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buckybuckyboo · 1 year

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Dad’s best friend

Summary: After quitting your job and finding your boyfriend in bed with another woman, you decide to go back home for a while to recharge.

Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word count: 3,017

Warnings: NSFW. MInors DNI. P in V, age gap (reader is in her 20′s), oral (male receiving),

A/N: Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!! Any feedback is welcome. All mistakes are my own.

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It has been a hell of a week at work, well more like ever since you started working there. You finally had it with your boss and told her to stick her job up her ass and that you quit. Packing your stuff and heading home, you decided to stop in at your boyfriend's place to tell him you did what you wanted to do for so long. Maybe he would feel sorry for you and buy you some dinner. When you got to his apartment, his door was a jar and you instantly thought he had been broken into. Slowly you pushed the door open, nothing was out of place and everything looked fine. Then you heard some noise coming from the bedroom. Walking towards the door and swinging it open you see your boyfriend in bed with another woman. Talk about the final nail in the coffin.

Storming out of his apartment and heading back to your place, closing the door behind you and sinking to the floor "Fuck! What the fuck is happening!?". Pulling yourself together, getting off the floor, and deciding to get rid of the pictures you have around your place until you found a family photo. Your mom, dad, and your older brother. It's the only place you wanted to be right now so you give your dad a call.

"Hey, dad! I was wondering if I could move back home for a bit?"

"Of course honey! We would love to have you home! Is everything okay?"

"Thanks, dad, I'll tell you everything when I get there. I'm gonna pack a few things and then I'll be on my way. Love you. See you soon!"

In minutes you had your bag packed and you were on your way home. This will be just what you needed, going back to your roots. Fresh start. The drive home was relaxing, you listened to music the whole way, loudly. Your now ex never liked the radio up loud in the car. Everything was under your rules now and there was no turning back! It wasn't a long trip home, just about 3 hour drive. All your childhood memories came flooding back as you drove into the neighborhood. Flashbacks to riding your bike along with your childhood friend. As you pulled into the driveway, turning your car off, your dad was already waiting for you at the door with a big smile on his face. Running to him and wrapping your arms around him.

"Thanks for letting me come home"

"You're allowed to come home whenever you need to honey, no questions asked"

Heading inside to the kitchen, your dad made you some tea and a snack.

"It will be just you and I for a few days. Your mom is having a few nights out with her friends"

"That's okay, I'm glad she's out having fun. Did you have anything planned while she was gone?"

"No, just the regular night in with Bucky, drinks, and whatever sport is on. Or we will play poker. He will be over tomorrow evening and he sometimes stays. You don't mind?"

"Not at all dad, I don't mind at all. It will be nice to see Bucky again. Haven't seen him since I left for college. Wow, that's a long time ago"

It was true, you hadn't seen Bucky in years. You always had a teenage crush on him. You couldn't help but think how he looks now. Putting your cup and plate away then heading upstairs to your old room. Everything was just as you left it. You were exhausted from the trip and telling your dad everything that happened. Just wanting to sleep and forget about this whole day. Climbing into bed and falling asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

_____**______

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of bacon. Heading downstairs and heading into the kitchen to see your dad made a full breakfast, eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He remembered just how to cheer you up after everything that's happened.

"Good morning honey! Just making some coffee. Take a seat, pancakes are almost done"

"Thank you, dad, you didn't have to you know"

"Shh, I'm just happy to have you home with me" You smile and start eating your eggs and bacon then your dad brings over the pancakes.

"So, what time is Bucky coming over?"

"He comes over at around 7. I was thinking your car could do with a wash, wanna help after we're done here?"

"Sure, dad! But don't you have to -"

"I don't mind at all but take your time, and make sure you eat" You smile again and go back to eating. Then grabbing some coffee. Looking out the back window, watching your dad get everything ready to start washing your car. You head upstairs and change and meet him out there.

You both spent most of the afternoon washing your car, you couldn't help but mess with your dad throwing water at him but he knew you were just having some fun. He wanted you to have that big smile on your face.

"Do you want me to go out for a few hours so you can have your guy's night tonight?"

"No honey, you don't have to leave. We spend most of the night in the living room. You won't be bothering us"

"Okay, well I'll just have my dinner and head upstairs, watch a couple of movies"

"You could always join us if you want"

"Then it wouldn't be boy's night" You laugh.

"I'm gonna head in and get cleaned up" Dropping your bucket and sponge, you head inside and upstairs to shower.

After your shower, you headed back downstairs to make yourself some dinner. After the day you had yesterday, this called for a big bowl of pasta. Just as you sat down at the kitchen island to eat, the doorbell rang "Oh hon, that's Buck. Will you let him in, please? I'll be there in a minute."

"Sure!" Getting up and going to answer the door. When you open the door you see a very handsome man standing before you. He looks older, you can see the bits of grey in his beard.

"Hi, Bucky!"

He stands there mouth hanging open as he looks at you.

"Y/N What are you doing home? Did your dad cancel? I didn't get a message or anything."

"No, he didn't cancel Bucky. I didn't want to interrupt your night. Come on in, I'm sure you know where the living room is"

"Thanks, doll, you didn't answer my question though," He says as he walks past you and turns to look at you.

"What are you doing home? Something happen? Are you okay?"

"I just needed some time, I'm okay" It's like he can sense that something has happened, you didn't want to get into it again though and you didn't want him feeling sorry for you.

"Dad will be with you in a few minutes, I'm going back to the kitchen to eat my food before it goes cold. See you later."

Heading back into the kitchen and sitting back at the island. You could see Bucky come in seconds after you and put his beers in the fridge. You have your back turned to him but you can feel his eyes on you. Sitting there, eating your dinner, scrolling through your phone till you see him out the corner of your eye, then he is in full view and leans against the kitchen counter.

"So, I haven't seen you since you left town with that boyfriend of yours for your new job" He smiles. "Yeah, a long time ago, and now I don't have either of them"

"What?"

"New start. No more assholes"

He moves beside you at the island placing his hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay baby girl?"

"Yeah Bucky, I'm fine" You give him a sweet smile and move off your chair, leaving your plate in the sink.

"Cause you know I'll take care of him, just give me the word"

Moving over to him and placing your hand on his cheek and kissing him on his other cheek, then looking into his eyes. You feel his hand placed on your hip. "No need Bucky, He's already miserable without me". Where is this confidence coming from? He smiles and you leave to go back to your room.

A little while has passed and you're sitting comfortably on your bed looking through the job section on your laptop. You could hear them downstairs laughing and shouting at the TV, well mostly your dad shouting but you could hear Bucky laughing too and it made you smile. Then the daydreaming started. Thinking about back into the kitchen after kissing his cheek, leaning in again, and kissing his lips. It left tingles all over your body. Your phone ringing pulled you out of your daydream, it was your brother.

