#and look where you are now. a hell of a lot closer to the nazis you were comparing jewish people to

[mewtonian-physics]

saw someone say 'nazionist' today.

you know you can criticize the israeli government without bringing nazis into it, right?

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 28 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N/Trigger Warnings: This chapter is heavier than usual and depicts some of the events found in episode 9 of Band of Brothers. Please be cautious if you choose to read about these events.

“How could you possibly be so stupid as to be a stone in our shoe now?” Lewis Nixon looked less than enthused about the sudden reappearance of one JAG-Corp lawyer Ruth Sharpe.  In fact, she was entirely sure that the foul mood he had already been in (she had read enough of Dick’s letters to know that Lew’s mood was getting worse) had probably been compounded by her sudden appearance. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Ruth retorted, crossing her arms and glaring at him.  “I made it this far just fine on my own with like—two guards getting me here.” 

“Here is Germany, you dumbass.” 

“Wow, really?  I didn’t know,” Ruth replied dryly.  “Is there a war on, too?” 

“Damn it, Ruth!” Nixon pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You are gonna get yourself killed and then I’m just gonna be eternally guilty of that.” 

“No, I’ll be eternally guilty of getting myself killed.” 

“You’re the worst.” 

“You missed me.” 

“You didn’t tell Dick,” Nixon pointed out in a whiny tone.  “You think showing up now—when we’re so close to winning this thing—he’s gonna be happy to see you?” 

“Well no, but I’m not doing it to make people happy.” 

“You’re here to….to do what exactly?  Record war crimes?” Nixon mumbled out in annoyance. 

“Officially, yes.  Off the books…I’m here to get my kid brother.  His plane went down somewhere near Berlin and I think he got taken by the Germans.” 

All at once, Nixon’s features seemed to shift.  He stared at the ground for a long moment, a frown growing on his face.  “You know the likelihood—” 

“I know the probability.  And it doesn’t matter.  I’m here now and I’m bringing him home,” Ruth insisted.  “And I’m not stepping foot off of this damned continent until I have him.” 

Nixon just gave a heavy sigh and then straightened up.  “Alright, fine.  But you’re explaining this all to Dick.” 

“I figured as much.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also true to her predictions, while most of the men in Easy Company were glad to have a familiar face and one as kind as hers around, neither Dick nor Nixon was happy about her putting herself in danger by being on the front.  Dick seemed to buy her excuse about war crimes more than Nixon did and the matter was settled definitively by Sink expressing that they had needed a member of JAG-Corp out there for quite a while anyways. 

In two days, Ruth was due to meet up with another company that was headed towards the Stalag and that’s where her path with Easy Company would yet again diverge.  But for the time being and as they traveled through Germany, Ruth was happy to be stuck with a group of men that she believed to be the best of the best.  They were honorable and good and brave—what more could she really ask for?

Though she didn’t particularly agree with taking over a civilian home and literally kicking a family out of the house, Ruth was glad to be somewhere closer to where she needed to be.  Every step mattered and counted, after all. 

Ruth sucked in a breath of smoke, pouring over her notebooks of evidence that she had been collecting throughout the whole war.  If nothing else, she was going to have one hell of a portfolio of convincing evidence to get these Nazis put on Death Row.  The cigarette in her hand was almost out and Ruth honestly didn’t know how long she’d been sitting in the silence of this room. 

“You smoke a lot more now.” 

At that, she glanced over.  Ruth wasn’t surprised to find Dick Winters standing in the doorway of the room, expression almost unreadable as he watched her.  “I’m a lot more stressed out now than I used to be, to be fair.” 

“I guess that is fair,” Dick said quietly. 

Ruth pressed the cigarette out and then gestured at the seat beside her.  “You can sit. I’d say it’s a free country but we both know that would be a lie.” 

A wry smile crossed Dick’s features as he sat down beside her.  For a moment, neither of them spoke.  The simple fact of the matter was that there was a whole lot of history between the two of them and it just sat there in the space between—waiting to be addressed, waiting to even be mentioned or felt.  

“No word on your brother yet?” 

“Not yet,” Ruth said quietly.  “I’ve just got this…feeling—I can’t explain it.  I just know he’s out there and waiting for me.” 

“Then he is.” 

“That’s a lot of faith from the supposed Mennonite.” 

Dick just rolled his eyes. “You know I’m not a Mennonite.” 

“I know.  But you’ve got faith I envy sometimes,” Ruth admitted, fiddling with her fingers as she sat there.  “And I really do mean it when I say thank you.  I just—I can’t leave him out here on his own.  He’s just a kid.” 

“You always put yourself in a position to help more people.  There’s nothing selfish about what you do.” 

“I wonder where I learned that,” Ruth flashed a genuine smile in his direction.  “I think that you might be the best person I’ve ever known.  And when this thing is all over, I really hope that you find happiness, Dick.” 

“You know,” Dick said slowly, eyes seeming to peer straight into her soul.  “I hope that when you find this other guy that you’re failing to mention—that you tell him you love him.” 

“I—” 

“You forget that I know you better than most, Ruth.  I’m happy for you.  I just hope it all works out. 

“Yeah me too.” 

“Well I’m headed to grab some lunch and make sure Lew hasn’t drowned himself.  Do you want to come?” 

“Absolutely,” Ruth let out a breath of relief at the changing of topics.  The reality of her feelings and emotions was just too much for her to take at the moment.  And she knew that the faster they got off the topic, the faster the both of them would feel better.  

She had never meant to break his heart and she absolutely meant that.  And as they began walking from the building, Ruth knew that Robby had been right.  She had loved Dick Winters—and it was a whole lifetime ago and it was far too late to mend that.  But she was done running from love.  She had been given a chance with Robby and she was not going to waste it. 

Before they had even made it three steps out of the building though—someone was running up to them and breathless.  Something was wrong.  Both she and Dick felt it within their bones.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second that their cars came into view of the camp, Ruth knew.  She knew the simple and horrific truth of the matter without even having to fully look.  Because Liesel had told her—hadn’t she?  That they had been rounding people up?  That they had been killing them by the thousands? 

There was a reason why Liesel awoke gasping for air most nights and unable to find peace or even solace.  And this was the exact reason why. 

Ruth couldn’t help the fact that a gasp tore from her lips at the sight of the people at the gates.  Her hand immediately clutched onto Lewis Nixon, also sitting in the back of the car, like he was a damn lifeline.  Surely, none of this could be real.  Surely, this was not the end of humanity like they were seeing in front of them—

But even as Ruth exited the car, everything in her was screaming to run the other way.  This is what Liesel had escaped from.  This was the fate of every person in her mother and father’s family and Ruth viscerally felt it within her chest.  It was knotting her lungs up and stealing away her breath.  

God, if they had discovered Abe was underage in any way they would’ve either killed him or sent him to a place like this. 

She had come to the front-lines to find her brother and to find Robby.  But she had found the worst of humanity’s crimes.  She needed her notebook, needed her pen—needed to record what these people had gone through, needed to get this to someone higher than Sink and higher than General Spaatz.  This needed to go straight to the president or Churchill or—

Her mind raced as the gates unlocked and then someone was gently pulling on her elbow.  Ruth glanced up, almost unable to tear her gaze away from the figures before her.  Dick was standing there, a concerned look on his face.  “Stay close, alright?” 

Finding no words to agree, she just gave a nod.  These people were starving and beaten and nearly destroyed.  “Dick—” 

“You speak German, right?” 

“A little,” came her timid reply.  Ruth couldn’t find it in her to be the bold or brave lawyer that she had been even a week ago when she had demanded and bullied her way onto the front-lines.  She was utterly speechless and didn’t know what to say or what to do about any of what they were witnessing. 

A few moments later, Liebgott joined them up front to help communicate.  More and more just seemed to be pouring out of the huts.  How many people had been trapped here?  How many had died here?  

Communication was slow.  “The guards left this morning,” Liebgott translated.  “They burned some of the huts first….with the prisoners still in them, sir.  Alive.” 

Ruth was only half-listening.  Her gaze had been wandering around the camp as the men were speaking.  But someone had caught her eye—someone who was staring at her intently.  She wondered if it was because she was a woman.  How long had it been since they had last seen a woman?

Retrieving her water from her pack, Ruth crossed over to the man.  He was a gaunt figure, hunched and tired, with a darkness under his eyes.  Just as she offered the water, the man’s face seemed to brighten.  

“American?” His English was surprisingly good—with only a slight accent that deterred her.  

“Yes.  You speak English?” 

“Rutha, I’m offended you don’t recognize me without my hair or pot-belly.  I know it’s not Passover but you are the last person I was expecting to see here.” 

The minute that he had said Rutha, she had known.  Known exactly who this was.  

And all at once, Ruth’s heart shattered.  Because those eyes.  Those familiar dark eyes—she had grown up seeing them at every Passover, at every Bar and Bat Mitzvah—it was her uncle Yosef—her father’s brother.  It was him alright—indeed missing the pot-belly and his dark beard and long hair.  But it was him.  

“Uncle Yosef?” Ruth’s voice cracked out the words.  Her heart felt as though a light were beaming straight through.  

Yosef practically collapsed into her arms and Ruth let out a choked sound of surprise and utter joy.  How—how had she found him?  After all of these years of no communication—and she went to the front to find Abe and Robby, not to find her other family members.  But here he was, directly put into her path.  

“Hey, Ruth—” Nixon’s voice flooded her ears. He looked concerned and wary at the fact that she was embracing and holding one of the men but Ruth could not be deterred. 

She pulled away from the hug, hands going straight to Yosef’s face.  “You got skinny, Uncle Sef.” 

“You are still bossy.” 

At that, Ruth gave a slight laugh through her tears.  “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“Me?  You are supposed to be big-shot lawyer in New York!” 

“Holy shit,” Nixon breathed out the words, glancing between the two of them. “Is this—” 

“My father’s brother,” Ruth explained.  “But if you’re here—” 

“Magda was at the next camp.” 

Ruth felt the horror in her body rise again.  She glanced over at Nixon, who was stricken as he stood there.  “Other camp?” Nixon breathed out. 

“The women and children were sent to the next camp at the next railroad station.  Just down the road,” Yosef said.  “We have to go—” 

“You need rest,” Ruth immediately snapped back to being in charge.  “You need food, water, and sleep.  I will go.” 

“But—” 

“I will find Aunt Magda, I promise,” Ruth looked over at Nixon.  “Can you please take care of him?” 

Nixon just gave a breathless nod.  “Sure thing.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Ruth thought that she was in any way prepared for what she would find at the next station, she was sadly mistaken.  She had managed to keep the bile down—barely able to form words at the sight of the women in the camps.  They were even weaker and smaller than the men had been and it made her want to weep. 

She had dragged along a few of the men to help her try to alleviate the suffering.  Among them was Speirs, Webster, Lipton, and Chuck Grant.  At the sight of the men, the women had cowered in fear and Ruth had removed her helmet as quickly as possible.  Between her broken German and Webster’s translation, there was a small modicum of order that was being made. 

But when one of the women started pulling on her arm and Ruth saw the bones of children, Ruth could not contain the sickness that was in her.  She promptly threw up, unable to even form a single coherent thought. 

Father, make it all stop.  Just take them all away from this. 

And through the relief efforts, through the blankets, through the broken communication, Ruth’s gaze was scanning the crowd for Magda Sharff.  She inquired and asked about her aunt—a seamstress—in the best of terms that she could muster. Finally, one of the women approached her. 

In very broken terms through Webster—Ruth found out that Magda was long gone.  She had been in one of the huts that had been burned back when they started trying to get rid of them all.  There would be nothing left of Magda to find.  

Something in Ruth’s chest died right then and there.  How was she supposed to go back to her Uncle Yosef and explain that his wife was dead?  That she had been alive two days prior but she was now gone?   There was nothing that was going to make that any better.  There was nothing that could possibly comfort him in this dark time. 

“It’s getting late.  The sun will be gone soon,” Speirs murmured to her.  “We need to head back.” 

Ruth just gave a nod.  “Of course.” 

And as they were leaving and the crowd of women was trying to cling to them—begging them to stay, to not leave them there—it was sheer chaos.  And amidst that chaos was the other shining light that Ruth was unaware of. 

Someone was screaming as loud as they could and it sounded vaguely like her name.  “Is—” Ruth glanced over at the men from Easy Company.  “Is someone calling me?” 

“RUTH!  RUTH!  RUTH SHARPE!” 

Somehow, in the midst of the crowd, Ruth had caught sight of someone she had been certain was dead.  A gasp tore from her lips and Ruth began moving through the crowd before any of the men could stop her.  “Sveta!  SVETA!” 

And when the two women collided in a heap of limbs and tears and hugs, no one quite knew what to make of it.  But right in front of Ruth was Sveta Braun—Liesel’s older sister.  Ruth couldn’t find the strength in her body to get off of the ground as Sveta clung to her, weeping at the sight of her cousin. 

“You’re here—” Sveta choked out the words. 

“Liesel’s in England!” Ruth burst the words out. 

Sveta stopped in her tracks, tears spilling from her eyes as she shook.  “Liesel—Liesel’s dead—” 

“No!  No she’s not.  She made it to England!  I’ve been taking care of her for the past year.  Your sister is alive.” 

And as Ruth sat there, on the ground of a camp, in the midst of other women who were reverently watching the interaction, she knew that miracles did, in fact, happen.  And now she needed one for Abe and Robby. 

[independentzaun]

Family issues and Zombies

Modern zombie Apoc starter for @cold-blooded-candy

((Quick few back story notes just so we have something to reference (if I got anything wrong here feel free to let me know I’m entirely willing to change and adapt). Silco adopted Jinx. Tried to adopt Vi, but couldn’t get it done in time. Vi blames Silco for being a homewrecker, and doesn’t know Silco tried to keep the sisters together. They do not have a good relationship at all. Vander is dead (car crash/accident), and things were complicated between him and Silco ala estranged spouses. Most of the bad stuff got blamed on Silco be it true or not, Vander is why Silco has his scars/bad eye. There’s a lot Vi doesn’t know/understand, and neither Vander nor Silco ever told her all of it. Silco has an arrest record for one reason or another. Silco has currently gotten separated from Jinx (who has Sevika with her) and everything is going to hell because zombies. With that, here we go.))

It would be easy to assume a man in his forties who was perhaps inching closer to fifty than he’d like to admit would have problems moving through town on foot while avoiding zombies. That assumption would be very wrong with Silco moving through a neighborhood he knew like the back of his hand. Silco had boots on that had seen him through a hundred punk shows, protests, and late night excursions. A heavy black leather jacket that went down to his hips, and a vest under it with a “nazi punks fuck off” patch on one side and another patch that said simply ACAB on the other. He hadn’t worn the vest in a few years not having had the opportunity to go to a show, but looking into his closet with a mix of frantic worry and the cold mindset that had gotten him out of so many bad situations before Silco simply hadn’t been able to resist grabbing it. Thankfully it still fit perfectly as did the rest of his outfit, and the backpack strapped to him that was perhaps half full didn’t impede him all that much as he moved.

His bad eye currently covered with an eye patch not wanting to take the chance that one of his decorative contact lenses would fall out Silco stalked through an alleyway. He’d spent practically his entire life in this town, and it showed as he took a side cut here or hopped a fence there or climbed up a fire escape only to move across the roof tops for a few buildings. A life spent with the first few years being chased by police or shop owners, the racist skinheads he’d fought more than once trying to grab him, or even just having fun with a friend running around all made it easy for the man to avoid zombies and get to where he was going with little issues. A shortcut through an abandoned apartment building did lead to one short deadly moment during which a zombie turned around growling in front of the window he needed to go through. Without hesitating for a second Silco simply shoved the makeshift spear he’d made out of a baseball bat he’d carved down, and a butcher knife attached to it with a few leather straps as well as duct tape and glue through the zombies face into it’s skull destroying the brain and kept going. It wasn’t something he enjoyed, but Silco had already seen more than enough examples of just what could come from allowing a zombie to live and get close to you to know he couldn't allow that.

Eventually he got to the college Jinx was supposed to be having her first semester at praying that she was still there, and with Sevika by her side. Pulling out a solar powered walkie talkie he hissed into it. “Jinx! Sevika! Are either of you there? Come in...Fuck!” Clicking it off Silco shoved it back into a cargo pocket on his pants, and continued through the college. There had been a disastrously high amount of zombies roaming around here near the start of the infection, but by now most had either died or left or gotten distracted and simply stayed in one building or another with nothing prompting them to do anything. Spotting the building that had the store for necessities and text books and snacks Silco frowned before heading that way figuring it was as good an idea as any. Slipping into it he glanced around hissing out Jinx’s name, and then Sevika’s before heading towards the food section first. Food, and then first aid was his plans. At some point however Silco heard a foot step and spun around pulling out the knife that had been sheathed on his belt as he’d put the spear down to scavenge. Blade very clearly held in a steady grip that spoke of a willingness to use it Silco paused for a moment realizing who was there, and turned his head just a touch to get a better look at her with his good eye.

“Vi?...Of course…” He shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone could survive this shit it was Vi, and as much as he felt that immediate rush of anger and resentment rising up there was also weirdly a faint small tiny hint of relief deep down inside not that he would ever admit it. Glancing past her to make sure she wasn’t followed he put the knife down by his side and took a breath shaking his head. “Look we don’t have time for a long conversation, or yelling. Not with the biters around so making this quick I got separated from her. Sevika should be with her and I need to find her…” Lips tightening a bit his scars twitched before he spoke again. “I suppose. We. Need to find her. Now we have our issues, but we both want Jinx safe and whole.” What ever issues he had with Vi. With the daughter he’d tried so hard to keep side by side with Jinx, but had failed and instead of keeping his family whole and together had seen it split. There was no doubt in Silco’s mind that here and now in this wasteland of death if there was one thing they shared it was that need to ensure Jinx was safe.

