#my joints are really vibing with the warm humid

[chronicillnesscaneffoffplease]

POTS at home: ooh yeah, I should drink some more water

POTS in the Pacific: water. MORE WATER. always MORE WATER. WITH FULL STRENGTH ELECTROLYTES. MORE. WATER.

[hisunshiine]

—whims & inconsistencies | 1

→ posted: june 24, 2022

→ pairing: kim seokjin x poc!reader

→ genre/au: victorian era!au, pride&prejudice vibes, angst!!!, smut, fluff

→ chapter rating: PG-13

→ wordcount: 4.8k words

→ chapter warnings: mentions of misogyny, reader is an orphan, mentions of parents passing away, creepy old men, a lot of vulgar things implied, im sorry but maknae line are the villains :(  and this is just the start.

→ credits: @hobeemin​ for the most amazing banner idea. @peachiilovesot7​ you are the best beta reader i could ever ask for. thank you to @moonleeai​​, @heathfritiiiary, @a_bit_jess for the feedback on the prologue! I think it really helped make a difference. 

→ an: i created a map! you can click the link below to see the city and help build the setting in your head the way that i see it! Updates will be weekly! If you would like to be on a tag list, please reply to this chapter or send an ask!

series masterlist   map of Sonyeondan

The Jung residence is a large house located at the end of a row of other large houses in the Highgate district. Across the street, instead of another row of similar houses, is a large brick wall that outlines the town. Beyond the wall are large trees leading into a forest. 

The home, two-stories, with a library, observatory, and a large hall for banquets and balls, is clearly the home of a well to do family. Hoseok’s father holds a well paying, top position with the local private school, overseeing the curriculum for the students, explaining the wealth of the dwelling. They greet you warmly, having just seen you at your graduation a month earlier, and Jiwoo shows you upstairs to your room while Namjoon and Hoseok catch up in the library.

Placing your violin case on your bed, you take in the spacious bedroom, curtains pulled open to show the afternoon sun spilling across the desk across from the window. An armoire to your left and a vanity to your right, there is ample space for you to get ready for each day, as well as practice each night. 

Jiwoo pulls you from your thoughts.

“I am so excited that you are here now! I was able to talk my parents into postponing my debut a year so that we could have a joint one. Thought it would help reduce the pressure for you, and obviously it will mean ours will be the biggest and best party of the season.”

“Thanks, Jiwoo, I appreciate sharing the limelight. I can’t say I’m exactly happy for the end of my freedom,” you frown, opening the armoire and making note of what you will store in it.

“I don’t think being married will be so bad…my parents seem happy. Yours did too.”

The memory of your parents' marriage warms your heart a bit, reminding you that it was perfectly realistic to find a good suitor. You had some other worries though. Some that Jiwoo wouldn’t necessarily relate to.

“I know that it’s not terrible. I actually look forward to the thought of spending my life with someone who completes me, the way my father did my mother and vice versa. But my father was a foreigner, and I look…well, foreign.” 

You glance at your reflection in the vanity, your unruly curls coming loose to frame your tan skin after the humidity latched onto it during the carriage ride. Your eyes, larger than was average in this monolithic country, are at least the same color as others: a warm coffee with a splash of cream that you were told drew people in on a cold day. Your frame, petite but curvier than typical, stands out, but you hope in a good way. You rather like how you look, but when you had attended boarding school you received your fair share of bullying for features that are out of your control. 

“Please, YN, you are gorgeous! I wish my hair could curl the way yours does,” Jiwoo brushes a flyaway back to tuck behind your ear as she continues. “And your skin is so pretty, like my favorite caramel candies that we used to hide in our pillows and eat after we were supposed to be asleep.” You laugh at the memory.

“What’s so funny?” Hoseok asks from the doorway, Namjoon following him in with your luggage and boston bag.

“Oh, just telling YN how jealous I am that she will steal all of the best suitors during our debut ball with her luscious curls, beautiful skin, and hips—”

“Okay!” You interrupt, but that interruption is interrupted by Hoseok and Namjoon agreeing with Jiwoo.

“Yeah, already several of my friends have asked when you were debuting. They always see you when you visit on break from school and want to know more about you…”

“Even at school, guys would hang out in the practice room watching her play—”

“They wanted to hear me play!” you defend.

“Yeah, have you ever seen what you look like when you play? A goddess among us mere mortals, and there were only five women in the school! And Sunmi did not have a crowd when she played the flute.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab your Boston bag and begin to unpack it, pulling out a folded metal contraption that opens into a music stand for your compositions. Namjoon continues talking about you, making up stories, you’re sure.

“I actually don’t know if I want her to meet my brothers. She might decide she doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore, or worse, she could end up marrying one of them.”

Ignoring him, you pull out the leather bound folder that holds the music sheets, hastily tucked away before boarding the train so that now loose papers with Yoongi’s cramped scrawl and Namjoon’s larger swirls flutter to the ground. 

Jiwoo picks up the fallen sheets and hands them to you, and you place them on the stand. 

“Are you about to practice right now? You just got off the train!”

“You can’t be a virtuoso violinist if you don’t practice!”

“At least have a light lunch first. Mother and father have prepared a small spread for us to enjoy.”

You allow Jiwoo to drag you away from your violin, case unopened on your bed and music sheets still against the stand.

Getting ready for the first party of the season was a whirlwind of a time. Jiwoo’s personal maids brought in a friend to work on your makeup and hair at her request. She had asked for two, but they had struggled to find someone who had any experience working with someone…foreign-looking. Your maid for the evening, Eunwoo, had previously worked in a different part of the country with a family that was similar to yours. 

She’s quiet, but efficient; her hands move swiftly to section your wet curls and place several plaits that end halfway across your scalp and are pulled into hair ties. She saturates the bottom half of your hair, letting it remain loose as she teases a few curls to frame your face. Pretty, sheer lilac ribbons are the finishing touch as she winds them to cover the ties and pins them in place. 