"Hello?"

"Hey Y/N you at your apartment? Need a place to crash for the night. Had a couple of drinks, can't drive"

"No, I'm back at mom and dad's, don't go to my apartment"

"Why?"

"Long story"

"Okay, um, can you get dad on the phone please?"

"Yeah, sure, give me a minute". Hopping off your bed, you made your way downstairs and gave your phone to your dad. He left the room and you turned to Bucky.

"Having a good evening?"

You noticed his eyes on your legs, then his eyes snapped up to yours. You had forgotten that you changed into something more comfortable to lounge around in. Just an oversized shirt of your dad's. Bucky smirks at you.

"What?"

"You look good in my t-shirt sweetheart"

"Oh, this is yours? Thanks, it's nice and comfy" Your dad comes back into the room.

"Honey, I have to go pick your brother up and take him home. I'll be about an hour or more till I get back. Rain check Bucky?"

"Um, dad?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Can Bucky stay? I don't wanna be alone"

"You mind Buck?"

"Not at all, I'll stay till you get back"

"Thanks, I'll be as quick as I can"

"Drive safe!"

He grabs his keys and heads out the door. "Can I get you a beer doll?"

"Sure, that would be nice" He gets up and heads to the kitchen to grab one for you while you take a seat on the couch. He comes back into the living room handing you your beer. "Thanks, Bucky, sorry your boy's night got ruined"

He sits beside you on the couch. "It's okay doll there's not a whole log going on anyway" He stretches his arm over the back of the couch behind you "So you gonna tell me what happened?"

"Why?"

"Well, do I need to beat him up?"

"He's definitely not worth it. I just need to get the strength to get my stuff out of that apartment"

"I can help you with that"

"That would be nice Buck. God I don't even wanna see him"

"You won't have to doll. Tell me what he did."

"I came home from work after an awful day and told my boss to stick her job up her ass"

"Good, I'm proud of you"

"Thanks" You smile sweetly at him and then it fades. "When I got to his apartment, I found him in bed with a tall blonde. She was everything I'm not. I left, and decided to come home"

"I'm glad you did sweetheart, you don't need that"

"Yeah, been thinking about going blonde"

"Don't you dare, do not change because of that asshole."

Looking at him and smiling, your eyes moving from his lips to his eyes and back to his lips again, leaning in and kissing his lips softly. "Um, what was that for doll?"

"Just shut up and kiss me James" Placing your hands around his neck and kissing him deeply then he pushes you away gently.

"Sweetheart we can't do this, your dad will kill me"

"Who's gonna tell him?" He looks at you surprised

"A-are you sure?"

"Yes James, show me how a real man treats a woman" Bucky leans back in, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. You don't waste any time and slip your panties off from under your oversized shirt and climbed onto his lap, kissing him deeply and grinding against his jeans. He's already hard, you feel him through his jeans.

"Well, you don't waste any time getting hard huh?"

"Oh baby, I've been rock hard ever since you opened the front door to let me in"

Wasting no time and undoing his jeans and zip, reaching in and wrapping your hand around his cock. Bucky's head falls back on the couch as you slowly stroke him. His tip already leaking pre cum. Wping it with your thumb and bringing it to your mouth and moaning at the taste. "Shit baby girl, you're killing me here. You not gonna let me taste you?"

Taking your other hand and bringing it to your core and pushing two fingers inside yourself, taking them out and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds and lining him up. Pushing your fingers into his mouth as you slip down on his cock, both of you moaning together. Your reaction had both pleasure and pain. Bucky was bigger than your ex, the sting adding to the pleasure as he slipped in more. He left you to take control so that he doesn't hurt you. He was sucking on your fingers greedily and moaning at the taste of your pussy.

Bucky pulls you closer to him, pulling your shirt up and moving your bralet, taking your nipple into his mouth. You hissed at the feeling and he did the same with your other nipple and gently biting at your skin. Pulling his head up and kissing him again as his hands now rest on your hips. Looking into his eyes, you start to move your hips back and forth, gently at first. Once your pain had stopped from the stretch of his cock, you were overwhelmed with pleasure. He let you have control, and you gently rocked back and forth on his cock. You couldn't help moaning "F-Fuck Bucky!"

Leaning your head back as he attacks your neck with kisses as he lifts his hips to meet yours, pushing his cock deeper.

"Your pussy feels so fucking good doll, so fucking tight and perfect"

"I'm close Bucky! I'm gonna cum!"

"Cum all over my cock baby it's all yours"

His hands help you move back and forth on his cock. His fingertips dig into your skin as you move. He moans against your skin as your pussy tightens around him

"Fuck! Oh, FUCK!"

Moaning against his lips as you kiss him, his hands still on your hips moving you back and forth on him. Your body jerks, coming down from the high.

Pushing your hair out of your face, he looks deep into your eyes. "Are you okay?" All you can do is nod. Bucky's hands move from your hips to your back as he kisses you passionately as he moves to lay you down on the couch, grabbing one of the cushions to lay your head on. You both smile at one another while exchanging kisses. His hand moves down your side holding your hip, once again as he holds you in place as he pushes his cock into you again. Your breath hitches as you feel the stretch again. You knew from this moment that no one else would give you this feeling. Bucky slowly out and back in again. He grunts softly as he fills you. "Bucky, faster, please"

His movements pick up, he's hitting a new spot and you can't help moaning. Your moans fill the room. Wrapping your legs around his waist pulling him closer. Sneaking your hand down between your bodies and starting to massage your clit. Bucky grabs your hand and holds it to the couch. His hips move faster, the sound of skin slapping and both of you moaning filling the living room.

"I'm getting close doll, I'm gonna pull out though okay?"

"No, please don't, I'm on the pill. Please don't stop I'm so close again"

He buries his head in the crook of your neck as his movements become a little sloppy.

"Yes, Bucky! Right there oh god fuck!" You moan as your orgasm washes over you. Your pussy clenching around his cock as you come sending Bucky into his own orgasm.

He moans into your neck as his movements become slower. Bringing his head back up and kissing you softly, then he rests his head against yours and you both smile. You don't know how long you have been there on the couch but you don't want it to end. Never thought this would be your happy ending to the week you've had. Then you see headlights shine through the window and car doors closing, your dad and your brother laughing.

"Shit! they're back! I gotta go upstairs!" You get up quickly fix your shirt and run out the door and to the stairs. Bucky quickly fixes himself up and runs behind you "This only a one-night thing?"

Turning to him quickly and kissing him.