“So either we can work together, and not get in each others way or we can keep stumbling over each other as we look for her and risk pulling the biters down on us.” The knife slipped into it’s sheath as he stared at her. “Because I’ll never stop looking for her. So what’s it going to be Vi?” The woman was, he was sure, smart enough to know two people together was far safer than one. At least assuming the two people could trust each other enough to work together, and Silco knew quite well you didn’t have to like someone to work together. There was of course a soft growling sound from somewhere be it in the back of the building, or outside. Still far too many zombies, and too much risk to stay where they happened to be at that moment for long.

[beaversatemygrandma]

Alright. New Storytime. About how i scared a bunch of kids using pokemon and a wild boar.

So, back when i was 14, i was dragged around to a lot of bug out ‘training’ things by my mom bc she was following my stepdad around as he was getting together with his fellow white supremacists and going through weekends of ‘camping’ under the guise of ‘what if Obama decided to put all white people in internment camps? we gotta be ready to go off the grid.’ You know, just whatever the fuck neo-nazis think about. I don’t get them. But i was around them a bit too much tbh. Didn’t enjoy it to say the least. Long explanation short. I was a kid. There were other kids. I had a DS and a weird knowledge of pokemon and related creepypastas to terrorize the other children with.

So. There i was hanging out with the few other kids. I had just been playing FireRed and caught my shiny rhyhorn in the safari zone and decided it was time to do something else. I gathered the other kids into a tent and we were exchanging some scary stories. I ended up going with Hypno’s lullaby. You know, the one about hypno stealing kids and such. I even borrowed one of their phones strictly to play the lavender town music alongside the story. It was getting dark. This tent was a little distant from the camp. We were out in the middle of nowhere, FL, where it’s woodsy, swampy, and we know damn well there are wild boars nearby. Funny thing about the boars and hypno. Hypno looks sort of like them. Just bipedal and more tapir than pig-like. But come on. Evil Pig.

There we were, hiding in a dark tent, post-hypno’s-lullaby, we hear rustling coming from the bushes nearby. We have one flashlight between the four of us. Animal noises, short grunts, rustling, and a bunch of scared kids. I decide it was time to attempt to make it back to camp where it was light and there were adults.  Just a random fact to say just how dangerous it is to be around wild boars. Those guys are HUGE. They are MEAN. And by god they’re territorial. I slip out of the tent, telling the other kids to stay back. Because of the ideals of our parents, i was armed. I didn’t have a gun on me, mind you, but mine Was in my tent just at the camp. I had bear spray. One kid pops her head out of the tent and tells me, “It’s nearby, be careful. It might take you too.” And me, fully serious, “I know, I’m looking around. It’ll be fine.” I take the flashlight, shine it around the woods nearby, only to see eyes reflecting back at me from the bushes. I stop, staring at the animal so close to us. I hear the snorts of a snub-nosed creature. Unaware of the boars that lived nearby. I had no clue what this thing was. Suddenly, there was the sound of heavy footsteps on the mud. I see the creature moving closer. The same girl says, “OH MY GOD! That’s a Hypno!” And I’m just thinking, “What have I started?” It was a boar. I go right back into the tent. We all go silent, shut off all the lights, and just listen to the surroundings. I hear the snorts. The hooves. The scuffling in the mud. Then gunshots echo across the clearing. One of the adults had caught onto the fact that there were boars nearby. One of the guys, not even a parent, comes near the tent and he’s scaring off this huge ass boar and sends it running into the woods. I come out to see this scrawny tall 30-something man standing outside the tent with a rifle and his swastika tattoo blatantly out on his pec under his open biker jacket. He asks if we’re alright, finds that we’re fine, knows the boar won’t come back after those gunshots, and then goes back to camp. We’re all sitting in the tent, now with the lights back on and the flaps open, just wondering about how close we were to getting taken away just like the kids in Hypno’s Lullaby. Then one kid was essentially like ‘you know that song was a banger’ and starts playing it again. Another kid screams. I’m just there like ‘hell yeah it is.’ (Loosely, this was like 2013 before kids were saying banger and before i was casually saying hell, but i digress) Because Lavender Town’s theme absolutely slaps.

[vdlest]

The Roommate

Characters:

TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Neighbor!Reader

Summary:

Bucky Barnes as your neighbor is a good thing, especially when you need company. You two instantly became friends ever since he heard you listening to classic songs, and that you prefer "old but classic" stuff. To make the long story short, you fell for him, but when you confessed your feelings for him, he avoided you. And you thought that's how your beautiful start would end.

Warning:

Fluff

This is why you sometimes hate Sundays, you have nothing to do, and you're bored as fuck.

There's nothing to watch on Netflix, you have no new books to read, and no new episode of a podcast to listen to. So at the moment, you are just lying on your bed, staring blankly at your room's ceiling.

If only you're still living with your ex-roommate, Ana, the two of you must've talking gossips and having conversations about life nonstop. But she's not here since she moved to a different State last week already for a new job opportunity. She didn't want to leave you but she can't say no to a job opportunity, and you can't keep her from achieving her dream as well. So here you are, hoping that your next roommate will be just like Ana.

You were about to grab the remote control of your television inside your room when your phone vibrated, signaling that you have a text message.

Hey, I saw your post on the internet and that you're looking for a roommate. I'm interested and hoping we could meet today somewhere so we could discuss it.

You frowned a bit when you noticed that the sender of the message didn't mention any name nor introduce himself/herself.

Just when you're about to reply to this text, you received another message from the same number.

I'm Sam by the way.

Now that this sender finally introduced himself/herself, your confusion vanished, and decided to meet with this potential roommate of yours. Although you're still not quite sure whether this Sam is a guy or a girl, nonetheless, that's not important. What's important for you is that he or she is not a bad person and a heartbreaker.

You agreed to meet with your potential roommate in a nearby coffee shop in an hour. So you got up and went your way to your shower to prepare for this unexpected meeting.

The moment you entered the coffee shop you and your potential roommate agreed to meet on, you grab your phone and dialed the number of the person you're meeting, Sam.

Well, at least, you're not gonna die out of boredom. ───────────────────❥

"Hello?" you began when you heard that Sam already accepted your call, "This is Y/N. I'm already here in the coffee shop. Can you like raise your hand so I could see you?" you asked.

You roam your eyes around as you wait for Sam to answer in the other line.

"I'm right behind you," a familiar voice spoke on the other line.

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard that familiar voice.

You slowly turn around and see for yourself if your hunch is right about that familiar voice.

Hell, you are right.

It was him. It was Bucky.

It was the man you fell for.

Your eyes met his blue eyes when you face him. He was still holding his phone to his hear when you two face each other.

Seeing him now made you remember how you told him that you like him and that you're starting to fall for him already, and at the same time, you remembered how he walked out of your apartment and broke your heart into pieces. He left without any words. He just left and avoided you from then on.

Well, not until this day came.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you asked him straight on his face as you end your call with your supposed to be a potential roommate and put your phone inside your bag, "And what kind of sick joke this is?"

Bucky took a deep breath as he moves a step closer to you, "You have every right to be mad at me, and I won't question it. I've been a jerk, an asshole, I get it. But I was hoping you'd listen to me," he said.

You scoffed, "Listen to you? Listen to the guy who walked out on me on the night that I confessed my feelings? That's a bit absurd, don't you think?" you sarcastically smiled at him as you ask him. You shook your head, "This is going nowhere. So long, old friend."

You were about to walk past him when he gently grabbed your wrist to stop you from walking away from him.

"Please, Y/N. I'm begging you," he made you face him again, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to avoid you as much as I didn't mean to love you."

Love you? He loves you?

He nodded, "Y/N, that night you told me that you like me and that you are actually falling for me, I was the happiest man alive. But that happiness faded away the moment I remembered who I am, and who I was. Instantly, I realized that you don't know me that well for you to love me that easily," he explained.

"Let's say you really do love me and that there's still I need to know about you," you pull back your hand away from him and crossed your arms in front of your chest, "Why tell me now? Why confess to me right now?"

"Because I fucking love you damn much already," he answered back immediately. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a second before he started talking again, "I tried my best to forget you, to forget what I feel for you but it's fucking too impossible. So I thought that if I'd let you know who I really am, who I was, I'll leave you the choice whether you still want to be with me or not."

You can't believe that this is happening right now.

A month ago, you realized that you don't have every time in the world to take your time to confess your feelings for Bucky, so you did confess to him. However, he broke your heart. And now here you are, you are very tempted to kiss him right now but you fought the urge to since you are curious about who he really is.

Bucky extended his hand towards you, "Come with me."

You took a glance at his hand before you look at him again, "I don't know, Bucky," you looked down and shook your head, "You already broke my heart and I don't think I have enough trust in you to come with you."

He chuckled, "You have a swiss knife on your bag, you have a pepper spray, if I do something vile to you, use it. I won't fight it," he assured.

Despite the heartbreak he gave you, you won't deny the fact that he's still charming to you. So yes, you ended up saying yes and coming with him.

➽──────────────────❥

"What the hell are we doing in the Smithsonian museum, Bucky?" you ask him as you both walk inside the museum.

It was a long drive from NYC to DC. You fell asleep the whole time you two were on the road. You wanted to ask him why does he have to take you to DC, but you were too tired to give a damn. So you let him take you to the place that will show you who he really is.

But you never thought you'd end up here in the Smithsonian Museum.

He didn't answer you, instead, he leads the two of you inside the exhibit made for the legacy of Captain America, Steve Rogers.

You chuckle and shook your head as you both walk inside the exhibit, "If we're planning to steal Cap's shield, I hate to break it to you but there's a new Captain America already," you joked.

"Yeah, I know," he casually answered, "I know him."

Your brows furrowed as you look at him, "The former Captain America or the new one?" you asked him, not sure if he's kidding or not.

"Both of them," he sighed and stopped walking. He faces you, "Before we proceed," he grabbed your hand and sighed again, "I want you to know that I love you, I really do. I also want you to know that I'm sorry for breaking your heart, for hurting you, but there's a lot of reason why I had to do it."

Your heart melted the moment he told you that he loves you. It wasn't the first time, but it feels like it. You wanted to tell him that it doesn't matter who he was and who he is because, for you, love is love. It doesn't give a damn about anyone's real identity. But you two have come a long way to back out now.

"Ready?" he asked you.

You nodded, "Yeah. I'm ready."

You and Bucky walked a few seconds more, but your body froze the moment you saw his picture inside Captain America's exhibit. He was beside Captain Steve Rogers.

"Battle tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission, taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division."

"Bucky?" you murmured when your eyes landed on the picture of the guy standing next to you. You took a glance at Bucky and he was just looking at you and what your reaction will be. You look over Bucky's shoulder and saw a portrait of him plastered in a glass. You automatically walked there and check it for yourself.

"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country."

There's both so much and too much to see in this exhibit, not the Captain America part, but the part where you realize that your neighbor, the guy you fell for is actually not the man you thought he is.

Beside Bucky's glass mosaic, you saw a video presented near it. It was Bucky and Captain Rogers.

"You weren't really kidding when you said that you knew the former Captain America," you said when you saw Bucky on your peripheral, looking at you, watching you.

"He's my best friend, and even he's gone already, he still is," he said.

You and Bucky walked around the exhibit more. He also showed you around Captain America's exhibit and even showed you the uniform he wore during his Howling Commando days.

You have no idea what to think or feel at the moment, but one thing's for sure, your love for him didn't fade away even if you knew who he really is and who he was, not even after he told you that he was the infamous Winter Soldier. You still feel the same for him and you have no idea why. Maybe because love is love.

After you two went ou the Smithsonian Museum, you two walked around the National Mall.

"Why did you think that showing me these would change my mind about you?" you asked him, breaking the silence between the two of you.

"Because I--"

You cut him off, "Because you assassinated people in the past?" you stopped from walking and faced him, "Or because you are a hundred and six years old man?"

"Y/N, you know---"

You cut him off again, "No, I don't know, Bucky. So tell me," you chuckled and shook your head, "Does these things supposed to change my mind? My heart? What I fucking feel for you? Well, sorry it didn't! Because even after I found out that you are Cap's best friend, that you were one of his Howling Commandos, that you were the Winter Soldier, and that you are an Avenger, I still feel the same way for you, I still see you as the guy I fell in love with, I still see you as my neighbor who likes Marvin Gaye so much that he listens to it through night and day, I still see you as Bucky Barnes," you told him.

The whole time you two were walking around the museum up to this scenic place in DC, you have nothing in mind aside from the fact that you were actually fascinated about who he really is.

Finding out that he's an avenger, that he's making this world a better place and saving it from going chaotic made you love him even more. Even the fact that he's a hundred and six years old man doesn't bother you at all and doesn't change how you see him.

"And if those things you showed and told me why you broke my heart, then I must tell you," you wiped your tears away, "You just wasted your time because it didn't change the fact that I love you. You told me that you're giving me the choice whether I still want to be with you or not, and I made my choice now, Bucky," you walked closer to him and held his right cheek, "I want to be with you."

Bucky held your hand that was on his cheek, and your eyes landed on his gloved hand because now you know why he was always wearing a leather jacket and covering his hand with gloves.

So you grabbed his hand and slowly remove the glove he was wearing, when you look at him, he was surprised by what you did.

"This is the hand that I will always hold onto, the hand that I will always choose to hold," you smiled at him.

You finally felt his vibranium hand on your cheek as he wipes your tears away, "I'm sorry if I had to hurt you that way. I'm sorry for breaking your heart, but I'm already here and I will not leave you," he pulled you closer to him and kissed your forehead, "I got you now and there's nothing else I could ask for," he pulled you again and this time it was the tip of your nose he chose to kiss, "I love you," he said before he finally claims your lips with his.

His lips dance with yours, and with every sway, you felt his longing, his love, and care for you. As cliche as it sounds, it was truly like your love for each other. It was pure and true.

"Who's Sam by the way?" you asked him after you two kissed, "Wait, Sam Wilson as in the Falcon?"

He nodded, "Yeah, the new Captain America. I asked him if I could use his name because I know you won't answer my calls," he said and sighed, "Anyway, you might have to take down your post about looking for a roommate."

You frowned, "And why is that?" you asked him.

"Because I'll be moving in with you," he revealed, which made your eyes widened in surprise, "Only if you want to of course."

You chuckle as you nodded, "I would love that."

"Just to be sure, you're my girlfriend now, right?" he asked you.

"For a hundred and six years old man, you're the most slow-moving one," you joked and run your fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms around you, "I'm yours and you're mine, Bucky Barnes."

-v.dl

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Do you have any Sterek recs where Derek is like, cocky/confident to the point of assholey and gets humbled by Stiles cause he actually has to work to be with him?

Hi anon! @kevaaronday made this list for you!

She Devil’s, Singles and Lumberjacks by noviceliterati

(1/1 | 3,711 | Mature | Sterek)

When Lydia asks him to accompany her to a singles night in exchange for her help, Stiles reluctantly agrees, but little does he know he's bitten off way more than he can chew...

Oops by FunkyRacoon

(1/1 | 4,285 | Mature | Sterek)

“Wait, wait, Stiles?”

Scott gets a confused look on his face, “Yeah?”

“Stiles as in like, brown hair and moles Stiles? Stiles that drives a blue Jeep? That Stiles?” Derek describes the man.

“Yeah-how did? Have you two already met?” Scott looks truly confused now.”

“Well shit.” Derek leans back in his seat, realization hitting his face as a smirk curls into his lips.

Where’s Your Spidey Sense? By Drapetomania

(1/1 | 10,587 | Teen | Sterek)

When things calms down, the pack collectively decides to go to college - Derek included. Derek and Isaac are trying to study in the college library, while Stiles pretends to, when the new monster of the week comes to town. Stiles decides to test how far he can push his magic. The problem is that he might push Derek's buttons further than usual. Does that bring them closer or tear them apart?

No Soup For You! By CaptEdKenway

(1/1 | 12,530 | Mature | Sterek)

Stiles sat behind the wheel, hands at ten and two, eyes on the man out in the intersection. His shoulders were tense and his leg was bouncing, but there was no way in hell he was removing his eyes from the Sheriff’s Deputy out there directing traffic. Nope, no way, no how. You absolutely did not want to miss your cue to go or you risked being on the receiving end of the deputy’s wrath. He snorted at himself as the old episode of Seinfeld popped into his head – the Soup Nazi screaming at someone “No soup for you!” because they weren’t paying attention. Most people at Beacon Hills Elementary knew how to play the game when you were first in line coming out of the school lot. Always Pay Attention!

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

First grade teacher Stiles Stilinski and his nemesis, the newest Beacon Hills deputy, Officer Hale.

Are you the one by fullmoontonightt

(6/6 | 57,248 | Mature | Sterek)

If you’d told Stiles that one day he’d be the star of some stupid soulmate searching reality show, he probably would have laughed in your face.

Yet, nothing was less true today.

When Stiles enters mtv's reality tv show 'Are you the one' he doesn't expect anything serious to come from it. He especially doesn't expect to meet the love of his life.

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [2/6]

previously here. malex wip fic. a short serial leading up the premiere.

spoilers for the trailer and promo, will be instantly AU. If I’m going to the trouble of writing a malex fix-it for the season 3 opener, why not fix 2x13 too?

**** THEN **** 

After Alex closed Tripp’s journal, he met Michael’s gaze across the table at the Crashdown. 

