#women’s bathroom kind of clears on pure vibe alone

[evildeerboy]

man culture shock 🥲

at my cousins wedding. used the men’s room for the first time tonight. tagged along with my bf.

afterwards, kind of out of habit, i spun and asked him to check my outfit and he was like “what the fuck are you talking about”

do…. do guys just not check each others outfits at events after you go to the bathroom together…. how do you survive….

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Cooler; Bucky Barnes x Reader

New Girl Inspired for @madjazzhatter

“I’m telling you, Buck, I’m not your cooler. Sure, a few times I might’ve been the reason you didn’t get some that once or twice, but 99% of the time it’s your own damn fault, Barnes.” It’s all true. He’s proving her point just by being himself right now, making one of those over the top faces he has and adjusting the collar of his coat. It’s not even his coat, she reminds herself.

“You’re both right, actually. Y/n, you have, on occasion, proven to be a terrible wingwoman. Purely awful. Bucky, you too have the tendency to, uh, discourage people from talking to you. I mean, you’re always frowning. You have a great smile, man, learn how to use it.” Bucky reaches across the sink and hits Steve upside the back of his head.

“Come on guys, we had a good vibe going. Let’s not have any infighting before tonight. Bucky, are you absolutely positive that that’s what you want to wear?” All three of them are standing in from of the bathroom mirrors, presumably making themselves look better to go to the bar at 5:30 in the afternoon, which is actually not that early for them.

“This coat makes me feel sexy.” Bucky does an awkward spin move, throwing up finger guns at himself in the mirror. Y/n rolls her eyes dramatically, patting Sam and Steve on the back before walking towards the door.

“Yeah, nothing says I’m a creep like a man in a women's trenchcoat,” add Sam. Y/n leans against the frame of the door, watching her boys make fools of fixing themselves in the mirror.

“So, just to be clear, you’re saying I can’t come tonight, right?”

They look at each other and shake their heads. “That’s fine, I have a lot of…things I need to do today anyway. You know, spoons to clean, yarn to yarn.”

“Gotta get that yarn yarned,” says Sam, practicing his facial expressions in the mirror and holding a thumbs up in the direction of y/n.

“See? You’re going to have a much better time here than you would have at the stinky old bar! We’re doing you a favor.” Bucky pats y/n on the head, earning himself a confused look.

She turns away from them, exiting the room just in time to hear Steve say, “You still work at that bar, Buck.”

They’re home within five minutes, and y/n is left to her own devices. There are times when she wishes that she had more nights like this, alone and able to do what she wants. Right now is not one of those times. It’s not that she doesn’t have things she can do, there just aren’t any things that she wants to do.

After fucking around for a little while, a noise at the door startles her. Her mind immediately goes to danger, causing her to call Peggy, even though she’s on a date, and Bucky, even though she was told that she was usually the downfall of his fun nights.

For some reason, Bucky answers his phone, but he sounds pissed about it. “Buck, you need to come home, there’s something at the door.”

“There’s nothing at the door, y/n. You know it’s an old building, maybe it has something to do with the pipes. You wouldn’t be worried if you listened to pipe talk during our loft meetings.”

“Those are boring. I’m surprised you listen to those talks.”

“They make me feel more like a man.” He pauses before continuing,”You know you’re being a cooler right now, right? Do you see it now?”

Yes, she thinks. She definitely see’s it now. “Just come home.”

Bucky, Steve, Sam, and two girls that are along for the ride arrive at the apartment. They find y/n curled up on the couch with their baseball bat, and she almost hits Steve when he comes into the room.

“So, this is our roommate y/n,” introduces Bucky. “And this is the place. Bathroom is down that hall… and so is basically everything else. Y/n, could you help me find some, uh, bottlecaps in the your room.”

“Sure, what kind? I have twist offs and the pop kind.”

“You know I’m not actually here about bottlecaps- actually it doesn’t matter. Listen to me. That girl out there, for some reason, is sexually attracted to sad men. You understand now fantastic that is for me.”

“Yeah, wow, that’s a goldmine. Now I feel partially responsible for your sex tonight, so I have an idea.” Bucky and I call everyone to meet in front of the couches, a cooler of beer beside us.

