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kiwanopie · 7 months

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A Lucky Find.

Pure luck, isn’t it? (Geto Suguru x fem!sorcerer!Reader)

cw: yandere if you squint. mention of misogyny and inappropriate work place relationships, graphic descriptions of curses and body horror, death by mutilation involving a curse (Not you), mention of religion, only specifics about reader is that she’s visibly very attractive and may have long hair (no descriptors though, it could be a lace) Suguru is out of his mind. You will not be called a monkey in this one.

wc: 3.9k

You’re not a very talkative assistant.

Granted sometimes you’re inclined to wonder if talking would’ve made so much of a difference to the position you’ve been put in, but you’ve never been a particularly choosy assistant either. You’re great at handling quick business, the calls your boss can’t be bothered to take - studious in your evening planning and you can quick work a coffee run like nobody's business. — You don’t complain about the thin heels they put you in, or the pencil skirts. Mired businessmen with filthy smirks and wondering eyes, or the routine baby talk you get from your degenerate boss. You don’t blink an eye at it. - You sit when you’re told to sit and bark when Mr. Minoru decides to hold that pretty little bone over your head.

“You could use a bonus, huh?”

Today it’s a back rub.

You’re silent as your nimble fingers start to press little groves in his upper back, impassive when he groans. Mr. Minoru, your boss, is a very rich man. He’s the successor of a retired tycoon who was once the successor of another and so forth. He’s an amalgamation of power and fortune and a small legion of nepotism babies that regularly walk in through those mahogany doors just ahead of his desk. An investor, you think. Most conversations he has are about money and the best way to double it; fewer are the ones where he’s actually taking the time out of his schedule to distribute it.

It’s all elite talk. Big men following big men following a perv who believes he’s god. Long outstretched legs that extend as he relaxes himself in his seat and hopes that the movement is enough to encourage you to start on his shoulders.

You like to think you got this job out of pure luck. Met the right man at the right time and stumbled over the deal of a lifetime all for the small cost of a little bit of your dignity. — Not like it was much of a trade from your part time job busing tables at that high-end restaurant. Being yelled at by bratty celebrities at a fraction of the price and coming home smelling reminiscent of a meat locker. Now you’re standing on the top floor of a penthouse suite. Smelling of expensive perfume that your boss totally didn’t break worker/boss relation code for and looking down at the entirety of Tokyo from its bay windows.

Pure luck.

The creature hooked to the upper side of his shoulder unfastens its teeth with a firm graze of your fingers. The steam it emits as it fizzles away is sour.

Mr. Minoru has a pension for starting fights with the wrong people, it seems. With bitter people - scornful people. People who hate him and can’t do anything about it, other than wish him harm or hex him in some way. — Worst are the people who don’t hate him, who envy him. Step into his office with painted smiles and clenched teeth. Who curse his name the moment they leave and leave you to deal with these little “bugs.”

Your nose twitches as its rotten smell encombers. For a moment your pretty face is twisted up in a scowl.

The massages started from an offhand graze of your fingers during a dinner at your old job. Pretty little waitress bending over him in that little work dress and running your finger down his felted coat. You apologize for your familiarity, someone must’ve spilled something on his jacket. ~ But the weight on his back is gone from just that little touch and now he’s offering you a job. You don’t regularly make a habit of helping those you’ve already deemed “afflicted.” But the fucker making goo trails on his back at the time was just disgusting enough to hinder your train of thought, and there’s no way you could’ve gone through your shift without reviling every time you passed his table.

So, now you’re his assistant - and today it’s just a back rub. Thankfully not a request to play with his hair and try not to cringe at the way he shutters from it. A subtle pat on the cheek for his good luck kiss, or a request to sit on his lap while he tells you a story he doesn’t care if you’re listening to. Because you’re quiet.

His not talkative, non-fussy, no complaints assistant.

Like always he fills the empty air in place of your silence. “Ah. By the way, princess. We’ve got a guest coming around after lunch. A real traditional fella. So, we’ll need to be on our best behavior,”

“Apparently he’s got some sort of business opportunity for me in exchange for a few investments,” He sighs when your fingers dip a little under his collar. “Says that in his big fuckin’ haori. Probably cost a few thousand bucks,”

Mr. Minoru shifts his shoulders under your firm touches. “To be completely honest, I don’t really know about it aside from the gag of seeing him in person again. Guy has this weird energy about himself that gives me the creeps. — Says he’s avant-garde. — I just think he’s a weird fuckin’ guy.”

“But,” The exhale he lets out is tempered and whisky tinted, clears out the fresh space in his chest that usually frees up when you’ve got your hands on him. “My old man likes ‘em. Says he’d be good for my health if I kept him around. At the very least build some sorta relationship with him.”

“Too bad my health’s in tip-top shape! Eh, doll-baby?” Minoru twists his head to flash you an expensive smile. Faintly defined cheekbones turning rosy when you return it like you know you’re supposed to. “Got my little guru at my side!”

And your simper, although gentle, is forced. Distantly you wonder if you’re the reason these bugs have become so habitual.

——-

This man is very ill.

Though he walks in with his head held high and a particular spring in his step, your diagnosis is that he must be terminal. He must be diseased and irremediable. In a constant state of agony and so stricken with unwellness that he can’t even think straight. You’ve seen your fair share of “bugs” and rabid disfigured animals that grow out of their hosts like fungus. Some that trail behind like lost children with broken crackling legs - a stench that only accompanies the open wounds whose maggots reach out so helplessly. Disturbing things. For all of it you’ve seen, you’re lucky to say that those cases are few and far in between.

But this,

It has many hands and many faces.

Each accompanied by its own set of teeth. Curling lips that stutter as they rise, etched in lipstick and gum; you find mint leaves hidden in the valley of its tongue, coiling as it softly sings. Watching from afar as it hobbles on its haunches like a drunken man, or of fawn newly grazed. It is steady - and constantly moving. It buzzes like a million bees and yet the man standing next to it is seemingly unaffected.

And so are you.

Your gentility becomes you as you politely bow for the man who you’ve so gracefully led to Mr. Minoru’s office. A practiced curtsy is usually enough to get your usual guests commenting under their nose at your bosses taste in assistant’s, but this man is quiet as he walks past you. So above your head that it almost feels like he doesn’t even know you exist. And that feeling is… off putting to say the least.

You close the door behind him as your boss starts on introductions.

“Ah, so you’ve met my beautiful assistant!” He reaches out his hand. “Minoru. Nice to meet you.”

The genuinity in the man’s smile fastens his eyes into slits as he steps forward to return the shake. “Geto, likewise.”

“Geto, huh? I heard the old man sent you for an investment proposition. My guess is it’s something… traditional?” Minoru gestures toward his garbs.

He’s somewhat clinical in his attempt to look lighthearted, but the sigh he blows out feels trusting. “So this isn’t selling “contemporary” huh?”

Minoru laughs and the thing beside him whimpers.

Your fingers twitch against your work skirt.

You’re a distant shadow lingering behind the conversing men as you step to your post on the far side of the office wall, heels clicking quietly when you bend to fix yourself adjacent to Mr. Minoru’s desk. — You’re not expected to listen much to the conversation, or even understand the matters on which they talk about. Just straighten your back when your boss snaps his fingers and follow obediently when he coos an order.

But even if that weren’t the case, you’d say it’d be hard to pay any attention to anything other than whatever the fuck that is hunched beside the man standing just a few feet away. Singing quietly under its breath and repeating the tune like a prayer. Fearful, shaken, pleaful, dread inducing; overlapping in its many mouths. Your fingernails quietly scrape against each other in your attempt to remain neutral but from a keen eye you’re jarred. Disquietingly moving your eyes from the two men still talking adjacent from you and then it again.

It’s looking at you.

You force down a swallow when Minoru calls your name.

“Quiet thing, isn’t she?” Your boss comments amidst the conversation as you approach them. “Could almost forget she’s here if it weren’t for the eyecandy,”

You smile at him like he’s flattering you but it’s muscle memory. “Sir?”

