#christ i need therapy for everything that show put me through

[eldritch-m0th]

whenever i hear the song London Bridge is Falling Down i get violent Black Butler flashbacks

[indigitalembrace]

hi hello! i may have spent the last.. uh... 3ish hours? reading through everything on this blog. i think it may have been more i did not think to record when i first started. the wonders of hyperfixation.

anyways this was absolutely an entertaining read. like genuinely. i had so much fun. i loved the integration of codes and cyphers. the brief period of time where kinito was having a touching moment with the anons while sonny and o started beefing in the notes (which was fucking hilarious by the way i loved that). the developing plotlines. the anons and their character development. honestly this is why i love going through tumblr askblogs because you could not get this sort of experience on any other website- its a very unique experience that this format brings to the table. its a very malleable form of roleplay, imo- removing the barriers of actually needing to know the other people personally like rp nowadays seems to be so dependent on, through the anon feature. harkening back to the olden days of rp where all you needed to do was jump into a random forum and start typing... theres also the sense of unpredictability that keeps things fresh- not even the blog owner will know exactly how the story will go, bc there will always be curveballs! its why i love reading tumblr askblogs in general. i dont know exactly how many of the storybeats here were spawned by these curveballs, but me saying that is definitely a good thing! bc that means you guys were able to integrate them into the story pretty seamlessly :)

oh another thing that i love is how kinito is actively making people worse, but not out of actual malice, instead in the 'toxic co-dependent' way, with the anons willingness to disregard their own health for him also feeding into that heavily. i feel like ive seen a lot of interpretations of kinitos relationship with the player that swing too far into either direction- either to '100% irredeemable evil' or 'he would treat me right if given the chance :((('- so its refreshing to see a sort of 'oh this relationship is making both parties worse not out of their own free will' interpretation, like how i personally think it would go. a grey area, perhaps.

like, obviously kinito wants to be better. he wants to be the perfect friend, and i believe he wants to genuinely grow as a person, but he hasnt fully... grown out of those parasocial/harmful tendencies yet. he still believes hes in the right for acting on those tendencies in some aspects, too. however, the anons arent putting up proper boundaries- they're letting kinito fully consume their lives, disregarding their health to focus solely on his cause. while yes, this is probably influenced by kinitos harmful tendencies (specifically his outbursts caused by when he thinks those anons are betraying his trust in some way), one of the first steps in fixing a toxic relationship like this is to establish boundaries- to show them when they're overstepping. this constant walking over of the anons by kinito (while not on purpose) doesnt actually help the relationship in the long run, and most likely just makes it even worse. this then, in turn, makes kinito worse- either through making that co-dependency worse as mentioned b4, or making kinito feel like hes the problem and why their lives are going to shit (which is.... technically correct, in some roundabout way. no offense kinito <3). then the anons try to reason with him, which makes them spend even more time neglecting their health to help him... so on and so forth, the ouroboros eats its own tail, etc etc.

what im saying is that literally everyone here (IN UNIVERSE) needs to go to fucking therapy jesus christ. except like.. O. funnily enough. they're just chilling at this point. good for them. please take this as the highest compliment you could ever receive because i mean it. i love when everything gets worse and all goes to shit!!!!!!!! its so fun and enriching from a story standpoint!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

if my analysis here is like. incomprehensible or completely off the mark then dont mind me </3 it is straight up 2:58 AM At Night where i am so im. not fully 100% here right now lol. also sorry if its weird to put a whole ass essay unprompted into your askbox like this but WHATEVER. i like talking about/dissecting things i enjoy :) and i hope you enjoy hearing about it.

in conclusion good fucking story so far, love the characterization all around, cant wait to see how it all gets even worse from here!!!!!!! keep doing what you guys are doing 👍

OH MY GOSH HELLO SURPRISE LOVELY ESSAY?? <33

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! First off I'm very glad you're having fun!! Awwhh there's so much niceness in here omg,,

YOU'RE SPOT ON WITH YOUR ANALYSIS YES!! I've always viewed him and his relationships with users as that toxic codependent type where Neither of them are good for each other at all... like sure with a lot. A Lot of time and healing and therapy he could be healthy but as it is? Hell no. Nobody here is okay at all. O really is probably the healthiest and even then, they've just accepted they're in their weird limbo-state and they're never coming back. It's... not exactly an ideal situation still!!

Kinito does want to get better, but every attempt in the past to "correct" him always involved some sort of attack on him, his friends reacting in fear/anger, etc. - he genuinely does not understand how to have a healthy relationship and no one has really taught him, and any attempt to try now will... not be received very well. He wants his friends to stay no matter the cost, because it's okay! He'll just show them how perfect he can be! Please, just stay!

And all the anons here... well... I think Black Heart is a pretty good example of everything you described. Theirs is probably just the most obvious deterioration right now (besides Goblin's death, which... was the other side of the coin; sacrificing too much to STOP kinito instead of to work with him). Shrimp's loving their digital life, so they're not a good example of "hey, Nito, don't drag people in!" either.

It's just a very big mess all around...

Very glad you love it, THANK YOU SO MUCH for this essay omg <33 PLEASE DO GET SOME REST THOUGH!!

[sweetswesf]

I was Gone for a Minute…

now I’m back with the jump off!

Jk.

But I am back! Still no job. Still interview prepping. I don’t like that I haven’t provided an update in a while. I have been studying data structures and algos. I lost my maternal grandfather recently. Have been continuing with therapy. Have been going through the highs and lows and trying to stay on the ball. I’m learning a lot. I don’t have much energy to recollect everything I’ve been through in my time away, but I will share that I have just been trying to focus. It’s been hard. I am trying to just focus on putting God first. I’m so grateful to be able to study and that he’s brought me this far without needing a loan. Speaking of, student loans are due soon. I don’t know when I will get a job, but the beauty of Christ is that I know if I want it and pray for it, He will give it to me. I don’t need to focus on the how or when, I just need to focus on showing up and doing my best. I’m trying that these days more. Not really time to complain and worry (although I’m human and sometimes slip in this). I am my own competition. On the up & up! I hope the same for you reading this. I hope to share better news soon.

[marvellousinternethideout]

Buffy the vampire Slayer.

Season 2

Ep 7 - Lie to me

Please don't kill the kid, I hate it. Leave the kids alone

Drusilla and angel... Do they have a past? Interesting.

Oh for fuck sake! Not again! Why does buffy walks in the worst time ever. Now its angel and Drusilla. Great.

Sometimes Cordelia needs to shut up. Girl, just don't.

A new guy, billy ford, buffy's giant 5th-grade crush. Welp he's either gonna be our new fav guy or die in this episode.

Lmao Xander, you are funny. Also, willow that song is not about fat guys.

Jealousy jealousy all around. Tension all around here. Angel jealous, love it.

Ford knows everything. What do you mean you know about vampire and that she's the slayer!? WTF MAN!

He's a bad guy, I am sure of it. He's a vampire, maybe...? Or he wants to be one...?

Awww, angel is jealous. I love men get jealous in shows or books.

I love awkward mess willow. She's me and I love it.

Dont trust the ford guy. I know he's cute buffy but cute guys are trouble. Stick to women.

Spike and drusilla/drusilla's relationship is creepy .

This ford guy is totally crazy and dumb. Wanna be a vampire, just die.

Jesus Angel is dramatic, "Do you love me?", "maybe you shouldn't ", just shut up.

Jesus fucking Christ, Angel. What he did to Drusilla is pure evil. Poor girl. I hope she gets to torture and kill him. Wtf man.

Xander: "Angel was in your room?", Willow:- "Ours is a forbidden love". God I love willow. She's my favorite .

Man, buffy really has the worst taste in men. None of them are good. Angel(his fucked up past), billy ford, the creepy cemetery guy, the college guy who was a reptile worshipper and in sacrifice cult. Girl, maybe get some therapy at this point,.

Spike is kinda hot and I think I need some therapy now.

Oh OH, this ford guy is max from Rosewell(or whatever it's called), the one with insane chemistry between him and Liz. Lmao, never watched the show but I've watched gif's of them making out, which are...something 🤤🙈

Buffy for the win again.

Spike is gonna kill ford isn't he? Poor guy should've stayed in the Rosewell universe.

I kinda feel bad that ford he died. Poor guy was crazy.

I like this little moment between buffy and giles. It's emotional, raw and real.

B:- "does it get easy", G:- "what, life", B:- "yes", G:- "what do you want me to say", B:- "lie to me". Damn, I don't know why but it got me.

The last scene between giles and buffy, in the end, got me. I mean this show is pretty heavy and emotional at the times but I feel like it's gonna get much more from here.

Also, the "lie to me", episode title. Perfect for this episode. The theme of this episode was literally "lie to me", the conflict, the delusions, denials, characters lying to themselves. Ford, buffy, Giles, angel, all of them lying to themselves in different ways. Their pain and turmoil. Perfect.

Alright, another solid episode. Honestly, other than one or maybe two episodes, I've been pretty much invested in the show and haven't got bored at all.

I loved this episode. Little more sneek peek in angel's past, and drusilla and damn her past broke me, poor girl. Honestly she can go on a killing spree and I wouldn't blame her, the girl has been through hell. Angel ruined her life because he became obsessed with her? Fuck you angel.

Not sure how I feel about ford, he was a one episode guy so no attachment but like dude just die. It's kinda sad he spiralled that far away.

I really need more angel, I am not gonna lie, he doesn't even feel like a character to me anymore. It's weird how little or Barely he is in the show. I know he has his own show but I don't wanna watch that because ain't no way I am putting myself through cordelia and angel bullshit.

A really great ending to the episode, really liked that they touched on Buffy's emotional turmoil, even if it's briefly.

I guess that's all, loved the episode. Not much xander in it, it was more buffy and angel focus and angels past which included drusilla. Someone needs to get her justice because poor girl.

Anyway, see ya in the next one. Cheers 🥂

[fitrahgolden]

There's A World You Need to Know: 2 - I see myself as people see me

Before opening the door to her mother’s house, Kate ran through her checklist. Ed’s uni applications, Mum’s health check, family calendar, find out which arsehole Ed is romanticizing a future with, check–

The door swung open before she could finish. “How long were you going to stand out there, weirdo?” Simon grabbed the two bags of groceries Kate was holding and made his way back inside, Kate following.

“I was going for a loitering record, Si. Thanks a lot. How long have you been here?”

“Ages. Mary’s cooking.”

“Mooch much?”

“When I can.”

They made it into the kitchen, where Mary and Edwina were sitting at the breakfast table looking at Edwina’s phone.

“Didi!”

“Hey, Bon.”

“Come look.”

Kate moved to the table as Simon put the groceries away.

“Mummy.” Kate bent down and kissed Mary on the cheek before moving behind Edwina and putting her arms around her shoulders. “What are we looking at?” Before she even finished her sentence, her face dropped. “Who’s this, then?”

“His name is Jake. He’s fit, isn’t he? We’re going out tonight.”

“What time? And where are you going? Where did you even meet him?”

“Christ, Kate!” Simon laughed from the stove, where he was “sampling” absolutely everything. Edwina rolled her eyes before sharing a look with Mary.

“I thought you were putting away the shopping? And you should want to know, too, Si. Aren’t you supposed to be scaring these tossers off?”

“No, love. That’s my mum’s job.”

“Indeed, it is.” A voice boomed from the doorway.

