#soldier on

[reactionimagecollection]

[sinceileftyoublog]

Andrew Bird & Mary Lattimore Live Show Review: 12/5, Fourth Presbyterian Church, Chicago

Andrew Bird & Alan Hampton

BY JORDAN MAINZER

A few songs into this year's first Gezelligheid show--Andrew Bird's annual series of winter concerts at the Fourth Presbyterian Church--Bird mentioned that when he put on an Ella Fitzgerald recording when spending time with his family, his niece asked, "Why are you playing Christmas music?" To her, Bird posited, all old music sounded like Christmas music. It's a fairly easy misconception to understand. After all, the feelings you most associate with Christmas, holiday, or wintertime music in general--warmth, joy, familiarity--are often inherent qualities of songs that clearly are from a distant past. A great classic song can make you feel nostalgia for a time you didn't even experience. It's that phenomenon that Bird took advantage of most on Thursday night.

Bird & Hampton

Accompanied by multi-instrumentalist Alan Hampton, Bird played both original and cover favorites from his recorded catalog. Highlights of the former included Armchair Apocrypha's plucky "Plasticities", the minimal "Pulaski at Night", and the swaying "Alabaster" from holiday album Hark! He culled multiple times from his deep well of tunes by Vince Guaraldi and beloved Americana duo The Handsome Family. Midway through the main set, Bird took advantage of returning home and invited Evanston-based longtime collaborator Nora O'Connor on stage. Though O'Connor has long been a backing vocalist for the likes of Bird, The New Pornographers, and The Decemberists, she and Bird actually played a deep cut she recorded with him, a version of Bob Dylan's "Oh Sister" from Bird's 2007 Soldier On EP. The three musicians on stage broke the song down, a capella style, before Bird built it back up with his violin.

Bird

But it was Bird's most recent releases of covers that ended up perfectly encapsulating the allure of the past. In May, he shared Sunday Morning Put-On (Loma Vista) with the trio of Hampton and drummer Ted Poor, a collection of jazz standards (plus one original) interpreted through Bird's unmistakable aesthetic. Bird knows that stringed instruments best emulate human voice, but on Sunday Morning Put-On, he explores the extent to which applying bow pressure on his violin strings can recall the rich sounds that result from blowing air into the mouthpiece of a horn instrument. Early in his set on Thursday, Bird and Hampton performed the Trio's rendition of Johnny Green and Edward Heyman's "I Cover the Waterfront", a song that's been recorded by the likes of Sarah Vaughan and Billie Holiday. Starting with violin, Bird's fluttering followed the original's vocal line; by the time he started singing, his bowing undulated like a tenor saxophone. The performance was eerie, uncanny, and time-bending.

Bird & Hampton

In October, Bird and singer-songwriter Madison Cunningham released Cunningham Bird (Loma Vista), a track-by-track recreation of Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks' pre-Fleetwood Mac record Buckingham Nicks. For many in the crowd, even among the pop music aficionados, it was their first time hearing the songs at all: Remarkably, Buckingham Nicks is long out-of-print and not on any streaming services, save for some unofficial uploads to YouTube. Bird and O'Connor duetted a strummed, stripped-down, faster-paced version of "Races are Run". On both Cunningham Bird and on Thursday, for "Crystal", Bird inverted the gender of the lead singer, Cunningham and O'Connor, respectively, singing Buckingham's words, Bird harmonizing Nicks' parts. And there's a fun connection between Sunday Morning Put-On and Cunningham Bird, which is John Lewis' "Django", a song that not only did Bird and his Trio cover on the former but that Buckingham and Nicks covered for their album--meaning Bird also reinterpreted Buckingham and Nicks reinterpreting jazz. The version that led into "Races are Run" Bird played on Thursday was firmly the Cunningham Bird version--after all, Poor's drums are key on Sunday Morning Put-On--but the song's inclusion as a standard that can be adapted in many different ways underscored the very concept of Gezelligheid: conviviality, coziness, fun.

Bird & Hampton

Mary Lattimore

Opening for Bird was harpist Mary Lattimore, a musician who has demonstrated over the past several years that combining classical training with clear experimentation and a sense of humor can, too, result in something fun and beautiful. Lattimore, gifted her harp by Chicago-based factory Lyon & Healy, performed tracks from her dense back catalog, many of which had a story associated with them. She wrote Hundreds of Days' "On the Day You Saw the Dead Whale" after, yes, seeing a dead whale in a coastal California town where she was at a residency. "Wawa By The Ocean", included on her 2017 Collected Pieces compilation, was inspired by her holy routine of buying a hoagie from the Philadelphia-born convenience store/gas station chain and eating it on the Jersey Shore. (Upon finding out about the song, Wawa headquarters sent Lattimore a care package.) "Til a Mermaid Drags You Under" aims to reflect the duality of dark and light in the surf town where it was recorded with Slowdive guitarist Neal Halstead, for 2020's Silver Ladders. On Thursday, hearing the songs' contexts gave crowd members a starting point, either as a lens through which to take in the song or as a challenge to see if they could empty their heads and get lost in the pure sounds emanating from the stage. Lattimore, meanwhile, used synths and looping not to trick and lull you into layers, but to show you how she was manipulating the sounds in real-time, as tangible as her plucks and scratches of the harp. At one point, during Hundreds of Days standout "It Feels Like Floating", ambulances were outside driving down the street, sirens on, but the crowd was subsumed by Lattimore's playing. The harp didn't drown anything out by volume, but like Bird's violin would do later, it enraptured a group of people who had walked through the doors of the church to nestle in the safety of memory and imagination.