She turns your chair away from the mirror, and sets off to doll your face up and you relax as she moisturizes your skin before applying the various makeup palettes to your skin. 

Walking arm in arm with Jiwoo, Hoseok following the two of you with his cheerful smile and noises he doesn’t even realize he’s making as he provides a soundtrack to your entrance, is terrifying. You had wanted to arrive earlier, but missing an extra set of hands made it difficult to dress you in the soft purple gown you chose for Nayeon’s debutante ball. 

It fit your frame just so, and the criss-crossing satin strings along the back made it slightly hard to breathe with how tight they were laced. Luckily your legs had more freedom to move, since the dress cascades down to the floor, the silkiness of the material shimmering in the light with every step like a light violet waterfall.

Of course, you enter just as the music quiets, with dancers swapping on and off the dancefloor as the musicians turn the pages to a new song, and the door closes loudly behind you as you appear in the view of all of the guests. 

Heads turn to face you, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, a tight smile overtaking your lips as you walk carefully down the few steps into the large parlor. Hoseok waves to a few friends and disappears into the crowd; you notice Namjoon in the group Hoseok is heading towards and you want to follow him, but Jiwoo steers you towards the hosts to greet them and tie a dance card around your wrist. 

It’s easy to escape from Jiwoo once she is distracted by making pleasantries with Nayeon and her parents, but you entered a side hallway that is mostly abandoned as other party goers walk past you to go out the doors you just entered. Taking light steps in your kitten heeled shoes, you walk to the end of the hallway and see an opening back into the parlor. There’s a wooden table that is home to the largest bouquet of wildflowers, but nothing else blocks you from making your way to your giant of a best friend and cheerful housemate.

Stepping around the intricately carved circular table in the entryway, you attempt once again to head into the safety of your male friends. You are stopped, however, by a large man. His suit is a puke green color, and his teeth are crooked and yellowing as he leers down at you, the strong odor of tobacco emanating from his person. 

“Ah, you must be the ward the Jung’s have taken in. I’m Park Jinyoung. You’ve probably heard of me. Or at least of my businesses. Will you allow me to sign your dance card? I saw you as soon as you made your entrance, and I hear that you're musically inclined…”

“Oh, um,” you startle at his abrupt introduction; the way he jumps around in his topics is dizzying. “Yes, I’m YN. And I’ve just moved here recently and haven’t had a chance to explore the area. I play the violin, so I practice several hours a day.”

“Yes, yes, girl, I know, I told you I heard you were musically inclined. Now, about your dance card, have you got spots left? I can fill it up for you if you want, and we can get to know one another better.”

You don’t like the way that his eyes stare at your chest as he talks. The sweetheart bust of your dress does a great job at accentuating your cleavage, but you had hoped to catch the eye of someone who was closer to your age, or at least could hide his boner a bit better!

“Darling, there you are!”

A friendly voice draws your attention from Park Jinyoung, and you feel like you can’t breathe. The most handsome man you have ever set your sight on is standing behind you, and he just called you darling?!

“You were looking for me?” You ask, unsure of his intent.

“Of course I was! You were supposed to wait for me by the other entryway, you must have gotten lost on your way back from the bathroom.”

“You are seeing this woman?”

“She is certainly in my sights right now.”

“I see. I was under the impression that she had not yet been approached by any suitors.”

Your head whips back and forth as you follow the conversation happening about you, but not including you. So you decide to join in, standing a bit taller.

“I haven’t been approached by any suitors. I have just met this man tonight, much like I have just met you, Mr. Park.”

The handsome man widens his eyes at you, as if signaling some secret message that you don’t comprehend, and Mr. Park smiles at you before turning towards the man.

“But you called her ‘darling’, that’s not a term of endearment one uses so…loosely, Kim Seokjin, unless you are acquainted in a rather unseemly way.”

You blink furiously at the suggestion that you have loose morals and were hiding in the hallway with this Kim Seokjin to be promiscuous. Seokjin steps into Jinyoung’s space, and you step back from the way the tension feels dangerous. 

“It is but a way to address someone when you can’t remember their name, Mr. Park. Now let us all return to the parlor, lest people begin to think we are back here fighting over a woman. And I would remind you to bite your tongue when speaking of such matters in the presence of a lady.”

Butterflies fill your stomach at the way Seokjin defends your honor; he is younger than Park Jinyoung by many years, but his manner of speaking and the way he carries himself commands respect even above the elder in the room. 

“Out of respect for your father, I will not smack that smart mouth like you deserve for speaking to me in such a way, but make it a habit and I will not hesitate, no matter the company we are in.”

Park Jinyoung turns on his heel and walks back into the parlor, leaving you alone with Seokjin.

“I’m sorry. I tried to save you from him, but he turned it into something it wasn’t. I promise if anyone says anything to try and compromise your honor, I will defend it. I’m Kim Seokjin, by the way.”

“YN…Thank you for standing up for me. He wanted to fill up my entire dance card, and I was just thinking of how I would escape it, when you appeared. So thanks again. I should go find my friends before we get caught back here alone.”

Seokjin reaches for your arm, stilling your movement from walking away. 

“If I could, I would love to sign your dance card. If there is still space of course.” He smirks, and you can only nod as you extend your arm so he can scribble his name onto the last line. 

“I’ll find you before the last song plays.”

You blink, and he’s gone, back into the crowd. Leaning onto the wall, you take several deep breaths. Get it together, girl! You think to yourself. You never get weak over a man, let’s not start now…now matter how beautiful his face is! Or how soft his lips look…

“Oh thank the gods, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Jiwoo appears in the hallway, moving quickly to your side. “It’s time to get some names on your dance card and spend the night being twirled around the room by handsome men!”

Jiwoo has a point, and there is already one handsome man penciled at the bottom of the list, saving the best for last.