His golden-brown eyes were heavy with pain, the reminder of how his mother’s story had ended was still fresh between them despite the span of months since the fiery end of Caulfield. What had resulted in being the fiery end of them, even though Alex hadn’t known it at the time. The look of sleeplessness in Michael’s face reminded Alex, that outside of this small piece of Nora, he had the weight of Maria still in the hospital recovering from the pathogen Flint had released. The press of the Deep Sky ring in his pocket warred with the hesitation to place one more burden on Michael, would the abacus of their fragile friendship balance out?

He flashed to that last argument in Michael’s bunker, a disaster of his own making, thinking he could believe in his father, but thankfully harm was averted at Crashcon. That recent memory was motive enough for Alex to decide. Whatever happened next, he needed Michael on the same page with him.

As Isobel moved to leave the table, explaining to Michael that she needed to check on Max, Alex held Michael’s gaze deliberately. Then he folded his fingers down, until the last three fanned out in a downward W. 

“After what happened with Maria, maybe you should come with me, Michael. You can help me shake some sense into Max,” Alex heard, tuning back into Isobel’s voice. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, a crease of suspicion wrinkling her upturned nose, as she stopped on him. “It’ll be a good distraction.”

Without looking at Isobel, Michael’s eyes remained trained on Alex’s hand. “No, thanks, I’m good here. I’ve had my fill of stubborn ass people who don’t want to listen to sensible advice from me, so I’ll catch up with you later, Isobel.” 

She made a dismissive huff but did not argue, leaving with the barest semblance of a polite goodbye to Alex, but that was typical Isobel Evans. Michael waited until his sister was on the other side of the door, before speaking quietly, his gaze finally moving up from Alex’s hands to his face. “I haven’t seen you flash that sign to me in years.” 

“Glad to know you haven’t forgotten it.”

“You, making the ‘wait for me, I want you now’ signal? Nah, that’s been burned into my brain over the years.” Michael said it with a faint trace of bitterness. “I guess news travels fast, Maria only dumped my ass this morning.”

Alex winced and looked down, swallowing the surprise and spark of hope that welled in his throat at that disclosure. It was better to concentrate on the unique talent he had of stepping on landmines around Michael, than wonder about what had happened with Maria. It looked like he was still good at causing harm without intention, judging by the stung bite in Michael’s voice. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Michael cut off his apology firmly with a wave of his hand, calling a time-out. Alex waited, his teeth pressed into his lower lip as Michael rubbed his eyes with a weary half-smile. “I’m being an asshole right now, and that’s not fair to take it out on you. It’s been a shitty day already, and — anyway, … you definitely know how to get my attention, Alex.” He tilted his head, self-deprecation on his face, “for better or worse, you’ve always been good at that.” 

It had been the sign they had developed whenever their paths had crossed over the years while Alex had been on leave in Roswell, but it had started that summer after high school. After Michael’s hand had healed poorly from Jesse, the last three fingers had been left frozen in a claw, it had been a shared fuck-you to his dad to use it to form their own secret communication. A three-fingered W, turned upward meant it wasn’t a good time, and he would find Michael later; turned downward, well, that meant it was safe to approach him, and it had often ended in a hurried blowjob in his car. Perhaps he should have used more care in using it now, but Michael wasn’t the only one running on the fumes of insomnia and stress. “Sorry, I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave with Isobel-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s not a bad memory either, remembering that we had our little secret language.” Michael wiggled his fingers in reassurance, his left hand still wrapped with a bandanna. “I can make that signal a hell of a lot easier now, too. But anyway, what did you need?”

There was still a voice inside Alex’s head that said ‘you’, no matter how long it had been. He shoved that down deep, along with his curiosity about Maria, and concentrated on his purpose. “Your advice on something, and then if it’s not too much to ask, your help.”

“Anything.” 

Alex blinked, nonplussed by the easy acceptance. 

Michael gestured encouragingly, “seriously, anything, just tell me what’s going on because the way you’re hemming and hawing, it is freaking me out.” Suddenly, all expression washed out of Michael’s face as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Did you get deployed or something?”

“Not exactly, not how you’re thinking,” he winced at the earned glare from Michael as he continued to stall while the words still tripped and fumbled around his mouth, heedless to the mounting frustration between them both. He sighed, and regrouped. Pushing the closed journal aside, Alex dug into his pocket and laid the signet ring on the table before Michael. “Let me start at the beginning, I found this in my dad’s things.” 

“Jesse never seemed like a jewelry kind of guy to me.” Michael picked up the ring, examining it closely with a sarcastic smirk. “Other than parading around town with that wedding ring, when everyone knows your mom left him back during the Bush years, Dubya that is.”

“My father is all, was all, about appearances.” Alex placed the photo of the group on the table, sliding it over to him. “That ring marked his membership in this paramilitary group called Deep Sky. Every man in that photo worked at Caulfield, at one time or another.” He tapped his finger over the face of his father, then moved it to the right. “That’s my dad, and that is Ricky Long.”

Michael frowned, pulling the picture closer to squint at the faces. “Wyatt’s dad?”

“No, Forrest’s.”

“Nazi guy? Seriously?” He rubbed at his chin, the stubble longer than usual painting his jawline. Alex dragged his eyes away with effort as Michael considered that information. There was a reluctant understanding in his eyes, having recalled that Forrest Long wasn’t just ‘Nazi Guy’ to Alex, but someone who had expressed interest in Alex. Personal interest. “I guess that’s something you guys have in common then, dirtbag dads.” 

He didn’t look thrilled to admit that to Alex, but it was a mark of how far they had both come as friends that Michael had said it anyway regardless. It was kind of him. It was the same type of empathy Alex had extended toward Michael, when he had expressed interest in Maria. Cut open, bleeding under his skin from all the ways he had squandered his own chances, he had said something similar to Michael once upon a time. That was what love was all about. Then he had kept saying it, until he believed it most days because wanting Michael to be happy was the easier ask.

It was a gracious sentiment that was entirely wasted by Michael when it came to Forrest Long. 

“It would be, uh, something to bond over, if I hadn’t noticed that Forrest wears the same ring now.” 

Michael’s eyes sharpened. “Family heirloom or do you think he worked at Caulfield?”

“I don’t know, but he is an ex-Army vet.” Alex tapped the photo of the members gathered together, “That was part of what I’ve been looking into, identifying everyone who worked at Caulfield right until the end. As for Deep Sky, I don’t know if it’s military service, Caulfield, or a family legacy that ties every member together, I just know that Dad kept in touch with those who were involved at the prison.” 

“Makes sense, Jesse was able to get a hold of the atomizer and pathogen that Charlie developed from somewhere. For all of his strutting around at Crashcon with a uniform on, that didn’t look like it was an official use of government property.” 

“Right, it definitely wasn’t, and before you tell me to leave it alone-” Alex began, remembering Michael’s response to the investigation into 1947. He had considered Alex’s actions back then to be an act of futility, something that could only hurt by being revisited. The past being the past, unable to be altered. 

This time Michael cut him off, “No, I was wrong about that. I, um, I finally realized that just because I don’t see you connected to that place or the rest of your family, doesn’t mean you don’t. And while I wish that you didn’t, Alex, if digging into this gives you some sort of peace over it, then do it.”

Alex looked down, feeling the weight of relief that Michael understood. After his father’s body had been removed, after the questions and lies had been spun, he had spent the entire night sleepless over having been made into an effective weapon to force Michael’s compliance. Helena had known where all the weak spots were thanks to Flint, and had armed herself with a depowering agent. Once Flint was recovered, there was nothing stopping him from employing a similar tactic in the future.

“If anyone’s going to destroy me, it might as well be you.” Michael had once declared with a bold carelessness that had infuriated and terrified Alex at the time, but that was nothing compared to now having a lived experience to back it up. His mind had easily used the memory of Maria’s collapse after the faintest exposure at the Crashcon and had exchanged her with Michael, being torn apart molecule by molecule, by an invisible threat.

Give him an enemy that he could see any day, especially one that bled. 

“I’ve been fighting so long, I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.” Alex held out his hand for the ring, and Michael gently laid it in his palm, brushing his fingertips over Alex’s skin. A lifetime of controlling himself kept the reaction off his face as he rubbed his thumb over the raised emblem of Deep Sky. “But I have learned recently that when something seems too good to be true, it is.” 

Neither of them mentioned Jesse and his performance from the last few months, but Michael frowned again, “Wait a second, you think Forrest targeted you on purpose?” 

“A member of a secret paramilitary organization just happens to ask me out after I was involved in the destruction of Caulfield? You really think that’s a coincidence?” Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically at Michael, before looking out the window to watch the pedestrians on the street. 

“I think you’re the hottest guy in Roswell, so I’m not surprised he asked you out.” Michael flushed a little when Alex turned back to stare at him in surprise over the flattering comment. “Seriously, you’re a catch, but I will agree, it’s not a good look that he’s got that ring. But maybe it’s crap he wears because of his dad, and he’s got no idea he’s parading around?”

“You’re being awfully generous.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Because last time I checked, you were the one telling me that I should have faith in people, even if they give me no reason to.” Michael flattened his hands on the table, drawing Alex’s attention to the bandanna on his hand again. That damn fight kept echoing between them to Alex’s dismay, but Michael didn’t let him linger over it, “While I stand by what I said about Jesse, ‘cause he messes us both up, all I know about Forrest Long is that he is way too interested in Nazi history and he has good taste in guys.” Michael wetted his lips, nervously to tack on, “I also know that I trust you, and your instincts, so if you say there’s something not right about him, then I believe you.” 

“There’s something not right about him,” Alex repeated seriously.

“Then I believe you, so what do you need me to do?”

“He wants to get close to me for some reason, probably related to what I know about aliens, so I’m going to let him. And I need you to back me up in case something goes wrong, and maybe use that lock pick you have in your brain?” Alex waited until Michael nodded in agreement, feeling the swell of gratitude at his support. Anyone else would probably think he was being paranoid, or that this was a delayed reaction to his father trying to kill them, but Michael, for all of his previous counter-arguments, had never truly believed in the good of humanity. Maybe in a few days, Alex would feel guilty in relying on that. Maybe in a few days, his suspicions about Forrest would be eliminated.

“He’s involved in running the open mike night at the Wild Pony with Maria, so I thought maybe I could perform a song or something? He drives a Prius, and while he’s listening to me sing, you could slip out mid-song and insert this into the code reader of his car.” 

On the table was a small device that mimicked a thumb drive, small and black. It was the type of technology that Alex had used in the Air Force, tracking terrorists abroad. It had taken a fair amount of searching to purchase the equivalent stateside to have on hand. Michael picked it up curiously, turning over his hands.

“It’s designed to download the GPS history of his car,” Alex explained, before rubbing the back of his head in thought. “That’s how I uncovered what my dad was up to, first by tracking his movements. If I let Forrest take me home, I can gain access to his laptop and phone.”

Michael furrowed his brow in concern, “You’re really willing to go that far? And what if he is involved in something shady, what then?”

“My father and brother both used me to get to you, there’s really nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that from happening again and if it means playing along with this guy, letting him lead me to the members of Deep Sky? Then I will.” If anything, his words only deepened the concern on Michael’s face, but Alex had been committed for a long time. Since the red level threat. Since the short ride to the recruitment office. Maybe as far back as his guitar going missing in the music room.

“I’ve slept with guys for worse reasons.”

CONTINUED HERE

[shannygoatgruff]

Only Fan(s) - A Thriller

Genre: Thriller

Pairing: Modern Ivar/OC

Warning: Language, sex, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, sexual assault

Rating: MA+18

Summary: Sometimes OnlyFans subscribers want a little more than internet pictures. Sometimes they want to be your ONLY fan…

Header by: @flowers-in-your-hayr

Thanks to @xbellaxcarolinax for being my beta.

Disclaimer: This story will deal with some topics that might be a little uncomfortable for some people. As always, I’ll try to tackle the hard stuff as tactfully as possible.

a/n: I know it’s been a minute. I’m always thinking about these stories because I want to finish them, just can’t seem to focus on writing at the moment.  Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Part iv - Date with Destiny

Finding Ivar Lothbrok should have been easy. Between the two of them, he was the stable one. He was the one with the iron-clad schedule that consisted of drinking, smoking, and partying. Torren’s schedule was a bit more... fluid. She tended to go wherever the wind, or whatever car she acquired, would take her. Naturally, Ivar had the occasional meet-and-greet, red carpet, and/or Comic-con engagement that he had to attend, still, he was pretty easy to keep tabs on. All one had to do was look at (stalk) his social media accounts, and his whereabouts were posted for everyone to see.

Knowing where he’d be and finding out where he lived were a different story. Torren had done her due diligence when it came to locating the town in which Little Kattegat was located. It only took about two days and a few Google image searches of the background of a few of the photos and she had it narrowed down to a general area in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

From what she could tell, the closest town to where he lived was pretty small, and there were only a few large estates hidden in the woods. How hard could it be to find? She was willing to drive to every single house and knock on the door to find him if she had to. But it would just be easier if there was loud music and a bunch of cars in the driveway. That way she could tag along inside with the rest of the guests to get to her man. 

Her shirt landed in the pile of dirty clothes in the center of the bed, as she reached around to unhook her bra. “I really need to tell Baby Boo to stop putting all of his business out in these streets,” her brows furrowed as she shook her head, “What if some crazy, psycho bitch started stalking him, or some shit? Then I’d have to kill a bitch.” Torren’s head whipped around and she narrowed her eyes at his picture, still stuck on her wall, “Is that what you want? Huh? You want me to cut a bitch to prove to you how much I love you? I will, Bae! You know I would do anything for you. I’m your Ride or Die...” 

And being his Ride or Die meant that she needed to keep better tabs on him if she was going to protect him from someone crazier than her, God forbid.  She was only able to do so much on this prepaid phone, and going to the library to get online was becoming a pain in the ass. 

She’d considered stealing a laptop or iPad from the library but was still on the fence about the idea. Of course, the alternative meant going to stupid ass libraries and threatening little kids to get off the fucking computers, and that completely sucked ass. 

She always felt rushed when she logged onto her Bae’s Only Fans page from the public library. Without fail one of those little bastard kids would get the library Nazis to kick her off the computer, or bar her from the library altogether for watching porn. 

Ivar’s page wasn’t porn! It was art. It was sexy. It was love...his love for her. Stupid bitches. 

She had encountered far worse things than getting kicked out of the library, but some of these small towns usually only had one or two within their county limits. If she got banned, how was she supposed to check up on Ivar? In the time it took to log in until she got kicked out, she'd be lucky if she could check 2 of his accounts. What if he had some important information on another platform that she hadn’t checked yet? What was she supposed to do then?

Her relationship with Ivar was hanging in the balance, and she'd be damned if some snot-nosed kid or fucking uptight librarian would fuck that up. She needed a computer. But, on the flip side, when she finally got her man back, she wouldn't need one anymore. She could ask him directly what their plans were.

There was a lot to consider and that took time; time that she didn't have right now.

The thick layer of Nair shaving cream she had applied to her already hairless crotch, was just starting to tingle, signaling she had about 5 minutes left before the sweat-inducing, burning sensation would kick in alerting her to wash the cream off. Until then, she had time to consider an outfit for the night.

She knew Ivar well enough to know that he would want her to be sexy for him, but not so much to distract him from work. She could have gone for something slutty, like those skanky bitches he partied with. She could have gone for more demur, but then she would remind him too much of his bitch ex-wife and completely turn him off. The last thing she wanted on their first night back together was for him to be thinking about that bitch. She could have gone for a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but Torren never did simple. 

No, Ivar would want her to be herself. That's what he loved about her. That's what attracted him to her in the first place. She would be sexy without being skanky; she would be demure without being a prude.

Fuck! It was already 7:33 p.m. How in the hell did she miss the beginning of his Live? Now she was running late.

She was supposed to be dressed and ready by the time his Live came on that way she could be out the door as soon as he finished. If she was going to make it to be on his Only Fans live stream tonight, she needed to get to his house before he got too distracted. Now, she’d have to watch his Live, while her cooch burst into flames before she had a chance to take a shower and finish picking out her outfit.

If there was one thing Torren was, it was punctual. It was bad enough that she was about 40 minutes outside of his town, but it could take her up to 2 or more hours to find his house. She only hoped that he didn’t plan on starting any real freaky shit on his Only Fans page until around midnight, cause it looked like she wouldn’t be getting there before then, anyway.  

With the smile still plastered on her face, Torren turned on the hot water for a shower, forgetting that the water didn’t get hot. She didn't mind, much, especially since the cold water gave her a break from the heat in her room. 

Phone in hand, she watched him, as she planted herself on the dirty bathtub floor, cross-legged, and started to get herself ready. Starting with her toes, she shaved each one, just below the knuckle, followed by her fingers, arms, pits, and each leg, from groin to ankle, three times. When the burning from her nether regions was so intense that she couldn’t tell her tears from the shower water dripping on her face, she quickly washed off the cream. 

All she could do was hope that she hadn’t broken the skin this time. The last time she had let that damn Nair stay on, just past burning, the skin broke and she bled. She was not having a bloody hoo-ha tonight. 

With that taken care of, she gently used the razor to remove any other pubes closer to the inside that needed to be removed. Then shaved her backside. When she had more time, she was going to get the internal hairs bleached, but she needed to find out what Ivar preferred. 

Shaving ate up so much of her time that she only had a few seconds to rub some body-wash that she had stolen from a drug store over her body and hoped it got rid of the smell of the summer heat. Her hair? Fuck it...she’d wash it another day, for now, this cold water would have to be enough. She’d spritz some perfume and hair spray in it and it would smell fine. 

