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tarithenurse · 5 years ago

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Agent of Hope - 21

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Probably some errors due to lack of concentration when proof reading...both times. Boring office, pain and puking, fluff, hurt/comfort, comfort that is actually very intimate, smut…yeah, I mean smut. A/N: Not only have I finished yet another chapter here, but I’ve also completed two for a new series AND I’m apparently a home owner now! Now I just need to save my job after my performance has taken a toll during the home-process. Thanks for bearing with me! Thanks even more for liking and reblogging!!

21 - Living a dream

Somehow the buzzing from the old fashioned fixtures overhead hits a frequency more annoying than a mosquito at night and the light glares off of any shiny surface, causing you to squint in this world of greys. It’s hard to keep track of the maps and pictures agent Ross is showing you, but you do recognize some of the scenes from your nightmarish memories. Through an increasing blanket of fuzz, he shows you photos from the interior of a ship. It felt bigger, but in reality it’s nothing more than a smallish trawler.

You want to ask how they found it, but the words are warbled, coming from far away. The warmth of Natasha’s hair sweeps into view, blocking some of that awfully bright light before you taste the sour discharge in the back of your throat. Fuck.

Not a sound is heard, but you know the man would have a deep voice, a foreign language that would make you think of heat and traditions from before the alphabet you know. He looks kind, the stocky man, as he stands before an audience. Sweeping rows of tables makes you think of a lecture hall, but that doesn’t fit with the glass façade behind him. Glass that suddenly shatters, pushed into the room by a torrent of fire. You see it in slow motion, how a younger man leaps out of nowhere to push the speaker away as finally there’s a voice proclaiming the king is dead.

… Romanoff …

Holding [Y/N] up so she won’t choke in the vomit, Natasha doesn’t bother explaining to Ross what’s happening until she hears the first groan (which could resemble the word “fuck”) is preceded by a flutter of lashes. It’s over.

“Might want to get rid of this,” the former spy remarks, pushing the waste bin across the table to the CIA agent.

Surprisingly, he just accepts, making sure to return with a relatively unused one and even extra plastic bags. “Anything else I can get? Want me to call a doctor?”

If only that would help. “I’ve got something for the pain so I can get her back…learned to be prepared.”

“This happens often?” Shock makes the already pasty face paler.

“Every time she sees something.” Soft hands run circles on [Y/N]’s back, nursing the poor woman as she’s curled together, head cradled between shaking hands. “Imagine getting your skull hit by lightning…overloading every single neuron until the whole thing is overcharged and ready to burst only it can’t explode it can just keep hurting her.”

It’s obvious how Ross’ entire idea of how premonitions work is being re-evaluated and adjusted to allow for what he’s just witnessed. Not as romantic as books or movies claim, huh?

Natasha sits patiently, answering the confused agents many questions (though, to be fair, he actually finds the answer to a lot on his own), while nursing [Y/N] back into a shape where she can drink some water to swallow some of Dr. Cho’s pills and eventually stand on her legs. Wobbly, sure, but well enough to make it down to the car.

…

“How you feeling, babe?” She looks better. There are bags under [Y/N]’s eyes, but at least the ashen shade that had covered her face is gone. “Dare to get some food in you?”

There’s a brief moment where the option is considered before dismissed. “Thanks though…” Then she resumes the scribbling in the notebook Happy has given her, sometimes absentmindedly stroking the sequins or highlighting something – this time in an electric purple shade which she adds to something else after leafing backwards. “Has…has there been aaa…a bombing with a king or something?”

It’s a quick search for the combined forces of Natasha and Jarvis, both coming up with nothing relevant despite the pressure of a growing frown on [Y/N]’s face. The red-head recognizes the thinning line of her girlfriend’s lips and knows an intervention is needed if ever the woman is going to get some rest, but she has also seen firsthand how important it is to work through the vision as soon as possible or it will keep interfering with everything else.

Carefully lowering herself onto the bed behind the pained woman, she runs slender fingers across [Y/N]’s scalp, eliciting a sigh. “What else can I do to help?”

“Thaaaat,” a breathy moan divulges, sending chills up and down Nat’s spine, “it feels sooo good, hon.”

Nails cart gently through messy-looking hair, fingertips circling the temples and adding pressure at the nape of the skull. Back and forth while the woman between the hands start to relax into the touch. Then the slender fingers find the shoulders, kneading gently but deeply into the tangled mess of tense muscles in the vain hope that some release can be found and might help ease the pounding headache Natasha knows is reigning.

It must be working because [Y/N] sighs deeply, a content smile growing on the lips as she arches her back in relief, free breasts stretching the front of the lose t-shirt that replaced most of the ensnaring and sweat-soaked clothes the moment they got home. It’s so simple, so natural to slide a hand along the clavicles and trace the neckline of the shirt with a fingertip while the other traces a path back into the mane that smells so perfectly, and Nat can’t resist the urge to plant a feathery kiss on the top of the ear.