“Gather up those papers from your desk over there, sweetpea. And hand it to the nice man.”

You almost don’t even wanna turn your back on it.

But against your own anxieties you do as you're told. Even with your nerves frayed as they are. You keep your posture as you hastily skirt to your desk and back across the room again. Nimble, slightly shaken fingers lowering to place it in Geto-san’s hand but he doesn’t acknowledge you even when you smile. Vacant eyes. Bored of you already. —- You don’t know if you should feel more offended or alarmed. But in your curtsy before backing away you decide to split the difference and go for disturbed.

Avant-garde. This guy just gives you the fuckin’ creeps.

He works in health, apparently. From what you’ve gathered in the continuing conversation, he’s a spiritual man who offers health by spiritual means. It’s not a very groundbreaking admission, especially from a man in traditional garb, but he assures that his practices have long surpassed ground theory and have been proven to guarantee actual results. From refractory diseases, mental illness, visible injury; his methods could completely eradicate the need for traditional medicine and take the health industry by storm.

But money is a long factor, longer in the doubtful and non-spiritual. “Non-worthy.” It sounds pointed the way he slips that in, but your red flags aren’t shared with your less than convinced boss.

“Spiritual healing sounds great and all, Geto buddy. But you’re directing services to a pretty biased market.” Minoru crosses one of his legs over the other from his perched position against his desk. “Even with the facts, the money’s in objectivity. You’d get more bang for your buck just saying any Yamada worth his salt can walk in and get rid a’ his sniffles for the right price. - Religion ‘ll just turn people off.”

Geto smiles patiently. “Ah, Minoru-san, we’re not religion based. Religion promotes powerlessness. Our services come from practical people.”

You watch as the creature messily swivels on its crooked legs when he invades its space by leaning back a little. “But to insert certain biases kind of sweetens the deal, doesn’t it? People like things that make them feel special. Even the most useless people should wanna prove themselves in some way, right?”

What a crooked way of thinking.

At your quiet displeasure the mass behind Geto wheezes painfully, wincing when you lock eyes with it. Its song pitches and warbles, chops a little like it’s weeping; but even in its effort to resume its discontent is palpable.

You could almost feel acknowledged by it. By its wandering eyes and its tightened misshapen shoulders. Almost as off put as you are from its spot in the middle of the room. The more you look at it, the more it starts to evoke pity. Even in its unsightliness, it looks misplaced and afraid. - Its song breaks like a cry for mercy and the closer you look at it the more recognizable its purpose becomes.

There are knots in its balmy skin so engorged they bleed and tear. Fabric mincing over fictional scabbing and prayer beads hanging out of its gashes. Every twitch it makes reverberates ricey out of rhythm beats akin to maracas and its song, as out of key as it is, is reverential. Powerlessness. Anodyne through faith. You barely find yourself pitying the afflictions of affected people but in the context of this conversation - it’s watering eyes; you feel empathetic toward this thing and by extension Geto-san.

You assume something awful must’ve started that way of thinking.

Should you even stick your neck out for this guy? You’ve dealt with bigger, more violent ones in any case. But this creature seems peaceful. Following faithfully on its hosts haunches as it waits patiently beside him. You’ll have to be fast and unflashy about it, hopefully the stench from that thing won’t make you hurl on impulse. But if not out of mercy, it would be nice to have it out of your line of vision.

Your eyes cross it again. It’s many eyes well with anguish. You decide that at your next opportunity you’ll get rid of it promptly.

As luck would have it Mr. Minoru’s personal phone rings.

He’s quick in his apologies as he fishes it out of his pocket. Passing a smile to Geto as he quickly bows and makes the few long strides it takes to step out of the door and into the hallway, and a few short snaps in your direction as he points you to the concessionaires reserved for his clients near the door.

You’re practiced as you dip for the little fridge on your left, carefully sliding out a glassed bottle of water from the door and a plastic bag of sliced apples.

“Would you like a snack while you wait, Geto-san?”

He ignores you.

Through a quietly exasperated sigh does he slide his phone out of his hakama and pointedly decide not to acknowledge your awkward stance at the far end of the room. — You know he ignores you because the silence that otherwise permeates the spaciousness of your boss's suite is momentarily disrupted by the sound of your voice bouncing off the walls; followed again by that frigid silence.

This is the guy you’re trying to help.

Even so, your embarrassment is brushed aside in favor of making your way to the small coffee table between him and the other leather seat parallel to his. Thin pencil skirt riding a little as you take wide steps to the little spot that separates him from the empty seat - and you from the thin sliver of carpet standing between he and the now quivering mass.

You bend to place the treats gingerly beside him.

And when you rise you reach for it.

There are practiced fingers circling around your wrist before you can even touch it.

Your fear is potent enough to turn its broken hums into racking sobs as you freeze in his sudden grip. Firmly clasped onto you as he raises your arm over your head and forces you to jolt back with a stuttered breath. Faint greyed markings on the palm of your hand fade but they’re caught under his watchful eye, and through your shock you watch his expression switch.

From confusion, to intrigue, to pure excitement.

Your shock teeters on horror as his pupils dilate. “Now, just what were those pretty fingers planning on doing?”

He seems to revel at the sheer bewilderment that colors in your pretty face from where you nervously stare up at him. Doe eyes lit up by headlights, and the radiative heat of suddenly being this close to his predatory gaze. You stammer. “Wh-? Y-You know it’s-“

“Brought it with me, didn’t I?” He speaks lowly as he circles his thumb over your wrist. “Can’t say I don’t appreciate your concern though, sweetheart.”

You shrink. The absurdity of intentionally carrying a burden like this is as mind boggling as it is chilling. Dread inducing, even. With the kind of bad juju that thing emits there’s no other reason to purposefully let it fester beside you than for motives deeply depraved. Deeply disturbed. The way the air around him murkens and electrifies, and a glint in his eye that makes you feel like prey. — He’s looking at you like you’re dinner right now. And something about that feels trillions of times more frightening than any typical rubbernecking.

After being treated like a ghost by this man this whole time. Now he’s looking at you like you’re a slab of meat spread out for him. Succulent and tenderized, pliant under his fingers. Your soft eyes are rigid with fear as his other hand reaches for you blithely, larger fingers dipping in your loose hair and scooping it gently forward. You glance at it from the corner of your eye.

Smoke curls around his palm.

You suppress with a quiet intake of breath.

Geto-san’s cheeks pinken as he gleefully smiles, emboldened by a genuine tinge of ardor. You do your best not to flinch but it’s futile, his chilled fingers consolingly caress your face as he tuts; and gazes at you like he’s committing you to memory.

“Be patient for me, yeah? I’ll be done in a minute.”

You can’t even begin to guess what that means.

But before you can inquire he’s shushing you with a finger up to his lips. Playfully shooing you away as Mr. Minoru’s footsteps patter closer, and you clumsily re-fit yourself into your professional mask.

“Sorry ‘bout that, pal. Forgot about another meeting I was supposed to attend a little earlier,” He pockets his phone. “No one’s fault.”

He leans against the cliff of his desk where Geto-san’s planted himself again. Minoru glances at the unopened bag of apple slices. “Ah, _____, baby. You were supposed to hand him the good stuff.”

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“No worries.” Geto laughs airily. “How could anything look nearly as appetizing when you’ve got an assistant like that walking around?”

Your ears burn as Mr. Minoru snorts in kind. “Yeah, fair enough,”

He rolls up his sleeves. “A’right, princess. How bout you hop on over to my lounge and break open the good brandy for my guest and I. Bring us the crystal set. Can you do that?”

—-

The decanter in your hand falls with a dull thump.

There’s no… logical explanation for what you’re looking at right now — Who you’re looking at right now. In any other circumstance deep purples would be expected. Blotched boysenberries and flossy reds, dotted with strained blues. You’d expect tearing - bleeding, audible ginger snaps of tendons and extended bone. A scream even, no matter how silent; all are logically expected. Death is logically expected.