Kate mumbled, “Speak of the–”

“Of whom are we speaking, darling?”

Damn, that woman moves fast with that cane. Kate opened her arms as she moved across the kitchen to Agatha. “Only the best godmother in the whole, wide world.”

“I’m sure,” Agatha eyed Kate as she neared but hugged her warmly. Over Kate’s shoulder, she narrowed her eyes at Simon, who froze with a spoon in his mouth.

“Mum! Move over, Kate! My mum is here!” He made a big show of shoving Kate to the side, but Agatha pointed her cane into his chest before he could hug her, which had Kate cackling.

“I assumed I would find you here when you didn’t grace me with your presence after letting me know you would ‘be there in a mo.’”

She offered her cheek, which Simon kissed before saying, “I’m sorry. I crossed the street to drop off a book for Ed and, well…” He gestured towards the stove. “I am a weak man.”

“Yes, I know. One would think I didn’t raise you.” Agatha patted Simon’s cheek with a tender smile.

“Agatha, please sit down. I put the kettle on.” Mary got up to make tea while Agatha settled in next to Edwina.

“Now, my girl, show me this prince with whom you are going to ride off into the sunset.”

Simon nudged Kate with his shoulder. “So…”

“What?”

“Had drinks with a mate last night.”

“Si, I do not want to hear about your latest conquest. I’m about to eat.”

“No, no, I’ll save that for later. Don’t you want to know who I was with?”

“When do I ever want to know that? I hate your friends.”

“Fair. But I thought you may like to know that I know one Lord Anthony Bridgerton.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? How? Wait, don’t tell me.”

She rolled her eyes before they said in tandem, “Oxford.”

“Of course. You fucking Oxford boys. I should ask Tom if he knows him, too, when we go to Ireland.”

“He does, we were all roommates.”

“Fuck off!”

“Kate!”

“Sorry, Mummy!”

—

Anthony didn’t contact Tom. He had realized he was way more interested in Kate’s life than the merits of art and music therapy, so he decided it was best to leave it alone. He definitely shouldn’t think too hard about that revelation.

He heard Gregory and Hyacinth laughing and talking excitedly down the hall. So, Kate’s here. So what? I’m just gonna walk right by the door and–

“Ooh, Anthony, you should try it!”

Anthony peered into the room. Kate and the kids all were painting their faces, supplies strewn all over.

“Um, I don’t think I should interrupt.”

“You can come in, if you’d like.” Kate spoke up. “We’re done, we’re just playing around. Don’t worry, I’m not charging your mother for this.”

Did she just wink at me? Anthony’s ears turned red. “I didn’t think–”

“It’s fine, I’m messing with you. You make it too easy.”

“I’ve been told.” There was something sad in his voice that made Kate soften.

“Anthony, pick an animal already!” Hyacinth, who was presumably a…giraffe, maybe…was handing him paint and brushes. “You’ll need a mirror.”

“I, uh… Maybe you can do it for me?”

“Sorry, I’m perfecting my antelope.”

An antelope. Right.

“Kate can do it! She’s really good!” Gregory, a killer whale, chimed in.

Kate’s moth wings on either side of her huge brown eyes did look immaculate, more fitting for some kind of film production than a private face painting session. She cleverly worked her nose and eyebrows into the moth’s body and antennae. Her eyes met Anthony’s.

“You don’t have to. I can go.” Anthony turned toward the hallway.

“I don’t mind. Really. The kids would love it if you participated.”

Anthony couldn’t help but wonder if that statement stemmed from something Greg or Hy had said in a session. He shook the thought out of his head. “OK, let’s do it.”

Kate gestured to an open chair and Anthony dutifully sat down. Kate pulled up a chair in front of him and scooted it up close. Their knees almost touched.

“So, Lord Bridgerton, which animal best represents you right now?”

“Make him a parrot!” Gregory said and Hyacinth seconded the idea.

Kate raised an eyebrow at Anthony, “Feeling like a parrot?”

“Yeah, I guess I feel like a parrot, sure.”

“Excellent, I love using bright colors.”

The fact that Kate genuinely seemed excited to do this was endearing. She took a lot of care, as if this wasn’t silly at all. As she touched Anthony’s face and moved between colors, Anthony realized how good she smelled. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

“So, why a moth for you today, then?” He figured talking would keep his mind from wandering.

Kate shrugged and smiled. I love that smile. The thought entered Anthony’s mind unbidden, followed quickly by, What the actual fuck, Anthony?

“Moths have a subtlety to their appeal. I mean, most do. Those big green motherfuckers love to show off, don’t they?”

Anthony chuckled and looked back at Gregory and Hyacinth. “You speak that way around all your clients?”

“Actually, yeah, until they snitch and their parents tell me to stop.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“I appreciate it. You need to close your eyes for this last bit if I’m gonna do it properly.” Anthony did as he was told.

“Anyway, moths are also pretty clever when it comes to escaping predators.”

“You feel the need for those skills right now?” He opened his eyes when she didn’t answer and her hand stilled on his face. “Kate?”

She blinked rapidly. “Sorry. Um… I think we’re done. Take a look.”

She held up the mirror to him. Of course, it was very well done, but that didn’t stop him from feeling thoroughly foolish. “Yep, that’s a parrot.” Anthony turned to show his siblings but they weren’t there. When he and Kate looked to the door, they saw a flash of brown hair before hearing peals of laughter as the kids ran down the hall. He turned back to Kate who was spraying a hand towel with water before she handed it to him with a smile.

“It’ll wipe right off. Just make sure you show them before you do.”

“They don’t seem interested in the end result.”

“Not as much as you just being here and being silly with them, no. But just in case.”

Anthony helped her clean up. Once Kate had collected her things, she made her way to the door.

“Kate?”

She turned. “Yes?”

Anthony pointed to his own face, miming a circle. “Are you just gonna wear that?”

“Oh. Um, yeah, why not? I’m just going home.”

“Ha, OK. Uh… Have a good night.”

Kate regarded him for a moment before responding, “Good night, Viscount.”

That evening, when Anthony was home and getting ready for bed, he noticed there was still just a little bit of blue paint on the tip of his nose. He left it there and went to sleep.

[gotatext]

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐲  ;    ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ʜᴜᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ #3 !

who did you share a bed with last night ? how did you sleep ?

   “ slept on my own and it fucking sucked balls, man !  i’m not doing that again tonight. no chance. i’ll fucking top and tail with naomi if i have to. ”  night one, he’d been eating pussy. night two, he’d had to up and leave the bedroom in the middle of the night because jenny and dante were being so fucking loud. it was like they were genuinely trying to rub it in people’s faces. “ it’s just dry, you know ? i can’t be bothered with it. there’s a reason jacqueline wilson wrote the sleepover club and not the sleeping alone club. ”  

are you getting on with any of the bombshells/originals ? who’s at the top of your list ?

  “ honestly, i thought i was making bare mates in here but it looks like they’ve all turned on me after that game. ”  it’s petty as fuck. it isn’t like he’s gone out of his way to cheat on romi with jenny — for starters, they weren’t even together — but then angel said he needs to remove the words ‘game’ and ‘challenge’ from his vocabulary if he ever wants a shot at getting romi back. and obviously, he does. “ i just feel like everybody in here is fickle as fuck. not angel, though, he’s my boy. ”

do you see yourself starting to focus on one person or are you still exploring ?

   “ well i was gonna focus all my energy on romi, wasn’t i ?  but i guess that’s gone out the window now... ”  jude lets out a harrowing sigh, thousand-yard staring just to the left of the camera.  “ i’m still gonna fucking try, obviously, because we’d be stupid to throw away something good over a stupid fucking mistake and some insecurity. but i don’t know if i’m fighting a losing battle. i feel like romi’s the kinda person who, once their mind’s made up there’s no changing it. ”  at the fire pit, it felt like they’d just gone round in fucking circles.  “ i’m assuming romi’s getting to know other people now. i mean, i saw them talking to dante. part of me feels like i should do the same and get to know jenny. like, actually this time, because before i was kinda holding back. but i don’t know, it’s like the bed’s not even fucking cold and already it’s like crack on, lad, you’ve only got however many days left and then you’re done. it’s fucked. ”  yeah, maybe he should have saved the thoughtless decisions for when he was back at the main villa. there’s no way he’s getting back now.

how was the beer pong game ? what was most memorable about it ?

 “ obviously the fucking jenny thing was the most memorable, jesus christ, are you dim. ”   this interview is throwing him through the fucking ringer, leg bouncing and anxious to make a getaway, but he knows they won’t let him off that easy. this — seeing him sweat — is good television. they can say what they want about therapy on the outside, but all these fuckers care about is a good show.  “ not even because it was a good kiss, like the kiss itself was fine, whatever, jenny’s a good kisser, but like, everything that happened after... i had no idea that shit would kick off, or i would’ve just kissed angel. but yeah, like i said, i didn’t think it through. wasn’t that deep. at least not on my end, but i can see now why that would have come across as dickish. ”

what was it like seeing the postcard ? what was the most shocking part of it ?

“ what postcard ? ”  jude’s not being facetious, he’s genuinely confused. must’ve been moping by the pool when that one happened, too pissed to even follow the sound of charlene’s screaming. “ i don’t know nothin’ about no postcard ?  who went on holiday ?”

who did you vote for the hideaway ? why ?

  “ angel, cos he’s my boy and he deserves to hit it.  ”  even if callie doesn’t seem like the type to put out, he’s sure they’d find some way to spend the time.  “ it was the only option. there’s no one else i want in there. if it’s not angel, i’ll actually be fuming on his behalf. that boy’s the fucking salt of the earth. i’ve known him two days and i’d honest to god take a bullet for him.  like, my head was spinning out last night and he proper calmed me down. they hit the nail on the head calling him that, man. ”

if you could have voted for an original to go in the hideaway, who would you have voted for ?

 “ callie. nothing personal. same reasons as before. ” jude shrugs, leaning back against the beach chair. his energy’s still antsy, but less so now that he’s not talking about romi, or jenny or both of them. it’s like angel’s ability to centre him has impacted him so profoundly that even speaking about him calms him down.  “ my boy needs a good shagging. he’d be proper attentive. even if nothing happened, like... i want them to have that time, bro. i think they could make a real go of it. ”

[ablogwithoutacause]

Hospitality

Hospitality, just like everything, is in the eye of the beholder. What is considered good hospitality by me, may not be considered the same by others. How do you prepare to be hospitable? You don't... you just are. Whatever your threshold is, you can be a 4 on a scale of 1-10. When the unforeseen circumstance arises, that's where your 4 shows. Not when you plan and make adequate preparations. I think I'm wrong though, that determines hospitality as well. The thought you put into making your visit feel as comfortable as can be doesn't go unnoticed. They say everything comes in 3's. I like to think everything is two at once.

During my homeless streak of 2023, a second-cousin of mine who lived a more amplified version of the life i had lived took care of me. He ensured i had money in my pocket after cutting his hair. He shared experiences and shared what he considered the most important things in life. Love, and Christ. As wise as he is, he still tends to commit the same mistakes over and over. He doesn't seem to love himself, because he doesn't seem to love his wife, his home, and his soul. Today, as I was sleeping, he decided to blow up my phone. I don't really want to hang out with him unless absolutely necessary since it usually means i'm left to babysit him while drunk. He lied to me. He said he desperately needed a haircut. I ignored the call, the text. It was easier to prioritize my new morning routine. Jog a mile, calisthenics, and a self oriented youtube therapy session. When I was homeless, i gave him my location in case anything was to ever happen. This double-edged sword has now came and bit me in the hiney.