Torren finished her shower, and walked out of the bathroom dripping wet, only using a towel to wrap around her hair. She was glad it was so hot in her room that her hair would air-dry quickly. She finger-combed her damp tresses to complete that ‘just got out of bed, but it's styled’ appearance. She knew how much he loved when her hair looked like that. It would remind him of freshly fucked hair. 

She spent extra time applying her makeup, even using an extra dark, thick application of eyeliner. She usually went for more subtle warm colors. They matched her tan skin tone better. But, tonight, she had bold, dark makeup, complete with varying shades of purple and blue eye shadows, and dark purple lipstick.

Torren was glad that she decided to match Ivar’s clothes this evening. The swim trunks and smoking jacket he wore would compliment her beautifully. She wanted everyone to know that they dressed alike, the way real couples do. If he was going for less is more, so would she.

She settled on black leather chaps that tied up on the sides, and tight blue boy shorts that left the bottom half of her ass cheeks exposed. The blue shorts brought out the blue swirls in his trunks; she knew he'd appreciate that touch. Her top was a blue bandanna that she wore as a halter with a short black leather jacket with tassels on the sleeves. 

They screamed “couple” in her eyes.

Completely satisfied with how she looked, Torren locked the door to her motel room and started down the hall. She deliberately stopped by the window and peered through the partially opened blinds of the people staying next door to her. She knocked on the window to get the attention of the young couple inside. Judging from their appearance, they were too strung out to know who she was, or that it was her music that they constantly banged on the wall about. She didn’t care. She still flipped them off before making her way to the stairs. 

Reaching her hand through the busted window of the blue Ford Taurus to unlock the door from the inside. Torren slid into the driver's seat and leaned over to find the two cords that she had pulled out from under the steering column when she stole the car. Flicking the cords together, she listened as the engine reluctantly turned over.

She put the car in reverse, looked in the rear-view mirror at her makeup, then pulled out of the spot. As she turned onto the road leading to the highway, she listened to the knocks, bumps, and hisses that her car made. There wasn't time to do much about it now; not when she was on her way to get her man. But, she made a mental note to do something about it later in the week. The only thing she could do was turn the music up louder to drown out the car noise.

Truthfully, she should have stolen a better car than the piece of shit Taurus that she found in the parking lot of the Quickie Mart while driving through Tulsa, Oklahoma. There were plenty of better cars there to choose from but no one would have wanted to take this one. It was so sad looking that she took pity on it. She had been doing the owner of this crap car a favor, by taking it off of their hands. 

The car was truly fucked. The oil light stayed on, and it drank gas like her mother drank liquor. The car had protested every inch of the ride across the three states that she traveled through in one day. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before that piece of shit breathed its last breath.

She needed to get gas again, but fuck that car. She had already refueled four times since she stole it. Gas wasn't cheap and she wasn't putting another dime in that gas guzzler. Speaking of money, she made a mental note to steal another credit card. It would only be a matter of time before the owner of the one that was tucked snugly between her left breast and strapless bra, would eventually realize that it had been lifted from the table in the diner, and canceled.

Laptop, butt bleaching, car, credit card, and more eyeliner from Walgreen's…her To-Do list was growing. She really needed to take some time off and take care of the necessities. Not tonight, though. She had other things to do. She couldn't do anything else, right now, but get to her man. Besides, once Lothbrok was by her side, he would help her remember all the things she needed to do.

As she came off of the highway exit smoke started billowing out from the engine. It backed up through the exhaust system, and came through the vents, inside the cabin. It was ironic – the air-conditioning vents in the car didn't work, but they seemed to work well enough to clog the inside of the car up with thick white smoke. She drove a few more miles before the smoke was so thick that she could no longer see. As she pulled the car over to the graveled shoulder of the road, the car knocked and shook, before it finally cut off.

Just her fucking luck.

She reached under the dash to flick the cords against each other again, trying to force the ignition to catch again, but it wouldn't. The engine had nothing left to give her. "Fuck Murphy and fuck his fucking law," she said calmly as she pulled the hood release.

She opened the car door, taking care to place both black, platform boots on the ground before lifting her backside from the seat. Placing her sunglasses on her eyes, she walked with one foot in front of the other to the front of the Taurus and placed her hand on the hood. It was hot, but not so hot that she couldn't feel under the front of the lever.

As she lifted the heavy metal hood and placed the rod in the slot to hold it in place, Torren let the smoke from the engine engulf her. It was quite a head rush breathing in the thick engine smoke through her nose, and exhaling it from her mouth. She patiently waited for the smoke to thin out before she bent, at the waist, over the engine. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew that someone would see her looking over the engine and stop to help her.

Now, if only someone would actually come down this dark stretch of road, she could be back on her way to Ivar.

It didn't take long before a pair of headlights rounded the bend of the road, just off to her right. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she accentuated the leather, chaps against her hips, and lifted her ass higher in the air, to catch the driver's attention. She couldn't help but smirk when she heard the tires of a large vehicle turn onto the graveled pavement in front of where she broke down. She didn't turn to face the car or the driver. She didn't care who they were or what they looked like. She had an appointment to keep and this pit stop was fucking up her timetable.

"You need some help?" A deep voice asked as its owner approached her.

Torren took a moment to peer around the hood, noticing that there were no other cars around. "Broke down," she answered, continuing to bear her weight from one hip to the other. She placed her hands on the metal frame of the car, arched her back, and looked at the man over her shoulder. "You know something about cars?"

"Yeah," he replied, moving around to her side, looking at her, and not the smoky engine.

She gave him half a smile, as she noticed him notice her. "You a mechanic or something?" She asked standing up. She rubbed her hands together to remove some of the visible engine soot while considering the guy in front of her. He was about 6 feet tall with a moderate build. He was dressed in blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and Timberland boots. He didn't look like he was more than 25 years old. Judging from the way he was looking at her and from the ring on his left hand, he wasn't too worried about her car, or his wife, for that matter.

"Nah, not a mechanic, but I work on my own car... in my spare time." He smiled when she did. She was gorgeous, in that slutty kind of way. She wouldn't be dressed like that and leaning over the hood of a car if she wasn't looking to have some fun. "Lemme take a look at it."

Did he work on his car? Hopefully, that meant that his ran better than hers did.

Torren moved over to the side and let him take the position under the hood. "I'll be right back," he explained before walking over to the bed of his F150.

Grabbing a flashlight from the trunk, he took a second to admire the view of her, from behind. If he could get her car moving again, she would hopefully follow him to this cheap motel he knew that was just up the highway.

He leaned in close, taking a whiff of her hair, "You overheated…want to check the coolant level."

She had heard him say something else but she had stopped listening; she was too busy watching the street. "You want me to try to start it?" she asked, removing her sunglasses before making her way to the driver's door. She wasn't sure if he answered or not. She had no intention of driving the Taurus again, even if he could get it started. She just needed to get something out of the car.

She slid into the seat and reached down on the floor. She found the hard metal object on the floor of the passenger's side and gripped it tightly. As she walked back around to the front of the car, she heard him talking, presumably about the car, or maybe he was asking her out. Who the fuck knows? She was on a tight schedule and all of his chatting was holding her up. She stood by the side of the hood, looking at the angle he was leaning over the hood. Quickly, she lifted her arm, and with one powerful blow, she struck him in the head with the crowbar that she used to procure her now-defunct car.

Torren stood over his body, looking at him intensely. God, it felt good. The rush of knowing that one minute this dude was towering over her, and the next he was on the ground. She had dropped his ass. She was the one with the power.

 "Thanks," she said, digging her hand in his pocket to retrieve his cash, credit card, and the keys to his truck. She wiped the blood on the crowbar on his shirt before walking to her new mode of transportation.

Torren sat in the truck's driver's seat and turned on the engine. She had managed to cross two things off of her To-Do list without even planning to.

Thank God the truck had air conditioning. All this heat and humidity was bound to make her hair frizzy. She cranked the AC up as high as it would go and sat still for a moment enjoying the cool air. After a minute, she adjusted the seat and tilted the rearview mirror to look at herself. She was starting to sweat and her eyeliner was starting to run just a bit at the corners of her eyes. She dabbed at the black liner to even out the lines, and then pushed the mirror back to where she could see. Giving the area another once-over, she made sure that no one else had seen her interaction with that guy on the ground, before pulling out from the gravel and onto the paved street.

"Ugh!" Torren yelled. Chester Bradley, the printed name on the credit card, had shitty taste in music. She pushed the stereo button on the steering wheel to do a scan of the radio. Anything was better than country music. Once she found some trap music on the XM radio, she turned up the volume and pulled back onto the highway.

Part iii/

Tags: @ideagarden-blog1  @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @a-mess-of-fandoms @didiintheblog @conaionaru @peachyboneless @flowers-in-your-hayr @heavenly1927 @zuxiezendler @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @revolution-starter​

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

Lady in Gold

It’s just a date at the Neue Galerie. That’s all it is, right?

Rating: M

Word count; 3,062

Warning/Includes: fluffy fluff, exhibitionism, slight choking, fingering, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink if you squint I guess?!

A satin tea dress, a mellow golden. It flowed to just below your knees, and it had been paired with nude block sandals. A simple yet elegant jewelled clip held a side of your hair back and you felt.. beautiful. This date had been planned for a while, he had said to meet him on the corner of 5th and 86th Street; you would look out for him, he would be in a brown suit. The night was young, the sun just beginning to set over the skyline. You’d wonder if he would be there earlier than you, or if he was barely going to come at all. These must be normal nerves, the churning feeling flowing around your stomach; it was just a date.

Clement and peaceful, the last streams of daylight laid upon your skin as you leant against a tree outside the building. Skimming your eyes against the array of people departing and arriving at the gallery; they finally landed on the tall figure ambling towards you. A soft smile, reflective aviator glasses and the brown suit. It was him. His own masterpiece, he gave a small wave as he grew closer. The faint scents of coconut, coffee and cologne overwhelmed your senses as you managed to stutter out a soft ‘Hi Matthew’.

‘Y/N hey! I’m glad you found this place okay, sometimes people end up on the wrong end of the mile.’ he exclaimed, waving behind him at the never ending street.

‘I’m that person, what should’ve been a 15 minute walk turned out a hell of a lot longer.’ you giggled out.

‘Well hey, we made it in time for the private slot, should we head inside?’ you nodded, and intertwined your arm around the one he held out for you. There was a way that he held you tightly against his side that felt as though you were fragile and he didn’t want you to fall and break. As he mentioned to one of the guards inside you were here for a private viewing, you couldn’t help but stare up at him with veneration. A king couldn’t hold the grace and charm he could.

You’d been meandering for a while, stopping to talk about Werkstätte accessories and admiring the vintage fashion. You were excited to get to the portraits. A favourite of yours was on display, Klimt’s portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer. Filled to the brim with facts and knowledge on his art, there was a passion in your eyes as you tugged his arm towards the exhibition you’d been waiting for. Placing your clutch bag on a nearby seat you almost skipped up to the portrait.

‘Wow,’ you breathed out, ‘it’s even more beautiful than I imagined. The gold just hits different when it’s not on a phone screen huh.’

He stood behind you a few steps, observing and listening to your spirited words and facts. The way you vehemently expressed yourself started to get into his bloodstream, every time you said something new, turned to look back at him; goosebumps arose across his forearms and the back of his neck. He sauntered quietly and slowly closer to you, gently placing a hand on each of your hips. Inhaling abruptly, you didn’t stop exuding truths about the painting before you.

[[MORE]]

‘The painting was handed down to Adeles family members, but the Nazis stole it in 1941. After quite a long journey through multiple agencies, it was bought in 2006 and displayed. I’m literally speechless that it’s in front of me - ah!’ Matthew had pulled your hair to one side as you were speaking, slowly leaving open mouthed kisses to your exposed neck. His grip had tightened on your hips, subsequently beginning to run one hand up your body; the fingers coming up to grip your chin and turning your head to look back at him.

‘Do you know how beautiful you sound?’ he muttered, eyes travelling from your glossed lips up to meet yours. Maybe two centimetres between each set of lips and breath fanning against each other had changed the mood immediately. ‘It, uh, it really is my favourite piece. I could stay here and look at it - all- all night.’ Stumbling over your words, you kept your gaze on Matthew, as he lowered his hand a little; the slender yet gentle fingers contradicting themselves by squeezing the sides of your throat slightly.

‘I could say the same thing about you. This pretty dress, on such a pretty girl. I know which lady in gold I’d rather stare at.’ Smiling gently, he pulled you closer and pressed his lips against yours, breathing getting deeper when you whimper against his mouth.

Reaching your arm behind you to hold the back of his head, his other arm held you flush against him. It wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t rough; but it was a higher level of passionate that you wouldn’t usually show in such a public area. You wondered if there was a subtle message in Matthew reserving the museum for a private tour, instead of the romantic gesture it had seemed to be.

‘Was this your plan the whole time? To win me over with my favourite art and fuck me in the middle of the gallery?’ you breathed out, pushing back into him and curving your hips upwards into his. The satin of your dress was thin enough to feel the coarseness of his trousers and the cool metal of the belt holding them up. Matthew’s breath hitched beside your ear and he bit down on your lobe. Quickly clutching at your hips again, he ground his hips down into you and mustered out a small grunt at the contact. ‘I bet you’d like that huh? Already pushing up against me, needy little thing.’

The quiet moan that left your lips woke you up out of the sudden delirium you had fallen into, remembering where you were. ‘We’ll get into trouble.’ Matthew let out a condescending chuckle into your ear, a hand beginning to ruche the fabric upwards at the front of your dress. ‘Your body tells me you aren’t at all that worried, y/n. I bet you won’t feel as worried once I bring my fingers a little higher hm?’ He read your body language like a book. You were leaning into him, your hips bucking and following his hands. You were completely under his spell, entranced by the gentle but somehow rough feel of his fingers growing closer and closer to where you wanted him. Until he pulled them away.

‘No fuck please-‘ whining, you turned around to see why the sudden halt on his movements. He’d walked a few steps backward to the leather spectator couch in the middle of the room, sat down with legs spread; watching to see if you’d get the hint. ‘Come and sit on my lap baby. I want you to be comfortable when you’re talking.’ He smirked, knowing full well his actions were going to cause your brain to falter and words to fade away. Slowly walking towards him, you lifted your dress slightly to be able to straddle yourself across his lap; frowning when he spoke a stern, ‘no.’ He wiggled his finger in a circle, indicating he wanted you to face away from him.

Two could play at this teasing game.

Spinning around gently, you still lifted your dress before sitting down on him, giving him a slight peek of the white lace garments underneath. Judging by the way he pulled your hips down hard against him, you knew he saw the underwear. Leaning your back against his chest, he flopped his chin against your shoulder and gave a sweet peck on your cheek. All of these cute gestures couldn’t foreshadow the sheer vulgarity of what he was about to do; if there had been anyone in the room with you, they would’ve thought you two were adorable. He leant back, pulling you with him and the front of your dress up to mid-thigh. Trailing his fingers underneath the thin, yellow material, he ran his middle digit along your slit, feeling the damp patch that had formed on the even thinner lace. ‘I knew it. Filthy little slut. Was it me or Klimt who did this huh?’ he chuckled, gripping your hip when you tried to push against his finger. All you could let out was pathetic whines, and attempt to manoeuvre his finger inside you.

‘Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you sweetheart. You were spitting out facts a minute ago, where have all your words gone?’ he said, the condescending tone not helping your situation at all. ‘Please, I need, fuck, I need your fingers Matthew please.’ you begged, head falling back into his shoulder and hands gripping his arm that was around your waist. ‘Wow, you managed to ask so nicely too. Good girl.’ The sudden dominance he portrayed had you completely at his mercy, feeling nothing but a dull throbbing inside that you knew he could provoke. Stroking up and down your lips slightly to gather up your essence, he hooked his middle finger inside you so deep, so harshly you mewled out loudly; Matthew promptly covering your mouth and smiling into your hair. He nudged his index finger into you, curling the two together up against the spot that made your legs tighten around his wrist. He pulled them back open again and held them in that position, trusting you to be quiet. He wasn’t messing around; quick to thrust and curve his fingers upwards until your thighs began to shake against his arm. ‘Shit Matthew, i’m close already, please.’ you tried unsuccessfully to say it quietly, but the feeling he brought you came on so intensely you felt he needed warning. ‘Fuck yes, you’re so good to me. Letting me play with your pretty cunt right here in the open. Are you gonna come for me? I want you to fucking break baby. Come.’ He sped up his fingers, the wiggle of his fingertips against the spot, mixed with his palm grinding against your clit; the uncivilised words he growled into your ear had you gone. The hand returned to your mouth as you moaned and whimpered too loudly, bucking against his fingers, arching your back and gripping your fingernails into his legs as you came.

Matthew bit his lip and smiled into your neck as he drew out your orgasm, cock at its hardest as he felt your cunt tightening sporadically around his fingers. He needed you here and now. This beautiful woman spread across his lap, desperate and needy under his touch. How tight you got when you released onto his hand, the way you breathed out his name. If he could take you like that in this room, he’ll take you on his cock now too. Withdrawing his fingers from you and abruptly pushing them into you mouth, he pushed your hips forward a little so he could pull himself out of his trousers. You’d barely recovered from the intensity of the orgasm when you tasted yourself on your tongue, moaning around his fingers and curling your tongue around the tips. ‘Gonna take you right here baby, can’t wait anymore. Can you lift your dress a little higher for me?’ Trembling out a moan, you bunched your dress up around your hips, letting the spare material fall to the front so as not to expose yourself too much, which seemed ridiculous given the previous activity. ‘That’s it pretty girl. Sit yourself down on me, I want you to take as much as you can okay?’ the condescension had left his voice this time, his voice had become lower and exuded urgency.

