#the concert experience is basically torture to me

[kaxen]

I hate tracks that are live recordings with cheering/crowds.

Bitch you won't peer pressure me into liking this.

[mrinafria]

Night on the balcony, OG vs ALT Seon Jae

[tw: death/killing]

It's a given that OG Seon Jae was murdered by the taxi driver but I've always been more curious about the how of it, because it was never shown to us. I really thought they'd shed some light near the end of the series but oh well. I won't complain because I got the epic rom-com ending of all times. But I think we can all agree that they deliberately left so many things out to give us the cutest fluffiest ending known to mankind lol.

A couple things that clicked as I was rewatching the ALT 2023 episodes recently, *coughs* for the 19th or so time *coughs*. There's this scene:

You see Seon Jae struggling with the taxi driver, who is trying to sedate him using that hanky since the moment he barges in. Of course there's something on it, which happens to be:

In the 2009 timeline, Tae Sung's dad and his partner at work talk about how the Taxi Driver's modus operandi is using animal anesthetics on his victims. We'll come back to this shortly.

A couple things to remember:

1. OG Seon Jae was already physically unwell when we see him post-concert. It was most likely a panic attack (was it because he saw the taxi driver? We'll never know why T-T). It's very likely he took medicines to calm his nerves. Some of these anti-anxiety/nerve-calming medicines can have the same ingredients as anti-depressants based on my experience, and one of the things they do is make you slightly drowsy, as a consequence of relaxing your nerves [disclaimer: please remember this is just based on my own experience and opinions I've seen people share. Medically there might be more to it.]

2. OG Seon Jae did not jump off on his own (because he is Seon Jae). However, that doesn't necessarily mean he didn't have depression. Im Sol's incident and him blaming himself ALL through 15 years is enough for anyone to spiral into it. Whatever little we saw, there were telltale signs of it, so it is possible he was under medication in the OG timeline (BUT he didn't jump off the balcony).

3. Basically, he was not in the best frame of mind when we see him in 2023, lost in thoughts of Im Sol and their unexpected meeting on the bridge, and then checking up on her secretly, as she gets back to her apartment. I won't get into details because I promised myself this was not going to be another one of my OG Seon Jae eulogies.

He was basically preoccupied with other thoughts and physically not in a good shape to put up a fight. Heck, he didn't even bother to pick up the call from his agency CEO or react to the doorbell right away.

UNLIKE THE ALT 2023 SEON JAE.

4. ALT 2023 Seon Jae had met Im Sol without any of the guilt and pain of OG Seon Jae.

5. ALT 2023 was already "in a relationship" with Im Sol (*giggles*) when we see him in the hotel room.

6. Unlike his OG self, he never seemed to have any panic attacks/mental health issues. He confirmed it himself when Im Sol kept asking about medicines/depression. He longed for Im Sol, but he wasn't in anguish, torturing himself for 14 years over something that never happened in that timeline. So he is perfectly well and capable of not going down without some struggle or fight when the taxi driver attacks him.

Now, going back to animal anesthetics.

[Disclaimer: I'm no professional and this is just something I learned. If any of you have a professional opinion about it, please let me know!]

I initially wrote off the chloroform trope for OG Seon Jae because it's detectable during autopsy. And according to the news, nothing suspicious showed up in OG Seon Jae's autopsy except for medicines.

Some animal anesthetics, however, are undetectable in human bodies, unless you're conducting specific toxicology tests if you are suspicious of something other than chloroform. I assume nobody did this specifically because no signs of struggle were found, giving no reason to suspect the cause of his death (again, we'll never know the specifics of toxicology tests done for Seon Jae's autopsy -_-)

If this progression of thought is right, something like this might have unfolded in the OG 2023 timeline:

7. Similar to ALT 2023, the taxi driver breaks into Seon Jae's hotel room. Seon Jae probably tries to fight him but he's not able to because of ^^^1-3 reasons. Taxi driver sedates him comparatively easily.

8. Once Seon Jae is unconscious (wow it's difficult to type this because my brain won't stop playing out this scene), taxi driver fixes the room so no signs of struggle can be found later.

9. Once he is done, he takes Seon Jae and throws him off *okay breathe*

10. Seon Jae's eyes are shut when we see him underwater. He is likely unconscious because of the animal anesthetics so obviously he can't swim or save himself.

That's a lot of conjecture going on in here lol but this at least helps me not to overthink this anymore. The only thing that's still bugging me: Everyone is busy checking out what happened with Seon Jae, so it may be possible the Taxi Driver manages to sneak in to delete the cctv footage somehow, but I'm not convinced myself. Why do I have a feeling the script actually had a different plan with the whole OG Seon Jae incident thing, and they just edited ALL of the other stuff out to make it more romcom-y? Again, no complaints, I LOVE they made it more romcomy, but I've already rewatched the series so many times, it's very hard to pass off all these things as nothing when I see they were trying to form a connection underlying the main plot.

Anyway.

[everytaylorswiftsongisaboutcats]

I imagine that, instead of being a lonely Zillennial (21+ cause roaring 20s tossin tossing pennies in the pool, it’s supposed to be fun turning 21, how can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22-ooo oo ooo, she’s still 23 inside her fantasy and your sitting in front of me) woman (she/her) covered in cat hair (it’s a party) drinking in my wine-aunt bi-wife energy (I am the bi-but-not-so-much-wife; LGBTQIA+🩷💜💙), I am a ghostly Victorian lady (a better way to put Chronically Ill/anemic spoonie🥄🦓🦄 INFJ/INFP w CPTSD🩵) wandering through the backwoods with a candle in a candlestick holder, writing only on parchment with a feathered quill (instead of ranting from my not-so-new phone on Tumblr at 3:00 a.m. like the Midnights become my afternoons insomniac I am, off to some secret garden in my mind or fangirling on a Swift Stream).

Just a folklore / evermore girlie that would’ve could’ve should’ve been a head writer/artist in The Tortured Poets Department if only my crying a lot was more productive instead I just try to keep making art & am an avid reader of all of the books beside my bed.

I mostly speak now in English (though I grew up learning ASL🤘just not as handy here *pun intended*😅 & I try to keep up with swift fluency for Swiftie acronyms iykyk-yoyok🤣).

🫶 So, It’s me, hi 👋 you can call me “the problem” or Lila (short for Delilah) or Lav (short for lavendar) As in @lavendarneverlands the 1 main blog of ✨mine🪻 (cause lavender haze was taken & alas, there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have), so I guess I’ll just stumble on home to my cats, alone… but if you follow this page you can come along💖 I’m usually running back home to you here on what’s the seven-th-ish Tumblr side-blog I have for fandoms like this!

So, Welcome Swifties! Long live the magic we make!

P.S. yes, I’m still a believer: that every Taylor Swift song is actually about her cats.

If you want the D.L.X. bio there’s a more chapter below:

Here’s some basic Q&A’s to trade friendship bracelets:

My Taylor Swift cry song is: Champagne Problems

& if I don’t scream/sing “She would’ve made such a lovely bride what a shame she’s fucked in the head” then I have been beamed up in a cloud of sparkling dust.

Same with “And you were tossing me the car keys, "Fuck the patriarchy" Keychain on the ground, we were always skippin' town. And I was thinkin' on the drive down, "Any time now, He's gonna say it's love," you never called it what it was. 'Til we were dead and gone and buried; check the pulse and come back swearin' it's the same, after three months in the grave. And then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you, but all I felt was shame and you held my lifeless frame.”

I have never been to a Taylor Swift concert. & It is not for a lack of trying. Yes, I hate it here.😂 But yes I watch every stream I can, I love Surprise Song o’clock. Minus the fact I’m bad at math for CT.

Confession: I’m horrible at hearing lyrics right & either really good or really bad at acronyms.

First album heard & album experiences: Debut I heard but it was brief it was really Fearless as the first album I got super into & then went back to Debut after, Speak Now was my age group/childhood, Red was the obsession phase & only sanity in my life, 1989 will forever & always be a bop, Reputation is severely underrated, Lover was all I listened to that entire year, folklore was my true love at first sight, evermore saved my brain in a really tough time, of course the re-recordings are all I listened to Taylor’s Version all day everyday (just waiting for Debutation) Midnights is perfection I loved it day 1 to wherever we are now, Tortured Poets Department is THE album everyone I know heard and went LILA ITS YOU (or should I say ME!).

Current album rankings: — (trying to think technically) — folklore, evermore, Midnights, The Tortured Poets Department, 1989, Reputation, Speak Now, Red, Lover, Fearless, Debut — (trying to think subjectively) — evermore, folklore, The Tortured Poets Department, Midnights, Red, 1989, Reputation, Lover, Speak Now, Fearless, Debut

Swiftie-ness: I do LOVE Fall & I don’t care that I’m basic. Why would you make fun of someone for being excited? In a world where we can like whatever I’m happy to be excited over enjoying TS music. And I wanna be remember for the things I love! + I think she is a gifted storyteller. And her music has put words to what I cannot, I’ve grown up with it steadily, got more into it during Lover, super into it during folklore & super next-level Swiftie during Midnights & Eras Tour but I’ve never not been a fan. Minus the one thing I hate getting stereotyped for: I don’t get weird with it; death threats are too far, stalking someone isn’t being a fan it’s being a stalker, be kind & enjoy enjoying something, but be people people. However that’s not the Swifties I know, I like the friendship bracelet group of y’all! Let’s fandom about it!

Clowning Levels/Thoughts/Theories: I predict Rep first, & Debut being called Debut Taylor’s Version… though “Taylor Swift Taylor’s Version” would be epic. TBH I’m just excited for whatever they are :-) & yes, I, Eras Tour clown an embarrassing amount😅😂 while also loving where we are in this era/age.🫶💕

[psybomb]

Something’s been bugging me about the I/P war, and after speaking to an Israeli expat today I think I finally put my finger on exactly what that is.

You have to understand something, right now. To the average Israeli, they do not believe there was a safe zone declared in Rafah. They believe, often correctly, that their country is beset on all sides by enemies, and that any response less that total overkill is inviting their immediate destruction, and with it the heart of the worldwide hope of their people in diaspora. The way they fight is predicated on the fact that any enemy is going to attempt to torture and kill them whether the intent is obvious, and that former friends can become deadly enemies without warning or provocation.

This… kind of makes it difficult to take constructive criticism. Especially when the above beliefs have been VERY thoroughly borne out over the past 3,000 years.

And that’s when it struck me. I have seen this pattern before, though not from nation states. Any trauma-bonded community is going to act the same way. Soldiers and police deliberately induce it in training to make sure their people respond in ways that will preserve their lives when threatened (I’ll state for the record that police should absolutely not be doing that). Gangs and mafia families, too. However, my example is going to be way closer to home for most of this site.

You ever wonder why queer communities can be bastions of hope and light with one hand, but infamously drama-filled traps on the other? Why it is taking concerted and often generational effort to heal? Same reason. LGBTQ+ communities never know who their allies are going to be day to day, and find themselves in that community at all usually on the tail end of a lifetime of traumatic experiences. When the attack comes (and it ALWAYS comes), it often comes from people who look a lot like your best friend. Paranoia is a way of life and preservation necessity, often rightfully leading to violent response.

Sound familiar? The only difference is scale.

So how do we fix this? Hah, if it was that easy to explain we would have done it by now. The first thing, though, is that any proposed answer has to have a full and clear endpoint in which their existence is an enshrined right. Jews are indigenous to that land, too, lest we forget. I do not deny that Palestinians are as well, nor that there are a lot of heinous crimes that need rectifying, but without that basic acknowledgement then neither Israel nor any Israeli (yes, including the many non-Jews who call it home) will react any more calmly or diplomatically than the ambassador who shredded a copy of the UN charter on the floor this morning. If you don’t guarantee safety and existence, it’s just genocide with extra steps, from a people who have been on the wrong end of it more than once and who often genuinely believe that their current course of action is the only one that lets them live.

I’m personally a 2-state solution advocate, though with several asterisks. The country was established as an imperial project using desperate people to do evil, and the rest of its history hasn’t exactly been a shining rise out of troubled roots… but then again, the people now living there are in their spiritual home. One they have fought for hundreds or thousands of years to return to. It needs to exist for multiple people to be able to live on the world stage, yet it needs to be reorganized so dramatically that it may not be recognizable at the end of it.

This is where we stand. And Palestinians are dying while we do so.

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 7.8

Because Avery and Lucy were good at doing.  Verona was good at the practice but not so good at the hairy situations.

At some point the three of them need to talk about how they all feel like they're each letting the other two down

Avery looked so wounded, somehow.  Because of Laila?

that and being literally kicked aside

The feelings rolled over Verona and she wasn’t really equipped for it. She thought of her dad and how she’d left him.

I guess this is the flipside of how Avery commented that experiencing Verona's memories feels muted.

If she’d taken another path- if she’d stayed home, bit her tongue, got her dad that frigging flat ginger ale, changed the sheets, and let her friends go back, maybe let them go back without her, she could have helped out more at the perimeter. 

Verona is really beaten down here. I get why she's fixating on how she could have stayed in Kennet and been dutiful instead of chasing what she loves, but I think being stuck at home, in a place she feels she can barely breathe, hearing secondhand about everything Avery and Lucy were learning, would hurt her worse. Not to mention how she'd feel knowing they were in danger and stuck far away.

And because everything's gone so badly now, she's not giving herself credit for how much her skill with the practice has been useful in setting up basically every ritual and diagram they've made.

He was going to fight them and it would be disastrous.

Toadswallow... he really is a good teacher

If you want a laugh or you want to be sadistic?  He’ll be way more fun to go after than I will.  I just shut down, guys.

"My trauma responses make me uninteresting to torture" is such a fucked up defense. Like, good on Verona for finding a use for everything, but man that's bleak

“I thought the brownies would carry you off, Miss Hayward,” Bristow said, as a brownie crawled up to his shoulder.  It hissed.  “And you made a challenge.”

welp, him knowing about it makes things considerably harder. I'm not sure what they can do, particularly if he knows he just has to wait Verona out for a few hours. I think at this point it might really be depending on Avery

“She’s not a real member of the family, she’s not privy to our methods, and, funnily enough, I wouldn’t make her wear that thing.”

wow, Musser is managing to be a dick to literally everybody

“This kind of knowledge doesn’t come with the package, or with the clarification as they refine their Self, as if they were taking progressively smaller chunks of clay out of their raw Self, to create more detail,” Musser said.  “He’s either killed practitioners, or he’s seen others of his kind get bound.”

... or someone told him?

Everyone else is too complacent, too selfish, too wrapped up in what they’re doing.

... and Bristow isn't too selfish?

I have to ask, if you knew to the point of certainty that the well being of the world hinged on working with a man like him, would you? 

very Taylor Hebert of you there

He’s good at heart

doubt!

It will take time and education and meeting the right people to get him to a better balance. Losing the right people, even.

... I am reluctantly forced to acknowledge that it sounds like Ted might be speaking from experience here, of knowing Bristow in another timeline

“We need a tyrant for a moment, and he has it in him to be a true hero. I know this in a way I couldn’t possibly convey to you.”

yeah. Blech!

A music box played a full concert in plonky, artificial instrument sounds.  America hummed tunelessly along.

oh upside! If they're in the new building with America, that means the goblins (and maybe Avery, Zed, and Jessica?) have a way in.

The nine-ish minute intervals allowed her to keep track of the passage of time.

2.5 hours, more or less. Barely an hour to go until the deadline

“If I got two hours to watch TV, it meant two hours, and if I went a second over, then I’d have the same two hours with the music box, which usually meant a cold dinner, after.”

:(

“And my mom is not horrible. I have a roof over my head, food, education, practice, and opportunities, thank you,” Talia said. The reply sounded automatic.

:( :( :(

Hadley reached over her head, sticking out a finger, and poked Estrella in the side. Estrella didn’t react. “Tickle tickle.” Estrella swung her hand down, lightning-fast, for a full-faced slap on Hadley’s face. Hadley shifted feet around and sat up, looking at Estrella, bewildered.

unfortunately these antagonists are fun. Gore-strewn violent girl who always seems to be moving and fae practitioner who specializes in those who have gone static is a nice combo. Also, the fact that Estrella's family was killed by witch hunters and Hadley spends her free time hunting them... could be a point of connection.

“The dead can be touched as necessary.  But it should be respectful and mindful, not just of the quality of any materials, but of the sentiment for the dead.  One day we shall be dead and we should be so lucky as to be made useful after, and treated with respect in the process.”

very harrowhark-core

A knife, black as night, almost invisible against the dark blue sky, except for the fact it was glossy.

oni knife throwing!

Kind of played off of ideas like how if a superhero on TV had a forcefield that let light and sound through, it shouldn’t protect against sonic or light based attacks.

you can take the wildbow out of the capefic, but can't take the capefic out of the wildbow

A sharp stomp of one high-heeled shoe crippled the goblin on the floor. “Again!” it cried out, voice high. “Again, please!”

lol

The goblins charged the table.  Dolls intervened, the goblins bowled through the first dolls, started to pick themselves up, and headed for the table again.  Estrella had to tackle them to protect the music box, and in the process, they wrapped Bristow’s underwear around her face.

I like how goblins keep turning these fights into slapstick

America kept going.  So Verona did too, one eye wincing.  If Lucy got hit, she’d- she didn’t know what she’d do. But it wasn’t pretty.