There are lights glittering off of the chandeliers, sending dancing beams of rainbow light scattering across the walls. Your hair, bouncing as you twirl in the arms of one of the many suitors you have been dancing with tonight, is so unlike the other girls dancing in the room. You feel self-conscious, but you catch Seokjin’s gaze from where he stands across the room, and you no longer care. He smiles at you, as if there is just a secret the two of you share, and as the song playing ends, he takes a rather large gulp from his drink and sets it down, marching across the dancefloor to you. 

“May I have this dance?”

You step towards him, curtsying briefly as you take your place in front of him and as the pianoforte and violins start to play, you raise your arms to his broad shoulders and his hands go to your waist. The hold is modest, exactly like you have practiced with friends and dance tutors, but his touch sets you alight. His shoulders under your hands heat your gloves, almost burning at the touch, but the goosebumps rising across your skin would make anyone think a cold flame spread through your veins.

You step forward as he steps back, movements in sync to the notes that play around you. The eye contact as his fingers draw you ever so closer to him causes you to shiver, and the smile on his lips is soft as he whispers, “are you cold, darling?” The term of endearment used is a reminder of how he saved you earlier. 

“No, Mr. Kim. I am quite content.”

He spins you around, stepping apart before leading you back in closer than before as you spin across the dancefloor, weaving around the other dancers. 

“I must say that makes me quite happy to hear that you are content in my arms.”

You can feel your cheeks warm under his twinkling gaze, and butterflies flutter when he winks at you. You remain in a state of bliss the rest of the song, and you are breathless once the song ends. 

“I am quite parched, do you mind if we step off to get something to drink?” you ask, secretly needing to step away so that you may gather yourself after putting some space between your bodies. 

“Yes, actually I see my brothers over by the refreshments, and I must remind the youngest one to behave himself accordingly.”

The two of you walk along the edge of the ballroom, making your way towards some familiar faces. Hoseok is standing with Namjoon, and a few other younger men are there as well, laughing loudly at a joke you missed.

“YN! Enjoying yourself?”

“Quite! It is a delightful ball, the first of many this season I presume, that I will enjoy myself at.”

“Namjoon, do you always speak so comfortably with women? We send you away to a music conservatory and you come back without any sense of respect?”

You laugh along with Namjoon at Seokjin’s scandalized expression.

“Oh, me and Namjoon are not strangers, Seokjin. This is one of my dearest friends from said music conservatory.”

“Ah, it seems you and my brother are also on close terms, YN, if you are already calling him Seokjin.”

You gasp, gloved hand covering your mouth as you realize. Kim Namjoon is the younger brother of Kim Seokjin. Namjoon’s eyes dance with humor at your realization, and he can no longer hold back his laughter when he makes eye contact with Hoseok. The laughter catches the attention of the other three men, who step closer to your circle of friends.

“Whatever is so funny, Joon?” The owner of the voice is tall, lean, and gorgeous. His hair falls around his face in a mess of waves, and despite his beauty, there is a coldness about him.

“Oh, Taehyung-ah, this is YN. She is one of the friends I graduated with and who I traveled home on the train with. She has just realized she danced around the room with our dearest elder brother.”

Our dearest elder brother. This man must be the younger brother of your best friend. Kim Taehyung. You have heard a little about Namjoon’s brothers, but not enough to realize you are surrounded by them. 

“Ah, well, YN, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” Taehyung extends his hand to you, and to be polite, you place your hand in his as he draws his lips to the back of your hand, a chaste kiss to the gloved skin. “We have heard so much about you from our dear Joonie-hyung.”

“Hopefully all good things!” You hate the way your voice sounds, trying not to feel nervous, but there is something about the youngest brother that is off-putting to you. His two friends flank him, both with beautiful smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. Of the two, the taller one's eyes rake across your body in a way that makes you feel naked, and the shorter one can’t seem to find your eyes amidst your chest as he introduces himself.

“I’m Park Jimin, it is nice to make your acquaintance.”

You curtsy, if only to bring your face into his line of sight, and he smiles cheekily at you.

“Jeon Jungkook. You look stunning in that color.” His eyes continue to trace your figure, and when he finally makes eye contact, he is not the least bit embarrassed at being caught gawking at your figure. You feel that he quite enjoys knowing you know he was undressing you in a full room. The air is thick with uneasiness, and you are ready to relieve yourself of their presence. 

“Well then, it was very nice to meet you all, Kim Taehyung, Park Jimin, and Jeon Jungkook. If you will excuse me, I’m going to grab a drink and see if Jiwoo is anywhere nearby.”

“I’ll come with you.” Seokjin steps behind you, following as you retreat from their end of the table and towards the refreshments at the other end, his hand on the small of your back guiding you through the crowd.

“Sorry about my brother, Taehyungie is a bit…much.”

“Oh, no worries, I was delighted to finally put a face to the men Namjoon speaks about all of the time. I’m kind of embarrassed that I did not realize that you are his older brother; you weren’t at his graduation ceremony.”

“Oh, yes, we had a family emergency come up, but now Namjoon is home, so we have plenty of time to celebrate his accomplishments.”

“An emergency? Namjoon didn’t mention anything…is everything alright now?”

“As all right as it can be, no need to worry. Oh, which drink would you like?” Seokjin expertly changes the topic away from his home life, but you are too parched to continue to needle. Pointing at the crystal bowl full of a light pink liquid, you accept the small cup he passes to you filled halfway with drink. 

He turns away from the table once he’s poured his own cup with the salmon–colored drink, and you both gulp them down. The eye contact between you two causes both of you to laugh into your cups, Seokjin’s eyes twinkling with mischief as you turn away quickly to avoid spitting out your drink. Most unladylike behavior, but you have a feeling Seokjin would not care about such frivolous societal rules. 

The next couple of hours are spent tucked into the corner, still visible to everyone, but in your own world; just you and Seokjin talking about everything and nothing. You haven’t felt a connection like this with anyone before, and the butterflies in your stomach let you know this is more than how you feel about Namjoon and Yoongi. No, what you are feeling towards Seokjin is anything but platonic companionship. 