Did you see this too, sweetheart? See me fall in love with you? It doesn’t matter if [Y/N] knew, though, because it won’t change how right it is. It has brought a new worry into Natasha’s life, but it’s a price she’ll gladly pay over and over again as long as she gets to listen to this woman’s heartbeat, taste her kisses in the grey morning hours, know that the trust they share can’t be broken. Not by anything.

[Y/N] twists in the Avenger’s grasp, subtly moving the southern hand to rest on a boob under which a rapid beat is drumming. Led by her own hair, Nat is guided until mouths meet. There is still a tender lightness to it but also an urge, a hunger that demands more and wouldn’t it be wonderful to give in? To gorge in the sweetness without fear of causing damage?

“It’s okay, Tasha.” Hot breath carries a scent of toothpaste. “I want it. Please?”

Anything for you. A searing kiss is the only answer Natasha can muster at first. Then, without breaking contact, she pulls [Y/N] onto her lap like a goddess placed on a pedestal to be worshipped. A stray thought tries to ruin the fun by pointing out how lovely it would’ve been to slowly remove any trousers, but it’s a notion that’s squashed the moment soft thighs settle around Nat’s in a strong hold.

The first buttons of the red-head’s blouse are worked on uncontested while the remainder pop from the brute force of [Y/N] pulling at the fabric, finally allowing colder hands to roam over pale skin, finding and caressing a few old scars and toying with the fine lace.

It’s a slow maelstrom of desire that spins and pulls the women. Natasha isn’t sure when the t-shirt is discarded, she just knows how perfect the hard nipple feels against her tongue and lips and that the weight of each breast is the loveliest burden to hold and massage until [Y/N] rocks against the jeans.

It can be seconds later or minutes when the former spy pulls out the sweetest sounds by stroking the silken folds, already slippery with need. Each pass over the clit has the woman on top moaning, trying to stifle the sound against Tasha’s skin which is puckered after kisses and teasing bites. It’s not enough to silence the quaking groan when the adept fingers brings the roaring sensations to a blissful peak and [Y/N]’s body shudders and stiffens, core clenching around a few fingers that had reach inside and found the right spot.

… Reader …

Inside you are heavenly chorus is singing the praises for Tasha, for the fact that she proved your hope right and showed that, yes, being intimate could still feel good. Pfft…inadequate word. It had been beyond amazing, reducing you to a soft mass of euphoria collapsed onto her gorgeous frame.

Once relatively conscious again, you wanted to reciprocate.

“No, babe, not this time,” Tasha shushes you, stopping any complaints with kisses, “tonight I take care of you, ‘kay? And right now you get to rest.”

Of course nothing she says is a lie and she makes sure to clean you before tugging you under the covers. You’re half asleep by then and smiling like a lovesick fool.

“Tasha –“

“Nuh-uh!” A finger lands on your lips. “Unless you’re about to say you love me too then you’re going to sleep. Right now.”

“I guess I have to stay awake then.” But the smirk on your face is stretched into a yawn and you feel warmth echo inside your bones and mixing with the bliss your hero has left behind.

One more kiss, a whispered promise that she’ll be back to check on you, then darkness descends with a gentle peace.

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buckybabybaby · 5 years ago

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Mr Hollywood (Chapter 5)

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 1865

Chapter summary: Bucky comes home! But only briefly... :(

Warnings: None I think!

Chapter 4

Mr Hollywood Masterlist

Masterlist

*****

Pouring rain on Halloween night means the bowl of sweets by your front door is almost full as you answer the bell for the final few trick-or-treaters. Normally, Bucky helps you decorate the porch and front garden on the Saturday closest to the thirty first, so doing it alone this year was a bit of a challenge, but you're happy with the end result.

The witches cat, out for it's third year, sits well by the mini pumpkins and broom, and the motion activated sound effects along the lantern lit path create the perfect atmosphere, just the right side of creepy.

The children certainly seem to approve.

Switching off the fairy lights and putting the leftover treats out of sight and temptation, you curl up on the sofa, scrolling through the pictures you took earlier of your decorations, choosing the best to send to Bucky. By your calculations it should be around midday in Los Angeles, lunch time hopefully, however it's always difficult to judge when he'll have a bit of a break. His replies to your texts have been slow and sporadic, but you understand, and he always apologises for taking so long. Today is a different story though, as the message is marked as read seconds after you send it, and you watch the little bubbles on the bottom of the screen as he types back his response. It's only a short text, saying that he shouldn't really be on his phone right now, but 'Happy Halloween!', and its accompanied by a photo of his own seasonal decorations, a plump pumpkin carved to look like a haunted house. He was always better than you at that kind of thing, you think, as you compare your own efforts with his, marvelling over the intricacy of the design. The picture appears to be taken in his trailer, and you zoom in to the corners, pleased to see it's cosy, homely. You had worried about how he would cope, being thrown in to such a foreign situation, as from the little information Bucky had been able to share, it seemed as though the other actors were old hands at living on set. It looks like Bucky's learned a thing or two from them.