Torn between liking how Verona panics at Lucy potentially getting hurt, and disliking Lucy potentially getting hurt

Verona’s hand changed. One large cat’s paw, very nice, and cats paws had claws, and claws could cut binding. Or maybe not, but she was riding a high and buying her own bullcrap and it worked. The claws cut through the cordage.

catgirl mode!

“I leave, I’ll only protect myself, nothing aggressive unless I must, and I’ll avoid seeking out circumstances that force my hand.  I’ll get my younger brother and we’ll step down from any fighting for the time being.  I so swear.”

Oh this is a good angle to pursue. A lot of Bristow's allies seem to have defaulted into it, if they can convince them to act neutral that's a big improvement. And I'm all for arguing for clemency if/when Alexander regains power.

“And I want to stab you in the boob.  Sorry hon.  That’s my condition.” “You could stab me in the leg to make it even.” “I don’t want to make it even. I want to stab you in the boob.”

broadening my "goblins keep making fights funny" statement to include goblin practitioners

Verona saw Avery come running. She braced for the incoming hug better than Lucy did.

:)

Zed, wearing his power glove, gave it a tap.  The battery icon flashed on and then went to full.

incredibly useful bit of practice

She’d let Bristow do his thing and gainsay her.  Hoping to hear some key words. Or rather, to use the apps that she’d bookmarked after trying to open lines of communication with Tashlit. One of them was speech to text and text to speech.

oh fuck yeah! I mean, I'm worried this might be similar to the brownie trick that backfired earlier, but good planning

“Or are your words true, and you’re pleased at this final outcome that you got with the help of the staff?  You, grateful to the brownies, with all the implicit danger that comes with that expressed pleasure and happiness?”

hahahaha get fucked

“This is my first of three challenges put forward to you, regarding our back and forth,” she told him.  She hung up and ended the message.

*mic drop*

[mikumanogi-blog]

2023-05-25 “Teresa’s because of Teresa for Teresa” Tereblog #62 [ENG]

I chose this blog title from a submission, Maken (temporary) san, thank you ✨

 Heyo it’s Teresa.

Thank you for coming to read my blog today ＼(^^)／

 For the first time in a while I’m going answer some questions that were asked on Letters

 Observed food ▼

Bonless pork rib don (with a photo of Ikeda to accompany it 🐽)

A clump of ham, probably smoked

A handmade Seada

Some kind of food truck

A kiss tempura ( ˘ ³˘)

Tamagotoji hamburg steak that looked like an omurice

Soft and flaky fillet sandwich

Sesame balls

 By the way right now Ikeda is eating a salmon and camembert croissant. Delicious 🥐

 Q&A.

✉️ Which do you prefer, chicken or pork?

(letter name: Dakishimeteiru!)

🕊️Hmmm… I can’t decide. But I think I like tonkatsu less than karaage … yup, I think I’ll hold back on answering!!!! Speaking of which Aya gave me 21 piece of karaage as a present for my birthday (this is the second time this year I’ve been tortured by karaage) The honey miso was delicious. 🐝⋆

 ✉️ There’s a Midsummer National Tour performance in Okinawa this year isn’t there. Teresa-san have you ever been to Okinawa?

(Letter name: Mao)

🕊 I have ('-'ㅇ)

But I’m not a big fan of the ocean and so I would earnestly pick up shells with my mother and also making Okinawan Lions!!!! We have a lot of them at home (ฅ˙Ⱉ˙ฅ)

 ✉️ The other day I was inspired by Teresa-pan and I went to get a fluffy crab and named it ‘Kani-pan’ and I love it. Tere-pan did you name your crab?

(Letter name: Hitori bocchi no breath)

🕊 There’s no need to identify crabs 🦀

✉️Heyo Tere-pan 🐼 Today, May 20th, in China has the meaning “I love” Wo ai ni

(Letter name: Teretenaide Shakitsu toshite!)

🕊 Heyo, well then I guess I 520 you 🫶🏻🐼

 ✉️What part of the graduation concert made you tear up the most?

(Letter name: Chi)

🕊 Probably on day two during “Hito ha Yume ow nidomiru’. It’s not good to surprise people like that Asuka-san!!!!

 ✉️ Family dog, smells good, cat odor is good too but dog odor is great. Tere-chan, since you started living on your own what dog breed would you get if you were to get a dog?

(letter name: Nanu)

🕊I would want to get a really big dog or a really small dog 🐶🐕🐾 I haven’t even met the family dog in over half a year.

✉️ Do you talk to any other Sakamichi members?

If you have any stories of going out to eat please tell them!

(letter name: Mabumi Sensei)

🕊I often read the blogs of other Sakamichi members but apparently the other 5th generation members have been steadly creating communities without me knowing about it ( ; ; ) why am I so shy…

But during the 5th generation LIVE Shogenji Yoko-san gave me a letter. For me it’s an important treasure and my only connection ^ ^ It’s nice to dream about having idols in the same grade as you in school, I’m jealous.

Food? I only ate lamb with Aruno, seriously. I live in a tiny community. 🐑

I want to eat horse next.

 ✉️ Teresa are you perhaps interested in chemistry? I recently so a chemistry experiment and I’ve been addicted to it

(letter name: Koizumi)

🕊 Your hoppy is watching chemistry experiment!? Ho..hobby……  I took a basic chemistry course and got marks on my report.

 ✉️ Thank you for your hard work Teresa, are you tired?

(Letter name: T)

🕊The first day after a holiday is rough isn’t it! That’s why I live everyday like it’s Friday I also do good morning auditions ☀️

 The end!!

 The cake Hina gave me for my birthday celebration 🎂

  Yesterday was Kuu-tan’s birthday! Congratulations on turning 20 \( ¨̮ ( ¨̮ ( ¨̮ )/

I hope you have a good year. Happy Birthday to everyone that has a birthday today!

 Well then!

 Thank yo-yo for reading until the end ( ･_･)/-------◎

 Bye for now

 #Tereblog #62(One and only Tere-pan)

 https://www.nogizaka46.com/s/n46/diary/detail/101482?ima=3034&cd=MEMBER

[jerzwriter]

I fully agree, and as someone who was fortunate enough to grow up in an area with a large Palestinian American community, I am aware of their plight and the intrinsic bias in the Western media when reporting on this issue. It is even evident the news this weekend, and it is sickening.

I am also aware that the Palestinians have been living under occupation, have been denied basic rights, have seen their property stolen and loved ones tortured and murdered for years as the international community turns a blind eye. Worse, much of the international community (US included) is party to their suffering.

Denied human rights, ignored by the world (don’t even start me on how we view Ukraine vs. how we view Palestine), and denied equal treatment under international law… when all efforts are exhausted and there is no change, how long before any group resorts to violence? I completely understand that and that’s why I believe the entire world who watched and allowed this situation to fester for 75 years has blood on its hands.

With that said, I can never, and will never support any group that feels going to a concert filled with young people and viciously slaughtering 260 people, and anyone who does needs to question their own humanity.

It is possible to support the Palestinian people and their right to self determination AND condemn Hamas and the atrocities committed this weekend, while condemning the Israeli government for their ongoing barbarity against Palestinians.

No good will come of this. Netanyahu was just given a gift. He now has a green light to commit the mass genocide he has been frothing at the mouth over and the majority of the Western World will support him in doing so claiming it’s justified.

I could go on about how even the Arab world has largely ignored to plight of the Palestinian people. They are truly forgotten. But it isn’t fully relevant here.

But did innocent Israeli’s, many who are as repulsed by their government as we are, deserve to die? No. No more than innocent Palestinians do on a daily basis. There is no difference here. The loss is just as wrong. An Israeli mother and a Palestinian mother experience the same grief. The sole difference? The lack of sympathy, concern that is afforded to the latter… and that is what’s wrong and has to change. Sadly, I don’t think this weekend’s events will accomplish anything in changing that. Once again, innocent Palestinians will be paying the ultimate price, and it truly sickens me.

[nereb-and-dungalef]

Y'know I realize I should probably just,,, have a masterpost explaining how I learned Russian in case anyone asks. Because "memorizing rock opera lyrics" isn't a lie but it's not the whole story so like. Here it is below the cut

Disclaimer Russian is the only language I've self-studied to a B2, so yeah not a lot of experience but maybe this'll still help someone somewhat. Hmu if you ever need Russian materials or anything mentioned here I am more than happy to help

Lemme start from before the beginning like

6 years ago (2016) I learned the Cyrillic alphabet to recognize the names of Silmarillion characters in fanart and realized that Finrod-Zong exists

4 years ago (2018) NAQT put out a list of Russian language short stories to read for Quizbowl. I went and read a fuckton of Gogol then Master and Margarita and Crime and Punishment landing myself in the Russian literature fandom

3 years ago (2019) I decided to solidly go at it after learning about the concept of a critical language and how speaking Russian gets you state department kudos

How I went about it:

Started making Anki cards with the list of 10000 most common Russian words. Got bored of it.

Realized I could make Anki cards from Phobs comics and started learning some absurdly niche shit. Accepted that if I was gonna be fluent in Russian I had to learn this absurdly niche shit at some point and should not torture myself over what was useful or not. 100% recommend

Did the same thing with Chekhov short stories and famous Master and Margarita quotes

Tried to get into Finrod but watched the 2010 version and didn't love it. Learned the first stanza of the Oath of the Sons of Fëanor anyway

Applied to the NSLI-Y program to study Russian abroad

Discovered Epidemia. Fëanor was the first song I memorized. Tried to speak Russian with a Ukrainian guest using words I'd learned from Fëanor. It was not pretty

Worked through the FSI fast course. 100% recommend, they have free textbooks for beginners in a metric fuckton of languages

Started using HelloTalk and making my language partners' text messages into Anki cards

Fucking everything was an Anki card, I made cards out of the airplane interface when I switched the language to Russian, so much random shit

Also shout-out to Drops, I used the free version and it fucking slapped

Had a Russian guest for a week who didn't speak English and we had a few rudimentary conversations

Discovered Последнее Испытание, memorized a few songs, started watching Evgeny Egorov concerts in class every day, went down the Russian musicals rabbit hole and started watching musicals constantly regardless of whether or not I understood anything

Started listening to music only in Russian, discovered shit like КиШ and Ария

Had a Russian dinner guest who I bonded with over Russian musicals. Decided PI lyrics were a perfectly valid way to communicate. Memorized some more

Met some Russian visitors who overestimated my Russian ability a ton and were super willing to speak with me in Russian and it was just such an ego boost, we bonded over bands and they recommended a bunch more 80s shit

Got rejected from NSLI-Y, coronavirus was declared pandemic, my phone deleted all my Anki cards, didn't do any Russian at all for like a month

Started taking italki lessons

Attended every possible virtual Russian concert (one of the plus sides of covid), would read the chat and repeat stuff other people said like "огонь!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥" "браво! супер!!! 👏👏👏👏" and "*машет фонариком*" it was an entire vibe I loved it

Made a goal to finish Master and Margarita by Halloween

Basically spent the rest of the year getting deeper into Russian musical subculture and reading random shit, started reading Russian fanfic and got a ficbook account, got like 30% of the way through M&M by Halloween and then basically got burned out and gave up on it and started jumping around reading the first chapters of different random Russian books instead

Throw in some movies and cartoons and stuff

Discovered the Lay of Leithian rock opera and became fucking obsessed

Translated it (not very well) and subtitled the soundtrack

Got accepted to NSLI-Y and decided to get my Russian As Good As Possible before the OPI, resumed Master and Margarita and some other stuff

OPI result was intermediate high (equivalent to B1)

Subbed the LoL stream with a better translation

Went to Moldova uwu

In the first month I read Eugene Onegin and The Little Prince in Russian and finished Master and Margarita

Read Crime and Punishment and another book the next month and became totally burned out re: reading

But it's ok bc I was still doing four hours of Russian class a day and I was there for like eight months so you kinda can't not learn

Made a noun case chart to stick in my phone case. Noun case phone case. That plus a formal education in grammar plus daily practice meant I actually learned noun cases

Kept a diary (kinda). Fun to look back and see progress

Read like two more books

I also tried to make friends with locals as much as possible

Started watching interviews with Russian musical stars, realized I could understand a fuckton and my Russian was like actually useful at this point

Got back home and got advanced mid on my OPI (B2 equivalent) which was kinda just,,, yeah what I was expecting. So yeah it's language plateau time for me yeehaw but at least my Russian is functional and I can say I speak it without feeling like an imposter

Uh yeah that's all I can remember

Random advice and stuff if you care:

I uh. Probably have ADHD and. It can work to your advantage if you jump between hyperfixations. This technique works especially well with languages because there's just so much out there and no difference between reading one thirty chapter book vs the first chapter of thirty different books. You don't have to complete a single goal or finish a single thing to the end, just find a handful of things to hyperfixate on and you're set (for me it was Tolkien, musicals, ruslit, and Soviet rock, there was enough variety that I always had something new to run through)

I pretty quickly embraced not understanding a word of Russian and made up a game called "foreigner describes the plot of a Russian musical without knowing a word of Russian" that I kinda miss now that I speak it. Some people swear by only consuming things you understand but it's such a struggle to seek it out and really was best for me to just follow my interests

Your brain has a Very good mechanism for understanding the difference between registers, so don't worry about over exposing yourself to antiquated/obscure material as long as you have other input. Your brain will sort the words into their place on its own, I promise you will not go around talking like Pushkin just bc all you read is Pushkin. Worst case scenario is: all words learned from Pushkin + brain understands these are not conversation words = brain prevents you from talking at all. But as long as you have at least like 10% conversational input your brain will go "oh I heard a Pushkin word in the wild! That means we can say it now!" and since putting a word into a new box is much easier than creating a new word entirely the Pushkin (or rock operas or whatever have you) will ultimately help a lot

If language advice is telling you to stop doing something you enjoy, disregard it. Better to do something inefficient that you like than nothing at all

Have fun have fun have fun. It's ok to sometimes be tired (that's when you're learning the most) but you should never be bored on purpose

Balance reading, listening, writing, and speaking. How you do that is up to you but basically if you get tired of one type of learning or feel like it's no longer helping, try out another and mix things up. All skills feed into each other so it's good to have at least a bit of a mix.

The first few months are the most grueling, there's not as much coasting involved and every day you have to basically choose to learn. So like, try to have some sort of habit at least at first. My personal technique with Czech was to just marathon it for a month until I could actually understand a few words of natural input so idk maybe that's a good idea but time will tell. Most important is to stick with it however you can

Controversial take: passive input (things you can consume while multi tasking that don't demand full attention) is hella important. Maybe you're not in the headspace to do flashcards but you can at least listen to a musical while cooking. Passive input will get you pretty dang far on low spoon days so it's a good thing to put your stat points into. It's nice to have a textbook for active studying bc it is technically more efficient, but a fuckton of music, fanfic, podcasts, and whatever else are a must have esp if you're busy or have executive dysfunction

If you don't force grammar on yourself you might actually start liking grammar

Understand that linguistic features exist ultimately for ease of communication and not to frustrate you. If you're morally opposed to a rule, figure out why it would be helpful instead of letting frustration get in your way

All this is suggestions and if you disagree with me please go with your own instincts bc you do ultimately know what's best for you, I'm not you so I can't actually tell you how to do this

Ask yourself "what do I think would help me most right now" then go do that. Yes right now. You can do this I believe in you.

Also if any of my Russian blorbos sounded appetizing to you hmu I'll give you a reading list

[scripttorture]

In my sci fi world there is a small device that, when injected into someone’s blood, cancels out special abilities/superpowers. It’s used in prisons by the government the protagonists are rebelling against. I was thinking about making it also be used to cause physical pain in to punish prisoners who step out of line, possibly controlled by remote, but I’m not sure how that would work. What would a chip in someone’s bloodstream need to do to cause pain? Would that even be possible?

I can think of several ways it would be possible. My instinct was that it would have a high mortality rate but then I realised that I actually have no way of knowing because this is pretty far from modern torture.

 I can see the appeal in this sort of fictional idea. However that comes with the proviso that torture is generally very very low tech. We live in a world where you can literally 3D print an oesophagus and the most common form of torture globally is hitting people.

 There is a really strong tendency in fiction to show these incredibly complicated, high tech torture devices: often implying that torture is complicated, ‘skilled’ and can be ‘improved’ with technology. None of these things are true.

 Personally I feel like these tropes feed in to torture apologia. They’re not the worst form of it out there, but they’re false and they function in a way that supports what torturers say over what survivors say.

 I think that you can probably write this kind of remote control press-button-for-pain scenario without tripping in to that. But only if you’re aware it’s a possible problem in the first place.

 As for how it could work- My first thought as a chemist was ‘by releasing something into the blood’ but I don’t think that would work as you’ve described. I think it would require a much larger implant then you’re implying in order to release a sufficient quantity of anything.

 Which is possible, arm implants along these lines exist. They’re bulky enough to feel through the skin and they need to be replaced periodically to keep functioning. I’ve never had one and I’m not a medic so I don’t know any more then that.

 If you’re willing to research medical implants and adjust the idea a little… Well we often use capsaicin as a way to test an animal still has the capacity to feel pain*.

 The LD50 in mice (lethal dose for 50% of the tested population) is 47.2mg/kg. It is possible to be poisoned by capsaicin although I do not have much information on what that looks like in humans. There’d be risk of poisoning from repeated abuse by the guards in this story. There’d also be a risk of poisoning if the device itself malfunctioned or was damaged and say… burst.

