#miniseries complete!

[buckyismybicycle]

AAAAAAAAND we're finally done with this one!

Chapter 3/3 is live!

Written for @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer, Week 7: "Who's this?" - My Pet

Thank you to everyone for the love, support, reblogs, and screaming 💗 You are all very much appreciated!

Title: the (pineapple) contract - chapter 1/3 Rating: Explicit Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes/Escort!Reader (F) Tags/Warnings: Big Dick Bucky Barnes, Top Bucky, Dom/sub Undertones, Confident Bucky Barnes, Oral Sex (by that I mean Bucky eats you out like a starved man), Praise, Pet Names, Painful Sex, Crying/Crygasm, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Until You Black Out, no beta we die like thanos Summary: Well, the contract said Personal Care Attendant and technically, the Winter Soldier wasn’t on the active roster. Yet. But the point still stands. He more or less owned you now.

You take one last deep breath before knocking on the door.

Part of the "Bucky Barnes As..." series & Hot Bucky Summer 2023

hosted by @buckybarnesevents Week 3: "Where do you want me?" Kneeling | In My Lap | Bent Over

We'll be back for Week 6 (Chapter 2) and Week 3 (Chapter 3)

>>AO3 Link<<

The cheque in your hand has far too many digits in it — you’ve never seen two commas in the number, made out to you of all people. Hell, you wouldn’t have cared what the hell the job was, you would’ve said yes anyway.

You just never imagined that trying to pick up Tony Stark on Park Avenue would be a job interview.

“Name your price,” he had said.

You probably would’ve slept with him for zero, but when you had jokingly said a million dollars, you never thought he’d actually follow through. First came the NDA, then the contract and benefits package, and now…

Now, you stood outside a dull-looking door trying to calm yourself down about the fact that you were about to whore yourself out to an Avenger.

Enclosed for your review is a copy of your job description, benefits package, and the corresponding appendices. Should you wish to accept this offer, your contract and a questionnaire are emailed for your review and return. Upon receiving your executed contract and completed questionnaire, should your answers be compatible, we will reach out to schedule your start date.

Well, the contract said Personal Care Attendant and technically, the Winter Soldier wasn’t on the active roster. Yet. But the point still stands. He more or less owned you now.

You take one last deep breath before knocking on the door.

The man that opens it is not the man from the online articles and archives. He isn’t long-haired, dead-eyed and clad in murder gear (because there really wasn’t any other word for it). No, the person that stands in front of you is seemingly flawless, the sunlight from his windows surrounding him in a glowing warmth.

He quite literally takes your breath away.

��Can I help you?” He finally asks, shifting his weight ever so slightly.

Right. You clear your throat, offering your hand as you introduce yourself.

He studies you intently, his eyes obviously tracking you from head to toe, but doesn’t say anything else as he shakes your hand firmly. “Bucky,” he responds in kind.

“I’m, um, I’m here because…” Oh god, what if he had no idea?

He quirked an eyebrow up at you.

“I’m here as a… As your personal care attendant?” As soon as you say the words, you feel silly. Your cheeks start to flush, but it’s nothing compared to what he says next.

“Then you’re late, kitten.”

(4) Your duties will include, but are not limited to (a)Providing thorough, attentive care to the client within reasonable allowance, even outside of those covered in (5). (b)Receive and follow instruction from the client within reasonable allowance, even outside of those covered in (6) (c)Commence reasonable care should the client require it at your discretion, without infringement of (8)(a), (b) or (c) (4)(c)(i)The term “care” will include, but is not limited to… (ii)Psychological care as set out in Appendix I (iii)Domestic care as set out in Appendix I (iv)Physical care as set out in Appendix I, II and III

It was very evident that he wasn’t expecting you to take care of him so much as take care of him. His apartment was spotless, though the lack of furniture and possessions might be the biggest reason.

“So. You know what this entails.” It comes like more of a statement than a question, but admittedly, that does a lot for you. You looked at him, cross-armed and leaning against the back of his couch. Tugging at the bottom of your dress, you tried to remember how to simply act normal and nod, a little less shy, slipping into your role with a little more ease.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a look of amusement on his face, so you make a note of that.

“Hard limits?”

“None,” you answer quickly.

“I find that hard to believe,” he fires back. “Everyone has limits.”

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking about his, though he reads your expression well enough.

“I have too many to list,” he says. “Which is why I prefer to just control the situation.”

