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kthynes · 2 years ago

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THE MIXOLOGIST 🍸 (4/7)

part four: tom collins

previous part

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: bartender!steve rogers x fem!reader; fem!reader x andy barber

summary: after a rough break up you find yourself frequenting the same bar every night where you’re tended to by Steve who helps you through your heartbreak.

word count: ~5.9k

warnings: 18+ nsfw. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT — This part contains: course language, smut-ish thots, mutual pining, yearning, bit of slow burn. Character epiphanies.

Reblogs, likes and comments are encouraged! And as self explanatory as it should be, please do not copy and/or translate my works onto any other platforms. Cheers!

This series has not been beta’d so any mistakes are my own.

“What do you think about Tom Collins?”

You were perused like a sullen deer on headlights the moment you set your purse down, winded by Steve’s ever lending cogency that follows. There’s no hi, hello or a ‘how are you?’ Just a tall order of perfidy that bubbles in a polished Collins glass. And so with that, you take what’s given with reciprocation.

“Like the drink? Cheers.” You lift your brows and hasten a quick sip.

“And the goading gentleman to your right.” Steve adds. A mouse-like sound escapes from your lips and part way into the drink that you were ambitiously trying to double down.

“Don’t look yet…” He confides a little too quickly, pardoning your cadence that overtures by the second. You were the least bit curious, studying the moiety bartender who never backed down from a charismatic dare. Ever.

“I can’t believe you.” You shake your head with disbelief, mouthful and embittering the aftertaste of club soda while swatting away a questionable water stain that blotches the front of your silk tie blouse.

Great. You mumble your tyrannies, eyes flitting to the godly super soldier who pillory pins you with a similar look.

“What?” He innocently garbles while drying glassware on rotation. The long braided end of the muddling spoon hangs between his teeth and lips, holding onto dear life as he coyly turns to unload the dishwasher.

Today was like no other. You were in a continuous row of meetings when his late-afternoon text read: ‘Come by tonight. I need to see you, it’s dire.’

Unimaginable on any front, Steve's dinky little Nokia finally gave way and that’s how you were settled back at the bar, diaphragm painfully pressed up against the ledge and barely squeezing by in a full house. It’s some fucking night and you can’t tell if it’s a harbinger open mic or your inferred commisseration that’s on for show.

“This isn’t a matter of life or death, Steve. I’m not supposed to be here. Also what’s in this? Tastes a little out of the ordinary.” You point to your partially spilt drink, trying to remember the acquired taste of lemonade. “Straight up battery acid and laundry detergent.”

“You’d know?” He pops the spoon out and tosses it back in the wash basin. No one lampoons his craft, not even the woman he inexplicably revered.

“Fine! Don’t tell me… Like I care.” You flippantly counter. Steve chuckles, shaking his head that strums out the palatial house music. Your suffering came easy. He’d almost always see for it.

“It’s Yuzu juice, you spazz.” He adds, reaching for your glass and doubtlessly sipping on the drink himself.

“Yuzu what?” The way your eyes lit up was a glimmering prospect that Steve could not get enough of. He would have to hold your face right to gaze into them longingly, desperate to wane that connection.

Don’t do this to me. He mentally berates himself on your behalf, a tendon in his jaw flexes, feeling impalpably short handed.

“I guess not all types of lemons make lemonade.” He polishes off your drink for you and then goes back to tweaking the recipe. “Why don’t we try out John then.”

John Collins another reverted classic but with whiskey. You release a noncommittal grunt, distracted in your undoing as Steve relinquishes a cathartic smile.

“Tell me if this needs more bourbon.” The super soldier is saccharine, nudging another partially made drink with laser-like focus. Amongst the nightly kerfuffle, he’s curious to know and as the glass touches your plump lips, you’re disregarded again.

“Oh! Sorry!” A large bodied patron tumbles into you, preceding your fruitless conquest. Most of the aged bourbon now weighs down your top, the rest on the counter where the glass rolls on its side. Thank goodness for unbreakable glassware.

“Here, I got it.” Steve assures the crowd, sweeping in with another tea towel.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Last to start a fight, your hands come down from the high heavens and smack against your thighs, gawking like a fish out of water.

“Fuck I am so sorry.” The stocky stranger groans, jamming his hands through his mane, disbelievingly slow.

“Come out back and I’ll get you a spare shirt.” Steve discerns, swiping a hand under to unlock the half table as a gesture to get you in. But then a swarm of frat boys call out to him, demanding to be serviced.

“Just deal with them.” You dismiss.

Steve gives you an unsatisfactory one over, watching you release a long, fulsome breath. He can’t help but be distracted by the way your blouse clings onto the contours of your perfectly rounded breasts, the wet buttons nearly coming undone in the middle and further easing your frustrations. From a short distance, he could hear you moan a breathy little ‘fuck me’ over and over again. Invariably different from the literal meaning itself.

“Hey man.” Shit.

“You boys, uh, good for another round?” Steve comes out of a dazed state, quickly looking away for his own good.

“Hell yeah we are.” A Nordic blonde pipes with a hearty laugh. He has a small entourage of friends that gather next to him and look to the other, enthusiastic conversations overlapping their youthful mien while you’re pushed aside at their leisurely precedence.

“I am so very sorry about that.” One of his friends (presumed) extends to you, still by your side and close in your ear. You stiffen upright, crooning away from his ticklish aura. “S’not bad right?”

“I’m good, um, thanks.” You inspect the stain, swatting at it to no avail.

“I think you missed a spot there.” He adds, half lidded while pointing right at your chest. You shield yourself away and soon a Seth Rogen type of cackle shakes his form, obnoxiously disturbing.

“Oh for fucks sake.” You curse at your wits end, letting the sodden wet patch bear its own defeatist tale to tell. He caws a resounding ‘what’ that volleys between his friends.

“Let’er be Patsy.” A gangly brunette in a varsity hoodie reaches over and grabs the swaying giant by the collar, pulling him into a one arm chokehold. “Sorry ‘bout our friend, love. He’s a big dumb lug.”

“Fuck you, Anders.” They share a laugh and that’s when you lose yourself in an unwarranted cockamamie. “I was just tryn’a be… nice.” He coyly trails.

“Nice, huh?” Varsity jock snickers. Steve tucks his bottom lip in, returning to a pile up of drinks that were served on rotation. You stuck it to him as he worked the bend, ignoring the men next you who were way too young to entertain.

“You know I had a pivotal pitch to make. A multi-million dollar project just outside midtown Manhattan, for a long time investor and you just had to—“

“Do you trust me?” Steve interjects, grabbing a large glass bottle of what looked like Ketel One. The decanter is tossed up, down, behind his back and then over his shoulder with expertise. Show off.

“Now why would I do that?” You snap, tone deathly abhorrent. He finishes off his baton bottle work and begins to pour six shots at once.

“Why wouldn’t you?” He’s patronizing you. “Here you are fellas, cheers.”

“Ay cheers! Thanks man.” The surfer blonde bounces his brows at Steve, sliding a crisp ten before gathering and passing around the shots.

“Point to the nearest bridge and I’ll jump.” You state once it’s just the two of you duking it out.

“How ‘bout I point you to him instead.” He nods to the side while pouring some hard ciders into a frosted slim Jim.

“Steve.” You wail.

“Go on.”

Past the herd of patrons you spot a polished tycoon, ten seats down, sporadically clad in a dark blue, French made suit like a Wall St imperialist.

It’s a sight when your eyes meet in the polarizing darkness for the first time. He’s straight backed and almost eager to see you, a flat fist on his hip while the other hand softly flexes against the countertop. The vying apprehension is impalpable. He forces a hurried smile in your general direction and you did nothing but remain astute. Was he there this whole time? Watching? Hoping? Waiting?

“Like what you see?”

There wasn’t a bewitching iota of care as your bored gaze looms over his physique, noticing his thick tree trunk legs spread apart over the small round bar stool. He must’ve been uncomfortable, a pariah in a localist bar filled with hoppers and tosspots as Wes would eloquently put.

But a businessman (like him) meant business even while wooing their pursuit in gander. Although, this particular mogul in seized questioning had broad spanning shoulders, shapely arms and large feet to euphemize.

“Fuck this.” You shake your head, routing an escape.

Here’s the thing; mystery suit man wasn’t necessarily bad to look at. Very good looking to the teeth, freckle and beard. But you knew his type. A financial broker of some sort, an Alpha constant, someone you’d have to one up by means of survival. Your ex was the same animal. There’s no way you could break even or fall back.

“Don’t be like that, Y/N.” Steve softly agonizes.

“Is that really his name?” You question as the corner of your mouth twitches.

“His father owns a large corporate distillery, so he occasionally comes by to market inventory and close accounts while at it.” Steve incubates with a story, meeting your gaze that gyps his longtime associate. “Great guy.”

“I see and what does that have to do with me?” You stupidly wonder.

Steve, who is a little side tracked, wipes his hands on the back of his starchy Levi’s, carefully looking around his workstation for a stray muddler or a dowel in sight. As he tries to wield his attention, a stern divot forms in between his brows. His thoughts are a little divisive so he lets it be.

“Well, it just so happens that he’s seen you frollicking around the bar and has taken quite the interest. And I figured why not help a brother out.” He gives a crinkly eyed grin that doesn’t touch your heart.

“In me?” You’re gaffed. “I’m the pursuit?”

“Yes, you, of all people. Hi there, what can I get started for you?” He expertly turns his attention towards a shifty middle aged man in a J. Crew polo and khakis.

“Oh, um, I’m undecided at the moment.” He hums, distracted by his mobile.

“No rush.”

“So by accepting his drink I have to talk to him?” You retest, pointing to nothing. The glass was upright and empty.

“That would be an exemplary thing to do, seeing as you already put your dirty little mouth on it.” On the contrary, you both did.

“Yeah I don’t know if I’m ready to be pursued yet or punished for that matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just got out of a long, withholding relationship and the last thing I need is to get back in the game to eternalize those traumas.”

“That was over 6 months ago, Y/N. You’re allowed to talk to people, take things slow.” Steve muses, gallant and loud. “Y’know rock the boat if you will.”

“You clearly don’t get it… I mean look at your handy -you do the jerk off motion- roster.” You remind him of his self care tendencies.

“Works for me.” He holds up his trusty right hand which is clasped over a steel shaker and then starts fisting another spuming cocktail in conjecture. “Also, I don’t tell you these things for you to hold it over my head.”