But seeing your boss stretched out like leather, not a full five minutes after leaving him alone with this man, is not.

Your eyes frantically skirt over your boss's heaving corpse from your exposed position at his closing entrance. Watching in repulsed terror as his skin tears and bruises, familiar prayer beads falling out of his flesh like stuffing. - His eyes are rolled agonizingly into the back of his head, mouth opened in a scream. His blood sizzles against the maple of his desk and you can do little but stare in horror.

You flinch as the mainline on his desk starts to go off but you’re no sooner cringing at the way his arm breaks just to reach for it. Bloody fingers pushing the receiver, and cheeks tearing just to respond.

His unchanged voice somehow makes it all the more horrifying. “Hi, Souza. Thanks for getting back to me,”

“Yeah, do me a favor,” You back into the door. “Route about ten million to Geto-san’s organization under investment. And be a dear and sign the invoice for me, would ya?”

You’re gonna be sick.

“So, you’re out of a job now, huh?” You nearly yelp.

Geto-san’s standing just over you. “I’ve got a pretty similar position opened up,” He says casually. “‘Wanna work for me?”

You can barely push out a word. Which, kind man that he is, helps you out by deciding for you. “Ah, Great! I can break you in on Sunday. Here’s my card.”

He smiles kindly as you hesitantly pluck the laminated card from his fingers. Looking at you under mirthful eyes that chill more than they comfort.

“If you’re worried about pay, I can give you double of whatever that monkey gave you. Maybe a little extra if you’re as good as he says you are.”

But before you can recoil at the thought of being stuck under the same kind of boss, with the extra caveat of being a psychopath; he adds with a hint of challenge. “That is, if you can get rid of our friend for us.”

You follow his glance to the creature wearing your boss like a hand puppet.

Do you even have a choice?

Geto-san watches with a keen eye as you warily approach the blinking, bleeding corpse behind your late boss’s desk. Heels clicking slowly against his wooden floors, skin prickling at the thought of even getting close to this thing let alone touch it. There’s a smell that you notice as you move closer. A rotten, discrepant smell that pushes as much as it pulls. Aging, airless skin, barreling toward cell death; only marginally slowed by the alkaline smell of embalming fluid. Too old. Too sour.

But there’s something about it that almost — Hypnotizes. Evokes a kind of nostalgia that almost completely disarms you. Church pews and goatskin, leather hardbacks under frilly gloves; and those damn prayer beads. You can almost hear your grandmother’s voice. The minty sweet taste of stale candies tinted by the perfume in her purse. ~ Watching worship but not understanding it. A contact high of conviction. Your boss’s blood spills and it means something sacred, something reverent. And the closer you get, the more that sacrifice feels for the better.

You flicker a glance in Geto-san’s direction. This guy had this shit on standby?

It’s clammy when your fingers finally graze its skin. Sweaty and twitching, like every touch is a pinched nerve; like every stroke stimulates. There’s movement under the first layer, a hissing under the second. It’s mania seeps off of it in droves and the more you linger on it, the more your stomach twists.

You draw back your hand and rub over the difference in texture.

The room is temporarily endowed with smoke at the snap of your fingers.

They’re both gone when the vapor quickly dissipates, blood formerly staining expensive maple now replaced with its originally polished shine. As well as his chair, his area rug, and any other evidence that could connote what truly horrific fate the man in question had suffered in this very room.

Which is enough to send Geto-san into an ecstatic flurry of applause. “H-Holy shit. Where have you been all my life?”

He’s more focused on the way the weight in your lips shift rather than that being because of a frown. Regardless, you’re still a picture despite it. “You’re gonna fit nicely. — My address is on the card. Come by nine? I’ll have breakfast ready by then.”

He turns with a relaxed lilt toward the exit. “You and I are gonna have a lot of fun.”

The door clicks as the lock disengages.

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

reblogs are appreciated <3

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the-starry-seas · 16 days

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🖊️

When Obi-Wan dropped by on Kamino to check out those rumours of a clone army, those sneaky suckers grabbed some of his DNA. Just for funsies to play around with, y'know? They actually managed to get something useful out of it, and sent the samples to the Akranian facilties on Centax-2 to get the clone fully grown in a year.

The intent was to clone Jedi to make an army with superpowers. Of course, it didn't turn out that way, for reasons that nobody could figure out. They really thought they figured how to get that Jedi gene in there... Eh, oh well! Huck him in the ranks, he's CT-5775 now.

It was wildly freaky for Obi-Wan when the 212th got some new troops from Centax-2 and one of them was quite literally his clone. It was no secret amongst the Akranian clones themselves. They called our man Oxygen, short for O2, short for Obi-Wan 2.

For his part, Oxygen doesn't really have any intent to have anything to do with General Kenobi. They both have their roles in the war and Oxygen isn't really opposed to his. He's got no reason to pay attention to someone just because they share genetic material. All the other GAR clones share that, and most of them ignore each other, to some degree.

Obi-Wan has much different feelings on all this, and is doing his best to get Oxygen to pay attention to him. Maybe like him. Maybe call him 'dad'.

It's a strange time for all involved.

(You would not believe the look on Cody's face when Obi's mini-me popped up in full clone armour).

Eventually Obi-Wan's able to negotiate things with the GAR to get Oxygen released from the GAR. There's the little matter of "you stole my DNA to make a clone of me without my knowledge or consent, do you want me to sue you into the ground? also the security concerns about a regular soldier being able to access all my tech and files."

The Kaminoans regret not having kept Oxygen away from the general because apparently he has decided to go on the warpath about this. They give in because it's frankly easier than arguing with him, and also they don't really want to draw legal attention to their slave army. Surely it's no problem to let one clone have a pension and freedom to get this damn Jedi off their backs.

Oxygen gets to hang out with a bunch of Jedi who are trying to figure out what exactly he is. And also his genetic donor and his genetic donor's boyfriend. He would much rather go back to his planned life of being a soldier, but apparently everyone else has strong feelings about him dying on a battlefield. He's not sure what he thinks about that.

Thus begins a wartime family comedy with a precedent-setting case that helps the rest of the clones get their pensions and independence as well. Obi-Wan decides the responsible thing to do is to retire from the Jedi Order to be a proper father to Oxygen. Bail offers to let them move in on Alderaan. Cody goes along. It's not long before "genetic donor's boyfriend" turns into "dad's husband" turns into "dad". Cody is more pleased with this than he expected. Obi-Wan is just exactly as pleased as he expected.

#oxygen kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #codywan #i keep coming up with star wars AUs each and every day

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welldonebeca · 2 years

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Strawberry Jam

Summary: Bucky comforts you after you have a rough day at work. Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader WC: 3.1k words Warnings: Smut. Fluff. Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Vaginal fingering. Dirty talk. Vaginal sex. Unprotected sex. Wife kink. Marriage Kink. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasms. Passionate sex.

Writing is my only source of Income in this pandemic. If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Bucky mixed the gooey hot red am with the wooden spoon, breathing in deep to get the sweet smell, ready to pot them up.

He was doing this especially for you - you loved homemade jam with all your heart, and ate it almost every day. The jar you had at home was now empty, however, and he was trying his best to make a version of it.

Bucky had just come back from the farmer’s market, where he had gone to buy more fruits and veggies for just the third week in a row. They didn’t have your beloved strawberry jam there, but the seller was nice enough to give him the basic recipe to make it at home.

Your new house routine was something he was just starting to get used to. The two of you had moved in together recently, a little over a month ago. Bucky had left the compound, retired at last, and now his days were filled with being whatever version of a non-married househusband he could be while just your boyfriend. His retirement pension was enough for him to live on his own forever, and your job wasn’t bad either.

So right now, you two had a lot of plants, a dog and a moody cat, and no couch yet, and were planning to get married in the next couple of years - he was looking for a ring, actually.