God help me. It sounded too good to be true, that maybe — just maybe — he was made for you.

Or you were made for him, at least. His pleasure.

“That sounds good to me,” you say all too brightly. “Sir.”

He smirks at that, and you’re absolutely done for.

“You don’t have to keep calling me that,” he tells you, beckoning you to follow him. “Though I do like it.”

You decided right then and there that you would do pretty much anything with him. For him.

“So, about those limits —”

“Knife Play,” you blurt out once you reach his bedroom. “That’s — that’s the only one I don’t think I can do.”

He turns and gives you a look. “Why, because I’m the Winter Soldier, you think I’m automatically into knife play?”

“OH MY GOD!” You exclaim, slapping your hands over your mouth at your blunder. “No! No, oh my god, that’s not what I meant!”

You’re about to grovel at his feet when he starts to chuckle softly.

“Relax,” he says easily, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “That’s fine. I’m not gonna throw you into the fire just yet.”

Yet. You’re not sure if that was meant as a threat but it sounds more like a promise if you’re being honest.

“I can handle more than you think,” you say, pursing your lips.

“S’that right?”

The challenge in his voice has you nearly quivering and you’ve barely even started. You give him a little shrug before nodding, trying to give as good as you got.

“C’mere here,” he coaxes softly, hand outstretched. It’s stunning, the black and gold, intricate and precise — more sophisticated than anything you’ve ever seen.

You take it and ease yourself down on his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hands far gentler on your waist than you thought they could be. The blue of his eyes is even brighter this close up, light with mischief and wide with wonder as he looks at you, like you were something to be discovered, explored.

“Safe word still pineapple?”

Looks like he read your questionnaire after all. You nod again, the energy thrumming just under your skin as his hands slowly travel up your sides and back before ending up at your neck. He can probably feel your small shudder or your thundering pulse. At the very least, he can certainly see the goosebumps forming under his fingertips.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

With that, he claims your lips, your body, your very existence as if it was his only goal. And god, does it work.

There is no part of you that doesn’t immediately belong to Bucky at that moment. His tongue parts your lips and moves confidently as he devours you, taking you apart. Each swipe of his tongue is firm and purposeful — designed to steal your breath away as his hands map out your body.

You can’t stop the gasp that escapes against his lips or the way your body tenses in his arms, muscles coiled to try and stop yourself from just dripping all over his lap.

It takes you far too long to realize the game you’re playing — well, that Bucky’s playing. You’re simply along for the ride as he catalogs all your reactions from each shiver of your body to every moan and shaky breath you let out. Within a few minutes, you’ve already revealed all your cards without even knowing that’s what you’re doing.

You’re embarrassingly short of breath when he pulls back to survey you.

“You make such beautiful sounds,” he says, nonchalant as if your heart rate wasn’t skyrocketing.

“You’re a damned good kisser,” you respond/

He gives you a cheeky grin that would’ve made your knees buckle if you weren’t seated on him. “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.”

You run your hands up his chest, marveling at how firm it was. For a brief moment, you forget who he is and just touch. As your fingertips roam upward, you memorize the arch of his clavicle that leads to the dip in the hollow of his throat underneath his Adam’s apple.

You shift slightly, getting ready to slide off and sink to your knees to service him.

“Like what you see?” He asks — except this time the cocky tone has a softness to it that you're not sure he even caught. As if there was just a bit of something behind that seemingly unshakable confidence.

“Yes,” you answer simply with a smile. “I really, really do.” It’s true, after all. He wasn’t just handsome, wasn’t just pretty, there was something about him that was so alluring, you found yourself forgetting your contract almost entirely.

It’s the right answer, apparently, because he flips over to lay you down in the center of his bed, throwing your plans to kneel for him right out the window.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of just how much bigger he is than you. He’s an imposing figure, there’s no arguing that, but when he had first invited you inside, it hadn’t been your focus. Now, with the cool, soft sheets at your back and his thighs settling between yours, you feel like trapped prey to the king of the jungle.

You knew that a serum pumped through his veins that made him infinitely stronger, but your history books always said that the serum wasn’t like Captain America’s. It didn’t shoot him up nearly a foot and slap on nearly 150 pounds.

No, these are all muscles that he had to work for and train for, that he has to maintain. The very same muscles that pressed against the inside of your thighs as he settled in above you, dwarfing you.