“The game is true american, but with a sexy new twist. Clinton rules! Everyone pick your interns and remember-“

The loft mates join in at this part, “The floor is lava!”

“Wait, this doesn’t make any sense. What are the rules? How do you play this?” The girl that Bucky brought asks.

“It’s easy. The floor is lava, doves versus hawks, the couch is the Mason-Dixon Line, no cabinets,” explains Steve helpfully, choosing the blonde, Carrie, as his partner.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Vanya, the girl that Sam brought, is sitting on the table and drinking, definitely not playing, but Sam seems happy talking to her.

The game goes as smoothly as a game with no rules can go. The loft is a mess, and most of us are missing various articles of clothes, which is a good sign for Bucky. Y/n, Steve, Carrie, and Y/n are all sitting at the table, different levels of intoxicated, trying to figure out who has to go behind the hallway door and kiss, a Y/n original idea that she’s positive will fix her spot as not a cooler. On the count of three they all put up numbers on their foreheads, chaos enduring between Steve and Bucky, both telling Carrie different numbers.

In all the confusion, on three, Y/n and Bucky end up with the same number, meaning that they have to kiss.

“Shit,” swears Bucky.

Y/n and Bucky look at each other, and say again, “Shit.”

“No, come on guys, let us out of here. This isn’t what I meant when I said kiss, I obviously meant, uh, a metaphorical poetic kiss. Don’t leave me back here with him!”

“Well,” says y/n, leaning back against the wall, sliding down to the floor next to Bucky, with his head in his hands. “I guess we should do this, then. They aren’t going to let him out of here anytime soon.”

“Yep. Let me just-“ Y/n stands up, while Bucky stays on the ground, crouching.

“What are you doing? I’m up here.”

“I thought we were staying on the ground.”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with. Pucker up, Mr. Buck.” As soon as it’s out of her mouth, y/n grimaces, regretting a lot of things.

“Come on, don’t do that. You’re making it weirder than it already was.”

“Yeah, I regretted it immediately. I think this does prove that I’m your cooler.”

“Yeah, you think? It’s okay, Steve’s just gonna tell her about his heartbroken Peggy-struck heart. This might be the only time that he wants to be sadder than me.” They spend a few minutes arguing back and forth about various unimportant details, like if they’re going to stand or sit, where they’re going to put their hands, and if Bucky should be so nervous about this. At some point in time Bruce, y/n’s boyfriend, came along and decided to join the rest of them outside.

Finally, after the constant chanting of “kiss kiss kiss kiss” from the hallway to get to her, y/n says, “Come on, Buck, just be a man and kiss me!”

“No! Not like this.” His eyes go wide when he realizes what he just said, and he starts shaking his head before I even get my question out.

“What do you mean, not like this?” Bucky doesn’t give an answer, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He starts gesturing around wildly, trying to find something to say.

“No, I didn’t- it’s just not, like, you know- not like that.”

“Yeah, I’m out.” Before y/n can get another word in, Bucky is climbing out of the window. Without thinking, y/n yells at them to open the door, which they do. Steve and Sam are freaking out over Bucky, asking him all these questions, and Bruce is busy laughing about how Bucky would rather climb out of a window than kiss her. Luckily, Peggy is still thereto try and help her understand what’s happening.

Things dial down after that. Steve and Sam give Bucky a firm talking to and a night to think of over, and y/n goes to sleep alongside Bruce. She’s awoken in the middle of the night gm the same scratching that she heard earlier, so she goes to investigate.

Bucky must’ve heard it too, because he’s right there beside her with the baseball bat. Apparently their new neighbor has a dog that’s been causing all of the problems. It’s also the place where Bucky’s coat was supposed to go. As far as their neighbors go, it’s not the worst interaction they’ve had. This one only thinks they wear other people’s clothes and carry around bats.

“So, I guess you didn’t need to come over. Sorry I ruined your night.” They walk back to the hallway together, arms brushing against each other.

“Nah, it was probably for the best. French coat Bucky had a lot of unearned confidence, lot of random dance moves.”

They stand facing each other, y/n looking up into Bucky’s eyes. “Goodnight Buck.”