And speaking of your dog, Phoebe was watching him with a lot of curiosity and pleading eyes, always the hungry girl, and Bucky scoffed, leaving the jar and picking up a strawberry from the counter, taking off the green part before tossing it to her, moving right back to putting the jam in the jar, realising quickly he needed a second one when half of the jam was still in the pan.

Once he finished, he was very proud of what he saw.

It looked good, it smelled good, and he was sure it tasted good too.

Maybe he should bake something to eat with that jam. Maybe biscuits?

Or bread.

He really liked baking home bread. His favourite was sourdough.

Bucky was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard the sound of the door opening and Phoebe’s paws on the floor as she ran to greet you, overexcited as always.

He waited to hear you come over and say hi, but the house kept silence aside from a few mumbles as you said hi to Phoebe and Alpine, probably with some kisses.

Finally, you walked to the kitchen and leaned onto the door frame, looking at him with a sad and weak smile.

“Hey,” you spoke softly.

His shoulders fell in a when he realised the sadness behind your voice.

“Hi," Bucky cleaned his hand, moving to you.

He pressed a little kiss to your lips, worried, and you sighed a little.

You were a lawyer, which was a very tasking job, and sometimes mined your whole energy, or took a little more of your heart than you were initially willing to give.

Recently, you’d been working on the case of a kid who had had to go through a second amputation surgery after an accident in a restaurant months after his first imputation, both on the same leg. The family was suing for the legal and medical expenses, which included his therapy, and monetary compensation that would be used for the boy’s tuition once he decided to go to college.

“What happened?” he asked gently, raising his hand to caress your hair.

“They want to test the ramp of the restaurant,” you told him. “To see if it was possible for him to fall.”

“Okay,” Bucky nodded slowly.

“But they renovated the whole place!” you pointed you, growing angry. “And put a handle that wasn’t there that day. Mr Green’s sister took pictures while the ambulance was called! It looks completely different!”

He reached for your face, caressing your cheek gently.

“And what did the judge say?”

“He wants to analyse the photos before saying anything,” you sighed. “And a second medical opinion. They want this kid to go through a whole medical evaluation again!”

He reached for you, caressing your cheek.

“I’m sure they’ll be reasonable and careful,” he assured you. “The doctors know it is a complicated moment for him. And his dads are going to be there.”

You sighed, pinching your nose.

“They are also insinuating his dads were neglectful with him and that was why he fell,” you added. “I swear to God, that restaurant…”

You hid your face in his chest and groaned.

“I hate them,” you whined.

“I know,” he caressed your hair.

There was a moment of silence, and you moved your head up slowly, resting your mouth on his shoulder and looking behind him, into the kitchen.

“Is that homemade jam?” you asked, mumbling against his shirt.

Bucky threw a look at the counter.

“Yes,” he confirmed, looking back at you, a little excited for his effort being noticed. “I just made it.”

You groaned once again, though softer, against his skin.

“Did you make it yourself?” you asked.

“I did,” he told you, grinning. “Do you want to try it once it is cooler?”

You nodded, and he kissed your temple.

“Do you want me to prepare you a bath?” he offered. “And we can leave work to work?”

You sighed.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “Please.”

Bucky kissed your forehead again, slowly moving down to kiss your nose and then your lips.

He took your hand and walked with you into your bedroom, leaving you behind to set up your bath, filling up the tub and adding the bubbles and the rose oil to the slowly growing water.

He heard the sounds of your steps behind him, and raised his head to find you watching him from the door, fully naked, lips curled in a little teasing smile.

“Hey,” you rested your head on the door frame. “Still dressed?”

It didn’t matter how long you were together, Bucky was proud to never get used to seeing you naked. Seeing you never ceased to fully enchant him.

Bucky looked at himself, a little surprised at the question.

“I wasn’t planning to get inside, actually,” he looked at your face.

You feigned outrage.

“Me?” you asked, exaggerated. “On my own? In this big tub?”

Bucky scowled, and you pouted.

“It’s going to be so lonely!” you remarked. “And cold.”

He chuckled.

“In this warm water?” he asked.

“But so vast,” you teased him. “Without my husband with me.”

Bucky’s cock awoke with the little word.

Your husband.

Oh, how he loved being called your husband.

The two of you were planning to be married in the near future and were practically engaged now, but the title was still something he wanted to conquer, and loved hearing from your lips.

You reached down for him, pulling him to stand up, and Bucky held you closer as you threw your hands on his shoulders, squeezing him.

“Don’t you want to come inside with me?” you bit his lower lip. “Keep me company?”

He hummed, chuckling, and knew he couldn’t just say no to you.

“Of course, wife,” he gave your lips a peck.

You giggled, and stepped away, leaning on the counter and watching him as he took off his clothes, kicking off his shoes, pants and underwear all in one go, earning a little chuckle from you.

“Impatient?” you asked, grinning.

He just chuckled along with you.

“Always,” he shot you a playful wink.

Bucky leant to you again, holding your hips and caressing your skin with his fingers.

“Come on, wife,” he nudged you in the right direction. “Let’s get you in your bath.”

He stepped away from you, and let you take his hand as you stepped into the full tub and knelt, waiting for him to come and sit, and Bucky entered right after, relaxing at the feeling of the warm water against his skin right before you leant to rest against him, sighing.

“What do you think?” he kissed your temple. “Good?”

You nodded and he put his hand over your stomach, pulling you a little closer, and kissed your shoulder.

“You are a great lawyer,” he squeezed you. “And I’m very proud of you and of what you do.”

You whined, putting your hand over his, sounding both boomed and embarrassed.

“Bucky!” you rolled your eyes.

“I mean it!” he exclaimed.

You just shook your head.

“I don’t think so,” you breathed out. “I feel like I could do more for them.”

“Like what?” he caressed your skin gently with the hand he had on your stomach.

Bucky waited for an answer, but you grimaced, apparently not finding anything you hadn’t already done for the family you were representing.

“You have done a lot,” he kissed your temple. “Now it’s not in your hands anymore.”

You sighed and rested your head on his shoulder, and Bucky slowly moved the fingers he had on your stomach to your breast, running them on the flesh and plump bottom of it.

“You should relax,” he whispered into your ear. “Let your husband help you relax, wife.”

You squirmed, cheeks flushing in a blush.

“Bucky,” you threw your head back a little bit.

He caressed your breast slowly, massaging it and reaching for your nipple, pulling on it slowly and making you whimper.

“My pretty wife,” he touched your other breast, doing the same to it, teasing and playing with your sensitive peaks. “Such a hard-working woman, the one I found for myself.”

You arched your chest to his hands, exhaling in a very soft sound.

“You work so hard,” he played with your nipples, watching your body squirming and shivering, reacting to his touches.

He trailed one of his hands down to your hips, and felt you spreading your legs under the water.

“My pretty wife,” he kissed your neck. “A big shot lawyer…”

You giggled, and he spread your inner lips and folds, already finding them slicky and wet.

“So sensitive for her husband,” he touched your entrance.

You arched your hips, whimpering a little, and he kissed your shoulder.

“Always making me so proud…” he tapped your clit softly. “But never relaxing.”

“Bucky…” you whined.

You pouted, squirming and moaning, and he hummed along with you, kissing the sweet spots of your neck.

He could feel the difference between the actual water and your wetness, even underwater. Your pussy was slick, warm and welcoming, and practically hugged his finger tightly when he pushed it into your cunt, and you whimpered when he took his finger up to your clit again, rolling it slowly.

“Such a lovely cunt,” he cooed into your ear, fingers picking up their pace. “I can feel it drooling for me even with the water, my pretty wife. You’re always so responsive to me.”

You moaned, arching your body to him, and he squeezed your tit in his hand, reaching for your stiff nipple and pulling on it, twisting it, grinning as he watched your face twisting and heard the mix of a gasp and a moan coming from your lips.