“Okay?”

It catches you by surprise. Really, you were his property, he owned you, and could do whatever he pleased with you. That’s what you had signed up for. Ever since signing all those papers, you had braced yourself for the worst of it — after all, you’d come across plenty of people who only ever wanted to assert their power over you because of what you were and what you did.

So this? The pause, the way his eyes search yours for a truthful answer, the way he asks so tenderly? All unexpected when what you thought you would receive was something harsh, sharp, and as cold as his moniker suggests.

From here, looking up at him, though? He looks like an angel. The overhead light isn’t too bright ad the soft, warm halo of light makes him ethereal — all smooth skin and eyes like the sky.

“Very okay,” you reply, your cheeks unusually warm. You don’t get flustered anymore — or so you thought. Wrapping your hands around the back of his neck, you urge him closer, eager to kiss him again.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs as he closes in. This time, he kisses down your neck instead. His teeth softly graze against your skin every now and then as he makes his way to the centre of your chest.

That’s my girl. You don’t know if that’s just his sweet talk or if he’s finally asserting his ownership of you. Either way, it gets you all worked up, especially when his hands join his mouth in their exploration of your body, gentle but firm as he gropes at you.

By the time he reaches the hem of your dress, every inch of you is covered in goosebumps.

Expecting him to rip it off, your breath catches when he simply sits back on his haunches and runs his hands up your thighs. They disappear from sight under your dress but you can certainly feel their presence, skin hot and metal slightly cooler.

Your legs spread for him so easily it’s almost laughable.

(10) You are expected to carry out your duties with discretion, professionalism and a high level of enthusiasm. Criticism will not be tolerated.

“Pretty girl, are you already drippin’ wet for me, hm?”

You’re almost afraid to speak, knowing full well that a bunch of embarrassing noises are pent up inside you right now. Where you wish Bucky was right now.

You take a deep breath in. “Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look — a fond one that most people give their pets — and it inexplicably makes your heart race.

“You don’t mind if I have a little taste now, do you?” He asks, fingers already curling around your panties and tugging them down.

“Please,” you let slip, waiting for him to lower himself to the mattress.

Instead, you yelp when he suddenly hauls your lower half up by the hips. You figure you must look like quite the sight, tits jiggling with the movement as you find yourself nearly suspended with your legs slung over his shoulders.

You don’t even get the chance to speak before he lowers his mouth and makes your entire body come alive for the first time in ages.

“Oh!” You cry out, hands gripping the first thing they can find: his thighs.

He chuckles against your cunt, tickling you in the most intimate sense while your fingers dig into hard muscle.

Your legs automatically tense up, ankles loosely locking behind his back as he keeps working your cunt, tongue gliding up and down your folds easily. His tongue is a wicked thing, a sin all on its own, as it draws the most guttural sound out of you

Seemingly satisfied that you’re secured, he runs his hands up your thighs and slips behind to knead your ass, large hands cupping you perfectly.

“Bu…”

You lose your train of thought when he slips his thumb inside of you, tongue following closely, fucking in and out shallowly. “Oh god, fuck, fuck!”

“Sweet as honey, baby,” he purrs, licking a long stripe up to your clit and sealing his lips around it. His other arm wraps around your hips to support you through the involuntary spasms that wrack your body as he circles his tongue around you, torturously slow to draw every last breath out from your lungs.

“W-wait,” you pant out, flushed and warm all over. “This should - it’s about you —

The corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly as he smiles deviously, the coarse hairs of his scruff tickling you.. “Oh, it is, honey. I'm enjoying myself just fine.”

To prove his point, he presses his hips forward and along your back you feel a faint, long, thick heat.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, imagination already running wild with how good that’s going to feel inside you.

“Gettin’ there,” Bucky quips, returning to his task.

He’s diligent about switching between suckling you and curling that sinful tongue of his, flicking it over your clit just firm enough, just slow enough, that every drag feels like it’s breaking you open.

You feel yourself unraveling, like a runaway spool of thread and you desperately trying to hold on, hands clamoring for purchase as your body comes undone.

“Bucky!” You cry out, hands grabbing onto the arm wrapped around your waist. You’ve never whined the way you do right now, trembling in Bucky’s hold as he slows his movements, giving you just a moment of reprieve.

The look in Bucky’s eyes is predatory as he waits for you to regain your breath before giving you a final, harsh suck, teeth grazing over the sensitive nerves that nearly makes you come again just from that.