Your reply to his picture goes unread, and you don't expect it to be answered any time soon. It feels like you never have proper back and forth conversations any more, that phone call cancelling his trip home feels like an age ago, and you miss his voice. The first half of the Autumn term wasn't as tough as you thought it would be, Bucky's replacement Peter is as easy to work with, so you have no complaints on that front, its just not quite the same without him.

Later, as you climb into bed, you allow yourself to briefly think about the future. Now that Halloween is done with, Christmas feels just around the corner, and Bucky's return can't come quickly enough.

*****

Luckily, Autumn quickly rolls to an end, and before you can blink, the annual school disco is upon you. The children look forward to it, and while it is a wonderful way to end the school term, with the combination of sugary drinks and snacks from the tuck shop, the only time they're permitted, the excitement for Christmas, and the speakers blasting classic festive songs, keeping it all under control can be exhausting for the adults.

Taking a breather, you wander through the empty corridors until you can no longer hear the commotion from the assembly room. The cloakrooms between the classroom areas are always a little cooler as they aren't heated, and after the stuffy hall its a welcome break.

Discreetly checking your phone you sigh at the lack of texts. You try not to keep it on you when you're working, not wanting it to be a distraction, but you are waiting on a message from Bucky, not so patiently. You want to know when he's going to be back around here so you can see him, but that's difficult to plan for when he doesn't reply. Leaning against the wall, you scold yourself for being annoyed at how uncommunicative he is, its unfair to expect to be made a priority, and it's not as if you're going to be super busy over the winter break. Whenever he's free you'll make sure you are too.

A door shuts nearby and you pocket your phone, pretending to be interested in the staff board in front of you, showing every teacher, assistant, cleaner and cook on it, your picture sitting at the top of the second column. Footsteps approach as you zone out, staring down the photo of yourself, only half aware that they've stopped beside you.

“Is that who took my place? Looks like one of those cartoon me-mes.”

Frowning, it takes your brain a few moments to work out what is happening.

“A what? Me-”

Turning to face the person who interrupted your bubble of quiet, you gasp, sure you're dreaming.

Bucky stands in front of you, and before he has a chance to say hi properly you're throwing yourself into his arms, only just holding in your squeal of joy as he wraps his arms around you. He smells just as he always did, that combination of three colognes you used to tease him about even though it is an amazing scent on him, and the memories it evokes has you snivelling against his chest.

He soothes you, rocking you with him as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. “Sorry. I'm just tired I think.”

Nodding understandably against your hair, he hold you tight in his arms until your calmer.

Suddenly remembering his earlier words, you giggle as you pull away. “Me-mes? Really Bucky, you're still such a disaster.”

“And a very merry Christmas to you too.”

Smiling so wide your face hurts, you take him in. He's wearing a yellow visitor badge as opposed to your blue staff lanyard, and it makes him look so out of place even with the familiar surroundings. You note that despite spending nearly half a year in California, he's only slightly more tanned than when he left, but his hair looks different, glossier if possible, and softer. His casual style hasn't changed though, and you're happy to see that faithful puffer jacket he bought a couple of winters ago is still around. You can imagine he's grateful for it, coming back to the shock of single figure temperatures. All in all, he looks so much better than you remembered.

“And anyway,” You say, gesturing to Peter's picture that Bucky commented on, “He's actually really nice. So you should be too.”

“If you say so.”

Snorting, you check your watch. “If you have time, you could meet him?”

“I'd love to, but I've got to get to Dayton's. I didn't say I was coming here first, he'll worry I got stuck in the airport.”

“What do you mean? Haven't you been to his yet?”

“I wanted to see you first.”

“It's not really on the way is it?”

“No, but, worth it.”

Your tummy flips, flattered by his honesty. At a loss of what to say in response, you stare at the notice board behind his head, wondering if he's always had this effect on you and you've just forgotten over the months he's been gone, or if this is a new feeling. Even after an absence of six months he still has such a hold over you.

“What about tomorrow?” You ask after a short silence. “You remember the Christmas lunch? I'm sure we could squeeze you in if you wanted.”

You cross your fingers behind your back, desperate to have him here a little longer.

“Only if they have those potatoes I like.”

Thinking about how you'll make them for him yourself if you have to, you laugh at his condition for attendance, before escorting him back to the entrance foyer and his waiting taxi.

*****

“Are they not feeding you over there?” You chuckle, watching fondly as Bucky scoffs down a very full plate of dinner. Students and teachers a like have been absolutely delighted to see him again, and he's been given pride of place at the main table, with you squashed in beside him at his insistence. Peggy sits opposite, giving you a significant look every time your eyes meet. She's not pleased that you aren't paying attention to her.

“Well, yeah, but only the really healthy stuff.” He takes a last forkful, scraping at the plate forlornly, before eyeing the food you are yet to eat. Sighing good naturedly, you push it towards him. “Go ahead.”

Thanking you with a grin, he tucks in, quiet until you question him on how long he'll be back.

“Only a couple of days.” He cringes at your confused expression.