“Such perfect tits,” he kissed the curve of your neck. “And a perfect cunt, so hungry and so receptive.”

You continued to moan and squirm, with his name falling from your lips along with your little sounds, as his fingers never stopped to play and tease your clit and tit.

He knew he was going to be gladly buried in there tonight, licking and sucking your folds, taking orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a wreck, foggy eyed and only able to say his name.

But right now, you were having a relaxing bath, and he was never going to stop his perfect wife from relaxing.

So he played you like you were his favourite instrument - which you were - as he whispered sweet dirty words into your ears and felt your body moving and heard your moans growing, and held you down when your hips started thrusting against his hand.

“You’re gonna cum, my pretty wife?” he kissed your shoulder. “Gonna cum for your husband?”

“Yes,” you cried. “Yes, Bucky, please.”

He picked up on his pace, holding you down as you came, quivering and shaking, crying out loud.

You were still quivering when he stood up, picking you up and walking back to your bedroom, and threw you on the bed.

“Bucky!” you squeaked, giggling.

James climbed on top of you, not caring about how your bodies were getting everything wet, and kissed your lips hungrily.

“My pretty wife,” he kissed your neck, moving down and kissing your chest before he grabbed your knee, pushing it up.

You pushed your fingers into his hair, pulling him right back and kissing him, and he angled his cock, pushing it into your cunt and resting his forehead on his when you gasped. He’d been hard since you sat between his legs in the tub.

Fuck, you were so wet, so warm.

“Bucky,” you closed your eyes.

“My wife,” he grunted against your lips, thrusting into you. “Always so wet for me.”

You arched your hips, meeting his strokes, already sensitive from your previous orgasm, as your cunt squeezed his cock, hungry and slicky. It was so easy for him to make you cum. Bucky loved taking and taking them from you, making you scream for him.

So he took his fingers to your cunt, and played with your clit, devouring your lips and your moans as he worked on making you feel good, and pulled back to look at your face when you inhaled deeply.

It was an image he truly adored, the way cheeks flushed, and your eyes closed, and your lips parted as you found your way over the edge.

The walls of your cunt fluttered around his cock, and he had to hold himself from cumming for a split of a moment, completely taken by you.

And then you pulled him back, kissing him with even more hunger than before, moving your body to get closer to him, and pouted when he pulled away from you.

“Husband,” you whined.

Bucky grunted at the name, throbbing inside you, and took his lips down to your neck, sucking on it before pushing his lips to your chest. The position you two were before didn’t make it easy for him to access them, but now they were right in front of him.

He bit the flesh of your tits for a moment, and then your nipple, and bit down on it gently before sucking on your flesh.

He loved sucking marks on your skin, marking you, to make everyone know you were his. It was sad that he needed to keep his bruises a little hidden because of your job.

As long as you knew it and they reminded you of how you were his, it was enough.

“Bucky,” you arched your chest.

“Want to make you feel good,” he rolled your clit in his finger, earning a whimper from you.

He pinched your clit a little and chuckled when you squeaked, cunt fluttering around his cock again, and your sounds made it even more obvious how you were already near the edge.

“James!” you gasped, arching your body to him. “Oh, fuck.”

“You’re gonna cum again?” he asked, smiling at you. “Already, baby?”

You pouted.

“Want to cum together,” you affirmed, moving your fingers on his back and running your nails over his skin. “Please, husband.”

He looked back at your face and rubbed his nose on yours.

“Please,” you panted. “I want to make you feel good.”

Your cunt squeezed his cock, getting wetter and warmer.

“Y/N,” he grunted.

He was holding himself back for quite a bit of time. Bucky wanted to ravish you, to make you come apart.

Still, you pulled him up, and kissed him.

“Please,” you moaned. “Together.”

How could he say no?

Bucky angled himself, resting his forehead on yours and moaning when your walls squeezed him, joining you in your soft wanton cries.

“Cum with me,” you pleaded. “Please, husband. Fill me up.”

He grunted, squeezing you close as he thrust into you, letting his eyes close and his body take him.

“With me,” he grunted, playing faster with your clit. “Cum with me. Milk my cock.”

You pulled him up to kiss him, moaning into his lips as your cunt started squeezing around him, triggering his orgasm along with yours, and he rode it fucking you, faster and faster, and slowly down little by little.

Bucky had his eyes closed when you kissed him, first his nose and then his jaw, and then his lips again, brushing his hair with your fingers.

He pulled himself from inside you and laid by your side, pulling you to his chest and kissing your temple, moving his fingers up and down your back.

“Rest a little,” he instructed. “I still want to devour your cunt.”

You laughed into his neck, amused, but Bucky scowled, reaching down and pinching your ass.

“I mean it!” he insisted.

You raised your head to look at him, pressing your lips to his and giving him a hungry kiss.

“I can’t wait,” you assured him.

You lied back, but pulled back with a surprised face when you seemed to realise something.

“Bucky, I almost forgot!” you exclaimed. “The Greens invited me to Joshua’s birthday and said I could take my partner with me.”

He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised, and you moved your hand to metal hand, interlacing your fingers with his.

“I want to go,” you told him, firmly. “But you don’t have to come if you didn’t want to. I know you don’t like parties.”

Parties were noisy, and he wasn’t that big of a fan of noise. But the invitation had been extended not just to you, but to him too.

He was about to answer when an idea sparked in his mind.

“Would they mind if I brought one of the guys?” he asked. “Do you think the boy would like to meet one of the Avengers?”

It was your turn to look a little surprised. It wasn’t like you made your relationship with Bucky public. The few pictures you had with him in your office had a remarkable lack of his face and arm in them, to keep his privacy intact. He doubted anyone ever made such a connection.

“I can ask them,” you told him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I’m sure Tony will be happy to send a fun gift, and either Sam or Steve are happy to show up. Or Clint, too.”

You nodded, laying back down.

“Okay, I’ll ask them about it.”

Bucky kissed your cheek again, and squeezed you close with his right arm.

“Come on,” he bit your lower lip, chuckling a little with the joke in his own mind. “Let’s get you something to eat before it’s my turn to eat you.”

. . .

"Strawberry Jam" was posted on my Patreon back in July! To Have early access to all of my fic, consider subscribing! It's just $2 a month!

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workingclasshistory · 2 years

Photo

On this day, 24 December 2019, striking ballet dancers in Paris delivered a strict performance of Swan Lake in front of the Palais Garnier in protest at proposed public sector pension cuts. Strikes against the plan by other public sector workers had begun on December 5. Dancers at the Paris Opera had a pension scheme which had been implemented in the 1600s, acknowledging the toll the job takes on dancers' bodies and allowing for retirement at 42. The government planned to extend all workers' retirement age to 64. Héloïse Jocqueviel, a dancer, told France 24: "We start classical dance at the age of 8. By our late teenage years, we’re getting recurring injuries… Once you reach the age of 42, you’re already suffering from arthritis, stress fractures, hernias and in some cases titanium hips. It’s hard to maintain a level of excellence until 42, but 64 seems impossible." Another ballerina, Shanti Mouget, told us how the workers decided to protest: "After three weeks of strike, we wanted to show to other workers that we were all together in this struggle. The best way for us to express that wasn’t a public speech. It was to share our art." The idea was that the protest would be attention-grabbing, but they believed that the government "would not be able to blame us for anything because we did something forbidden but also beautiful and peaceful." Intermittent strikes by dancers continued, costing millions of euros in lost ticket sales, until the government relented and abandon the plans. Our December T-Shirt of the Month, made by a workers' co-op and supporting grassroots unions in South Asia, designed by @fede__borgia, celebrates this action. Strictly limited-edition in 100% organic cotton it is available with global shipping until December 31 only: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/t-shirt-of-the-month https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.296224173896073/2169814833203655/?type=3

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mariacallous · 5 months

Text

Liz Truss is the most disastrous and unpopular leader in modern British history. Mortgage holders and small businesses still loathe her for sending interest rates through the roof. Her short, catastrophic premiership is routinely compared unfavourably to the shelf life of a lettuce. (A comparison first made by the bright leader writers at the Economist to give credit where it is due.)