 Something smaller (I think the word ‘chip’ implies something quite small) would work differently because it wouldn’t have the space to hold a significant amount of any chemical.

 I think that electric shocks are probably the most likely method with a smaller device. Which also comes with a significant risk of killing someone.

 I’ll be honest I have no idea what kind of difference it would make if the electricity was applied underneath someone’s skin. It isn’t something I’ve seen before. I suspect the heat generation might cause problems. It could damage tissues and cause blood clots which would increase the chance of lethal heart attacks or strokes.

 If the heat killed a lot of tissue around the device I think that could lead to… serious problems, possibly death. Having a lot of dead, rotting tissue in the body is pretty dangerous.

 Generally repeated electric shocks kill, sometimes from heart failure, sometimes from things like falling injuries.

 It’s also (unsurprisingly) incredibly painful. Alleg has a pretty good description of his experience of electrical torture in The Question. You can also find descriptions online as the use of Tasers and stun guns has become more common globally.

 I’m finding it difficult to judge this one because my instinct is that delivering an electric shock internally would cause additional damage. But I’m not sure what that would look like.

 Again I think this sort of device could easily malfunction and kill someone. Or malfunction and just stop ‘working’.

 There’s also a chance of the immune system attacking the implant. Which- I don’t know a lot about because I’m not a medic. I think it could be an important factor though.

 With both of these ideas it’s worth questioning whether this would be worth the effort. I’ve found a lot of authors don’t quite think this through so let me try and break it down.

 This is what has to happen before it can be used:

it needs to be designed

a prototype needs to be created

it needs to be tested

several iterations of redesign and new prototypes

parts need to be sourced

the whole thing needs to be assembled on a larger scale

it all needs to be paid for

the people who are supposed to be using it need to find it easy to use

 Tasers very nearly didn’t make it off the ground. It took decades of concerted work and funding from their manufactures to make them a ‘success’. Rejali does a pretty interesting run down of the way it happened if you want more information.

 The question you need to ask yourself is: would all of this have any advantage for the abusers compared to using pepper spray, Tasers or a stick?

 Because unless you’re really sure the answer is ‘yes’ then I think this sort of thing is really really unlikely. And when it comes to writing torture simpler is usually better.

 Like I said I can see how the base of this idea could add to your story. So I don’t want to dismiss it out of hand. But the existence of a device like this says a lot about the society you’re writing. Do the implications fit with the world you’re building?

 Torturers are… generally incredibly lazy and pretty dumb. Which makes the use of high tech devices less likely. Because the competition is a slap. For something to take off it needs to be as easy, quick and reliable as that. And probably also robust enough to be stamped on, vomited over etc.

 So: is there enough drive in this world to add torture to the functionality of this device? Is there the money to fund it? Is there the time to design and create it? And is it going to be reliable and tough enough to actually be used?

 If there was a rush to make something that blocked super powers adding more things (that might interfere with that main function) to the device probably wouldn’t have been a priority.

 Basically if you want this kind of device make it fit with the world you’ve built and think about whether it’s actually adding anything that a more typical torture wouldn’t.

 Aaaand I’m going to leave it there cos I think I’m talking in circles. I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*This is something that’s done with genetically modified fruit flies. It’s a way to test whether a genetic modification has had an unexpected effects on the insect’s nervous system.

[cassiopeiassky]

Black Velvet

Alright everyone, it’s finally here.  I’ve been sort of salty about the lack of tall!reader fics for awhile now or maybe it’s just the ubiquitous short, petite, drowning in his sweatshirt descriptions that get under my skin but just couldn’t get a decent amount of inspiration to write one.  I have been known to throw in a mention of height randomly in my fics, but my usual workaround to avoid physical descriptions of the reader is to just write Bucky as like six and a half feet tall.  Hes a damn super soldier, he should be taller anyway he did not start out as short as Steve.  So one day I stumbled across this post by @invisibleanonymousmonsters​ and for some reason I can’t explain, an idea was finally unlocked in my brain later that same day.  (Inspired by a song?  Me?  No.  Never.)

It’s kind of all over the place, so buckle in.  It does take a sharp right into smutsville but also ends up flipping a u and landing in flufftown.  I don’t know.  I just write what the muse tells me to write.  

I would like to thank the incomparable @scottish-pepper​ for her amazing help and support while I wrote the thing - I couldn’t have done it without you, darlin.

Bucky x Tall!Reader

Modern day AU - think of a 40s prewar Bucky if he got a chance to grow up and lived in a small town 

Plot:  You have a terrible day of epic proportions but a beautiful stranger in a small town helps to make it better.

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual), smut, mentions of alcohol/drinking/bars, a brief mention of potentially disordered eating, mentions of a thunderstorm, and a very specific shitty family member.

Word count: 12K  Yep.  Knda got away from me

One last author’s note:   This fic includes some ASL dialogue; it is expressed in italics without quotation marks.  ASL is an incredibly beautiful and expressive language, and it’s in 3D!!  It also has its own grammar structure, rules, nuances, and regional differences, just like any other language, and it can be a challenge to fit it into a two-dimensional space.  Taking this into consideration, I’ve decided to write the dialogue with spoken English grammar because my ASL is really rusty and I don’t want to mess it up.

It’s hot.  Like 100 degrees in the shade with 95% humidity hot. The trees are wilted, flowers are drooping, and there isn’t so much as a glimmer of hope for a cloud in the sky to interrupt the sun’s torture of earth’s inhabitants.  The air is thick and still – there’s no movement at all – yet dangerously unsettled.  It’s the kind of weather that if you sneeze, you might cause a tornado in the next county over.  Of course your cousin would choose today of all days to get married.  And of course her mom pressured her into going black tie, increasing everyone’s suffering tenfold.

“I can’t believe I rented a room for this.  I can’t believe I spent $200 on a dress.  Why am I even here?  What did I expect?”  There’s no answer, but of course there wouldn’t be.  You’re alone in your car, driving back to a motel that you might not even stay the night in.  You’d rented a room because you figured you’d have a few drinks at the reception – you wanted to celebrate the bride, she’s one of your best friends – but at this point you might as well just make the hour drive back home.

About a block from the motel you notice a bar tucked behind a gas station.   According to the clock on the dash, it’s only 5:25.

Fuck it.  You deserve a goddamn drink after today.

You pull into the parking lot and are surprised by the number of cars, farm trucks, and motorcycles already parked.  There’s only one redneck limo, thank God – a pickup truck with a 10 inch lift kit and truck nuts hanging off the hitch, and in your experience driven only by incredibly insecure men – so that’s a good sign, right?  It must be a decent place with decent drinks if it’s this busy so early in the evening.  Maybe some of your day can be salvaged after all.

The hot, sticky air rushes in as soon as the car door is opened.  “Gross,” you mutter; the heat hits even harder after the air conditioning in your car.  Glancing over to the passenger seat, you see the hideous shoes your aunt Lydia pressed into your hands upon arriving at the wedding.  “You know what, Lydia?  Fuck you and fuck your ugly shoes.”  You put your heels back on just to spite her.

It’s a small-town watering hole, so of course all eyes are drawn to you when you enter.  And they stay on you as you find a seat at the bar – perhaps it’s because you’re a stranger, perhaps it’s because you’re overdressed.

But probably not.

The bartender approaches while drying his hands.  He’s got dirty blonde hair in a sloppy undercut, a wide, flat nose, and is wearing a concert tee shirt with the arms cut off to show off his full sleeve of tattoos.  

“Do you have blended drinks?”  He nods. “Strawberry daiquiri, please.”

“Sure thing.”

You pull out some cash, tipping generously because your drink is a pain in the ass to make, then look around while you wait.

The bar is cool but not cold, not brightly lit but also not uncomfortably dim, is bigger than it looks, and is even busier than the amount of vehicles in the parking lot would lead you to believe.  On one side there’s a jukebox next to a small stage with an empty but decently sized dance floor.  There are a few high tops, then a gaming area featuring pool tables, dart boards, and a few pinball machines.  On the other side of the bar you see a window with someone selling pull tabs, a station set up for calling bingo, a door to what’s probably the kitchen, and a popcorn machine filled with freshly popped popcorn.  Behind you and scattered generously throughout the building are tables, some with 4 seats and some with 6, and over half of them are occupied.

“Here you go, miss.” The bartender places your drink in front of you with a polite smile.  “Would you like a menu?  The full kitchen is open tonight.”

The thought is nauseating. “Mmmm…maybe later.”

“Too hot to eat?”  At your despondent nod, he grimaces and places a tall glass of ice water next to the daiquiri.  “Thought as much.  I’ll check back in a bit.”  You didn’t notice his name tag until now – his name is Clint, and according to the hand illustrations under his name, he’s fluent in ASL.

Unsure if he’s Deaf and fluent in lipreading or if he’s hearing, you both sign and murmur, “Thank you,” before bringing the drink to your lips.  It’s on the edge of being burned – just the way you like it.  Sipping on the sweet slush is pure bliss, cooling you down from the inside out as it tempers the heat of the rum.

You sign?  He doesn’t speak this time.  It’s not an uncommon reaction.

Yes.  I’m an interpreter.

His eyebrows rise in interest.  What made you go into that?

My high school offered it, and I ended up becoming really good friends with the teacher’s daughter, who is Deaf.  I made a lot of friends, got involved with the community and immersed in the culture, and I just loved it, so I figured, why not do this for a living?  My dreams of being a Triple Crown winning jockey went out the window by the end of 5th grade so…

He laughs, but not unkindly.  Yeah, I suppose you are a bit too tall for that.  But 5th grade?  Damn.   His face lights up, Hey, have you heard of PATH, International?  They’ve got a campus about half hour north of here.  If you like horses, it might be right up your alley.  

PATH International, or Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship, is an organization very close to your heart.  Yes! I volunteer there every Tuesday night.

The look of surprise on Clint’s face is priceless.  No shit? I’m there on Thursday nights!  You must be the other interpreter the kids are always talking about - they LOVE you!  And so do the horses.  You know, I was Ace’s favorite till you came along.  Now he won’t even look at me unless I bribe him with a treat.

You look again at his name tag, and the name clicks.  Wait, you’re Hawkeye!  The one that does the archery demos on horseback for the kids’ birthday parties.

He takes a theatrical bow. The one and only.

Clint “Hawkeye” Barton is nothing short of a legend at PATH.  Profoundly Deaf yet impossibly accurate with speechreading, he manages to blend both worlds perfectly.  He’s also a master archer both off and on horseback, which basically makes him a superhero in the kids’ eyes.  There are whispers that he travelled with a circus as a teenager, that he raises horses, and that he moonlights as a vigilante, but nothing has been verified and from what you’ve been told, he will neither confirm nor deny.  It’s very likely that there’s at least some truth to the horse raising rumor – Ace is technically his horse, he just loans the chestnut gelding to the program.  You’d been dying to meet Clint for a few years now but hadn’t been able to make it work.

It’s so good to finally meet you!

Likewise!  I’ve been meaning to swing by on a Tuesday to see who it is that stole my favorite horse’s heart, but I’m usually here.  His face lights up, Hey, I’ve got some ideas for a field trip for the older kids and adults but I need to team up with an ASL interpreter since I can’t technically work as a Deaf interpreter on my own off PATH’s campus.  You know, rules and shit.  You interested?

Absolutely!  Just let me know.   You dig a pen out of your purse and write your number and email address on a napkin. You know, I’m sorry, but I’m really not sorry about Ace.  He stole my heart, what can I say.

He’s a shameless flirt, but I never thought he’d actually prefer someone else over me.  But now that I’ve met you, I guess I can’t be too sore about it.  He seems to have good taste.  He takes the napkin with a grin and folds it up before putting it in his pocket, then looks to his left when a waitress waves for his attention and nods.  Duty calls.  Let me know if you need anything.

Well, that improved your day considerably.  

For a few minutes, anyway.

“That’s an awfully girly drink for a woman like you.”  A cloud of stale cigarette smoke with an obnoxious sounding man in the middle of it takes the seat next to yours.  

You don’t turn to face him; you don’t even acknowledge him.  If that’s his opening line, then you really, really don’t have the patience to interact with him today. This is the guy that owns the jacked-up truck. You can feel it in your bones.

Clint makes a face from behind the drink he’s making, notices your annoyance, and shakes his head. “Dude, she’s got more alcohol in her glass than you and your four buddies combined, so don’t knock her drink of choice.  She’s also clearly not interested, and way, way out of your league.  Go back to your pull tabs and leave the lady alone.”

You can feel the guy’s eyes on you, but Clint keeps glaring daggers at him and he eventually leaves. You can overhear him tell his buddies, “Thought she’d be an easy lay, but you know what?  Even I have standards.  How do you fuck someone that tall anyway?  I’d need scaffolding!”  They laugh, but you continue to hold your head up high.  It’s nothing you haven’t heard some version of before.  He’s not clever.

Ignore them.  They’re lonely, small little men.

I know.  Thank you.  His protective gesture is touching and completely unexpected.  This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often because most people assume you can handle yourself.  You can – but it’s nice to not always have to be on the defensive, and today you’re at your limit.

No worries.  You look like you had a rough day, I figured you didn’t need Chad making it worse.  Clint winks and turns back to his drinks.

Well, he’s not wrong, but the day can only get better from here, right?  Right.  You nod to yourself then sit back and enjoy your drink.  Clint stops by periodically to chat, but otherwise you’re left alone.

Eventually it’s time for a trip to the ladies’ room, and you do your best to ignore the stares and chuckles that inevitably follow you.  In your semi-formal black dress you certainly stand out in a bar filled with cut off shorts and tee shirts, but that’s not why they’re staring.

In your black satin and lace, modestly platformed stiletto heels – affectionately known as your ‘fuck me shoes’ – you’re well over six feet tall.  Are they uncomfortable?  God yes, but they’re also beautiful and totally worth it.

The bathrooms are at the back of the bar, past the dart boards and pool tables.  You’re almost there when you hear something ping off one of the pool table lamps and see it ricochet across the aisle and onto the top of the glass and wood cabinets housing the pool cues.  

“How – how the hell did you manage that, Rogers?”  A man with dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass heads in your direction.  “You were supposed to throw the chalk to me, not your imaginary friend standing thirteen feet behind me.”

“Sorry, Buck,” a blonde joins him, looking appropriately apologetic.  “My aim was a little off.”

“Ya think?”

You slow your pace to watch them.  The guy with the dark hair is gorgeous – well, they both are, to be fair – but the one…damn.  His maroon tee shirt is fitted enough to show off his beefy physique, and his jeans hug his thighs and ass like they were made for him.  He throws off an air of cocky confidence with just a hint of danger, lending a genuine feel to his bad boy image.  Should you…maybe?  No. No, you absolutely should not. You’re not in the right mindset to try to soothe a man’s threatened masculinity just for a bit of company.

He and the blonde reach for the wayward chalk, but it’s just out of their reach.  It’s amusing to watch them try to grab for it, but you take pity on them eventually.

Time for your good deed of the week.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”  Stepping between the two, you reach up and effortlessly pluck the blue cube from its spot before dropping it into the dark-haired man’s hand with a smile.  “Here you go.”

Wide blue eyes look up into yours, but he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even smile.  He just stares.  Figures.

The blonde looks between you and his companion before clearing his throat.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

The unspoken rejection from the brunette stings.  Normally it wouldn’t get to you, but after today?  It does.  It really does.  So you swallow against the burning thickness in your throat and force back the tears with a fake smile.  “You’re welcome.”  A few more steps and you’re in the ladies’ room, which only serves to make matters worse when you step into an open stall.  As you turn around to lock the door, you can see your entire head in the mirror, poking out above the top.  A pair of women walk in and they giggle, so you quickly sit down.  There’s no point in taking it personally – it actually happens quite a bit in older buildings and you can fully admit that the sight is pretty funny – so you compose yourself and do what you came in to do.  You slouch when you stand in order to avoid accidentally looking into one of the neighboring stalls and go to the vanity to wash up.

Even the sink mocks you by making you bend almost in half to reach the water.

A woman with dark hair and bright red lips exits the far-right stall and joins you at the mirror.  “Oh wow, your shoes and dress are so pretty!”

“Thank you.”

“Did you come from the wedding at the ballroom?”

“Mmm hmm.”  You glance at her shorts and flowery sleeveless top and swallow your sigh – you feel like a fucking behemoth next to her.  “I think maybe I should have stopped by my motel room to change.”

“No, you look really nice!” She smiles up at you, “It’s really not unusual to have people dressed up in here on the weekends, you’re just earlier than we usually see it.  I’ll give you a tip, though, in case your feet start to hurt.  I know the place looks kinda crusty, but the owners take a lot of pride in it.  The floors are clean if you choose to go barefoot.”

Her unexpected kindness surprises you; you’re usually shunned by other women when you’re at a bar because all they see is your height, which they erroneously perceive to be an advantage in attracting men.  “Thank you. That’s really good to know.”  She turns to leave but you stop her when you notice something wrong with her shirt. “Hey, hon, you’re missing a button.”  The poor girl is busty, and she’s likely been flashing an unintentionally generous amount of cleavage for who knows how long.