Steve’s slightly embarrassed to admit that he hasn’t been on a proper date in a long time. Partly because being a worldly superhero rarely afforded him a plausible (and pleasurable) love life. So in more ways than one you both were akin to unavailability by definition and example.

“But I’m your informant who by happenstance makes you feel so fucking good about yourself... Tell me I’m right.”

“Not even the slightest.” So he says.

“Look Steve, I’m a complete weirdo. I like being on my own and left alone.”

“That’s fine. Your weirdness might be his kink.” You’re just about to open your mouth and say something, he curtly cuts you off. “But he just wants to get to know you.”

“And then what?” Your tone goes up an octave as if there aren't enough people who don’t know your business.

“See how he’s like first and if he’s not top shit then it’s back to square one, wherever the hell that is.”

“You’re out of your mind. Why are you doing this?” While casting a downward gaze, Steve cracks a gentle smile that irks every fiber of your being. “I’m serious.”

“I don’t know, I mean… I’d like to think that I care outside of my own spatial awareness.” He pauses, inquisitively biting down on his lower lip while muddling some berries, grinding harder when a more perverse thought hits him. “Also when was the last time you got laid?”

“Excuse me? That’s none of your business.” You squeak.

“So then make it his.” He chides, leaning in close to get a not-so-secretive point across. “Blow his mind, dick, whatever. Just don’t be so damn closed off.”

“You’re peacocking me.”

“Peacocking you?” Steve snorts at the term. “If anything your feathers are being unnecessarily ruffled right now.”

“I can’t be put out like this, Steve! I am not OK.” You grovel which then turns into contempt. “Do you understand that or do I have to talk stupid for you to get it?”

“Okay you know what… We’re gonna talk.” You faintly mutter a ‘fuck that.’ He ignores you. There are things being set aside, distinct clatter that mingles with the jive bar music playing above. You’re a little disappointed. Steve is nothing but determined.

He finally finishes up and passes off a diddly order to Wes before meeting you at eye level. He’s about to get real with you and that’s when your heart drops into your asshole. Inconsequentially, no one should do that to you but he does so anyways.

“Now before you throw a shit fit, I can assure you that he’s nothing like your ex. Just like you aren’t the same person you were when you first came into this bar. I mean do you remember how fucking insufferable you were?”

“You never let me see the day.”

“Yeah well, I took a chance on you... So let him.” Steve apprehended you with a terse, idiosyncratic look.

“God you are so un-fucking-believable.” You finally grit on the edge of consideration.

He lets out an airy little laugh while standing up straight. “I think what you’re trying to say is ‘thank you Steve for being so kind and considerate.’”

“Never that.”

“Here, let me get you both a booth started… That way I’m at peace.” He pushes back and calls over Ian to settle this arrangement, once and for all.

The more you flip flopped the less inclined you’d be to actually go on this date and Steve wanted you to be happy again. Not just with him but without him. He wanted you to consider someone new and young and exciting and human. Someone who’d make you feel whole and loved. Appreciated and valued. Someone who’d kiss you like their last breath and hold you closely. Steve wanted you for someone else and this seemed to be the only way to harbour off the impetuous feelings he had for you since that night he first met you.

“Oh my god, this is really happening.” You panic, both hands caging your face. Steve takes the lead, guiding you down the strip in slow stride. He patiently watches your resolve crumble even though you gracefully hold to your own. “I don’t think I shaved.”

“Don’t sweat it. You look absolutely gorgeous tonight irregardless of the titty stain–” his eyes fail to look away as they land on your chest. Your skin is set ablaze, a hand landing protectively on your chest.

“I’m gonna knock your two front teeth out.” He’d like to see you wrestle and try.

“You’ll be fine, here take this.” He manages to grab a spare shirt. His spare shirt. The one that he changed out of prior to his shift. You owlishly stare at him, imposing your innocence and disregard before he offers some sage assurance. “Just say when and I’ll get you out.”

“When.” You grab the waffle knit Henley, making yourself small in the ascend.

“Try that in Mandarin.” He levels up.

“I don’t know Mandarin!” You whisper yell.

“Exactly. You got this.” He turns to the man now stationed in front of you. “She’s all yours my friend.”

“Hi.” The handsome stranger lets out a breathy chuckle while slipping out of the stool and onto his feet. Standing at an impressive, neck breaking height, you’re completely enchanted. You swallow a thick bundle of nerves caught in your windpipe, wordlessly stock still. Shit.

“Hi!” You fucking cringe. “It’s… It’s Tom, right?”

“Tom? Oh no it’s, uh, Andy, Andy Barber.” He pageants a sheepish little half grin.

This fucker. “An-dy, right, I… I’m so sorry I thought–”

“By no fault of your own. I know Steve.” He dismissively shakes his head, clearly in on a joke that you failed to comprehend.

“Don’t we all?” You mutter.

“Cuuuute.” Ian appears from the throngs of people, briefly looking (gawking) at you first and then slowly eyes Andy who purses his lips into a grim smile. There’s a bit of a hold up as he starts swiping away on his iPad, face contorting over the bright blue lit hue.

“Alriiiight and we are all set! I can have you both seated now. Right this way.”

🍸

They say in the presence of absence you can almost feel everything and it’s true. You felt your heartbeat clamor to an uneven tempo, palms clammy and chafed as they glide along the runs in your black stockings, rubbing up and down, barely corroding friction.

Your ex once said: ‘You’d be prettier if you smiled.’ Uneasily, you grimaced.

There’s a long, rafting silence that follows until your drinks are finally placed in front of you. You stick to water and Andy chooses to have a sweaty pilsner. Compliments of the house, of course.

“Are you sure you don’t want something a little stronger?” He teases, quickly thanking the waitress on standby.

“I’m good for now, thanks.” You take a distracted sip of water, eyes wandering the annex, hotly turning away from the gorgeous man plucked for your pleasure. Andy, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind your nervousness because he’s right there with you.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind because I can definitely recommend some on brand items.” He takes a rivaling swig and studies your exact facial proportions up close for the first time. Like Steve and any other man in the precipice, your striking beauty is an immeasurable mark. Even Andy catches himself staring a second too long.

“Of course.” You finally unnerve a smile that sees a new light of day and he nods, understandably.

“I know you probably weren’t expecting to be set up.” He states, scratching the porous surface all while you let out a haphazard chuckle.

“It’s been awhile that’s for sure. But I guess we all have to start somewhere right?” You wearily confess, pressing your lips together in a thin line.

“Yeah.” He exhales, reliving many instances where he’s tried to put himself out there but failed miserably. There’s some silent wallowing and now you took pity on him, straightening your back a little.

“So tell me one thing, Andy.” You begin, pulling him from his self-doubts with a saccharine look.

“Lay it on me.” He hums almost immediately, matching your coy demeanour at par. He was undeniably handsome so you decided to give him the time of night.

“Why liquor?” You lean up against the table, concurring a congenial approach. A small, delighted smile tugs at the corners of his bearded mouth, entertaining your fervour with his own.

He lowers his chin, letting you in on his sworn secrecy that takes a crack at your inquisition. “I’m glad you asked.”

🍸

Steve hears your melodically in tune laughter. An open soliloquy, much likeness to you, weaves through an unassuming crowd that rushes the works of a good cocktail and personal milieu. Midst it all, you were being unintentional and cute, letting your hair down for once, chasing a pursuit.

Steve candidly takes turns working the pike while you’re hysterical about cereal being soup.

“You can’t be so literal.” You cock your head to side, leaning into the conversation more with poise.

“Why not?” Andy pushes back. He has an arm splayed over the top of the vinyl seating as you begin to encroach his space. You’re both facing each other, bodies turned at an angle and away from the crowd. Andy, respectfully, admires your free-spiritedness and childlike wonder. You were more so taken by his dissuasion, at ease with the fact that Andy Barber was truly as good as they came.

“Bloody Mary’s.” You finally conjure.

“Bloody Mary’s.” Andy echoes, his hand makes a fist and then he lies the side of his head against it, completely beguiled.

“That’s soup.”

“Oh yeah?” He mocks you, earnestly laughing in return.

“Yes!” You harrumphed, voice carrying over.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Andy’s eyes thin out over another sip of beer.

“Because you were trying to be funny.”

“And did it work?” He states, expectantly. Your mouth is drawn open and his gaze flickers for a quick second. You were about to say something insignificant and coy. Steve took the time to listen closely, his movements slow down and there’s some acclimating trepidation.

“Hey Steve, table 3 ordered some margs awhile back and they haven’t been served yet.” Matt swoops in after clearing his bar end. All the worry lines are apparent as he stalls by dishwasher. “What’s the hold up my guy?”

“I’m on it.” Steve distances himself at keel. His hawk-like eyes are still fixated on you, engrossed by every little misdemeanour for show.

Your words are amiss now. The smile on your face is tenfold. Andy matches your gracious tenure with a little self-satisfied grin and that resonated with Steve when he felt infatuation (and agitation) at its best. Without a doubt you were giving your blind date the same repertoire you’d belly Steve with and that didn’t sit right with the super soldier himself as he sludges crushed ice into a chalice.

“Is he supposed to be the one?” Matt inquires, folding his arms over his chest.

“He’s a possibility.” Steve answers while briefly looking over his shoulder. The other bartender huffs while leaned up against the churning machine. He’s tentative on holding back but then goes against his own moral code, purely out of chaos.

“Does she know that he’s a widow?” Matt makes himself useful again, passing limes in an attempt to speed up and sour the process. “A father on the mend.”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” He grumbles to himself.

“Honest thoughts… Go on, I wanna hear it.” Steve challenges. Matt rolls his eyes, prying open another drink mixer.

“No you don’t.” He exhausts.

“Try me.”

The two men box step around the narrow strip, wordlessly shelving a tray of missed margaritas. This goes on for a bit before there’s a grievance in order.

“Look man, Andy's great and all. Sublime even. But he’s so far down the line, don’t you think?” Matt carefully advises while straining to decant fresh lime juice into each goblet.

“He’s good for her.” Steve forewarned, passing the attendant another bottle of orange liqueur. He offers what he thinks is palatable for the mix but Matt feels otherwise.

“Now that’s some unconvincing bullshit.” He berates. “Also pass me the Curaçao.”

“Why don’t you ever look out for her?” Steve stops midway into his absent cocktail mastery. One martini glass down, many others empty.