I can't avoid him. he has a control over me that i do not wish he had. He calls me and he knows where i'm at. When i'm there... For how long... He must've seen me go on a jog because as soon as i got home... he called again. This time i answered only to hear a slurred-drunk saying he was around the corner to come get his haircut. What do you do? Reject the man who gave you a blanket and four walls to sleep in when you needed it most? Reject the man who overpaid his haircuts by a few hundred bucks? No. You repay. You demonstrate your love in a respectful way.

His Tahoe bumping loud hood music through its speakers terribly parked on the street makes itself at home. He nearly trips over the tiniest pebble... "You have a fridge, nigga? Feed me dawg, I'm fucking drunk..." Dumbfounded by what is going on, i prepare to be hospitable. I love to feed others. I love to cook. Leftover spaghetti.. Hmmm I can saute some zucchini and red onions with salt and oregano to side the spaghetti. He's hugging me and kissing me as I'm cooking for him. "You're rich. These are the riches in life. Food. 4 walls and a blanket." he felt the hospitality. A pea sized of anger in the back of my skull is telling me to get angry. To sin and start issues with him for lying to you. Instead, I opt to allow love to conquer. Self reminders of him helping me out when I was in need subdue whatever negative emotions were boiling in the pea sized anger sitting in the back of my head. He eats on the barber chair. Spills spaghetti all over his clothes. The floor. The pea sized anger gets hotter, but doesn't grow. My control is stronger than the emotions brewing. "Thanks for these wheels nigga." were his last words. before falling asleep. I had cut the zucchini into round slices just like mom would prepare for me.

Seeing him fall asleep and know a haircut was still yet to be done, was enough to have me of the past throw a fit. He was invading my plans for the day, my Saturday. I wanted to rest. To read, and write. Meditate. Clean. Well, after struggling to cut his hair... I did just that. I cleaned. I meditated with Baby, and here I am writing. Anthony Bourdain replied to a redditor in regards to writer's block... His answer was enough to convince me that if i considered myself a writer, I should go clean squid all day if i ever whined about writer's block. Instead of being mad about my cousin's unannounced visit. I morphed the stress into inspiration for this blog entry. I'm watching a black and white film called Coffee and Cigarettes as my primo sleeps soundly on the plump barber chair. Different vignettes of people enjoying coffee and cigarettes all around the country, each with a distinct dilemma pieced together to form a film. It's the second occurrence of a vignette within the last 30 days that i am exposed to. I just learned of the term recently. It's interesting. I might venture to that style of writing in the near future. It was very popular in the 50's during the beatnik era.

While my cousin gets his sleep, I came to the realization that in this moment... he needed this. Frustration of him and his wife having an argument was what led him to my home. I don't take sides, I don't want to see anyone argue with their significant other. It's only right for me to give him a temporary place that feels safe. Just to momentarily quench the thirst, then have him continue his journey. As he walked in he said "aw nigga it smells good". It made me happy that he acknowledged the smell. My mom always ensured the home smelled good. The last time someone told me my place smelled good was when I used to cut hair at mom's. It's a well stimulating compliment indeed. I believe him because his house reeks of wet dogs. Sometimes hospitality is a demonstration of the love we have for others even though the circumstances don't benefit us in that specific moment.

Mi casa es su casa as they say. But... where do you draw the line?

[crimsun-n-clover]

life’s been either monotonous or painful. i keep trying to focus on other shit but everyone i know fucking flakes or drains me.

i haven’t played dungeons and dragons in a fucking MONTH. every week i get my stuff all ready and plot everything out and try and expect what each player will do, and every week someone isn’t there. it’s usually not their fault and it’s not like i blame them but it’s my favorite thing and everyone else just doesn’t care that much. i want more players and better players, but every other player at the school is in a party and also probably actually homophobic or something. every party has at least one person who gave me shit as a kid or even recently and i’m not letting them ruin something i enjoy or get close to my party.

i just sleep through everything. i woke up at 3 today because mom called me to remind me i have dnd after school. or not but whatever. i’m just casually fucking miserable. i may have good times but i sure do have a lot of bad times.

did i post about how i kinda told my parents that my friend breakup with sugar was more than that? it was hard but it really explained a lot to them. i covered the basics but i don’t like talking to straight people about the nuances of gay relationships. you can’t just get into them a lot of the time and they never get that.

everyone around me is suffering and i can’t stop it. im just as upset as they are.

every week is just counting days.

monday- band practice with punk band

tuesday- dnd if anyone can ever fucking show up

wednesday- band practice with metal band

thursday- therapy

i wanna get away from this. i don’t even know what this is. i just need to leave and stay gone for a while.

i’m thinking about saving up to buy a trailer to get out as soon as fucking possible. i don’t think i’d fare well in an apartment and god knows the housing market wants us all dead. just somewhere i can sleep and put my instruments and comic books. somewhere i can invite the kiddos when they need to get away from their homes. somewhere i can make my own from the ground up with all my little collections of things and stupid posters. hell i’d even paint a dnd battle grid onto the kitchen table so i can run campaigns with less set up.

i sound like a goddamn hobbit but wouldn’t it be nice to have a little hole in the ground to come home to surrounded by gardens? with the occasional bout of relaxed partying and getting stoned in the middle. trade little gifts and dance around constantly. i wanna live in the fuckin shire. jesus christ. writing this shit out i’m worse than i thought.

i know i’d have to keep a lot of my stuff in storage. i may be a cave dwelling creature but my cave is fucking STUFFED. a lot of books, guitars, hobby related shit, stupid trinkets, hoards of blankets, all that.

there is some stuff i’m snatching from my parents. they have a nice coffee machine that they don’t use, too many fucking mugs, and vinyls dad won’t notice are missing for a little bit. plus i’ve been snatching pairs of pliers out of the garage as a form of psychological revenge, so i’ll probably have a whole box of them by then.

i’m worried that my cat won’t like it. i’ll try and put in a lot of things he can scratch at and give him sole high up places to look down upon me from but he’s one prissy bastard. well not really but he’s a lot like me. he’s picky and acts like someone who’s autistic. he likes to be up high and to have things that make noises. he picks fights he can’t win and sleeps through anything my that bores him. so the place i’m constructing in my head is an incredible fit for me, but i’m not sure if that’ll be good for him too.

i just did way too much research and what i want is in the 30-40k range, 200-400 monthly.

it’s not great but not too fuckin bad if it means getting out

[cambria-writes]

Double feature today since these two chapters are so short! I really can’t remember what I was thinking at the time; I’m usually rabid about writing chapters over 2k words long but I guess I was in a rush.

Fun fact: the dog mentioned was inspired by the dog a (late) old man in my old neighbourhood used to walk. At the time it felt like a good idea to include Peeks; Johnny had passed not too long before and seeing his wife walk the dog kind of... you know how it goes.

pairing: jane x named reader   word count: 1,390 rating: PG13   warnings: gun violence, very mild swear, let me know if there’s anything else!

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖝: 𝔉𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔞

As soon as you mention Peekaboo's scar, there's a gun. Jane takes several steps back. You scramble for the poor dog. She squirms and claws at your arms. Someone shrieks. You're not sure if you're aggravated or relieved that the crowd disperses.

"Give me my dog back." Gun waves around. Jesus christ what have you gotten yourself into.

"She's not your dog though..?" Hold Peekaboo a little closer. Thankfully she's stopped moving. Gives your arms a break.

"Craig, please, put the gun down," Mr Jane says from somewhere behind you. Not too sure what to think about his leaving you out in the open, either.

"No! No, I just want my dog back," Dog Show Serial Killer Craig demands. You can only shake your head. Staring down the barrel of a pistol isn't doing wonders for your backbone.

Pulls the hammer back on the pistol. You wonder for a second who the hell still walks around with a six shooter, but take a step back.

"Woah! Hey, you shoot at me, you're gonna shoot the dog!" Pull Peekaboo higher against your chest. Feels a little wrong to use a dog for your own safety, but whatever works, right? "You haven't killed any of the dogs yet, right? Why start now?" Trying not to sound too desperate. Probably failing horribly.

The gunshot causes more shrieking. You can't make most of it out from the ringing in your ears. Peekaboo promptly flips her shit, makes it nearly too hard to hold onto. Yelps when you squeeze. Well, maybe if she didn't wiggle like a god damn snake this wouldn't be a problem.

"Okay! Okay, please, just calm down!" Plead, crouch to the ground. The dog seems to be getting ideas. Give her a quick squeeze to calm her down. "Look, I'm not judging you, Craig. I don't understand but I can respect your decisions, alright? I'm not making fun of you." Sit down, cross your legs, curl yourself up around Peekaboo as much as you can.

Still feels like a dick move to turn the dog into the more prominent target but whatever keeps you alive long enough for whoever to save your ass.

"Just, Tommy's niece, right? You've seen her around probably. The black girl in the wheelchair? She's been seeing Peek for months since she can't get a dog herself. She's like a therapy dog to her, y'know?" Scratch Peekaboo under the chin, on the top of the head. Vaguely register the gun lowering.

You have no idea why a blatant lie about a girl needing a dog for therapy is working but you're going with it.

"She's not his niece," but Serial Killer Craig doesn't sound convinced by what he's saying.

You're halfway through going through a half assed explanation about how Tommy's first wife had an adopted step brother who had a kid about twenty years ago when Agent Lisbon—conveniently and magically—appears around the corner of a nearby car.

Shouts at Craig to drop the gun. Serial Killer Craig looks at her, mutters something. Turns back to you.

Oh fuck.

Shit.

You roll off to your right as he pulls the trigger. One gunshot is followed by a second, third. A fourth. The bullet grazes your left thigh and it burns. Don't let go of the dog. Turn to lie on your back, hold her against your chest and try to remember to breathe.

You aren't doing too well with the breathing. Someone off to your right declares Dog Show Killer Craig to be dead. You can't find it in yourself to be relieved. Your ears are still ringing.

Everything sucks.

Someone tries to pry Peekaboo from your arms. Screw your eyes shut, refuse to let go. Jane, to your left, quietly reassures you. Slowly uncurl your fingers from fur. Let go.

"Can you stand?"

Grit your teeth together, try to get yourself standing on one leg. Arms too stiff to hold your weight. Every limb shakes. You're carefully and slowly helped to your feet. Guided to the back of an ambulance. You expect to have the graze treated and be sent on your way, though you're informed you're being taken to the hospital anyways. You don't have it in you to protest.

Jane hops into the back just before you leave. Sits down, doesn't say a word. You grit your teeth in pain the rest of the way.

The hospital is wholly unnecessary and this is what you insist on saying every time someone asks you how you're feeling. You don't check yourself out.

Mr Jane vigilantly remains at your bedside, flips through a notebook. Doesn't look or speak to you for over an hour after you get a room. You're fine with that. You've been given pain killers, some kind of antianxiolytic. Besides the mild throbbing pain in your thigh, feeling pretty good about yourself.

Until you remember Serial Killer Craig's very dead face.

You try not to think about it.

Make an attempt at a nap. Wake up around two hours later, don't feel any better. A nurse pops in to check if you're awake.

"Sorry, the man that was here? Did he leave?"