“But I thought-”

“I know, I know. But as we've had so many delays because of the weather, everything is so behind, we're basically filming all hours of the day. Most people on set have never seen anything like it, and it's only going to get even more intense. They want to hit the summer season so we're doing all nighters to get it finished.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“And then press and promo, I don't know when I'll get to come home next.”

You don't know what to say. Bucky only arrived yesterday, and now that it looks like he'll be gone by the end of the week you're lost, disappointed and angry at someone or someone's you haven't met.

“Are you at least getting enough sleep?”

He shrugs. “Does anyone in this industry?”

Peter interrupts your conversation before you can continue your interrogation, flopping down between you and Bucky to introduce himself, seemingly in awe of everything about him and his life after Wild Fields Primary School. He knows what you've told him, so not much really, and whilst he tries to dig for more answers from Bucky you force yourself to smile and enjoy the little time you have with him.

*****

The end of lunch comes too soon and whilst you would love to stay with Bucky, teaching duties call. He's driven himself here so you walk with him back to the door out to the car park, refraining yourself from giving him a hug as it feels inappropriate in front of so many people, but he has no such qualms, and ignoring everyone around, you treasure being so close to him, conscious that it may be a long while until you see him again.

Stepping back eventually, you peer through the drizzle at the car Bucky's hired for the day, only half surprised to clock the luxury badge on the front. Not exactly the little run around he used to own.

“That looks very fancy, really going up in the world aren't you?”

“I'm still me.” He says, smiling bashfully as he presses a kiss to your forehead, before slipping out of the door.

“Just don't you forget about me Bucky Barnes.”

“Never, doll.”

You wave him off, not knowing then that Hollywood has a way of changing people, and that sometimes they can't keep their promises.

*****

Chapter 6

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #buckybabybaby #Mr Hollywood

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sinningsquire · 8 years ago

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Cut Your Losses

A modern-au Kylux fic, written for @twistedsardonic

(Chapter 1 - 1996 words)

Ben stares at the flight tickets. Boarding pass, seat 14F. Ten hours flight eastwards, into the future. God, Leia is serious.

“Mom, you can’t be serious.”

“I am. I take your wellbeing very seriously, Ben. And it wouldn’t have come to this if you would, too.”

She hands him a suitcase. Ben almost expects, in his surprise-stunned, this-isn’t-happening haze, that it would be already packed for him. A half-hysterical giggle escapa him when he finds it still empty.

“You’ve picked up three fights in the last two weeks, Ben. I am tired of parents threatening to sue me. If you want to come back to that school in September, we’ve got to work on this.”

“But - you can’t just send me away for the whole summer! I got friends here!”

“These ‘friends’ are the ones who get you in trouble, and make sure you’re standing front and centre when it goes down!”

Leia takes him by the shoulders. She hasn’t been able to stare him down for the past three years now, remaining small and getting seemingly smaller with every inch and every trouble Ben grew into. But God, her eyes didn’t lose any of their strength even from this angle.

Ben doesn’t know what to say. It stings with shame but he knows she was right. One of the reasons he is so quick to throw punches is that he isn’t good with words, and couldn’t lie if he tried. His ‘friends’ are assholes. But it is either them or…. no one.

“I can’t just drop my training, Mom. Couch Snoke wants me–”

“That psycho,” Leia snarls through gritted teeth, “only wants to exploit you. You’re his best boxer now, when you listen to him telling you to rely more on rage than technique and discipline, but how long can you keep it up before you burn out? He’ll toss you away when you’re no longer useful to him. You could be so much more, Ben. I agreed to let you do boxing when I thought it would help with your anger management issues but Snoke only makes it worse.”

“Please, Mom. Don’t take this away from me.” Ben wishes he could punch something now. Snoke - yeah, maybe he is a bit creepy but he also is the only one who keeps telling Ben he can when everyone else seems to say he shouldn’t.

“I’m not. It’s only for the holidays. It’s up to what you want, and what you want to do with your life, but I want you to make the decision after the holidays. That’s all I’m asking for. Take a little time away from all the things that keep making you angry. If you still think Snoke hung the stars when you come back–” she draws a long breath, “–then I’ll step back. Promise. But now I want you to get some perspective.”

“By sending me away?” Ben hates how small it sounds. For fuck’s sake, he’s almost nineteen.

“Oh, Ben.” She huggs him tight, ignoring the roll of his eyes. Thankfully not commenting on the way he returns the embrace, clinging to her like a child. “You won’t be alone. I spoke to the school counsellor. She suggested you should spend some time somewhere quiet, preferably with animals.”

“Mom, I’m not going to therapy to pet dogs and cats all day–”

“I know darling. That’s why I’m sending you to Luke.”

“Oh God.” Ben groans. He hasn’t seen his hippie Uncle in ten years, Leia maybe in five. “Old bat’s grown tired of his hermit cave in Greece? So now he’s running an animal shelter in what, Transylvania?”

“He’s having a go at organic farming somewhere in Czech Republic, actually,” Leia says primly. Ben suspects she disapproves a little of her brother’s bohemian ways, too.

“Somewhere,” Ben parrots after her. “So you don’t even know the name of the middle of nowhere place you’re sending your only child to. Splendid, Mom.”