“Because I know where we stand.” Matt snorts. “Whereas your inclination is a little different. Curaçao.”

“Don’t.” Steve grits, finally sliding the requested bottle across the vinyl.

“I see the way you look at her, brother.” Matt patronizes him. “It doesn’t get past me one bit and that’s fine, feelings are funny like that.”

Steve cocks his head aside with a resigned look, jaw ticking in place when their eyes meet. Was it that obvious?

“Just make sure when the time comes that you let her down easy…” He uncorked the bottle, gracing his friend a tight smile. “However your superhuman heart tells you so.”

“I’m not trying to hurt her.” The honey blonde bar back defends, running a hand over his bearded mouth.

“I’m not!” He hears himself fretfully repeating the statement, jolted with guilt.

“I get that. But if you aren’t being honest with your intentions then you’re no better than her ill advised ex.” Matt reminds him. He finishes up and quickly plates the margaritas, garnishing each drink with a lime slice. “Do right by her and maybe she’ll owe you another lifetime.”

“We’ll see about that.” Steve ponders over the idea of his lifetime versus yours and if the wait would be worthwhile.

“Hey man I hate to boss the boss but can we pick up the pace?” Matt states in close proximity to Steve, earning him a shove.

“Fuck outta here.”

🍸

The evening crowd lulls out by the eleventh hour. Stools are being flipped over the small serving tables. There’s some collective chaos as Steve peruses by, ceaselessly endeavouring his managerial duties. He’s bounded by his wait staff who’d constantly approach him, curtailing his need to keep after you.

But you were fine. Swilled by the sweetest wines and cocktails. Andy took good care of you, making sure your tasting flights were in order and water was plentiful. He was a true gentleman. Steve did good by you this time. You owed him that.

“Thank you for tonight.” You hum, standing your ground while a bustle of servers pass by. They’re just as smitten by you and Andy who stare eye to eye at a cordial distance. From out of the blue Shaylene gawks with a double thumbs up. Her contentious approval makes you breathe laughter, bowing your head.

“Shaylene?” Andy surmises, curious enough to look over his shoulder.

You nod lazily. “The one and only.”

“Always onto me.” He clucks, shaking his head. “All in good fun though.”

“Of course.” You add while rummaging through your purse.

“Hey, I was thinking… we should, um, do this again sometime.” He offers, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “If you’re up for it, that is.”

“I’d like that.” You look up from your phone to see his brows shoot up to his gelled hairline, mouth forming a puckered ‘o.’ He’s taken aback. But then again was there supposed to be a catch?

“Great!” He exhales after holding his breath for some time. Relieved. “Wow, OK! We can, um, definitely make that happen.”

“You were really holding off there, huh?” You tease, biting down on your bottom lip.

“I mean I didn’t want to seem too ambitious.” He embibs and then mutters an affliction under his breath. “Or out of practice.”

“You’re good.” You coo, tone low and insouciant. His smile broadens, creating perfect little creases along his face and the corners of his eyes.

“So how’re we feeling?” Andy initiates a small step forward that yearns for closeness.

“Barely buzzed.” You give him a sideways look as he hovers over you, huffing with laughter. He’s outright predictable. Showing his interest through the art of subtlety and the small buoyant gestures that paralyzes your entire state of being. Though at moment, you were really contemplating on calling an Uber —but then again, where would that take you?

Home, dummy.

Your heart skips a beat when Andy’s hand lightly grazes your forearm, holding you in place but not astray. “Your centre of gravity is telling me otherwise.”

“I promise you that I’m fine. It’s these shoes.” You kick up your foot, almost taking him out by the shins. “Oh fuck I’m so sorry! Wasn’t trying to kick you there.”

“Well that’s one way to get a man on his knees.” He winks and you both erupt into a fit of belly hurting laughter. It’s a fleeting ordeal as Andy gets a missed call.

“Ah shoot I should get this.” He contemplates while glancing at the blue white screen. In close stride he tells you that he’ll be out front waiting for you in his car. You insist on taking an Uber. He’s not having it.

“You’re coming with me. That’s that. No if’s, ands or buts.”

You jerk your head back thinking the same thing that crosses his mind. Sex. “Oh c’mon not like that!” He defends boisterously, hands spread apart.

“Yeah yeah, that’s what they all say.” You snipe, only giving him a hard time.

“Let’s not go there alright?” Those were the final parting words before Andy's phone bleeps again.

He finally excuses himself, ducking out of the ambient establishment that leaves you empty and satiably hollow.

As you relapse, your eyes cut to Steve who’s hunched over stacks of paperwork and QA audits. You were staring, wondering if this is what he wanted for you. Muscle memory brought you right to him.

“There’s my girl.” He harps under his breath, deeply unaffected by his due diligence and your impervious candour. He’s attentively going over a long rap sheet, tallying profits in one go while you stand before him, unabated.

“Hey you.” You barely get by on a whisper, plucking at some cocktail picks left aside.

“Now was that so bad?” He inquires, absentminded. The ballpoint pen slashes against the paper and then he bores you with a half lidded gaze that piques. You’re practically a fish out of water, not entirely drunk but done for, almost aloof.

Steve was now impolitely staring, ploughed by the dopey look on your face with mere decrepitude.

“Terrible, actually.” You joke.

“Oh boo.” He reverberates with a small, victorious grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah he told me everything I needed to know.” You quip, following a heavy hearted sigh.

“Everything?”

“The good, the bad and the ugly.”

“So he basically trauma dumped.” Steve comes to a stark realization, shaking his head.

“Maybe that’s what he needed… Someone to hear him out.” You mope as he puffs out his chest and stands a little taller, squaring you off in perfect form, worried as can be.

“I mean I don’t always take things personally and that was probably a good enough opportunity for him.”

“Y/N.”

“Unironically, he reminds me of me.”

There’s an indescribable look on Steve’s face, well concealed by his fulsome beard and beady blue eyes. He lowers his tone to a salacious entendre. “Not an easy person to walk away from, huh?”

“Is that how you feel about me?” You challenge, arms folded over the tacky counter.

How did Steve feel about you? What could he possibly say that would make the most sense?

“I like that you’re around.” He calculates on a lighter note, distractedly taking apart a mixing stand. “You somehow make a busy day better.”

“So you wait on me?”

“In more ways than one.” He grunts with some unsaid meaning and connotation behind his nonchalance. You stare right at him, observant of his every tantric move. At the drop of a rag he stops what he’s doing to notice. “What?”

Here goes…

“Were you meaning to get over Peggy?”

After harassing Matt one night you came to know about Peggy Carter and ever since then it’s been a nagging repertoire.

Steve’s countenance hardens as a rough sigh escapes his lips. He carefully thinks through what he’s about to say and when he does it’s a bit short handed.

“No but it just so happened that I did.” He admits, barely meeting your gaze.

“How?”

“It’s complicated.” Steve dismisses. He’s unable to reconcile his love for her when he sees the world in you. “Can we just—“

“You’re complicated.”

“What exactly do you want me to say?” He flummoxes, wildly disoriented.

“I want you to be honest with me.” Andy opened up to you about his previous relationship and now you wanted Steve to do the same. Except with him he’s stubborn, eulogizing his past convictions with some jest that you certainly don’t account for.

“She died before I got the chance to see her again. I made peace with the fact and now I’m moving on.” He deadpans. “How’s that for honesty?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Steve jerks his head back with a slight scoff, crassly torn by this conversation.

“I didn’t know.” You defend.

“And you shouldn’t care either.” He adds, a hand on his hip while the other extends out in the opposite direction. “Goodnight Wes.”

“Why not?” You quickly assert, forearms bearing the weight of your body as you lean forward.

“Because I’m fine.” Lies. Captain America isn’t fine. He’s worried. He has the world counting on him yet here he was trying to be inconsolable, wishing you’d prod less. “Really.”

“Truly?” You chastise him.

“Yes!” Steve laughs as he takes apart his apron a little too aggressively. The house lights flicker and both of your eyes turn up. “That’s our cue by the way.”

“Do you want to be with someone like her?”

“Why do you have someone in mind?” He says over his shoulder while pacing down the backend.

“Maybe.” You hum. Steve chuckles knowing there’s no one else quite like you; his only consuming thought.

“How ‘bout we get you a cab instead.” He appears in front of you again. This time he’s donning a roughed up denim jacket, swiping on chapstick ever so liberally, ready to go home.

“I'm good. Andy’s my ride back.” You chirp, half lidded.

“You two…?” He falters, capping the small Blistex tube.

“No we’re not banging it out.” You mock him. “He was just so kind enough to offer, that’s all.”

“So it’s expected then.” Steve shoves both hands into his pockets, nodding at Matt who makes an Irish exit. “There he goes…” The bar back mutters under his breath upon the commotion.

“You need to fucking stop.”

“I’m just messing with you. I know the guy. He wouldn’t pull a fast one.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” There’s that moseying, ‘you-don’t-know-what-the-other-persons’ thinking silence again.

“Thanks for trying though.” You eyed him suspiciously.

“Wouldn’t have worked out otherwise. Now leave, I need to close shop.”

“Yeah you do.” You chortle, backwardly hobbling off the two-step landing. “Later bum!”

“Get home safe, stink.”

As you assail through the large barn doors and twirl towards Andy’s R8, Steve can’t help but release a deep seeded sigh. His head falls forward, surrendering to much of his own asservations that lambaste him to be truthful. Brow stitched together, a firm fist lands on top of the bar counter, slowly pounding once, twice before he gathers himself, shaking his head clear of admonition.

Honest feelings and bad timing make for the most painful insinuation to prelude. And in the wisest way so, he’s going to have to get used to being without. Just being on his own.

#steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #chris evans #series: the mixologist

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kalee60 · 4 years ago

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Wondering if you have any thoughts about beefy bucky? And maybe any thoughts about any thoughts that Steve might have about beefy bucky? For a cheeky anon 👉👈

Hoo boy Cheeky Nonnie... Do I have some thots about this??

*ahem - clears throat as it's a little thick for some reason... err - yes, yes I do... Many in fact...

Just to clarify - you mean...

Or even...

I thought so...

Oh - Cheeky anon - you are speaking my language! So I had set out to tell you my thoughts about Beefy Bucky...but Steve came screaming into the room, panting and excited, a light shining in his eyes and suddenly it was all about him... maybe one day I’ll get my say...