Matthew lifted up your hips whilst you balanced your hands on his knees, bringing your legs together in between his. He grasped the base of his cock, pulling the lace to the side before coating himself in you. Pressing against your hole, wanting you to do the rest. You gasped as you glided down onto him, the lips parting and taking him in entirely. He was so thick and hard, you had to wiggle your hips side to side to fit him inside. ‘Shit, you’re so fucking big Matthew. Can’t take it all.’ He was just past halfway and already you felt so full. Matthew’s eyes had hooded and glazed over watching your pretty pussy taking him in, he ran a hand over your exposed cheek and gripped it tightly, pulling you down further.

‘Yes you fucking can, you can and you will. I know you can do it baby. Make me feel good, that’s it.’ You cried softly as he had you bear down completely on him. He was fully inside you, pushing against your cervix. It felt so good even just sitting still on him, let alone the pleasure it brought when you pulled up and back down again. His hands pushed and pulled you back and forth slowly and gently onto him, hitting special parts of you with every thrust. ‘Matthew please, please I just-‘ ‘Please what baby? Fuck-‘ ‘I just want you to fuck me properly please.’

He purred out a deep moan and laid back against the couch, you laid flat upon his chest again. He spread his legs a little more to give him leeway to fuck up into you easier, the pace at an allegro. Rolling his eyes back and biting his lip, he couldn’t get over the entire position you were both in. This wasn’t discreet anymore; no one could see where the two of your bodies met, but he was fucking up into you so hard, one arm wrapped tightly around your stomach, your head against his shoulder with the other hand covering your mouth. It was obvious this man was fucking this woman in the middle of an exhibition, in a gallery in New York. ‘God you feel so fucking tight around me, I can’t hold on much longer. You close for me?’ He sputtered out into your ear, looking at your face to see you nodding and eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. ‘Want you to rub that pretty clit for me, make yourself come on my cock. Use me, I’m all yours baby.’ he said through gritted teeth, growing closer and closer to just letting go. He wanted to feel those spasms around his cock before he did though. You held onto the hand over your mouth, and used your other hand to rub quick and hard circles on your clit, teetering on the edge. Tears began to line the brim of your eyes, everything becoming super overwhelming. Being fucked in front of your favourite painting, out in public, by the sexiest man you’d ever seen and felt, the strength of how he held onto you, pushed into you had you right there.

‘You’re right there baby, I can feel it. Let it fucking go for me, good girl, that’s it.’ The deep, raspy voice in your ear was all you needed to burst out in pleasure. You rubbed faster, matching his thrusts just as your body shuddered against his, your toes curling in the heels, your moans being muffled by his hand. ‘Fuck baby, that’s it, what a good fucking girl coming on my cock like this, you’re gonna make me fucking explode baby.’ Matthew grunted into your ear, bucking up harder but sloppily as he reached his peak. You pulled his hand away and turned to meet his eyes; his pupils dilated beyond belief, hair messy where you’d tugged on it before, lips swollen where he’d bitten them so hard trying to keep quiet. God he was so hot. ‘Come inside me Matthew, please. Come inside me, I’m yours to fill please, fuck I need to feel you like that please.’

Quiet but desperate moans and cries left his mouth once you begged him for his come, his hand gripping your face as he brought your lips to his, silencing himself as he spilled inside you. He hadn’t come this much in a while, but the way you told him you needed it brought it out of him. Your lips were pressed together so hard, more of a muzzle than a kiss. The feeling of him slightly spilling out of you made you involuntarily clench tighter, maybe a natural instinct to want to keep him where he belongs. Matthew slumped back, his head dropping onto the black leather. ‘Let’s hope this stays in hm?’ after a few minutes absorbing what you’d just done, you spoke quietly, slowly going to stand up off of him. Smiling lazily, he let out a hiss when his cock slid out of you, falling onto his stomach, still slick with the mixture of you both. Adjusting your underwear and smoothing out your dress, you watched as he tucked himself away, sitting himself up properly and running his hands through his hair. He grabbed your hands and pulled you to stand between his legs, eyes shining with love and admiration as he looked up at you. ‘You really are so beautiful, y/n. Nothing in this gallery compares to you.’ Matthew whispered, stroking his thumbs out across your hands. You blushed and lost eye contact for a second, gazing at the artwork sprawled across each wall.

‘Thank you. I think one thing could make me a lot more beautiful though.’ You smiled and glanced towards your bag. Matthew imitated your smirk and grabbed it, pulling out the two sets of rings inside. The two of you slotting them back where they belonged on each other’s hands, you kept a tight grip on Matthew’s hand as he stood up in front of you. Twiddling with the wedding rings on your finger, you looked up at him beaming. ‘Much better actually, Mrs Gubler. Let’s go grab something to eat?’ he held out his arm the same way he did walking you in, except this time it was mostly to aid you in walking because you were staggering a little.

As you passed the guard who’d let you both in, Matthew turned back towards him. ‘Thank you for helping us out tonight. Can officially say we crossed a few things off our date night list.’

Slapping his arm, you dragged him away blushing profusely. It left you thinking; What would the next date night entail?

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Not That Kind of Movie

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Summary: “They plan a romantic getaway but everything goes sideways and they end up in a dive motel eating cheap pizza but the water is hot and the mattress isn't the worst and...” (prompt courtesy of @fangirlxwritesx67​) 

Word Count: 2590

Warnings: Steve feels sorry for himself, Bucky gets sassy, and innuendo abounds, but there’s nothing particularly explicit happening. Zero adherence to any sort of canon timeline. It’s fluffy as hell. 

A/N: Blame @katwillrise​, who encouraged this nonsense and has been keeping me company in the Stucky hole. Please help us. We cannot get out. Major thanks to @itmighthavebeenintentional​, who a) reassured me that this was worth posting and b) came up with the whole pizza thing and let me write it because she is amazing. 

“I think—” Bucky starts, but he (wisely) stops when Steve lets out a wordless rage-grunt. 

“I got it,” Steve snaps, and seriously considers kicking the motel door in. 

He gets five more beeping red lights before Bucky points out that he’s trying to open the wrong door. 

Bucky opens the right door on the first try and ushers him through. He hasn’t said “I told you so,” but he is radiating it from every smug pore. He’s been pointedly not saying “I told you so” all damn day, about every damn thing. 

“Maybe Mercury’s in retrograde,” Steve mumbles, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sets his bag down on the desk. Then he realizes what he just said and feels himself flush brick-red. 

Steve knows, without turning around, that Bucky is smirking. He can picture it way too clearly. Most people have trouble reading Bucky’s brand of deadpan, these days, but he has an array of specific smirks, and they’re all subtly different if you know what you’re looking for. This one, barely-quirked lips and sparkly laughing eyes, translates to you’re an idiot but you’re my idiot. It’s just a hair meaner than the you’re an idiot but I love you variant and its close cousin, I fucking love you, you idiot. Steve knows it well. 

This particular smirk has had the same effect on Steve for about a century now: he gets a brief, overwhelming urge to punch Bucky, followed by an equally overwhelming urge to kiss him senseless. 

It’s irritating. And after a day’s worth of wildly unfortunate events that could, technically, be described as “Steve’s fault,” he is already irritated enough. He pointedly keeps his back turned and tries some breathing exercises. 

“That’s really what you’re going with?” Bucky says, dry and amused. “We’re blaming this on planets?” 

Steve sighs. “Clint taught me about astrology last time he got drunk.” 

“You do know he’s fucking with you, right?” 

“Of course I do,” Steve says, hoping he sounds disdainful. “I’m going to shower off the dried alien goop now.” He makes a dignified retreat to the shower while Bucky laughs. 

They were supposed to be at a luxury mountain cabin with a hot tub. Instead, the first day of their anniversary trip has been one long series of unmitigated catastrophes, because somehow, Steve’s tactical skills — which have defeated actual evil Nazi masterminds — do not extend to dates. Or romance in general, really. 

Steve has realized, in the last year, that while he is a goddamn national hero and literal superhuman, he is a disaster of a boyfriend. And yeah, sure, “boyfriend” doesn’t seem like the right word, exactly, for everything they are, but they’ve officially been together for a year now, and Steve got it into his head to make an effort. 

So, yeah. Catastrophes. And now he’s trying to scrub off dried alien goop in a sputtering coffin-sized shower that was clearly not built with super soldier proportions in mind. 

The hot water lasts just long enough for Steve to deem himself clean enough, for certain values of enough, but it doesn’t do much for his mood, which is the sort of sulk that really requires a hot tub. He just wanted to plan something nice, for once. Romantic. He’s always so busy running around being Captain goddamn America that romance usually takes a backseat — admittedly, aliens take the front seat in this metaphor, which is fair, but the point stands. 

Bucky is sprawled out on the plasticky motel duvet. He changed into flannel pajama pants and a worn henley, and he is temporarily retired from combat and other violent activities his therapist has deemed unwise, so he isn’t covered in alien goop; in fact, he looks comfortable and somehow totally content. After this kind of day, it doesn’t seem fair that someone should be that kind of attractive. 

Bucky stops channel-surfing to give Steve and his very small towel a flirtatious once-over. 

“Can you just get it over with?” Steve sighs, looking up at the ugly water-stained ceiling in supplication. 

“Hell no. I want to hear you say it.” 

“You were right. About taking the time to shower, and bringing our phones, and checking the radiator a week ago, and… all of it. Happy now? Stop laughing at me, I swear to god, I will — oof.” 

Steve doesn’t bother to resist, because the way his luck is going, that’d end in broken bones. He winds up on his back, towel-less, with Bucky on top of him, but his weight and his heat and his smile are doing a lot for Steve’s mood. 

Then Bucky grins and says, “Told you so, punk.” 

Steve scoffs and scowls and rolls them over — more out of principle than any actual desire to fight back — and Bucky lets himself be pinned. The smirk is back, and this time Steve gives in to the urge to kiss him senseless. 

By the time he pulls away, Bucky’s mouth is red and his eyes are heavy-lidded, and he’s giving Steve a slow blink and a lazy curl of a smile. It’s just as effective now as it used to be on every girl in Brooklyn. 

“You should put on pants,” he says, but the husky tone of his voice is saying the exact opposite, and it takes a second for the words to register. 

“Huh?” 

“Pizza should be here in five minutes. We’re not in that kinda movie.” 

That surprises an actual huff of a laugh from Steve. He slides away and digs around for his sweatpants while Bucky gives a low whistle and ogles shamelessly. 

By the time he settles back on the bed, he’s feeling a little sheepish and he’s ready to apologize. Bucky’s got one eyebrow raised ever so slightly, just waiting — the laugh helped, and he knew it would, and now he knows exactly what’s coming. Damn him. 

“Sorry,” Steve sighs. “About everything. This is not what I had in mind.” 

“Not sure what you mean,” Bucky says glibly. “I can think of worse ways to spend a Friday night.” He wriggles closer, pressing their hips together and giving Steve’s ass a friendly grope. 

“Seriously. I’m sorry, this was —” 

“When’d you turn into such a princess, huh?” Bucky asks, soft and fond even if the words are teasing. 

“Excuse you? I’m not the one with an entire duffel’s worth of hair products.” 

“What I mean—” He punctuates the word with a kiss that’s all teeth and promise. “—is that I’ve seen you grin and bear it through some serious shit, Rogers. You didn’t even get this bitchy when we were trekking around the goddamn Western Front. So what’s with the whining?” 

Steve doesn’t know where to start. For a second he just looks. 

Bucky’s made up of dramatic angles and distinctive shadows, jawline and cheekbones set in a way that Steve’s been trying to capture on paper for as long as he can remember, but up close like this, the sharp delicate lines seem blurred and smoothed-over; all Steve can see is the softness of his mouth and the gentle swoop of his eyelashes. Everything else falls out of focus. 

Christ, he’s gone for this jerk. 

And that’s the problem, really, because of all the things in his extraordinarily strange life, Bucky has always been the most extraordinary, a living breathing wise-cracking miracle even before they both became world-famous scientific anomalies. He deserves fireworks and epic poems and goddamn parades, and instead — well. This is the sort of motel where you don’t look too closely at the stains on the carpet. 

Steve’s spent the better part of a century pining for the guy. You’d think he could manage one romantic weekend getaway. 

“Stop that,” Bucky interrupts, before he can spiral any further. “Jesus, stop with the big tragic eyes already. Just shut up and kiss me.” 

Steve would protest, but there’s a tongue in his mouth and a hand in his hair, tugging sharp enough to make his hips twitch forward and his rational mind switch off completely. There’s kiss after syrupy-slow, brain-liquefying kiss, and for a moment Steve lets himself get lost in it.

Then they’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and he’s so startled he jerks back and rolls off the bed into a crouch, instincts kicking in before he remembers: pizza. Right. 

Bucky is laughing — cackling, more like. 

“Wallet’s on the desk,” he says, and stretches extravagantly, unbothered, while Steve fumbles for some money and goes to open the door. 

“Your total is—” The guy stops, blinking rapidly up at Steve. “You’re…” 

Steve remembers abruptly that he’s shirtless and half-hard, with some major bed head and kiss-swollen lips. 

“Sorry, I’m not — this isn’t —” he blurts out. “Um.” 

Too late. The guy is already glancing behind him; Steve looks back just in time to catch Bucky’s outrageous wink and sly grin from where he’s lounging on his side like a goddamn pinup. 

The delivery guy looks up at Steve again, grinning, and says, “Nice. Get it, Cap.” 

“I — what? No!” Steve squawks. “Not what it looks like!” 

“Totally what it looks like,” Bucky calls cheerfully. 

Steve shoves too much money at the guy. “Keep the change. Thank you!” 

He manages to snatch the boxes and slam the door before this can get any more mortifying, and then he sags back against the doorframe and puts a hand over his eyes for a second. 

“What happened to not that kind of movie?” he sighs, cheeks burning, before collecting himself and making a mental note to warn Pepper about another impending PR crisis. 

They sit on the floor, side by side, leaning back against the mattress. Steve checks the top box and hands it to Bucky at the sight of pineapple. 

“That’s yours. Heathen.” 

Bucky shrugs, unrepentant, and shoves half a slice of his pineapple abomination into his mouth in one bite. Steve does the same with his perfectly respectable mushroom and sausage piece, and for a few minutes they both just shovel food into their mouths. Steve didn’t realize how hungry he was, but… yeah. 

Maybe blood sugar has been a factor in his mood. Huh. 

“How’sit?” 

“It’s pizza. It’s hot and cheesy, it’s not like it could be bad.” 

“Hot and cheesy, huh? Just like one of my other favorite things.” 

Steve lets out a long suffering sigh, but it’s hard to be grouchy after demolishing half a pizza. 

“You know that guy is gonna tell everyone he’s ever met, right?”

“They won’t believe him.” Bucky counters. “Hey, did you know there’s Captain America porn?” 

Steve almost chokes. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a porn parody of everything these days. The guy’s not a bad lookalike, at least in the face area. The dick area—” 

“Bucky.” 

“I gave them that guy’s name when I paid for the room and ordered the food.” 

Steve actually chokes this time. Then he laughs until his stomach hurts. 

He can’t stop until he’s breathless and red-faced, wheezing like he still has asthma. He wipes away tears while Bucky sits there and looks quietly pleased with himself. 

When the giggles subside he leans over and plants a greasy kiss on the corner of Bucky’s smile. Bucky chases his mouth and nips his lower lip, and for a minute they sit just like that, twisting at an awkward angle to exchange slow scattered kisses. 

With hunger out of the way, Steve’s top priority is getting Bucky horizontal again, so he shoves the pizza boxes out of the way and tugs-lifts-tackles him onto the bed. 

“Feeling better, I take it,” Bucky says, grinning. “Seriously, everything okay?” 

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly. “I just — I don’t know. I wanted this weekend to be perfect.” 

Bucky’s expression clears, suddenly. “God, you’re such a romantic.” 

“I mean, it would’ve been romantic, if everything had gone according to plan.”  

“You know I’ll say yes even if it’s not perfect, right?” 

All Steve can do is sputter for a solid minute. “You — how did you — how did you figure it out?”

Bucky raises one snarky eyebrow, thumbs stroking Steve’s shoulderblades before he surges up for a quick kiss. Then his lips twitch as he tries to hold back a chuckle. 

“You didn’t buy a ring, did you? ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, but… that might be problematic.” He pokes Steve in the side with one metal finger. 

“No! I just — I wanted it to be special!”

Bucky rolls his eyes in a way that somehow conveys an entire lifetime of mingled exasperation and affection. 

“Pal, I’m part robot and you’re Captain America. Doesn’t get much more special than that.” 

“I had a whole speech!” 

“Now there’s something you don’t see often: Captain America making a speech.” 

“Wow.” 

“No, I’m sure it was a good one. Lemme guess, the words ‘til the end of the line’ were involved. Am I right?”  

“Wow.”

He’s laughing too hard for it to be considered a real kiss, but he can’t help it. 

Steve’s about to pull away when Bucky wraps both arms around him and kisses back, and suddenly there’s nothing playful about it; it’s startlingly slow and deep and urgent, with a hitched inhale and an exhale that comes out shaky. 

Steve can’t quite catch his breath either. 

“You really thought you had to ask?” Bucky whispers. Neither of them pull away; their noses brush, and they’re breathing the same warm close air. 

“Told you, I wanted it to be special. You deserve that.” He expects a sarcastic retort, but Bucky’s serious and silent. “Sometimes I worry… I’ll let you down. After all this time — I don’t want you to get bored. Don’t want you to think I take you for granted.” 

