulled away. When Dick tried to follow his lips, Wally smiled triumphantly. "Right, but you don't love me or anything. We're like brothers. No homo at all."

Dick sighed in exasperation, leaning his forehead against Wally's. "Shut up, you sarcastic asshole." Wally decided to comply, but only because Dick kissed him again.

Somehow, Wally thought, as he straddled Dick's hips and ran his hands all over those glorious muscles, he really didn't think sharing that bed tonight was going to be that big of a deal.

(He was right. It was actually totally awesome. Dick was a fantastic kisser.)

Notes:

So what did you think? Worth the wait? A horrible disappointment? Not a fan of BirdFlash (not that I would take it out anyway, but still a nice poll to throw out there)? Thank you so much for keeping with my story and for reading it and (I hope) liking it! I’m a huge fan of comments and they always pick me up after a rough day, so don’t feel shy! I will love every word and letter! Have a lovely week, guys! Until next Tuesday, -author-chan

AO3 | Wattpad | FanFiction

[lincoln-cannon]

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS Church), the largest Mormon denomination, has had 16 presidents since and including Joseph Smith, the founding prophet of Mormonism. My favorite sermon delivered by Joseph Smith happens to have been the last sermon he delivered to Mormons gathered for a general conference of the Church. And I thought it would be interesting to go back, identify, and read the last sermons delivered to a general conference of the Church by its other presidents over the last two centuries. Below is a list of the last general conference sermons delivered by LDS Church presidents. The list doesn't include President Thomas Monson. He is alive and currently serving as president of the Church, although it's unclear whether his health will permit him to speak at the next general conference, which is coming up soon. So the list only includes fifteen presidents because we can't yet identify President Monson's last general conference sermon. I've also included links to transcripts and recordings, as well as excerpts that I particularly liked, or that I found particularly interesting or illustrative of the sermon. On a personal note, I'm inspired by much in these sermons. And I value the insights they provide into the evolution of my religion and culture, which I love. But I can't say I agree with everything in them. With other members of the LDS Church, I sustain these persons as apostles and prophets, not because I think them infallible and not because I feel any obligation to unquestioning obedience. To the contrary, I consider them all quite fallible, every bit as human as you and I. And I consider the notion of unquestioning obedience to be a stupendously bad idea in general. To sustain a person as an apostle and prophet means, to me, to support that person in the effort to be a messenger (meaning of "apostle" in Greek) and forth-teller (function of a prophet in the Hebrew tradition, as opposed to fortune-telling) of the Gospel of Christ. And I feel that I and others do that best when we seriously listen to their words, thinking about and feeling them, whether or not we end up agreeing with them. 1) Joseph Smith Date: April 1844 (2 months before death) Context: Nauvoo, Illinois, before pioneer migration Topic: Eternal Progression (transcript) Excerpt:

“Here, then, is eternal life: to know the only wise and true God. And you have got to learn how to be gods yourselves, and to be kings and priests to God, the same as all gods have done before you, namely, by going from one small degree to another, and from a small capacity to a great one; from grace to grace, from exaltation to exaltation, until you attain to the resurrection of the dead, and are able to dwell in everlasting burnings, and to sit in glory, as do those who sit enthroned in everlasting power.”

2) Brigham Young Date: April 1877 (4 months before death) Context: Saint George, Utah, for temple dedication Topic: Law of Consecration (transcript) Excerpt:

“Supposing that the property of the whole community were divided today equally amongst all, what might we expect? Why, a year from today, we should need another division, for some would waste and squander it away, while others would add to their portion. The skill of building up and establishing the Zion of our God on the Earth is to take the people and teach them how to take care of themselves and that which the Lord has entrusted to their care, and to use all that we command to glorify his holy name. This is the work of regenerating, of elevating mankind to the higher plane of the Gospel.”

3) John Taylor Date: October 1884 (3 years before death) Context: Political exile would begin in 4 months Topic: Persecution of Polygamists by US Government (transcript) Excerpt:

“The lowest class of men, who violate their marital relations, and trample under foot all principles of virtue and integrity, can go on our juries, can vote at the polls, through the intrigues of corrupt men. And they thus try to shackle a free people, bring them into bondage, and make slaves of them, unless they will bow to their infernal behests. And in the name of Israel's God, we will not do it. We are not going to elevate prostitutes and men who violate their marital relations above men and women who are virtuous, honorable and upright. These are my feelings, and I am not afraid to proclaim them to the world.”