This got away from me slightly - hope you enjoy Nonnie! 😘

~*~*~*~*~

Steve tried to not stare, tried to be respectful like his ma taught him, tried to be the responsible adult, hero that he was. He was the paragon for truth, the beacon of all that was good, but all that ran through his head as he looked at his best friend, his semi-recently unbrainwashed best friend, was Bucky’s large frame manhandling him to the bed and doing unspeakable acts on Steve’s body.

He was past caring what these acts might be, he’d be open to anything, try anything - not having had much experience due to time or inclination. But as he sat in the mission brief and watched Bucky playing with a pencil, unintentionally snapping it between his chunky fingers, looking around sheepishly in case someone told him off for breaking SHIELD property - Steve thought about those meaty fingers wrapped around a specific part of his anatomy. A part he knew couldn’t snap off (he’d tried when jerking off - not intentionally, but sometimes he twitched hard in the heat of the moment - and he had super strength after all).

From Steve’s vantage point, a few yards behind Bucky’s immensely broad shoulders, he found his breaths coming in quicker, wondering how it would feel to be picked up and slammed into a hard surface by Bucky, to have all that unrestrained strength pushing him - up against his body. Steve shivered, knowing that, yes, Tony and Thor and the others with the use of their powers or suits could pin Steve for a few seconds - but Bucky - he’d had a similar serum as Steve and it gave him thoughts.

Would Bucky be at the same level of strength and power, were they evenly matched in every way? And if Steve begged on his knees staring up at Bucky - would Bucky relent and finally give him all he’d been dreaming about since he was sixteen?

Steve didn’t know. But he fantasised about it a lot.

Bucky had always been bigger than Steve, had always towered over him when they were kids, and Steve fit under the crook of Bucky’s arm, snug and nice, knowing that even before the serum, Bucky could have had his way and Steve would let him - even as feisty and independent as he was. But oh god, given half the chance, in a million different ways Steve would have let him.

But then the war happened, Steve had the serum and everything changed - he lost Bucky, had lost his better half, his true north, and that was when Steve lost hope. Until the Winter Soldier appeared - no, when Bucky appeared. Hope welled eternal in Steve for the first time in years, and to now have Bucky before him, it was a dream come true and he was scared to do anything to break the bubble that was surrounding them in case he scared Bucky off again.

So through hungry eyes, Steve watched Bucky closely, helped Bucky with the holes in his memory as best he could, ignored the lack of compassion that sometimes came through, and tried his best not to ogle Bucky’s new physique.

It was hard.

Extremely hard.

Because Bucky was built, he was wide, he was thick and it made Steve jittery inside.

He was unable to hide the most basic of reactions when they sparred, growing stiff the moment Bucky threw Steve over his shoulder like he weighed nothing to land on the mat roughly before straddling him, hand gently around his throat and a smirk on his face. And Steve had to scramble to the toilets for a moment alone - each and every time. Images of Bucky’s muscular thighs either side of his stomach fodder for a slew of fantasies and he only ever felt a little guilty when he came, hand shaking around his dick and Bucky’s name on his lips.

But it was undeniable that Bucky had changed - his quick smiles gone, humour buried away with only a glimpse here and there, but Steve knew Bucky, his Bucky was lurking somewhere in the depths, and Steve was slowly teasing him to the surface. So it would be completely unfair to foist his desires on his friend - a friend who'd never indicated that he liked Steve on a romantic level.

So Steve sat behind Bucky in the briefing, letting his mind wander, allowing his gaze to rake over the back of the too tight dark blue henley, Bucky’s shoulders taking up more space on the chair than Steve’s did - and he watched.

Steve’s eyes traced the lines of Bucky’s wide stance as he moved in the chair, watching the toned muscles shift under the shirt and he couldn’t help lick his lips, only to look up and find Bucky stalled, stopped in his tracks staring over his shoulder at Steve with something deeply shadowed in his eyes. And Steve had been caught, caught staring like a man dying of thirst and Bucky the only person in the world that had a trickle of water left.

Standing up hastily, Steve fled - heading towards his room on the thirtieth floor, not knowing if the briefing was over or not, not really caring - he’d walked out of them before - it was only a safety meeting about new protocols that Steve himself had helped to create, but he couldn’t sit behind Bucky and stare at his bulk any longer. Bucky might have already realised where Steve’s thought’s had been, and he needed a moment to agonise over it.

He’d only just made it to his hallway, sprinting up the stairs as it was quicker than the elevator, when a huge solid hand grasped his arm, yanking to slam Steve up against the wall and suddenly two very intense blue/grey eyes were staring at him, pinched at the corners, questioning. Steve was no longer concerned about being called out - he was too busy sweating heavily at the sheer muscle Bucky was showcasing by pinning him to the wall, and he flexed, trying to move, but Bucky - oh fuck - Bucky had him. Steve would have to exert a lot of energy to break the hold, and his knees buckled.

Bucky grasped him, holding him upright as he sagged, “hey pal - you okay? What in the hell is going on?”

Steve managed to get his knees to lock long enough to hold his weight, and Bucky wide-eyed and concerned held him trapped. Held him aloft in his strong arms, his flesh one just as huge and muscular as his metal one.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Steve ground out. And he was, mostly - except for the tenting in his cargo pants, something that if Bucky stepped in less than an inch would feel pressed against him in all it’s post-serum glory. And Steve shouldn’t have thought that - what had it done to Bucky if the rest of him had grown so thick.

Bucky exhaled slowly, then looked up at the roof and Steve watched the sinews dance under the skin of Bucky’s neck, the wide hefty expanse of muscle that had to be at least twice the size as before. Steve wanted to lean forward, nip at the jutting Adam's apple, lick it, suckle it and have Bucky tense the muscles so that Steve could trace the hardness under his stiff tongue.

Words escaped him before Steve knew what was happening. “You’re so big.”

Immediately his face flamed because the words didn’t come out like a question, or a matter of fact statement - it was breathy, whispered with reverence, with a tone that couldn’t be disguised - Steve sounded horny for Bucky, and shame welled up.

Shutting his eyes, Steve shook his head, trying to get up the strength to break free of the large hands holding him, but Steve was learning he was a masochist under Bucky's control, Steve wanted it, no matter how he got it - all of that power and force bundled into the man he’d been in love with all of his life, it was too much.

“Open your eyes, Stevie.”

He was powerless not to, not when Bucky called him that.

Bucky’s long hair had fallen over one side of his face, and he peered at Steve, a small frown between his eyes as he worked something out in his head, Steve having seen that puzzled expression many times, usually directed at the coffee machine or at Sam, until suddenly like the dawning of a new day - his face went slack.

He’d realised something, something big. And Bucky stepped forward, closer, the entire length of his body now against Steve, and although Steve was still a little taller than him, he felt as small as his teenage self while Bucky held him aloft using just his body, and it was only then that Steve realised what Bucky was pressed against and… oh…

What was now pressed against Steve in return.

“Buck…” he said brokenly.

“How long?”

“Errr…”

“How long, Steve?” The demand came with a tightening of hands on his biceps and Steve groaned at the pinch, the pressure, and Bucky threw his massive flesh arm across Steve’s collar bone instead, restraining him, and Steve just about came on the spot. It was too much, the sheer strength, the sheer size of Bucky was making him quake like a teenager with too many uncontrollable hormones.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore and let go, Steve slumping against the wall, and Bucky took one step away, Steve had ruined it - ruined everything.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Steve looked up at the order in Bucky’s voice.

“Where?” he croaked.

“Your room, it’s closer - I’m going to nail you to your bed and make you scream Stevie Rogers - I have one vivid memory of before the war, and I know it was just a fantasy. And right now... right now I want to make it a reality.”

Bucky strode away, intent in each step and Steve watched the sway of his thick hips, the delectable peach-like ass he wanted to sink his hands and teeth into, and Steve stuck to the spot, couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Steve jumped to attention, and had never ran so fast in his life.

#stucky #mywriting #this ask was not intending to go down this path... 🤷 so sorry???#cheeky anon - this was a BRILLIANT ask and thanks for being patient until i had time to put a little something together for you!#steve x bucky #Steve is pining #Steve has thots #beefy bucky

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us-ugay · 3 years ago

Note

A) your doodles are amazing and hilarious and beautiful. B) id be totally down for some au ideas and meandering thoughts and feelings for ukus

a:) thank u luv u gonna finally settle down and make an honest man/woman/person outta u

b:) i got multiple trains of thot for this one

i think w the ukus dynamic obviously not a whole lot changes from how usuk is generally portrayed but i think arthur has a fairly domineering personality and if not kept in check through various forms of locks and balances whether it be in the personal form (his partner not allowing themselves to be domineered) or on a more macro level (the country itself losing hard power and no longer the top dog in the world/continent/etc) and so back to the point whenever arthur is the top/dominant one in the relationship i think he tends to become more overtly paternal and handsy (which is a feat within itsef considering the h*rny bastard very rarily keeps his hands to himself when the mood strikes) so like he’ll feel more comfortable feeling up alfreds ass in public because its his and why shouldnt he?

how this tends to play out in AUs n stuff in my mind is that he’ll be in positions of power and he likes to have alfred around as eye candy. this isnt necessarily in like..... an objectifying or inbalanced way cuz obviously alfreds a big boy and if he wants to throw his weight around he can, but arthur will view himself as the bread winner and the one to provide in order to let alfred live his life as a happy go lucky, physically fit ditz

alfred of course loves being spoiled no matter how he finds himself in a relationship and so if arthurs willing to give all he can and be the dominant one alfred more than willing to just be a cute distraction for arthurs long work days

so for AUs, i do think that witch AU i had could easily be a ukus AU, where while yeah alfreds around as an assistant, its not like arthur, a very powerful and revered magic user and the one people all over the kingdom go to for such things, necessarily needs him around. arthur mostly just likes the view

or maybe pirate captain AUs where obviously arthurs the feared pirate captain, and alfred through whatever means ends up becoming his cabin whatever-the-male-version-of-mistress-is (it cant be mister i know it cant)

orrrrrrr something thats been on the mind recently 👀 a sugar daddy AU

arthurs some kind of ceo or what the fuck every rich bachelors do for a living and hes constantly busy and has weird hours and travels constantly so he cant have a normal traditional family/marriage so he instead gets a sugar baby (later turned spoiled boyfriend) alfred, a hot twunk who sure as fuck doesnt wanna work an office job and loves being around a good looking successful arthur and also loves the perks that come w sticking around arthur and if wearing some short-shorts and being a himbo is what it takes to keep them both happy thennnnn 🤷🏼‍♀️

#this was less fun shitty sticky note doodles and more a fucking thesis #my bad

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exmachinus · 6 years ago

Text

ascension

another gift for @melissaknowsthings featuring The Thot being imperial, and The Banana Bae being fond

Watching the Talos priest arrive in Solitude had been an utterly hilarious moment. It was partly why she’d chosen Solitude to be crowned in. Well. That and because it was a rather graceful melding of Imperial and Nord. Solitude, city of the Empire, home of General Tullius himself, having to play host to an ancient Nord custom, appointing a Nord Dragonborn Queenship of the land. Ah, but, she’d ever-so-sweetly reasoned with the table of uncomfortable generals, priests, politicians, and various other Old Men of Note, surely there was a better title to confer on a Nord Lady about to assume the throne? After all, the Empire as an institution was functional. There wasn’t any real reason to abandon it. Just the Thalmor and their… barbaric practices about Talos. Yes, she’d mused out loud, it was absolutely best to give her the Imperial title of Empress. She’d taken their silence as assent. She knew she had them under her thumb, and not just because Marcus was sitting obsequiously in a corner behind her, sharpening a Daedric greatsword.