You watch the way his lips form words, the full pout alluring without him trying, and when he licks his lips, you fan your face with a gloved hand, pretending that the room is starting to feel stuffy. Like the gentleman he is, Seokjin asks if you would like to step outside to get some air. You nod, and he places his hand gently on your lower back, a shockwave of warmth traveling down your spine. You want to feel more of his touch on your body, not covered by clothes, and you feel the burn of your cheeks as he leads you towards Jiwoo.

“Jiwoo noona, can you please go with YN outside for some air? The stuffiness of the room has seemed to get to her, and she looks a bit flushed.”

Seokjin looks at you, but you turn your face away shyly, afraid he’ll realize it’s not the room, but his aura that has you so heated. Jiwoo escorts you to the back garden, and you sit on a bench with her while she looks at you knowingly. Under her scrutiny, you decide to come clean.

“Yes, I think the eldest Kim brother is rather…handsome.”

“Well, from the looks of it, he thinks you are quite the beauty as well. I have never seen him spend so much time talking to a woman at a party, let alone appearing to enjoy it. He’s usually with his friends…I guess he’s stepping into his role more now.”

Your eyebrows furrow, a confused look taking over your face. Jiwoo leans in conspiratorial-like as she begins to share.

“Seokjin is the eldest of the Kim family. Their father recently had inflammation of the heart of some sort, and he has been bed ridden since. The family missed Namjoon’s graduation because of it. Seokjin will take over as the head of the family if something happens to their father, but he hasn’t had to really face that thought until now.” Jiwoo shakes her head despondently. “Their father is really nice, and I always enjoyed when their family would come over for dinner. My mother used to host a sewing club with theirs and a few other women inside, and I can’t imagine how she would fair if something were to happen. I mean, Seokjin is super smart, so I am sure the family will be okay, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to be a widow.”

You nod slowly, taking in all of the information. This must be the emergency that Seokjin mentioned in passing. You wonder to yourself about his intentions tonight, spending so much time—publicly—with you, during your debuting season. Is he looking for a wife? Could you be a wife who sits in sewing clubs? Did you want to be? The two of you stand, ready to head back inside, when Jiwoo lets out a sigh and pulls you from your thoughts as the three younger men from earlier approach the two of you. 

“Jiwoo, how lovely to see you again.” 

The two friends step towards Jiwoo, flanking either side of her as they enter into her space. You can see how uncomfortable it is for her as they squeeze their bodies between the two of you, Jungkook separating her from you as Taehyung approaches your other side.  

“Well, my brothers sure have a type. One befriends you at school and the other can’t take his eyes off you since you’ve met tonight.” Taehyung leans down, voice lowering as he brings his breath to your ear. “You’ve got all three of the Kim brother’s attention, but I’d love to have a sample before my eldest brother does.”

A gasp is pulled from your throat at the lewd idea he propositions you with, and you feel the same way you did when Mr. Park had cornered you earlier: slimy.

“I am not anyone’s plaything to be sampled.” Your voice is curt, slicing through the sleaze of his implications.

“But you look like so much fun to play with, YN. I promise I won’t tell Seokjinnie hyung if I get to see under those skirts of yours before he does.”

You step back, appalled that Taehyung could speak to you so vulgarly and also be related to one of your best friends and your savior from earlier in the night. It was as if the latter two were cut from a different cloth. Maybe he was a different material altogether. 

The step you took brought your backside into Jungkook, who turns away from whatever lewd words he and Jimin are spewing lowly at Jiwoo, and it is enough for you to reach for her and make your escape. 

Instead of returning to the party, you and Jiwoo silently agree it is best for the two of you to leave, bypassing the opening to return to the main floor and instead turning to exit the house and swiftly walk to the row of carriages lining the street. The Jung’s footman jumps down from where he’s sat, patiently awaiting your return. You remember after Jiwoo has climbed in that Hoseok rode with you to the party.

“Should I go grab Hoseok?”

“Damn it,” Jiwoo intones, and hearing her curse lightens the mood a tiny bit. 

“I’ll be quick and I won’t stop for anyone, and I won’t walk out unless Hoseok or Joonie is accompanying me.” 

Jiwoo nods and you retrace your steps, keeping your head down so that no one tries to speak to you in your haste. Luckily, Hoseok is in plain sight, standing with Seokjin near the refreshments table.

“Hoseok, Jiwoo and I are ready to go, as it is getting quite late. She’s already in the carriage.”

“Late?”

The look you give him trumps his incredulous one, as the party has thinned out and despite time being seemingly halted, it is nearing midnight. He glances around the room, eyes observing the large clock with both hands pointing towards the upper half of the circle.

“Yes, you’re right of course. Seokjin hyung, I must bid you farewell and get these ladies home. Can you escort YN to the carriage? I’m going to visit the lavatory before I join them.”

“Of course, it’s no issue to see her safely.”

Proffering his arm, you place yours atop his and walk with Seokjin out of the house. As the two of you approach the carriage, he slows his gait, turning slightly to you.

“Could I, perhaps,” he starts, voice a little higher than earlier, “call on you at the Jung’s residence?”

You’re sure that if there were no lamps to dimly light the street for the partygoers that your smile would have lit the street up as if it was daylight. Seokjin is sure that were it daylight, you would have seen the way his ears are a bright red as he waits for your reply.

“I would love that.” 

series masterlist —thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this chapter! see you next week!!

© hisunshiine 2022. All rights reserved. 

[howdoyousleep3]

you lean into me like you know

A/N: Hi so I’m feeling super wack right now and it’s really hard for me to write or to even get to that point, but this is something I wrote a while back and didn’t have the courage to share and then never finished it entirely to the extent I wanted to. There isn’t explicit smut but it’s implied or glossed over. The vibe I had in my head was very retro, not modern day, “The Outsiders” vibe. It is very different than what I normally post but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I’d love to hear your thoughts. 