4) Wilford Woodruff Date: April 1898 (5 months before death) Context: Church had publicly renounced polygamy in 1890 (8 years previously) Topic: Temple Work for Founders of US Government (transcript) Excerpt:

“Every one of those men that signed the Declaration of Independence, with General Washington, called upon me, as an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, in the Temple at St. George, two consecutive nights, and demanded at my hands that I should go forth and attend to the ordinances of the House of God for them. … Would those spirits have called upon me, as an Elder in Israel, to perform that work if they had not been noble spirits before God? They would not. I bear this testimony, because it is true. The Spirit of God bore record to myself and the brethren while we were laboring in that way.”

5) Lorenzo Snow Date: October 1901 (4 days before death) Context: Last president that knew Joseph Smith Topic: Duty of Stake Presidents (transcript) Excerpt:

“[Stake presidents] should consider the people in their respective Stakes, in their various dominions. They should regard them as their own family, as their sons and daughters; and take as deep an interest in them as they ought to take in their own wives and children. It should be their thought by day and by night, how and in what way they can be most serviceable to their respective charges. Oh, brethren, do remember these things that I am now talking about. Do not forget them.”

6) Joseph F. Smith Date: October 1918 (1 month before death) Context: World War I would end in 1 month (8 days before death) Topic: False Prophets (transcript) Excerpt:

“When you know God's truth, when you enter into God's rest, you will not be hunting after revelations from Tom, Dick and Harry all over the world. You will not be following the will of the wisps of the vagaries of men and women who advance nonsense and their own ideas. When you know the truth you will abide in the truth, and the truth will make you free, and it is only the truth that will free you from the errors of men, and from the falsehood and misrepresentations of the evil one who lays in wait to deceive and to mislead the people of God from the paths of righteousness and truth.”

7) Heber J. Grant Date: April 1945 (1 month before death) Context: World War II would end in 5 months (4 months after death) Topic: Good People Suffer (transcript) Excerpt:

“Into many of our homes sorrow has come since last conference. In the days ahead we must face the fact that more homes and more families will be broken by news of death and of other tragedies. May the peace and comfort of our Father in heaven bring its healing influence to all who are called upon to mourn and to bear affliction. And may we be strengthened with the understanding that being blessed does not mean that we shall always be spared all the disappointments and difficulties of life. We all have them, even though our troubles differ.”

8) George Albert Smith Date: October 1950 (6 months before death) Topic: Inspiration from Scripture and Ritual (transcript) Excerpt:

“What I want to emphasize is this: Not only do we have all that is contained in these sacred records, but also when you have received the gospel, been baptized, had the hands of the servants of the Lord laid upon your head and received the Holy Ghost, you have a right to the inspiration of the Almighty, if you live to be worthy of it.”

9) David O. McKay Date: October 1969 (3 months before death) Context: Read by his son (he had not spoken directly in general conference since October 1966) Topic: Value of the Church (transcript) Excerpt:

“Think what the Church is doing to help this army of leaders and teachers as individuals to become strong in the battle against the forces of the world! First, it places upon them the obligation of teaching their fellowmen by example, and there is no better safeguard placed upon an honest man or a sincere woman. Second, it develops the divine attribute of love for others. … The third requirement is purity of life. … Finally, it gives these leaders and teachers an opportunity to serve their fellowmen and thereby magnify the calling that has come to them and, indeed, to prove that they are real disciples of Christ.”

10) Joseph Fielding Smith Date: April 1972 (3 months before death) Topic: Gratitude (transcript and recording) Excerpt:

“I think we should conclude on a tone of thanksgiving, of blessing, and of testimony. I have no language to convey the feelings of thanksgiving which are in my heart for the infinite and eternal blessings the Lord has given to me, to my family, to the Church, and, in fact, to the whole world.”

11) Harold B. Lee Date: October 1973 (2 months before death) Topic: End of the World (transcript) Excerpt:

“[Matt 24] … Brothers and sisters, this is the day the Lord is speaking of. You see the signs are here. Be ye therefore ready. … Let us not turn a deaf ear now, but listen to these as the words that have come from the Lord, inspired of him, and we will be safe on Zion's hill, until all that the Lord has for his children shall have been accomplished. … And so, in the closing moments of this conference, I have been moved as I think I have never been moved before in all my life.”