Lattimore

Lattimore

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Gods Are Up!

I am being very irresponsible about using Tumblr for updates like I promised! Well, my stylus tips aren't here yet, and the spouse is working on a paper, but I don't have the grey matter to do a real deep dive like I was gonna do on days beginning with T. So, here's an update! I got the list of Invisibles up on the site a few days ago and forgot to tell anyone.

I'm highlighting Lame Anthony [above] because I happen to have a full figure image of him. I gave all of them cute little representative graphics like this:

...which is probably more appropriate for a load of invisible creatures who can only tell mere mortals what they look like and what to call them.

Here are Anthony's stats!

Description: A thin man with a crooked stance and light-coloured hair. Either depicted in Medieval peasant garb or frayed jeans and a T-shirt — with varying accuracy as “jeans” and “T-shirts” took quite some time to appear in their modern incarnation. He does not wear shoes.

Personality: Hyperfocused Space Cadet.

Speciality: Protector of Broken Things. Uncertain how much he’s actually able to do.

Wants: To Admire Anything Broken. The best offerings to Lame Anthony are still in use and have a unique new function due to their brokenness.

Power Level: +/- 0 — he is an Invisible, but there is something wrong with him which may or may not make it impossible for him to do anything. At the very least it is hard for him to do things.

Difficulty Level: 11 — damn near impossible to hold, unable to stay long enough to take any action in a human body, beyond speaking a few words.

AKA: Anton the Broken (Prokovia), Ikswotangi (a museum piece, crayon on cardboard, purported to be the work of an art student who held him long enough to let him sign his own name. It also includes a mysterious sigil, forked lines resembling the track of a bird with a wobbly circle drawn around them, considered a poor attempt at a human figure by most.)

Notes

Even the gods aren’t perfect. Lame Anthony is here to raise questions about just what the hell it means to exist as an Invisible. If they’re not defined by their ability to do things, then what are they? In any case, he seems to be a happy transcendental being and Hyacinth’s house is basically his church.

He is protective of Erik, but he may not be able to do much to help anyone.

He got his own tarot card because he's always hanging around and he's thematically appropriate. I put him in Hyacinth's kitchen - which is a background I finished recently for Hyacinth's tarot card. He's made himself some paper dolls/shadow puppets, two of which are missing pieces of their heads (Erik and Hyacinth) and one of which has a chunk out of its heart (Mordecai). He's holding the broken wooden spoon he likes in between his teeth, as if it's a rose and he's about to do a tango. The scissors and paper scraps are all over the floor around his bare feet. I don't think he can really move physical objects like that, but he would if if could.

This is my take on Judgement, which has similar figures in similar positions with a totally different context.

That's a divine being (an angel) with an object in its mouth (a trumpet) above smaller human figures (man, child, and woman) with their arms raised. That's the wakeup call for Judgement Day, though. Lame Anthony is much more uncritical and accepting!

Since my eyes aren't working right and I adopted this new, simplified style, people and things are in black, and stuff that you can't see is in pure light - sometimes coloured, but the Invisibles are always plain white. (Unless I come up with a thematic reason to make an exception!)

Note music (which is heard and not seen) in white, and pink and aqua halo indicating Milo is enjoying his steampunk DDR experience. As I was putting this one together, I was about to put a smile on Milo's face (he does manage one occasionally, when he's not overthinking it) then I thought, "Milo should not be obligated to smile for the audience to know he is happy." In text, he doesn't have to, so I came up with a way to do that for him in pictures.

Lame Anthony is based mostly on this guy:

...at least in function and personality. Reverend Jim was definitely the least functional cabbie of the group, but everyone put up with him because you knew he couldn't help it and he was so damn nice. But I don't think Anthony sounds like him. Too excitable and focused. Jim is more liable to say, "Okay," and follow you if you tell him to quit doing something. Anthony will smile at you, wave, and wander right into traffic. Which will blow right through him, as he doesn't have a body and no one's managed to hold him for more than a minute, so it's fine.

If you're not reading Tin Soldier and Soldier On... You have no idea what I'm talking about. But, Invisibles mess with people and reality itself, some of them call themselves saints, angels, or fairies, and people call them gods. You can never get a consistent story out of them about anything. Maybe they made people, maybe people made them, maybe they are people, maybe they were never people... And none of that really matters because if you keep them happy they'll do things for you, and that's all people want from them.