No. They owed her. They owed her the happiness and safety of their collective peoples. Bards throughout Skyrim sang odes to her beauty and generosity, wherever she went the common folk would approach to grip her hands and thank her, embrace her with joy and hope. They owed her this. And no one would dare to stop her. And who could? She had the Blackbriars and the Thieves around her little finger, the Dark Brotherhood was at her command, even the Thalmor dared not move openly against her. Besides, assassination attempts would keep life interesting.

The only thing more amusing than Talos worshipers in the streets of Solitude was sauntering into the Palace of Kings with Marcus and Rumarin. Being in Windhelm at all with Marcus was always a delight; she loved watching Ulfric and his blustering buffoons nearly rupture the veins in their foreheads when she brought a dremora and a High Elf into their most revered sanctum. But of course, Ulfric was as powerless as the others to stop her. Once her business was finished, she released Marcus into the snowy wilds to let off some steam and find some bandits to destroy, as was his wont, and grinned at Rumarin, who rolled his eyes even as he smiled, fondness apparent. “Really, one day they’ll all drop dead if you keep doing that.”

She laughed, unbridled. “Oh, that would be fun, but I’ve promised Marcus he can have them once I don’t need them anymore.” Ru’s eyes glittered at her cruel grin.

“It’s really almost too attractive when you get ruthless like that.”

She’d laughed again and kissed his cheek. Then fucked him senseless that night.

That was two days ago. Now she leaned against a balcony railing in Castle Dour with Rumarin, watching the common folk of the city learn to adjust to the restoration of the Nine. It had taken some work, and would continue to take some work, but she was confident Talos would be re-accepted with time. She knew it, the way she felt the gentle warmth of a benevolent smile whenever she passed one of His shrines. Like a distant, but proud and loving, father.

A servant briefly interrupted their game of guessing who would try and step awkwardly around whom in the streets to let her know the seamstresses had arrived for the fittings for her coronation gown. She’d dismissed him with a nod and finished the last of the wine in her goblet, and was turning to head inside when Rumarin stopped her with a light hand on her forearm. She’d turned back with her brows raised, intending to tell him, yes, she would leave the jug of wine here with him, when she was stopped by the strangely fond expression on his face.

“I don’t mean to get all, ugh, mushy on you here, and maybe this is just the wine and skooma talking, but. Before I met you, did I ever once think a High Elf would be able to walk freely through Windhelm, or be the guest of the Nord Dragonborn about to gain the highest office in the land? If anyone’d suggested it a year and a half ago, I would have accused them of taking skooma shots off an Argonian’s ballsack.”

She’d choked. “Ru-”

“Look, before I lose my nerve, what I’m trying to say is I really am quite proud of you. And I’m grateful. For all you’ve given me.”

Her mouth fell open a little and her eyes stung. When she said nothing, he coughed and leaned back out over the railing. “Do you remember when we met? You were wearing leather armors. That you’d bought from a storekeep. Incredible. You’ve come so far.”

She put her arms around him and pressed a loud, smacking, kiss against his temple. “And what have I given you? Aside from a collection of fantastic scars and memories?” He turned in her arms, expression offended.

“You did the best thing anyone’s ever done for me: you introduced me to Marcus, and by extension some of the best orgasms I’ve had in my life.”

She couldn’t help it, she collapsed against his shoulder laughing, and through the giggles she managed to get out, “He’d be so offended his fucking has only given you some of the best orgasms of your life.”

Ru considered that. “Well,” he said solemnly, “he’ll just have to continue fucking me until I don’t care to remember getting fucked by anyone or anything else, won’t he?”

She nearly screamed with laughter, and that point she had to retire indoors or she was going to spend the whole afternoon kissing him, and have to wear something unsightly to her own coronation.

Of course, that would be fun, as well.

The Temple of the Divines was resplendent in the afternoon sun, the colored glass in the high windows throwing shafts of brilliant light across the congregation. Rather than have a private ceremony, with only Skyrim’s nobles in attendance, she’d ordered the doors of the Temple thrown open so the gathered throngs of people could witness their Queen become Empress. As she processed down the aisle, she was keenly aware of the gazes of the people around her. Bits of jealousy, still some anger, love, devotion, fear. Marcus, leaning against the back wall of the Temple, equally resplendent in his fine clothes, his red eyes nearly aglow with fierce pride.

She went through the rehearsed motions, kneeling carefully in her magnificent cream and gold gown. She bent her head and swore to love, protect, and serve the peoples of Skyrim and Tamriel with all her life and spirit, and to uphold the fairness of the justice and laws of the land. The Talos priest, nearly bursting with Nordic pride, raised his arms and bid her lift her head. She did, and felt with equally keen awareness the heavy enameled crown placed atop her hair. In a single fluid motion she rose to her feet and turned, magisterial and imperial, nearly aglow herself in the shining light of the mid-afternoon sun, framed by the Nine Divines, set in the knowledge of the right of her birth and what she had accomplished, she rose Kira I, Empress of Skyrim and Tamriel.

A deafening flood of approving sound, roars and cries and applause, greeted her. Then, from the back of the assembled crowd, came the cry: “Dovahkiin! Dovahkiin!” and the Nords collectively launched into the old, once nearly-forgotten, song, greeting their hero and their empress, in the tongue of their ancestors and of hers: “...naal ok zin los vahriin! Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!”

Also near the back of the room, her eyes caught on the one High Elf present, his kind yellow eyes glossy and bright. She watched as he mouthed the words in the tongue of dovah along with the Nords, shining with pride and joy for her. In that moment, she was nearly overcome. He’d learned the words of the song, not necessarily knowing it would be sung, but he’d learned them anyway, for her, the old old song of her people to the Dragonborn.

“...Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok! Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz! Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot! Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!”

#my writing #kira #skyrim #uhhh #rumarin #marcus #hm

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kenzieam · 7 years ago

Text

Shadows and Ghosts - Chapter 8 (Ivar and Sera)

Rating: M - Mature (angst, swearing, violence, murder, smut)

Genre: Drama, angst

@fuckyeahalexhoghandersen-deacti@my-emotional-self @bloodyivar @lupy22 @fortress-fiction @heathensisterwives @kduran04 @charliexowrite @angryschnauzer @rachiieeeee @ivarinleatherpants @ivars-heathen-army @neonxwitch @theheathenqueendickubus @dangerousvikings @zpandaqueen @irishhiggins @romanchronicles @didiintheblog @mercy1997 @kawennote09 @iammarylastar@sparklemichele @son-of-anubis @beltzboys2015-blog @paranoia-love @captstefanbrandt @ivars-valkyrie @fullpeanutkoala @ruler-of-helheim @poopercoot @magical-mischief-makers

@angelswannawearmyredshooz @kc-7 @laketaj24 @ithinkthatsmykink @josthockeythings @pansexualpancakeslife @read-all-day @g4u15

@chessurkait @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @dina-m16 @cxde-black @lol-haha-joke @sashli @jnecrobutcher @kickbacksnextdoor @funmadonahoghbadassvikings @dhunhdchrih @part-time-thot @proudcoiler88 @katshitcrazy

*If you want to be added or delete to the above list, let me know*

***************************************************************************************************

Ivar struggles to pay for the sins of his past……

**************************************************************************************************

“Come here, King.” She purred and Ivar growled low in response.

Sera sighed, settling down into the furs with a bone-deep exhaustion. Ivar growled against her throat, pulling her tighter against his chest and pressing slow, lingering kisses to her nape. He’d followed Sera to the bed, shucking off his breeches and leg braces impatiently, crawling towards her with a predatory gleam in his blazing eyes, teeth bared. Their frantic coupling in the chair had burned off the first initial flare of desperation but had by no means satisfied them.

Ivar had risen above Sera, fitting himself between her thighs and, as he’d pushed inside her with one slow thrust, captured her mouth in a soft and passionate kiss. He’d made love to her this time, his thrusts slow and languid but precise, stroking deep inside her and Sera’s moans mingled with Ivar’s helpless grunts as they’d yielded to their desire. Sera had come almost gently, pulsing around Ivar and making him buck against her as he fought not to follow yet. They’d finally exhausted themselves, Ivar surrendering to his own release as Sera quaked around him a third time, groaning raggedly against her throat, hips pressed hard to hers as he’d spilled inside her, shuddering with ecstasy and overwhelming bliss.

Something had changed between them, Sera could sense, but she couldn’t exactly describe what. Something was different in Ivar’s touch, it was gentler, more lingering, more relaxed. As his ego and power had grown before Sera had left him his touch had become possessive, claiming, almost jealous; but now he caressed her, almost reverently, as if he had finally recognized that Sera was one of his greatest treasures aside from his son, one he had to work to keep, work continually to deserve. His hands were gentle and tender as he held her and Sera was finally able to find the word to describe what was different. He appreciated her, he would never take her for granted again and a shiver ran down her spine at the realization, as Ivar nuzzled closer to her, humming in contentment.

“I love you,” Ivar murmured quietly, a soft tone Sera had never heard from him before, not even in their most tender and vulnerable moments. “I’ll never hurt you like that again.” His kisses held an edge of desperation now, a plea for Sera to believe him. “Give me another chance baby, please.” His voice broke as he pressed his face into her throat and she felt his tears.