“Hush,” Leia pats his cheek. “I’m sure it will be a lovely place.”

The ‘lovely place’ is a decrepit mouldy farmhouse surrounded by seemingly endless muddy fields, with nothing but earth closet and no cell phone signal. The farm’s only connection to civilization is a unkept bumpy road and a bus connection, operated twice a day by a loud, dilapidated, overheated trashcan driven by a smelly, grumpy driver. Not to mention that said civilization is a sleepy hollow of a town where nobody speaks English and everything is hopelessly closed on Sunday. Including the only café with a free wi-fi.

Ben is hunched over his phone under a convenient balcony, trying to shield the screen from the obnoxious drizzle that’s been dampening his clothes and his mood alike since– well, forever. He shivers. It’s July but this country seems to have no concept of summer. It’s been raining, pouring, or at least drizzling every day since Ben came here and it doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon.

The sharp trill of a bell behind him startles him so much that he almost drops his phone into a puddle. His phone - the only thing keeping him same in this organic farming hell. He growls and turns, about to tell whoever startled him where exactly they can stick their stupid bell - not that he hopes anyone would actually understand him - when his eyes catch on a flash of ginger, the colour as bright and shocking as sunshine in this dreary weather - and the indignant reproach dies on his lips.

A young man with gorgeous fiery hair and icy glare is standing in the half-opened glass door, an expression of angry disapproval written all over his freckled face. He’s saying something, it sounds like a rude question from the lilt at the end of it. For all Ben knows of Czech, he could be saying anything. Ben tried - contrary to what he sometimes lets people think, he can be smart when he wants to - but there’s probably a special circle of hell set aside for this language. To be fair, this man could be wishing him a nice day. Ben’s experience with locals has taught him that they tend to look as if someone got their knickers into a twist every morning without actually being cross with anyone.

The man keeps talking and Ben suddenly notices he’s been blocking the door to a shop. His gaze flicks up to read a sign: Kadeřnictví Kroutilová. There are big glossy photos of artfully arranged hairstyles in the shop window. A hairdresser’s saloon, then.

The air coming through the crack in the door is warm, smelling of shampoo and cologne. Ben hasn’t seen a boy his age - well, one that wouldn’t be doggedly driving a tractor on weekdays and mindlessly driving around a badly tuned car on weekends - in so long and he has nothing better to do. He smiles.

“Could I get a haircut?”

The hairdresser shuts up and frowns. Oh, right. No luck with English here. Ben shrugs and points at his hair, fingers snipping in an imitation of scissors. It’s been getting a little into his eyes lately, anyway. Even when he won’t be able to chat, he can still get an eyeful of good looking guy.

The hairdresser replies with something that sounds a little more polite and steps aside, holding the door open.

It’s a little saloon - two revolving chairs, two sets of tools, and one old woman dozing off on a flower-patterned sofa in the corner, with dye applied to her thinning hair. Ben folds himself into the narrow chair by the washing stand and tries not to be too obvious in staring at the nice ass that presents itself when the redhead bends to sweep away the hair clippings left by previous customer.

He thinks he catches a smirk when the boy straightens - and wouldn’t that be finally something worth his time in this awful place - but then every last hope of a change of luck is squashed when the boy lifts an elegant, finely-boned hand and plucks a piece of straw from behind Ben’s ear.

Ben feels his face burn in anger at the unfairness of it all. It doesn’t matter that he comes from a city with more people than live in this whole goddamn country. Here, in front of this gorgeous, sharp, clean-shaven man, Ben is the country bumpkin, with straw sticking out of his hair from when he was helping Luke muck out the stables this morning. Hell, he probably still reeks of manure.

He looks away, eyes sweeping over the yellowed photos decorating the walls, hairstyles that were last in style in the eighties, and heaves a long-suffering sigh. One of the perks of being an American in a Czech country town is that he can let his thoughts run loud and freely whenever he likes.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know how but if you could make me look something other than your great grandfather, that would be nice,” he huffs. As predicted, the hairdresser shows no sign of offence. He simply adjusts the water temperature and begins to massage Ben’s scalp with his fingertips, and… well, it feels fucking amazing.

Ben is a bit sorry for his pettiness. The boy is probably doing his best, stuck in a town where every man wears the same haircut their father wore. Not much chance to practice the hipster lumberjack sweep around here.

Hair dripping, smelling nice and hopefully free of any straw, Ben relocates into the revolving chair. The mirror in front of him is a bit rusty around the edges and when Ben ducks his chin a little, he can see the reflection of the other mirror on the opposite wall. The hairdresser is quite tall, so tall that he has to lean forward a little every now and then to clip the hair around Ben’s ears and hairline, and his ass in the mirror is a masterpiece.

The quiet snip snip snip and the light touches, tilting his head here and there, lull Ben almost into a trance. He snaps into focus only when the cloth around his neck is pulled off, and for the first time since he sat down, he takes a look at his own reflection.