...Except Lame Anthony. He can't really do anything. But maybe that doesn't matter either. He's living his best, uh, whatever-it-is.

I think all the gods I've featured in-story so far have an entry, and there are a few in there you'll meet later. All this stuff is Creative Commons and Share Alike, so if you like any of this god business, you can take it and run with it. Probably there's typos and formatting errors, and I want to do one more illustration for the music, but it's all legible and I made it and I think it's fun.

Yes, my few readers, David (or whatever that is) has an entry too!

In other news: I can't do any more art until I fix my stylus, and I'm going to donate to Whole Women's Health for April, kicking off at least four months of spite donations to women's healthcare providers, but I haven't yet. I've managed to get an appointment with a specialist after a year of begging my family doctor, and I'm anxious and exhausted, not yet knowing if I'm gonna go through another uphill slog to get any actual help. Or if they'll help me at all, I guess. That's taking up a lot of my headspace, so I"m gonna be all over the place this week.

I apologize in advance if I over-or-under-correct my weird behaviour over the next few days.

[a-parliament-of-owls]

Artists just need to continue to be terrible at drawing hands so AI will be as well

Once the bugs get ironed out, AI Image Generation will forever change propaganda and how easy it is to make and distribute.

[dashintrash]

He is THE King (and the father)

[whatsnewalycat]

Made this for u 💝

[decamarks]

Thinking of becoming a guy that thinks wolves are the most badass and aspirational animal, but about ants. Like wearing t-shirts about being loyal to my Queen and training to bench 5x my bodyweight. Studying ant warfare. Posting shit like this

[quixoticprince]

Guys I don't think this kindly stranger is all that nice But yeah, if Medic confessed about stealing their souls in the next pages I don't think anyone would really care

Based on this post thread

[brunchable]

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 [ 2 ]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Friends to Lovers. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky just not getting enough of you, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral [M&F], unprotected piv, creampie. Just PURE making love, no kinks. Summary: It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him. A/N: 2 of 2. And I must say. . . JAYSUS. BON APETITIDDIES.

Part One

You were stiff. You were sore. Your arm was asleep. And you felt fucking fantastic.

Maybe in the movies people woke up entwined in each other's arms after a night of spirited lovemaking, but for you, reality was much more awkward. Your head had somehow become wedged behind Bucky’s shoulder, and both his legs were about to slide off the couch altogether. You untangled yourself as best you could, looking down at him as you moved his limbs out of the way.

Bucky was sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes lying flat against the skin beneath his eyes. They fluttered slightly as you pulled free of him, and he stirred.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and turned over so he was facing the back of the couch, still caught in mid-slide towards the floor.

You tried not to laugh. God, he was adorable.

You sat up, arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles. Then your breath caught. What time was it? Holy hell, I’m going to be late.

You stood up quickly, and was seized by an ache between your legs so unfamiliar that you nearly sat back down again. Holy crap. It had been way too long. You almost felt like a virgin again. You rose again shakily, noticing that your whole groin felt sore, and so did your hips—probably from throwing your legs up around his waist. God, what a wanton hussy you were, you thought happily.

You went quietly towards the bathroom, checking the clock on the stove as you walked by. It was nearly eight-thirty. Crap. You were supposed to be at work by nine, or nine-thirty at the latest. you'd  have to make the shower a quick one.

You stood under the hot water, letting it pour over your sore muscles. You washed out your hair, lathered up your body and massaged your sore hips as random images from last night invaded your thoughts. Even now you weren't entirely convinced it hadn't all been a dream. Has it really happened? The soreness was real enough. And so were the images flashing through your mind.

Bucky’s body on yours, looming over you, holding your wrists, kissing you with abandon. Taking each breast in his mouth, teasing you with his fingers. Sliding into you, tilting your back and thrusting deeper, faster, harder.

Suddenly a blurry figure appeared on the other side of the glass door. The door slid open and he stood there, looking disheveled from sleep but adorably sexy. And naked, too.

"Hi," he said, a seductive smile curving his lips. His eyes traveled down your naked body, pausing at your breasts and then sliding down to the between your legs where rivulets of water coursed and ran together.

You flushed at the frank inspection but willed yourself not to try to hide from him. You shifted your weight, jutting your hip out provocatively and smiled.

His eyes returned to yours, desire glinting in them. "May I join you?"

You pushed the door back and invited him in. Bucky stepped in and crowded you, not unpleasantly, until your back was up against the tiles. He braced his hands on the wall behind you, and let the water flow over him as he leaned down and kissed you.

You opened to him and kissed him back, winding your hands around his waist and sliding them down his ass, squeezing appreciatively. He smiled into the kiss, enjoying your wandering hands, then pushed forward so your bodies were pressed together, the water slick and warm between you.

"So," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the water. "So much for that idea."

"What idea was that?" you whispered back, kissing his ear.

"The idea that we could ever be just friends," he said, catching your jaw with his lips as you turned your head. He covered your neck with slow, lingering kisses, trailing his mouth down your and cupping your breast with his hand.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a great idea so far," you said coquettishly. "Besides," you joked. "I do this with all my male friends."