"It doesn't have to be, I'll see you around" Smiling and then running upstairs. Bucky smiles and rubs the back of his head turning back into the living room. He sees your panties on the floor and quickly picks them up and shoves them into his pocket. Your dad comes inside "Hey Buck" You're still here?"

"Yeah, um, I gotta go though. Give me a call when you wanna have a game night or whatever" He quickly leaves your house and makes his way home.

A few hours later when everyone is asleep, you sneak downstairs to get Bucky's number from your dad’s phone and you send him a text.

"Hey, it's Y/N. Still wanna help me get my stuff from my apartment?"

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #dbf!bucky

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gotham-ruaidh · 1 month

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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart || Chapter 17C: I’m Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned || Chapter 18: Turn The Page || Chapter 19A: When You’re Alone, Do You Let Go? || Chapter 19B: Heading For A Spin ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 20A: I Don't Need Nothing When I'm By Your Side

So hold me close, better hang on tight Buckle up, baby, it's a bumpy ride We're two kids hitching down the road of life Our world, our fight

-- “Born To Be My Baby,” Bon Jovi (1988) [click here to listen]

North Carolina || February 1989

Jamie frowned, looking back and forth between the shelf he’d just put together and the three unpacked boxes of books (two marked CLAIRE, one marked JAMIE).

Would she like them organized alphabetically by author? Genre? Size?

He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Or perhaps she wanted medical books in her workroom? And maybe he could put his music books on the cabinet in his studio –

“There you are.”

He hadn’t heard Claire pad into the room – at some point they would need to get throw rugs to protect the gorgeous old hardwood floors – and smiled as she effortlessly stepped into his embrace.

They held each other for a long moment – his lips against her hair, her face buried in the safety of his neck.

Almost three months since the acoustic tour had ended, the night before Claire’s birthday. About six weeks since they had closed on their dream house, nestled against a mountain in the forests of North Carolina, not too far from The Ridge. And about two weeks since the items in storage – from her packed-up apartment in Boston, and his packed-up house in Los Angeles – had arrived.

The property had everything they needed. Privacy and solitude, of course. An old barn that they were using as a garage for Jamie’s motorcycle and cars. The house – an old cabin, really, dating from the 1800s and which had been lovingly expanded over the years – was perfect. A spacious living room, complete with the original stone fireplace. An eat-in kitchen, with newly replaced appliances. Two small rooms off the back that were now his music studio and her workroom – spaces to pursue their interests. A modestly-sized master bedroom. And a small extra bedroom – which for now was for guests, though God willing would be a nursery very soon.

Claire had insisted on doing two things quickly, before spending their time unpacking all the boxes.

The first was to hang his six gold and two platinum records in his studio – and he agreed, after he had hung her framed medical school diploma on the wall of her workroom.

The second was to install the fax machine on the bare floor of the studio – which, together with the phone, was their only link to the outside world.

For as much as they isolated themselves in this beautiful, peaceful place – the world pushed along without them.

In March, they would leave for L.A. and three weeks of rehearsals with the band. Maybe play a few small gigs in clubs on the Sunset Strip – Jamie had always wanted to do that. And in April, they’d fly to Europe, and kick off the tour that had swelled to 120 dates and stretched into 1990.

Colum was busier than ever – finalizing logistics, negotiating with local promoters, running interference with the suits from the label, upgrading the concerts from arenas to soccer stadiums. He had a conference call with the band every Tuesday – with Ian calling in from Lallybroch in upstate New York, and Angus from various resort spots in Mexico and the Caribbean (“I can’t believe Charlotte and Molly haven’t worn him out yet,” Jamie had mused to Claire one day. She had only shrugged and said, “they take care of each other”). Colum would always have a punchlist of decisions for the band – OK to book studio time during the week off in Scandinavia in July? The roadies couldn’t figure out the pyro setup without the band, OK to wait until rehearsals? They would need to film at least three music videos, which one could be a live performance? – and follow up with decisions in a fax sent later that day.

Jamie had been clear with Colum that he had three conditions for the tour: that Claire would be with him, that Raymond would be traveling with the band, and that the same no alcohol/drugs/groupies rule from the acoustic tour would carry through to this tour. Of course Colum had agreed. Just as he’d agreed to make provisions for Jenny to periodically fly out to visit Ian, and for Angus to always have a suite with two bathrooms to keep his girlfriends happy.

Claire and Jamie knew that this tour would be difficult, for so many different reasons. But they would be better prepared this time, to draw strength from each other, and to have Raymond for support. And maybe, just maybe they would return home from Europe with the best souvenir of all…

“Another fax from Colum,” Claire murmured after a long while.

Jamie snorted against her hair. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.”

“I do admire how hard he’s working for you and for the band. And how much he’s keeping all of you in the loop on the decisions he’s making. He doesn’t want any surprises.”

“I’d imagine not. The amount of bullshit he has to be putting up with right now must be insane. I just hope he doesn’t crack.”

“He never said if he’s bringing Tricia on the tour.” Tricia – Colum’s wife of more than ten years. She stood a head taller than her husband, still impossibly beautiful in her late thirties, smiling for every frown on her husband’s face. Claire had only met her once – couldn’t say she really knew her – but she knew enough about her.

How she had first met Colum at a party in 1970, when he was a roadie for Led Zeppelin and she was part of a gaggle of groupies that held court at the Riot House in L.A.

How, when she and her girlfriends joined the Led Zep tour the following summer, he had punched out the lighting guy at the Cow Palace in San Francisco when he heard the guy didn’t understand what Tricia meant by saying “no”.

How Geordie Ash – the reporter who had put Jamie (and, in a way, Claire) on the map last year with that Rolling Stone article – had sent flowers to her hotel room every day for a month during Led Zeppelin’s 1973 U.S. tour. Not knowing, of course, that she was allergic to lilies – or how Colum, who knew more about her by that point than he cared to admit, had wordlessly disposed of them for her, every day that month.

“I don’t think she likes to tour.” Jamie’s thumb traced lazy circles on the skin of Claire’s back. “Too many bad memories.”

If you asked any rock journalist or musician who had found Alex MacGregor – assistant to Led Zeppelin manager Peter Grant – dead in his Seattle hotel room in the spring of 1975, they would all say quite confidently that it had been Colum Laird, who by that point had advanced to lead Zeppelin’s touring crew.

But a handful of people – Peter Grant, and Colum, and Jamie, and now Claire – knew the truth.

Tricia woke up, Alex cold beside her in bed, a needle in his arm. The only thing she knew to do was slip quietly down the hall, tumbling into Colum’s room…and finally, his arms. Where she had remained ever since.