“Honestly? The boring stuff is my favorite.” 

“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better, Buck.” 

“After everything that’s happened —” His voice has gone rough, and he pauses to lick his lips and take a breath. “Boredom still feels like a luxury. Getting to muddle through the everyday shit together… I love it. Even when you’re being a goddamn diva.” 

Steve lets out a wobbly chuckle. “Jerk.” 

“We both shoulda died a few times over by now. You know? It all feels special. I’m never gonna get over that.”  Bucky bites his lip, and his expression is wide-open and vulnerable, no trace of the usual laughter in his eyes. “So if you want a piece of paper making it official, that’s fine by me. But as far as I’m concerned… it was a done deal a long time ago.” 

“Yeah,” Steve manages. “Yeah, okay.” 

Then it’s bruising lips and feverish heat, a simmering need that’s so perfect and dizzying that for a few minutes, Steve forgets about the questionable duvet and the sticky wallpaper and absolutely everything else. 

They could be anywhere: crappy motel room, Brooklyn tenement, mountain cabin, Army base — Steve’s never been able to focus on their surroundings or anything else for that matter, not when Bucky’s around. This kind of love’s not just blind, it’s blinding. 

“You can go through the whole thing anyway, if it makes you feel better,” Bucky interrupts.

“Huh?” 

“I know you need to deliver an inspiring speech at least once a week or you get all backed up.” 

“I’m starting to think I should take it all back.”

“No, really. I’m sure it would’ve been very eloquent.” 

“Shut up and get your clothes off already.” 

“Is that an order, Captain?” 

“Yes.” 

“See? Who needs romance when — oh. Oh, hey, do that again.” 

.

.

.

[365days365movies]

February 18, 2021: The Danish Girl (Review)

Before I go into ANYTHING else...let’s talk about the actual Danish Girl, Lili Elbe, or Lili Ilse Elvenes.

Oh, uh, full warning, this is gonna be LONG, so skip to the bottom if you’re just here for the Review! OK, history time!

Now, what the film The Danish Girl notes about the beginning of the transition is pretty spot-on, from what I can tell. After marrying portrait painter Gerda Gottlieb in 1904, the two lived in Italy and France before moving to Paris in 1912. Yeah, that’s over 14 years before they’re shown doing so in the movie. Inaccuracy #1. In 1908 (here comes number 2), Elbe (Einar at the time) painted this portrait of trees along a fjord in Denmark.

Yeah, NOT in 1926, as the film says. But, yeah, that’s a nitpick, I recognize that. Anyway, the revelation came when model Anna Larssen (not “Ulla”, which is Inaccuracy #3) was late, and Gerda asked Elbe to fill in. When Larssen eventually showed up, she suggested the name “Lili”. Basically, this scene from the movie was pretty goddamn accurate.

Except for the dates, anyway. Because while the movie mostly takes place around 1926 and afterwards, this probably happened closer to 1920, in Paris. So, yeah, Lili spent a LOT more time as Lili in real life. Additionally, Lili was pretty goddamn public about the whole thing, inviting guests and hosting parties as herself, rather than as Einar. At the same time, Gerda was getting pretty goddamn famous for her paintings of Lili, like this one.

Which, yeah, are really good! Also, they were considered lesbian erotica by many! YEAH! And here’s a fun fact: Gerda may not have been straight-up straight. Yeah, the film and the book (we’ll get there) kind of ignored the fact that their marriage was annulled by the Danish government, not by the two of them. Inaccuracy #4. Now, obviously, their relationship ended, and Lili ended up getting together with a man (we’ll get there, too), but there are a LOT of unanswered questions about Gerda’s sexuality, and views of sexuality (which is barely hinted at in the “male gaze” speech in the beginning).

After the annulment, the two just...drifted apart. Their relationship dissolved, and the details on that are fuzzy. By 1930, Lili was headed on a completely different path. She wasn’t a painter like Einar (and it turns out that she thought of them as two entirely separate people, like two souls living in the same body, which the movie got mostly right), and she was mostly unsatisfied with her career, life, and other things. And that is where Drs. Erwin Gohrbandt and Magnus Hirschfeld come in, NOT Kurt Warnerkros...yet. He’d come in for the other five (YES FIVE) surgeries, but wouldn’t be involved with the first. Inaccuracy #5, and also #6, while we’re at it! See, the film would make you think that Lili was the first complete gender reassignment surgery, but she was actually the second. The first would be Dora Richter, in a procedure that was performed by Dr. Hirschfeld from 1922 - 1931. YEAH. BIG-ASS INACCURACY THERE. Here’s Dora, by the way:

Anyway, Lili had her first procedure, to remove the testicles, performed in 1930. In the same year, the divorce between Lili and Gerda was finalized, and Lili legally changed her name. Two more procedures were performed, the first to implant an ovary, and the second to remove the penis and scrotum. Inaccuracy #7, by the way. And, hey, let’s go for number 8! Let’s talk about Henrik, a dude who didn’t exist. He and Hans were both very loosely based on an art dealer named Claude Lejeune.

Claude was an art dealer (there’s the Hans part), and was indeed in love with Lili. They got together around early 1931, and he’d actually been in love with her for a good, long time. He proposed to marry Lili, and she accepted, also hoping that the two would be able to have children together. But to do that, it was believed that Lili would need a uterus. And, obviously, having children would be MILES more complicated than that in basically EVERY way, but this was early in medical science’s understanding of some of that biology.

In any case, however, Lili would need both a uterus and a vagina to feel whole. And so, the fourth surgery was scheduled. And she had that surgery in 1931, a couple of weeks after Dora Richter successfully had the same surgery performed. But, sadly, Lili wouldn’t be so lucky.

Lili’s body rejected the uterus, and while transplant rejections of any kind wouldn’t necessarily be fatal now, they definitely were back then. They attempted to remove it, but that subsequent 5th surgery caused infection, which caused a fatal heart attack three months later. Lili Elbe died on September 13, 1931, at the age of FORTY-EIGHT. Yeah, Inaccuracy #9.

By the way, you may be wondering: what about Dora Richter, the first successful person to get these surgeries? Well, she disappeared...in Germany...as the Nazis were coming into power...yeah. Fuckin’ YIKES.

And so, that’s the true story of Lili Elbe. And there are far more differences than that, I’m sure, but those 9 inaccuracies aren’t insignificant, that’s for sure. Although, it probably doesn’t help that the movie was based on a fictionalized book.

Oh, uh...did I not mention that? Yeah, this movie is based on The Danish Girl, by David Ebershoff, which means that this film is essentially a cinematic game of telephone. Which, uh...not great. Granted, Ebershoof made some other...interesting changes, which the film didn’t inherit. In the book, for example, Gerda is named Greta, and is American? Um...why? I dunno, it’s kind of weird. Oh, and that’s not including one more issue with the movie. But, you’ve waited long enough, huh? Recap of the film is here and here if you wanna check that out! Let’s get to the Review already!

Review

Cast and Acting: 8/10

I am...conflicted. So let me start here by saying that the acting in the film in and of itself is fantastic, all-around. Not a weak actor in here, that’s for sure. Let’s start with the side-roles, for once. Ben Whishaw, Matthias Schoenaerts, and Amber Heard are all good. Heard’s accent is a little shaky, but they’re still all solid performances. OK, how about Alicia Vikander? She’s great! And she won the Oscar for...Best Supporting Actress. Um...wait...Supporting? But not Best Actress? Uh...OK. That’s a little weird, let’s be honest here. But, Alicia Vikander did deserve that win over...oooooooh, Rooney Mara in Carol? Maybe not...damn.

And OK...let’s get into the elephant in the room, huh?

Eddie Redmayne is fantastic as Einar Wegener/Lili Eber, and I genuinely think he had a great shot to win Best Actor...but, yeah, Leonardo DiCaprio definitely deserved it, I think that goes without saying. Hell, that year had a SOLID line-up for best actor. And Redmayne had even won it the year before for The THeory of Everything, another biography where he played Stephen Hawking. But ALL of that said...HNNNNNNNNNG, there should have been a transgender actor cast in this role, ideally. Now, I’m fully aware how difficult that would be, as Hollywood isn’t extraordinarily diverse in terms of including trans actors in massive mainstream projects. It’s better now, but it’s nowhere near ideal. But if anybody knows an actor who would’ve fit this role and performed it well, I’m DEFINITELY interested. So, despite that controversy, Redmayne was pretty goddamn great in this role. But, uh...that doesn’t mean everything is perfect...

Plot and Writing: 5/10

OK, that seems low, I know. But it’s pretty goddamn damning that this movie was based off of a heavily fictionalized book instead of the actual life story of Lili Eber and Gerda Gottlieb. And because of that, there are not only some missed opportunities, but some straight-up damning inaccuracies. That’s a set of pretty poor decisions, I tell you what. Not sure why Lucinda Coxon came to that decision when adapting this screenplay, but it wasn’t exactly nominated for Best Screenplay. And the writing certainly isn’t bad, but it is...overly saccharine sometimes, especially for a film based (loosely) on a true story. I dunno...just not the best set of choices here, sorry to say.

Directing and Cinematography: 8/10

Tom Hooper shouldn’t direct musicals. However, since this wasn’t a musical, directing and cinematography here is pretty damn good! Real talk, this is a gorgeous looking movie, and the way shots are framed are fantastic. Perfect? Weeeeeeeell...given the fact that painting is a main focus of the film, for both Gerda and Einar, there should’ve been more painter-quality shots in here, I think. And while the cinematography by Danny Cohen is pretty fantastic, I can’t say that it’s perfect. Still, in terms of lighting and general skill, it’s still quite a good looking movie.

Production and Art Design: 10/10

But the deficiencies in the direction are EASILY compensated for by the production design! Like, hot DAMN, this is a good looking movie, like I said! That goes from the construction of the sets, to the gorgeous outfits all over the place, especially Lili’s outfits. Some iconic pieces of wardrobe there, that’s for sure! But if I have ONE complaint...this movie never once felt like the 1920s. Yup, good old anachronistic complaints from me again! Yeah, I’ll change the record one of these days, I promise. But even with that, it’s hard to ignore just how good this movie looks, to be honest. It’s just...gorgeous.

Music and Editing: 8/10

As I type this, I’m listening to a track of the film on YouTube, and it is a beautifully delicate tune. I’m not sure that I’d be able to associate it with the film if presented to me on its own, but it’s definitely a nice track to listen to by itself. Playlist worthy? For somebody, almost certainly, but not for me. One of these days, a film like that’s gonna pop up, I swear. But for now, Alexandre Desplat and his score are gonna stay off my iPhone. This really is a nice score, though, I promise. Editing by Melanie Ann Oliver is pretty good as well, and I’ve no complaints about it, to be honest. Overall, this side of things was quite nice, if not the most notable thing I’ve ever seen or heard.

I might have been a little harsh, but it’s still got an 78%.

This is a good movie, but...I dunno, the inaccuracies do bug me. Hell, there are WAY more than what I’d mentioned, and I mentioned a lot. Not to mention the other glaring issue: no trans people at any stage of the production? Really? No script consultants, no writers, no NTOHING? That’s...egregiously bad. Like, holy shit, guys. And, yes, this includes Redmayne, because even though he performed admirably in the role...I dunno. I’m no expert on ANY of this, as a cissexual dude with cissexual experience, but it feels a little...reductive, is all. Like I said, if any other actors have been suggested for this role, I’d love to know. The whole thing feels...I don’t know, just not great. 

And by the way, that’s without even TOUCHING the question as to whether or not this film is authentic to the trans experience. Again, I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA, but I’ve also heard that this film isn’t universally acclaimed in the trans community, so to speak. And I’m definitely interested in the reasons for that. All I know is this: from the perspective of a complete outsider, I was intrigued by this films view of the transgender experience, specifically as seen in the earliest days of those realizations happening and being publicly known and reported on. And that’s all I can really comment on, in truth.

WHOOF. That was a goddamn topic, huh? And now, I’m going to continue on the the month of romance with...wait, the 19th is my 5-year anniversary with my GF, pictured here:

Ravishing. Anyway, I think I’ll let her pick from my choices for this next one. Hold on a sec...OK, then. Sing it with me now! AND DO I DREEEEEAM AGAAAAIN, FOR NOW I FIIIIIIIIIIIIIND...

February 19, 2021: The Phantom of the Opera (2004)

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Ignorance is Blitzed (Part Two)

Ron Speirs x Reader

When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initally thought.

WARNINGS: Some overthinking handsome deathwish prince, some potty words, he makes you nakey but it’s to save your life so NOT SMUT YET KIDS BUT SOON

The shot the doc had given you only confirmed what the SS prisoner had tried to communicate to Bull in broken English- the nazi’s were giving their footsoldiers amphetamines as stimulants and aggression boosters.

Ron supposed that he should feel some comfort in that- that it hadn’t truly been poison or some aneurysm of some kind that had left you this trembling and sick mess on the mattress before them.

But you still were hurting, still sick and trembling and miserable despite Doc insisting that the drugs he’d given you ensured that you weren’t in any discomfort. He knew better than to fully believe that- sure, you may not be getting violently ill at his feet anymore, but that didn’t mean you were anywhere near okay.

When you’d stumbled from the building he’d thought at first you were drunk, your steps staggering and your knees buckling like some crumpling marionette. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so pale, and the haunted, terrified look on your face made his heart turn to stone in his chest when he’d caught it. 

He may not have known you and been your friend as long as Bull or Nix or Grant or even that squirrelly kid Christenson, but the idea of something taking you away from the world had become unacceptable somewhere between New York and Normandy. 

Your friendliness with Grant and Nix had brought you existence out of Ron’s peripheral and into his direct line of sight, and when you’d masterfully articulated the most effective way to refit the Allies-issued rifle with stolen parts from the German’s more advanced weaponry, you’d made it clear that you were not to be looked over just because you were easy on the eyes.

Which you were, and as much as Ron hated to admit it he had caught himself admiring you from across a classroom a time or ten while in Georgia. He just was better at hiding it than all of the other idiots who you would catch gaping at you.

You were easy to like, even for someone as prickly as Ron knew himself to be- strong and sincere and friendly and so fiercely loyal to the group of idiots you affectionately called ‘your boys’ that, even when he actively tried to dislike you, he couldn’t seem to manage it.

Not that he’d ever told you as much. Obviously. That wouldn’t do.

Or, it wouldn’t have done— to be more accurate.

Until now, he was fine with your strange friendship of comfortable silences and shared looks of reassurance and private jokes followed by even more private grins. You just seemed to fit, not like you’d filled a missing space, but more like you just seemed to...complement him.

And he was content to just remain that way— a dark and brooding shadow to your beautiful, blinding light. 

But now, having had a taste of what it would feel like to have your brilliant light nearly snuffed out? He felt ….threatened, something you had once teased was the most dangerous weapon the battalion had at its disposal. 

“God help the son of a bitch who ever cuts you off in traffic, Ron Speirs. If science can ever figure out what makes you tick, they should bottle it and sell it for profit….”

The memory seemed horribly ironic now.

You, you’re what makes me tick.

Even as you’d laid there shaking like a leaf, he’d been unable to see you as anything other than beautiful- a wounded Nike in army green.

Well, you had been in green— after about an hour of rest you’d sweat through your jumpsuit and in order to cool you off Ron and Roe had had to cut your layers away until you were left in your sweat-soaked undershirt and underpants. 

Of course, the perspiration on your skin had instantly cooled and sent you into a violent fit of shivers that only ceased after Ron got sick of watching you suffer and he’d forced the young man to help him carry you to the closest source of hot water and clumsily held you in a warm bath until your shivering subsided to an occasional twitch of your hand or foot.

Ron had never sat in a bathtub with another person before, but he figured that if he were going to it, it may as well have been for you. 

Your head had been heavy on his shoulder has he’d held you against him, the only sign of your wakefulness being your occasional grumble of Is it raining? or if you’re going to kill me just do it already or Ron I’m sorry I fucked up.

Roe had said nothing about how Ron rocked you in his arms whenever you tensed or shivered, nor did the medic seem to give off the impression that he found your symptoms surprising for someone in your situation, which filled Ron with relief.

“Y/n’s body hasn’t come into contact with methamphetamine before, if i had to guess. A lot of what we saw was her body doing what it’s supposed to do in order to get it out of her system….doesn’t look good, but it all this means everything’s doing exactly what it’s meant to….”

At least you weren’t dying. 

Each day that passed brought them one day closer to going home, closer to getting to go home where he didn’t have to worry about his friends and brothers getting killed the moment he let his guard down. Ron wasn’t sure if he believed in destiny, but he’d decided long ago that you and he were going to survive this whether you wanted to or not.

You were fucking with his plans, getting yourself hurt like this.

If he didn’t know how badly you were going to beat yourself up about making such a mistake, he probably would've been angrier about the whole thing.

But here, now? Ron couldn’t find it in himself to feel anger, not for you.

Never for you.

Roe had left him to watch you after your temperature had stabilized and the two of them had dressed you in some of Bull Randleman’s cleanest boxers and undershirt. You’d only stirred a few times since the initial injection and when you did Roe had made it clear that you were to be hydrated.

So there you were, back on the lumpy mattress in between Ron’s legs with your back against his chest, sipping from his water canteen while you apologized for maybe the hundredth time for something that wasn’t your fault (and even if it had been, he wouldn’t have blamed you for).

He watched you with soft eyes as you lowered the canteen and took a deep breath, another wave of something unpleasant washing over you that he couldn’t see, couldn’t ease for you.

“Do you need to get sick?” he asks quietly, but you’re shaking your head before he can finish.

“No, no. Just dizzy.”