When Labour wins the next election, its triumph will be in part the result of the public’s reaction against her vast and dogmatic economic folly.

If you were Liz Truss, you might retire from public life. At the very least you would apologize and hang your head in shame.

If readers expect contrition, however, they have yet to learn that being on the radical right means never having to say you are sorry.

Truss’s demotion from national leader to national joke has not embarrassed her in the slightest but pushed deep into paranoid conspiracism.

Her autobiography, bizarrely titled Ten Years to Save the West, as if the fate of liberal democracy depended on the advice of an epic failure, shows that, despite all she did to this country, her eyes still shine with a bright, self-righteous fanaticism, as if the sockets are backlit by an idiot’s lantern,

Chutzpah used to be defined as murdering both your parents and asking the court for clemency because you are an orphan. In Truss’s case it is using the power of the prime minister to crash the economy and then claiming she was a powerless victim of the liberal elite.

Her writing is as lacking in self-awareness as it is powered by self-righteousness.

At one point she says in all innocence that, when Boris Johnson resigned in the summer of 2022, her agent encouraged her to join the race to be prime minister, as the campaign might be good for her profile.

But she reports that he then wisely added “it would be for the best if I came second”.

Later she informs us that during the leadership campaign she “frankly lost trust in many of my erstwhile ministerial colleagues who were supporting my opponent [Rishi Sunak].

“They had spent the last six weeks not just attacking me but seeking to undermine my plans, saying my agenda was unworkable."

Truss never stops to think that the few people who will finish this book will believe that her agent was right, and it would clearly have been for the best if she had never been prime minister.

Nor does she contemplate the possibility that her agenda was indeed “unworkable”, and was proved to be unworkable when her unfunded tax cuts and fuel subsidies sent the price of gilts shooting up, the value of the pound crashing down, and caused a crisis in the pension industry for good measure.

And yet, and yet…Mock her as much as you like. Please don’t hold back on my account. But you cannot dismiss her.

There are two reasons why Truss is still dangerous. The first lies in the strength of the right-wing clique that brought her to power.

It is true that Liz Truss did not become prime minister by winning over Conservative MPs. As with Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership of the Labour party, Truss’s career illustrates the danger of expecting leaders who do not have the support of a plurality of their colleagues to function in a Parliamentary democracy.

But she still beat Rishi Sunak with the votes of 57 percent of Tory members.

And with the honourable exception of the Times, the Tory press was all for her. “In Liz We Trust”, said the Express “Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Woman”, cried the Mail. “Liz Puts Her Foot on the Gas”, cheered the Sun.

Kwasi Kwarteng set off a market panic as he put Truss’s ideas into practice in the mini budget of September 2022. The reaction of right-wing papers was not one of alarm, however, but of adoration.

“At last”, gushed the Daily Mail, “a True Tory Budget”. A Daily Telegraph commentator said it was “the best Budget I have ever heard a British Chancellor deliver”.

Meanwhile the Truss premiership allowed the voodoo economics of the US-influenced (and in all probability US-financed) think tanks to finally impose itself on this luckless country. The Centre for Policy Studies welcomed the mini-budget saying it was “exactly what we would have hoped for”. The Taxpayers’ Alliance called it “the most taxpayer-friendly budget in recent memory”.

Robert Saunders of Queen Mary University made the unarguable point that Truss was not an aberration or some alien figure that had appeared from nowhere to take over the Conservative party.

Follow the money that cascaded in from party donors, he said, and “the Truss premiership begins to look less like the personal failure of a flawed individual, and more like a systemic disaster for which the party bears collective responsibility”.

Those forces will dominate the Conservative party after its defeat and drive it to the radical right. Indeed, in opposition the members, the think tanks, the press and the ideologue donors will become more important, for they will be all the party has.

In a sign of things to come, Truss is already allying with Nigel Farage, and even Rishi Sunak says he will not ban Farage from joining Conservative party.

Despite her failure, Truss remains a potent figure on the radical right because of her championing of revanchism, which is now its dominant emotion.

This isn't a book. It’s a 300-page wail of resentment at a world that will not do as it is told.

I have no problem with conservatives complaining about woke policies taking over institutions. Only a fool or liar maintains that progressive biases among supposedly impartial organisations are an invention of the right,

But the woke conspiracy Truss invokes is of a wholly different order. It is utterly fantastical.

To recap, Truss's unfunded subsidies and tax cuts panicked the bond markets. They would not lend to a country whose leaders lacked plausible means of meeting its debts. Or if they did lend they would demand an additional yield on government bonds, which became known in plain-speaking financial markets as the “moron premium”: the extra cost that comes with lending to a nation run by idiots.

In her apologia Truss, who still poses as a Thatcherite, no longer sees markets as an expression of the wisdom of crowds, but as a conspiracy to do her down.

“I came to realise there is no such thing as ‘the market’ in this sense. Rather, there are groups of influential individuals in the financial establishment, all of whom know and speak to one another in a closed feedback loop. The Treasury, the Bank of England, and the OBR are deeply embedded in these social networks and share the same beliefs in the established economic orthodoxy."

The markets were at fault for not seeing her financial genius. Financial traders were the world’s unlikeliest lefties. Even though she and Kwarteng fired the permanent secretary at the Treasury and cut out the Bank of England and Office for Budget Responsibility from policy making, they were still, somehow, responsible for Tory failure.

“The powerful vested interests there pushed back, made my life very difficult and ultimately got me fired,” Truss concludes.

Older readers may remember a time when Conservatives insisted on personal responsibility. You were not allowed to blame crime on poverty or your failings on a bad childhood. You were accountable.

But the case of Liz Truss proves that these morality tales were only ever for the poor. In her mind, the economy collapsed not because of decisions she made but because of “a sustained whispering campaign by the economic establishment, encouraged and fueled by my political opponents in the Conservative Party who refused to accept my mandate to lead”.

Trumpism is the end point of such conspiracism and revanchism, and Truss goes all the way down the line to the terminus.

She mutters about the “deep state” a Trumpian phrase she uses without irony or self-knowledge.

And even though her support for Ukraine was her redeeming feature during her time as foreign secretary and prime minister, she is now supporting the pro-Putin Trump and his allies in Congress who are denying aid to Kyiv.

Truss is finished. But the resentment born of failure and the fury at modernity ensures Trump is still very much with us.

If he delights Putin and wins in November, the UK and Europe will learn the hard way that the real threat to Western civilisation comes from Liz Truss and her friends.

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mlmxreader · 8 months

Text

The Finer Things In Life | Kuai Liang x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Kuai Liang ( still LOVE how you write him)

90. "I love you more and more every day"

97. "Diamond rings and status don't mean shit to me - I just wanna be with you" ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Kuai Liang know what each other wants and needs, and you're more than willing to give it to each other.

: ̗̀➛ swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

It was no secret that you and Kuai Liang had been together for a good while; after meeting at one of Johnny Cage's infamous post-filming parties, you and Kuai Liang had hit it off immediately.

Of course, with you being a little younger and employed as Johnny's social media manager, Kuai Liang had been hesitant at first; he worried that perhaps being with an older man would somehow impact your career and cause you to lose income.

But you never faltered; you made it clear that you loved him and adored him, and you were there to stay. You had made mistakes in the past when it came to dating, whether it was the wrong person or it was the wrong time, but you were adamant about how you felt for him.

You made mistakes, you fucked up, you knew you weren't repeating it with him.

Kuai Liang wasn't a mistake, and the relationship ended up thriving; you kept working for Johnny Cage, even though he told you that working together for ten years, he wouldn't mind if you decided to retire and allow him to pay you a monthly pension - an offer you had to refuse, as you knew that you would be bored without the job.