“Night, Y/n.” Bucky leans in, encouraged by y/n leaning in too. They’re lips touch, the kiss passionate and all at once. Bucky’s hands are in her hair, and as soon as they break appear she misses the touch.

“I meant a little something like that.”

This was so much fun to write! I love to concept of a new girl based au, feel free to send more of this or any other requests.

[artificialqueens]

If Samson and Delilah Lived Happily Ever After (Sashea) - Melon

A/N: Sasha is still unprepared but maybe now Shea is too. Slam poets AU part 2, this time they might actually speak to each other. This is a little more heavy on Sasha’s friendships than the last chapter. If you wanna squeal with me about gay shit, come talk to me at my fic blog @artificialmelon !

Part One

Why.

Why did she have to include a winky face.

Sasha asks herself this as she paces around her tiny studio apartment at two PM on Sunday, hands firmly planted on her waist in worry. It makes no sense. Why would she do such a completely stupid thing? Couldn’t she just write a note, like a normal person? Sasha is reasonably sure that winky face would be the reason Shea won’t be interested in her. She knows it. Shea wouldn’t think of the winky face as the dealbreaker, but she’d think that Sasha’s vibe would be a little off-putting, a little too much. Miniscule mistakes in the early stages can ruin a budding relationship, something Sasha knows well but chose to ignore when she added that fucking winky face.

Not that Sasha is planning their relationship, but it might lead somewhere, someday, and she doesn’t want her overuse of flirtatious punctuation to be the death of them. The winky face was just too bold, especially so soon.

“Oh my god, Sasha, shut up!”

Sasha looks up from her pacing to meet the eyes of an annoyed Peppermint. She’d barely realized how long-winded she’d become in her rant until Peppermint interjected. Rambling on about a single emoji does seem absurd, if Sasha thought about it objectively, but her heart just wouldn’t slow down.

on computer now so i’ll be able to respond faster

“I know, Pep, I know. It’s just- you didn’t see her. You don’t know.” Sasha says, falling back onto her beaten up sofa and pulling Vanya from his place on the floor onto her lap. She ignores his noise of complaint as she settles him on top of her, in desperate need of his support.

“No, I didn’t see Miss ‘God In Heels’, but I do know you. Any girl would be lucky to have you, and if she’s scared off by something tiny like this, she’s not the one,” Peppermint has a calming presence; she’s just one of those people that give the impression of being unbelievably kind. It drew Sasha to her initially, and annoys her now. “It’ll be fine, even if all the things you’re thinking do come true.”

Sasha groans, smushing her face into Vanya’s neck, as though all her problems would disappear if she couldn’t see them. Vanya accepts his fate as a comfort pillow at this point, not making any additional complaints. She’s quiet for a moment, silently accepting the fact that she’s being irrational.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

———-

The next week passes at a tortuous pace. Time stops for hours at a time, progress moving far too slowly for Sasha’s tastes. Every day, she goes to work, sells picture books to overexcited children and 50 Shades to blushing suburban moms. The bookstore is stagnant, uncaring and unchanging, but the feeling seems to follow Sasha throughout the day, regardless of whether she’s in the store or not. She just happens to feel it most deeply while she’s working, as she reads through books of poetry and is reminded of Shea. The books in the store are much more flowery than Shea’s work. Sasha decides Shea probably wouldn’t like them; coincidentally, Sasha doesn’t like them much either.

The world moves just a little bit faster as she closes up shop on Saturday night. The sign painted with the shop’s name sways gently in the wind.

The cold city air hits Sasha the moment she steps outside the comfort of her tiny corner of New York. The wind forces a blush onto her face, lungs protesting the assault. She pulls her coat tightly around her body, setting off quickly.

Quickly.

The week was like molasses, clinging to her skin until now, her escape. Sasha is left with only the cold, the sound of her feet hitting the sidewalk, and the excitement of knowing she would return to the bar in a matter of hours.

She, Aja, and Peppermint plan to meet at Sasha’s apartment two hours before the show, to paint their faces and plan outfits, like Sasha hasn’t had hers worked out for days. At the bar, Sasha’s friends would, as Peppermint put it, “Get to know Shea, maybe make Sasha regret all of her life choices.” Sasha’s actually looking forward to a fun night out with her friends, sweetened with the possibility of seeing Shea again.