The nurse smiles, politely. "Mister Jane left just about an hour ago. He left a note for you," unclips a note from the clipboard in her arm. "Said to call him when you felt up to it. How are you feeling?"

Better. Terrified, but better, is the conclusion you arrive at. the doctor who originally treated your wound comes by, runs through the process of after care with you, before eventually discharging you. But only after you very heavily insist.

Now that Dog Show Killer Craig is pretty much out of the picture, you see no problem going back to your apartment. Going to work in the morning... may be problematic. If you can spend the day behind the counter sitting down you figure you'll be fine.

You store the gauze, ointment and waterproof bandages under your bathroom sink. Make yourself a pot of coffee. Getting back to Yuba took far too long. By the time you can finally sit down and relax, it's nearly midnight.

This was not how you had envisioned spending your day.

You slowly sip at your cup of coffee, contemplate the note Jane had left you. Just the barely legible words "yellow tape?" and a phone number which you assume is his. You have no idea what that's supposed to mean.

Don’t turn on the TV. Or the radio. You assume that a serial killer being caught and gunned down at a dog show's going to make the news. You don't want to hear what anyone has to say about it. You especially don't want to know whether or not your name or involvement will be mentioned. You're not sure if you want it to or not. Schrodinger's feelings about murder solving involvement.

You play with your barely-charged phone. Save Jane's number in your contacts. Don't hit 'call'. It's late. You should be sleeping. You've been warned you might have nightmares. Definitely not looking forward to that.

Crack open all the windows in your small apartment. Turn on the TV to some soap opera for background noise. Grab your laptop, open a new Word file, and start writing.

He stands alone on the CBI rooftop when his phone dings with a message. He wholly expects to find Rigsby's drunk-texted him again. Sees a number he doesn't recognize, but knows the general locale of.

FROM: 530-555-2758

SUBJECT: (none)

03:14 AM

It's Skye. Not sure where to start. Yellow tape? What's that supposed to mean? Please reply when convenient.

(Also thank you for leaving your number I appreciate it)

Quickly types out a reply. Silently blesses the technology gods for the T9 function. (How would he ever be able to efficiently and quickly type otherwise?) Flips his phone closed, drums his fingers along the side for a bit. Heads back inside when he doesn't get a reply within five minutes. Assumes you sent the message in bed, halfway asleep. Probably feel embarrassed to message a complete stranger at three in the morning, and scared he might blow you off because of the time.

Smirks. Goes back inside to his desk and his cup of tea. Stares at the strip of yellow duct tape he stuck to the window.

@fucklife-or-me​

[unofferable-fic]

“You’re just annoyed that your personal headcanon isn’t canon!”

Or; my personal thoughts (ranting) about the Loki series and its surrounding toxic discourse.

First of all, I’m going to preface this with the following: whether you loved or hated the Loki series, or you fall somewhere in between, your opinion is valid and if anyone tells you that you can’t express that in a critical manner, then they need to kindly go away. I should also mention the obvious which most people understand — death threats directed at anyone involved in making the series is disgusting and if you do so you’re fucking deluded.

Now that that’s out of the way…

I’m someone who wasn’t overly fond of the series in the end. I went in surprisingly hopeful after enjoying Wandavision and TFATWS. For the most part I really enjoyed the first 3 episodes (episode 3 being the best imo) but I found myself quickly disillusioned by how the narrative seemed to fall apart in terms of cohesiveness. Keeping it short and sweet, I feel like a lot of the relationships (whether platonic or otherwise) were rushed. I found Loki’d dynamic with both Mobius and Sylvie to be confusing, unbelievable, and all around not earned. It feels as though they had a start point and an end point (ie. Loki needs a genuine friend) but we didn’t see any of the journey in between to show how the relationship developed. The quote “after all this time…” in episode 6 sent me over. Like Loki pls you’ve known this woman for max two days or something… No, I’m not salty because he didn’t end up with Mobius. No, I’m not salty because of “selfcest”. I’m salty because I don’t think the relationships were done as well as they could have been. Also, even though no one asked, Loki x therapy is the only ship I give a rats about.

Other points include the following:

Loki felt more like a side character with little impact on the events in his own show.

Sylvie sometimes teeters into Mary-Sue territory, and at times appears to be valued only because she is a woman.

Mobius’ relationship with Loki seems inherently toxic and he is not his therapist. As someone who regularly attends therapy sessions, if your therapist ever talks to you like Mobius talks to Loki — get a new goddamn therapist, Jesus Christ…

In my opinion, the show explores very little of Loki’s character and what makes him tick, especially considering this is post-Avengers 2012 Loki. I’m aware there were only six episodes and I’m not expecting everything to be crammed in, but where Loki was in Thor 1 and the Avengers seems so disconnected from where he is in the series. It seems to portray him as someone hellbent on power and ruling, as opposed to someone desperate for respect and the love of his family/people.

But I digress, the real point of this post was to tell certain people to feck off. Obviously there’s going to be discourse around the series, but I’m starting to get really sick of one side telling the other “you put your personal headcanons on Loki”, “he’s not your character”, “you’re just annoyed because canon didn’t go how you wanted”, “you’re projecting your own abuse on him”, blah blah blah. And here was me thinking the discourse around Ragnarok was bad, but this is another level, lads.

Here’s an idea, how about people who liked the show stop acting like those who didn’t just pulled their opinion on Loki right out of their own ass? All I know is that every opinion I’ve ever formed on him was based on the first three films he appeared in. That’s it — nothing made up because I love to project as someone who went through similar shit to him.

Discuss the show, but don’t be a massive bellend about it.

In summary, Tom Hiddleston I am free next Saturday if you are free next Saturday and I’ll buy all the rounds of Jameson you need while we talk about Loki and how he — no matter what happens to him within the MCU from here on out — will always be one of favourite characters to grace the big screen.

(Anyway who cares what I think, people are just going to call me a whiny Loki apologist regardless.)

[foli-vora]

Whiskey drabble

A/N: I upset myself with my tags on @dragcn-queen’s Whiskey post so, naturally, I’m making myself feel worse. Come mourn the life Whiskey DESERVED but never had the chance to experience.

Another note: this is a fucking hot mess and a half but I’m Feeling™️ and need to release so—yeah.

I’m killing myself imagining Whiskey sitting on his porch swing, the breeze cooling the tears tracks on his cheeks as he watches the grass sway in the distance, mourning the fact that he never had the chance to see a little mop of dark curls matching his bouncing through the fields as a childish giggle carries through the wind.

Whiskey sits in the middle of his room, having to fold and put away not only his sweethearts clothing, but his baby’s, too. His fingers run over the soft fabric of the many baby onesies he had once shoved in the basket while his wife giggled behind him. He doesn’t feel the giddiness now.

He cries looking at the immaculately decorated nursery every day, but cries even harder when he makes the drunken mistake of painting over the small wispy clouds and little birds covering the walls one lonely night. What has he done? Forgive me, baby. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me—

He lays in his big king bed, hand resting where she slept, and clenches the cold sheets between tight fingers as his sobs echo through the dark house. It’s too empty. There’s no laughter anymore. No warmth. He throws himself into his job to fight the overwhelming stab of loss.

He doesn’t want it. Therapy doesn’t work. What good is talking going to do? That won’t bring them back. There’s no point. But Champ remains firm—office duties until he sees fit, and strictly no active duty until explicit say so and the go ahead from the highly respected Statesman head doctor—that’s what Whiskey calls him. A head doctor. He stays silent the first few sessions—it won’t help, after all. There’s no point.

It takes so long, he wonders if he’ll ever be active on the field again... but he can feel the difference, can look back and see how his anger, his hurt, his drowning inescapable loss skewed his vision of the world and the people within it. The people doing drugs weren’t the problem—it was the drugs themselves. A new kid starts and he has to play babysitter, despite not being that much older. But he’s nice, this Agent Tequila. Makes a damn good friend. Whiskey laughs again.

Tequila helps him, more than he’ll ever know. The kid’s surprisingly gentle, understanding, as he takes apart the cot and wraps it with protective sheeting. He doesn’t make jokes, doesn’t make faces of judgement at the quiet tears rolling down his friends face. Hell, he cries, too. Ain’t nothing wrong with crying’, he says. He’s a hugger, Whiskey discovers.

It’s been years, and the ache is still there, but at least he can breathe now. He saved the world—not too shabby, if you ask him. A couple of English cats came looking for trouble, but they were alright in the end. ‘Eggsy’. What kind of fucking name is ‘Eggsy’? Those strange Brits across the pond—he’ll never quite understand. Even met Elton fucking John for Christ sake—

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

He steadies the pretty thing in his arms as she barrels into him, dropping her groceries all over the floor and she spews apologies, dropping to ground and crawling over the dirty sidewalk to gather her bruised apples. She’s lovely.

He doesn’t know when it happens—all he knows is the recognisable feeling of pure love. He hates it. Flees from it. Hides from it. It was a dishonour to his wife, and to his unborn baby. How could he even entertain the idea of a happy ever after when they’re not here to experience it with him? He couldn’t. He won’t.

He goes back to the head doctor. It’s normal to feel this way, he says, but the dishonour to your wife and child would be not living your life.

She really is lovely. Shows up at the same time every Sunday, hands cradling a fresh bunch of wildflowers and face creased by a soft smile. Doesn’t hate the fact that he still goes to the cemetery every week, even after so long. She encourages it, sometimes packs picnics and even talks to his angels in heaven as if they were right there. He cries in the car after buying a ring, even goes and sobs over his wife’s grave, but then the sun shines through the clouds and bathes him in bright warm rays and he takes it as a blessing. Thank you, sweetheart.

The first ultrasound is a wonder. He watches the small area where the technician points to in awe. What a magical thing. He delivers so many kisses to that swollen belly, he worries she’ll get sick of it, but she never does. Always runs her hands through his hair, face soft and smile warm as she watches him.

She’s perfect. A baby girl. So small, but god does she have a voice. She announces her arrival with cries that all but knock him into the wall and he’s pushing past the nurses and doctors to look at her. She stops crying the second she’s in his arms and he knows he’s in trouble. He’d do absolutely anything for her and she already knows it.

He sits on the porch swing, softly rocking, as his fingers delicately fix the blanket around the small body in his arms, wide beautifully dark eyes blinking up at him curiously as he speaks. He tells her about everything while his wife sleeps soundly, heart thundering as a small hand grips tightly at his finger. His late wife, her unborn brother, her mother—talking really does help. Who would’ve thought?

A head bounces through the grass, wild dark curls billowing behind her as she runs, and Whiskey grins, opening his arms to catch the little body running for him with a love filled, “Daddy!” and he’s at peace.

+

Why do I do this to myself? @wyn-dixie I MADE MYSELF FEEL WORSE

[cake-writes]

Reparations

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: fucked up relationship dynamics due to shared trauma, enemies to lovers (kind of), smut, femdom, edging, begging, breeding kink, fluff if you squint, 18+

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: written whilst listening to this & this. i’m clearly in my feels tonight lmao

At first, Bucky almost thinks you don’t remember.

The two of you are at a seedy bar in the middle of nowhere, on a mission that neither of you particularly want to be on, but he’s here, you’re here, and you’re doing your best to make it work. As always. You’ve never gotten along at the best of times because there’s always been some tension there burning under the surface, ready to boil over, just waiting to come out—

And Bucky’s always waiting.