He looks… good, actually. More than. He never thought his locks could look this good parted on the side, with the layered haircut letting them fall over his forehead in a lazy, self-confident wave. Behind him, the hairdresser, sporting an intense look of concentration, is running his fingers tacky with some waxy product through the locks, making sure they stay the way the should. Ben is impressed.

“Um...thanks, I think,” he scratches his neck, itchy with the fine bits of hair that always get under the collar no matter how many towels he’s wearing around his neck. The boy gives him a quick smile. He looks very pleased with himself. Well, Ben thinks, he should be.

The hairdresser rings him up using a honest-to-God calculator and Ben leaves, lighter of a considerable sum of money and feeling better than he had in… forever, truly.

Which lasts exactly until the next morning when he climbs down the stairs to get breakfast and Luke greets him with raised eyebrows:

“Did you try cutting your own hair using a bowl?”

Still bleary eyed and only half-awake, Ben snatches the first mirror he can find and freezes.

The parting on the side is gone, his hair having reverted to its natural down-the-middle parting it’s grown into for the past nineteen years. With no product to keep the hair falling forward, it’s taken to fall backwards and around, as his locks usually do….

...and it looks like a bowl cut.

The fucking hairdresser gave him a fucking bowl cut.

For a moment, Ben wants to think that the boy simply made a mistake. Small town, not much practice… Then he recalls the small, self-satisfied smile on those full, pink lips.

That asshole knew precisely what he was doing.

To Be Continued

Link to AO3

#kylux #benarmie #star wars fanfiction #humour #meet-cute #or more like a little shit Ben meets a pretty asshole Hux

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jordanholliday322-blog · 8 years ago

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Whole30 Elimination Week 1

Greetings! I hope you all have had a fabulous week. Mine was...busy to say the least. The first week of a Whole30 plan is always filled with a ton of prep work in the kitchen (totally worth it though). To refresh in case you didn't read my first post, I will be blogging a lot about clean eating and specifically for now, the Whole30. This is a clean eating program that eliminates alcohol, sugar, dairy, gluten in all forms, artificial flavors/sweeteners, and legumes for 30 days. I am also eliminating eggs, nuts and certain nightshades due to their tendencies to be inflammatory for our digestive systems.

My first week was not only time consuming, it was tiring. It's amazing how our bodies react to sugar die off. I had WAY too many sweets and treats over the holidays and throughout our move, so this first week has been pretty brutal. So far, I haven't had a lot of cravings (thank God) but I have had a lot of really strange vivid dreams. I would love to hear from all of you about how your bodies react to this program throughout the different stages? I'm hoping this week things will start to ease up as my body rids itself of the toxins and starts to heal.

Here is a look at what my first week looked like. If you would like the recipe to any of the below homemade dishes, please send me an email at [email protected] or comment below and I will reply within 24 hours:)

Photo 1: Homemade Whole30 approved and egg-free ranch dressing (by far the best ranch I have EVER made).

Photo 2: An example of what a filling lunch should look like. Smoked turkey breast, avocado and cabbage soup with a Kombucha (great for digestion, just be sure to stick with 4g of sugar or less per bottle).

Photo 3: You have to get creative on the Whole30 with breakfasts. This was a sweet potato with coconut oil and cinnamon with 2 slices of uncured turkey bacon. It kept me full until lunch, which is key.

Photo 4: Delicious Sunday night steak dinner made by my awesome husband. Ribeye with a sweet potato and veggies. The great thing about the Whole30 is that you can have red meat!

Photo 5: Spaghetti squash with venison meat sauce and topped with sautéed mushrooms. Totally fulfilling and I didn't even miss the pasta.

Photo 6: Prep is key on this program. Last Sunday we smoked a whole turkey breast and then cut it up and ate it for lunches and dinner all week.

Photo 7: Shrimp stir-fry served over cauliflower rice with coconut aminos as the sauce (tastes similar to soy sauce--pick up a bottle at your local health store).

Photo 8: "Technically" any kind of chips are frowned upon on Whole30, however, I found these yummy root vegetable chips at Trader Joe's and the only ingredients are root veggies, safflower oil and sea salt, so I consider them acceptable. Sometimes, you just need a snack! Super yummy with salsa (make sure your salsa has no sugar added on the label. Trader Joe's is also a great place to find compliant salsas).

Photo 9: Eating out on the Whole30 program can be challenging. My favorite places when on plan are Chipotle, Piada or any other restaurant where you can build a dish. I had this delicious grilled chicken salad loaded with veggies and avocado, oil and vinegar for the dressing for lunch on Saturday. Yum!

Photo 10: I do like to make green smoothies about 3 days a week while on plan. They get boring after a while, but they are a great source of protein and they keep you full until lunchtime. I use coconut milk, frozen fruit, tons of spinach and 1/2 of an avocado in mine. The avocado makes it super creamy.

Photo 11: Garlic chicken zoodles with veggies. Made with olive oil and lots of spices and garlic. SO GOOD.

Photo 12: Crockpot verda salsa chicken. The crockpot/instantpot will become your best friend on this plan. I just threw 4 chicken breasts in a crockpot with a jar of verde salsa. 4 hours on high. Shredded it and put it on top of lettuce and topped it with chopped onions and guac. Super yummy.