As soon as she enters her apartment, Sasha knows she’s made a huge mistake. The electric heater and the speakers are both at maximum capacity, the way Aja likes it, and her lamps have been replaced by what appears to be every candle in the city, the way Peppermint likes it. The two both seem well on their way to tipsy, glasses of red wine hanging from their fingertips as they cackle about something or other - likely Sasha. Her spare key is set carefully on the side table, presumably by Peppermint, and a pair of heels Sasha recognizes as Aja’s are hanging precariously from Sasha’s coat hang.

“Hey Aja, why didn’t you put your heels on the fucking shoe rack like a halfway decent person?” Sasha asks fondly. Aja is an asshole, but Sasha finds herself liking her more and more.

“Because why? Because I wanted to,” Aja says with a flourish of her wine glass, almost spilling but narrowly avoiding a mess and a lecture. Sasha sets her bag next to Aja’s heels on the hang, turning on the lights in the same minute. Aja and Peppermint yell Sasha’s name in tandem, groaning because of the sudden light.

Sasha smiles at the continued protests of her friends. Being nine years younger than Peppermint, she never expected to end up as the mom friend. Wine changes people.

“Come on, we’ve gotta get ready.”

Begrudgingly, Peppermint leads Aja from the couch to the bathroom to get ready. Aja models for them in her outfit, posing in various increasingly sexual ways. Peppermint pushes Sasha into her bedroom to get her own clothes on.

Standing alone in the relatively cold bedroom, Sasha suddenly feels disconnected from the warmth just in the next room. She’s more grounded, taking these fleeting moments alone to touch base with herself, keep from being swept up in the glory of the night. She squeezes into her tight black pencil skirt and red heels, meeting her own eyes in the full length mirror. Tonight would be a good night. She might even talk to Shea tonight.

When Sasha returns, Pep is perched on her sink, finishing her eyes, and Aja is seated on the floor under her. Both women face her, and Sasha felt uncomfortable for a second as they appraised her, but relaxed when Pep grinned.

“I like it…but you could do with a little more skin,” Peppermint jokes, turning back to the mirror. Aja nods her agreement, but says Sasha should only fuck with her own personal style and Peppermint just loves showing off her cleavage too much. “Why shouldn’t I? I paid enough for them,” laughs Peppermint, adding a generous amount of highlighter to her chest in rebellion.

“We don’t all have those,” Aja replies, poking Peppermint’s breasts.

The rest of the getting-ready passes in a blur of laughter, music, and alcohol. Sasha is talked into switching her turtleneck for a translucent mesh shirt and pasties, something she knows she’ll regret. Before Sasha knows it, she’s walking down the sidewalk, arms linked with her favorite people, still giddy with the joy of new and old friends.

They roll into the bar mere minutes before the show starts, settling themselves in a small booth with a clear line of vision to the stage. A new host opens the show, introducing the first poet, someone Sasha doesn’t recognize but who’s clearly been here before. Lina or something. She does a piece on paranoia that Sasha likes. Everyone who stood on that stage is talented, in wildly different ways. Tina, or whatever her name is, embodies her poetry, conveying it with ease, pure articulation of her raw soul. Farrah’s is filled with flowers and sweet romance, a touch of bite when needed. Another act, named Valentina, charmed the audience with her beauty and ambition.

Until it’s Shea’s turn.

There is nothing like Shea Couleé. Every performer has talent, but in Sasha’s eyes, Shea is the definition of talent. The rest of the bar doesn’t move with Shea like Sasha does, but everyone feels her gravitational pull. Every eye stays on her as she begins to speak.

“Bare bones.

Raw. A warrior’s spirit in tattered clothes.

That is my word. my work.

I am bare bones. The flesh ripped away, torn from totality, And yet. Violence creates divinity. Exposed rib turns ivory.

Bone is more permanent, more useful than flesh.

Bone, when shattered and crushed, still has purpose.

The same cannot be said for the pliance of meat.

My bones Are worth something.

I am worth something.”

It’s short, but Shea’s always are. It’s how they’re intended to be. A piece so short should be lacking something, missing a stanza on its way to completion, but it doesn’t need the filler words. Surplus doesn’t belong in Shea Couleé’s world unless it’s in cash or casual conversation.