After his second year of college Bucky comes home for the summer. His heart desires to stay in the city, yearning for the chaos, but he acknowledges how important it is to come home for his Ma. It’s a mild June morning, air already growing sticky, and it’s the first time Bucky sees Steve Rogers. 

Seeing Steve makes him realize he’s never seen sunlight before. Looking at Steve makes Bucky hopeful again, makes him want to smile, makes him want to be a good person. He’s the most beautiful thing he has ever set his eyes on and Bucky wants to fucking break him. Perfect little Steve Rogers with his rosy cheeks, golden blonde hair, his seemingly-always broken glasses, his full-ride scholarship, and his perfectly-keen artistic eye.

 It’s disgusting.

 Bucky’s pretty sure he’s in love. 

The sight of Steve makes Bucky short of breath and that isn’t even because of the cigarette between his lips. He sucks more nicotine into his lungs to shove down the growing ache in his chest and throws it to the concrete so he can stomp on it like he wants to do his own heart.

Once Bucky sees him coming out of the library that afternoon he sees Steve Rogers everywhere. He most definitely doesn’t blame that on the fact that Steve takes up every empty space in his mind, fantasizing about every which way he can make Steve cry. He sees him in the grocery store, walking down the road, at the local diner; Bucky sees him everywhere and it feels like he is drowning. 

He’s never been in love, not even close, never wanting to do more than fuck and move on. The foreign feeling in his chest and brain makes him comprehend why history is full of people who go mad over love, spend their days mourning, harm themselves, even die, for love. Bucky’s a tough kid. No one messes with Bucky Barnes. But one Steve Rogers is slowly cracking him open and Bucky’s doing what he can to protectively keep all the pieces of himself together.

The first time Bucky talks to Steve is a critical moment. If he’s shattered inside without even having heard Steve’s voice, he can’t imagine what hearing it will do to him. It isn’t planned. Bucky has no warning. He is standing outside the diner sucking down another cigarette, his date for the night (Sherry? Sarah? Stacey? Shit.) waiting far too patiently inside. It’s a decent summer night aside from the rain that’s been meandering down from the sky nearly all day. Bucky registers the bell on the door signifying the entrance or exit of someone, but he has no intention of lifting his head to acknowledge them. People usually like it more when Bucky doesn’t notice them.

“You know those things are awful for you,” a deep voice says to him and he’s ready to square up with the person who belongs to said voice when he looks up and—

Ah fuck.

He’s looking over at Steve, perfect little Steve Rogers. If Bucky felt like he was drowning before, he’s dying now, hanging on by a thread. Bucky opts to not immediately respond and instead takes in the kid and savors the moment. Steve is so small up this close and Bucky wants to squeeze him, wants to hurt him, wants to touch him. He swears he can smell him but that’s incredibly unrealistic given the distance between them and the humidity. 

He can see a smattering of summer freckles starting to form across the bridge of Steve’s proud nose and he aches inside at the sign of youth. He just knows that that smooth creamy skin would bruise like a peach, all sweet, under Bucky’s chaotic grip. Bucky’s palms begin to sweat and once again he finds himself flicking the butt of his cigarette to the ground, blowing out smoke into the heavy air between them, smashing and grinding what’s left of the cigarette unnecessarily into the pavement beneath his feet.

“No shit, kid,” Bucky manages to bite out before heading back inside the diner, narrowly avoiding brushing shoulders with Steve, bell ringing, hands shaking, breaths rushing. Bucky’s core, his equilibrium, have completely been compromised. If Bucky imagines that the body beneath him later that night, the one he’s fucking into, is comprised of bony joints, a strong jaw, and eyes that take him to oceans he’ll never in his life visit, he can’t be blamed. This is Steve Roger’s fault.

The next time Bucky talks to Steve he is more prepared. He knows it’s coming because he is the one who initiates the brief conversation. He needs to get his feet back under him, needs to be the one with the upper hand, needs to hear Steve Rogers’ disproportionately husky voice hit his ears again. 

He finds himself at the local market indecently early all because his Ma wants fresh green beans from Mr. Walter. He is very aware of the fact that Steve sells his art at a rickety old table, simplistic and pure, sitting behind it all in a near-broken wooden chair. He’s so compact that the splintered chair sees no strain and Bucky’s heart does that achy pull when his eyes land on him. He swears to himself he’s in one of those romance films they show at the drive-in on weekdays for cheap. It makes him nauseous.

He pretends to pick and sort through a barrel of peaches, fingers barely detecting the fuzziness of their skin, eyes trained on the soft blonde. Steve Rogers looks just that, so soft, so gentle, plain white t-shirt and faded jeans, knees tucked to his chest to balance the worn sketchbook on them. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to feel pain, to counterbalance the warm twinge beneath his ribs but it barely works. Bucky realizes with a wave of panic that he could watch Steve Rogers draw and sketch and focus for the rest of his life.

Bucky has a plan, knows what he is going to say, can only hope what little Steve Rogers replies with. Thick shaky legs take him right up to Steve’s table and before his lips can even part the wind gets knocked right fuckin’ out of him. His words die on his tongue as his eyes rove over the worst thing he could have ever seen—himself.

Amongst all the sketches and drawings, even a painting, there to the left lies a rough sketch of Bucky. He’s standing outside the diner, the point of view of the sketch drawn from within it, and a cigarette hangs between his lips. He looks brooding, dark on the paper, side profile gutting. He’s never seen these emotions splayed across his face before and how dare Steve Rogers, of all fucking people, showcase it to the world.

His brain tries to catch up with his limbs and mouth as he listens to himself mumble, “What the fuck, Rogers?”, fingers reaching to touch at the paper reverently. That wasn’t what Bucky was supposed to say. Bucky’s supposed to make Steve Rogers blush and stammer, conceal an erection, think about Bucky when he closes his eyes at night. He gets the blush and stammer, cerulean eyes wide as he damn near falls out of his seat in an attempt to snatch the sketch from Bucky’s reach and view.