Photo 13: Trader Joe's garlic chicken sausages are Whole30 compliant. I love them dipped in mustard. I also made some yummy buffalo cauliflower rice to go with them for lunch.

Photo 14: My staple and what I fall back on when I simply can not cook another meal: Chipotle carnitas salad topped with guac. My fave.

Photo 15: Roasted garlic Brussel sprouts with butternut squash. Need I say more? Great for lunch OR breakfast!

Photo 16: Like I said, breakfasts require creativity and by the time Saturday rolled around this week, I could not do another smoothie. So I cooked up some chorizo sausage and threw it on top of a sweet potato and topped it with guac. Served with a side of berries and an herbal tea. I was full for hours!

Photo 17: Berries. Berries. Berries. For snacks, for breakfasts, in smoothies, for dessert, for everything. The best fruit for you and loaded with antioxidants.

That sums it up for this week, but feel free to comment or email me and I will get any recipes to you right away. I'll be back next week with another update:)

-J

#berries

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leadvan2012 · 7 years ago

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MY EXPERIENCE WITH MICROBLADING

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Eyebrows are so in right now. Out of nowhere BOOM – eyebrow gel, eyebrow pencils, eyebrow mousse. I don’t know who exactly brought them back, but someone said, “What the hell is with all these skinny ass eyebrows, ew, gross, get out of here.” and then everyone started obsessing over them. I would say most of us, at least the adolescent-struggling types, went through many stages of eyebrows. Just look at this wonderful Buzzfeed article proving that even famous people, with lots of money and people to tell them what to do, struggled at one point with their brows. For me, I started off blonde, bushy, and lost at how to shape them in my pre-teen years. So like any rebellious teenager, I plucked them all out. No unibrow…or any brow for me! And the years went by and the plucking continued. It was a real vicious cycle. Until one day I woke up and was like, how the f*ck do I get my eyebrows back!??! (It was actually someone over social media making fun of me that made me question my brow choices. F*CK THEM, but thank you at the same time). So I stopped plucking completely, started drawing them on and looked like clown until I got the hang of it. It was a real learning curve. And still is. Today I want to tell you a little about microblading, what it is, the myths and exactly what I thought of the whole experience. I think most of us know very little about it since it’s come so far in the past years, so I want my experience to tell you what it’s really like. I think brows really shape a face and give dimension. The more I have become more interested in my own eyebrows, the more I notice how thicker brows really do make a difference! But sadly, not all of us are born with full brows or we pluck them or they are lost from an illness. And microblading gives us the opportunity to really shape our face and take control of our brows! But first, let’s take a step back in time and look at the many stages of my ever changes eyebrows and face. Just FYI, I’m a natural blonde. I’ve been dyeing my hair since I was a sophomore in high school and never went back. That means my eyebrows are lighter in color naturally, as you’ll see in past photos.PaleOMG: My Experience with Microblading

I think this was 1st grade. I’m not sure what my bangs were doing, but they had the same idea as my eyebrows. PaleOMG: My Experience with Microblading Second grade, maybe? Eyebrows are in their full light colored, unbrushed, unplucked beauty. Along with my sun kissed blonde locks…that were rarely brushed. PaleOMG: My Experience with Microblading BOOM! Where’d they go?! Oh, the teenager in me got rid of them. And added in some gauged earrings. I was so cool. PaleOMG: My Experience with Microblading