You and Kuai Liang made it work, though, as most of what you did could be done from home; you settled into his quarters easily, and he even kept a suitcase stocked for you for when you needed to go with Johnny to public events and to do press tours with him.

As you were often Johnny's plus one, you had been interviewed quite a fair bit and the relationship between you and Kuai Liang was public because of that; Johnny would beam and grin with pride as he showed off the fancy engagement ring he had bought for you and Kuai Liang, saying that he was going to plan the wedding and he was going to make it as big and luxurious and fancy as he could.

You never had the heart to tell him that you and Kuai Liang had already set a date and that you were planning on a small, intimate, ceremony. But still, when you were at home, you were always comfortable; usually you went around with Kuai Liang as he went about his duties as Grandmaster, working while he trained new recruits and he sorted issues amongst his men.

You wouldn't talk for hours, but you still enjoyed just being near one another; he would sit down beside you when he had the time, often asking what you were doing even though he never had any clue what it all meant. "The facebook" this, and "the ticky tocky" that.

Saturdays were your day of rest, always snuggled up against one another in bed; you would go through your phone whilst he would read a good book. He was enjoying his copy of 'A Game of Thrones' that you had bought him a while ago; you got the entire collection for him, all five books, after he had expressed interest in reading it when you told him about how Johnny had met the author and you had been able to talk to him as well.

Those were the best gifts you gave him; books and poetry collections and autobiographies. The best gifts he ever gave you were the soft morning kisses and the sweet evening kisses; the gentle touch of his hand whenever he passed by you, and the tender gazes he threw your way when he caught your eye.

Neither of you wanted or needed anything more; Johnny might have gotten you both fancy rings, but you would have been happy with one made of paper. Kuai Liang never made any promises that he would shower you in luxurious, expensive objects or fancy, unique trinkets.

You never made any promises that you would bathe him in gold and ruby and sapphire, or that you would ever drown him in silver and platinum and bronze either. You were content to just be. Nothing else mattered much to either of you.

But as it was a Saturday, you hummed as you rested your head on Kuai Liang's shoulder, feeling his cold skin against yours as you relaxed and pulled the blanket up slightly.

A day of rest after a hectic week, after you had had to accompany Johnny to an awards show so that he could receive his award for playing a famous scientist who had created a devastating invention.

You were exhausted, in all honesty.

"I never thought I'd say this," you said quietly. "But if I hear the name Fritz Haber again, I'll shoot myself."

He laughed softly, putting his hand on your arm as he sighed. "You gave him the script for it... you don't have to go anywhere again, do you?"

"No," you sighed with relief. "I'm all yours until March... he's been nominated, again."

Kuai Liang hummed as he tilted his head to the side, pressing it gently against yours. "So you're all mine for another month."

"Thankfully," you whispered. "You know, I love you more and more every day, I just wish I could bring you along with me."

"I can't spare the time," he pointed out gently. "My duties lie with the Lin Kuei, my beloved. I couldn't leave them."

"I know, but it'd be nice," you mused. "Think about it - you and me, we could go to whatever it is Johnny's doing, and then we could go to the museums and the art galleries. Stop for coffee in a little caff. See if there's any book shops."

"Oh, no," he laughed, shaking his head as he put the book down at once. "You've given me plenty to read for years, my beloved, I don't think we can keep any more books."

You hummed, not entirely convinced. "Can't we build a library?"

"Maybe one day," he grinned. "We could have a big library, one that reaches the ceilings and the floors, with every wall covered in books."

"And a special place for Lord Of The Rings," you told him. "We need a special place for those."

"Of course," Kuai Liang agreed. "But is that really all you want?"

"I keep telling you this," you started, "diamond rings and status don't mean shit to me - I just wanna be with you... and have a special nook for my Lord Of The Rings books."

"And you'll have it," he promised. "I promise, you will have it one day."

"I might fall asleep right here," you whispered softly. "I'm still knackered... I don't know why Johnny makes me go to the after party every time."

"Sleep," he implored you. "I'll read to you."

You nodded getting yourself comfortable against him as you sighed and snuggled in, ready to listen until his soothing voice rocked you to sleep.

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njheresworld · 17 days

Text

Hold Me in Your Arms

Pairing: 1940sBucky Barnes x F! Reader

Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Gentleman Bucky, Rich Reader

Author’s notes: Heyo! I am SO DAMN EXCITED for this one. This is going to be an AU version. Bucky’s character will have very less inspiration from the movies. Hope you like it!

Prologue

War was over. Casualties were many. So were the sacrificed lives. War heroes were honoured. Everything at what cost?

Bucky had stared at the letter he received from the Colonel three days after he came back from his camp. They could either continue their service or choose to retire. Bucky wrote back to the General a week later conveying his interest in retiring. Pension plans were intact, but that is not enough. Bucky was done. He wanted to settle down, get his sister into a good college like she wanted to, help his ma.

That is when he went searching for work, finally ending up in Richards & Co. Five months had passed and he had been working hard at the steel factory like a mule. Everything worked out in his favour. Rebecca got into University of New York and his ma’s illness was cured.

“Hey Buck.”

Bucky is pulled back into reality by Steve. They were called Supersoldiers by their teammates due to their dedication shown at bringing their betalion from Germans’ torture lab and obviously for being best buddies since childhood.

Bucky looks up at Steve who was silently sipping on his drink. He then turned to his empty glass of whiskey at the countertop of the bar. It was a weekend and both of them decided to have some “boys time”.

“Peggy got a transfer to London. They are starting a new Shield office and they want her to take charge as the Chief.” He keeps his empty glass next to Bucky’s.

Bucky looked up at Steve’s face but he did not meet his eyes. After the war, Steve and Peggy got married. Steve took retirement seriously and started a furniture shop of his own. It was doing great business, they bought a cabin of their own.

“So…..you are leaving.” Bucky said with a sigh.

“Yeah man. I am planning to start this business in London. Peggy said her uncle had an empty lot that we can rent.” Steve told Bucky who looked like he was in deep thought.

“That’s great man. When are you leaving?”

“Two weeks from now.”

Bucky nodded his head. He would be lying if he said he was not jealous of Steve. He had everything Bucky wanted. Well, at least half his dreams are fulfilled. His ma keeps asking about finding a girl and Bucky made fun of her saying that they would run away if they see how terrible he is at dancing. He was not that bad. Bucky was definitely a charmer, he did have his fair share of rendezvous with the two girls when he was fighting. But they were never permanent. It was just some temporary fun when was waiting for a call back from the head office.

Love was something he was definitely waiting for . But nobody told him that it would not be stalling and he was just an arm’s distance away from it.

To be continued…

#Spotify #1940s bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #love #light angst

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ussjellyfish · 1 year

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new job?

I interviewed at a different district on Friday. (I'm a math teacher). I have been teaching 7th/8th, with the advanced classes, because no one wants them, so the fun stuff like geometry and fancy algebra). I've had 4 different classes in the past year, which was a lot, but I did a good job.

I interviewed at a suburban district where my brother lives with his wife and kids. I have been teaching in St. Paul, big urban district. 3rd biggest in my state, 30,000+ students, 8 middle schools, BIG district.

My school has about 600 students, and 5 math teachers.

Potential new school has 1000 students, and 7 or 8 math teachers. It's wealthier. Myold school is in a nice neighborhood (too nice for me to ever afford a house) but it's very mixed economically and racially. It's in an odd position because there are some really privileged students who are really advanced and need one set of things and other students who have really strong needs another way. It's a difficult balance. The kids are great.

I'm sure the kids at the new school would be great. It's wealthier, newer building, more resources. I probably wouldn't have to fight to get whiteboard markers.

more under a cut

Murray (current school) - upsides and downsides

Upsides

I know everyone. I really like most of my coworkers. They're great. I have a work best friend. We're gaining a really fantastic 8th grade history teacher that I could work with, which would help my floor.