“Fuck, I didn’t…Bucky…” he mumbles and a noise bubbles up in Bucky’s chest at Steve saying his name. Steve is quick but Bucky is quicker, pulling the sketch out of reach. Steve’s small arms are no match for Bucky’s longer ones. Bucky takes a second to appreciate the sketch up close before blinking over at Steve who looks like he is about to burst into tears. He’s fidgeting where he stands, arms crossed over his wisp of a chest, both face and neck a splotchy red mess. His eyes are downcast and Bucky can actually hear Steve wheezing. Bucky wants to wrap him up in his arms and kiss his cheek, to press his lips right there on Steve’s temple like he’s almost damn sure would make him blush. Bucky has absolutely not ever done that or felt this way before. His fingers twitch.

“How much?”

Bucky watches as Steve’s head shoots up, a look of sheer surprise and embarrassment flowing over his features. He stammers and chokes on his words, the strong crease between his brows prominent.

“Fucking Christ, Rogers—how much?” Bucky says in as much aggravation as he can muster, which is a miracle considering his veins feel like thick honey full of adoration. Steve quickly shakes his head feverishly.

“No, it’s…no. Nothing, s’free.” He still won’t look up at Bucky, picking at the hem of his shirt, and Bucky already wishes he could see those eyes again. How can he long for something, someone, when they’re right in front of him?

“I-I usually sell them for like…t-twenty dollars. It’s cool though, I—”

Bucky raises his hand dismissively, Steve snapping his mouth shut with a click, and he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. He tugs out a fifty-dollar bill and tosses it on the table. Steve doesn’t look up at him. Bucky wants to cradle the sketch close to his chest, to show it to the world, to frame it in glass and get it signed. Instead he turns and says, “See ya later, kid,” and walks away. 

He walks away a fluster of emotions. 

He’s still uneasy and off-balance, angry, but his entire being feels like it’s letting out a sigh of relief. Bucky refuses to think of why his thoughts are forming the way that they are and instead folds up the sketch and places it in his back pocket with shaky hands. He’ll keep it on the table next to his bed and smooth out its creases as he looks over it every night before he sleeps. Bucky doesn’t think about how it’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. 

[cornersofthew0rld]

Final week in Ecuador

Thank you for patiently awaiting the next post; it is currently the 8th of January, 2017! I have been back in the UK for little over 2 weeks and am leaving for France tomorrow by Eurostar; I am staying at the house of some friends in London tonight ready for the train in the morning. I've been so distracted and caught up doing things over the last few weeks that I've just been adding bits of notes into my phone about what to include in the post, but haven't sat down to complete it properly. So here we are, at last!

I had my Portuguese exam on Thursday 15th, and sent off my translation project, meaning I was completely done with university about a week before having to leave; ready for another adventure! After finishing my exam, I met my friend Konah on campus so that we could set off on our trip to Tena. We decided quite last minute that we wanted to go there, as I didn’t want to spend a long time away from Quito before leaving but still wanted to try somewhere new, so we only stayed there for one night. Tena is a town in the southern section of the Ecuadorian Amazon rainforest, and is very well known for its daredevil activities on the various rivers, such as kayaking and rafting, and jungle hiking expeditions. The journey there on the bus was really quite wonderful; driving round the tops of mountains, surrounded by forest and in the midst of clouds, with great views of the mountains on the other side of the valleys. Just even driving to different places here is a wonderful experience. Looking to the other side of the valley and seeing a river run down a ravine between mountains. Incredible. I was also able to note the slow change of vegetation; it gets much thicker as we descend to lower altitudes, with lots more pine trees, huge leaves and vines. I could feel and smell the humidity, which got more and more obvious as we got closer to our destination. We got to the hostel around 7pm and started to arrange a rafting trip for the following day with the owner, whose friend is a guide who has his own company, and got really excited until it was revealed that the trip costed $55 - and we would have both been cleaned out and unable to pay for the hostel or food if we put the money down. This posed a huge problem as Tena, like many lesser populated areas in Ecuador, has no ATM for us to withdraw more cash. We hadn't realised that it would be that expensive; though looking at the itinerary for the day it made sense, as they were supposed to supply us with lunch, and it is 5 or 6 hours with 2 guides, a huge raft and a kayak for one of the guides who is there as a safety net in case anything goes wrong. We gave our apologies for wasting his time as he had driven to the hostel to speak to us after the hostel owner called him. I went downstairs to ask for the wifi password and got chatting to the owner and explained that we wouldn't be able to do the rafting and was there another, slightly cheaper activity that we could take part in? He had a think but came to the conclusion that he should speak to the guide again and barter the price down for us, as we explained that we could only stay for a night and were leaving Ecuador the following week. He called up the guide and somehow, after agreeing that lunch was not to be provided, managed to persuade him to lower the price to $45! Which was a perfect amount, as we were just about able to pay for the hostel (a measly $7 for a night), some food and some cheap alcohol from a corner shop nearby (yes, food and alcohol are dirt cheap there, this obviously worked out in everyone's favour on many occasions). Our excitement newly restored for the next day, we bought the most terrible vodka in the world and a bottle of coke and set to having drinks and playing loud music on our large concrete balcony in the hostel, joined by a Belgian couple in their 30s who 4 months ago began their 2 year travel plans to tour the whole of the continent as well as Central America; very exciting stuff of which I can't help but be painfully jealous. We actually had the most hilarious time, and thankfully(?) were too drunk to stay up past midnight so managed to get in at least 7 hours of sleep before the big day.