He mocked a scowl at you, and gave you  that smile that had always melted you. "Well, that's going to have to stop. You're mine now."

He kissed you slowly, his tongue tangling with yours as he teased and tasted, enjoying your mouth.

You kissed him back, licking and tasting and enjoying him until you felt rather than heard a hum of desire, of pure carnal lust, vibrating through him. He was growing hard against your belly, his cock pressing against you urgently.

He lowered his head further and took your  nipple into his mouth, licking the soft nub until it grew hard beneath his tongue. Pleasure shot through you, and he turned to lavish the same attention on your other breast. You writhed against the cold tiles at your back, arching into him and sinking your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. He smiled as you moaned with pleasure, and laughed softly when he took your nipple between his teeth and made you suck in a sharp breath.

His cock was as hard as it had been a few hours ago, and it surged in your hand as he took your breasts. You gathered some suds into your palm and grasped him again, feeling the iron-hardness of him beneath the silky skin. You began to stroke, gliding fast and smooth, and he groaned from the pleasure of it, collapsing against you and kissing you between his soft, low sounds of pleasure and need.

You kept stroking and teasing, gliding over him in a steady rhythm, and felt yourself growing warm and slick at how hard he was beneath your fingers. You loved that you were doing that to him, making him want you so much. He groaned, his breath jagged and shallow. He tried to kiss you through his mounting pleasure but he had to break off to breathe, to lose himself in the sensation.

"God, baby," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So good."

You tried not to focus on him calling you baby, knowing it was only his arousal talking. You focused instead on the intense pleasure that was making him say it. You continued stroking him, changing your hand position so that you pulled up with each stroke, teasingly pulling his skin up over the head each time and sinking down to the base, pleasuring every inch of him. Your other hand cupped his balls and caressed him, gently rolling him around in your fingers as he tensed and surged and seemed to fight against you, against the unbearable pleasure you were causing him.

After a few torturous moments he stopped your hand, his breathing so fast and ragged that he could hardly speak. 

“You—don't want—this to end too soon, do you?” he warned, kissing you in between breaths. “Because, my God, you could make me come in seconds if you wanted to.”

“That might be fun,” you said, kissing the edges of his mouth, licking at his lips and his tongue when he opened his mouth to you again.

“For me, yes,” he breathed, breaking away from you. “But I'm not nearly finished with you yet.”

He slipped his hand into your hair and held your head, kissing you with such raw passion, such naked need that you felt a surge of warmth flood between your legs in spite of the cooling effects of the water. He had wrung a soul-shattering orgasm out of you just a few hours ago and yet here you were again, eager for him again. Wanton hussy indeed.

"Do you remember that night, two years ago?" he asked, his voice low and deep. "At the party, when I played that song on the guitar for you, and you asked whether it hurt my fingers to play the steel strings?"

He was watching his own fingers trail over your breasts, over your tightened nipple, down past your navel, as the water trickled over you both.

"Mmm hmmm," you murmured, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation of the water coursing down your body and his hand moving over you.

“And you touched my fingertips…”

Of course you remembered; you'd run your  fingers over the roughened pads of his fingertips, and had watched in delight as he'd twitched a little, and then trembled, just a little, at your touch. You'd kept your touch feather-light and soft, drifting over his fingertips and down his fingers a little, feeling the shiver of heightened awareness in your  own hands.

Maybe you'd been a little too suggestive, a little too lingering, whispering-touching those parts of him that were supposedly hardened against such sensations—but you'd been unable to stop yourself. His hands had been warm and strong and eminently male, and when he'd stiffened and held his breath, as if willing himself not to react to your seductive touch, you'd felt that shiver of awareness deepen into an intense desire.

Such a seemingly innocent touch, just a friend examining the time-worn calluses of a guitar player's fingertips. . .and yet in that moment, even amongst their friends, even with the music playing loud and the laughter soaring above it, you'd felt like it had been just the two of you in that room, touching each other intentionally for the very first time, your hand tentatively reaching out for his, and his reaching to meet your half way.

“You drove me wild.” he said, leaning to kiss your neck. “I got so hard, I was afraid to move. And after that, I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you with these fingers.” He slipped his hand between your  legs and caressed your folds, parting them gently and sliding inside you. “Like this, for instance.”

You moaned and leaned your head against his shoulder, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. His fingers explored you, caressed you, possessed you, expertly as though they, too, knew you were his.

“I just had to touch you,” you breathed against him. “And believe me, this is what I was thinking about too.”

“You stopped me last night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck. “I wanted to feel you come for me. To finish what you started that night.”

You groaned at the sound of his voice, so low and sexual, so heated with his own desire.

“Let me feel you come for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, licking your  earlobe. “Please.”