12) Spencer W. Kimball Date: October 1982 (3 years before death) Context: Read by his secretary (he had not spoken directly in conference since April 1981) Topic: Mormons Are Christians (transcript and recording) Excerpt:

“There are some in the world who mistakenly say that we are a non-Christian Church, a cult, that we worship Joseph Smith rather than our Savior, Jesus Christ. How far from the truth they are! What heresy! … For the past century and a half since the Restoration, beginning with the Prophet Joseph Smith, the latter-day prophets of God have raised their voices in clarity and with authority and truth as they have borne their testimonies of the divinity of this great latter-day work and the redemptive power of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

13) Ezra Taft Benson Date: September 1989 (5 years before death) Context: Read by his counselor (he had not spoken directly in conference since April 1989) Topic: To the Elderly (transcript and recording) Excerpt:

“May we suggest eight areas in which we can make the most of our senior years: 1. Work in the temple and attend often. … 2. Collect and write family histories. … 3. Become involved in missionary service. … 4. Provide leadership by building family togetherness. … 5. Accept and fulfill Church callings. … 6. Plan for your financial future. … 7. Render Christlike service. … 8. Stay physically fit, healthy, and active.”

14) Howard W. Hunter Date: October 1994 (5 months before death) Topic: Become Like Christ (transcript and recording) Excerpt:

“Let us follow the Son of God in all ways and all walks of life. Let us make him our exemplar and our guide. We are at a time in the history of the world and the growth of the Church when we must think more of holy things and act more like the Savior would expect his disciples to act. We should at every opportunity ask ourselves, ‘What would Jesus do?’ and then act more courageously upon the answer. We must be about his work as he was about his Father's. We should make every effort to become like Christ, the one perfect and sinless example this world has ever seen.”

15) Gordon B. Hinckley Date: October 2007 (3 months before death) Topic: Joseph Smith (transcript and recording) Excerpt:

“To you, this day, I affirm my witness of the calling of the Prophet Joseph, of his works, of the sealing of his testimony with his blood as a martyr to the eternal truth. Each of you can bear witness of the same thing. You and I are faced with the stark question of accepting the truth of the First Vision and that which followed it. On the question of its reality lies the very validity of this Church. If it is the truth, and I testify that it is, then the work in which we are engaged is the most important work on the earth.”

[Thanks for reading! You might also be interested in "The Consolation: An Interpretive Variation on the Last General Conference Sermon of Joseph Smith".] Originally published at lincoln.metacannon.net on September 22, 2017 at 05:45PM.

[kingsterracerp-blog]

Thank you for applying, JO. You have been accepted as LAURENCE LEWIS. Just don’t forget to check out our CHECKLIST and send in your account within 24 HOURS. If you have any questions then let us know!

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME: Jo AGE: 20. TIMEZONE: EST ACTIVITY LEVEL: 6-9/10. I can be on every day and at least do my replies for the most part. PRONOUNS: she/her SHIPS: /chem, /females ANTI-SHIPS: /males TRIGGERS: Removed. PASSWORD: Removed. ANYTHING ELSE: N/A.

IN CHARACTER.

DESIRED CHARACTER: Laurence Lou Lewis. NICKNAMES: Laurie, Laurie-Lou AGE/BIRTH ORDER: 23, youngest FACECLAIM: Dylan O’Brien GENDER IDENTITY/PRONOUNS: he/him SEXUAL/ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: heterosexual, heteromantic OCCUPATION/EDUCATION: Boston University student, majoring in ASL and Education. Tutor for deaf children as his job.

(MORE) IN CHARACTER.

POSITIVES: hardworking, kind, intelligent. NEGATIVES: stubborn, timid, self-destructive.

@laurielou: long nights = more coffee. @laurielou: why do people get mad when i write things down? like, hello. i can’t hear you. @laurielou: guardians of the galaxy ruled.

BIOGRAPHY.

**  TW MENTAL ILLNESS MENTION, DRUG MENTION, ALCOHOL MENTION, ADDICTION MENTION, ABUSE MENTION, ANOREXIA NERVOSA, WAR, PTSD **

Laurence Lou Lewis couldn’t ever find his voice. Even when he was a tiny baby, he was quiet. In his suffering, he was quiet. If you watched him, you could see how he was though. Taking in the world with a soft of gentle touch. While he lived no where near a perfect life, Laurence was happy with it. He didn’t mind the way of the world. Laurence looked up to his mother as any little boy would. He loved her dearly, despite all the bad things that happened.