She looks down and immediately sees the gap in her shirt.  “Well, shit.  I just bought this shirt.  No wonder some of the guys couldn’t look me in the eye.  Stupid boobs, always trying to pop out.  Why can’t they just make clothes that fit real people?”

“I feel ya,” you mutter as you start digging through your purse.  “Hold on, I’ve got something…here, try some of this.”

“Scotch tape?”  She looks confused as she takes it.

“Double sided tape.”

Her eyes get wide as she gazes up at you.  “You’re a genius.  And an angel. An angelic genius!”  She takes some and fixes her shirt, smiling brightly. Thank you so much!!”

Despite your incredibly shittastic day, you find yourself warming to her.  She’s nice.  “You’re welcome!  I didn’t want a bunch of creeps leering at you.  In a world of Chads, we women really need to stick together.”

“Oh, God, you met Chad?” She grimaces and shakes her head, “I’d like to apologize on behalf of the entire town.  He and his friends are not a good representation of the rest of us, I promise.  They don’t even live here, they were just permanently banned from the bar in the next town over and now they’re our problem, apparently.  But I promise, the rest of the people here are alright.”  She sticks out her hand, “I’m Peggy, by the way.”

You shake her calloused hand and give her your name.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. If you feel like some company, just come find me.  My friends and I will probably be here for a while, and you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, I might just do that.”  You flash a smile, genuine this time, and go back to your seat at the bar.  What the hell, maybe you’ll take her up on her offer after you finish your drink.  

A minute passes, maybe two, before someone takes the barstool next to you.

It’s him.  The gorgeous brunette.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”  You want to roll your eyes at your reply. Smooth.  Real smooth.

“My uh, my friends pointed out that I was rude earlier, so I wanted to apologize.”

You turn to him quizzically, giving him your full attention.  Is this really the same guy that was playing pool?  The sexy one that projected ‘bad ass’?  “For what?”  

His cheeks grow pink and it throws you off guard.  “It’s not nice to stare.  My ma taught me better than that – she’d slap me into next week if she saw how I acted. I ain’t usually like that, I’ve just never seen, uh…”

Here it comes.  The ‘I’ve never seen such a tall woman’ comment that leaves you feeling like a roadside circus freak show.

“Well, you just got an amazing smile.”

Wait, what?  “Huh?”

“I’ve never seen such a pretty smile.”  He shrugs and studies the bar top.  “Your eyes looked sad, though.  I dunno. I guess I was tryin’ to figure you out.” He turns back to you with an almost obnoxiously handsome grin, “My name’s Bucky Barnes.  Can I make it up to you?  Buy you a drink?”  

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to gauge his intent.  He seems genuine enough – he’s either a brilliant actor or you seriously misjudged him, which, in your current cynical mindset, is entirely possible.

You look up to see Clint watching as he dries some glasses.  Maybe he has some insight.  Is this guy decent?  He’s gorgeous but does he have a personality?  

Clint snorts, glancing at Bucky then back to you.   Yeah. He’s a pretty good guy.  He’ll treat you right.

Bucky looks like he’s swallowing a smile when you turn back to him.  “Yeah, I guess you can make it up to me.”

“Really?”  He seems genuinely happy at the prospect.

“Sure.”

“Great!”  Apparently that’s all the invitation he needs to turn on the charm.  “So what’s a gorgeous girl like you doin’ in a dump like this?

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh.

“No,” he shakes his head sheepishly, “It’s not.  Guess I’m really off my game today.  I can usually flirt, I promise.”

A beer and another daiquiri appear on the counter.  “Thanks, man,” Bucky nods to Clint.  “Hey, you wanna grab a table?”  He nods his head to the side of the bar by the jukebox.  “It’s quieter there.  We can chat and I can show you that I ain’t, in fact, the dumbass I’ve made myself out to be.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Why not?  Even if you don’t know Clint enough to trust him, the kids that you work with do, and you trust their judgement.  So if Clint says that Bucky is decent, you’ll believe him.

***

It ends up being a good choice.  Bucky turns out to be more than decent – he’s really nice, funny, respectful, keeps his eyes where they belong, and doesn’t ask if you play basketball.

He asks the basic questions and learns that you live about an hour north of here, that you’re an interpreter, you love to read, write, and draw, and yes, you were at a wedding. Tired of talking about yourself, you take advantage of him pausing to drink his beer and flip the topic.

“So what do you do?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m a mission systems engineer with NASA.”

You blink at him.  “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“A mission systems engineer with NASA.  I know, I –“

“Do you have top secret clearance?”

He looks thoroughly confused.  “That’s your first question?”

“Do you?  Or would you have to kill me if you told me?  Have you been to space?  Does the government have a plan for if an asteroid comes our way, or would we have to do like the movie Armageddon and wing it with a bunch of oil rig operators?”

Bucky appears to be absolutely delighted at your string of questions.  “Well, yes, no, unfortunately no, and I can’t tell you that because has to do with national security.”

“Fascinating.”  You sit back, thoroughly intrigued by the man sitting across from you. “What the hell are you doing in a podunk town like this? Shouldn’t you be in Houston?  Or D.C.?”

“I live here.” He chuckles at your unimpressed stare. “Yeah, I know it’s a small town – we got a bar, three churches, a motel, a gas station, and a diner that closes by 7 pm every day.  Our biggest draw is the ballroom on the lake shore and the hunting grounds in the fall. It ain’t exactly the heart of modern technology.  But I grew up here, my family and friends are here, and I stick around to help out on their farm.  I fly into Headquarters a few times a year, but otherwise I work remotely.”

“So what do you do?”

“The general gist of it is that I lead a team that designs, develops, and deploys missions.”

“To space?”

“Well, I mean, I work for NASA…”

“What are you working on now?”  You can’t help peppering him with questions – this is so fucking cool.

His eyes sparkle.  “You got top secret clearance?”

“No.”

“Sorry.  Can’t tell you anything,” he shrugs with a smirk.

“I…yeah, I guess I kind of walked right into that.  Wow.  So you’re really freaking smart.”

“I hope so!”

“Do you like it?”

“Being smart?”

“Your job, dipshit.”

He laughs, freely and openly, and it’s an amazing sound.  “I love it.”

You can’t help but stare at him.  “Wow. That’s…that’s just really, really fucking incredible.”

Bucky gets quiet.  “It is really incredible.  Thank you for thinking so.”  He looks up, then back down as he starts peeling the label off his empty bottle of beer. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve told about my job that didn’t either tell me I don’t look smart enough to be a mission systems engineer or ask me how much money I make.”  He meets your eyes again.  “Or both.  I get that a lot, too.”

You certainly know how shitty it feels to get those kinds of unsolicited comments based solely on appearance.  It’s one thing to have an impression, but to just say those things out loud?  “Well, they suck.  And they’re truly shallow if they think intelligence has anything to do with how you look.  But hey, at least they show their true colors right away so you can save yourself some time.” You lean forward, chin in hand, “Okay, so I know you can’t tell me about your actual projects, but can you tell me about your job?  What are your responsibilities?  What does a mission systems engineer do?”

Bucky lights up like New York City and spends the next 40 minutes going into detail about what he does, and you hang on every word; it’s impossible not to, really.  His enthusiasm for what he does is so evident that even if the topic weren’t interesting, you’d still be entranced.  And you thought he was gorgeous before?  His animated passion makes him absolutely breathtaking.

You’ve both finished your drinks and, perhaps not so surprisingly, he switches to soda when you do. When unordered appetizers arrive with your new drinks, you both look over to Clint, who just winks and shrugs.

“Well I ain’t gonna complain.  Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”  Bucky shoves an entire ham and cheese ball into his mouth, but then has to hasashafahasa because it must have just come out of the fryer.  “Ish hot!  Rearry hot!”

Bursting into laugher, you slide your ice water to him before cautiously taking a bite of your buffalo wing. Considering how much fun you’ve had in the last hour, it isn’t all that surprising that your appetite has returned. “Me neither.”

The hours fly by as the conversation eventually turns to other topics, and you find yourself talking about things you wouldn’t expect considering you’ve just met.  Bucky seems so open and honest that it’s difficult not to reciprocate, and if one doesn’t go into detail about what the other asks, it’s only because there’s so much to cover.  

Bucky dips the last bit of pretzel into the beer cheese sauce and pops it into his mouth.  “So if you don’t mind me asking, what made those pretty eyes of yours so sad?”

You take a long sip of your Coke Zero as you debate your next move.  Deflect or come clean?  You surprise yourself when you blurt out, “My aunt, Lydia.”

“Your aunt?”

You squirm a bit at the uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability, but you keep going.  “Yeah.  It was her daughter that got married today.  Marie and I grew up together – Lydia is my mom’s only sister, so she was the one that took care of me when my mom had to work double shifts, which was a lot. She did the best she could, and she means well, she really does, but she’s just so caught up with appearances. My height is a, uh, a definite sore spot with her.”

“Really?  Why?  What does it matter?”

“I think it comes down to the appearance thing.  Tall women are generally seen as less feminine, even straight up masculine.  Lydia is tall, too – not quite as tall as me, but close.  She claims that she got her husband through making herself appear daintier.  She only wears flats and follows all the newest fad diets to make herself as small as she can because she feels that being a tall woman puts her at a distinct disadvantage.”  You shrug, “She was one of the primary examples I grew up with. And to be fair, it’s not like she’s completely wrong.  In my experience, guys tend to feel emasculated by me.  And it’s not just men that seem to see me through a distorted lens.  Even from a young age – I’m talking 4th grade – I’d hear teachers tell my mom that I seemed so much more mature than my peers, that I didn’t need as much support, emotional or academic, as everyone else.  I got additional responsibilities and higher expectations.  The thing is, I wasn’t more mature.  I was just tall, so I looked more mature.  Eventually it kind of came true, though.  Other than my mom, who was single and working 2 jobs to keep me housed and fed, I didn’t really have anyone that would protect me or support me.  I guess no one thought I needed it, so I just got used to doing it myself.”

Bucky shakes his head, and you can’t tell if his expression is one of pity, sadness, anger, or something else.  

“But Lydia made everything a hundred times worse than it needed to be.  I already knew I was outside the norm, I didn’t need the reminders. But every time I’d hit a growth spurt she would share some nasty comment on it, as if telling me that boys didn’t like tall girls would somehow stop my bones from stretching.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Mmm hmm.  Despite my mom’s efforts – and the fact that being tall is actually pretty awesome – Lydia’s words really got under my skin, and even now they undermine my confidence sometimes.”  You gesture to yourself and the bar, “Obviously.  I should be at my cousin’s wedding right now.  I don’t go to many family functions anymore, because of her.  It just…it puts my head in a bad place.  You know, they say it takes five to seven positive comments to balance out one negative comment?  The negative is in everything she says.  Everything.  I love my family to pieces, but I just can’t handle her.”

“What did she say to you today?”  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Bucky is getting pissed.  

“She met me at the door of the chapel with a pair of her ugly black penny loafers.  Said that she told the photographer that I wasn’t allowed in any family pictures unless I was wearing them, because she didn’t want my Amazonian ass towering over everyone else and ruining the aesthetic.”

“Your…your ‘Amazonian ass’?”

“Eh,” you shrug and wave your hand dismissively.  “It’s not the first time I’ve been called an Amazon and far from the worst thing people have said. I mean, people say it to be cruel, but Amazons were fearless warriors.  I just think of it as being put in the same class as Wonder Woman.  The part that hurt was that she was prepared to make sure I wasn’t in the pictures, that she thought she could just erase my existence, simply because I’m too tall for her liking.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “I might be overstepping here, but what a heartless bitch.  No one should ever try to erase you, what a fucking idiot.”

“She browbeat Marie into dyeing her hair blonde for the wedding.  Marie hates it, but did it for her mom’s approval.”  You release a deep sigh, “But that’s Lydia, and that’s why I took my Amazonian ass out of there the second the ceremony was over.”

“Hmmmm.”  He gazes at you.  “You know she’s a princess, right?  

“Huh?”

“Wonder Woman.  She’s a princess. You know…Amazon Princess…it actually kinda suits you.”

“Seriously?”

“Damn right I’m serious. You’re tall?  So what.  You’re fuckin’ royalty.  Own it, Princess.  Correct ‘em. Make ‘em say it.  Amazon Princess.”  

“What?”

“Yep.  Say it with me.  Amazon Princess.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, but there’s something undeniably sweet about the way he’s pressing the issue. It’s not good enough for him that it doesn’t bother you – he wants it to be seen as a term of empowerment and to let people know that’s how you see it.

The moment is interrupted when a booming voice comes through the sound system.  “Alright everybody, it’s ten o’clock!”  Someone stands on the stage, holding a mike and looking more than a little tipsy.  “You know what that means!”

The bar cheers, “Free jukebox!”

A line forms immediately, and the music starts.

“Wanna dance, Princess?”

“Really?  You’re going to call me ‘Princess’ now?”

He shrugs with darkening eyes and a suggestive smirk.  “If it’s okay with you.”

If he keeps looking at you the way he’s looking at you right now, he can call you whatever he damn well pleases.  But he doesn’t need to know that.  “Yeah,” you murmur.  His gaze is so intense that you have to look around the bar to break it and gather your thoughts.  You happen to see Peggy; she’s standing next to the blonde that had been playing pool with Bucky, so she must know him.  She catches your eye, sees who you’re with, and gives a thumbs up with a huge grin. Well, alright then.  You grin back and remember what she said.  “Let’s dance.”

Bucky stands, stopping when he sees you toeing off your heels.  “Woah, what’re you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes?”

He shakes his head, “Princess, you don’t need to do that.  I ain’t too fragile to dance with a woman taller than me.”

“I know,” and you do, “But I can’t dance in these.  And my feet hurt.”

When you stand, you’re almost eye to eye with Bucky; if he were barefoot as well, you would be.

People are still lined up at the jukebox, selecting their favorites.  It’s exactly the mix you would expect from a place like this – classic songs like Brown Eyed Girl, Summer of ’69, and Footloose with more modern tunes sprinkled in  – the kind of music that gets everyone up and dancing.

Bucky is a great dance partner, and you’re having an absolute blast.  You don’t think about your aunt, the wedding that you’re supposed to be at, or how you are, without a doubt, the tallest woman in the bar.  He laughs, showing off the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, obviously enjoying himself, too.  

The jukebox switches songs again, and on comes the relentless, even rhythm of Black Velvet.  For the first few measures, you just stare at each other.  It’s the first song to play that isn’t upbeat, and you don’t know what to do until he makes the first move and pulls you close – close enough to breathe each other in. He stares as Alannah Myles’ smokey voice drifts over the steady bass, then spins you so your back is to him.  

If Bucky’s a good dance partner for upbeat music, he’s even better when it’s slow like this, when every move counts.  He’s enough to handle you, and more than confident enough to do so.

Bucky stays behind you, mirroring you with his hands resting gently at your waist.  Your back is against his chest, but his hips keep their distance. Just to experiment, you press yours back and hear a guttural “fuck” before he intentionally shifts.

Bucky is absolutely nothing that you expected.  “You’re a gentleman.”

You can feel the dark chuckle rumbles through him. “I wouldn’t say that, Princess.”  He spins you around, pulling you close but not too close, and runs his thumb along your neck.  “I just ain’t in the habit of taking what ain’t mine.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine.  Fuck. You like him.  One night stands aren’t usually your thing…but that’s not what this feels like.  He feels familiar.  Safe.  You like him, and he sure seems to like you. Your mind is already made up – you’ll take the chance and see what happens.  You hardly recognize your own voice when you ask, “Do you want me to be?”

“Thought I was makin’ it obvious.  Yes.”  He doesn’t hesitate and his eyes don’t leave yours.  “Are you offering?”  

You move your hand to the back of his neck and lightly scratch, watching with satisfaction as his pupils dilate even more than they were.  His lips part when you pull him closer, but he waits for you to close the kiss.

The second you do, his hands slide down to your lower hips before he tightens his grip.  He’s not timid; he kisses you as though you’re a well-known lover, deeply and intensely, without bothering with introductions.  

Bucky suddenly breaks the kiss, spinning you around again to pull your back against his chest.  This time, though, he allows his hips to rock into yours with the rhythm of the music, slow and steady and insatiable.  The way he moves makes it impossible not to think about fucking him; hell, you’re practically halfway there already.  His hands alternate holding you tightly to his body, maximizing contact, and running up and down your sides.  Your head falls back when his mouth finds your neck, and your legs go weak when his teeth nibble that spot beneath your ear.

You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His voice is thick when his lips find your ear, “Wanna get out of here?”

You nod, taking his hand to lead him back to the table to collect your things.  “I’ve got a room at the motel a block away.”

“Good.”

When you take one last look around, you see Clint, still behind the bar, grinning at you like an absolute idiot.  Have fun!

“Oh my God,” you mutter under your breath, but you can’t completely hide the smile.

You step outside to find that the unbearable heat of the day has eased somewhat now that the sun has set. It’s still warm as the humid air kisses your skin, but with the breeze it’s sultry rather than oppressive.

You and Bucky look up at the same time – the stars are barely visible through the haze of clouds. There’s a thunderstorm rolling in on the western horizon.

Bucky walks you to your car, making sure you’re in safely before getting in his own truck and following you to the motel.  He jumps out of his vehicle and pushes you against the car the second you’re out of it, kissing you like it’s been days and not 2 minutes since his lips were last on yours.  