And so, on Friday 16th we woke up at 7am, an hour before our guides were to pick us up from the hostel, still feeling drunk, a little dizzy and thus a bit worried about the coming adventure. We had to officially check out in the morning so threw on our clothes, brushed our teeth and stored our backpacks behind the counter in the reception area. When the guide arrived we climbed into the truck with our little carrier bag of salted crackers and a 50 cent loaf of bread (the cheapest but most 'filling' snacks we were able to buy for the trip; we were extremely thankful for the free water bottle refills at the hostel), and drove for half an hour into a far more remote area of the the rainforest, where the only sounds are of insects and the rushing water. We prepared the raft by helping to inflate it as much as possible, changed into our borrowed quick dry tops and put on our life jackets and ridiculous-looking helmets. After a 15 minute tutorial of some theory, being told the instruction words ('adelante' 'atrás' 'adentro') and some practice in a little lagoon of still water, we dragged the raft over to the main river and embarked on possibly the most fun, thrilling and abundantly happy experience I've ever had. I don't think I have ever laughed/had such a constant but manageable flow of adrenaline running through my body in my life. The guide in the kayak was taking photos on a waterproof camera throughout the day, which were only sent to us this week by email and which I will upload after making the post; but I don't think anything much of what I can say or even the photos can portray even half of the fun we had. Potentially the best $45 I've ever spent! The waves on the river - and they really were waves, I can't tell you how scary they were at first until I got into the swing of it - were mad, we had to paddle really hard into them and all this water would come up over our heads and flood into the boat, all the while we are trying not to slip off the side as we were perched on the inflated wall to be able to paddle. If we had fallen out at the wrong time there would have certainly been some injury, as there are often rocks in the white water areas due to the shallower depths; though neither the guide nor Konah hesitated to push me off the side in the more calm sections of the river, and at a couple of points we all jumped out together to have a swim. The real danger became known to us near the end of the trip, as our guide (only 2 years older than us!) became a little too cocky and a particularly deep fall into the trough of a wave followed by our immediate inundation with water flipped the boat over and almost drowned me, as I got stuck beneath the boat and couldn't find the side. This was more or less a near death experience, but I wouldn't change it for the world! Our trusty guide in the kayak appeared by my side almost immediately as I choked my way to the surface, and I had to haul myself onto the back of it to avoid any injuries from sharp rocks, as the other guide and Konah had already managed to turn the boat right side up again. Other highlights include the guide joking about river anacondas and Konah not recognising the tone in which it was said and freaking out, as well as a warm shower in a tall waterfall with black slate-looking ground around it; another extremely picturesque scene to add to the vast collection from my time in Ecuador.

We returned to the hostel at around 2pm, having only had to drive about 5 minutes from our ending point to get there; we then showered (once again, huge thanks to the hostel owner for allowing us to shower having already checked out) and were directed again to the Tena bus station to return to Quito. I will also take this opportunity to shamelessly promote this great little hostel; it's not the best looking place, rather simple in design, but for its location and the activities which tourists choose to do in the area (rather than looking for the 5* experience) it is totally perfect and an absolute bargain, not to mention the friendliness of the family who own it and general good vibes. So to anyone who may find themselves in Tena - stay in Zumag Sisa! There is no way you will regret it!

I slept rather well on the way back to Quito, ready for another night of drinking; at this point I accepted that I was going to feel fatigued for the next 5 or 6 days, as I was very aware of time slipping through my fingers and wanting to make the most of it; in the evening I met up in the Mariscal and then continued to a salsoteca called Lavoe with a few exchange friends. I was having some problems with my foot by that point, due to the taxing effort of rafting which involved lots of twisting of the ankle joint, so I had to sit for a lot of the evening; but it was so much fun, mesmorising even, to just watch some of the other people dancing together. It is quite clear that a number of the people that go to this club are professionals looking to either practise or show off (but when you're that good, I couldn't care less if they're showing off; if I had those skills I'm pretty certain I'd be doing the same).

On Saturday 17th I went to a highly-anticipated electronic music event with my friend Leo and a few other Ecuadorian friends, to see a music producer called Nicola Cruz and a few others. The music is a sort of fusion between ambient music and elements of traditional South American genres, with a woman singing live and a live flautist. It sounds kind of strange in practice, and I've played it in England with all of my friends here telling me it sounds weird or that they don't like it, who knows maybe you had to be there to enjoy it (I know I've been annoying them with my tales of wonder so this could be one of those moments). But it's so different to a lot of the European electronic music that exists here, which I find can also be quite same-y and boring, so a taste of something different was really fun, especially given the beautiful setting for the concert. It was at an art exhibition centre on a little hill relatively close to Pichincha, a lovely old white building with a large courtyard open to the air in the middle - which is where the gig was - and standing at the front entrance of the building provides an enchanting view of the city lights. The event finished at about midnight, so we headed to the after party which was held in a half burnt down theatre in the centro histórico (Teatro Bolívar). It sounds quite shady from that description, but the interior was actually very nicely decked out, with an eerie multicoloured lighting system filling the main room. We danced until I could no longer walk due to pain in my ankle, and headed home at about 4am.

Monday 19th was the set date for the meal with my exchange friends at my Swiss friend Amanda’s apartment; she has a host family too but they were happy to allow us to have a little dinner party and stay out of the way. We all brought our own food and drinks to share around the table and had a little dance in her living room. Originally we were going to go out after eating, but were all so full and a little drowsy from the food that we decided to stay there and just relax a little while longer before heading home.

On Tuesday 20th, my last full day in Ecuador, was extremely bittersweet; I spent the whole day with my friends, and we had such a lovely time but I couldn’t shake the sense of sadness at my impending departure. I went for coffee in the morning in the shopping centre Quicentro with some of my exchange friends, before going to spend the afternoon in Parque Carolina. The weather was warm and sunny, so we bought a lot of carved-up mango from a street seller for a couple of dollars, and lay out on the grass for a few hours. It was a lovely last day in my favourite city. In the evening we went to our last house party all together, at an Ecuadorian friend’s house, and stayed there until the very last possible moments; I was supposed to be getting up at 5:30am to get ready to leave for my flight, so stayed at the party until 4:45am before tearily saying goodbye to everyone and getting a taxi home. I fell into bed to nap for half an hour at 5am, before woosily getting up to throw the last few bits into my cases and packing my stuff into my host mom’s car. It was already beautifully sunny outside when we left at 6am, and the drive to the airport was a very sad journey for me. I drank in the view of the mountains as much as I could, and said an emotional goodbye to my Ecuadorian mom before going to the check-in desk.