He gripped your hip and lifted you up against the wall slightly, positioning you so he could slide his fingers deep inside you. He held you firmly around the waist, bracing you against the wall, and thrust into you gently, with first one finger, then two, sliding deeper and deeper each time, stretching you, mimicking the size and power of his cock. His thumb played over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he pressed his forehead to yours and gazed down into your  eyes. You gasped and cried out from the overwhelming pleasure of it even as you squirmed beneath his fingers and ached for more.

He braced you against his thigh and pressed against you while his arm steadied you from behind, holding you completely in his grasp. Bucky had such a way of holding you, letting you know that you were going nowhere, making sure you had no desire to be anywhere but in his arms. You felt safe, and secure, and above all, worshiped.

Bucky bent down and kissed you, sliding his fingers into your with a wild, sensuous rhythm that matched the increasing speed of his thumb as it stroked and rubbed and swirled around your aching clit. His hand was so strong, his fingers curving inside you to caress you, to find that super-sensitive inner spot even as he plunged and drove and took. With his thumb circling your clit in a relentless rhythm and his fingers deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you, you felt completely owned by him, by the hand that possessed every inch of you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers, swirling, tasting, mutely revealing that he had had another  fantasy, too. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue tasting you, torturing you, swirling over your clit as you writhed beneath it made you go weak in the knees.

Bucky broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, lowering himself to his knees in front of you  while bracing your hips against the tiles with his strong hands.

"Did I mention what it did to me the first time your tongue touched mine?" he whispered devilishly.

He looked up at you so intently, his beautiful blue eyes blazing as the water streamed over his shoulder and down the contours of his chest. You gazed down at him, and for the second time this morning questioned whether  all this could actually be happening. This gorgeous, virile man gripping you, kneeling before you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It couldn't be real, could it?

Then he lowered his lips to your and you knew it was.

Sensation tore through your touch, so delicately gentle at first, and you arched against the wall with a startled cry. You reached down and gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself on one foot as he brought you to your leg up slowly, gently and eased it over his shoulder. The sight of it alone nearly made you come. He moved so languidly, so sensuously, positioning you better so he could enjoy your all the more.

He closed his mouth over your clit and kissed it luxuriously, his lips moving as though he were kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled over you in large, sensuous circles and he groaned against you, tightening his grip on your hip as you moaned against the sudden overwhelming pleasure of it. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick against your  rapidly as he looked up at you again, watching your pleasure, his eyes smiling at you as if he knew precisely how good he was making you feel. Then he fell on you again, his tongue roaming over you, tasting you, luxuriating in your folds and dipping to lap at your entrance.

“Oh my, g-god. Bucky—”

You bucked against him and cried out as his tongue slipped into your and pulsed there, gently, savouring you. Your hand sank into his wet hair and as you gripped his head, you were rewarded with a muted chuckle and a more intense forward surge of his tongue inside you. He liked the moans he wrought from you. He liked being able to make your  cry out and seize him, your head thrown back in agonizing pleasure.

And fuck did you like it, too.

"Oh God," you breathed, your heart thundering in your chest. "My God, that feels so good..."

He withdrew from your and slid his tongue up to torture your aching clit, and just when you began to miss the feel of him inside your he gently pushed his fingers into your again and began to thrust.

Pleasure soared through you and you cried out even louder, and the leg draped over his shoulder began to tremble. His tongue circled your clit again, deliciously slowly, as his fingers slid into you over and over again, a sensual, primitive rhythm that made you  want to grind your hips against the pleasure.

“I'm coming,” you whispered urgently. “You're going to make me come…”

His fingers thrust deeper and faster and he began to lick you so quickly, with such a throaty groan of pleasure that you felt your  orgasm rise, terrifyingly fast and sharp, making you cry out in increasing, panting breaths until you shattered, coming violently around his fingers and that sensuous, irresistible tongue. You shuddered with an aching cry and trembled from the spasms he sent rippling through you. Your body curled forward as you gripped him tighter, your  fingers pulling on his hair from the pressure.

He removed your leg from his shoulder gently as you continued to shudder, feeling aftershocks of pleasure shiver through you. He got to his feet and helped you stand, pressing himself against your  and nuzzling your neck.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice shaking. your  whole body shaking. “That was incredible.”

“That...was just the prelude,” he whispered, kissing you. “I haven't even started pleasuring you yet.”

God, he was going to kill you. Death by orgasm, you thought happily. What a way to go.

He leaned to turn off the water, but he stilled his hand. He looked back at you with a questioning expression, and then understood. You pulled him back towards yourself and he went willingly, stepping back under the stream of water, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming greedily over your  body.

You weren't done with him. He had made you feel like a goddess, worshiped, cherished, adored.

You broke off the kiss and began trailing your  lips down his neck, his collarbone and chest, enjoying the warmth of the water trickling past your mouth. His chest muscles tensed as you kissed them, and as you moved your  lips slowly down his abdomen you felt his whole body go rigid with anticipation. You sank to your knees in the tub and brushed kisses along his navel, his hip bones, and he put his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Water coursed over both of you, and you delighted in it, closing your eyes against the spray.