I'll get to teach more interesting math. I'm the department head. I have a lot of power (sort of) and I get to pick the interesting classes and can really reshape the department. (partially because no one else cares, but it's fun).

It's the least effort, I'm set up to go back there, I have a plan that works for Felix (he goes to a new school in the 4 year old program. He gets to ride the bus home, which is a big step and I'd have a much easier commute immediately.

I could move to a smaller apartment near work and walk. (in January). I'd still have to drive Felix until he's in kindergarten, but he'd go to a really good elementary school, and I'd be in a really nice little walkable neighborhood. Great little grocery store, taco place, parks, playground, walking distance to work best friend's house.

Pension/retirement here is really good, like, stunningly good.

Downsides

My principal is incompetent, tone deaf and really difficult to work with. He's incredibly privileged, lives in the suburbs (the far out rich suburbs), he has a fancy car, he loves to hear himself talk. He's...someone I avoid rather than enjoy talking to.

Assistant principal thinks she's saving the world while is literally the embodiment of every meme about terrible admin. She's the one who gives a kid a cookie when they cuss you out. She's dragging the building down in so many ways and principal can't do anything to stop her. (there's something weird where she's kind of blackmailed the district? she can't be fired, but desperately needs to retire and won't. She's saving the world, the rest of us are terrible. (she seems to genuinely believe this and it is weird).

We had to go on strike to get a 2% raise in 2020. Our contract is up again and we're negotiating, and we nearly went on strike in 2022 but they gaved at the last minute. With the economy being what it is we're probably going to ask for 5%, and not get it and...there's some uncertainty.

I don't have tenure and will finally get it after this year. (This is in the middle, I guess?)

I am CONSTANTLY asked to cover other classes because we don't get enough substitutes. (like...once or twice a week, it's a lot).

New School SLP -

Upsides

Principal seems amazing. I've only met her for an hour and half, but she trained with my favorite principal ever. She's new to the school and very excited to be there.

Math department is really competent and the way they do teaching and grading is awesome. Really neat program of self reflection for students. I'd be walking into something made by people who know what they are doing and I wouldn't have to make it. I could just use theirs.

They asked my pronouns in the meeting. I had to argue to get current job to talk about them.

I drive to visit my brother's family at least once a week, and it's 20 minutes one way (with freeway). It would be about 10 minutes, no freeway. We could walk on a nice day.

I could move in January (my current lease doesn't run out until then and the penalties are stiff). I have a wide variety of apartments to chose from, near parks, near schools, some of them are in nice walkable areas. It's the suburbs, so slightly different lifestyle. I could definitely bike to work, good paths for that.

If we live in SLP we're much closer to brother and that would even out some of the responsibilities for Dad. I'm definitely moving, by myself in January, so dad needs his own plan by then, but, who knows what he'll chose.

Downsides

Absolute chaos in the near term. I'd need to leave one job (turn everything in, exit, meet with new HR, etc etc. We're going to Scotland on Wednesday so it would be fast and furious for awhile.

I don't know anyone at new place. (I will but...that's scary in the middle term).

Felix would need a different school. So I'd have to find one. I think I can make it work, but it'll be annoying for me.

My commute will be awful until January.

It will be harder (though not impossible) to hang out with my one friend from old work.

I'm struggling here, so this one is probably better?

6th grade math is less interesting, but less behavior problems. They're squirrels, but they're cute at that age.

smaller district? if it sucks, it'll really suck. (but I don't know yet).

Pension is less good. Any salary gains I got would be gone in how much I'd have to put away for retirement.

Brother #1 who lives in Iowa says it's okay to have two decent choices, and they kind of are. It matters how much admin/work culture influences my job, and where I want Felix to go to school. (there is a push that sububrbs would be better for him, I thnk he'd be fine anywhere, he's a good kid).

The short term chaos would be a LOT. (I can do it , it's just a LOT).

#whingeing about life #personal

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eriexplosion · 7 months

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Since I'm rapidly running out of time to catch up we're doing EVEN MORE TBB TODAY, so off to The Clone Conspiracy

GOD CORUSCANT LOOKS. AMAZING ACTUALLY. SEEING 79S AGAIN ALL GLOSSED UP, GODDAMN. Love when the future is Neon.

Slip and Cade ;A; I'm already preemptively sad knowing what's going to happen to them. Cade talking about destroying Kamino, their home... I'm of course thinking back to the trooper that reported that Kamino had fallen to Rampart, voice hesitant as he reports the destruction of his own birth place. Slip says later he was on board when it happened. I wonder if that was him.

God though, sending a message to Rampart to give him "the chance to tell the Senate the truth before I did it myself." Cade, Cade, Cade, that is an insanely stupid move WHY did you do that and not just tell the senate directly? I know it's the urge to follow orders and chain of command but oh god of course Rampart has him killed.

Listen the first time I watched this I was SO scared for a hot second that it was Crosshair taking those shots, the last time we saw him he had killed Tawni Ames and the rapid shooting Cade and then shooting the blaster out of Slip's hand got me CONCERNED. Only when he started missing constantly did I go 'okay yeah this can't be him'

Still they really do let you think that, with how little we see Crosshair this season, it wasn't out of line to think he was there with new armor.

Can't believe "Cataclysmic Storm" is what they went with. Yeah it was such a big storm on the planet known for storms that it destroyed every single city on the planet simultaneously, very tragic.

"Shifting to a military of citizens swearing loyalty fundamentally goes against the principles of this body." I'm sorry I can't get over the fact that like, I get why the troopers don't want to retire (this is all they've ever known, they don't know how else to function, they have no other support) and the bill is objectively meant to push them out of service to essentially be abandoned but this is still an insane argument. We can't shift away from our slave army to a military of volunteers it goes against the Principles of This Body. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

Riyo coming in with the actual 'hey what if we take the secret third option of treating them like people?'

I hate Rampart being so blandly pleasant, playing like he's soooo reasonable and understanding when we know he doesn't give a SHIT about the clones.

"If anyone were to dig further into what truly happened to Kamino" which I am happily discussing in a public hallway.

The scene in the bar HURTS because like, Riyo is trying but she's still locked into not treating the clones like people who should have options. She's trying to soften the being forced out plan, but they're still being forced out and thrown into a situation they were never trained for (because they were never supposed to be people) and they're pushing back against it because it takes away their choices in their own futures. There's just no option on the table that lets clones make their own individual choice whether to stay in the military or retire, and they always expected to be dead before they were too old to fight.

I want every clone to be given all the love and support in the world, all of them no exceptions.

Still the little nod at the end when they agree to work with her, my heart <3 Riyo really is trying her best she's just limited by both the Empire and the plot restrictions of how much they're allowed to criticize the Republics use of the clones in the first place and not just the Imperial treatment of them.

Riyo has been given the worlds worst and most alarming info dump and everything is happening at once, congrats your assassination risk just went up like 500%

God Slip calling Rex to try and get him out ;_; god this poor boy

Oh no not full pensions for millions of clones, god forbid we take care of the millions of clones that we literally purchased as cannon fodder.

"If I had been present, maybe more could have been saved" yeah bro your presence totally would have stopped the storm in this story you're building that makes total sense.

Bail pointing out the blatant insanity of blaming it on, of all things, a STORM.

I'm sorry I get stuck on that how was that the lie they went with how is Rampart SO stupid?

Godddd the tension of this scene with Riyo and Slip is so good, the building musical tension, the way it peaks a few times and nothing happens to keep you extremely on your toes and then Slip gets taken out just. DAMN they're good at this.

The way Riyo's guard gets shot and he KEEPS GOING.

I just realized that last time we saw Rex he disappeared into the fog, and when he comes back in he appears out of the fog. Turns out that whole time he was just in the fog.

HATE THE SCENE WITH THE BELIEVER CLONE. EVERY PART OF IT IS CONCERNING AS HELL. Including the part where he electrocutes himself to death and we get to see flashes of his fucking SKULL.

#the bad batch rewatch

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