“I couldn’t imagine being away from you for so long.” Claire sighed. “I don’t know how they make it work.”

Jamie shrugged. “They love each other very deeply. They fixed the broken pieces in each other. And now she has the two boys to keep her busy.” He kissed her forehead. “Something for us to aspire to, perhaps. What’s in the fax?”

She held it out for him to read. Sharing a smile at Colum’s scrawl.

J+C: I’m not calling because I interrupted enough moments between you on tour and I’ll probably do it again this year. I don’t have Raymond’s info pls have him get in touch so we have a copy of his credentials and the travel agent can make all arrangements for Europe. I got the label to foot the bill for his travel meals and hotels, convinced them it’s a business expense, you’re welcome. Stay out of trouble. Colum.

“We’ll have him give Colum a call after he arrives this afternoon,” Jamie mused, folding the fax and sliding it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Claire nodded. “The guest room is all ready. And I’m glad Dougal and Gillian and William will be here tomorrow – I’m so happy they’re so close by.”

Jamie squeezed her shoulder, and released her. “As am I. Now, I have a question for you about these books…”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #little bit better than i used to be

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countrymusiclover · 1 year

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Ch 2 - Angel Eyes

Part 3

Cowgirl’s Don’t Cry

@hcwthewestwaswcn co author

Tag list - just ask to be added @lothiriel9 @babygirl-4986 @alicenwrites @hcllfireandhclywater @5sos1404 @darhk-angel @drunkdyslexic @faithm120601 @sqrlgrl22 @opheliax98

Y/n's Pov - 6 years ago

Exiting the barn I brushed my hands over the light brown fur of my horse. My hair was in pigtail braids falling over my shoulders as I heard the main house front door open and saw my mother walking up with a bottle of wine in her hand. "You clearly got an attachment to those things from your daddy. You remember what I taught you right?"

"Don't let any man think they instantly get to be with me. Because they are all led by the tail between their legs." I responded to her knowing that she said she would never get back on a horse after the day her mother was killed. She basically hated them unlike my father who hated whenever he had to put one down.

She rests a hand on my shoulder showing me a small smile then motioned her head towards the young ranch hand that I had met in the barn a few years ago. "Seems like he needs a lesson on how to saddle a horse. Go help him dear."

Ryan ran a hand through his hair holding his hat in his other hand somehow getting some of the straps twisted together. "Need some help there, cowboy?" I chuckled standing beside him, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Shit yes. I don't know I geezed this up!" He cursed under his breath, clearly frustrated, making me shake my head. He sure had the mouth of a cowboy that's for sure.

Patting his shoulder I quickly noticed his problem shifting the saddle around then gesturing with my right arm for him to move. "Climb on now. You'll notice a difference. Oh and here's a tip for riding a horse." Ryan stared down at me as I explained standing up tall then I lowered myself down on my knees a little like I was sitting on the saddle. "When the horse bounces up, let it stand you in the stirrups and when it comes down sit back in the saddle."

"Seems easy enough." He replied as I climbed up onto my own horse.

"Yeah well see about that, Ryan. I bet you'll be cussing till the cows come home."

Ryan glanced back to the barn eyeing my mother who was smirking in our direction drinking her bottle. "Who is that woman watching us?"

"My mother. Now let's ride." I moved my horse behind his hitting the horse on the butt causing Ryan to grab the reins with it taking off quickly.

"Am I gonna get in trouble for talking with you - oh shit!" He started to ask before I chased after his horse, smirking at his language seeing I was right.

I teased him, feeling the wind blowing through my hair while I kept my pace up with his horse hearing him curse every so often but a smile was forming on his face. "If my daddy heard me talk with that mouth of yours he'd ring me up by the rafters in the barn. Just trust me it will get easier."

Y/n's Pov

Y/N looked at him, having returned to the ranch as she dismounted the horse and took them both to the barn "You didn't do too bad cowboy, but I think you will get the hang of it eventually if you're asking me. You've shown improvement in some things, so you've got it going" She says softly, knowing that he was still trying to get used to being on a horse and riding

Y/N was the same way when she first learned how to ride, but she slowly got the hang of it when Beth and Rip left her alone and she eventually figured out what she had to do and how to do it whenever she was alone and able to focus on riding her horse, Marleigh who was a five year old Mare.

Y/N had always had a passion for the animals, but she also knew that her mama didn’t like the damn things because of what happened with her grandmother but she looked at the cowboy as she dismounted the horse and took the saddle off before she heard Ryan coming up behind her as she was leaning against the stable wall as her hand rested on his cheek when she leaned in and kissed his lips passionately and deeply as she made out with him.

Unaware that her uncle was coming into the barn, but she was too caught up in the moment with her cowboy as she pulled away and breathed shallowly as she looked at him and smiled “I would like to do that more often, if you want to Cowboy” She spoke softly to him.

Kayce’s POV

Heading up towards the barn I could hear a weird sound right before I stopped in the doorway seeing my niece and one of my father’s ranch hands kissing. Normally I didn’t care what she did but I haven’t been around much so something came over me. “What the hell do you think you are kissing my niece, Ryan!” The lair broke away and for some reason he seemed confused.

“I didn’t start the kiss. She did - shit!” He cursed fumbling with his cowboy hat on his head.

Stomping forward I grabbed him by his shirt, shoving him away from her. “You don’t need to be anywhere near her. Go get back to work now.”

“What the heck, Uncle Kayce!” Y/n spun on her feet raising her voice towards me. “I’m not ten years old anymore but I guess you don’t know that since you left with the girl you got pregnant!”

Raising my brows at her statement I could sense my sister's personality breaking through. She could surely rip it to someone if they made her angry enough. “Well would rather your father kick him off the ranch. Because trust me darling, being here is a lot easier.”

“Yeah right!” She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest avoiding my gaze.

Ryan shifted his feet through the dirt walkway of the barn nervously leaving us alone. “Uh….I’m gonna go.”

Rip’s POV

Rip saw Kayce dragging his daughter to the house by her ear, he rolled his eyes and stepped down off the porch as he looked at his brother in law. “I suggest you let her go, you ain’t got no right to be disciplining my child when you can’t even keep your son under control. Now let her go, or I will fight you Kayce.”

He says, being protective of his little girl who he loved more than anything and he wouldn’t stand for her uncle to be doing what he was to her as he walked to him and shoved Kayce hard. “Y/N go on inside, you are gonna wait there until i tell you to come outside. Do you hear me.”