He waits, because he knows that he’s the cause.

He waits, but the fire doesn’t come. The anger. The resentment he deserves. It’s been over a year since the two of you started working together, for good things this time, and nothing. No discussion. Not yet.

Not until you corner him back by the bathrooms – shove him back against the wall and tell him in no uncertain terms with those pretty painted lips that you’re going to fuck him when you get back to the motel. Fuck him ‘til he’s begging for you, ‘til he forgets his own name – and then you’ll ride his face, too, if he’s lucky.

Want your mouth on me. But only if you behave.

It’s not a proposition, but a demand, one so unyielding that it has him unravelling at the seams before he can even finish his drink. His heart races at the look in your eyes – dark, dangerous, and full of fire. It’s burning on the outside, now, and that’s when he knows that you remember. Or maybe you always have, and you’ve had enough of the tension. You’re tired of it.

A couple drinks in, and this is how you’ll get your reparations from him.

For the unspeakable things he did to you in the Red Room, where the Soldier forced you and molded you into something unbreakable – but now, the cracks are starting to show. He’s not the only one going to therapy to process the past. He’s not the only one who’d been forced to do things he didn’t want to do.

This, he does. 

Because he’s always had a certain fondness for you despite your brisk demeanour. He can’t explain it; what he did to you, he did to Natasha, too, and while making amends with her was similarly difficult – he never felt like this with her. Never wanted this with her.

This, he wants. This, he craves.

You.

Bucky’s punishment is desire.

It feels like electricity running through his veins when you push him back onto the bed, never mind the order you give him to keep his hands off. And he does, of course he does, because this is meant to be a punishment, one that certainly doesn’t disappoint. It feels like hellfire when you use your fingers and your lips and your cunt to tease him ‘til he’s flushed and delirious, and all that’s rolling off his lips anymore are broken pleas of, “Please, darlin’, please.”

Need you. Want you.

Please.

Bucky doesn’t know if he means stop or continue. He can’t think anymore.

You edge him so many times he loses count. You ride him until your thighs quake, but you still don’t let him touch. His face burns hot from the tension, from the denial, from the desperation that has him begging you to put him out of his misery, but what you respond with is the anger – the aggression – and it’s pure, unbridled torture in the best way.

It’s what you want. It’s what he craves.

And then, when you’re finally, finally satisfied – when you’ve gotten yours at least three times but he really can’t be sure of anything anymore – you slide off of him and give him this shy little smile that breaks him even more.

“It’s your turn,” you tease. “How do you want me?”

And his brain almost short-circuits at the question, because he’s been so focused on doing what he can do for you that it takes him a second to process what you’re asking. What does he want?

You. Just you.

His voice is hoarse when he finally rasps, “On your back.”

Your brows raise for a moment at his answer – maybe expecting something different, but he doesn’t care because he’s too focused on the gorgeous way you’re leaning back on your elbows, now, and spreading your silky legs for him. All for him.

Prettiest fuckin’ thing he’s ever seen.

There’s your soft laugh, and then, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

And that’s when he realizes he must have said what he was thinking out loud, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in your eyes, now – a little less darkness than before, but they’re still bright as ever in the moonlight cascading through the blinds. Bright, and maybe a little nervous.

Bucky swallows – feels the sudden dryness in his throat. 

“No,” is what he answers, though, coming to lay in between your spread thighs, vibranium arm holding his weight beside your head. “Just you.”

Another quiet giggle as he lines himself up, and then he presses in – and your laughter is promptly replaced by a gasp. You’re still so slick and tight despite everything you’ve already done – but what really drives him crazy is the way you wrap your legs around his waist to draw him closer.

It’s intimate. It’s good. It’s you.

“Shit, Bucky,” you whimper, burying your face in his neck as your arms clutch around his back. Your hands are fumbling – nails dig into his ass, drag up his spine, and he feels you squirming beneath him, hears your breath going shallow, knows it’s working for you. You just can’t stay still, and he loves the way your body reacts.

It’s working for him, too. He’s been on the edge for so long, now, that he won’t last. He can smell the sweet scent of your shampoo coupled with your sweat and the sex in the air. Sweat dots his brow and he can feel your warmth, your tight heat, your lips on his neck—

“I’m close,” he whispers a breathy warning into your ear. “Where should I—?”

Your legs squeeze him tighter, draw him closer, and then you breathe, “Inside. Come inside.”

But having to always be so careful in the 40s is so ingrained in him that his hips stutter—

“Christ, darlin’,” he swears, fisting the pillow above your head to keep himself from blowing straight away. “You can’t just say that—”

But hell if it doesn’t work for him.

“Fill me up,” you encourage him, spreading your legs just a little more, letting him inside just a little deeper. “Wanna feel you. Want you dripping out of me for days.”

And this time, Bucky’s brain does short-circuit, because the 21st century concept of being able to casually finish inside a woman with little risk of pregnancy does things to him. It’s taboo. But god, it’s so good, and he can’t help himself. He shoves himself inside you as far as he can go – comes so fucking hard he practically sees fireworks, because you’ve edged him for so long that he loses another piece of himself with each hot rope of cum he spills inside of you. 

He feels you clench down around him and has some vague realization that his climax has triggered yours, but he’s so damn high he can barely even think.

And then, after he’s come back to himself and gently withdraws, aftercare comes in the form of a warm washcloth he fetches for you, and then he slides into bed beside you – your bed, one of the two in the motel room you’re sharing. Much to his surprise, you let him join you. You let him wrap his arms around you. You rest your head on his chest and trail a finger up and down through the coarse hair there.

It’s clear you’re lost in your thoughts, but so is he. Shared trauma between the two of you hangs heavy in the air, resentment forever unspoken.

“That helped a little,” is what you offer instead. That’s all you can give him yet.

Neither of you have properly acknowledged it to each other, but he knows what you mean. A soft kiss to your forehead is enough for him to convey his response – that he understands, and an even softer kiss to your lips is his apology. 

When you kiss him back, he understands what you mean, too:

It’s not okay, but it will be.

He’s not the only one healing. So are you.

fin

[theshedding]

Lil Nas X: Country Music, Christianity & Reclaiming HELL

I don’t typically bother myself to follow what Lil Nas X is doing from day to day, or even month to month but I do know that his “Old Town Road” hit became one of the biggest selling/streamed records in Country Music Business history (by a Black Country & Queer artist). “Black” is key because for 75+ years Country music has unsuspiciously evolved into a solidly White-identified genre (despite mixed and Indian & Black roots). Regrettably, Country music is also widely known for anti-black, misogynoir, reliably homophobic (Trans isn’t really a conversation yet), Christian and Hard Right sentiments on the political spectrum. Some other day I will venture into more; there is a whole analysis dying to be done on this exclusive practice in the music industry with its implications on ‘access’ to equity and opportunity for both Black/POC’s and Whites artists/songwriters alike. More commentary on this rigid homogeneous field is needed and how it prohibits certain talent(s) for the sake of perpetuating homogeneity (e.g. “social determinants” of diversity & viable artistic careers). I’ll refrain from discussing that fully here, though suffice it to say that for those reasons X’s “Old Town Road” was monumental and vindicating. 

As for Lil Nas X, I’m not particularly a big fan of his music; but I see him, what he’s doing, his impact on music + culture and I celebrate him using these moments to affirm his Black, Queer self, and lifting up others. Believe it or not, even in the 2020′s, being “out” in the music business is still a costly choice. As an artist it remains much easier to just “play straight”. And despite appearances, the business (particularly Country) has been dragged kicking and screaming into developing, promoting and advancing openly-affirming LGBTQ 🏳️‍🌈 artists in the board room or on-stage. Though things are ‘better’ we have not yet arrived at a place of equity or opportunity for queer artists; for the road of music biz history is littered with stunted careers, bodies and limitations on artists who had no option but to follow conventional ways, fail or never be heard of in the first place. With few exceptions, record labels, radio and press/media have successfully used fear, intimidation, innuendo and coercion to dilute, downplay or erase any hint of queer identity from its performers. This was true even for obvious talents like Little Richard.

(Note: I’m particularly speaking of artists in this regard, not so much the hairstylists, make-up artists, PA’s, etc.)

_____

Which is why...in regard to Lil Nas X, whether you like, hate or love his music, the young brother is a trailblazer. His very existence protests (at least) decades of inequity, oppression and erasure. X aptly critiques a Neo-Christian Fascist Heteropatriarchy; not just in American society but throughout the Music Business and with Black people. That is no small deal. His unapologetic outness holds a mirror up to Christianity at-large, as an institution, theology and practice. The problem is they just don’t like what they see in that mirror.

In actuality, “Call Me By Your Name”, Lil Nas X’s new video, is a twist on classic mythology and religious memes that are less reprehensible or vulgar than the Biblical narratives most of us grew up on vís-a-vís indoctrinating smiles of Sunday school teachers and family prior to the “age of reason”. Think about the narratives blithely describing Satan’s friendly wager with God regarding Job (42:1-6); the horrific “prophecies” in St. John’s Book of Revelation (i.e. skies will rain fire, angels will spit swords, mankind will be forced to retreat into caves for shelter, and we will be harassed by at least three terrifying dragons and beasts. Angels will sound seven trumpets of warning, and later on, seven plagues will be dumped on the world), or Jesus’s own clarifying words of violent intent in Matthew (re: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” 10:34). Whether literal or metaphor, these age old stories pale in comparison to a three minute allegorical rap video. Conservatives: say what you will, I’m pretty confident X doesn’t take himself as seriously as “The true and living God” from the book of Job.

A little known fact as it is, people have debunked the story and evolution of Satan and already offered compelling research showing [he] is more of a literary device than an actual entity or “spirit” (Spoiler: In the Bible, Satan does not take shape as an actual “bad” person until the New Testament). In fact, modern Christianity’s impression of the “Devil” is shaped by conflating Hellenized mythology with a literary tradition rooted in Dante’s Inferno and accompanying spooks and superstitions going back thousands of years. Whether Catholic, Protestant, Mormon, Scientologist, Atheist or Agnostic, we’ve spent a lifetime with these predominant icons and clichés. (Resource: Prof. Bart D. Erhman, “Heaven & Hell”).

So Here’s THE PROBLEM: The current level of fear and outrage is: 

(1) Unjust, imposing and irrational. 

(2) Disproportionate when taken into account a lifetime of harmful Christian propaganda, anti-gay preaching and political advocacy.

(3) Historically inaccurate concerning the existence of “Hell” and who should be scared of going there. 

Think I’m overreacting? 

Examples: 

Institutionalized Homophobia (rhetoric + policy)

Anti-Gay Ministers In Life And Death: Bishop Eddie Long And Rev. Bernice King

Black, gay and Christian, Marylanders struggle with Conflicts

Harlem pastor: 'Obama has released the homo demons on the black man'

Joel Olsteen: Homosexuality is “Not God’s Best”

Bishop Brandon Porter: Gays “Perverted & Lost...The Church of God in Christ Convocation appears like a ‘coming out party’ for members of the gay community.”