Bye bye, blonde hair! More eyebrows have been plucked at this point. And half side bangs were very in. Along with preppy collared shirts from Abercrombie. PaleOMG: My Experience with Microblading Oh sh*t, we’ve pretty much lost them. They’re gone. PaleOMG: My Experience with Microblading Ok, we’ve finally taken a step in the right direction. I had been thinking about getting permanent makeup for quite some time, probably for about 3 years now. But, of course, I had my doubts. First, I thought my eyebrows would turn out like permanent marker thin lines that you see women in jail with. Just google “bad tattooed eyebrows” and you’ll see what I mean. I also thought it was an actual tattoo and based on my experience with tattoo regret, I didn’t want that to happen with my face. Or to feel that same pain. I also thought it lasted forever, like a normal tattoo. I was wrong with all of these things. So let’s squash some of the rumors out there and get down to the fact. First, what is microblading? Microblading is the technique of using a handheld tool to create hair-like strokes in the skin to deposit dye into the dermal layer. They numb your skin beforehand and then it feels like they are just scraping your skin a bit. After they create these individual hair strokes, they rub a dye into it to set into that dermal layer. If microblading is done by a person who knows what the hell they are doing, you don’t need to worry about those permanent marker eyebrows that we know so well. How long does the process take? When you go in for your first appointment, it’s usually just to test the color and if you will have an allergic reaction, so just a few hair strokes are drawn on. A week later, you come back in, numbing cream is applied for about 30 minutes then she draws on the shape of the brows. The shape can take 5-20 minutes to draw on and really figure out what works for the face. After that, the hair strokes are drawn on which can take 30+ minutes. So plan on being there for about 2 hours or more. After that appointment, you apply ointment to your eyebrows for 7 days while they heal, just like a scab. Then you go back in after 4 weeks for a touch up since they can fade a good amount and that appointment for me took far less time and I didn’t even need to be numbed. Does it hurt? I didn’t think so. Sure, it’s kind of annoying if the numbing cream wears off a bit, but it’s not bad. I had my profractional treatment just a week before my microblading and really nothing compares to that pain, so it felt like nothing in comparison. Is it obvious right away? YES! It’s very dramatic after you get it done. You feel like a clown. But it fades a ton so you gotta be ready to not love how you look for a few days while you get use to a different shape and wait for it to fade a bit. That being said, don’t have any big plans or events to go to for a week after your appointment. And don’t freak out when you see it. It will absolutely fade. Hong long does it last? I’m told it usually last 1-3 years, usually 1 if you live in a dry climate like Colorado. So no, it’s not completely permanent. Is it expensive? Well obviously it depends where you go and what you think expensive is, but yes, I think it’s relatively expensive. But someone is cutting into your face and putting dye into it…so the person better know what the hell they are doing. I’ve heard prices from $300-$500 (and more) depending on the state. IMG_8399 Now let’s talk about my own experience! I recently found out about Lea Curry at Oxford Hotel Spa through my amazing esthetician Shawn. When you meet Lea, you’re pretty mesmerized by her own eyebrows, that aren’t microbladed at all. They are just perfection! She immediately makes you feel super comfortable and like you’re talking to a best friend. She applies a numbing cream to the eyebrows and places saran wrap on top and you hang out for about 30 minutes. Afterwards, she uses a eyebrow pencil to draw on your shape. For me, I was nervous because they looked so big compared to what I was use to, but I trusted her and I obviously didn’t know sh*t since I did this to my eyebrows in the first place! After she draws them on, she begins the miroblading process. With the first eyebrow, I didn’t even feel it because the numbing cream had worked so well. The second eyebrow, I felt a little more but it wasn’t ever painful, just annoying. Afterwards, she puts on some ointment and sends it home with you to apply throughout the day. You put nothing else on it for 7 days, just the ointment. I absolutely loved my brows at first, then about 4 days in they began to fade and come off pretty quickly, which Lea told me would happen. I began to have pretty spotty brows as they healed and I couldn’t wait to go back for my 2nd appointment 4 weeks later. It’s pretty sad when you fall in love with how they look and then they fade, but that’s how it goes. Here is what it looked like at the first appointment. The top is my normal brow, no dye, no makeup. And the lower photo is right after the appointment. PaleOMG: My Experience with Microblading At the second appointment 4 weeks later, she ended up tinting my brows and lashes since I keep my hair so dark and she used a darker ink, doing less strokes but with a darker dye. This photo below is a week after my appointment with no makeup on and then with makeup on. I still have to fill my brows in a bit but not nearly as much as I use to. PaleOMG: My Experience with Microblading I had my second appointment a couple weeks ago and have a third appointment coming up in 2 more weeks for another touch up. Lea recently went to another training for a new digital device so I’m going to try that out! More than anything, Lea showed me what my shape SHOULD look like. When you’ve seen your face for so many years, it’s hard to know how else you should look. After the first appointment, I was able to see the shape she intended, even though it faded, and I was able to continue to draw on that shape because of seeing it for a few days. When I went in, I hoped that I wouldn’t ever have to pencil in my brows ever again, but I now know that won’t be the case (and Lea said that most people still pencil in some). I’ll still have to pencil them in a bit BUT when I have absolutely no makeup on, I don’t look like a different person now since my brows are darker and the spots that were missing were filled in. So when I’m at the lake, I’m not constantly thinking about how I look different without makeup on. And that was really my end goal. When I used to have cystic acne, all I want to be able to do is be comfortable without makeup on and proud of my skin. Through the help of accutane and my amazing esthetician Shawn (Text Shawn for an appointment at Cherry Hills Facial Aesthetics 720-459-7960- she is not the same person as Lea), I’ve been able to get closer to that. But with the help of Lea, I feel even more comfortable in my skin and feel like I look like myself when I wake up! I’m excited to go in for one more appointment to really fill in any areas that didn’t take AND to talk to her about permanent makeup on my lips. I have pretty thin, light colored lips and it would be great to make them look a little bigger without doing filler or any of that jazz. But that will have to be for another post if I decide to go through with it! In the end, I’m extremely happy with my experience with Lea and would absolutely recommend her to anyone in the Colorado area! You can contact Lea at the Oxford at 303-628-5435. If you’re not in Colorado, just make sure to do your research and see if they have maybe an instagram page or other social media that show their past work! Just know what you’re getting into beforehand and trust the person. It’s your face, for gosh sakes! If you have any questions, please leave them below and I’ll answer them as quickly as possible. I get back to comments on the blog much quicker than email so be sure to ask questions here! Excited to try more things out in the future and share it with you guys!

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