He doesn’t stop until the first few raindrops hit your skin.  Bucky looks up while you grab your purse and your aunt’s shoes out of the car, gathering them clumsily before locking the door.  It takes a minute for you to get your room key out of your purse, but you finally manage.

“Looks like the storm is already here.  Gonna be a good one if it got here that fast.”  He takes your hand, “Which room are you in?”

“Up the steps, furthest door on the left.”

Bucky leads you to the stairs as you both laugh while trying unsuccessfully to dodge the increasingly fat drops of rain.  He doesn’t let go of your hand until you need to unlock the door, and the second you hear the click of the lock, his lips are on yours again.  He pushes the door open and guides you through, closing the door behind him with a well-placed kick.  You drop your purse and the loafers, then step out of your heels as he toes his shoes off.  Still connected at the lips, he doesn’t see the things on the floor and trips over one of your stilettos.

“Oh shit!”  His eyes are huge, staring up into yours when he realizes he isn’t going to hit the floor because you’ve caught him by the arm. “Good catch, Princess.”  Both of you start laughing as he stands up straight, but the laughter dies out when his mouth find yours again.  Hungry hands roam your body while you reach beneath his shirt so your fingers can explore the taut muscles you just know are hiding beneath it.  Bucky grabs the collar behind his neck and pulls the shirt off altogether, and you are not disappointed.  “You like what you see, huh?”  

“Damn right I do.”  You’re breathless, pressing your lips against the salty skin of his collarbone.

“You sure know how to use that mouth of yours, don’t ya?”  He groans, then reaches down to grab the hem of your dress to lift it over your head before tossing it to the side.   “Goddamn, darlin.”  Bucky eyeballs you like a starving man at a feast before his mouth is back on yours, then moves his lips to the top of your breasts while he reaches around to unclasp your bra.  It joins your discarded dress as he pulls you close, groaning at the feel of your naked breasts pressed against his chest.  “I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you walkin’ into that bar tonight,” he bites your neck and you can’t stop the light whimper, “but I ain’t gonna complain. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Princess, I promise.”

You believe him.  And you cannot wait.

The two of you somehow manage to take a couple of steps toward the bed.  “I’ve wanted to do this since you smiled at me after givin’ me that chalk.  Those eyes, that smile, that dress, those fuckin’ sexy shoes.”  His hands find your hips, hooking your panties with his thumbs to push them down so you can step out of them.  “When we started dancin’ all I could think about was what it would feel like havin’ your legs wrapped around me, I want you so damn bad.”

You unbutton his jeans and fumble with the zipper, then pull his jeans and boxer briefs down at the same time, freeing a fully hard cock that is nothing short of glorious.  “Then either figure out how to multitask or stop talking and fuck me already.”

Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

He kicks off his remaining garments before pushing you against the nearest vertical surface – which happens to be the middle of the window, where there’s a strip of metal supporting the two panes of glass.  You aren’t sitting on the ledge, just leaning against it to keep your balance.  It occurs to you that maybe you should close the curtains, but you’re too far gone to care enough to do anything about it.

“Don’t you worry, Princess. I can do both.”  His arm is looped around your waist to hold you steady while your upper back presses against the cold strip of metal.  You’ve got one arm hooked around his neck and the other steadying yourself on the edge of the windowsill.  Bucky reaches down, takes hold of your thigh and lifts it to his hip. He lets go of your waist just long enough to guide his cock to your entrance – and he can slide right in because you’re so damn wet – and fuck, the way he stretches you is delicious.

“Christ, you’re so damn fuckable,” he moans in your ear, sending shivers throughout your entire body. “So fucking perfect…don’t need a bed or a chair, I can fuck you anywhere I want.  I could just bend you over, wouldn’t even need a wall.”  Between his thrusts, which are as maddeningly steady and slow as his dancing, the cool metal of the windowpane at your upper back, the flickers of lightening, and the crashes of thunder, it’s almost sensory overload. He’s holding you so tightly that you can’t move your hips much, so you’re completely at his mercy.  And he knows it.

Each move he makes is a sin; the angle you’re at all but guarantees he’s stroking your clit with every move.  Delirious with the sensations flooding your brain, you can only babble nonsense.  

“What’s that, Princess? Use your words, darlin,” Bucky

“So…so good…I, huh…”

He chuckles darkly, “What was that?”

He’s not playing fair but you really don’t mind – his confidence with you is a rarity and is such a fucking turn on.  “More.”

“More?  You want me to fuck you harder?  Is that right?”  He waits for your nod before flashing a wicked grin lit by lightning, then adjusts his grip on your thigh.  “Anything you want, Princess, you get.”

His thrusts come harder and faster, multiplying your pleasure tenfold.  Then he shifts his hand on your thigh, changing the support from holding it up to pushing it back, opening you further and allowing him to go even deeper.

Oh, oh fuck…

Your entire body clenches with your orgasm, so tightly you can’t even breathe, and your mouth opens in a silent scream.

Bucky follows you just seconds later with a growl of your name against your neck and a few last ragged movements.

He releases your thigh as he gently pulls out, but he doesn’t take his arm from around your waist. You lift yourself onto the windowsill, pulling him between your legs as you hold each other close and catch your breath while the storm rages outside.  He keeps his face buried in your neck as you run your fingers up and down his back, calming you both.  The thunder rumbles violently while lightning dances in the sky, but it doesn’t worry you. You’ve always found comfort in the chaos of a storm.

Eventually your legs start to fall asleep, so you begin to move.  Bucky notices and hikes both of your thighs up to his hips before guiding your arms up around his neck.  “Hold on, Princess.”  He reaches down and lifts you, carrying you the 5 feet to the bed.  After laying you down, he begins kissing you again, then starts exploring your body.  “I love being cradled in your thighs like this, but there’s something else I wanna try,” he whispers as he starts crawling down.  “Now I can take my time with you.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’s going.  “Really? Um, maybe I should shower first?” You’re sweaty from the heat of the day and just had some really incredible sex, so there’s no doubt in your mind that things are less than fresh down there.

“If you want to.”  He keeps on his slow descent, kissing everything in his path, “But I’m happy with you just like this.  I want you, right now, as you are.”

“But don’t you –“

“No.  I don’t.”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he looks up from his destination.  “I don’t care.”  And then Bucky dives in, devouring your pussy like he’d devoured your mouth.  He’s got you writhing in moments, all worries gone. But he’s a goddamn tease now that the initial urgency has been satisfied, bringing you to the edge and then backing off again and again in a beautiful torture.

You can’t do dirty talk to save your life, but you’re about to start begging when he finally looks up, chin glistening before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.  “Fucking delicious.”  Between the sight of him, his voice, and the sensations you’re feeling, your brain just about short circuits.  Then his fingers start to circle your entrance, teasing you, making you want more before he slowly pushes two in and curls them to press against that spot, and fuck it can’t feel any better, but then somehow it does.  You pull a pillow over your face but he shifts, reaching up to yank it back off and throw it across the room.  “No way, Princess, I wanna hear what I do to you,” he rasps, watching you with hungry eyes and a feral grin.  You’re almost there…almost…and then he puts his mouth back on your clit and your universe implodes.

One orgasm blends into another and you allow him to push your limits until you can’t handle it anymore. “Stop,” you gasp, and he does immediately.  “I’m – it’s too much.  I…wow.” You’re so oversensitive at this point that if he breathes too hard, you might jump out of your skin.

Bucky crawls his way back up to you, dropping kisses on your hot skin as he goes.  “You’re incredible, you know that?  I love how your body responds to me, I fucking love it.”

He kisses you again, and despite your sensitivity, your hunger for him grows.  Sitting up, you pull him with you then push him down to the mattress.  “Fuck yes,” he whispers hoarsely when you straddle him and slide down, pausing to glide your pussy along his hardened cock, but then you slide down a little farther before spreading his legs so you can kneel between them.  

It’s impossible not to groan aloud when your hands find his thighs; thick, tight, and incredibly well formed, they look like they were sculpted by a generous god.  “I might have to ride one of these later.”

“Please –“  Bucky swallows hard and licks his lips as he watches you in the dim, sporadically flickering light, “Please do.”

One hand moves to palm his balls while you part your lips to take him in as far as you can, reveling in his heaviness on your tongue while using your hand to stroke the base of his cock. You give it a bit, waiting until he’s writhing beneath you before you pull off and redirect your attention.  His eyes grow wide when your fingers start moving down beneath his balls to his taint, pressing gently to find the very root of his cock which will then lead you to the spot you’re looking for.  Pressing firmly when you find it, you begin rubbing tight circles.

“What are you – oh.  Oh.  Oh, fuck, Princess, oh fuck!”

It’s ridiculously satisfying to see him reduced to the same whimpering, quivering puddle you were not so long ago.  You make him come once, twice, three times without ejaculating, just because you can.  

Bucky’s got his forearm resting over his eyes as he shakes his head, and you take advantage of his distraction to shift your body into position.  “Holy shit.” He’s breathless, shaking,  “I did not know I had a spot that could do that.  Fuck.  I – oh Christ…“

You slide onto his cock, smiling when his hands automatically reach to grip your hips – the biology and technique can be explained later.  Leaning over, you kiss him deeply then stretch your arms above him to grip the headboard.  Rocking your hips slowly, so slowly, you watch him watch you.

Bucky’s lips form words but nothing comes out except for sighs and soft moans as you become more and more intoxicated by his need for you.  His hands wander up and down, touching your breasts, hips, ass, and everything in between until he pulls you down for another kiss.  “Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are?  You feel so good.  So fucking good.  Wanna make you feel good.  As good as you make me feel.”  Bucky kisses you again, sloppily, then wraps an arm tightly around you before flipping you both.

Now that you’re on the bottom and he’s back in control, he picks up the pace considerably.

You certainly aren’t about to complain.

His hands are grasping yours, holding them over your head, and your legs are locked around his hips as his thrusts eventually begin to lose their impeccable rhythm.  

Now neither of you are in control.

The pleasure has been steadily building, an inevitable tidal wave on the horizon.  Maybe it’s his confidence, maybe he’s naturally gifted, maybe it’s that his body seems to fit with yours just right.  Whatever it is, this is by far the best sex you’ve ever had, and despite already having multiple orgasms, your appetite for him seems to be insatiable because you’re greedy for the next one.

“Fuck, Princess, it feels so good having those legs wrapped around me,” he pants, “Goddamn, I can – I can feel you’re right there.  I ain’t gonna last much longer, come for me, darlin, give it to me now.  Oh Christ yes, that’s right, just – just like that.”

Your body obeys, giving him exactly what he wants.  The velvet sound of his voice, his incessant dirty talk, the way he smells and tastes – everything about him adds to your pleasure induced stupor.  The orgasm is so powerful that everything but Bucky goes black, and the only thing keeping you tethered to this world is the way he chants your name as he comes.

His body continues to cover yours as you wait for your racing pulse to slow.  He presses kisses to your neck, cheeks, lips, and eyelids, and finally your forehead before he gently lifts himself off to lay next to you. “C’mere,” he pulls you to him, and when you rest your head on his chest you can hear how fast his heart is still beating.

Thoroughly sated and soothed by the feel of his fingertips on your skin, it’s tempting to give in and fall asleep.  But not yet. Not if you want to sleep through the night.

Reluctantly, you rise. Maybe, if you’re really fast, maybe he’ll still be here when you get back.  It’s probably not the sane thing to do, but you really, really want him to stay the night.

“Where you going?”  Is that trepidation you hear in his voice?

You smile as you take in the sight of him lying in the bed, disheveled and clearly satisfied. “I need to shower.  And wash my face – I need to get my makeup off.  My eyes are getting itchy.”

“Can I join you?”  He laughs at your raised eyebrow, “No, Princess, not like that.  I’m gonna need some time to recover.”

“That’s good to know,” you smirk, “I was starting to wonder if you were a god wearing a mortal’s skin.”

Bucky blushes.  It’s adorable.  “Nah, no god here.  Just a man that’s never wanted a woman so bad before.  Still do,” he shrugs, “Just too worn out at the moment to do anything about it. You’re somethin’ special, I hope you know that.”

It’s your turn to feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you hold out your hand to help him up.  

The shower is tender and sweet, full of soft kisses and softer touches.  This man just keeps surprising you.

He’s toweling off his hair when his eyes meet yours in the vanity mirror.  “Is it okay if I stay?”

A slow smile spreads across your face – you couldn’t stop it if you tried.  “I’d like that.”  You slip into fresh panties and a tank top, turning to face him fully to admit, “I’d like that a lot.”  Bucky beams at you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and heads to the bed. You finish up a few minutes later and crawl in, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.  There’s nothing to hide behind – no makeup, no cocktail dress, no drink.  It’s just you, and this is a state that very few people see you in; no one you’ve ever dated has seen you this vulnerable until months have gone by.  Some didn’t see you this way at all.  “Don’t look too close.  I’m very unglamorous and monochrome without makeup.”

Bucky’s blue eyes stare in yours.  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”  His fingers trace your freshly moisturized skin.  “I think you’re beautiful.”

Outside, the thunderstorm has exhausted itself.  He pulls you close and breathes you in, and you both fall asleep to the sound of gentle rain.

***

When the sun peeks through the gap in the curtains at 6 am, you’re not even mad that you’re awake.  The sight of Bucky lying peacefully next to you is something you’re thoroughly enjoying.

“You’re staring.”  His voice, deep and gravelly, rumbles lightly into the silence as he opens his eyes.  “It’s because I’m decent and gorgeous with a personality, right?”

“What?”

Bucky smirks as he stretches and sits up.  “I should probably come clean.  The bartender from last night?  My parents took him and his sister in after their parents were killed in an accident. Clint and Carrie were lucky to survive – he lost his hearing and six months of memories and she was in the ICU for 3 weeks.  He and I have practically been brothers since grade school.”

It takes a minute, but you finally put the pieces together.  Oh.  Well, shit.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just really surprised to see you sign so I didn’t look away fast enough. I’m sorry.”

You sit up and slap him lightly on the shoulder.  “So, you knew what I asked him?

His smile broadens as he gives you puppy dog eyes.  Yes. Please don’t be mad.

You try not to smile back as you think about it but lose the battle and shrug.  “I’m not mad.  Maybe a little embarrassed, but we’ve known each other for what, 12 hours?  It’s not like you can tell me everything about you in that short amount of time.”  You give him some serious side eye, “Although you could have mentioned that when I told you what I do for a living.”

He studies your eyes like he’s trying to see into your soul.  “I told you a lot, though.”

“You did.  We both did.”  It surprises you, more than a little, that you aren’t horrified at how open and honest you’ve been with him.

Bucky reaches his hand up to cup your cheek and he pulls you in for a kiss.  “Good morning, beautiful.”  It seems like he doesn’t want to part, because he rests his forehead against yours.

Somehow your hand finds his neck, and you gently rub your thumb along his jawline.  “Good morning, Bucky.”

His stomach grumbles. Loudly.  “Wanna grab some breakfast, Princess?”

It makes you a stupid amount of happy that he’s not ready to leave you just yet.  “Yeah.  I just need a little bit to get ready.”

A half hour later, Bucky opens the passenger side door of his pickup.  “Your chariot, Princess.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking his offered hand and climbing in.  It’s an older truck, one with a bench seat, and it smells of hay, Bucky’s cologne, and sweat.  It’s not what you’d expected, but it suits him.

In this tiny little town nothing is open at this hour on a Sunday morning, so Bucky pulls his pickup onto the interstate to head to a fast food restaurant a few miles away.  You take the time to look around – the area is really pretty and reminds you of the drive to your grandparents’ house, all farmland and pastures.  Of course, you can’t help but stare at the horses whenever you pass them.  “Whoa.  They must breed Appaloosas.”

Bucky takes a quick glance out your window.  “Yeah, that’s the Carter farm.  They raise Appaloosas and alpacas.”  He’s quiet for a moment.  “You like horses?  Not everyone can randomly pick out that breed.”

“I love horses,” you murmur, smiling broadly when you spot a few foals among the herd.  You’re too busy looking at them to notice how he looks at you.

***

Breakfast is simple, just something picked up at a drive thru window, but that’s perfectly fine with you. Bucky doesn’t pull back onto the interstate though, he instead starts driving the winding country roads.  You don’t mind in the least; you simply sip your coffee, content to be exactly where you are.  Considering the hour, you aren’t even grumpy.  Stealing glance at the reason why, you hide your smile and take another sip.

Bucky’s fingers drum almost nervously against the wheel, then he seems to make a decision as he brakes sharply.  “Sorry, Princess,” he smiles sheepishly, “You up for a picnic?  I know a spot.”

His smile is infectious. “Yeah.”

He takes the left he stopped so quickly for, and then another left onto a dirt road, and a mile later he turns onto what looks like a seldom used service trail leading up to a fenced in pasture.  “Just a sec,” he pulls the truck to a stop, then gets out to open a gate.  Bucky quickly climbs back in, drives the truck through about 20 feet before turning in a tight circle to face the road, and closes the gate behind him before stepping up to your door.  “I got some blankets, do you want to sit in the truck bed with me?”

“Of course.”

He gets the blankets and spreads them out while you grab the food and coffees, handing them to him before you climb in after him.

“I would’ve helped you in, Princess.”