Sera rolled, a questioning look in his eyes; Ivar leaned back to give her room, but once she faced him he snuggled close again, his gaze uncertain as he searched her face. Sera sensed that she held a certain power right now, that Ivar was bared and open to her and she could speak to him of things that normally only inflamed his temper.

“It’s not just me, Ivar.” She murmured.

Ivar’s brow furrowed in confusion and he reached up, stroking her cheek with bent fingers. He remained silent, waiting for Sera to continue.

“Your brothers-” Ivar tensed then, his hand stilling on her cheek, but, unlike before, Sera didn’t sense anger, now it was.... guilt. “There is still time to mend your relationship with them, but you must let go of your ego. You are all Ragnar’s sons and whether you think so or not, you need each other. Wulf is going to grow up to be a great man, a great king and he will need the guidance of a strong father and strong uncles to fulfill his potential.”

Ivar looked down and away and Sera waited quietly. She knew that Ivar was particularly possessive of Wulf, not only because he’d missed out on his life until now, but because his son represented a certain triumph. He was a man, he’d fathered a child and he was reluctant to share that, not when his own personal victories had always been so few, always in the shadows of his brothers and legendary father. Despite all he had accomplished, Ivar still felt a fierce need to prove himself, to show that he was worthy of his name, Ragnarsson, despite the failings he saw as his legs, his crippled body. His brothers were whole and healthy, there was no question they were brave, complete men and Ivar had always felt lesser than that, consequently, he jealously held his own successes especially close. Accepting Sera’s plea would signal a complete paradigm shift in his attitude and conduct.

Sera trailed her fingertips lightly along Ivar’s chest, tracing hard muscle and faint scars. Suddenly Ivar pulled her sharply against him, curling his whole body around her, seemingly desperate for full body contact. Sera’s heart fluttered, but there was no anger in Ivar’s touch, no resentment.

“I will try,” he whispered. He looked up at Sera with pleading eyes, asking her to believe him; and Sera did. His face crumpled with relief when Sera nodded and he burrowed deeper against her; his vulnerability in this moment stealing Sera’s breath. His hand started to stroke her skin, a comforting gesture for both of them and Sera inhaled sharply in surprise as his gentle touch along the curve of her breast ignited a spark inside her. Something wicked passed through Ivar’s eyes and his face relaxed, confidence returning. He licked his bottom lip and Sera held her breath as he lowered his head, eyes locked with hers.

Sera knew where he was going, what he was planning to do and she shivered in anticipation. His mouth around her nipple was soft at first, then harder as he started to draw her milk with a hum of satisfaction. The forbiddingness of this only fuelled Sera’s excitement and she squirmed against Ivar, skin tingling. Ivar started to suckle harder and Sera felt him begin to stiffen against her thigh. She reached down, stroking along his shaft and felt him groan against her breast. Still nuzzled against her Ivar shifted his hips, his hands guiding Sera’s body to line up with him and pushed inside her. Sera cried out from the dual sensations, Ivar filling her, stretching her so sweetly with his cock, and him suckling at her, drawing her milk in powerful pulls, his jaw moving rhythmically. It was her fantasy again, this infinity circle and her body responded hungrily. Her climax crashed over her, surprising her both in it’s stealth and intensity and Sera couldn’t keep from nearly screaming Ivar’s name. Ivar thrust harder, almost violently, growling with lust around her breast. He switched sides suddenly and the new sensation threw Sera helplessly into another orgasm, made her keen deep in her throat as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. Her walls throbbed around Ivar and he followed after a few more erratic thrusts, his own cry of release muffled as he sucked hard at her, her milk filling his mouth as he filled her with his seed and he finally pulled away with a groan, body shuddering, cock still pulsing inside her as he captured her mouth, putting all his love into his kiss, swallowing Sera’s moan and answering with his own helpless groan.

Finally, the residual orgasmic shuddering slowed and Ivar drew Sera against him, his touch startlingly gentle for so powerful and potentially volatile a man.

“Accept my hand, say you’ll be my wife.” His breath was warm, his voice ardent.

“I thought that was already happening,” Sera whispered back, dreamy and floating.

“No, I didn’t ask you before. I ordered you like a unmannered bastard.” A faintly embarrassed smile touched Ivar’s lips and he waited anxiously for Sera’s answer.

Sera took Ivar’s jaw in her hand. They needed to sort some things out first. “We are equal. I will be your queen and will support your decisions if they are fair and just but I am not your subject, someone to bow in front of you. I will not be your lesser, your slave.”

Ivar nodded silently, earnestly and Sera continued. “Wulf is our son, and we are equal in raising him.”

Another nod, Ivar’s eyes calm and languid.

“You will try to mend your relationship with your brothers. It is up to them whether they accept you, but you will endeavour to mend what you have damaged. And you will not keep Wulf from them, out of spite or jealousy or anything else. Wulf will only grow up stronger and wiser with the counsel and guidance of his father and his uncles. To keep them from him hurts Wulf just as much as them.... and me.”

Ivar’s eyes darkened, but not in anger and, after a heartbeat he answered. “Yes, I will try and I will not keep our son from my brothers.” He paused, a devilish glint forming in his gaze. “But if Hvitserk intends to pass on his appetite, for both food and loose women, I am putting my foot down.”

Sera couldn’t stop a gurgle of laughter and it rose to a shriek as Ivar pulled her closer and bit playfully at her throat. He pulled away suddenly, eyes alighting with an idea.

“We still have time. Slave!”

Sera frowned in confusion then burrowed against Ivar’s chest, blushing, when a thrall entered. Ivar did not seem self-conscious in the slightest for his slave to see him tangled in bed with her, the furs thankfully covering at least part of their naked bodies and he quickly barked some orders.

“Go to my brother’s hut and invite them to dine with us in an hour. Send another slave to ask Bjorn if he feels well enough to join us too and tell the cook to make us a small feast.”

Sera heard the thrall scuttle away and finally pulled her head out of Ivar’s chest. “You should be nicer to them too.” She teased.

“I only have so much good temper to go around,” Ivar teased back, a boyish smile lighting up his face. He lifted his head again. “Slave!” He winked at Sera, his tone was moderately more kind.

A new thrall appeared. “Draw a bath and fill it with sweet oils, my queen wishes to bathe.”

They must have kept cauldrons full for just such an order, for within bare minutes slaves were filling the wooden tub in the corner with bucket after bucket of sweetly scented hot water. Ivar lounged back in the furs while they do so, watching carelessly, a lazy smile on his face, his fingers stroking idly up and down Sera’s spine. He crooned low, barely audibly, under his breath and Sera recognized it as a lullaby she’d sang to Wulf before when he was fussy. She’d not realized Ivar was awake while she’d done so, but the tune flowed off his tongue and surrounded Sera with a warm satisfaction, a feeling of contentment she could not recall experiencing before. The tub was rapidly filled and Ivar nudged her gently, a smile pulling at his lips when Sera rose naked from the furs, marks darkening her skin in places, marks Ivar had put there in the heat of passion. He watched, eyes half-lidded, as she sank into the water with a grateful groan and, when Sera turned her head and beckoned him to join her, bit his lip and smiled, rising from the furs to obey.

An hour later Sera stepped into the main hall and rushed to Wulf, squirming in Ubbe’s arms and babbling at her excitedly. Ubbe scanned her face carefully, brow raised in question and Sera smiled, nodding in return. Ubbe relaxed, glancing at Hvitserk who smiled as well, tense shoulders sagging slightly. They had truly worried for me, Sera knew, but things will be better now.

Ivar appeared in the doorway and Ubbe and Hvitserk tensed again, but their anxiety switched rapidly to confusion, and they glanced at each other in question when Ivar greeted them. He seemed happy to see them and this was definitely a change. At Ivar’s beckoning they moved to the table and sat, Wulf clamouring to climb into Ivar’s lap at the head of the table.

As slaves began laying out platters and bowls Ivar smoothed Wulf’s hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I asked Bjorn to join us but he must-”

At that moment the doors opened and Bjorn stepped inside, leaning stiffly on a crutch. Sera had seen him only once since she’d returned, and he’d been lying in his bed then, pain etched on his face. A slave hovered beside him to help but he flapped his hand at her irritably, the lines on his face not smoothing until he looked up and saw the table. Confusion flickered over his features for a moment, but he relaxed when he met Sera’s eyes, saw them clear and cheerful, not tense and anxious like before. He smiled widely when Wulf spotted him, and, even though he’d only met his eldest uncle once, remembered him all the same.

“Unca!” Wulf crowed, bouncing on Ivar’s lap.

“Welcome, brother. Join us.” Ivar called out.

For a heartbeat wariness clouded Bjorn’s eyes but something in Ivar’s tone, in the atmosphere, in Sera and his brother’s relaxed posture encouraged him and Bjorn shuffled to the table, seating himself in the empty chair at Sera’s left.

“Your wounds still pain you?” Sera asked quietly.

“It lessens everyday, but yes.”

“My healer has concocted a special balm for my legs, would you like to try some?” Ivar asked and there was no mistaking the fleeting surprise in his three brother’s faces. Ivar had never volunteered like this before.

Bjorn swallowed his surprise and Sera was relieved when he nodded, not reacting with anger or bitterness like he had every right to, based on the last two years of war and tension. “Yes, thank you... Ivar.”

The table fell silent as they began to eat, Wulf forgoing the plate Sera made for him and picking instead off of Ivar’s, grinning up at his father and waving his purloined food teasingly, as if he was being stealthy and Ivar wasn’t totally letting him rob him blind.

After the initial hungry rush it was Bjorn who wiped his mouth and spoke what was no doubt burning in all three of the brother’s minds. “I don’t mean to be rude, Ivar; but what is going on?”

A question like that would probably have drawn some sarcastic, biting response from Ivar in the past, but he was trying, Sera could see and his small sigh wasn’t of irritability, but of worry that he was too late.

“I know I have much ground to make up, but I wish to make amends, brothers.”

Shock flickered across the brother’s faces at Ivar’s confession and for a moment, none seemed able to respond. Ubbe was the first to recover, swallowing before replying.

“Amends? I...... don’t understand. Why now?”

Again Sera found herself impressed by Ivar’s restraint. “I,” he glanced at Sera and, to her surprise, reached over and took her hand. “I want to repair my transgressions of the past.... I want to be a better man for my son and wife.”