He finally lowers you to the mattress — a trembling, flushed mess — before undressing himself. It’s almost clinical, without fanfare, and that just doesn’t seem right to you when he’s unrevealing such beauty. As he strips, revealing all that gorgeous, smooth skin, you try to sit up even if you felt like your entire body was jello. You just wanted to reach out, to touch, and you were so enraptured by him, by his body, that when your eyes finally roamed south you gasped.

“Holy shit,” you blurt out. You think back to when Bucky originally asked you “like what you see?” not realizing just how much you would.

Your hand has never looked smaller than it does right now, wrapped around Bucky’s monstrous cock, hot and heavy against your palm. Subconsciously, you lick your lips as you watch precome starting to bead at his swollen tip.

You keep your grip firm as you give him a full stroke and your eyes drink in the sight before you — Bucky’s face, lax with pleasure, and the minute twitches of his muscles at your simple touch. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s been intimate with someone — if that’s why you were offered so much money to be for his personal, constant use.

“Your cock is gorgeous,” you tell him, hand getting used to the weight and length of it. “Want this inside of me, right now.”

Bucky’s face morphs into something even hungrier. He lowers his hips, cock nearly scalding against you. For the first time, his voice sounds less than perfectly in control. “I can’t catch or carry anything.”

You already knew that from the massive package of paperwork.

“And I can’t get you pregnant.”

You knew that, too, but again he sounds so clinical about it, you wonder if it bothers him at all.

“Yeah, handsome,” you nod, smiling dopily. “Rawdog me.”

Bucky makes a sound like a cut-off laugh, and you can’t help but feel victorious when a smile breaks out on his face.

“You’re somethin’ else, sugar.”

There’s a shift in the air, the both of you settling into each other like you’re not two absolute strangers as he presses his body to yours, cock sliding over your tender clit and across the slick of your folds.

You wrap your legs around him and dig your heels into his back as if to say c’mon, c’mon! Hurry up!

You thought you were ready. You’ve never had this issue before. But as Bucky starts to nudge the head of his cock in, you inhale sharply, your body immediately tensing to reject the intrusion.

He pauses to pull back and look at you.

“Sorry,” you say in a hurry, nervous and embarrassed by your reaction. You bring your hands to the side of his face trying to show him that it’s nothing he’s done. “You… You’re just, um…”

His eyes narrow slightly, eyebrow furrowing as he goes to pull away.

“Wait!” You keep your legs firmly wrapped around him, trying to trap him even though you were no match for his strength. “It’s not you. Well, sort of. It’s just that… You’re fucking huge, Bucky. I’ve never…”

His eyes widen in surprise, evidently not expecting your answer though you don’t miss the way his cock twitches between your legs. Then his look softens and he kisses you sweetly — more tender than anyone’s ever kissed you before.

“Roll over for me,” he commands gently.

As you do so, you watch him open the nightstand and to your relief, pulls out a bottle of lube. Natural instincts take over at that point — you prop yourself up on your knees, spreading them until you’re comfortable, and keep your chest to bed, arching your back.

He makes a pleased sound behind you. “Lookit you, babydoll. Bent over and spread open for me like a good girl.”

Your toes curl slightly at his words and your whole body tightens when you feel his fingers slip into you, the lube cool against your heated cunt.

“Relax, princess,” he coos, his other hand trailing down your spine. “Be a good kitten and just let me open you up, alright?”

You’ve lost the ability to form words so you nod against the sheets instead as you will your body to relax. Soon, you forget about your mission to take Bucky’s giant cock and start to lose yourself to the feeling of Bucky's fingers inside you. They’re just as talented as his tongue, expertly navigating all your sweet spots, some of which you didn’t even know you had.

“God, you feel you so good,” you groan, fingers curling in the sheets, clinging on for dear life.

“Oh, we’re jus’ getting started, baby.” His other hand returns to your near-overworked clit and you’re dangerously close to coming again.

You turn to look over your shoulder, intending to stop him. Instead, you jolt as he gives your cheek a lovebite, beard scratching against your ass while he curls his fingers inside you and pulls the orgasm from you. Your back arches as you scream out at the unexpected whirlwind of pleasure that travels through every vein of your body.

“Shhh, sh, you’re alright, sweet thing.” His voice is low and soothing.