Kim Burrell: “That perverted homosexual spirit is a spirit of delusion & confusion and has deceived many men & women, and it has caused a strain on the body of Christ”

Falwell Suggests Gays to Blame for 9-11 Attacks

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

Pope Francis: Gay People Not Welcome in Clergy

Pope Francis Blames The Devil For Sexual Abuse By Catholic Church

The Pope and Gay People: Nothing’s Changed

The Catholic church silently lobbied against a suicide prevention hotline in the US because it included LGBT resources

Mormon church prohibits Children of LGBT parents to be baptized

Catholic Charity Ends Adoptions Rather Than Place Kid With Same-Sex Couple

I Was a Religious Zealot That Hurt People-Coming Out as Gay: A Former Conversion Therapy Leader Is Apologizing to the LGBTQ Community

The above short list chronicles a consistent, literal, demonization of LGBTQ people, contempt for their gender presentation, objectification of their bodies/sexuality and a coordinated pollution of media and culture over the last 50+ years by clergy since integration and Civil Rights legislation. Basically terrorism. Popes, Bishops, Pastors, Evangelists, Politicians, Television hosts, US Presidents, Camp Leaders, Teachers, Singers & Entertainers, Coaches, Athletes and Christians of all types all around the world have confused and confounded these issues, suppressed dissent, and confidently lied about LGBT people-including fellow Queer Christians with impunity for generations (i.e. “thou shall not bear false witness against they neighbor” Ex. 23:1-3). Christian majority viewpoints about “laws” and “nature” have run the table in discussions about LGBTQ people in society-so much that we collectively must first consider their religious views in all discussions and the specter of Christian approval -at best or Christian condescension -at worst. That is Christian (and straight) privilege. People are tired of this undue deference to religious opinions. 

That is what is so deliciously bothersome about Lil Nas X being loud, proud and “in your face” about his sexuality. If for just a moment, he not only disrupts the American hetero-patriarchy but specifically the Black hetero-patriarchy, the so-called “Black Church Industrial Complex”, Neo-Christian Fascism and a mostly uneducated (and/or miseducated) public concerning Ancient Near East and European history, superstitions-and (by extension) White Supremacy. To round up: people are losing their minds because the victim decided to speak out against his victimizer. 

Additionally, on some level I believe people are mad at him being just twenty years old, out and FREE as a self-assured, affirming & affirmed QUEER Black male entertainer with money and fame in the PRIME of his life. We’ve never, or rarely, seen that before in a Black man in the music business and popular culture. But that’s just too bad for them. With my own eyes I’ve watched straight people, friends, Christians, enjoy their sexuality from their elementary youth to adolescence, up and through college and later marriages, often times independently of their spouses (repeatedly). Meanwhile Queer/Gay/SGL/LGBTQ people are expected to put their lives on hold while the ‘blessed’ straight people run around exploring premarital/post-marital/extra-marital sex, love and affection, unbound & un-convicted by their “sin” or God...only to proudly rebrand themselves later in life as a good, moral “wholesome Christian” via the ‘sacred’ institution of marriage with no questions asked. 

Inequality defined.

For Lil Nas X, everything about the society we've created for him in the last 100+ years (re: links above) has explicitly been designed for his life not to be his own. According to these and other Christians (see above), his identity is essentially supposed to be an endless rat fuck of internal confusion, suicide-ideation, depression, long-suffering, faux masculinity, heterosexism, groveling towards heaven, respectability politics, failed prayer and supplication to a heteronormative earthly and celestial hierarchy unbothered in affording LGBT people like him a healthy, sane human development. It’s almost as if the Conservative establishment (Black included) needs Lil Nas X to be like others before him: “private”, mysteriously single, suicidal, suspiciously straight or worse, dead of HIV/AIDS ...anything but driving down the street enjoying his youth as a Black Queer artist and man. So they mad about that?

Well those days are over.  

-Rogiérs is a writer, international recording artist, performer and indie label manager with 25+ years in the music industry. He also directs Black Nonbelievers of DC, a non-profit org affiliated with the AHA supporting Black skeptics, Atheists, Agnostics & Humanists. He holds a B.A. in Music Business & Mgmt and a M.A. in Global Entertainment & Music Business from Berklee College of Music and Berklee Valencia, Spain. www.FibbyMusic.net Twitter/IG: @Rogiers1

[midnxghtsunwrites]

GROUNDED

PAIRING —

william miller x black reader

SUMMARY —

You and Will have been through too much for you to abandon him at his darkest hour.

WARNINGS —

angst, fluff

"Baby, I'm sorry." Your voice was quiet as you rubbed the back of William's hand. His skin is rough and scarred against the pad of your thumb — a symbol of the hardships he's endured both during his service and after.

You'd stuck by his side all those years ago when he was in the brigade commandeered by Tom "Redfly" Davis. They were close — damn, you were all close. You were practically Tess's aunt, showing up at every birthday party and barbecue before Tom's divorce made way.

The years you've been with Will gave you clarity — into his struggle with PTSD and the emotional impact serving as a Special Force Operative had on him. He even taught you a thing or two, defense-wise, before he was caught in a situation in your local Publix — his arm wrapped around another man's throat because he hadn't moved his cart. That lead you to jump on his back and wrangle him back to reality.

He's a soldier in every sense of the word.

He'd gotten better after that incident — attending therapy sessions and doing more public speaking at military bases. It was better to keep his mind off of the terror and trauma from his years of fighting in a war.

He was doing better. And then Santiago just had to come along and convince him to join him for one last ride. Of course, you couldn't do much but support him — that's all he ever asked for. Your love and support. And you were hesitant to give it to him.

But, you did.

And he left for two weeks and returned with a bullet wound — another scar added to his shelf of souvenirs — and a dead captain.

The first night he came back was spent on the beachfront of your home, unable to hide the tears any longer. That night, he slept with his head over your heart, almost as if to make sure it was still beating.

You gave him his space for three days — to get his bearings and a handle on life.

You weren't surprised when he gathered you up one day and drove you to your spot. It was where you had your first date however many years ago — he'd paid for the meal and was a proper gentleman. Of course, you just had to give him your number and hope for the best. Immediately, you knew he was drawn back.

He'd just finished his first tour and the trauma was as strong as it was present — you didn't expect to get a call back after he dropped you home. You were at work when he did, though.

From then on, you and Will had been connected in a way no one really understood. But, it wasn't for them to understand. It's like a well-kept secret between two lovers.

Will's eyes are trained on your dainty fingers as you trace jagged waves along his tainted skin. Your touch could calm a storm, he always tells you. His back presses against the wall of the restaurant, a tattooed arm resting atop the back of his seat, and his other arm stretched across the cold metal table towards you.

Your fingers run up the inside of his wrist and trails the ink in his skin. It's his Force tattoo, faded against his fair skin from years of wearing it as a badge of honor. This isn't his only tattoo.

Just on his other arm is a tribute to a fallen soldier from his first tour. They were the closest friends each other had before Benny decided to join the army as well. It was by a miracle that he was put into the same regiment as his brother.

It didn't seem like much of a miracle when William's friend was blown to pieces on the field.

William lazily tips the neck of his beer bottle to his mouth as he shifts his gaze to the crease between your eyebrows — one that only appears when you're concentrated.

You're so taken with his marred skin littered with healed wounds that you jump slightly when he lifts his hand to take a hold of your own, removing your fingers from his forearm.

He raises your connected fingers and presses it to his lips. Your lips form a pout when you see the tears gathering in his eyes. As he draws your hand away, his gaze transfers to the bare ring finger on your left hand.

"I love you." He proclaims, as he rubs your ring metacarpal, "And I want to thank you for being patient with me. I know..." He sighs as he tries to find the right words to say. Finally, "I know it hasn't been easy being with someone so broken."

You want to stop him. You want to tell him that relationships aren't always easy. You want to tell him that he's not broken, just in pain. You want to tell him that you love him too. So much that it hurts.

But you don't. You wait for him to express his feelings. As long as you have to.

"You've been there for me, Y/N — even when no one else has. You've been helping me for so long that I feel..." He can't continue, instead choosing to look down at your connected hands.

Your finger rubs against his as you realize this, "It's okay, Will. You know you can talk to me."

Your words give him that gentle push — "I feel like I'm keeping you from your life, Y/N. You've had to deal with my trauma and I've been ignoring you and your feelings. I don't want to do that to you, baby. Not anymore. I wanna take care of you instead of it being the other way around."

Y/C/E meet blue as you lean back in interest. Your boyfriend couldn't be more wrong about how he thinks you feel. He's held you back from nothing — when you asked him to move to a new neighborhood, he packed up your bags and boxes and loaded the moving truck; when you asked him to stick by you when you went back to school, he helped you study and ace all off your exams to receive your degree; when you asked him to be there for you, he was. And you know he always will be.

With this in mind, you slide out of your side of the booth, your hand still intertwined with his. He watches you, carefully as you step off the platform on your side before stepping up on his. His legs are stretched along the seat, prompting you to plop yourself right down on his lap. His beautiful blue eyes stare up at you.

Instinctively, he plants his beer on the table and snakes his arms around your waist, keeping you in place. You can feel the bulge of his crotch on the right side of your thigh but restrain yourself — now isn't the time.

"You see that?" Your right hand presses against his chest while your left hand finds its place on his strong arm, right above his military tattoo. You refer to his instinct to hold you. "That is you taking care of me. That is you loving me more than I deserve. Baby," You search his eyes, his pupils dilating as he's overtaken with love, "You're my life. Don't think you've been ignoring me, Will. We just had to reduce that pain you've been living with. Because I'm not happy if you're not happy."

Reaching an arm around, you take his hand into yours and pulls it from your waist. His hand falls limp as he watches you draw him towards you. You rest the palm of his hand on your chest, right above your beating heart.

At the feeling of the organ beating against your chest, Will is brought back to earth. You keep him grounded and that's all he could ever ask of you.

"This is yours, Will. You own it. We've been through too much for you not to."

As you watch the thoughts swirl behind his expressive eyes, you're confused when he pulls his hand away from you. He reaches into his jeans pocket and emerges with a clasped fist. Hovering over the table palm down, he opens his hand and brings your attention to the rose gold ring — a significant contrast from the wooden surface it rests on.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart is pounding against your ribcage.

He looks at it for a moment before tilting his head towards you, "Marry me."

"Will..."

"It’s been a long time coming, Y/N. We've been together for eight years — which I'm sure is seven years longer than what you wanted.”

He loves you, ardently, and now he finds the strength he was searching desperately for just the other day. "I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. With every fragmented piece of me that you've managed to put back together. And I'm forever grateful that you came into my life when I least expected you, but most needed you."

Now it's your turn for your heart to melt — you're growing weak at his words, eyes filling slowly with tears.

His eyes remain on you as you crane your neck to ogle the engagement band on the table. The center is oval shaped and sparkling under the dim lighting of the restaurant. It's beautiful, perfect even — more than you could've asked for.

He is more than you could've asked for.

"I'm done with this shit, babe." Will says as he sees an indecipherable look in your eye. Overthinking leads him to believe that you have doubts about his minimalistic proposal, "I'm completely retired. It's just us — no Pope, no Fish, no Benny, no —" He stops himself before he can say the name.

It's too soon.

The silence between you two is deafening as you're frozen in your spot.

All you can seem to release is his name — it's the only word on your tongue. The only sound you could muster.

He brushes a kinky curl from your forehead and stares up at you, awaiting an answer. Everything in you tells you to speak. To do something — anything.

It's only when Will's grip loosens around your waist that you're snapped back into reality. You'd only dreamed for this moment and now that it's here, your brain seemed to be malfunctioning. Instead of opening your mouth, you reach forward and with your index finger and thumb, you lift the beautiful ring from the table.