Sasha couldn’t look away, couldn’t even try to, which seems to be a recurring theme. She knows Peppermint and Aja will tease her for it later, but no amount of future embarrassment could convince Sasha to not watch Shea, even after her performance ended, even after it’s no longer socially acceptable for Sasha to follow Shea with her gaze. Nothing matters but getting as much of Shea as possible.

Shea locks eyes with Sasha as she walks off the stage, an unspoken promise between them. Sasha would stay this time, wait for Shea after the stage lights shut off and the patrons began filing out.

Shea would find her, and Sasha would let her.

The rest of the show means nothing. Peppermint’s laugh of earth to Sasha, Aja’s eyeroll pass over Sasha like water. She barely registers the two of them loudly discussing her, or their comedic attempts at catching her attention. Eventually, they give up with a sigh and something about how she’s too far gone at this point. Sasha almost feels the need to interject, but then Shea comes out for her second poem and it slips her mind.

“I would like to say, just before I start, that this is an invitation, not a command. Don’t go thinking I’m trying to be weird here,” Shea says. She doesn’t seem the type to preface herself with a warning of any kind. Shea wears hesitancy like last year’s winter coat, dated and ill-fitting, forgotten until somehow it made its way onto her body as a last resort. Sasha knows she’s about to do something incredibly dangerous.  

“She walked in here red lips and glory, wide rim glasses, margarita salt lining her throat, fingers dipped in whisky.

She intoxicates me.

She walked in here, made me want that second sip, left before I could taste it.

I have a theory that you belong on my tongue.

Hopefully, you agree.”

Sasha feels herself melt, trying and failing to keep from showing it. She’s giving into this person she’s never spoken to, who’s never heard her say a single word. Objectively, they mean nothing to each other, and in practice that’s true. They could both walk away right now, and their lives would barely change.

They wouldn’t.

Shea breaks eye contact first, stepping off the stage to let the host close out the show. Sasha turns to her friends, wild eyed.

“You guys have to go. Please. Or at least, like, stand by the bar and do not engage,” Sasha says, pleading with the last traces of humanity she knows are buried in her friends.

“What?” Peppermint smiles in disbelief, her tongue stud catching the dim lighting. Both she and Aja are staring at Sasha as though she’s said she’ll be moving to Alaska tomorrow morning.

“She’s going to come over here to talk to me, and I know you. Both of you. So I’m giving you a free pass to say anything you want, mercilessly dig into me for my middle school level crush on a woman I barely know, just as long as you do it when she’s not around. Now go. Go!” Sasha ushers her friends out of the booth, cringing at their wide smiles. Aja leaves with a crack about safe sex being good sex, and Peppermint blows Sasha a kiss as the two head towards the bar.

Sasha positions herself in the booth to look as nonchalant as possible, pulling out her phone to casually scroll through social media. She’s being chill. She’s a chill person, being chill.

That plan flies out the window the moment she sees Shea. Up close, she should be more godly. The confidence, the curve of her lips and cut of her jaw, they should all add up to an untouchable person. But instead, Shea is just a little more human than the rest of society. She is the earth, the forest, and every sea. Great, vast, and completely within Sasha’s grasp.

“Hi,” Shea says.

“Hi,” Sasha replies.

“I’m Shea,” she slides into the booth, across from Sasha.

“I know. I’m Sasha.”

“I know.”

They look at each other in silence for a long minute, finding certainty in their natural chemistry across ten words. Shea finds herself saying, “Can we skip this part?”

She’s glad she said it when Sasha smiles, nodding enthusiastically, and says, “Yes please,” as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, to skip the barest of introductions when they’ve never spoken before. The conversation pauses, spaces between them overflowing with certainty.

“Do you believe in language as a byproduct of thought, or thought as a bastard child of language?” Sasha says, stumbling over her own forwardness. Sasha watched Shea’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise accentuating her perfect features. To her credit, she recovers quickly, despite being faced with the unexpected.

“Obviously, thought came first. Without the ability to think, we would have no ability to speak. Just because speech couldn’t, like, be expressed before thought, doesn’t mean it didn’t exist. It was still there, just not articulated,” Shea responds. Sasha smiles, properly, displaying her teeth. She takes a sip of her drink.