You want to tell him that you’re more than alright, that you’ve never been pulled apart like this, that you’ve never come just from someone’s fingers, that you’ve never seen such a fat cock in your life. But all you can do is nod frantically, panting as your body comes down from the high.

“Think you’re ready, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You let out a breathy moan as you reach back blindly for him. “Yes, Bucky, yeah. Gimme that perfect cock of yours.”

While you can’t see his expression, you hear a soft huff from him before the head of his cock is at your eager hole again. You feel him give himself a few pumps, slicking himself up with more lube, taking the time and care not to hurt you.

This time, you’re ready for it. As he enters, you exhale, your muscles loosening to let him in.

More than just let him in — welcome him, pull him in, making yourself the perfect fucking home for his cock.

“Goddamnit, sweets,” he murmurs, lowering his chest to your back, the cold metal of his dog tags on your spine. “Y’feel like a dream.”

“You’re one to talk,” you manage to gasp out, eyes scrunched as all of your attention is focused on the delicious stretch.

He brushes your hair to one side and for a moment, all you do is look at each other in the moment.

You reach out to trail your fingers along his wrist and he goes to press a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“M’gonna move, ‘kay?”

In lieu of a response, you clench down on him and grin when he hisses at the sensation.

“Watch it…” The low rumble of his voice only spurs you on, so you do it again, this time wriggling underneath him.

“C’mon, Bucky, please won’t you fuck me?” You taunt, your voice coy. “Put that fat cock of yours to use, huh?”

There are no words this time, only a soft clicking as you watch in fascination while his arm calibrates ever so slightly. You think you hear him mutter “you asked for it” but you can’t be sure because your own cries fill the room as he pulls back a few inches and thrusts back into you.

“This what you wanted?” Bucky growls before he gives your ass a light swat.

“More,” you beg him, despite the twinge of pain as your body tries to adjust and accommodate Bucky’s girth.

Bucky must read it as a challenge because he doesn’t go easy on you — after a few long, controlled thrusts, he must deem you ready.

You’re not sure anyone could quite be ready for the ravaging storm that is Bucky.

He fucks you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to fuck anyone — determination and desperation wrapped up in superhuman stamina and strength. Without a doubt, you know you’re going to walk away with bruises — on your hips from where he grabs you, your thighs and ass from where he slams into you.

“Sh-shit,” you curse, panting into the sheets that you’ve bunched in your fists. Your hair sticks to your neck with the sweat building as your body tries to keep up with the assault. “So fucking - good, Bucky. Your cock feels so good — splitting me in half.”

Bucky makes an animalistic noise in his throat, yanking your hips back to him as he plants his hand beside your head, arm anchoring you in place.

Oh, fuck. As anticipated, he rails you within an inch of your life — you’re struggling to breath, heaving for air, and your eyes are scrunched shut to stop the tears from actually spilling.

“Okay there, sweetheart?”

Fuck him for not even sounding out of air. “Ssso goo-ood,” you slur, a litany of gasps and moans follow. “Love — that you’re — tearing me apart.”

Bucky’s voice is positively gleeful. “Yeah? You like getting fucked so hard you can’t even keep your eyes open?”

You make a conscious effort to crack an eye open and fire back. “Yeah. Fuck, you’re so deep I can feel you in my throat.”

“That can be arranged, honey,” he teases, hauling your hips up for an excruciating angle that makes you come so hard your vision turns white.

“Fucking gorgeous when you come,” he praises and you can’t formulate the words to reply.

“Ah, ah, nnngh, ah, f-fuck,” you babble, vision blurry as you tear up. It hurts but it’s beautiful, it’s brutal but controlled. It’s fucking perfect. You’d tell him just that, if had any air left in your lungs.

The last thing you hear is Bucky’s voice shushing you and telling you to rest before it all turns black.