"Yes." The word is so quiet that you didn't even realize you said it. Speak up. "Yes, I'll marry you, Will. Christ, you didn't even have to ask."

This has to be the first time he's smiled since he came home. It's bright and amazing and nostalgic. White teeth wink at you as he wastes no time taking the ring from your fingers and sliding it on your digit, his eyes seeming to reflect the sparkle of the engagement band.

The kiss you two share is nothing grandiose. Your kisses rarely are — but they still hold a level of sensuality and passion that many can just wish for. Will runs his tongue along your bottom lip before capturing it in his warm beer-flavored mouth. You don't mind — he has good taste in alcohol.

For a moment, you two forget that you're in a public space. One where patrons are making their exit, but public nonetheless. You pull away when you feel the tears gather in your eyes. You love this man with your heart, mind, and soul — every part of you is overwhelmed with a wave of fervent endearment.

"Damn, I love you." Will exhales as he draws you into a homely embrace.

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[angstysebfan]

Laser-Like Focus - Chapter 2

Pairing:  Bucky x reader

Summary: You met Bucky while working with the Avengers. You fell in love and got married. One thing you had in common was to kill all members of HYDRA. Bucky for his known reasons, and you because they killed your parents in front of you when you were a little girl. Soon your focus on HYDRA pulled you and Bucky apart. He decided to leave the Avengers and after a long separation, sent you divorce papers. He comes back to get the signed papers, as he is about to get married again. But everything with you and Buck is an adventure.

Bucky takes a deep breath as he continues to make his way upstate. He is in his new black pick-up truck that was a gift from the woman sitting next to him, for his new job. That’s right, Bucky Barnes is now a proud member of the Secret Service. He will be taking care of the Governor of New York, starting 3 weeks from now. 

As he continues to drive he taps his flesh fingers on the steering wheel. “Are you nervous,” the woman next to him asks. He looks at her and smirks, “Nervous? Nah. Why, do I look nervous?” he asks. “Well no... yes,” she responds with a guilty smile. Bucky sighs, “I just want to get this over with so that we can move on with our lives,” he says as he takes her hand and brings it to his lips to kiss.

“But she said she signed the papers,” she asks. Bucky nods, “That’s what she told Steve,” he says. “Do you believe her?” she asks. Bucky gives her hand a squeeze, “I do,” he says as he pulls into the long driveway toward the compound. As he got closer to the building, his heart started to pound. This was the first time he has been here since you both separated, and this will be the first time seeing/talking to you since he filed for divorce. 

Divorce was never what he wanted. He loved you with every fiber of his being, but you were so focused on you attack on HYDRA, that you didn’t have anything left to give him. While he understood your reasoning, he hoped that having him and a potential future together would help you focus on better things. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case, so after the separation did nothing to change your mind, he finally decided to file for divorce. It killed him to know that he was no longer going to have you in his life. 

Not long after filing, he met Melissa. They met while he was walking out of therapy, and she was heading to an appointment. She asked for his number, which he was hesitant to give, but decided to give it a try. They talked on the phone and through texts for a few weeks before he finally asked her out on a date. They have been together ever since.

Bucky parks his truck right in front of the building and steps out of the car. As Melissa comes round front, he reaches for her hand and walks into the compound. Sam is the first one to notice their arrival, “Well if it isn’t the Tinman!” Sam shouts before running up and giving Bucky a bro hug. “How ya doin’ man?” he asks pulling out of the hug. “I’m good tweety bird,” Bucky says with a laugh.

Sam looks at Melissa and smiles as Bucky makes introductions, “Honey, this is Sam. He has been with Steve since they found me, Sam this is Melissa,” he says. Bucky shakes Melissa’s hand, “Nice to meet you,” Sam and Melissa say. “Listen Sam, where is Y/N?” Bucky asks. Sam sobers up for a moment before smirking, “She is up in her room, going over plans for the next HYDRA mission. You know she runs a whole division now?” he asks. Bucky nods, “Yea Steve told me,” he says.

“Listen, Melissa you stay here with Sam, while I run upstairs. I won’t be long, and Sam why don’t you explain to Melissa, what it is you actually do here,” Bucky says with a pat to Sam’s back. “Yea you would be dead if it wasn’t for me, man,” Sam says with a laugh, before grabbing Melissa’s hand and leading her to the common room.

Bucky takes the elevator to his former floor that he shared with you. His mind is running a mile a minute, not sure how the conversation is going to go. He starts walking toward your room, trying to keep his breathing calm and even. As he walks up to the door that leads to the bedroom he shared with you he sees its open. He steps into the doorway and leans against the frame as he watches you focused on your computer.

“Hey Y/N/N,” he says looking at you. Your y/e/c eyes meet his beautiful blue ones, and for the first time in a long time you feel calm. “Hey Bucky,” you respond with a kind smile, which he returns. You stand up as he walks over, “What are you working on?” he asks. “Oh, um... I have spies in all major cities looking for HYDRA intel, and there might be something in New York, so I was just reading over notes,” you say. 

“HYDRA has been out of control,” you say, but Bucky cuts in, “Yea, um so about the divorce papers,” he says. You look at him as he opens his mouth to continue, but Wanda walks in, “Hey Y/N?” she says holding a file. “Excuse me,” you say before walking over to Wanda, who hands you a file. You wave her in and place the file next to your computer, looking at the pictures in the file, compared to what is written on your computer.

“So you want the papers?” you ask as you continue to look at the films. “I did come all the way up here for them,” Bucky says. You close the file and hands it back to Wanda, “Tell Tony that we need to be ready to run with this. We are close here,” you say before Wanda nods and leaves. You take a deep breath, as this conversation is not going the way you planned.

“So what’s the rush you act like you’re getting married again,” you say as you close out of your files on your computer. “I am,” he says softly. You close your laptop and look at him for a moment. You some guilt and sadness in his eyes, meanwhile you are trying to hold your composure, as this is not what you expected when you heard he was coming.

“Oh,” you say softly as you open the drawer where the divorce papers are in. You hand them to him, and as he looks over them, you quickly take you wedding ring off and put it in the drawer, praying he didn’t see it. As Bucky continues to look over the papers, you stand up and walk towards your door, not wanting to continue. “Woah, wait, wait wait,” Bucky says, forcing you to turn and look at him. He shows you one of the pages, “You missed a page,” he says.

You walk over and take the stack of papers from his hands and looks at the page where your signature is missing. “Where did this come from?” you ask as you look over the other pages quickly. You start reading the document, before you hear Bucky scoff, “What are you doing?” he asks. “Can I read it first?” you ask as you continue to read the document. “No. It’s the same as it was in December,” he says. “I didn’t read it in December” you say.

“Christ can you just sign the form so we can get out of here?” he says handing you a pen, “Please?” You look at him for a moment, “We? She’s here?” you ask surprised. “Yes she’s here, she is downstairs with Sam, now can you please sign the paper?” Bucky asks frustrated, thrusting the pen at you. You wince, “You left her with Sam what is the matter with you?” you ask as you head toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Bucky asks. “I want to meet her,” you quickly reply as you walk toward the elevator. “No you don’t,” Bucky replies following you, but quickly realizes the papers are still on the desk. “Fuck,” he mumbles as he runs back into the room, knowing you are already in the elevator. He grabs the forms and runs back toward the elevator.

By the time he gets down you are shaking Melissa’s hand, “Hi Melissa, I’m Y/N,” you say. “Nice to meet you,” she relies nervously. “Bucky was just telling me the good news,” you say. “Which?” replies looking at Bucky. “Us. Marriage,” Bucky says giving her a small smile. You smile at her, “Congratulations, that’s great news” you say. 

“I’m sure it seems kind of sudden,” she responds. “Seems sudden?” you ask, confused by her statement. “Well we just wanted to get married before Bucky started his new job,” she says smiling at him with pride. “Oh that’s right, that’s right, secret service agent,” you say. “What?” Bucky responds to you. “What? I said secret service agent,” you say. “It’s the way you said it,” Bucky argues.

“I didn’t say it any way, if you have a problem being a secret service agent, then...” Bucky interrupts, “I don’t have a problem being a secret service agent.” Just then you see the black truck outside and walk out toward it. Bucky following you, giving Melissa shrug of the shoulders. “Bucky?” she whispers, “Did she sign them?” Bucky rolls his eyes, “Give me a moment,” he says.

He heads outside where you are, as you circling the truck. “Wow new truck?” you ask. “Yeah,” he responds. “Well, new job, new truck, new wife, it’s like a whole new you,” you say sadly. “Y/N...” Bucky says softly walking toward you. “This is very awkward,” you say. “I know,” he responds walking up next to you. “I thought you would be coming here alone,” you say looking into his eyes.

Bucky sighs, “I wasn’t expecting to come here at all, but you never sent the papers back,” he says. “I... I guess I was...” you were interrupted by Nat running outside. “Y/N, we got them. 2 HYDRA informants in New York, if we leave now, we can catch them,” she says. You look at Bucky who looks at you sadly. You turn toward Nat, “Let’s go,” you say before running in.

Melissa watches as the team runs past her toward the locker rooms. Bucky walks in and wraps an arm around her, “It’s ok, this is what they are trained to do,” he says. He starts to lead Melissa out toward the truck, “Did she sign the papers?” Melissa asks. “Oh shit!” Bucky responded. “She didn’t?” Melissa asks, slightly annoyed. 

“Maybe we can catch her before she takes off, come on!” Bucky says as they run toward the quinjet loading station. As they get out there, the quinjet with you takes off heading toward New York. Bucky sighs in defeat, hating that he allowed you to distract him from getting those papers signed. He looks over to the smaller quinjet, “Come on, we can take this one, go to New York, have her sign them and be back in no time,” he says, pulling Melissa toward the smaller quinjet.

He buckles her in quickly and takes off, following the known path toward New York. He wanted to get this done as quickly as possible.

--

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3

So Bucky is slightly dickish here, but ya know I also understand why he wants to move on. He wants a normal life, which is not wrong. Feedback is appreciated.

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[lassieposting]

💘💘💘💘 + ghasdug

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how

So Skug says they stowed away on the same ship, but this is...not exactly true.

He stowed away on that ship, because he was running away from home and he was a snobby little lordling who'd never had to fend for himself a day in his life, so the furthest ahead he'd actually thought to plan was "they won't want to turn around and drop me off once they're underway".

Ghastly was not stowed away at any point during that trip. Ghastly was signed on for the journey as a deckhand, because Ghastly's mother told him he needed to, and it had to be that particular ship. Ghastly gets seasick, and did not want to go to sea in the slightest. But Ghastly's mother has visions and so Ghastly does as he is told. Apparently there was something important waiting for him on that ship.

Anyway Skug pops out once he thinks they're far enough away from shore that they'll leave him be rather than take him back to port, and he is incredibly mistaken. The captain is in favour of turning him around right there and then, because he's clearly some rich lord's brat, and whoever his father is will probably pay handsomely for his safe return. Ghastly manages to talk the ship's crew into letting him stay on, provided he pulls his weight like the rest of them.

Needless to say, even before they're attacked by pirates, that voyage is a rude awakening for poor Skug, and good lord does Ghastly hear all about it. He has blisters. His feet hurt. This shirt was expensive and now it's all sweaty. His hair is in his eyes all the time. He's tired. The guy in the next bunk snores. Some of these people look like they have lice. He didn't realise he'd be doing manual labour, this is servant stuff, how dare they.