“But was thought of those days even thought, relative to what we now know thought to be? Can we even consider the ideas that birthed language real thought?” Sasha says, and clearly she’s had this discussion before. Her voice has a playful edge, she’s all smiles and tilted head; it’s not fair at all, but Shea gets the sense that her answer doesn’t really matter, just that she can come up with one on the spot, and support it. She’s being tested. Teasingly, but undeniably.

“Was language even language? Can we consider ancient language true speech, relative to what we now know it to be? That’s circular, and the fact remains that the ancient concept of thought led to the ancient concept of language. If a caveman thinks, rock, get me rock, he’s still thinking, and that thought leads to him developing the words to tell someone to get him his fuckin’ rock,”

Shea knows she’s got Sasha pinned when Sasha’s only response is, “But why is the caveperson in your story a man?”

Sasha bursts into laughter, Shea soon following. The conversation is ridiculous in the first place. It’s entirely meaningless, but it gives them a sense of who the other person is. Shea is engrossed in their argument over her use of the gendered caveman when suddenly, Sasha is being pulled away from her.

Shea looks up to see a woman dragging Sasha from their booth, smiling brightly at Shea. She’s beautiful, the kind of vibrant that makes her look eternal in a transient world, and Shea wants to like her. If only she didn’t have Sasha by the wrist.

“Sorry, we’ve gotta go, it’s past her bedtime,” the woman jokes, Sasha shooting her a death glare before turning back to Shea. She gets close, leaning into Shea to murmur her goodbye. Shea holds the air in her lungs as Sasha enters her space, believing for a moment Sasha is about to kiss her.

“I agree with you, by the way. Clearly thought came first,” Sasha whispers in her ear, all traces of shyness erased in the first five minutes of their conversation. By the time Shea’s brain is working enough to realize what she is referring to, Sasha’s already being pushed out the door by her friends.

Shea steps out of the booth with purpose, running out into the street after Sasha. In the cold of night, her mind clears slightly, but not enough to inhibit her. The women turn to face her, but Shea only notices Sasha. She needs to do this.

Stepping forward, Shea moves to cup Sasha’s face, but acts too slowly. Sasha reaches her first, wraps her arms around Shea’s neck, pulling her down to meet Sasha’s lips. Sasha’s tenacity is unexpected, but then again, everything about her is.

The kiss isn’t slow and soft, the way first kisses are meant to start. Sasha meets Shea’s lips with an unstoppable force, like Shea is the immovable object she’s been searching for her whole life. Their meeting is explosive. Shea lets Sasha bite her lip, opens her mouth willingly when she feels Sasha’s tongue tracing the same path. She vaguely recognizes the sound of Sasha’s friends whistling and catcalling them, but the part of her that cares is shut down by the feeling of Sasha’s tongue meeting hers.

Shea’s hands are reaching for Sasha’s hair, tangling in the messy blonde curls. Sasha pulls her closer, presses their bodies together, lets her hands drop from Shea’s neck to her waist. The kiss is good. Really good. Recreate a million times over the course of the next fifty years kind of good. Shea pushes that thought to the back of her head.

It’s over too soon, but it must’ve lasted a solid minute. Sasha’s friend’s yells died out about fifteen seconds in, and by the time they part, the two are standing awkwardly instead of smiling. The one Shea doesn’t know mouths what the fuck to Aja. Shea and Sasha stand, foreheads touching, sharing each other’s air for long, stretching moments, before they’re interrupted.

“So as cute as it is to watch you two make out, let’s not do that now,” Aja says, teasingly, but with a degree of truth to her voice. The other woman nods, looking as though she wants to say something, but holding back. Sasha pulls away, a regretful smile on her lips.

“I’ll see you next week,” she whispers, though there’s no illusion of privacy for either of them.

Shea watches her leave once more, afraid that the moment she looks away, Sasha will be gone. Soon enough, Sasha’s gone anyways, around a corner and out of sight. Shea knows she never wants to experience Sasha leaving ever again. She also knows that, inevitably, she will.

At least, for tonight, she’s got the fresh memory of Sasha’s mouth on hers, the feel of Sasha pressed against her. That’s enough for her. For now.