Your tired gaze finds his face over your shoulder and you seem to study him for a moment, chapped lips parting a few times as if you want to say something, but the words seem to die on your tongue.

He lets your eyes trail over his face, taking a moment to take in your closeness as well.

“They’re gonna think we’re sleeping together.”

Your words surprise him, the amount of apology in your tone making his chest ache. You sigh again, looking at his canteen in your hands and working your jaw.

“The replacements, no matter what company…..they said it about Nix in Toccoa and Bull and Grant since Normandy. It’s….I’ve gotten used to it, but—”

“Let them.”

You freeze at that, and when he whispers your name he swears he’s never seen you look so shy.

Ah hell, he’d done stupider things than tell a girl he liked her. 

And if anyone deserved his honesty, it was you.

He shrugged casually, taking the canteen from your hands and leaning over to set it on the floor. The action brought his face closer to yours, and when you didn’t flinch away or look unhappy he gave you a look he knew you’d be able to see as genuine, even if to anyone else his stern expression hadn’t changed.

“Ron,”

“Y/n.”

You look as if you’re about to argue more, but with one more look at him you nod slightly.

He’s not sure what you’re nodding for,and he isn’t sure that you know either, but it feels as if you’re agreeing to something he’d been hoping you’d say yes to.

“I’m scared I won’t wake up.” you admit quietly, and when he pulls you back against him you follow so beautifully he almost kisses you. Almost.

He settles for tucking your head under his chin, and when you relax against him he feels privileged. 

“I won’t let that happen. You’ll wake up—”

“Why?” you ask softly, and Ron hopes that this is the final wave of exhaustion your body has to endure. 

He knows you aren’t just asking about why he won’t let you die in your sleep, and he has to think for a moment before finally the answer comes to him as easy as breathing.

“Because, I just do.”

You fall asleep shortly after that, your fingers laced with his in a light hold that he was reluctant to break.

 When Bull and the Doc come by a few minutes later, they find the two of you curled around each other like ivy and both sound asleep.

The two men stare at the scene before them for a few moments before Roe makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat. “Well, I’ll be….I didn’t necessarily see this coming.”

Bull barks a laugh, too relieved that you’re looking so much better to share the man’s stunned awe. With an approving nod, he nudges Eugene with his shoulder.

“C’mon, Doc. Let’s let em have an hour, unless you wanna be the one to wake up Sparky over there and let him know you approve—?”

Roe is out of the room before Bull can finish the offer, and with a grin the large man pops his cigar between his teeth,

“Good for you, kiddo.” he says under his breath, a grin on his face as he quietly shuts the door behind him.

An hour wouldn’t hurt.

(WOO HERE IT BE, THANK YOU FOR READING MY RAMBLINGS AND I LOVE YOU GUYS)

TAGLIST: @itswormtrain 

[wienerbarnes]

Necessary Evil

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,816

Warnings: nothing crazy, typical canon violence type stuff, special character appearance👀

A/N: so sorry for not posting this like two days ago when i said i was going to🥴 ive had a ton going on and ive been a busy bee but hopefully ill get myself organized for next week :) question for yall! should i keep the friday posting schedule or do thursdays instead bc of fatws on fridays? lmk!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

It’s been a confusing couple of weeks. You’ve been placed on a temporary leave while you finish your recovery after the last mission.

You’ve been trying to learn as much about your new powers as you can, not really understanding what they are or how they work considering that most of the time they’ve shown themselves it’s been accidental.

Making Bucky drop food, slamming doors shut, sending stuff flying across the room. At this point you’ll tape your hands at your sides if it means you’ll stop making such a mess everywhere.

Everything has been put on halt. You don’t cook, in fear of starting a fire or making a mess in your kitchen, you don’t spar with anyone or workout unless it’s in a closed off and sealed training room used for when the Hulk was at the tower, in fear of hurting people around you, and unfortunately, you haven’t let Bucky be around you much in fear of hurting him.

He tells you that you’re not going to hurt him and that even if you did he wouldn’t take it personally, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. The two of you got into a heated argument a few days ago when he offered to let you use him as a practice dummy for your new powers.

“How dare you suggest something like that to me?!”

“Well, I just meant that -”

“Meant what? How would you feel if I asked you to slap me around like a ragdoll with your metal arm? Make you go Winter Soldier on me?”

“That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it though?”

It wasn’t pretty.

It also didn’t help that Bucky was sent on a solo mission recently. He couldn’t tell you much about it, and you didn’t push it, knowing the two of you were still a bit rocky with each other, and knowing that it would only put more stress on you constantly thinking about his mission.

Boy, did you miss him though. You’re glad you put aside your pride to hug and kiss him goodbye, taking in his warmth, his love, his smell, savoring his arms around you and his lips on yours before he left. With the way he held and kissed you, you think he felt the same.

That was two days ago. Alpine has been the one to keep you the most company. She’s gotten big, and it’s a lot more fun to play around with her now. You trail a feather attached to the end of a string around the ground while she tries to pounce after it. A knock at the door doesn’t even pull her attention away from the toy as you let her win and catch it, standing up from your sitting position on the floor.

You open it to reveal Sam in more casual clothes than his regular tactical pants and shirt, and you return the smile he gives you.

“You busy?” He asks.

You look over your shoulder to see Alpine still pawing at the feather on the ground.

“No, I’m not busy, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to hang out, we both got the day off, figured I’d show you the best danishes in New York.”

You’re not sure if Bucky put him up to this or if this is a way to keep you from going batshit being stuck in your room not being able to do anything, but you accept the offer anyway. It’ll be nice to get some air.

“Do you, uhm,” You begin, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, the guy from the VA coming out, encouraging you to tell him.

“Do you know if Bucky’s okay? I haven’t heard from him, is all.” You ask, slipping on some shoes and heading back out into the hallway with Sam.

“I mean, I’m sure he’s fine, why wouldn’t he be?”

“Just that I know these solo missions can be anywhere and he could be doing anything, but I still worry. I didn’t know if you knew where he was or anything.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t know, because Bucky told him Steve asked him for a few favors and he needed some off time for a couple of days. He thought Bucky was in rural New York. There’s no mission. But he supposes he’s not supposed to tell you that.

“Yeah, I don’t know much about it. Fury’s probably the one behind it.” Fury’s in Florida for his niece’s sixth birthday. He doesn’t tell you that either.

Luckily you accept it and enter the elevator to leave the private floor and go to the common area, able to leave out the backway of the tower.

“Avenger in the building, Captain.”

Sam doesn’t understand. Avenger? Who’s even around anymore?

“Uh, huh? Bucky?”

“No, Captain.”

“Clint?”

“No.”

“Who’s here?”

“Underoos.”

Underoos? Where has he heard that? Isn’t that -

The elevator doors open to the common room, a teenage boy stands with his back towards the two of you. His head whips around in typical teenage fashion and your eyebrows shoot up, unaware that the Avengers recruited teenagers.

“Is that a fucking kid?”

“Peter?” Sam asks, clearly surprised at the boy being in front of him. He hasn’t seen him in years. He wasn’t even sure where he was all this time, assuming he was in school, with his Aunt, but now he’s here.

“Sam! And his lady... friend. How are you?!”

“The lady friend has a name.” You chirp.

“What are you doing here?”

You and Sam speak at the same time. Peter addresses you first, “And your name is…?”

“Uh, Agent 51.” You didn’t think that through.

“Weird name, but alright.”

“Peter.” Sam brings his attention back to his question.

“Who is this guy?” You ask, clearly lost on who this person is and how he’s an Avenger.

“This is Spider-Man.” Sam tells you nonchalantly.

“Uh- Sam?!” Peter exclaims.

“What, she works with us, now. She doesn’t have anyone to tell anyway.”

“Sam?!” You elbow him.

“Why are you here, Peter.” Sam asks again.

“Well, you know, I was in school, doing some stuff here and there for Hill and Fury, and I figured I’d stop by.” He smiles.

You and Sam stare in silent confusion.

“Okay, look. I feel… lost. Like I feel like I’ve come to terms with Tony dying and stuff, but, I don’t know...” Peter finally cuts to the point.

You know very little about Spider-Man. You definitely didn’t know he was a kid, but you also didn’t know that he had some sort of a close relationship with Tony Stark. You’re becoming more and more like Bucky everyday; not knowing who any of these people are, not remembering seemingly important events, hell, not even knowing have these things happened because you were under Hydra.

“Peter, we don’t -”

“I’m not asking for help. More so asking if you have anything for me to do, or something.” His smile falls. You’re definitely confused, but you feel for the guy. You remember feeling lost as a teenager, losing the people you looked up to. And that lost feeling landed you in the Marines and the Marines landed you with a terrorist organization. We should help him, you immediately think.

“I’m sorry, man.” Sam offers. He wants to help Peter, as annoying as he finds him. Being a teenager is hard, and being Spider-Man is harder. But, Sam can’t forget that he’s still a kid in school with only his aunt and a few friends around him. He doesn’t want to put a person like that in the immense danger they throw themselves into, even if he knows he can handle it.

“No worries, I’ll be on my way, then.” Peter nervously scratches at his eyebrow.

“Sure you don’t want to stick around here for a bit? I know the Avengers aren’t much of a thing anymore, but, you always got a room here; a place to stay.” Sam tells him, assuming Peter’s on the verge of having a sort of coming-of-age moment.

“No, no, I need to be with May. I’ll see if I can, uh, maybe stop by more often. Maybe. If that’s alright. Nice to meet you, uh, Miss 51!” He bids farewell before walking away awkwardly, leaving Sam with a sort of sullen look on his face and you still very confused.

“What was that whole thing about?” You finally break the silence as you two make your way towards the private garage elevators.

“I’ll tell you over danishes.”

Bucky plants his fist into the HYDRA soldier’s face for the sixth time, the sound of metal hitting flesh making a slushy sound with little clanks, signifying teeth hitting the floor.

“This is the last time I ask you before I kill you. Where is Bychkov, Morozov, and that fuck with metal arms?” He pants beneath the black mask and goggles, an outfit he hadn’t dawned in so long.

Your list is heavy in his pocket, he thinks about the names he’s already crossed off and few he has left. He’s not going to stop until he finds the handlers that captured you and the supposed soldier with metal arms that shot you, details you only mentioned to him once after a nightmare that he refused to ever forget.

“They… went back… to base… in Kiev. Just… north of it.” He struggles out.

One step closer. Bucky stands taller, letting the man slump on the ground, and he reaches for the knife at his thigh.

“Wait! I - I told you… where they went!”

“I was going to kill you whether you told me or not, you Nazi fuck.” Is all he says before he slashes the knife, ending the bastard’s life.

Leaving the man’s home, he rounds a corner into the night and replaces his knife, taking out a pen in one of his many pockets as well as your list.

He crosses off Antonov, looking down at the four remaining names, two of which were the men that did this to you.

He takes a breath, the layers of leather and kevlar straining over his muscles as he sighs. He never thought he’d be hunting people down like this, Nazi or not. He never thought he’d have this black mask and these goggles over his eyes. But he also never thought HYDRA would touch the love of his life the way they did; never thought they’d put you in that chair.

So, now, he’s only getting revenge. It’s the least he can do after this organization has stolen his life, kept him from seeing his family forever, took his arm, gave him PTSD, gave his girlfriend PTSD and injected her with who knows what only to put her in that goddamn chair.

While he never thought he’d be in this position, they asked for it, and he’s not sorry.

On to the next name.

[yukinojou]

I already squeed quite a bit on Twitter, but turns out my Shadow and Bone thoughts demand longform. So that was a 40+ tweet thread or using my Tumblr for an original post for once.

I was wary about the Shadow and Bone adaptation the way I'm usually wary about good books being adapted onscreen. It was amplified because my actual favourites are the Six of Crows books, and because the American-based movie complex has a bad track record of doing anything based on Eastern Europe. 8 episodes in 3 days should tell you how much I loved it - the moment I finished, I wanted more.

First, the technical praise:

Damn but the plotting is tight. It took me a while to realised it's based on heist movie bones, where every little thing (The Freaking Bullet!) is important. The story fulfills its promises and manages not to bore at the same time - it delights by the way they're fulfilled. I called out a few plot developments moments before they happened, and I was happy about it. Such a joy after so many series where "not doing what viewers expect" led to plot holes and lack of sense. It might be an upside to the streaming model after all.

From a dramatic point of view I can tell all the reasons for all the changes, especially providing additional outsider points of view on Ravka (Crows) and letting viewers see Mal for themselves the way he only comes across in later books.

Speaking of which, this is a masterclass in rewriting a story draft. SaB was Bardugo's first, and having read later books you can really see where she didn't quite dare to break the YA rules yet, especially Single POV that necessitated a tight focus on Alina's often negative feelings rather than the big picture and a triangle that felt a bit forced. The world in the series is so much bigger, the way Bardugo could finally paint it when SaB success gave her more creative freedom, and some structural choices feel familiar too. It's a combination of various choices by crew and cast, but the end result meshes together so tightly and naturally.

Visuals! Especially the war parts because Every Soviet Movie Ever, but also the clothes (I would kill for Nina's blouse in the bar), the jewelry, the interiors. The stag was so very beautiful. And a deep commitment to a coherent aesthetic for each character and setting.

Look, you can do a serious fantasy series with colours! Both skin colours and bright sets and clothing! And all scenes were well lit enough to know what's going on, even in the Fold!

Representation (aka I Am Emotion)

To start with: I was born behind the Iron Curtain, in the last years of the Cold War. The Curtain was always permeable to some extent, and we have always been aware that while we have talented artists of our own, we never had the budgets and polish of the Anglosphere Entertainment Machine. So we watched a hell of a lot of American visual storytelling especially because yeah, you can tell we don't have the budgets. 90s and 2000s especially, it's getting better now.

In American stories, the BEST case scenario for Eastern European representation is the Big Dumb Pole, the ethnic stereotype Americans don't even notice they use, where the punchline is that his English is bad or that he grew up outside Anglo culture. Other than that, it's criminals, beggars, sex trafficking victims, refugees. Sure, we may look similar (except we really really don't, not if you're raised here and see the distinct lack of all those long-jawed Anglo faces), but we are not and have never been the West, never mind America. It's probably better for younger people now, but I was raised under rationing and passport bans. Star Trek and Beverly Hills 90210 were exactly as foreign to me.

The first ever character I really identified with was Susan Ivanova in Babylon 5 (written by J. Michael Straczynski, yay behind-camera representation). This was a Russian Jewish woman very much in charge, in the way of strong women I know so well, not taking any bullshit, not repressing her feminity. I recognised her bones, she could be my cousin. The sheer relief of it. There have been few such occasions since.

The reason I picked up Shadow and Bone in the first place was recommendations from other Polish people. I've had no problems finding representation in Eastern European books because wow our scene is strong in SFF especially, but it's always a treat to find a book in English that gets it. And Leigh gets it, the bones of our culture, and I could even look past the grammar issue (dear gods and Americans, Starkova for a woman, Morozov for a guy) that really irked me because of the love for the setting and the characters, the weaving in of religion/mysticism (we never laicisized the same way as the West, natch), the understanding of how deep are the scars left in a nation at war for centuries. The books are precious to me, they and Arden's Winternight and Novik's Spinning Silver.

To sum up: Shadow and Bone the Netflix series gets it. You can tell just how much they've immersed themselves in Eastern European culture and media, it comes across so well in visuals and writing and characters. Not just the obvious bits (though the WWII propaganda posters gave me a giggle), but the palaces, the additional plotlines and characters, the costumes, the attitudes. About the only thing missing in the soldier scenes was someone singing and/or quoting poetry.

I will blame the Apparat's lack of beard on filming in a non-Orthodox country. Poland's Catholic too, but I very much imagined him as an Orthodox patriarch, possibly because I read the books shortly after a visit to Pecherska Lavra in Kiev and the labyrinthine holy catacombs there. Small quibble, not my religion, not my place to speak.

(I've seen discussion on the issues with biracial representation in the show, which is visceral and apparently based on bad experiences of one of the show writers in a way that's caused pain to other Asian and biracial people. I'm not qualified to speak on those parts, other that Eastern Europe is... yeah. Racist in subtly different ways. If anything, the treatment of the Suli as explained in Six of Crows always read so very true of the way Roma are treated, and even sanitised.)

And now for the spoiler-filled bits:

Kaz and Inej. I mean... just THEM. So many props to the actors, the writers, the bloody goat.

I adore the fact the only people who get to have sex in the show are Jesper and a very lucky stablehand.

Ben Barnes needs either an award or a kick. The man's acting choices and puppy eyes are as epic as his hair.

So Much Love for Alina initiating the kiss. Her book characterisation makes sense, she's so trapped in her own head because she has no time to process everything that's happening, but grabbing life by the lapels is a much more active choice. Still not making the relationship equal, but closer to it.

Speaking of, Kaz's constant awareness of how unequal his relationship with Inej is, and attempts to give her agency. I'm really curious how his touch issues come across to someone who doesn't know the backstory there.

Feodor and his actor. He looks exactly like the pre-war heartthrob Adolf Dymsza, a specific upper-class Polish ethnic type that's much rarer now that, well, Nazis killed millions of Polish intellectuals in their attempt to reduce us to unskilled labour only. The faces he makes are the Best.

Nina!! Nina is perfect, those cheekbones, that cheek, I was giggling myself silly half the time. I cannot wait to see Danielle Galligan take on the challenge of Nina's plotline in Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom, she'll kill us dead.

I already mentioned that the writers fixed Mal's absence from the first book, but Mal in general! The haircut gives him a kind of rugby charm, and Archie Renaux is outstanding at emoting without talking. Honestly, all the casting in this series is inspired, but him in particular.