He was never harsh on his little girl, and he wasn’t going to start doing so now as he ran a hand through his hair as he talked with Kayce and sorted everything out. “You let that girl be, and worry about your own. I will handle her, you aren’t her parent. I am.” He says sternly, being protective and defensive of the girl he had been raising for 17 years now.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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red-dead-do-over246 · 1 year

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Hi!! I love your writing and i was wondering if I can request a one bed trope with micah? Tysm!! <3

Sure thing! Thank you!!!😁💖

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Will One Bed Be Enough?

You and Micah stay in a homestead that only has one bed. You don't understand why he seems so uncomfortable.

"This is why I hate nature." Micah mumbled as you guys quickly brought your horses into this abandoned barn next to a rotted down homestead.

Rain was pouring down in buckets from the sky, making all the roads muddy soup. It was so rainy that it brought mist up from the forest, making it very hard to see things right in front of you. It was cold and miserable, and not the ideal weather to be out riding in.

So, the heist Dutch wanted you and Micah to go on will have to wait. Now you guys get to take shelter in some rundown shack as night set in and the weather relaxes.

"I can see it." You said with a slight laugh as the horses shook themselves to get the water off. Micah swore as the dirty droplets got all over him.

"Let's get inside." You said, peeking outside the barn doors to see the thundering rain falling harshly from the sky.

"And hope the roof doesn't cave in." Micah agreed and you rolled your eyes. After a slight pep talk, you guys ran for the homestead. It was abandoned, and Micah was right. The roof was nearly collapsed, however, it was sheltered enough that you guys could spend the night.

"At least there's no wind and...not a lot of water dripping in." You said in relief, the occasional dripping of rain echoing through the old home once in a while. But other than that, everything seemed fairly intact. As Micah mumbled here and there, you moved to check out the other rooms.

"Looks nice enough to spend the night." You commented as you glanced in the bedroom. Boots sounded behind you and you could sense that Micah was peering over your shoulder and into the room.

It was small with room for only one bed and a closet.

"This isn't gonna work." Micah said suddenly, disappearing from your side in a manner of seconds. His boots quickened towards the door, and it took you a moment, but you were quick to follow.

"What do you mean?" You asked him, confused by his behavior.

"I'll sleep in the barn." He said as he adjusted his jacket by the front door. You were appalled by his sudden behavior, and crossed your arms over your chest.

"You would rather sleep in a cold, wet, and dirty barn then spend a night of comfort in a bed? That doesn't sound like Micah Bell at all." You accused him and he scoffed a little, not in the mood for this.

"You know I don't sleep much, so why waste the space?" He said, back to you.

"But it's not that, is it?" You asked him and he stayed silent. As you pondered over the reason, there was only one logical conclusion that came to mind.

"Is it me?"

He was silent at that question, pausing at his actions, hand on the door handle. You realized that you caught him red handed. He didn't want to share a bed with you. You thought that he would jump on that opportunity because he could boast about it later, but no. Micah would rather stay in a barn full of horses then in a bed with you.

"Damn it..." He muttered, releasing the door handle and turning to face you while rubbing at his face. He didn't miss the look of slight hurt on your face.

"It's not that I don't want to share the space...It's that I'm not used to doing that without...some activity..." He said, emphasizing the last part enough to make you flustered.

"I know you would kick me in the crotch or spit on me or somethin', so let's save us both the discomfort and have me go somewhere else...you deserve the bed at the very least." He mumbled that last part as he finally opened the door. However, before Micah could just leave, you were quick to shake off the image he put in your head to say something to him, your heart working faster than your brain.

"If you change your mind, you can come back in! I trust you!" You had to shout as he shut the door as you were talking. And just like that, you were alone, and not believing what you just said.

You swallowed down the flustered feelings you still held from the earlier conversation as you made your way towards the tiny bedroom, which now felt smaller than ever. As you flopped onto the bed, the sound of rain still pouring down onto that fragile little house, you never thought you would've wanted the presence of a man like Micah Bell so badly.

Sleep didn't come easy to you that night.

But when you woke the next morning, sunlight and songbirds greeting you, you noticed that the bed felt a bit smaller.

The sound of soft breathing and another leg touching yours caused you to shift slightly. You didn't know when, and you didn't know what caused him to change his mind, but Micah had ended up in the bed with you, no strings attached.

It made you smile to yourself because it proved two things. One being that he can sleep when he seems comfortable enough to do so.

And that he can be a good man when the opportunity arises. Perhaps this changes everything from now on.

But you'll only know when he wakes up.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 #micah bell #micah bell imagine #micah bell x reader #rdr2 micah bell #micah x reader

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wreckedhoney · 4 months

Text

Some screencaps from finishing the game this past holiday! Hadn't been able to complete it because of comp issues, so it was nice to finally actually play through the thing lol. I admire all the little details that are easy to walk past. Hopefully the folks making the game had a fun time with it all

Also tried to jot down the songs on the back of the record covers, but I did it by taking screenshots and looking at them later. I couldn't make a lot of them out (like Stormriders), and missed Roddy's cover entirely while screenshoting! :( But I managed to get the bulk of the collection. Listed below the cut - it's fun to think of it as extra worldbuilding, and maybe useful for any fanfic writers lol.

Edit! Roddy cover obtained >:3 Now included in the below list heehee

Blast Processor Side A - 198X - Revolution - The Lie - Memories of Last Monday Side B - Digital Overload - Rewind - Echoes

David Scopo Side One - Moonlight - Walk Along the Pier - Rolling with the Cat - Reflections Side Two - Train to Train - Wham, Bam, Grandstam - Refresh - Devil in the Details

The Flow Side A - Crying for Help Side B - Crying for Help (Live)

The Late Night Lurkers Side 1 - If You Dare - Escort Me - You and I - Neon Bliss Side 2 - A Steamy Encounter - Late Night Drive - Night Time Lovin' - Sandy's Song

Knife and EZ Side A - Stab in the Twilight - Running from the Light - Blanket of Darkness - Peace of Mind Side B - Surviving the Night - Hope Will Find You - The Glimmer of Morning - Daybreak

Smooth Side A - Word - Whisper - Think - Maddening Side B - Listen - Worry - Wavelength - Finale

Vice Side A - I'm Coming to Getcha Side B - Look Out, Here I Come

The Barn Finds Side One - Long Ride Home - Ukulele Out of Hell - Old Dusty Trail - Shellfish Goodbye Side Two - Standoff - A Fistful of Coins - High Noon in Hokko - Mexican RockOff

Caged Tiger Side A - One Last Goodbye - Embrace - A Beast in a Snow Storm - Leaves in the Wind Side B - Voyage of Fools - Headbangers - Culinary King

Roddy Snatcher Side A - Final Breath - The Worm - Hell Let Love - Memories of a Rumble Side B - Kevin's Lament - Ode to Burt - Music With My Friends - Walk Along the Gallows