His twin often took care of him. Laurence wasn’t sure why he didn’t take care of the other. It seemed odd, for one to be the big brother and the other to be complacent, but that was just his personality. Laurence wasn’t a fighter. He never wanted to fight with anyone. Instead, he sat and waited for his mom to come around. For his brother to take care of himself for once. Laurence didn’t know how to start this sequence of events, but he knew he would do it. What his twin didn’t know is that he would give up his food at lunch— he was constantly stressed out, despite his lack of ability to fight. He didn’t eat till he needed too. Laurence thought that this would save them money, that then his twin wouldn’t have to be a man anymore and that Laurence could be a man too. This is where his habit of not eating came into play.

Then, Bo came into the picture and life was good for a while. That’s where Laurence got the nickname Laurie, from Bo. He was such a small child, smaller than his brother in stature. You could often see his ribs, a side affect from not eating. The not eating got worse as the relationship with Bo continued. He was not the dream that made their lives better. No, he was the opposite.

The drinks in his hand would turn out to be Laurie’s least favorite thing. He and his mom would drink, and it became a cycle. She got into harder stuff, and she changed from that girl she used to be. Laurie didn’t look up to her anymore. He hid in his room most days, or if he was feeling lonely, her room. He’d peek his head over hers, and curl up in the blanket next to her as she told him to leave. After a minute, he would. Laurie couldn’t stand to see her sad. He was sad too, but hid it better. He smiled more than she did.

As the fights got worse, the more bruises there were, the less Laurie ate. He hated eating at this point, fighting every urge for food. It was worse than before. He drank water, chewed gum, anything to curb the appetite. Laurie ate just enough to keep his body alive— barely. While his brother lashed out, Laurie kept quiet. He studied harder, late nights that kept him pushing through. However, the boy didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He was in JROTC for middle school, and ROTC seemed like a good thing to do.

But, he was so frail. So, Laurie tried to start liking food again. He tried his hardest to fix his problem. It was impossible, honestly. But, now, he ate the right amount to stay fit. Laurie hated it, but he did it. At 16, he met an army recruiter. At 18, he enlisted, and went to basic training. Laurie learned everything there was to know, and gave it his all at all times. The nights with no sleep, the little food, the power to push through the fear; all these things in his past life helped him with the army.

He was deployed at 19, and served over in the Iraqi War. He did this for 18 months, came back to nothing, and then went back. At 21, he was an officer, and they were embarking on a desert journey. Everything went black, and when Laurie woke up, his sense of hearing was gone. He had a traumatic brain injury that caused him to be deaf.

Laurie had to relearn life all over again. With PTSD, no ability to hear and no understanding of American Sign Language, Laurie decided to go to Boston University and get his degree in ASL. After a year of studying there, he added on Elementary Education so he could teach at the school for the deaf in Boston.

While all this has been going on, Laurie has turned to not eating again. He rarely makes himself do it, still wanting control in his life. After living in the dorms, Laurie decided to go to King’s Terrance, after hearing really nice things about it. Boston seems to be a new home for him, and Laurie is fine with that.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE.

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST STRENGTH? HOW DOES IT COME IN HANDY?

My greatest strength is my courage. Whenever something is hard, you have to do it. And I do the things that are hard, and the things I don’t want to do. After being in the Army, life afterwards is extremely difficult, but you manage. You always have to manage. That’s how it comes in handy, learning to manage everything that scares you and doing the quiet things that scare you too. So yeah, I’m courageous, I guess.

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESS? HOW DOES IT AFFECT YOUR DAY-TO-DAY LIFE?

Um, well, I think it’s the fact I’m terrified. Even though I am courageous the fear somehow engulfs me at times. Yeah, I know. I just am still learning how to be a person with a disability and keep my life together. I’m always scared that I’ll have a flashback in public and won’t be able to tell anyone. Y’know?

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN TEN YEARS?

Teaching. Hopefully I’ll have a wife and maybe a kid. I really just want to be happy, though. I think that’s what I’ve always wanted. So, yeah. Teaching. Wife. Kid. Happy. That’s where I see myself in 10 years. That’s where I’ll hope I’ll be in 10 years.

WHAT BROUGHT YOU TO KING’S TERRACE?

It’s convenient. I hated my dorm. And it’s a nice complex. I really just want to make connections with people again. I’m very excited to move in. It’s been a…..n interesting life. I’m just ready to move past it and tell myself that it’ll be alright. And, I think being here will do that.

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME AND TELL YOUR YOUNGER SELF SOMETHING, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

Life doesn’t get easier, but it won’t suck as much. You’ll make friends; you’ll get past all the bullshit. You won’t make it very far, but you’ll be out of that town before you know it. There will be new bullshit to deal with, though, and it won’t be nice. But you’re tough; you’ll get through it. You always did.