[dindjarindiaries]

Din girlies HANG ON!!! I have an idea for a one-shot that I think is *chef's kiss* but I'm on a roll with my Hunter series at the moment so <3 it's marinating in my brain okay I promise

[bluebellsinthedells]

[outdated2014tmblrcontent]

i feel like im the only one who actually likes richie's moustache 😔💔

[cantsayidont]

September 1980. Yet another change in direction for the Bronze Age Wonder Woman, and the addition of a new eight-page backup strip starring the Huntress, daughter of Earth-2's late Batman and Catwoman. The "new twist" for Wonder Woman was the second return of Steve Trevor. Steve had been killed off back in 1968 (in WONDER WOMAN #180); he returned briefly in 1974 as a "mentally-induced" illusion and was resurrected for real two years later (in WONDER WOMAN #223). He died again in WONDER WOMAN #248, leaving Diana bereft. In the issue before this one, Hippolyta prays for Aphrodite to cut Diana some slack, which the goddess does by using the Mists of Nepenthe to erase Diana's memories of Steve. Almost immediately after that, the Steve Trevor of a parallel Earth crash-lands near Paradise Island and is rescued by Diana as she did in her first meeting with the Earth-1 Steve. In this issue, Aphrodite says she can't send this Steve home, "for even I do not know from which of an infinity of worlds he came," so Hippolyta sends Diana to take him back to Man's World and resume her role as Wonder Woman, while Aphrodite uses the Mists of Nepenthe to "cause every man, woman, and child on Earth to forget that Steve Trevor ever died." The only one on Earth who remembers the truth is Hippolyta. (This blew up later: Diana eventually discovered that her memories had been altered and was not happy about it, although she and this Steve got married during the Crisis.) All very messy.

The new Huntress backup strip picked up from Helena Wayne's short-lived feature in THE BATMAN FAMILY, which had ended temporarily when that book was folded into DETECTIVE COMICS. Initially written by Paul Levitz and drawn by Joe Staton (inked in this first three-part story by Steve Mitchell), the eight-page strip quickly overshadowed the main feature in quality and coherency, and the conventional wisdom was that between 1980 and 1984, many readers were buying this book for Helena rather than Wonder Woman. The strip lost some steam in 1982 with the departure of Levitz, succeeded by Joey Cavalieri, and then the loss of Staton, leading to more than a year and a half of artistic musical chairs. The backup was finally dropped from WONDER WOMAN in 1984, but the final installment in issue #321 proclaimed, "Word has it that people want a full-length Huntress comic every month…so we're working on it--no fooling! Keep your eyes open for a mini-series, coming soon to a comic rack near you!" In the letters page, editor Alan Gold said there would soon be a four-issue miniseries by Cavalieri and Eduardo Barreto, but it never materialized, and the Huntress met a much crueler fate in CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS.

Without her, WONDER WOMAN was soon demoted from monthly to bimonthly status, managing only eight more issues before it was canceled in early 1986 in anticipation of its post-Crisis relaunch.

[king-of-the-mouseboys]

remember how I said spooky season is making me more deranged?

yeah, spooky season is making me EVEN MORE FUCKIN DERANGED

anyways thinking about getting kidnapped but like in a pre-planned “oh boy I sure hope I don’t get stolen away for the night by someone who adores me and might be a little obsessed with me!! anyways time to go for a nice lil midnight walk down this alleyway :)” way

[deus-ex-mona]

day 1000-something of wishing that this had been added to honeypre before it eosed

[morningflew]

i need to write a stark

[smute]

i was so excited (well kind of excited) for the hijack series but oh my god it's bad. and i havent even gotten to the good part yet! the first ep alone has so many plot holes (spoiler warning) from the behavior of the crew to the pilot opening the cockpit door just because they're pointing a gun at his fuckbuddy to the fact that he is able to CHANGE HIS MIND about the emergency on board talking to atc like "yeah never mind it's all good now" LIKE YOU HAVE TO LAUGH

[chaosmenu]

scavengers reign season 2 cancelled at max but netflix said they 'might' pick it up. lol were never getting a season 2😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

yes there are more and more childrens works nowadays that do talk about the moral implications of putting children in dangerous situations but it’s usually like. really clear if that’s what the work wants to talk about. otherwise children’s media have child protagonists get up to funky adventures and save the world because it’s children’s media. targeted towards children. who have rich internal lives outside of their interactions with adults. who want to see people like themselves be the hero of a story same as adults do.

like as a fan of childrens shows myself im certainly not going to scoff at adults who like children’s shows bc some of them are genuinely good but. if youre not part of the target audience then it’s expected that you go into children’s media with some suspension of disbelief? like no a plucky 12 year old irl probably can’t fight god no matter how much they love their friends and if a creepy old man beams out of the sky to tell them to then you should probably call the police. but if the show is positing the plucky 12 year old as the protag and the creepy old man as their mentor then just. go with it?