“Bucky.  I’m not five feet tall.  I can get into the back of a truck.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m fully aware of that.  But unlike the other shmucks you seem to have come across in your life, I ain’t gonna make you do something by yourself just because you can.  You deserve consideration and chivalry, too.”

What do you even say to that?  He’s the exact opposite of pretty much everything you’ve ever known.  It’s nice.

He sits down against a box that is attached to the back of the cab.  “C’mere.  You look cold.”  

It was hot when you’d packed your overnight bag so you’ve only got a tee shirt and shorts on, and luckily a hoodie that just happened to be in the backseat of your car.  “I am, a little,” you admit as you curl into his side, allowing him to cover your legs with another blanket that he’s pulled out.

He eats one handed, keeping an arm around you to keep you close and warm.

Everything smells clean and fresh now that the storm went through, and the morning air is chilly but fresh with the light breeze.  The radio plays softly, drifting through the open windows as you and Bucky eat and watch the fluffy white clouds drift by.  It’s the best picnic you’ve ever had, hands down.

“So where are we? It’s beautiful here.”

“My parents’ farm.”

You turn to stare at him. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yep.”

“Lucky.”

“I am.  Hey, I wanna introduce you to someone.”  He stands suddenly, not waiting for a reply.  You’re in the middle of a pasture, who the hell is there for you to meet?  Bucky brings his fingers to his lips and lets out the sort of piercing whistle that you’ve never managed to master.

And then…and then…

“Are you fucking serious.” Eyes wide, you bring yourself to a kneeling position as a steel grey Percheron comes galloping full speed towards the truck.  “Bucky!”

He turns toward you, face almost split in two by his grin.  The horse slows down, circling the truck and whickering before coming to a full stop right at the tailgate.  

“I’d like you to meet Sergeant.”  

“Oh my God, Bucky, he’s stunning,” you breathe, unable to help yourself as you slowly move forward to sit at the edge of the open tailgate.   Intelligent eyes take you in before a velvet muzzle finds your hand.  “Sorry buddy, I don’t have any treats for you.  But I do have ear scratches,” you murmur, firmly stroking the planes of his face before scratching behind his ears.  You giggle when he sighs, and again when he mouths gently at your hair.  

Bucky beams with pride as he pulls an apple out of the box you’d been leaning against, feeding it to Sergeant before sitting on the tailgate next to you.  “I’ve had him for 20 years.  I got him when he was just a colt.  Trained him myself.  He’s one of the reasons why I choose to work remotely – I just can’t imagine not getting to see him.”

“I don’t blame you at all, I don’t think I could’ve left this sweetheart either.”  Sergeant blows gently in your face, then nuzzles you hard enough to push you backwards.  “Oh my goodness, you are just a big baby, aren’t you, Sarge?  Oh, you like that?  That spot right there?”  You laugh lightly as the giant horse stretches his neck toward you, seeming to thoroughly enjoy how you scratch just beneath where his mane grows.

“He likes you.”  Sergeant looks over when Bucky speaks, but then turns back to you.

“Well, I like him.” Feeling eyes on you, you turn to Bucky. “What, are you jealous?” you tease.

“Yes.”  Bucky cradles your face in both his hands and begins kissing you.  Before you know it, you’re lying in the truck bed with him, making out like a couple of teenagers out past curfew.  Time slows even as it moves, and you’d swear the minutes stretched into a blissful forever as you lay in his embrace.  But the real world likes to force its way in, and the distant sound of a car’s horn brings you both back to your senses.

Sergeant is about 50 feet away, grazing peacefully as Bucky pulls out his phone to check the time.  “We, uh, we should get going.  I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands to myself, and my folks will be drivin’ by on their way to church in about 15 minutes.”

“Don’t feel like scarring them forever with the view of your naked ass?”  You sit up and start pulling up the blankets to fold them.

“Honestly?”  He shakes his head, “They’d probably cheer and then invite you over for dinner.”

Pausing your movements, you let that one sink in.  “…Oh. Well that would be just as awkward as the alternative.”

He shrugs.  “They’ve been dropping some not so subtle hints that they think I should settle down.  They’d be thrilled just to know I spent the night with you.”

You tilt your head a bit as you watch him.  “Don’t you date?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Really?  Why not?”

He shrugs again as you hand him the blankets, then he turns his back to you as he puts them in the box. “I dunno.  I guess I just hadn’t found anyone I wanted to actually spend time with.”  

“Huh.”

“What?”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he turns back around.  “That so weird?”

“No, I get it.  You definitely shouldn’t settle.  I guess…” he’s staring at you now, waiting for you to finish, “I guess I’m just a little surprised that someone hasn’t snatched you up yet.  Where I come from, you’re quite a catch.”

“You think so?  How’s that?”

Is he baiting you? Teasing you?  Genuinely curious?  It’s impossible to tell.  “I know so. You’re smart, kind, funny, and a stupid amount of gorgeous,” you pause to level a look at him, “but I suppose you already knew I thought the last part.”

Bucky barks out a laugh but at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

“You have an absolutely beautiful horse, which wins points with pretty much every person I know. Your parents took in a couple of kids when they needed a family, and you learned a new language so you could keep communicating with your friend.  You have every opportunity to move to another city, but you stay here to be close to those you care about.  And,” it’s dumb, really, how you’re suddenly too shy to meet his eyes, “You’re really good in bed.  Like, really really good.  You’re the whole damn package.”  When you finally look up, he’s staring at you again.  “There’s a perfectly real possibility that you’re a total asshole and that you’ve been acting this whole time – I’ve only known you for a day – but I haven’t seen any cracks.  I get the definite impression that I met the real Bucky, and he is one hell of a catch.”  

“Huh.”  He hops down and turns, holding out his hand to help you down.  Do you need to take it?  No, but you love that he offers anyway.  He doesn’t let go after he helps you out, instead choosing to hold your hand as he walks you to the passenger side.  Bucky only lets go because he has to, and once the gate is secured behind the truck, he takes your hand and holds it for the entire drive back to the motel.

***

Ever the gentleman, Bucky walks you back to your motel door.  

“Do you have to go?” The words are out before you can think too long on them.

He’s shaking his head before your entire sentence is out, “No.  Not if you don’t want me to.”

You don’t even care if you sound needy or clingy.  “Please stay.”

Just like you learned last night, Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

At least the drapes are closed this time.

***

A sharp rap at the door and an equally sharp call of your name interrupts your post-lovemaking bliss.  It’s your aunt.

“I don’t wanna,” you whine.

Bucky bristles, sensing your distress.  “That her?”

You nod before pulling a pillow over your head.  “I’m just going to pretend I’m still asleep.  Maybe she’ll go away.”

“Don’t worry Princess, I got you.”

You feel the bed shift and move the pillow.  “Bucky!”

He turns back to you, eyebrows raised, as another insistent knock echoes through the room.

“You’re naked!”  It comes out as a stage whisper, making you both snicker.

He flashes a shit eating grin.  “So?”

Is he really gonna…

With a dramatic huff, he stops to find his boxer briefs and quickly tugs them on.  Kind of.  They’re sitting awfully low.

First there’s the sound of the door swinging open, then Bucky’s voice, bored and borderline intimidating.  “Yeah?”

The following silence is deafening and you almost wish the room was set up so you could see your aunt’s face, but all you can see is the back half of Bucky’s sensational body leaning in the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?  I’m looking for my niece?  I thought this was her room?”

“You mean the tall, gorgeous drink of water?  About my height?  Killer smile? Was wearing, uh, let’s see, what was she wearing?  It’s been awhile and she ain’t wearin’ much of anything now.”

The blood rushes to your face, but you can’t even imagine how embarrassed Lydia is right now.  The thought is nothing short of glorious.    

“Uh,” he snaps his fingers a few times, feigning concentration, “Oh!  A black dress with the sexiest heels imaginable?  Sound about right?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“Yeah, she’s here.” His tone is still bored, but you think you can pick up on an edge of amusement.  Your aunt must be squirming by now, and it’s all you can do to not start cackling.

“I thought…well…the gift opening is in an hour.  I thought she was going to meet us for breakfast before –“

“She won’t be goin’ to the gift opening.  Or breakfast, but don’t you worry, ma’am.  I made sure she ate something.”

The not so subtle innuendo almost makes you choke on your own spit.

“You can’t – are you holding my niece hostage or something?”

He laughs darkly but yells out, “Princess, am I holding you hostage?”

Your own laugher, unable to be contained any longer, bursts out.  “Nope!” you call out, absolutely feeling as gleeful as you sound.

Lydia is practically apoplectic by now.  “But what about the gift opening?”

“She doesn’t. Want.  To go,” he growls, stooping down.  “And here, she doesn’t want your fucking ugly shoes, either.  Stop projecting your insecurities onto her – she’s perfect the way she is.”  Bucky closes the door – perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary – and you hear the sound of the lock sliding into place before he saunters back to the bed.

“Thank you for doing that, Buck.  I – holy shit, I cannot believe you answered the door like that.”  Your eyes are glued to how low his boxers are sitting – he’s showing more than just his happy trail.

“What?  Everything’s technically covered.”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“I – I’m not even sure how you managed it, but you basically turned your boxers into the dick version of a pasty.”

He grins, “Like I said. Everything’s technically covered.”  Bucky moves closer, crawling into the bed until he hovers above you. “But not for long,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck.  “Now, the way I figure it, we got another two hours till checkout.”

“Mmmmm…” you’d rather not think of the time.  It’s necessary if you don’t want someone from housekeeping to accidentally walk in, but you don’t want this to end.

He kisses you deeply before pulling back, looking just a little hesitant.  “And then, if you want, we could continue this back at my place? If you’re not in a hurry to get home?”

He’s kept his lips to himself for a few seconds, so your head manages to clear enough to process what he just said.  “What? Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I get it if you have to get back.  But,” he shrugs awkwardly, his current vulnerability at stark odds with his usual confidence, “I like you.  I’d like to spend the day with you if you’re free.” He kisses your neck again and nibbles your ear.  “We can do more of this.  I like this, too.  A lot.” He pulls back to look you in the eye. “But we could also do some talkin’. Maybe you’d let me take you out to a nice dinner before you head home?”

A smile, broad and genuine, stretches across your face.  “I’d like that.  I’d really like that.”  Even if you never see Bucky again after today, you’re hungry for whatever time you can get with him.   He’s addictive and you’ve never in your life felt more satisfied and safe than you do right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His borderline cocky confidence returns as his hands resume roaming the landscape of your body. “Good,” he mouths against your throat, and resumes his worship of you.  “It’s gonna be a good day, Princess.  A good fuckin’ day.”

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[patandpran]

The Two of Us

Thank you to the anon that requested an angsty OhmFong fic... this is the result! Hope you enjoy!

Still feel like I need to credit @yangkoogan @gaysarawat @earthfluuke for my obsession with OhmFong... 

At a distance, always at a distance…

Fong was never more than a text or an arm’s length away and yet the distance between Ohm and Fong was vast.

This was especially the case since Tine had started to hang out with them again. His relationship with Sarawat was finally out in the open despite everyone and their dog knowing it was heading in that direction so Tine had more to talk about than just the broody guitar player that he so obviously had feelings for. Fong had been right at Tine’s side throughout this experience, encouraging his friend to follow his feelings rather than his rational thought and worry about judgment from others.

Before they knew Tine, it had just been Ohm and Fong. They had been friends since Ohm could remember but as soon as Tine entered the picture, their relationship fractured somehow. Ohm saw the way that Fong looked at Tine liked he was something precious that could slip away at any moment. Fong had never looked at Ohm that way and that reality felt like a stab right to Ohm’s gut.

Ohm recalled the first time he saw Fong sitting at the edge of the playground, head buried in a book and glasses slipping down his nose. Ohm instantly wanted to know more about the isolated stranger but it took him a few weeks to work up the courage to approach his future best friend. Ohm had approached Fong silently and slowly sat down next to in his usual reading spot. Fong seemed to sense Ohm’s presence and closed his book, cocking his head to the side and looking at Ohm with a mix of curiosity and confusion. When Ohm didn’t know what to say and the silence began to border on awkward, Fong had reached into his schoolbag and pulled out another book and handed it to Ohm. While Ohm had never been a big reader, the gesture was so sweet and a symbol of an offered friendship that Ohm had spent the rest of the lunch break pretending to read while discretely staring at Fong out of the corner of his eye. The rest was history.

After that day, Ohm and Fong were the best of friends. Their parents always teased them about how much time they spent together but it never bothered either of them. They were happy to have one great friend who accepted them and supported them through both the good and the bad times. Fong helped Ohm when he almost failed Math, Ohm was there to hold Fong closely when Fong’s Grandmother passed away, Fong helped Ohm when his parents announced their divorce and Ohm protected Fong when a few of their schoolmates decided that Fong was the perfect punching bag. They were a dynamic duo and never really made a point of trying to connect with other kids their age. They had one another. That was more than enough.

It had been just Ohm and Fong until high school which is where Tine and Phuak came into the picture. Phuak was a new student and basically forced his friendship on Ohm and Fong but Tine had been a different story. Fong noticed Tine by himself one day during a break in classes, wandering around the hallways looking lost and had made a point of approaching Tine. Ohm remembered the interaction as vividly as if it had occurred yesterday because it was the moment that he felt a rift appear between him and Fong.

Fong fell hard and fast for Tine and while he refused to admit it aloud, Ohm saw his friend’s feelings appear the first time Fong saw Tine. During their high school years, Fong tortured himself by watching Tine cycle through girlfriend after girlfriend. Ohm was always sympathetic to Fong’s random mood swings when Tine would introduce another fling to the gang. He made sure to take Fong out for his favourite ice cream on those days to distract his best friend from the sadness he was experiencing because of Tine’s complete ignorance. Ohm wondered how Tine could not see how Fong looked at him but Ohm also never made a point of sharing the reality of Fong’s feelings with Tine.

Ohm did not know how he would be able to navigate the situation if Fong and Tine ever did end up together. The thought made him sick to his stomach, not because he didn’t want Fong to be happy, but because he was the one who should be making Fong happy, not Tine. This secret burned in Ohm’s mind and though it took him many years to recognize that his own feelings for Fong stretched beyond the realm of friendship, he knew that Fong would never feel the same way.

By the time they reached university, Tine was even more on the prowl than he had been in secondary school. When Green started to follow Tine around, Ohm saw how envious Fong looked of Green: how boldly and publicly he was able to declare how he felt about Tine. Fong also was fiercely protective of Tine so the gang’s sole focus became keeping Tine from Green.

While it had never been Ohm’s intention to have the fake dating plan with Sarawat turn into a real relationship, Ohm was pleasantly surprised how much alone time the whole setup gave him and Fong again. Phuak was ever consumed with his Youtube channel so Ohm and Fong were starting to get back to how they were before Tine disrupted everything. As much as Fong seemed to be in distress watching Tine fall for Sarawat, Ohm was there to quietly and discreetly support his friend through the mourning process. Fong had bounced back quicker than Ohm had expected which made him wonder if Fong’s feelings for Tine were beginning to fade.

But now that Tine and Sarawat’s relationship had settled into their honeymoon phase, Tine had noticed how little time he spent with his friends and made a concerted effort to reconnect with the gang. Ohm cursed this sudden change in Tine’s perception as Tine usually could not see past the end of his own nose and usually operated in a rather selfish manner. His relationship with the campus heartthrob seemed to be doing wonders for Tine’s self growth and Fong was going out of his way to spend as much time with Tine as possible, even if it meant changing plans that he and Ohm had had in place for weeks.

Ohm wondered if he would ever have Fong’s full attention. He knew that his best friend would never look at him the way that Ohm wanted but he was grateful for whatever scraps he could get. It sometimes made him feel ridiculous and desperate but Fong was worth the wait, even if they were never more than just best friends.

As long as they were close, Ohm was fine but recently it seemed like Fong was drifting out of reach…

“Ohm.”

It was a rare occasion where Ohm and Fong found themselves alone. They were studying in Fong’s dorm room, each on one side of Fong’s study desk. Ohm had been zoning out overthinking things as he usually did when Fong called him back to the present.

“Ohm, are you feeling okay?” Fong asked and cocked his head to the side in a way that reminded Ohm of their first meeting. “If you need to take a break from studying, we could go grab something to eat before we got to the show later…Tine and Phuak said they’d meet us there.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Ohm muttered, feeling dejected that Tine had already been brought up in the few moments they had together. “I probably need to get as much studying in as I can or I’ll get an earful from the professor.”

“I can make you a study guide.” Fong expressed with a sympathetic look in his eyes. “That way you can come see the show and still feel okay about your exam.”

Ohm dropped his chin into his hands. “You can go to the show without me. It’s fine.”

“Are you running a fever?” Fong put down the textbook that he had been studying on the table and reached across to press a hand to Ohm’s forehead. He bit his lip and sat back down in his chair, “You’re fine. I don’t get it…. why don’t you want to go? There hasn’t been a time where we’ve managed to get the whole gang together for weeks!”

This made Ohm even less interested in going. “I’m fine, Fong. I just need some alone time. I don’t need to be around the gang always like you do….”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Fong was starting to get frustrated. He only ever got this way when he didn’t understand something, otherwise he was usually able to keep his emotions in check.

Ohm wondered how someone as smart as Fong could be so dense. He felt frustration rising in him as well and blurted out, “I don’t need to be around Tine and Phuak all the time. It was better when it was just the two of us.”