Silence predominated and Sera felt the beginnings of anxiety. Bjorn, Ubbe and Hvitserk would all be well within their rights to tell Ivar to fuck off, to use this opportunity to draw a sword or seax and part his head from his shoulders, but Sera knew they were all weary of the conflict, the yawning divide that had cracked the family apart. She knew Ivar was as worn down by the discord he’d created as they were, although he’d never willingly show it and Sera was indescribably proud of his strength in this moment, asking for forgiveness when he reasonably could expect none. Fortunately, his brothers were, by nature, more kind and less cynical than Ivar, a trait he’d unfortunately not inherited from Ragnar to the degree of his elder brothers and, after a quick and silent glance between them Ubbe turned to address Ivar.

“We will..... try to leave the past behind us, Ivar.”

Ivar nodded humbly then seemed to perk up a bit. “Will you join me at the training grounds tomorrow? Like we used to?” Sera found herself squinting at Ivar, as he’d spoken he’d almost sounded like the boy he’d once been, but without the dangerous edge; he sounded young and.... hopeful.

The brothers again glanced at each other in surprise, and indeed, this was all new, coming from Ivar. They seemed unsure how to respond and the silence grew, becoming almost uncomfortable before Ubbe replied.

“We would like that Ivar.... thank you.”

They returned to their plates in thoughtful silence, and Sera felt the atmosphere shift in the room. While still wary, there was hope now, a faint excitement. Wulf picked up on it as well and was soon squirming in Ivar’s lap, reaching out his hands to Ubbe and babbling to be picked up.

Ubbe glanced uneasily at Ivar. Ivar jealously guarded his son and disliked letting any of them interacting with him so, when Ivar smiled tentatively and lifted the baby off his lap for Ubbe to grab, the older Ragnarsson couldn’t conceal a flicker of surprise. Wulf was the only one who didn’t seem to notice that anything was different and scrambled to his feet on Ubbe’s lap with a toddler’s determination and clasped his uncle’s face in his small, grubby hands.

“Unca.” He pronounced seriously, as if conveying some royal title on Ubbe. “Unca Ooob-a.”

Sera glanced at Ivar tensely, but he didn’t look at all upset by his son’s interest. In fact, a smile was lighting up his face and he nodded. “Yes, or uncle Big-head if you want.”

Sera gaped at Ivar but the brothers just laughed. She looked around in confusion until Hvitserk explained.

“Ivar called Ubbe that once when he accidentally broke Ivar’s clay horse. He thought it was this huge insult but it only made Ubbe laugh.”

“And it’s true,” Ivar snickered. “Out of all of us, he does have the biggest head.”

“Are we still talking about skulls, Ivar?” Ubbe grinned, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Hvitserk snorted into his mead and that seemed to break the final threads of tension in the room.

#ivar #ivar x oc #ivar the boneless smut #vikings #ivar and sera

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compare-wp10 · 5 years ago

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Censorship Has Mutated During Coronavirus Pandemic

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Censorship, Pandemic Style Censorship is unfortunately alive and well during this pandemic madness, taking on a variety of mutated forms as it participates in the various rights-trampling parades going on in America. We have seen the petty tyrant governors and mayors use this time to overreach and cavalierly brush aside constitutional rights in the name of safety. The First Amendment has been particularly roughed up, with the free exercise of religion, free speech, and the right to peaceably assemble all taking major hits. Matt Taibbi — not exactly a rightwing stalwart — warned last month of what he called the “Inevitable Coronavirus Censorship Crisis.” He was responding to a rather insane and disturbing article in The Atlantic that was basically making the case for adopting a more ChiCom approach to dealing with internet speech. That’s right, a venerable American publication was advocating for more censorship. The ChiComs themselves aren’t letting the crisis go to waste. Pro-commie establishment members of Hong Kong’s parliament are pushing legislation to censor and punish any language mocking the mainland’s national anthem. As I wrote last weekend, social media platforms are using the pandemic as an excuse to censor any voices that run counter to the preferred narrative. There is to be no real free speech or debate about how we should proceed through each new phase of dealing with the pandemic. Each of the major platforms has opted to be tools of the various states and prop up whichever arbitrary shutdown rules are in place. The media bias we’ve seen during all of this is a perverse sort of self-censorship that the MSM hacks are doing to themselves. They’ve been running with whatever the official word from China is, and surely they know that the censoring is kind of baked into the cake with that deal. It’s always amazing to see American “journalists” be drawn to the types of ideologues who would be the first to shut them down. This may not be directly related to the coronapocalypse, but it happened on Monday. The United Nations took some time to offer the great unwashed a list of words that we should no longer say. I’m not really sure which part of the UN’s charter lays out why it should be in the censor game, but then I still haven’t figured out what in the hell they have to do with climate change. The shutting down of church services is a form of censorship as well, and I can’t help but believe that the Democratic governors have enjoyed keeping the church folk away from worship just a little too much. Thankfully, saner legal heads seem to be prevailing on that front in the last couple of weeks. The policing of speech had become worrisome long before this pandemic hit us. The danger now is obviously having some of these more tyrannical types make some new permanent censorship rules. Speech that’s censored today may very well remain censored when we emerge from this rough patch. I’ve been fighting censorship since I first started doing stand-up and it’s a battle I’m willing to wage until they find a way to shut me up. PC Police Step Up Efforts to Completely Ruin Stand-Up Comedy This Ought to Work Out Well Many low-wage workers earn more on unemployment than in their former jobs https://t.co/jMwBs9efgG pic.twitter.com/7iKO5Hq9KX — CBS News (@CBSNews) May 19, 2020 PJM Linktank My Tuesday column: My Last ‘Obama Is the Worst’ Column This Month (I Think) HILARIOUS: Trump Campaign Mocks Biden. Journalists Don’t Get the Joke Texas Reopens. What’s Really Happening With Its COVID-19 Numbers? Sheriff Revolts Against Lockdown: ‘We Are Not Stormtroopers. We Are Peacekeepers’ And not just for fun. Wow! Guess Who’s Taking Hydroxychloroquine? Donald Trump! God wins. Again. Hallelujah! Church Lawsuit Forces Oregon Governor to Re-Open EVERYTHING Ben Sasse Picks the Correct Fight With His Democrat Challenger Shock! Pensacola Shooter Turns Out to Be Al-Qaeda Operative Who Plotted His Attack for Years SANITY: New Jersey Gym Owner Defies Lockdown Order and Cops Refuse to Stop Him The Real Coronavirus Timeline Liberals Don’t Want You To See China Threatened Dan Crenshaw. Now He’s Demanding Sanctions. Attorney General Barr Just Made Major News on ‘Obamagate.’ You’ll Want to Sit Down for This Trump Didn’t Botch the Coronavirus Response, Andrew Cuomo Did VodkaPundit: China Orders New Wuhan Virus Lockdown Because They Beat COVID-19, Honest Quarantine them in a jail. Why Did New York Infect America With Coronavirus? New Report Blames Cuomo, de Blasio FBI ‘Mistakenly’ Reveals Identity of Saudi Diplomat Suspected of Aiding 9/11 Jihadis Anti-Lockdown Champion Elon Musk Just Picked a Side and It’s Glorious Obama Fired an Inspector General to Cover Up a Sex Scandal and No One Said Boo About It Liberals’ Direct Cash Payments Promise to Do to Main Street What They’ve Done to the Black Community: Crush It ‘Joe Has Absolutely No Idea What’s Happening’ It Is Very Strange That General Flynn Was Unmasked Almost 50 Times VIP VodkaPundit, Part Deux: Giving Government the Finger: Americans Ending the Shutdown on Our Own Terms VIP Gold The Tragic End to Deshone Kizer’s NFL Career…And It Began Where QBs Usually Go to Die The Emotional Toll Social Distancing Has Taken on People Should Not Be Underestimated From the Mothership and Beyond I like this story. The internal watchdogs Trump has fired or replaced Excellent. Oklahoma Governor Signs Bill Banning Red Flag Laws School District’s Fight For Armed Teachers Heads To OH Supreme Court NZ Gun Crime Rates Soar Following Gun Bans GOP Governors Rip McConnell Challenger for Partisan Attack Ad I’ll binge-watch this. Graham Moves to Subpoena Brennan, Clapper and Other Major ‘Obamagate’ Players Pelosi’s Strange Reason for Not Wanting Trump to Take Hydroxychloroquine Katie Hill Threw a Tantrum Because Republican Mike Garcia Won Her Vacant Seat Rep. Jim Banks: ‘Shameful’ Dems Are Focused on Going After Trump Instead of Holding China Accountable Leader McConnell Taps Rubio to Lead Senate Intelligence Committee Amid Burr Investigation The Misleading Attack From CNN’s ‘Reliable Sources’ on Fox News’ Coverage on Flynn and COVID-19 Petty Tyrant Update. Ohio Governor Reveals How State Will Respond to Businesses Not Complying with Restrictions WATCH: Crowd Cheers New Jersey Police After They Refuse to Cite Violators of Lockdown Order Trump to the WHO: I’ll Permanently Pull U.S. Funds From the Organization Unless… James Woods: Trump ‘Loves America More Than Any President in My Lifetime,’ Obama Admin Was ‘Scum and Villainy’ Twitch Thots are Horrible but They’re a Symptom, Not a Disease When Even CNN Gets There’s a Problem in the Flynn Case, But the Judge Doesn’t, You Know It’s a Problem LA County Public Health Director Isn’t an M.D.; Why Do These Official Websites Say She Is? Petty Tyrant Update II. Bill de Blasio Threatens Fences Around NYC Beaches and Warns Swimmers They’ll be ‘Taken Right Out of the Water’ Kira Davis: I Don’t Want To See One More Damn Coronavirus Commercial #MouthBarf: Who’s Ready For Michelle Obama’s “Prom-Athon” With MTV? Um…Feminist Susan Faludi: “Believe All Women” Is A Right-Wing Straw Man That Liberals Don’t Actually Embrace Navarro: Let’s Face It, The CDC “Really Let The Country Down” In The COVID-19 Crisis Eric Trump: Dems Have A Very Deliberate Strategy To Use Social Distancing Rules To Prevent Trump From Holding Rallies Gov. Gavin Newsom, ready to lay off first responders, kicks off coronavirus assistance for illegal aliens He’s not owned! He’s not owned! Ezra Klein corncobs himself trying to pretend he didn’t get trolled by Trump campaign’s ‘Truth Over Facts’ site Losing. Their. MINDS! Chris Cillizza calls Trump ‘an unlikable jerk that gets stuff done’ and the Left breaks out pitchforks and torches Oh. 2 professors warn using wedding pictures as Zoom background is a “microaggression” Poland marks centenary of St. John Paul’s birth Bee Me Back To Normal: Conservatives Go To Work While Liberals Stay Home https://t.co/GKabQNFVrM — The Babylon Bee (@TheBabylonBee) May 18, 2020 The Kruiser Kabana pic.twitter.com/cq0yyGR9yy — Archillect (@archillect) May 19, 2020 Let’s treat Taco Tuesday with the reverence it deserves, people. ___ Kruiser Twitter Kruiser Facebook PJ Media Senior Columnist and Associate Editor Stephen Kruiser is the author of “Don’t Let the Hippies Shower” and “Straight Outta Feelings: Political Zen in the Age of Outrage,” both of which address serious subjects in a humorous way. Monday through Friday he edits PJ Media’s “Morning Briefing.” His columns appear every Tuesday and Friday.