The Hang-Ups Side A - Let Me Go - Out on a Wing Side B - Killed 3 Times - Dancing in the Devil's Palm - Golden Ratio

#killer frequency #henry barrow #p.s. i might edit the tracklist if ever i manage to take and note better shots #i think out of these i'm partial to the calendar including someone's doctors appointment & “Did I Marry An Alien”#did you reggie? did you marry an alien? or…do you Want To #as well we've beheld george barrow's soulful highschool hunk eyes…in the body of an egg #pour one out for these theater kids. includes henry's theatrical ass too #also was on the fence on whether or not to include this in the tags #but Please KF fandom let main fandom tags just be the chill place to like things openly and weirdly rather than vent over other fans #venting is fine ofc but in a main fandom tag it's a little… like let people like what they like and how they like it. it's all ok friends

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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

Text

Don't Shoot the Messenger: Part Three

Despite how it might seem, being a messenger for the feared sea-demon pirate, Admiral Satrasi, infamous far and wide for having an entire fleet of raiding vessels who answer to him alone, is a relatively safe job. After all, no one knowingly crosses the Admiral. However, it appears the most recent captain looking to join his fleet hasn’t gotten that bulletin yet.

Fantasy, pirates, male monster x female reader, male demon, M/F, Part 3 of 9

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Don't Shoot the Messenger Chapter 3

[Part One] [Part Two] Part Three [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven][Part Eight] [Part Nine - NSFW]

As if to soothe and remind yourself of where you are now, you dream of your first meeting with Satrasi.

You triple check your basket, wanting to make sure you’re leaving none of your precious few possessions behind in this barn, lost among the straw.

Mr. Herly had asked you for your help managing the animals and other household chores while his wife recovered from giving birth. Long days getting up early and working late, doing all manner of physical tasks, is hard, but having fresh food and a warm place to sleep is worth it. They don’t have much to spare, especially with the babe to account for now, and so soon enough they let you know it's time you moved on.

You check your clothing last, making sure you skirt and jacket are as clean as you can make them and your stays are as tight as they can be over your chest. One of the easiest ways to make you look younger is by keeping your chest as flat as possible. Folks are less wary and more sympathetic when they forget how old you were.

You’ve lived in this town your whole life, so everyone knows about the girl orphaned by tragedy—and you want them to keep thinking of you that way as long as you can, want to hold onto that goodwill, with a slight wariness like bad luck might be catching, for as long as can. Only trouble can come on the heels of them realizing you grew into a woman of marrying age—or more likely, bedding age—two years ago. Luckily, time is a slippery thing to keep track of and no one ever wants to believe its passing as fast as it is, especially not older folks.

Between the fact that you never grew overmuch and you do your best to keep looking as you always have, you hope to stay a child in everyone’s eyes as long as you. People underestimate a child, at least one as small, polite, and quiet as you, far more than they do a grown woman. Or at least they don’t think of you enough to distrust you. Just enough to think on how you might be useful to be worth some food. Then you move on to the next few who might be willing to feed you—and someone always needs help with something.

Not that you haven’t been thinking, more and more often lately, that it might be best to leave your town for good.

You’ve no permanent home, but you have hideaways you frequent: an overhang by the river, Old Man Mills’ outlying barns, ruins of the road lookout. Today, you head for the cave on the outskirts of town. Far from the river, but far less frequented, it would help you stay cool and had its own freshwater pool which made for a good respite from the sun and its heat.

With its spot by the road, it should also let you keep an eye on any comings and goings. People coming in are always worth giving the innkeeper a fair warning about so she could get the inn ready for guests. She might even need a hand taking care of them. If any townsfolk are heading into the city to trade, that might also be a chance for you to tag along to the large port city three days ride. You've been trying to familiarize yourself with it as much as you can before moving there permanently.

Unfortunately, the cave isn’t one you can stay in long term: too cold in the winter, not secure in the slightest—not to mention eventually your back starts to ache something fierce from sleeping on stone for too long. But it was a wonderful escape for a few days, to think by yourself and take stock of what you have, and you like to give yourself and the town a break from your presence so no resentment or annoyance starts to fester.

It’s a fine line to walk between helpful and pitiable orphan and troublesome, layabout beggar.

You’ve always preferred it on the edges anyways.

You duck off the road and head down to the cave, eyes sharp for any obvious foot traffic or signs someone else might have thought it a good place to camp out in. Nothing on the way down at first, but right by the entrance there are some odd tracks in the dirt, almost like large snakes. That’s enough to make you wary—there aren’t any animals of that sort around here and you’re fairly certain the forest demon that roams these woods is more deer- or wolf-like than snake-like. You’ve certainly no desire to disrupt them and so you wait in the shadows, listening and watching for any sign someone else might already be in your refuge.

When enough time passes, you carefully enter, ready to flee if a single thing looks out of place. Slowly your hackles lower as the cave looks as if it always has and no sound—not even of someone sleeping—reaches your ears. You perform your usual checks, storing your food only when you’re certain there’s no one here that might take it from you.

All you find is a rusted and bent belt buckle that looks weeks old. Maybe a traveler did take advantage of the cave rather than pay for a night at the inn and this is all they left behind. That's happened before.

Finally more secure in the knowledge you’re alone, you leave your jacket—once a few different threadworn blankets people had thrown out which you sewed together to help keep you warm— and your basket in an alcove invisible from the main cave and head for the pool.

The pool’s surface is as still as it always has been, reaching the back wall of the cave and obviously going deeper under the rock than you could ever swim. Every few years the young and brash remember this cave and try to dare each other to see how far they can get, see if they could find the secret room legend says holds treasure if only you could swim far enough, but no one ever has. You’re fairly certain the water never hits air again and you’re grateful when the others forget about the cave once again.

There’s a few small holes in the ceiling near the pool, enough to let a couple shafts of light in, but not big enough for anything else to come through. It gives enough light to the closest shore so to speak of the pool, helping to ensure you don’t just walk straight in. Besides, the water was dark enough even with that light, always so deep even this close to the edge. The light helps make it approachable enough for you to take a drink.

You lean down to do just that, cupping some of the cool, clear water and slurping, only for something to catch you attention. Is there something reflective in the water? You narrow your eyes and reach, carefully holding the edge of the pool with one hand as you plunge the other down. There’s a narrow shelf around the edge of the pool and the water goes up past your elbow before your hands close around something long and metallic, but pliable too. You frown as you pull back to sit on your heels, kneeling next to the pool to study your prize.

It's not quite a chain, almost a braid of silver. A lanyard of some sort? But why make one out of silver? Awfully pricey for a bit of flash. It doesn’t appear to be a necklace or bracelet–too thick for that and the wrong length. How would one even wear this?