Ohm regretted the words as soon as they passed through his lips but knew he would never be able to take them back. In less than two sentences, Ohm worried that he had ruined everything, especially with the blank stare that Fong was giving him.

“I… what do you mean, Ohm?” Fong practically whispered, searching his friend’s eyes for some further explanation or justification for this sudden outburst.

Ohm hung his head in defeat and moved to stand up. “I think it’s best if I just go…”

He moved toward the door to escape the utter humiliation of his ill-received confession. Just as he was about to put his hand on the doorknob, he felt Fong thread his arms under Ohm’s and pull him into a hug from behind. The unexpected contact caused Fong’s breath to hitch in surprise as he felt Fong’s hot breath dance across his shoulder blades.

Fong nuzzled his head into Ohm’s back and murmured, “You can’t go. You don’t get to just leave me. That’s not how this works.”

Ohm’s fists clenched. He knew that Fong meant losing him as a friend and the internal battle of Ohm’s feelings for Fong was at its peak. Ohm knew that Fong just wanted to his best friend and while Fong did not understand what was going on, he still was willing to fight for Ohm which just felt like another stab to Ohm’s gut.

He took a deep breath and slowly turned maneuvered himself sot hat he was facing Fong. Fong’s arms were still tightly wound around Ohm as if he was terrified that to let Ohm go lest he disappear forever. Ohm looked down at his concerned friend and sighed deeply before muttering, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Fong rested his head against Ohm’s chest and Ohm tried desperately to keep his heart rate in check. “I didn’t know that you wanted to spend more time just the two of us… why didn’t you tell me before?”

Ohm was beyond conflicted. He felt as if he was being tugged in too many directions. This is what we wanted, more time to spend with Fong alone but he was just setting himself up for self-torture.

If he didn’t say it now, he knew he never would so with a deep breath, Ohm shared his truth: “Because I want more than you can give me.”

Ohm gently unwound Fong’s arms from him so there was space between them again. He didn’t dare to look Fong in the eyes and moved once again toward the door to make his escape. The shame and regret he was experiencing was enough to make him break down right then and there but he kept himself in check enough to take his leave from Fong.

“But maybe I can.” Fong cried out and made Ohm freeze in his place. “Maybe that’s what I want too.”

Ohm turned quickly and felt like he was looking at Fong for the first time. Ohm shared, his voice wavering slightly, “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better, Fong. I’ll get over it… I’ll just need some time and space.”

“No. You’re not hearing me.” Fong closed the distance between them again, clutching Ohm’s hands in his own. “I don’t want space. I don’t want time. I want us.”

Before he could even properly registered Fong’s words, Fong had reached up and pressed his lips to Ohm’s. Ohm instantly melted into the kiss that he had been imagining in his mind for years. It was hard for him to embrace the fact that he was really kissing the very person he loved more than the world.

The kiss stretched on and even though Ohm did not want it to end, he pulled away slowly, wanting to take stock of where Fong was at. Fong’s cheeks were flushed and he had a somewhat distant look in his eyes that Ohm had never seen before.

“Fong, are you okay?” Ohm questioned.

A grin spread across Fong’s lips and he murmured, “I’m great. I’ve just been thinking about doing that for a long time…”

“Seriously?” Ohm asked, in complete shock. It turned out that maybe he was the ignorant one in this whole ordeal. “I never thought… but you never said… or did anything… and Tine… I thought you… huh?”

Fong laughed at Ohm’s stuttering, “I have wanted to be more than your best friend for years. Sure, Tine is a good friend but you are…. you are everything to me.”

Ohm still wondered if he was dreaming. This was everything he had always wanted to hear from Fong but never thought it would be a reality. He pulled Fong into a tight hug and didn’t ever want to let go.

The distance between them had mended. They were no longer two being separated by an unnameable rift. Their feelings were out in the open and Ohm never wanted to go back to how they were before.

“You mean more to me than you can possibly imagine.” Ohm admitted and the words that had so often scared him suddenly put him at ease. “To me, it’s just the two us.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #357

“your magic white rabbit has left its writing on the wall  /  we follow like alice, and just keep diving down the hole”

Are you better at telling stories or writing them? Writing, by a long shot. What’s one song you hate, but know every word to? i'm a barbie girl in a fckn barbie woooooorld What’s your favorite magazine? I don’t read magazines. If you could be an animal for one day, which animal would you choose? Probably a house cat. Be indoors and safe, able to just nap... lol. But I'd want another cat as a friend, too! Do you prefer outdoor or indoor concerts/events? Indoors, by a mile. I get hot outside way too easily. Do you know if you were a planned child? I don't know. What’s your favorite gem? Dragon's breath opal. As an adult, do you want to live in an apartment or a house? I'd like to live in a house, especially with the pets I want. I doubt many apartment complexes would allow multiple reptiles and inverts. Do you like the stem or leafy part of the broccoli? It doesn't matter much to me, but I prefer the stem. The texture is more likeable to me. Do bats frighten you? No, I adore bats! Does Paris appeal to you? Yeah, it's a pretty place. Are you a KPOP fan? No, I've never really checked it out. How long was your longest relationship? Over three and a half years. First time you kissed the last person you kissed? We were outside roasting marshmallows one night. Do you have to really know someone to kiss them? Absolutely. I don't dish 'em out for nothing. Were you anyone’s first kiss? No. If you had to be named after one of the 50 states of America, what state would you WANT to be named after? I actually think "Nevada" would be kinda pretty as a name? Do you think morals are universal or relative to the beliefs, traditions, or practices of individuals or groups? I've wondered this for a long while, really. I lean towards it being a mix, maybe? But more towards universal, I think... with some exceptions. This answer is all over the place, I honestly don't know. Is torture ever a good option? If no, why not? If yes, when? No? I think the "why not" is obvious... You just don't. What do you think is one one of the most undervalued professions right now? Teachers, garbagemen, retail and food workers... There's a lot. Have you ever seen anyone have a heart attack? Thank Christ no. Have you personalized your answering machine/voicemail? No. Have you ever had Fiji brand water? I actually don't believe I have, though it's always looked appealing to me, haha. What’s your favorite horror movie? The Crazies and the first Silent Hill, as well as both Blair Witch Projects. What was the worst thing a friend has either done or said to you? I'd rather not even think about things the bitch said to me. Are you biracial? No. When was the last time you got mad and broke something? I've never broken something when mad. What color dress did you wear to prom? My first was maroon, second one was black. Who is the cutest baby you know? My friend has a daughter named Scarlett who is absolutely gorgeous. Have you ever thrown a rock at a window? No, because I respect people's fucking property. Has anyone ever thrown a rock at your window? No. Does your hair react well to dye, or does it damage it? It likes to not take dye at all. >.> I have only had one instance where a friend dyed it red and it stuck for months and months, but we kept it in for a couple hours, I think. My normal hairdresser says it's because my hair is really healthy and I guess rejects it. What kind of pet do you wish you had? I ramble plenty about how I want tarantulas and more reptiles, haha. I also DESPERATELY want to rescue or foster an opossum. When was the last time you were diagnosed with something? Are you concerned about anything regarding your physical or mental health at the moment? I haven't been diagnosed with anything in quite some time, I believe, but as I'm going through the process of being approved for TMS therapy for my depression, my bipolar diagnosis is being questioned, which is... strange to me. It's been acknowledged by many a doctor that I have bipolar 2, but if insurance recognizes my primary diagnosis as bipolar, they won't cover TMS because it can massively excite the mania portion of bipolarity, and therefore I can't do it because we can't manually afford it. I'm willing to take the risk by far, as I've never had issues with mania, but I can't without insurance. I'm just waiting to hear back from them... What is one blanket judgment you tend to make about people (like, you judge all people who live at home, all people who drink, etc)? Does this judgment come from a particular personal experience? I really don't know. How do you react to other people yelling or slamming doors? Is this something you ever do too? I get very scared if it's a man. I don't like anyone doing it, and my anxiety will spike regardless, I'm just terrified of angry men. Have you ever lost your cool at work or somewhere else important? What happened as a result? No. Who has the power to break you? Jason still might. I don't know. Is anyone in your family blind? My sister is legally blind in one eye. Do you believe in evolution? Yeah. I do find the concept odd, that ALL LIFE originated from one thing, but I sure ain't got a better explanation, so. What job do you think people should be paid the most for? Surgeons, maybe? I dunno, that's a big question. Were you ever held back a year in school? Did you ever skip a grade? No. Have you ever been given a hickey? Have you given one? Yeah to both. What is your least favourite thing about your full name? I have the most basic white bitch middle name in the world, lol. Do you like the age you are? Eh, I don't mind it much, but I think it'd be better to be in my early 20s versus mid 20s. I'm just always so tired now. I can't believe I used to refuse to go to sleep before 10:30. What’s your favourite kind of poptart? The chocolate sundae one. If you had to eat one type (Chinese, etc.) of food which would it be? American bc I'm not very adventurous with food at all. When did your family immigrate to wherever you live now? *shrug* Are your fingers long, or short? Long. Mom's always said I have "piano fingers." Do you play Pokemon Go? If so, what level are you and who’s your buddy? Yeah, I love it, but don't play it nearly as much as I want because I don't exactly go anywhere, lol. My bud's Charmeleon, and I'm probably like five EXP from level 28. Do you ever sit indoors and wear sunglasses or a hat? I don't own either, so. Do you know how to read animals’ behavior? I honestly think I'm very good at it. Do you like playing video games? If so, what do you usually play? Yes, but not as much as I used to. All I really play nowadays is World of Warcraft. The only working console I have is a PS2, and I haven't bought a new game in probably a couple years, but there are definitely ones I want to play, mainly on PS4. Just can't afford it right now. Have you ever viewed the moon through a telescope? No. Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks? No. There's no way I could, given my tremors. Do you prefer reading books, comic books, manga/graphic novels, magazines, or the newspaper? Books. When is the last time you ate donuts? It's been months, man. I've seriously been craving a glazed one, though. Krispy Kreme sounds amaaaaaziiiiiing. Has anyone ever called you sexy? Somehow. Do you like raisins? NO NO NO NO NO. Have you ever overheard a conversation you weren’t supposed to? More than once. Do you like ants? They're genuinely extremely fascinating animals, but they're seriously annoying nevertheless. Did you like the movie Antz? I loved it as a kid. What was your favorite ice cream flavor when you were little? Chocolate. Is it still your favorite? Eh, depends on the day. By the way, what is your name? Brittany. What time zone do you live in? EST. Do you like cats? I love cats. What’s the most creepy experience you’ve ever had? One night when my mom and sister were at the beach for a dance competition, I was having trouble sleeping, and it only got worse when my dog Teddy started freaking the fuck out, barking loudly and staring intently at the foot of the bed. I was so scared that I tried to force his head to lie down, but he fought against me. I was terrified, but got up out of the bed and went into the living room to call my mom at like 3 in the damn morning, and she had to have our neighbor come over to sleep in the house with me (I was in a different room that night). You can't convince me that there wasn't paranormal shit going on. I think the house was haunted honestly, for multiple reasons. What’s the most boring game to exist? Why do you dislike it so much? Hm, I dunno. What’s the coolest place that you've ever been to? What’d you do there? Disney World was very memorable as a kid. We just went around collecting signatures, going on rides, all that fun stuff. I'll never forget fireworks at the castle. If you’re interested in having a long-term relationship with someone, do you think that waiting a certain amount of time before you first have sex is a good idea? Or does it not matter? I think it's a good idea, personally, mostly for the sake of reducing the spread of STDs. Just because you think you'll be long-term, doesn't mean you will be. Besides that, isn't there a science that sex and feelings of love are connected? Like, sex is impossible without at least some underlying emotions? I might be entirely wrong, in which case forgive me for spreading misinformation, but if that's so and things don't go as planned, you've gotten emotionally invested in someone too early and wind up getting hurt. You do you, I just don't think it's smart. Have you ever discovered something big by looking through someone’s phone, Facebook, email, etc.? No. Have you kept anything from your past relationships? (Things they left at your house, gifts, notes, etc) Do you think that’s a big deal for future relationships or not? Yeah, like plushies and little stuff like that. When it's tiny things like I just mentioned, I really don't think it matters. I think some things might be questionable to keep, but at the same time, I don't think it's really wrong to keep memories of a happy time, if the thing still brings you joy and has been emotionally disconnected from the ex? Idk. Do you have any financial regrets? Either way, what’s an example of a GOOD financial decision you’ve made? Going to and dropping out of college three fucking times. I don't know about a good financial decision seeing as I'm not even in charge of my own finances, nor really have any to begin with. Are you a believer in “signs” from the Universe about things in your life? If you are, can you think of a particular example? No. Name some things that one or both of your parents are really good at or really interested in. Mom LOVES medical stuff, like watching surgeries and stuff like that. She is also absolutely incredible with children. Dad likes sports a lot, hockey and football especially. Think of a good friend of the opposite sex (currently or in the past). Have you ever had any sort of “more than a friend” or sexual thoughts about them? If not, can you explain why? Well, we dated briefly, so... It was awkward to, but I let myself imagine sexual situations a few times to help myself understand if I really did like-like him, or if he was truly just a brother to me. Turns out, he's a bro. If someone told you that you would never achieve something and you ended up doing it, would you have any interest in finding that person and showing them? I'ma be honest, yes. I wouldn't actively seek them out, but rather just hope they somehow find out or I run into them or something. What is the most jealousy-induced thing you’ve ever done? Apparently, be the girl Juan liked instead of this girl that literally threatened to deck me. Guess what? We're friends now lmaoooo.

[auburnandamberangel]

Why did Armand go to the chateau and participate in Lestat's little social experiment rather than stay exclusively at Trinity Gate? Does Armand even think the whole idea will work?

SEND ME A QUESTION YOU HAVE ABOUT MY MUSE’S SOURCE MATERIAL

And I’ll answer based on my headcanons and worldbuilding! :

Along arse reply :

[[MORE]]

//From how Lestat describes his ruling and court as a whole it doesn't seem like there was much choice in not going. Though he's seemingly in the inner circle, some newer older vampires seem to treat him as lesser because of his age and more importantly lack of ancient blood hoarding and whoring that Lestat and others have made into a true art form. (Blood is something he's never easily shared, and to take from another infers a certain amount of trust and as Marius and himself have been estranged for decades, along with him never (knowing the parents existed other than as an abstract those who must be kept) serving and receiving the Parents blood for services rendered he has some catching up to do (apparently- though from end PL onwards his character appears to have been rewound by the author, going backwards in development and strength. Originally age was the best maturer of the blood, along with the attributes imbued by ancient blood in the making. This was somewhat thrown out at somepoint and backing to get a leg up seems to have been preferred. He was a hugely strong fledgling, and his poise and blank mind was admired by Khayman over a open and chaotic ancient Maels at the concert in Qotd). So I digress keep close and play along until you can slip away back to your safer quiet life.

In Blood Communion it was basically Danse Macabre of the Cult Children of Darkness (every time I see Children of Satan quoted I clench my teeth) to a newer shinier beat. I headcanon it must have put Armands fangs on edge to see such torturous court bully tactics play out. Don't even get me started on the humans bred in the cellars... So no he doesn't think it will work out especially with the clone making Replimoids. Nope. Gonna end in blood tears. His one steady stay and reliable benefactor is Marius. He knows hopes he's a favourite of his maker, that this remains so and those fledglings of his are looked after, respected by proxy.

He wants to go home and not end up ripped apart on a whim of a tantrum sharing Brat Prince as Benedict was. Mob rule.

Daniel not being there (or forgotten by the author for the long ago ship Armand/Marius sailing once more. I liked to think, along with internal screaming of his absence, that Daniel was tucked away safe n sound from this shitshow in Trinity Gate. And any relationship blossoming would be a happy open one with poly leanings. A trio...But no one asked me XD. Marius and Armand finally reuniting was quite the surprise. Armand would perhaps stay also to see where the closeness lead too. (Though as a strong otp lover of Armaniel I wouldn't want this at the price of Daniel being erased) Though I can't help but be curious about what a power couple Marimand would be.

[kainumbernine009]

I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.

I’m... really not okay.

And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.

I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).

I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”

Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.

But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.

And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.

And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.

I lost everything.

I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.

It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.

Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.

I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.

I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.

And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!

And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.

I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.

I ALWAYS try to do better.

In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.

The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.

I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.

So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.

So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.

So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.

I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.

I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.

So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.

So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.

Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.

[reynesofcastamere]

I Know How To Twist Ya

(A/N: Okay, so this is about...5, 6? Years overdue. Basically @bifacialler asked me for a Butterfly Bog drabble back when I was still taking requests and I...er never got around to writing it. Sorry! This is definitely a lemon and very much not safe for work. My usual warnings for this pairing apply, as well as a bit of bondage, knifeplay, and blindfolding. Those weren’t requested, but they kind of...snuck their way in there. ORZ.  Title comes from “I Get Off” by Halestorm. Unbeta’d.))

So she’d be willing to admit that her expectations had been a bit...skewed when they’d started doing the Wild Thing on a regular basis. Aside from clawing furrows in the nearest surface, lapsing into Goblin tongue, or insisting on eating her out at least once per ‘concert’, Bog seemed perfectly content with her being in charge. Which Marianne was completely fine with. Honestly, couldn’t ask for better, especially with the Love Potion fiasco out of the way.