“Baby,” Bucky said softly, barely audible above the water.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was about to say something but you smiled and glanced away, focusing instead on the head of his cock, hard and urgent in front of you. He was thick and beautiful, and still as hard, maybe even harder, than he had been when you'd teased him with your  hands.

“I want to taste you,” you said playfully. “All of you.”

You leaned forward and gently licked the swollen tip of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing, and you smiled up at him, letting him know this was for your  pleasure as much as for his. You swirl your  tongue around the head, taking it into your  mouth and suckling gently, teasing it. The skin was soft and smooth, stretched deliciously tight from the hardness of his erection.

You let your tongue play over it, dipping into the opening, making him moan. You drifted your tongue along the ridge, and down to the sensitive skin just beneath the head, licking and tasting, nipping and kissing.

You looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wild with desire. You smiled, and ran your  tongue up and down the length of him, ending at the head and flicking at it delicately, teasingly. He moaned softly, his breathing starting to grow rapid. You rose up slightly to take the whole length of him into your mouth and sucked him, long and hard.

He let out a gasp and braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other  hand gripping your  shoulder.

“Oh fuck—Baby...”

You slid your mouth over his shaft, deeper, deeper, and slid back up the length of him. Your hands came around and gripped his ass, pulling him towards you. He staggered forward slightly as you took him into your  mouth again, luxuriously taking in his entire length, sucking, licking, tasting as you went. The sensation of him in your mouth was almost as overwhelming as his first entrance into your body had been, so unfamiliar but so right at the same time.

You caressed his balls with one hand as you played your tongue over his cock. He groaned, his breathing jagged now, his cock harder than ever. His hand moved from your  shoulder to sink into your wet hair, and he gripped your head with barely restrained urgency. Gently he guided your head closer to him as you sucked. You lowered yourself onto him and slowly sucked your way back up, your mouth gripping him, your cheeks hollowing, as your tongue slid over him with each pass.

His hips began to move as he started to match your rhythm, thrusting into you, meeting your mouth. Bucky gripped your head more firmly and held your head still, driving into you gently.

You let your hand fall and you sat back on your haunches, enjoying the feeling of him sliding in and out of your mouth, controlling his own pleasure, taking what he wanted, and what you were so willing to give. Yet you could tell he was holding back, wanting to thrust harder and faster but restraining himself and settling for a smoother, slower pace.

For you. Bucky was holding back for your sake. This passionate, soulful, virile man was holding back his own pleasure because he wanted to be gentle with you.

The very thought of it excited you, and you increased your own rhythm, encouraging him, moaning with pleasure as he drove into you. You sucked harder, faster, turning your  gaze up to him with an urgent plea in your  eyes. Faster. Deeper. Now, my love.

And he understood.

Bucky groaned, and stepped forward. His hand clenched in your hair and he began to move, faster and harder, plunging deeper, holding your head as he thrust into your  mouth with urgent, rhythmic strokes. He slid in and out of your mouth as if through warm honey, and you felt and heard his pleasure mounting with every ratcheted breath and every desperate moan that escaped his lips.

His eyes watched your with rapt adoration and abject lust, and you could tell that the sight of your taking him fully into your mouth, of your sucking him with pure, greedy abandon and complete acceptance, was pushing him closer to the edge as much as the intense pleasure of your tongue on his cock was. Or more.

He tensed as his rhythm grew faster, his breathing harder, until you felt him tighten and strain so much that you felt certain he was going to spill himself into your mouth. But at the last moment he cried out and pulled back, his cock slipping out of your  mouth quickly. He stood still, breathless, his eyes closed as if willing his orgasm to retreat. Water sliced down his neck and chest, and finally he let out a slow, jagged moan of a breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at you wildly, and reached for you,helping you to your feet.

“Jesus,” he said breathlessly, staring at you as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't...I can't believe how goddamn good that felt. You brought me so close, so fast, I almost couldn't stop it.”

“Why did you?” you asked, running your  finger along his jaw. “I wanted to feel you come for me.”

He groaned against you, his hands roaming over your  body. “I told you, I'm not nearly done with you yet.”

He kissed you hungrily, his cock surging against your violently as your bodies met. you could feel him moving against you, his cock rubbing against you,and you knew how badly he wanted to be inside you again.

As badly as you wanted him inside you again.

He stepped back, his breath still ragged, and pressed his forehead to yours as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“You're not done yet, huh?” you teased gently, letting your fingers sink into his wet hair as you kissed his neck.

“Not nearly.”

“But I have to go to work. Maybe if I'm lucky you'll be here when I get home?”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

He reached to turn off the water and stepped out of the shower, turning to help your step over the wall of the tub. You threw your robe on and cinched the belt as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. You caught him grinning at you, and it was so clear what he was thinking that it made your  laugh.

“What?” you demanded, squeezing the excess water out of your hair with a hand towel. “What are you smiling at?”

Bucky wetted his lips with his tongue, “Fuck it. You're just going to have to be late for work. Come here…”

“Hey!” your eyes widened playfully, jumping away from him. “Are you trying to kill me? Stop!”