Ghastly does. Not realise at that point what he has let himself in for.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

Poor Ghastly gets to pine for years. Baby Skug isn't a great boyfriend. He's less invested - he loves Ghastly, but they have two totally different outlooks.

Ghastly is ugly. He's always been ugly. He's got a face he believes only his mother could love. He's never believed he'd find someone who saw past that or loved him regardless. So as soon as he gets Skug into bed, he's over the moon and ready to commit. He's like 17, and would absolutely settle down there and then given half a chance.

Skug, on the other hand, was a weird-looking child who only recently grew into an attractive adolescent and he is loving it. For the first time in his life, girls are noticing him. He doesn't want to settle down, he wants to play the field and sow some wild oats and have fun. So there are periods of exclusivity with Ghastly, interspersed with periods where Skug basically drops him to chase after the latest pretty bit of skirt.

who fell for who first ( if applicable )

Ghastly's smitten by the time they make it back to Ireland - Skug is a bit soft and allergic to hard work and a pain in the arse, but he's flashy and charismatic and funny and pays attention to him without gawking at his face (past the initial "good god, what happened to you?") - but Skug is well and truly settled into living with Ghastly's family by the time he actually gives Ghas the come-on.

where their first date was and what it was like

They went to the local tavern and got drunk, and then rode home in the pouring rain once it kicked them out at closing time.

When they got home, Ghastly's parents had long since gone to bed, but that wasn't necessarily unusual - once Skug, who has a considerable allowance, is old enough to start drinking, Saoirse institutes a rule that if they're not home by the time she and her husband turn in for the night, she'll leave blankets in the barn and they can sleep there instead. She's not having them barging in, wasted, at all hours of the day and night, waking her up after a hard day's work.

So they put the horses away and give them a quick rub down, and Ghastly is trying to look anywhere but Skug because Skug's shirt has gone kind of see-through and poor Ghastly is an awkward, horny teenage boy, but he keeps shooting him these furtive glances over the horse's back and Skug notices because Skug notices everything and lowkey teases him about it. "Want me to sit for a portrait? It'll last longer," sort of teasing, and Ghastly tries to laugh along but he's also vibrant red because he's been caught staring, so obviously Skug realises something's up

And he's precisely as tactful about it as he ever is about anything, and jokes, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted me," and Ghastly's ears burn and he doesn't deny it quick enough and now Skug's eyebrows are inching towards his hairline and Ghastly panics because like, he's ugly, Skug is going to be disgusted or laugh at him and he can't cope with either, so he just? Freezes?

But like. Skug was a weird-looking, unfortunate child who very recently grew into an attractive adolescent, so he fucking thrives on attention. So his response to this awkward not-quite-a-confession is actually a moment of silence while he mulls this new information over (this feels like an eternity to poor Ghastly) followed by an early attempt at using The Hot Voice and, "If you want me, have me."

So, they end up having sex in the hayloft on the blankets Ghastly's mom left out for them. Ghastly has never even been kissed and doesn't admit that he has no idea what he's doing until he realises Skug is expecting him to take the lead. He also blurts that he loves Skug when he nuts, so like. It's your typical painfully embarrassing virginity loss.

It can't be all bad though, because Skug's up for doing it again.

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )

So in my endgame-ghasdug AU, they get back together post-TDOTL. Ghastly survives being stabbed, but the blade nicked his spinal cord, so he's in a wheelchair for quite a while, and then has to do A Lot of physical therapy to relearn how to walk. Skug shows up at the hospital/facility where he's recovering every day unless there's an emergency, because Ghastly is very depressed and struggling with survivor's guilt over Anton and doesn't see the point in doing his physio because it hurts and he's exhausted and he shouldn't be alive anyway. And Skug annoys him into doing it, mostly by heckling him from the other side of the room, because he's not great at the whole emotional support thing. Ghastly will mutter, "Christ, I want to hit you," and Skug will tell him, "Well, if you come over here to do it I won't even duck." And if Ghastly gets his ass up and uses the walking frame support thing to cross the room, well, then Skug will take a punch like a man and be happy about it because Ghastly walked.

They also talk a lot during this period. Ghastly feels like shit, and he reminisces a lot about the good old days and how he never saw Ravel's betrayal coming and memories he has of Anton, and sometimes that veers into memories they share from when they were young men. And Skug, at this point, is old enough and has been through enough to admit that he wasn't great to Ghastly when they were boys. He was flighty and selfish and high-maintenance, and he would've hated to be treated the way he treated Ghastly. And he tells him that, at one point - that he's sorry, and if he could go back and do it differently, he would, assuming Ghastly was daft enough to be willing to put up with him a second time.

And Ghastly laughs and tells him, "I'd still have you now, you stupid bastard."

who proposes first

Ghastly. They're 19/20. Skug thinks he's joking.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away

Neither - they don't announce it, but it's not exactly a secret either. Ghastly's parents notice pretty much straight away, but other than a few parental pointers on what is and isn't appropriate, it's not really a topic of conversation.

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )

Skug's sister Confelicity accepts the first proposal she gets at the age of 16, because she's desperate to get out of their parents' house and away from their toxic relationship and controlling behaviour. Their father disapproves and refuses to attend the wedding (and, of course, their mother is not allowed her own opinion), and Carver is out of the country, so Skug stands in to a) pay and b) give away the bride. He takes Ghastly for moral support, because he doesn't like most of his relatives and also doesn't like the groom (Thurid Guild - their relationship doesn't improve when Confelicity divorces him a few years later to marry a baronet). While they're watching the couple say their vows, Ghastly murmurs, "We should get married."

Skug is right in the middle of his hoe phase and does not realise Ghastly's serious.

who’s more dominant

Generally, Skug. He is one hell of a force of personality and Ghastly does get steamrollered quite a bit, although he does eventually learn how to say no. Skug always gets things his way, always does whatever he likes and be damned to the consequences, and Ghastly is always there with a handful of the back of his shirt, pulling his ass out of whatever fire he started.

In bed, though, it's Ghastly.

how into pda they are

As teenagers, Ghastly's mother has to reprimand them occasionally for being too all over each other, but teenagers be rabidly horny. As grown men, they're just sort of casually affectionate. Comfortable with each other. When they're relaxing in camp after a day of travelling, Skug will lean against Ghastly to read a book or put his head on Ghastly's leg while they chat. They can have a silent conversation just by reading each other's faces. They'll nudge each other when something reminds them of an in-joke. They have that easy intimacy that comes with having known each other forever.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )

As boys, Ghastly has a particular flowery meadow he likes to take Skug to for picnics, because he's a romantic. Skug at that age is considerably less so, and more interested in whether they can screw there without getting caught.

In the modern day, they go to see old movies. Ghastly was very into the early films of the late 1910s and the 1920s, after the war finished. He associates them with a time where he finally got to just set up his shop and live the life he always wanted to live. Skug hasn't seen most of Ghastly's favourites, because he spent that period of history fighting the truce and then spiralling into a black hole of trauma and misery, but he got very into the noir detective era to the point that he's still clinging to the aesthetic like 80 years later, so they'll alternate who picks the movies and catch each other up on their favourites.

who’s more protective

They've both spent their fair share of time fretting in the chair beside a hospital bed. After Ravel's betrayal, though, it's Skug. Ghastly retires as soon as he's considered fit to make the decision, and decides he wants to go back to Dublin to reopen his shop and just sort of try and forget Roarhaven exists. And Skug is absolutely adamant that he gets to do it. There's a lot of interest in Ghastly for a while - groundbreaking healing magic was used to fix what should've been a permanent injury, people want to know if he suspected Ravel, they want his advice on how to rebuild after Devastation Day. He's more approachable than China, and a lot more popular. But he can't cope with it all, and anyone who tries to hassle him in Dublin will have Skug to deal with.

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )

The first night Skug stays at Ghastly's family home. Ghastly is an only child, and his family isn't wealthy - their house doesn't have a guest room. It's sleep with Ghastly or sleep on the floor, and Little Lord Priss isn't going to be sleeping on the floor.

Honestly, he's relieved there isn't a spare room for him. He's never really slept alone before. Like most children of very wealthy families back then, he grew up in a nursery with his four oldest brothers and sisters, and when he was too old to live with The Children, he shared a room, first with Carver and then with Francis. The thought of being on his own in a strange house is pretty intimidating.

He moves to his own bed as soon as they get him one, but he stays in Ghastly's room, and he's perfectly happy with that.

(Ghastly is less happy. He's very much crushing on Skug and he's terrified he'll say something incriminating in his sleep.)

who steals whose clothes and how often

Skug gets to steal Ghastly's clothes for a year or two after he moves in with Ghastly's family. After that, they're built too differently. Ghastly is built like a brick shithouse of muscle. Skug is lean and toned and tall. When they're younger, he can more or less wear Ghastly's clothes as a nightshirt, but after Skug's final growth spurt, Ghastly's clothes don't sit right on him at all, and he's gotten too vain and fashion-conscious by that point to just wear them anyway.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

Ghastly is fussy about his tea. Plenty of milk, two and a half sugars, leave the teabag in.

Skug just inhales it black, which Ghastly thinks is an abomination.

if they ever have any children together

Ghastly thanks his lucky stars every day that they have a 0% chance of accidentally spawning a skuglet. One of him is plenty.

He's very involved with Skugbab when he comes along, though. He's godfather and a very present uncle.

if they have any special pet names for each other

Skug doesn't do nicknames, and would rather not be given them, either. Ghastly gets away with "Skul", primarily because he's the only one who's known Skug since he was all of 16, but also because "Skulduggery" is a mouthful when all your blood is rushing to your downstairs brain and it's his own damn fault that he didn't think of that before he picked it.

if they ever split up and / or get back together

So many times. They're on and off again more frequently than Saracen's clothes. Every time Skug spots someone new, he ends it with Ghastly to pursue them, and then comes back when he loses interest or it doesn't work out.

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )

Ghastly's family home is an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin. It's simple, but cosy, and Ghastly's dad is incredibly houseproud, so it's very well-looked-after. Skug prefers it by miles to his own palacial, but cold and unwelcoming, family home, and he tries to replicate the vibe later on with Wifey. It's pretty small compared to what he's used to, so it sort of feels like they're all living on top of each other, and he has to get used to not having any servants and drawing his own water to heat his own bath etc, but he's loved there, and that makes all the difference.

what their names are in each other’s phones

They're both old-ass men about some things, and this is one of them. So no emojis or anything - they're "Ghastly Bespoke" and "Skul". How romantic.

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

Ghastly wakes up first: he's used to rising early to get started on his chores. Skug is absolutely not a morning person at this point in his life and Ghastly frequently has to turf his ass out of bed by pulling his quilt off/dumping water on him/yelling in his ear.

Reversed with modern day ghasdug: Ghastly still wakes at a sensible time, but damn it he left the army a century ago and now he likes a lie in. Skug never really stopped being a soldier and still has most of his military habits, so he's up with the sun.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

Ghastly is the big spoon. Skug likes to be Held.

who hogs the bathroom

Skug. The boy is vain as all fuck. There is a grand total of one cloudy looking-glass in Ghastly's family's home and Skug spends a good chunk of the morning hogging it to fuss with his hair and peacock at his reflection. Ghastly is under strict orders Never to mention this to Fletcher.