there is media that shows how a child protagonists’s adventures could be traumatizing and how the adults around the protag have failed them by letting them go on an adventure in the first place. that kind of story can resonate with kids too. but your takeaway from that kind of story should be “sometimes adults put kids in unfair situations and this is a fantastical representation of an irl situation.” your takaway shouldn’t be “the adults in this story suck for letting a 10 year old fight a dragon therefore every single story where a 10 year old fights a dragon should also talk about why all the adults involved suck and if they don’t then it’s a bad story” like. the dragon is not the point here!

frankly if you look at children’s media and cannot bring yourself to do the one bit of suspension of disbelief needed to keep the story going then. what are you doing here? if you want to explore how adults put children in dangerous situations and use an adventure style story as a backdrop then there are many works, both for children and adults, that explore this. but just because a piece of children’s media has the same vibes as another piece that explores something doesn’t make the first piece bad if it doesn’t explore it.

what you want is just a different story at that point. possibly one targeted at older audiences. or you’re just trying to be edgy. either way if you’re complaining about something like that then you need to understand that there are some stories that you’ll only be satisfied with if you rewrite the entire plot itself. at that point just reread/rewatch the thing you actually like instead of rewriting the whole book/show/movie to be a clone of it.

[televinita]

Delighted to report that after lasting 17 hours from the release of episode 1, less than an hour for episode 2, and "sitting on the couch like a quivering terrier, remote in hand, ten minutes before 8 and desperately running down the clock until I can hit Play" for episode 3, I am in fact fully in Hyper Obsessive Anticipation about this show again, and even if it only happens to me for one series a year at this point, this feeling is so beautiful it is WORTH IT.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 1: Dance

WIP: Partners Pairing: Ben x Reagan Timeline: what is this...1954 I think? god I don't know. it's between installments 1 & 2 of the "trilogy" CW: none Rating: T Words: 1,257

***

Reagan paced on the flagstone patio of the venue, cigarette in hand and humming along with the soft, slow jazz bleeding through the glass door. The three flutes of champagne he'd imbibed were making a noticeable dent in his focus, and he lost himself within the peaceful thrum of the world outside, in the cool night air, as wedding guests and bride and groom danced inside.

He started to sing, knocking ashes to the floor and tipping his face toward the sky. The song didn't have words, but he invented them, deciding subconsciously that it was about a lonely traveler on the way to a destination that existed only in his dreams.

"That's gotta be a superstition, right?" a voice said from the door. "Singin' something like that at a wedding's gotta be a bad omen."

Reagan smiled and turned on his heel, taking a drag simultaneous to sweeping his eyes over his best friend's face, his neatly-pressed tux, the slight stiffness in his shoulders. "Hey, boy," Reagan said softly.

Ben closed the door behind him, shrugging out of his tux jacket and loosening his bowtie once he discarded the outer layer onto one of the tables. "Why do you look better in a yarmulke than I do? Never mind, don't answer that."

"What're you doing out here?"

"Should ask you the same thing," Ben said, stuffing the tie in his pocket. "...I had too much wine."

"You didn't bring your beautiful bride?"

"I just needed a minute."

"You look a little nervous."

Ben took his own cigarette out of his pocket, waiting as he always did on complete instinct for Reagan to light it with his shamrock lighter. Reagan watched him through the small flame, then glanced back through the glass door as Faye stood among the throng of guests, laughing with Ben's mother, Shoshana, and one of his aunts.

"I don't think I've ever been around this much family at once," Ben muttered, exhaling smoke as Reagan put the lighter away. He rolled up his sleeves. "It's bad enough I can't think over the music."

Reagan didn't feel the need to point out that as far as live bands went, that one was particularly quiet. Instead, he reached up to secure Ben's yarmulke better to his head.

"Somethin' on my mind, Reggie," Ben said after a patient silence and Reagan had finished his task. "That toast you made earlier..."

"Wasn't much of a toast, was it?" Reagan said.

"I'm gonna need you to come up with a better one."

"Stop the band and gather everyone back to the tables, then, you absolute idiot."

Ben wouldn't meet his eyes, Reagan just realized. His gaze darted all around the patio and across the woods behind the building, taking in nothing but darkness and the deep, solid blue sky. "...I just thought there would've been more to it."

"I said that no one deserves happiness more than you." Reagan stepped a bit closer. "And I meant it."