Bucky untied your robe and you yelped, trying to slap his hands away. He just kept advancing on you, grinning devilishly. You turned and scampered away from him with a squeal of delight.

He followed behind, still grasping for the robe. You shrieked and laughed and ran towards the bedroom, and he followed, catching up to you and pushing you onto the bed with a resounding crack of the bed frame.

You laughed as he tumbled on top of you, but he silenced you with his mouth, kissing you hungrily as he impatiently pushed your robe aside. His breath was ragged as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his need too great for the slow, sensual lovemaking of last night. He held his cock against your entrance and smoothly thrusts into you and moaned against your mouth, and you wrapped your legs around him to draw him deeper.

He plunged into you, covering your body and your mouth with the same hungry possession. You were still so warm and wet, so exquisitely ready for him that he filled you easily, driving you relentlessly as he tasted your tongue, your lips, your neck, and groaned from the pleasure your body was giving him.

You tensed around him and he moaned breathlessly, a throaty, male sound of pure ecstasy. He pounded into you, falling into a steady rhythm born of raw, primitive need. Your body tightened around him with every thrust, and waves of pleasure rippled through you, building in intensity up to an almost unbearable pressure, a delicious heat that made you moan into his mouth as he kissed you.

He rose up, his arms braced beside you, to look down as he stroked and withdrew and breathed out his pleasure while his eyes glowed pure heat. He grabbed your rear, tilting one hip up towards him, entering you  on such an angle that a new kaleidoscope of pleasure bloomed throughout you. He gripped you possessively, driving you deeper and faster and harder. His eyes burned, glowing like obsidian, hot and wild and almost frenzied with desire.

“Baby,” he groaned, his eyes pinning you, claiming you, as though he were branding you with your heat.

You're mine...

You're mine...

Your first time together had only been hours ago, but it was as if you had been lovers for years...every fluid flexing of his hips against you hit just the right spot, every deep, powerful thrust of his cock stretched your pussy with a familiar, almost expected surge of pleasure.

“Yes—oh god yes, Bucky—fuck me,” you breathed.

Two simple words and suddenly he was on the edge...buried so deep inside you, thrusting, plunging, your breasts pressed against his chest, the pleasure roaring through his body.

Suddenly he wanted to take you, hard. He wanted to fuck you with abandon, the eyes-closed, head-back, moaning-out-loud kind of sexual abandon that he had so rarely experienced in his life, but which was crashing through his body and mind right now.

He wanted this woman...he wanted to own you, to take you, to claim your body as his....he wanted to fuck you until he'd emptied his balls into you, feeling your pussy clenching and spasming in orgasm around his cock as he came, as you came, as you came together.

He withdrew from you quickly, barely able to catch his breath, and, as if you could read his thoughts, you turned onto your stomach just as his trembling hands guided your hips over. Your hair spilled over your bare back and your ass curved out so seductively it was all he could do not to cum right there, all over your smooth skin. But his cock knew what it wanted, and he pulled you forward to slide into the heaven of your pussy, so wet and tight and swollen for him.

He cried out when he took your again, his cock parting your folds and filling you so completely. The feel of him stretching you, the crest of his head pressing against your  from this new angle...you felt a tremor of pleasure ripple through you and knew you were close, as close as he was. When he leaned over you and began to kiss your  shoulders you shuddered, and when he began to thrust you buried your face in the pillow and moaned.

Your moans of pleasure filled the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to last, begging his aching cock not to explode just yet. . .this pace, these quick short strokes as his hips slapped against your ass, your body moving with his every thrust. . .It was almost too much to bear. Bucky buried his faced in your sweet-smelling hair and let his cock plunge as it would, faster and faster, making him shake, making him breathless, making him feel like nothing but a desperate cock as he fucked you.

And fucked you. And fucked you, as you had begged him to...

You could only whimper now, lost to the pleasure of his man taking you like this, fucking you so wildly, almost savagely. The pleasure he was taking from your body, his moans and groans and the growls of pleasure you could feel against your back and in the warm breath at your ear. . . it was pure, primal lust.

You felt worshiped beneath him, as if every thrust of his hungry cock was a tribute to you, every growl and sharp breath an oath. He was fucking you, mindlessly, and yet every part of him was attuned to you, touching you, adoring you.

As his pace grew even faster, his thrusts shallower, you could sense he was about to come, and you felt your muscles tighten around him to heighten his pleasure and hers. His thrusts were so powerful that you felt the orgasm rising in you and you closed your eyes, lifting your head back so he could slide his hand into your hair, gently holding your neck and kissing your jaw with breathy, open-mouthed kisses.

“Oh, God Bucky...I'm coming,” you moaned. “I'm coming.”

“Yes...cum for me baby....cum on my cock.”

“Cum with me....please....I want you to cum inside me, please....please....”

And he could withstand it no more.