“Is that my aiguillette?” an echo-y, wet, but deep voice makes you freeze, your head wiping up to try to discover the source of the sound. How could you have missed someone else being here? You’d looked everywhere. “Thought I’d lost it.”

Without realizing it, you find yourself staring across the pool to the back wall of the cave. Red eyes that glow with black pupils stare back at you from just over the water’s surface. They blink and you realize numbly that the creature has four of them, two smaller eyes without pupils at all are just off the outer corner of their primary eyes.

Demon, your mind instantly supplies.

The eyes move up, getting higher above the water for all it doesn’t so much as ripple at their movement. They move closer too, but you can’t find the energy to get up. You’re fairly certain it wouldn’t matter if you could. Demons are notoriously fast and strong. If this one wants to catch you, you're already caught.

A shaft of light finally illuminates more of them and your eyes trace over slick, gray skin and scattered clusters of dull red scales reflect some of the light. A brief glimpse of his facial expression seems amused more than anything, which you suppose is better than hungry.

“How about you hand that back over to me, hm?” he asks, coming to a halt about two yards or so away from the edge of the pool where you are. His eyes dart to where you have the silver braid clutched instinctively to your chest.

Silver’s worth something, even the town blacksmith would be able to give you good coin for it, not to mention a silversmith at the port.

You don’t hesitate in tossing it to him. Not only does it sound like it was his to start with and you’re no thief, but no bit is worth your life.

An arm reaches to catch it with ease, although… You frown. There’s a frilled fin coming from his forearm, but the skin of it looks dull and limp, almost fragile. When he moves forward just a little bit more, he ends up in a larger pocket of light. While he runs his fingers over the silver, you notice that all of his skin, or is it scales on a sea demon? look similarly dull and pale. Are they actually gray? Or some other color that’s been almost washed out?

“My thanks,” he says, and he sounds sincere enough under his amusement that your eyes snap back to his strange ones. He appears to be studying you with some interest and your skin prickles with nerves. You prefer to be below most people’s notice and this demon certainly is no exception. Still, you’re not certain fleeing is the right choice. What if that just makes him try to chase?

You can’t seem to look him in the eye for long without losing your sense of where you are, which scares you because you always keep your surroundings in mind. So you let your eyes trail down, noticing he’s not wearing a stitch as far as you can tell. Has he been back somewhere in the depths of the pool, of the cave, all these years? Wouldn’t the silver have been more tarnished? You’ve certainly never seen it before.

You narrow your eyes because there is a silent sort of movement in the water around his chest, as if he’s breathing heavily, but he doesn’t sound out of breath and you can see his face. You have to stop yourself from leaning closer, instead just squinting to try to make out… a glint of…teeth?

All of a sudden the image solidifies to you. He doesn’t have a large scar down his front: it's a mouth with almost metal teeth in it, opening and closing as it takes in water.

“No need to be so nervous,” he says, definitely entertained by your newly discovered fear likely evident by the goosebumps that spread to cover you. “You’re hardly more than a morsel.”

A shiver goes down your spine at his words, despite the fact that you do find you believe him. You can’t decide if you were wrong about him being hungry or not. Each second that passes without him attacking you helps ease your nerves.

When next you refocus on his face, he’s leaning a bit closer, his own eyes narrowed at you. “Do you speak at all, little bite?”

You flush and reply without thinking, “When the situation calls for it.”

He laughs at that, revealing pointy, bright white teeth. “Well said. What brings you to this lovely cave? I’ve been here for days with no visitors.”

“I should think not,” you say, adjusting your seat and interested in what he might reveal. Now that you’re fairly sure he isn’t going to kill you, you’re intrigued despite your survival instinct. “No one really comes here, except kids trying to see how far they can swim.” You nod towards where the pool goes under the rock wall. “Too out of the way for most townsfolk.”

“So there is a town nearby,” he says, seemingly to himself.

You frown. “What are you doing out here, if you don’t even know about the town?”

His smirk returns at your question. “Some folks managed to get the jump on me, intent on cashing in some bounty from the Governor based on their chatter.”

You don’t need to hear the rest. The Governor of your province doesn’t have an outstanding bounty for demons in general, so this one had to have done something to earn a bounty substantial enough to warrant someone going after him. He must be some sort of bandit or, more likely, a pirate given his nature.

Your eyes have continued to adjust to the light and his small movements so you give him another sweep as you think on his story. There it is—a gash on his shoulder you hadn’t noticed but now you can see is fresh. Something else on that same side of his torso also looks damaged, murky as your view is through the water.

“I assure you, they came out of the encounter far worse,” his voice has more of a hiss to it this time when it interrupts your thoughts. He doesn’t look defensive, but rather as though he doesn’t want you getting any bright ideas—as if you thought yourself able to take this demon on even if he’d been missing the arm entirely. You don't survive by fighting. You survive by not being noticed and by making yourself useful enough to outweigh any burden you cause.

“You’re stuck though, aren’t you?” you ask, feeling the truth in your words as you say them. Sea demons need the sea, although to what extent you’re not sure, and this pool is freshwater. The fight he was in might justify a brief rest to recover, but despite the lack of blood and his own admission to being here for a few days now, he’s not left yet. He isn’t doing too well either, he looks faded somehow or maybe even swollen? It's so hard to tell with the light and the water, but something isn’t right and he hasn’t left to make it right yet.

You’re always on the lookout for who best to offer your help to, an expert at determining who needs you enough to accept your aid and not chase you off. This water might be better than no water, especially after however long he was captured for, but it's not the sea.

He raises his brows at that and adjusts himself so he’s leaning on a stalagmite that reaches from down below to just barely breach the surface of the pool. “Is that so?”

“Sea’s more than three days' ride from here,” you say instead, answering his real question. “By road. Can’t get across the mountain without the tunnel on foot any faster.”

He hums thoughtfully at that, the sound resonating through the air and water. “I see.”

When he seems content to think over your words, you chance moving. Leaning to the right, you take the waterskin you have, filling it up, before leaning over to drink more yourself, never having truly satisfied your thirst before he spoke.

“Bold little creature, aren’t you?” he comments and your eyes move to meet his once more. You’re good at reading what people think of you, and while no one’s ever called you ‘bold’ before, you can tell he at least doesn’t think it bad thing. If anything, he seems impressed. No one’s ever been impressed by you before. “I think I might be offended, if you’re over your fear so quickly.”

You tilt your head to the side as you consider his words. “You already said you’d no plans to eat me. And if you wanted to, I doubt this distance,” you motion between you and him, “would cause that outcome to be any different. And I’m thirsty.”