At least, until she’d found out that it wasn’t so much that he was....er, really dedicated to backup vocals. She just hadn’t been giving him the right incentive to take centre stage. He thinks she’s beautiful no matter her appearance or  what she does, but apparently her acting and looking like the Queen of the Dark Forest? Especially wearing something dark purple and easy-to-remove? Really brings something out in him. And by the gods if remembering that night of discovery didn’t fail to make her hot and bothered every. Single. Time. Hence her current position: Clothing reduced to gauzy shreds, two of which had been used to bind her wrists and cover her eyes, being bent over the dining room table while still recovering from round 1, their combined fluids slowly seeping out of her exposed core. Marianne has to choke back a sob as one of his fingers carefully dips inside her, his other hand spread over her lower back to keep her from thrashing. She’s still sensitive and it hurts a little but it’s so good. Her sore and thoroughly-bitten breasts rub against the hard and slightly uneven surface beneath her with every shift and squirm. The digit slips in all the way to the knuckle before he withdraws it and she can hear him sucking it clean with a low, satisfied hum. Her passage clenches down on nothing while she moans, suddenly in need of relief from the heat he’s re-ignited in her. Something cold and flat meanders its’ way up her spine as he leans over her, feeling the vibrations as Bog violently slams it into the table and readjusts the fabric on her wrists so that she’s secured to this...thing. Feels like...a handle? Oh. He’d taken one of the knives and buried it deep enough to prevent her from accidentally injuring herself. Or attempting an escape. The second one is way more likely, given their history.

“Don’t s’pose yer considering surrender?” The soft, purring taunt is right in her left ear, his tongue flicking out to trace the lobe. It’s endearing that he’s considerate enough to ask her if she wants a break or to stop entirely; But it is also entirely his fault that both of those options are the furthest thing from her mind right now. Marianne should have known he’d get her back for deliberately riling him up during a very long diplomatic meeting. It had been worth it, though. “Not a chance.” She growls, biting her lip when she feels the head of his cock rub against her entrance. “Hurry up already.” Her attempts to push her hips backward and take him inside again are met with failure, leaving the thwarted fairy muttering curses under her breath. “Much as Ah’m enjoyin’ your...creative suggestions, yeh ken tha’s not how it’s done, lass.” Bog reminds her, soft and rumbling, his mouth latching onto the semi-permanent bite mark where her neck and shoulder meet. She groans from a combination of the scrape of his teeth on her skin, his insistence on her doing this one thing, and how wet the prospect of it makes her. “I order you to fuck me.” Marianne begins through gritted teeth, a harsh pant escaping when the hand on her lower back curved down to grasp her hip. “Hard. Until the whole castle can hear me scream.” She’s drenched and absolutely throbbing and she needs him right now or she might go crazy. “As my queen commands.” There’s a brief nudge before he splits her open, thrusts deep and savage. She would honestly swear that she could feel him in the back of her throat, like this. Their current position leaves her partially immobilized, despite her efforts to try and match his frantic rhythm; his large, rough hands at her hip and now the back of her neck keeping her pinned while the table jolts and trembles from the force of it all. She has to take it whether she wants to or not. And she most certainly wants, keening sharply and deliberately squeezing so the ridges on him can scrape against the spot that makes stars burst behind her closed eyes.  Bog isn’t silent or passive in his appreciation, grunts and growls slipping between the lips and teeth that are currently inflicting a line of fresh marks between her left shoulder and earlobe. She can feel him starting to swell and expand inside her in a very...particular fashion, grinning like the madwoman he sometimes accuses her of being when he gasps sharply in realization. “You planned this.” His shaft will lock them together for a time, and she knows from experience how fantastic that feels, even if it only happens when she’s at a fertile peak in her cycle. Which just started this morning, as a matter of fact. Something she’d had to work to hide from him until this very moment. “Ah’d wondered why yeh muddled up yer scent with perfumes and oils. ‘Specially your sweet quim.” He’d paused for a moment as he spoke, then drew out the time of his next few thrusts, pulling out a high-pitched, protestant whine from her. “You should -mm- know by now -ah!- I don’t do things by halves.” Marianne points out smugly, jumping a bit as the hand on her neck shifts next to her right ear, his claws dragging downwards ever so slowly, leaving what sound like long, shallow trenches in the wood. Well, give a Goblin’s instincts credit, he knows how to make a point even without talking. “One of these days, you’re going t’get in over your head, Tough Girl.” Bog rumbles, squeezing her hip hard enough to draw little crimson beads from her skin, before the other set of claws becomes embedded in the table as well. She turns her head just enough to give him a look at her challenging smile, a silent dare for him to ‘bring it’. And then there isn’t much room left for talking between them. Only fervent motion and noises that slide up and down the scale between pleasure and pain until they reach that final, tortured crescendo; her leading, him following a heartbeat after. 

It’s intense enough that she blacks out for a few seconds, coming to with the blindfold and restraints removed, her lover gently kissing between her shoulderblades. She can feel his shaft pulsing lazily within her and hums in contentment. “Mm...I hope you didn’t have any plans for the rest of the day.” She teases, stretching out and feeling him chuckle. “Ah have a feeling yeh’ve somehow conspired to clear my schedule like the scheming wee fairy that y’are.” He answers, right before their lips meet in a soft carress. Bog’s right, of course, but Marianne isn’t about to tell him that. Their respective kingdoms won’t collapse if they take the afternoon off, and she hasn’t even shown him the full extent of her plans. Yet. She does so look forward to surprising him, though.  (A/N: *coughs* Yeah, so. That happened. Hope you enjoy?)

[boopypastaissalty]

We Are Not Broken

The Session

Dr. Flemmings cleared his throat. “Now that all of you are here, let’s begin. The first thing I want you all to do is tell everyone what happened to you. It’s okay that you are here and you all have had similar experiences. This is a LGBTQ+ safe zone, so don’t be afraid. Who wants to start?”

Everyone looked at each other, none wanting to go first. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Logan took a deep breath, “I was kidnapped and tortured because of my gender and sexuality, along with Roman and Remus,” the twins both flinched at the statement, remembering all too well what had happened and what they had all been through together, “I have scars all over my body from the various weapons and beatings. It was hell, we were all malnourished and suffering, and I remember having to watch our kidnappers beat the everloving, pardon my language, f*ck out of Roman and Remus, I don’t remember the times I was beaten all too well, but it was all because some people thought not being cishet was a crime, found the twins and then found me.”

Dr. Flemmings nodded, “Use whatever language you need to, Logan”

“Does Spanish count?” Roman piped up, both twins were multilingual, both parents being native spanish speakers, their father from Spain and their mother from Mexico, in high school Roman took French and Remus took German and begrudgingly, at their parents request, taught each other and had become proficient in both languages. Sometimes the twins talked to each other in a strange mix of English, Spanish, French, and German, something they called Enspanchan.

“Preferably a language we all can understand, Roman”

Roman slumped a little, “Ay, lo siento” he said under his breath.

“Logan, do you have anything else to say?” Dr. Flemmings asked.

Logan shook his head and fidgeted with his hands, he had never been good at processing strong emotions, he usually distracted himself by researching and educating himself on random topics, incorporating them into his Sign Language lectures at the school he worked at.

“Uh well, I guess it’s my turn,” Patton said, interrupting Logan’s train of thought, “I was taking a walk, and some guy noticed the strap to my binder and commented on it. I didn’t think much of it, I ignored him and kept walking, but then he grabbed me and started calling me… horrible things and he dragged me into the nearby woods and…” Patton took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, “He took off all my clothes and destroyed my binder. He told me I’d be beautiful if I didn’t try so hard to be a man. He called me an ‘exotic beauty’ and kept asking me what kind of asian I am. And then he started touching me and…” Patton started full fledged crying, not wanting to say it. He got quieter and almost whispered, “He r*ped me… And now I’m pregnant.”

Everyone was silent for a few long seconds, Virgil finally broke the silence “That’s… horrible. What are you going to do with the baby? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Patton took another deep breath and said “I’m probably going to put them up for adoption. Someone out there probably really wants a baby and can’t have one themselves. I’m not saying everyone should do that, though, I mean everyone’s different.”

Dr. Flemmings took note of how much Patton was crying, “You feel broken, don’t you?”

“I feel broken, violated, I wish time would just stop for at least a little while. I wish I could turn back the clock to last month and tell myself to not go on a walk that day, but I know I can’t. I feel like I’m not trans enough, like maybe I’m not actually a man.”

Virgil looked at Patton, “Bullsh*t. You’re trans enough. You are just as manly as you need to be. You’re f*cking valid.” He clapped for emphasis. This was unusual behavior for him, as he didn’t like to have attention drawn to himself, but he hated it when other trans people didn’t feel valid, mainly because he knew how it felt.

“Well, kiddo, I don’t know about all that, just look at me”

“You. Are. A. Man. And. That’s. What. Matters.”

“Fine, you win”

During this exchange, Janus had been writing out their story and held up their hand in a sort of “Stop dooting your horns, you middle school band class” gesture. Everyone looked at them, they just seemed to have that presence, the type that made people shut up and pay attention without really trying. Janus passed around the notepad, which said: After a concert, a lady came up to me, nothing new there, and was haggling me about being nonbinary and how I’m just a “broken man” and then all of a sudden, I don’t really remember this well, I felt something swipe across my throat and there was a strange warm liquid coming from my neck and then it started to hurt. The next thing I knew, there was yelling and I was on the ground with my friend Ethan, he’s the drummer, Hel, pressing down on my neck. Lola, our bassit, Truth, was calling 911. I think I passed out, and when I woke up in the hospital, I was very confused. I was on so many painkillers that I was basically high out of my mind and the most important thing to me at that moment, for some reason, was chocolate chip cookies. I specifically remember being distraught that no one would bring me cookies because I couldn’t communicate that I wanted some. Anyways, that’s not important. This person probably ended my career, the one thing I actually wanted to do with my life, and I don’t know what to do about it. I might never be able to talk, let alone perform, ever again. Also some dumb*ss took a video of it and put it on YouTube and so the whole world knew before I had even arrived at the hospital.

Once everyone had read what was on the notepad, they all stared at Janus. They looked down at their legs. After a moment, Patton got up and walked over to Janus and touched their shoulder. “What else do you like to do?” he asked.

Janus shrugged.

Virgil suddenly blurted out, remembering the chaos after that concert a few weeks ago, “Wait someone put that on YouTube? How has that not been taken down?”

Janus shrugged, not knowing why either, and pulled out their phone. They found the video and played it, looking away. Patton and Virgil looked away from the video, while Logan and the twins watched, all three feeling bad that they couldn’t seem to pull away from the chaos happening on screen, like some sort of morbid scene in a TV show.

When the video finished, Logan, Roman, and Remus were in stunned silence while Janus fumbled to keep the next video from playing, the “What’s in your pants?” meme, which was when one time Janus and the rest of Duality were on a talk show, all in costume, and the host asked Janus the dreaded question, “What’s in your pants?” and Janus had immediately responded by pulling things out of their pockets and listing them, the items getting more obscure as they went “Phone, wallet, keys, worm-on-a-string, tiny rainbow plastic babies, a dead mouse, Quetzalcoatl? [Quetzalcoatl is Janus’s pet hognose snake], and a barbie head.” the clip had spread like wildfire and had become a large part of what Janus’s stage persona, Deceit, had been known for. Everyone in the band had their own costume, usually involving half of the face being different from the other, Janus’s Deceit costume had a Jack the Ripper vibe and they had makeup to look like scales on the left side of their face. Ethan’s Hel was an all black suit and the left half of his body was made to look like dead, rotting flesh. Lola’s Truth had a black and white lace dress and her makeup was meant to make her look inhuman and had several extra eyes on the right side of her face. The final member, Tori’s Valhalla looked like a norse warrior, the right side of their face looked scarred and they wore an eyepatch over their right eye, like Odin.

“That kind of reminds me of what happened to me,” Virgil said with a shudder once the video was over. “I was hanging out with my friend, May, after your,” Virgil pointed at Janus, “concert and ended up crashing at her place. I tend to sleep pretty heavily, so I was surprised when I woke up on the autopsy table for the mortuary science program at the college I used to go to. I had barely woken up before I felt something that felt like a punch in my abdomen. I saw May, she had a knife and looked angry, she stabbed me four more times, repeatedly calling me a dirty tr*nny. I don’t think she realized I was awake. Thing is, she was the one who supported me the most during my transition and always had my back when I had first come out. That’s what hurt the most. She had apparently secretly hated me all these years and just now was releasing all that. I didn’t dare move until she had left and I started to crawl towards the desk phone at the professor's desk. I was almost there when I passed out. I woke up again to the professor shaking me, he’d always liked me and was concerned about me. He told me he had called 911 and shortly after I was hauled into an ambulance and carted away to the hospital, swimming in and out of consciousness. I think May was planning on killing me and having me be found dead on the autopsy table as a morbid surprise for the mortuary science teacher and his first period class of that day.” He was trying to control his breathing and he felt his heart rate speeding up. Virgil hoped that no one would notice and call him out on it.

Janus started writing and then showed Virgil: Was May at the concert too?

“Yeah why?” Breath, dammit, breath. Virgil chided himself

Janus scrunched their eyebrows and started writing again: What does she look like?

“Do you think-” Virgil cut himself off, took in a deep breath, and found a picture of May on his phone. She had a black bob with straight bangs and wore dark makeup.

Janus looked at the picture, That’s her, they wrote. One thing I didn’t mention before was that she had gotten away.

Suddenly Remus started talking “I’d stim and they’d hurt me.” Roman looked at his brother, remembering how Remus would make weird sounds, start shaking his leg, or drumming his fingers on whatever surface he could get to, and after a while their kidnappers had realized that Remus’s fidgeting and sounds were him stimming, one of his ways to try and calm himself down, started beating him more when he did. “And it started happening more and more because I was more stressed and then I had to force myself to not and I had so much pent up, that everything was a million times louder, even the smallest touches were too much, and my head felt so light and it was like I was feeling everything and nothing all at once, like I was both on fire and numb and I don’t know how to describe it.” Even now, Remus was trying to keep himself from stimming, he had his hands firmly grasped together and his legs were crossed unnaturally tight and he was visibly getting upset.

This was the first time Roman had even heard Remus talk about it. He hadn’t realized how much Remus had suffered and how different it was from how Logan and Roman had suffered. No wonder he was so despondent. He was overloaded in every way. Roman noticed how tight Remus was wound up and pulled something out of his pocket, a long, green silicone fidget toy that had small bumps on it for texture. “Hey,” Roman addressed his brother and handed him the fidget toy, “breath.” Remus took it and fidgeted, reminding himself that it was safe to stim now. “You never said how bad it was for you.” Roman said quietly.

Remus nodded, “I didn’t know how to say it.” He had nothing else to say.

Roman looked around after a long moment of silence. “I felt powerless. I’m almost always able to help, but I couldn't do anything. It was so awful only being able to watch, almost worse than getting beat regularly.” Roman fell silent again, not knowing what else to say.

“You feel like you have to be the hero, don’t you? You feel obligated to do it?” Dr. Flemmings asked. Roman thought for a moment and then nodded. “Since we’re coming to a close, I want to tell you all that you all did a good job today. Here’s what I want you all to do: Patton, read Galileo by Pual Tran, I think you’d benefit from it. Janus, I want you to write, I don’t care what you write, whether it be a song, a poem, a backtrack, whatever, as long as you express yourself with it. Virgil, I want you to use methods to regulate your breathing like the 4, 7, 8 technique and I want you to try carrying around a stress ball, same goes for you, Remus. Logan, I want you to express yourself more and come up with a way for you to get your feelings out in a safe manner. Roman, I want you to think about why you feel obligated to be the hero. And lastly I think you all can benefit from each other, as you have all had similar experiences. Thank you all for attending.”

Everyone started saying their goodbyes and started leaving. Janus met up with an older guy in the lobby who nudged them and said “Happy birthday, kid.” The older guy looked a little sad, like he was remembering something tragic. Everyone heard him wish Janus a happy birthday and started wishing them a happy birthday as well.

Patton looked at the guy and said “Is this your dad, Janus?”

Janus shook their head no and at the same time the guy said “I’m their brother. John, by the way.”

“You guys are siblings? Wow! I never would have guessed!”

Janus looked slightly embarrassed, everyone always confused John for their dad, which wasn’t too far off as John and his wife had raised them. “Yeah the twenty-one year age gap doesn’t help,” John said, lowering his gaze somewhat, just wanting Patton to change the subject.

Janus broke off from John for a moment, wrote something down and handed it to Patton. It said: He’s a little sensitive about family history. Mom died while having me and we don’t know who my dad is, so he had to raise me. That’s why he looks a little sad today.

Patton’s mouth formed a silent “O” as he slipped the paper into his pocket and waved goodbye “Have a nice day!”

John looked at his sibling, “What did that say?”

I said you were having a bad day.

“Oh, okay” he believed the white lie.

Logan was on the phone “I know dad, you’ve told me the story every year for as long as I can remember. I’m about to get in the car, so I’ll call you back”

John looked at Logan and whispered to Janus “What are their pronouns?”

He/him Janus wrote

“He looks and sounds a lot like the doctor who delivered you.”

Janus shrugged and started walking towards their car, a black Jeep, and got in, deciding to go to the cafe that John worked at, knowing that John had to go to work, and besides, they were hungry.

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