Taking another drag of the cigarette, Ben nodded. He didn't appear to want to participate in any sort of levity whatsoever at the moment, which provided mild discomfort. "I guess I expected more."

"I couldn't say anything else, Benny," Reagan said, dropping his own cigarette and squishing it out into the flagstone with his shoe. "It wouldn't have been new to you, anyway."

"Still would've been nice to hear."

Reagan tilted his head and plucked Ben's cigarette from his mouth, putting it out on the stone beneath his feet as well. The band started up another song, slow and warm. "Dance with me."

Ben blinked, finally looking at Reagan's face. "What?"

Reagan took his hand and pulled him close, curling an arm around his waist. He delighted in the feeling of Ben fully melting into him, lacing their fingers together and moving in easy circles across the patio.

"Here we go," Reagan said happily, sighing as Ben's other hand absently found his spine. "Nothin' wrong with the groom dancing with the best man."

"There's quite a bit wrong with this, actually," Ben said, though he made no move whatsoever to stop the shenanigans. He smoothed his hand down Reagan's back—very casually, but Reagan inwardly shivered. "Very clever, though."

"I thought so."

"Just don't try to bring me to your car. I think my wife might have somethin' to say about it."

"I've been swimming in champagne for the last half hour," Reagan joked. "I don't even know who you are right now."

Ben pulled his head back and made deliberate eye contact. "I think you do."

Reagan held Ben's hand closer to his chest, and the comforting din of the party behind them faded away. He smiled. "I like when you're close to me." They made their leisurely way to the other side of the patio. "...Nothin' wrong with that."

"What's your limit?"

Instead of responding to that directly, Reagan's smile widened, what was once feigned innocence becoming deep and private mischief. "This makin' you uncomfortable?"

Ben assessed the question, eyes roving over Reagan's face. "No. Have any words of wisdom to impart on the newlywed?"

The warmth began to leech from Reagan and the light chill of the night took only some responsibility for that. "...You should rethink marriage."

"That's fuckin' fantastic, Reggie," Ben exclaimed, though he had yet to stop dancing.

"I don't think I was cut out for it," Reagan explained. "I think maybe I'm askin' too much of Carolyn to stay with me when I've expected her to tolerate my sleepin' around so much."

"We'll chalk this up to the booze."

"You're right," Reagan said suddenly. "I can't be sayin' shit like that at your wedding; it's not fair."

They watched one another as they danced, wordless for a few minutes, forgetting—for better or worse—that anything else was going on, that anyone else could've ruined their moment at any time. Ben seemed to soften in Reagan's arms, to let an unseen barrier fall with each gentle step they took, and Reagan fought every instinct to coax that further along.

"You know I'd do anything for you, right?" Reagan murmured.

Ben screwed his eyes shut, his hold on Reagan's hand tightening. "Reagan..."

"Ben, all you have to do is ask, and—" His brows pinched. "...You called me Reagan."

"Oh, is that your name?"

Reagan grinned once Ben looked at him again. "That's the first time in the nearly thirty years we've known each other that you've ever called me by my actual name."

"Well don't make a big fuckin' to-do about it, Rían," Ben scolded, invoking Reagan's true given name to hammer it home. Then, more timidly, "...We ain't children anymore."

As abruptly as it had started, the mood shifted. They'd come to a halt and Ben leaned into Reagan's chest, fully anticipating Reagan holding him close, holding his head to him as they embraced in silence only broken by the festivities.

"Mazel tov," Reagan said softly into Ben's ear, pressing his lips to his temple. "...Love you."

There was a pause, and Ben held onto Reagan's waist for support as he leaned in to plant a firm, quick kiss to his mouth. Reagan brushed a thumb over his cheekbone before Ben stepped back, almost unwilling to look away until he was forced to, eventually rejoining his own celebration.

Reagan stood alone, hands in his pockets, willing himself to criticize the choice of flowers within the landscaping until he was no longer wracked with the urge to flee into the forest, never to be seen again.

[i-like-old-things]

I like to flex that there is a movie and a mini series from my town

[an-annyeoing-writer]

It just got to me that Baekhyun is coming back so soon... It may feel like eternity ever since he left but like, at the same time, I don't think I love him any less than back then. Can't wait 🥺

[ciboriaadastra]

if DC wasn't insistent on spreading their artists thin and putting embargos on IPs against their own writers, I could have had Batman: Gargoyle of Gotham #3 in my hands by now