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wineanddinosaur · 5 years ago

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Uproxx, Brewbound, and the Internet Gaze on Women in Beer

In July 2019, pop culture website Uproxx published a list touting the best beer influencers on Instagram. The 12 individuals included bloggers, brewers, and photographers, and 10 of them happened to be women.

In a now-infamous episode of the Brewbound Podcast, former editor Chris Furnari derided these women. In a transcript of the episode, Furnari names the first two Instagrammers, who are male; then, he says, the list “goes to s*** and it’s all chicks who basically take photos of themselves in like low-cut tops with beer.” He refers to the women as “girls in tight clothing and bathing suits,” and their beer-focused Instagrams as “ones where we’re just looking at chicks.” This portion of the podcast has since been deleted.

Following the incident, Furnari made multiple public apologies, writing, “I unfairly stereotyped and made generalizations about a group of individuals who have clearly earned the right to be recognized.” He continues, “The comments I made were out of line and demonstrated a complete lapse in judgment.” His words proved to be insufficient, however. On July 25, 2019, Forbes.com announced Furnari left his position at Brewbound, an award-winning beer news website where he served as editor for more than eight years. It is unclear whether he resigned or was terminated.

For the record, the women Furnari referred to are Bella (@onehoppylady), a food and beverage photographer who did not share her surname at press time; Caitlin Johnson (@bigwrldsmallgrl), blogger and content manager; Heather Lewis (@beerbitty), blogger and former operations projects director at Brooklyn Brewery; and Megan Stone (@isbeeracarb), brewer at DuClaw Brewing Co. Some of their photos indeed include plunging necklines and bikinis, but there is diversity among their profiles. Stone (@isbeeracarb), for example, shares her beer-focused travel adventures and collaborations with other brewers; and Lewis (@beerbitty) posts about life experiences through the glass of memorable beers.

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So I had the pleasure of interviewing THE Sam Calagione of @dogfishhead at work recently!! I tried very hard not to fan girl over the legend I’ve been reading about for at least a decade, but I think a ton of my co-workers fan girl/fan boyed quite a bit when he came into the office. And I couldn’t resist getting a selfie 😅💁🏻‍♀️ What a fun guy! Super grateful that he made time in his schedule for this interview during his trip to NYC! We’re so proud to be distributing Dogfish Head at @unionbeerdist 🍻🍻 Head over to the @unionbeerdist IG and click on their link in bio to read the full interview!! And give them a follow too! ☺️🍻🤩

A post shared by Bella (@onehoppylady) on Feb 4, 2019 at 5:04pm PST

Furnari’s comments sparked fast and furious responses from men and women in the industry, many of whom are avid readers of Brewbound, fans of the slandered Instagrammers, or both. His departure caused even more controversy.

“Calling BS on this,” New Belgium spokesperson Jesse Claeys tweeted on July 25, 2019. “Furnari has always been a pro and a strong advocate for craft beer. Taking female beer/boob Instagram ‘influencers’ to task for essentially returning to misogynistic 70s era beer marketing is not a fireable offense.” (Update 8/12/19: New Belgium’s PR department requested VinePair clarify Claeys made this comment personally, not in his capacity as a spokesperson for the brand. His Twitter account has since been deleted.)

Beer writer and broadcast journalist Tara Nurin noted how easy it is to say something “stupid” on air in a Forbes.com piece, writing, “I feel the hosts were actually speaking up for women by chastising those whose personal branding suggests that their chests are more important than their faces and that their bodies speak louder than their minds… We still have a double standard but now it’s women who are commercializing themselves and trying to silence the men who give their opinions about it.”

Others argue these women deserve the same reverence and respect as Furnari or any beer professional. “I’m tired of women having to prove themselves as beer drinkers,” Melis, a.k.a. @thegirlwithbeer, who was also included in the list and prefers not to share her surname for safety reasons, wrote on her feed. Melis is a communications manager for a craft brewery in San Diego. “I work full time for an independent craft brewery, support the Brewers Guild and Pink Boots Society. […] You want beer culture to be more diverse and inclusive? Stop sh*tting on the people who bring diversity to it. Do better.”

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I have three significant things happening soon. The first one is that Melis @thegirlwithbeer and I are going to PANAMA next week!! I was invited to collab with @fulaicaza at @boquetebrewingcompany, and asked Melis to come along. Ale has a whole itinerary packed full of exciting things that we can’t wait to share with y’all. If you happen to live in Panama City, we will be doing a little meet and greet event. Check my stories for info. TAG your friends in Panama, we’d love to meet them!! And stay tuned for the next drop of news. 🇵🇦 ✈️ . . 🍻🍹: @southernbeergirl, myself, and @thegirlwithbeer drinking some @brooklynbrewery Bel Air sour and beer cocktails at @thepearlhotel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . #craftbeeronly #craftbeerlove #craftbeerbabe #craftbeergirl #brooklynbrewery #brooklynbeer #sourbeer #unicornhair #rainbowhair #craftbeercommunity #panamacitybeach #panamabeer #visitpanama #beerblogger #travelblogger #gypsybrewer #ladybrewer #girlswithbeer #dippindaisysswimwear #beerus #boquete #boquetepanama #sandiegogram #visitsandiego

A post shared by megan ✻ beer ✻ travel ✻ style (@isbeeracarb) on May 30, 2019 at 2:39pm PDT

Bella, a.k.a. One Hoppy Lady, also defended her right to control her own image in an Instagram post following the podcast, writing: “Does my fitted shirt discredit the 9 years I’ve spent in the beer industry? Does @isbeeracarb’s bikini erase all her brewing knowledge? Is @la_petite_biere too sexy to enjoy beer? […] I’m disappointed in Brewbound for publishing this harmful speech against women.”

(Ironically, or perhaps not at all, the Brewound Podcast topic was “diversity and inclusion.” It later featured an interview with D.C. brewery owner Julie Verratti, former chair and current member of the Brewers Association Diversity Committee.)

Womanhood, like beer, is political. What women say, wear, and do with our bodies in public is regularly politicized and policed. When the collective expertise of a group of young women is called into question because of the ways they present their bodies online, it opens our eyes to the ways conservatism and unsolicited criticism are unfortunately still present in the beer industry — and the world at large.

Interestingly, this is not the first time a listicle of influencers sparked controversy within the beer community. In 2017, “30 Female Beer Lovers You Must Follow On Instagram,” published by Men’s Health, also ruffled feathers. Some responses, from women as well as men, were strikingly similar to Furnari’s recent remarks.

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Quality is so important to me when I make beer, I make sure all of my ingredients are fresh and healthy before using them. I taste the wort and beer in every stage to make sure things are progressing as they should be. I’m so concerned about quality, which is why since I’ve started at @jaggedmountaincb we have been using the lab company @fermlyknow ! They have the specialized equipment that most breweries can not afford or have space for. They are able to test a wide range of things from ABV to calories. If you are worried about a contamination they can test for other unwanted yeasts/bacteria. I was able to visit their lab the other day and pretend like I was helping 😝 in all reality it was super cool to see how they go through the samples that us breweries send them. I was most fascinated by the way they test for calories! If you want to have a more in depth view be sure to check my stories. Fermly is a great option for breweries concerned about their beer quality, or just getting a more in depth view at your beer. Both of the owners have been in the beer industry, and give you a personal touch with direct communication. This is why if you mention me, southernbeergirl, you can get 10% off your first order with them! Check out the link in my bio to see all the services they offer 🔥 THEY TEST INTERNATIONALLY TOO! Have you ever gotten your beer tested? What are some things that surprised you the most?

A post shared by Alyssa (@southernbeergirl) on Jul 29, 2019 at 8:35am PDT

“I just think that championing these so-called IG ‘beer chicks’ is not the best vehicle for [recognition]… IG has just become an endless T&A parade with nearly naked pics being posted to lure you to their paid sites,” Hopgoddess312 wrote in a BeerAdvocate forum discussing the article. She also referred to the list as “a bunch of pics from women’s IG accounts, a good chunk of which are just tit pics and nothing to do with beer.” (Ironically, or perhaps not at all, Hopgoddess312’s profile photo is also a close-up of her breasts and a beer.)

“I feel this type of attention sets us back and demeans the hard working women who are in the industry,” Afro Beer Chick wrote in an October 2017 blog post. “There is no need to be a ‘hey look at me’ type beer chick… Let’s keep the boobs and butts for the other Instagram thots.”

On the other hand, the Men’s Health list was published in its “Sex” section. This is a meaningful editorial decision that reinforces the idea that attractive women and beer experts are two different subjects that often overlap.

Two years later, we are still grappling with these nuances. When members of the beer community see women baring it all in their photos, and earning more “likes” and followers, it’s easy to critique them for marketing to the male gaze. Yet when a male figure enters the ring to publicly condemn these same women, many jump to the women’s defense. What’s the deal?

It’s all about agency and respect. All members of the beer community should be able to present themselves however they choose, so long as they’re not hurting anybody; it’s not up to us to dictate what’s best for anyone else.

Yes, many of the Instagrammers included in last month’s list have sexy public personas. They’re also equipped with brains and beer expertise. Assuming anything less does a disservice to us all.

The article Uproxx, Brewbound, and the Internet Gaze on Women in Beer appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/beer-boobs-misogyny/

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