Pleasure detonated through him as his orgasm spasmed throughout his body, wracking him with wave after wave of euphoric release. He cried out your name as he thrust and bucked against your flesh, driving his cock deeper and deeper as he came and came and came. It felt like he would never stop cumming, and when he felt your orgasm tear through your pussy and clench his cock in waves, he thought he might black out from the sheer ecstasy of it.

You slammed back against him as the first spurts of cum began to fill you, and felt your  ravaged pussy begin to spasm again and again, milking his cock, pulling his cum deeper into you, flooding you with ripples of pleasure. You moaned and writhed, riding the crest of one orgasm only to feel a second one begin to climb and then crash over you. Breathless, almost sobbing from the pleasure, you let him hold you as he continued to pound into you, draining his balls into you at his will, lost in the utter bliss of a man taking a woman in the most primal way.

When he could bear it no longer, when his exquisitely sensitive cock throbbed within you and the pleasure bordered on pain, he stilled, finally, and shuddered. Sharp spasms of pleasure shot through him as his cock surged one last time within you, his aching balls emptying every last ounce of come. Bucky was almost lightheaded, his chest heaving, sweat glazing his skin as he withdrew his hand from your hair and ran it down the center of your back, needing to touch you, needing to feel your heated skin. You were breathless too, your back moving beneath his hand as you lay your head down and tried to catch your breath.

You felt him withdraw from you, and your  pussy rebelled, clenching to keep him there, as if pleading with him not to go. Bucky groaned softly against your ear as he pulled out and fell on the bed beside you, his arms surrounding you and pulling your back against him. You fit perfectly together, and every muscle in your body relaxed as you snuggled into him and breathed out a contented sigh. You felt his lips on the shell of your ear, kissing softly, felt his slowing breath against your skin as his soft sounds of contentment and pleasure hummed in his throat.

This is heaven, you thought. Pure heaven. your pussy twitched and tingled as you felt his warm come beginning to slip down your  inner thighs. His strong arms surrounded you, his soft lips murmured and whispered and kissed, his spent cock nestled against the curve of your ass.

“There was something I wanted to tell you, remember?” he murmurs, his words brushing warmly against your skin as he kisses a path down to your shoulder. “Last night… something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted you to know.”

You shift slightly, turning to look at him, your heart pounding as you search his eyes, barely able to breathe. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea.

His gaze softens, an unmistakable warmth filling his expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“I love you.”

The words settle between you, simple but perfect, like they were always meant to be there. Your heart feels like it’s soaring, every nerve in your body alive with the thrill of it, of finally hearing what you’d been aching to hear.

You break into a smile, biting your lip, feeling giddy and light, and without a second thought, you lean forward, kissing him softly, your hand finding his as you whisper back, “I love you too.”

And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels like home, you realize that, for the first time, everything feels right.

tags: @cereal6666 @thatesqcrush @cl7ire @bighappypiels @mostlymarvelgirl

@winchestert101 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mcira @elvenrin

@xunquish-blog @meetmeattheapt

[stevefightmerogerss]

[800db-cloud]

is this anything

[miniaturedelusionreview]

And then you think, what's the point? But you have to soldier on. What else could you do? You just have to put one foot in front of the other. Keep on walking. The ocean is somewhere up ahead. Maybe even paradise? You could meet an angel. You could stumble across something beautiful. You will never find out if you don't keep walking.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

This Lesbian is Visible! (Because I Draw Her!)

This is Hyacinth! I redrew her tarot cards this week. (With the blue light filter on, I can see I didn't quite match the blacks for Abandonment, so I still hafta take another shot at that. Nevertheless, it should be good enough for Tumblr at internet resolutions.)

I'll unpack the tarot symbolism some other time, on a card-by-card basis. For the moment, I'll just let you random Tumblrites have a look at her in her latest form. My eyes aren't working right and detailed drawings hurt, so I'm doing everything up shadow-puppet-style.

Hyacinth repairs people and objects with metal, which is a thing you can do in Tin Soldier (and Soldier On!). She deserted the army to get away from the only woman she ever loved - she has issues and she needs you to fix her! She didn't go home and find Barnaby had sold the house to a cute little family in winter, but the original 5 of Cups has snow, so I went with it. It's metaphorical snow. Her current found family are certainly not faceless, stereotyped, or nuclear. She prefers them, but she likes to tell herself she doesn't really need them, or need anyone.

Anyways, she'll repair you within an inch of your life and she's happy to make friends - unless you look like you're going to require some kind of commitment out of her. Oh, but maybe someday we'll get her a girlfriend who's able to roll with the punches... You'll have to read to find out!

[wickedzeevyln]

Play It to the Bone

In the gray dawn, he trudges forth,a burned out coal, in the furnace toils,to earn his bread, snatch it off the dirt,a soiled dream, gather day, he moils.But as bent as broken bone,he soldiers on, he marches on. The day sprouts until the moon ascends,he labors hard at the table for crumbs,and the dates are nothing but loose ends,dancing to the beat of the drums.But as bent as broken bones,he…

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you��re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)