Of course there is very little to report about the flights home, just that they were long and lonely. Though arriving in Birmingham was freezing cold and depressing in comparison my starting point, it was great to be met at the airport by my mom and get home to my dogs! I will check in again when I have arrived in France tomorrow!

Sunday 8th January 2017, 11:37pm

[saybabyface95]

Secret (creative nf)

In high school, a friend of mine asked me if I listened to Tegan and Sara. I didn't. Apparently it was a secret quiz to find out if I was gay, and I failed.

“I dunno, I feel like there's a date-y vibe. He's really flirtatious, and never invites anyone else to hang out with us.” I push my lips out thoughtfully. (Also around a fat mint from work.) The Prius is silent at the red light. I can smell my dog's shadow from this morning, and the rain on my mother's umbrella. Rachael's face looks like the moon in the glow from her phone. “I think that's just how Miguel is.” She bites her smile, and her braces reflect the light. She'd hate that I noticed that. “Personally, I think you should get with Ling Shan.” She's teasing me. I blush and sputter and wail in embarrassment, just how she wants me to. Rachael laughs like a goblin and still manages to look pretty. It's very unfair.

Miguel complains about the Prius's sensitive brakes and eco-friendly engine. His cologne is aggressively masculine and liberally applied- God forbid he should smell like something sissy, like soap. He tells me to watch out for cops as he speeds. He tells a really good Yu-Gi-Oh joke and then rinses and repeats it throughout the evening. I sing along to 'Trap Queen' six times during the drive to and from the sushi joint. His arm is too heavy on my shoulders. He calls me 'babe' and doesn't let me pay for my own food.

Rachael's eyes are just visible over the pile of coats and blankets I'd brought. Cold weather is to Rachael what a scream is to a soufflé, and the heating in my parents' van has been broken longer than I've been alive. “So, what did you think?” she asks me, voice muffled. I cough, but the linty feeling in my throat persists. “I don't like the smell. And I didn't feel anything.” I'd smoked pot for the first time with Rachael and Miguel and José (Miguel's funnier and more charismatic friend) in the park that night. I didn't know what to do, so Rachael kissed smoke into my mouth. It's the third time we've kissed in a month. First time was on a dare, second time we were drunk and dancing. Miguel doesn't think it counts when I kiss her. I don't think he counts at all.

Rachael kisses with lots of teeth. Her lips are soft, and she laces her fingers through my hair. I blush with shame when I catch myself remembering. She said we should stop because our friendship is too important to mess up. I agree, but I don't stop thinking about it.

“Talk to me.” she says. It's been an hour. I know how to avoid a topic. I shrug. “It's nothing, just. Miguel complains I spend too much time with you, or I pay more attention to you than him when we hang out. And he gets mad when I don't want to have sex. I keep feeling like he's checking up on me, asking where I am and who I'm with. He won't let me out of the car if I've annoyed him.” Rachael makes me look at her. “That's not 'nothing'.” she says.

I start to cry again as we hug. The break-up with Miguel took three hours. My face feels tight from crying and there's blood drying on my hands. She pulls me so close I mistake her breaths for my own. “I love you like the moon.” I mumble over her shoulder. I want to hold her tighter. I don't want to leave her living room, or her arms. I want to stay here, like this, forever. “I love you to the stars,” she says, and I hope it's true. “So much.” I need her so much.

Ling Shan is so good. My enthusiasm for him is fizzy, like a soda. He asks if he can kiss me, after I ask him out. Apparently he had a crush on me for months, too. Rachael thinks we're adorable together. It feels like a gentle kick to the ribs when she says it. Because I want her to be jealous. I want her to want me how I want her. I feel like I've been training for a race I'll never even run in.

Rachael spends the summer finding herself in sex and motorcycle burns, in street food and poverty, in humidity and wonder, in Vietnam and Thailand, Hong Kong and Indonesia. I lose myself in missing her. When she comes back, tanned and scarred and loving herself at last, I throw myself into her arms and cry. She accidentally broke a bit of my heart by not coming to see me before anyone else, for not caring about me more than anyone else. How could she have known? She doesn't love me how I love her. I hurt and I cry, because I couldn't help but hope that maybe she did.

I lie on my back on his bed and tell Ling Shan that if my sexuality were a pie chart, I'd be four-fifths gay and one-fifth straight. At this point he knows he's the exception. At this point, I'm getting reluctant to sleep with him. Even so, he loves me. And I do love him. I love Rachael most, though, and I think maybe I always will. Somehow it feels like I would be betraying her by one day admitting there is someone I find more lovable in this world.

“Hey, darling! How's Ontario?” she asks. I hug my pillow and motorboat my lips in answer. I miss her. She calls everyone 'darling'. I wish she'd call me something else. I want to feel special even though I'm not. I'm finding it very difficult to fall out of love with her. “It's okay. Aside from the humidity.”  We talk about school and work and the shows she's been to see. I don't talk about the dozens of terrible poems I've written in an effort to expel her from my chest. Evidently it hasn't worked: her voice warms me like sunlight in a decidedly non-platonic manner. I choke on an exhale when she says 'I love you' before hanging up. I wish she'd either love me more, or less.

I lie awake at night and think of Rachael. Her skin is soft and pale, and her piercings seem to glow in the darkness when I roll her in my arms. Her smile dissolves sweetly on my tongue and shines behind my eyes. I love her to the moon, I love her like the stars, I love her more than anyone else.

I shout along to Tegan and Sara now.