Extra bonus: Howard Charles and Luke Pasqualino playing so very much against the type of the swaggering Musketeers I saw them play last. Arken dropping the mask at the end... Howard Charles is love.

I can't believe not only was Milo's bullet a plot point, but the fact Alina was wearing a particularly sparkly hair ornament in a long series of beautiful hair ornaments was a plot point.

In conclusion: so much love, and next three season NOW please. Okay, give me a week to reread the books, and an extra day because new Murderbot drops tomorrow...

[muchadoaboutbucky]

what an ass hath he (oneshot)

PAIRING: Bucky x Reader

WARNINGS: smut, semi-public/risky sex

NOTE: Do not save or repost my work. 18+ only.

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You wake up alone. Unusual, given that your husband is ultimately the most cuddly partner you’ve had in your life, and that he likes to spend his mornings warming your body with his own until the clock finally hits an unreasonable hour to still be in bed.

He’s got to go on a mission today, and he’s preparing himself for a long week in Milan with Nat, Sam, and Steve, scouting out an arms dealer selling to white nationalist organizations. 

“I fought these Nazi bastards in World War two,” he likes to say every now and again, “you’d think they’d be gone by now.”

You make up for his absence with an early morning, making large batches of bacon, eggs, and toast. Bucky, who normally comes right out of wherever he’s hiding at the smell of food, makes no appearance. It’s easy to draw the conclusion that he’s busy doing something to take his mind off the impending carnage. 

One by one, the Avengers trickle into the kitchen, filling plates and perching around the island to eat. You take advantage of their obsession with your breakfast preparations to sneak off and find your husband. It doesn’t take very long. He’s in the gym, and the repetitive thwack of fists on a punching bag resounds through the cavernous space.

You saunter in, bare feet padding slowly on the rubber mat-covered floor. Bucky doesn’t seem to hear you approach, and you’re able to lean against the side of the sparring ring, watching your husband focus on his workout.

His ass looks spectacular this morning, you can’t help but notice that right off the bat. He’s got his favorite red joggers on, and from the looks of things, nothing else. His hair’s tied up in a loose bun, keeping it out of his eyes. The muscles in his back and arms clench and his suntanned skin glistens with sweat. He's bare-knuckling it, too—forcing the bag to take full-strength metal and flesh punches.

God, of all the men on the planet, you landed Bucky. This goddamn handsome-as-hell specimen is all yours. 

He lands one last solid punch on the bag with his metal fist, causing the side to split open with a loud popping sound. The filling inside litters the floor, and Bucky steps back, letting out a deep breath to calm his nerves. You debate sneaking out, but before you can make a move, he’s turning around, a smirk on his face.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asks. 

“Long enough to watch you destroy that bag.” You smile as he bends over, grabbing the edge of the bag and carrying it over to the other two he and Steve have busted over the last month. “Those new pants?”

He chuckles, tugging his hair from it’s messy bun as he slowly pads over to you. “Maybe. Why, d’ya like ‘em?”

You giggle as he lifts you up onto the edge of the wrestling ring. “Definitely noticed how good your ass looks in them. Better not go out in those, I don’t need to start a fight over my husband’s ass.”

His cheeks flush red. “My ass ain’t something to fight over, honey.”

“Oh, but I say it is.” You fill your palms with it, feel the firm muscles clench as you dig your nails through the fabric. “There’s a lot I like to do with this ass.”

His eyebrows arch as he steps a little closer, the tent in the front of his pants growing more and more prominent. “Like what?”

“Squeezing it,” you explain slowly, “pulling you closer when you’re inside me… spanking it to make you go faster…”

Bucky growls and reaches between your legs, swiping your panties to the side and running his index finger between the soft folds of wet, slippery flesh. “You’re such a little tease.”

You gasp when he shoves the waistband of his pants down. “What do you think you’re doing?” A giggle escapes your lips when he rubs himself between your legs. “Bucky, we can’t—”

“We can,” he smirks. “I missed our morning romp and I don’t like breakin’ routine, doll.”

He rolls forward, sliding into you in a long, thick motion, and swallows your gasp with a heavy kiss. Your legs splay wide, and Bucky holds your hips in place as he begins to thrust. You have to reach behind you to brace a hand on the floor of the boxing ring behind you.

“Right there,” he grunts quietly, “stay right there for me, baby, gonna make this good and fast.”

His thrusts quicken, hard, determined strokes that make you squeeze deliciously tight around him, hot and wet enough to make a shiver race up and down his spine. Brazenly, you reach around to dig your nails into a firm cheek of his ass. He staggers a little, and his pants fall to pool around his feet; you hum with delight at the sight of your husband fully naked in an open gym, where anyone could walk in…

A flush of heat pools in your belly when his thumb finds your clit, massaging in quick, smooth circles that make your toes curl. You arch up, whimpering against his lips as his strong, determined thrusts turn into quick stutters. He waits for your release to overwhelm you in a quick, shuddering burst that makes you clench tight around him. He swallows your breathless moan and pushes as close as he can, panting hard against your mouth as he spills deep with several jerking throbs that echo all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

“I think I wanna keep finishing my workouts like this,” he says, a lazy grin stretching his lips. He pulls free with a steady huff, watching you fix your panties and slide off the edge of the ring. 

“You can come back to bed and I’ll treat you real good there,” you reply as he bends to pull his pants back up. “I like a risk but we'd get flayed alive if someone caught us. Plus,” you add with a quick smack to his ass through soft red fabric, “I can take my time with you in bed. Say all the naughty things you like.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush even redder, and you know he’s thinking of the time you’d gotten him on edge saying words he’d never dream of hearing a woman of his time say. He’d—somewhat embarrassingly—messed himself before you could even get a hand down his pants. 

“I think I’d like that very much.” He smirks and leans down to sneak another kiss. “Split a shower before we head out?”

You giggle as he backs you towards the door. “Lead the way.” 

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[lizwontcry]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Breaking Bad Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jesse Pinkman/Walter White Characters: Jesse Pinkman, Walter White Additional Tags: I hope y'all like kissing Summary:

A small, quiet conversation that turns into more. AU take on the scene from 5x6, Buyout.

Jesse lets go of Walt’s hand and Walt questions why he immediately feels so intensely disappointed, but Jesse doesn’t alter his gaze off Walt’s face. Instead, he gently removes Walt’s glasses and puts them on the coffee table. Walt is so moved by this seemingly innocuous gesture that it renders him speechless. And apparently Jesse has decided they don’t need words, anyway.

____

He's losing him. Walt is losing Jesse and it's making him feel the worst kind of helpless. Ever since he took down Gus, their partnership--hell, their relationship--has been thriving, and now he feels like he has to think quick to get them back on track. Ha, back on track--ironic since they almost got away with robbing the train of its methylamine, and then...

He can't lose Jesse. Not now.

Walt reaches out and puts his hand on Jesse's shoulder. It's a little damp from sweating under their cumbersome, restrictive protective gear. The occupational hazards of cooking meth, Walt supposes. They were just taking a lunch break in another random stranger’s house when Jesse stumbled upon a news story about the kid in the desert.

Jesse is, understandably, still unhinged about Drew Sharp. Walt gives a half-hearted speech about “running the business their way” and soul-searching after they’ve made all their money, but he knows he's not getting through to Jesse. It's so frustrating to feel like Jesse is slipping further and further away from him when Jesse is the only person who remains faithful and loyal. The only person he can truly trust.

"Listen, why don't I finish this up? Why don't you... why don't you go on home, hmm?" Walt says. Maybe if Jesse had more time to himself, some peace and quiet, he'll calm down. Walt’s starting to see that’s not likely, however. He may not ever be the same. Walt is almost certain he at least used to possess as much empathy as Jesse has, but he can’t actually remember a time when he did. It’s sort of disconcerting.

“You sure?” Jesse asks.

“Absolutely,” Walt says. “Yeah. I’ll take care of this.” He claps Jesse one more time on the shoulder and gets up to go back into the tent. But Jesse grabs his hand and causes Walt to abruptly turn around. Walt is a little shocked by this gesture--Jesse rarely touches him; in fact it seems like he goes out of his way not to most of the time.

“Mr. White… I can’t go home--what's the point? I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I want to find Todd and I want to--ugh, I want to strangle that piece of shit!”

“I know. I know you do, and I've told you over and over again--we will deal with Todd."

"Oh, yeah? How is that? How are we going to deal with this nazi asshole who just shot a kid right in front of us? We have to talk to Drew Sharp’s parents, Mr. White. We have to do something."

"Saul is going to handle all of that, don't worry. That's why we pay him, Jesse. To deal with things like this. And Todd is not going to go unpunished. I promise you."

Jesse does not look convinced. Walt gets it--Jesse has a certain affinity for children; he can relate to their innocent young souls, or something. Walt is not made of stone--he mourns the senseless death of the kid, too, but he's become numb. It's just easier to be numb than to think about all the carnage that has fallen around him. Because of him, some might say. Walt disagrees, but that's another subject entirely.

Perhaps giving in to Walt's attempt at compassion, Jesse sinks into the couch next to him. Walt pats Jesse on the shoulder again; Jesse looks up at him, a somber expression on his face. His eyes are wet with silent tears.

"I just... don't know how we're going to move on from this," Jesse says softly.

"I know, but I will handle it. Come on, don't you trust me?" Walt asks.

Jesse shakes his head. "I don't know, Mr. White. I want to. But it just keeps happening, yo. Everywhere we go, someone dies. I can’t… I can’t do it. I can't keep doing this.”

Walt’s heart sinks a little. Again, he wishes he had the gift of comfort, but he’s never been very good at that. So instead he sits down with Jesse and awkwardly puts his arm around him. To his surprise, Jesse sighs and puts his head on his shoulder. Again, Jesse rarely shows any signs of physical affection towards him, but Walt isn't going to deny him of it. Jesse seems to need it now more than ever. The weight of Jesse’s head on his chest, his steady breathing, the warmth of his body… Walt feels like his heart is beating a little faster now. He tries not to think about that too much.

"Jesse... listen to me," Walt says in a low, controlled voice. “We've been through a lot together this past year, haven't we? And with everything that happens, I've managed to keep us moving forward."

"Yeah... I guess," Jesse says, sniffing a little.

"We got out of the Tuco situation, remember? My plan worked."

"Yeah, but you kinda got us into that one, too," Jesse points out. "I know you went all Rambo or whatever on him when I was in the hospital, but still... you got us mixed up with him in the first place."

Walt nods; he'd concede Jesse the point. "Okay, well, how about killing those dealers before they could kill you first?"

"Yeah, but I pretty much repaid you for that one, yo," Jesse says. He squeezed Walt's hand for emphasis. "Don't you think?"

Walt nods, and sort of feels bad for making Jesse think about Gale yet again.

"Yes, you did. Of course you did, Jesse. And I can never thank you enough for that.”

Walt is quiet for a moment. He doesn't want to lose this momentum they've been building up together, so he continues. "The point is... you can trust me. Saul will deal with the boy's parents and Mike will figure out what to do with Todd. We can overcome this. And I want you by my side when we do--I can't do this without you."

Jesse chuckles. "That's bullshit. You can get any asshole off the street and teach him what you've taught me. No big deal."

"That's not true. And even if it were, I wouldn't want to. It's you and me, Jesse. It's always been you and me."

Jesse looks at him again, his glistening blue eyes shining in the harsh light of the living room. Walt knows firsthand how much Jesse can get away with, with those eyes of his. How charming he can be when he really wants to. Walt admires the ease of Jesse's good looks.

“One more thing… one more reason to trust me--I got you into rehab, Jesse. I found you in that disgusting hellhole you were in and I picked you up and I brought you out of there. But first I held you in my arms, remember? I held you while you cried. And I made sure you would be okay. Doesn't that mean anything?" He's not trying to lay it on so thick, but Walt is getting a little emotional just thinking about it. The way Jesse clung to him that day, never wanting to let go. Walt's shirt was drenched in Jesse's anguished tears by the time he finally got him out of that godforsaken house.

"Yeah... I remember," Jesse says. He finds Walt's hand again and lightly intertwines their fingers together. Walt wonders where this is coming from, but he doesn’t want it to stop. In fact, just like everything else in his life lately, he needs more.

"I don't know what would have happened if you didn't take me out of there, yo. Honestly, I don’t even know how I ended up there in the first place. It’s all a blur."

“Well, that’s all over now. You’re safe, and I will always do my best to make sure you stay that way. That’s all I want, Jesse. That’s all I want you to know.”

“I get it,” Jesse says, but there’s no hint of the usual annoyance in his voice. Instead his voice is calm and unwavering.

Jesse lets go of Walt’s hand and Walt questions why he immediately feels so intensely disappointed, but Jesse doesn’t alter his gaze off Walt’s face. Instead, he gently removes Walt’s glasses and puts them on the coffee table. Walt is so moved by this seemingly innocuous gesture that it renders him speechless. And apparently Jesse has decided they don’t need words, anyway.

As Jesse leans in, Walt grabs his neck--maybe a little more forcefully than necessary, but god, in the moment in between Jesse looking at him and then meeting his lips, Walt decides he needs this. He needs Jesse, and more than that, he wants Jesse.

Jesse groans a little as Walt crashes into his lips. It’s as though if Walt doesn’t immediately claim Jesse as his own, this will all come to an abrupt end. And Walt can’t have that.

After a moment of desperate kissing, Jesse roughly pushes Walt back. “Jesus, Mr. White, you kiss like a fuckin’ bull in a china shop. Slow down, yo. I’m not… I’m not going anywhere.” He sounds so vulnerable (albeit somewhat annoyed), and Walt is finding himself captivated by this kid he’s taught so much. It makes him feel... defenseless. Exposed. He’s so used to feeling the exact opposite towards Jesse that this is really throwing him off his game. But Walt kind of enjoys the sense of being out of control for once. Especially with Jesse.

“Show me,” Walt says softly, almost in a whisper. “Teach me.”

Walt can’t prove it but he swears Jesse’s eyes get even bluer as he leans in again and places a gentle kiss on Walt’s lips. He moves even closer to him, nearly in his lap, and the tenderness of Jesse’s delicate kisses makes Walt weak in his already bad knees. If he wasn’t sitting down, he’d probably be falling to the ground right about now. And although they both probably smell like the chemicals they're using to cook, Walt can't help but appreciate Jesse’s natural scent as the kissing intensifies. Somehow the smell of tobacco on Jesse’s breath and the taste of saltiness from the chips he ate for lunch is only turning Walt on more.

“Come here,” Walt murmurs. “Come closer.” As always, Jesse obeys. He faces Walt on his lap, straddling him, his knees buried in the couch. He wraps his arms around Walt’s neck as he kisses him even more fiercely, while still keeping it soft and steady. Walt takes Jesse's lead, melting into the kisses, not being aggressive or rough; just enjoying how Jesse can't seem to get enough of him.

Walt moans as Jesse’s tongue finds his own. He moves his hand under Jesse’s thin black t-shirt and strokes his back as their lips continue to meet, over and over again, almost uncompromisingly. His back is so warm, and Walt can’t help but sink his fingertips into Jesse’s lean muscles, slightly scraping his skin with his nails. Jesse gasps and stops kissing Walt for just a moment, and Walt gets another look into those moody ocean eyes.

“Mr. White…” Jesse whispers, and Walt gets it. They should stop doing this. They never should have started in the first place. Why are they even doing it? To distract themselves? There's a million other ways to accomplish that, none that involve sticking their tongues in each other's mouths. This way does seem to be the most effective for the time being, though.

“I know, Jesse. It’s okay. I want this, too."

This seems to be what Jesse needs to hear, because his lips make their way back to Walt’s. Walt bites Jesse’s lip just slightly. Jesse groans a little.

"Sorry... you just taste so good," Walt says into Jesse's ear. He licks Jesse's earlobe and enjoys how Jesse trembles under the tender touch of Walt's tongue.

When Walt returns to his waiting lips, Jesse makes this humming noise that goes straight to Walt’s groin. He moves his hands down to Jesse’s hips; his pants seem to fit him better these days but Walt is still able to run his fingertips over the tender curves of his hip bones. Jesse gasps into Walt’s mouth. Walt’s heart is positively racing now and all he wants to do is lay Jesse down and explore every inch of his slight, diminutive body.

Walt loses track of time as they keep coming together. All he knows now is Jesse's lips, his tongue searching his mouth, his fingertips brushing Walt's neck, his shoulders, his collarbone.

Jesse finally pulls away, which is probably a smart idea because Walt’s about to consume him whole if they don’t stop soon.

They both try to calm down and steady their ragged breaths before either of them figure out something to say. Or if they even need to say anything at all.

Jesse manages to speak first. “I think I’ll go ahead and take off, man. Um… Look. I’ll be at home. For the night. If like… you want to stop by or whatever.” Jesse is so cute when he can’t even meet Walt’s eyes.

“Good,” Walt says, nodding. “I might just take you up on that.” Might? Walt has never looked forward to anything so much in his entire 51 years. He can just imagine pulling up to Jesse’s house, finding his way to his bedroom, slowly undressing him… but he’s getting ahead of himself. Maybe steady heads will prevail by then; maybe either or both of them will have come to their senses. But from the way Jesse’s gazing at him now--and the heat coming from Jesse’s jeans that grew stiff while he was on top of Walt--he knows that’s probably not a possibility. He hopes it’s not a possibility.

“Yo, that’s cool. See you later. Oh, and thanks for finishing up here,” Jesse says. Walt just nods, and watches as Jesse gets his things, takes one last look at Walt, and hesitantly leaves the house, closing the door behind him.

Walt can’t help but whistle as he finishes the cook.