He chuckles, the sound bouncing around the cave oddly. You’re not sure if he’s intentionally trying to be menacing. He doesn’t seem to be and, for whatever reason, it's not working regardless. You have long honed instincts about people and, for whatever reason, your nerves don’t rate him as a current threat. Dangerous because of what he is and how strong he is, but with no intentions of causing harm. Far better than the reverse.

He gestures back at the water and says, “Far be it from me to stop you, little bite.”

You blink once at him before taking another sip, slurping even louder than before, not sure what about him is bringing about this cheeky side of you. Maybe it's just that he’s the first person in a while that doesn’t seem inclined to take advantage of you right up until they turn you out.

After drinking your fill without further commentary, you look up to see he’s gone back below the water’s surface. You don’t see him again while you work on patching your clothes in the light by the cave mouth and taking time to enjoy the lack of back-breaking farm labor in the cool cave. It’s not until you eat supper and need another drink that he resurfaces.

You chew the bread in your mouth as he watches silently, as if he’s weighing you or his next few words with care. You glance down at your basket, at the food you have to last you the next few days and mentally tally up how much longer your supplies will last, even if you manage to gather some berries, if you have to feed him too. It’s hard to gauge height with him in the water, but he’d called you a morsel so you figure his appetite must be large.

“No need to fret, little bite,” he says, voice sounding even wetter than before, which you hadn’t thought possible. “I’ve no interest in pilfering your scraps. There’s food enough for me in the water.”

You blink and then lean forward to ask, “Is there?” This demon has no doubt managed to explore far further than anyone else from town has and you’re fascinated by what he might have seen. “Never seen any fish in the pool. There are only rumors of treasure so deep none can reach it.”

He smirks and says, “No treasure that I’ve seen, but there are some other pools, close but not connected, that I can move between.” He goes on to tell you of his exploration. You mostly let him talk, content to listen to his strange voice and hear tales. You feel the weight of his red, red gaze every time you ask a question. You wonder if he’s mesmerizing you—you’ve heard tell of sirens who can do that—but you don’t think that’s right. And why would he bother, even if he had the strength?

When he’s done talking about the caves and you’re done eating, he swims closer and asks about town. This is more the type of talking you’d expect, though he needn’t try to hypnotize you to get it—if that even was what he was doing.

It’s strange how comfortable you feel with him. You’ve never even met a demon or a pirate before, but maybe that’s part of it. Maybe it’s that you know how strong he is and so there’s no point in worrying about it. Maybe it's just that it is nice to be seen and not worry about the consequences. He’s so beyond this small town and its small minded people who will remember everything about you that you’d rather they didn’t and only half the things you wish they would.

Maybe it's just that he’s giving you a taste of the world beyond this town that appears more enticing by the day.

Without the need to watch yourself, leaning against the wall of the cave with your knees drawn up and your arms wrapped around them, you find your eyes constantly tracing his inhuman features. His eyes, the wild tendrils he has in place of hair, each new cluster of red scales that your eyes can find—all captivate you, so unusual and beautiful, but in a way you’ve never seen before. Even so, the more time you spend doing so, the more time you spend listening to him and talking with him, the more you feel a worry grow in the back of your mind.

Worry for him.

Because he is not well. The color of his skin looks more and more unnatural, the strange almost puffiness to his form, the way he looks almost squishy concerns you—he looks swollen. Even the way that strange mouth continues to heave in his chest.

“Little bite?” You blink, startled from your thoughts at his breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen. “I’ve a proposition for you.”

“What sort of proposition?” you ask, interested despite yourself. Even though you’d previously liked the lack of expectations, you know as well as anyone, when you need help, politeness or pride has no business being in the picture.

“You were right earlier,” he admits with a disgruntled frown, though you’re fairly certain it's with the situation he finds himself in, not with you. “I was held out of water entirely for too long and this freshwater is barely any better—with its own set of problems. If you can get word to my crew or even just you fetch me something to help me gather enough strength to leave this hole, I’ll reward you handsomely.”

You assume his crew is at the port and a minimum six day commitment to go there and back, regardless of your ability to find them, is a lot. As for supplies… “What sort of something?”

“Salt,” he says. “Sea salt preferably, but any salt will do. Three pounds of it, at least.”

While there’s certainly salt in the village, that would be a lot to go missing at once—for no one would sell you that much and you don’t have the money for it regardless. Trying to take some from everyone would be too risky as well. “I’d have to go to the port for that. I’d need money and food to get me there, in the least,” you point out.

He’s not thrown off by your request and nods. “I’ll tell you where the wreckage from my fight with my kidnappers is. They had a series of wagons and other supplies. Since they were avoiding towns, I bet no one else has found it yet.”

“How do you know I won’t just take that salvage and not the rest of your offer?”

“I don’t,” he says bluntly. “ Beyond that I assure you I can offer far more than such meager scraps, if you do take it.”

“What if I go through all this trouble and get back to find you dead or gone?” you ask, more to hear his response than because you think it’ll change your mind.

“That’s a risk you'll have to take,” he concedes.

You appreciate how up front he is as you continue to weigh the risks in your mind.

“I don’t work with people I don’t know,” you say, more out of habit than expecting anything in return.

“Name’s Satrasi,” he replies easily. “We’ve already been talking. What more do you want to know?”

As you say his name to yourself, realize you don’t need to know anything more about him, not really.

You’ve already made up your mind.

So you simply ask, “Where’s the wreck?”

Satrasi smiles.

[Part Four]

#my writing #story: don't shoot the messenger #don't shoot the messenger #story part #terato #exophilia #male monster #male demon #demon #reader #monster bf #osha compliant #okay #later than i wanted #but here's the first part of the flashback portion of this story #there will b two more flashback parts before we get back to 'present day' in the first two parts #you might notice satrasi sounds diff from the lovely pic literalnobody drew of him but thats just because he's not doing great right now #i hope you enjoyed their first meeting!

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 1 year

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𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘙𝘦𝘤 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦

𝘓𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴. 𝘙𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 💜

Thank you Jen for the ask 😍❤️ Ok these fics are definitely a must read from me! Honestly I love these so much and I’m super proud of them.

1. His Most Prized Possession

↳ Summary: You’re the wife of the most feared man in all of New York City, James Buchanan Barnes, the mob boss of the biggest mafia in town. Your his—his girl, his beauty, his love, his property, his most prized possession. He will torture and kill anyone who dares to make any advances on his woman, and he won’t hesitate to show them who you belong to in the most sinful way possible before their end…

This fic is such a *chefs kiss* 12/10 masterpiece! This is my most treasured fic! It’s the best one I’ve ever written! It’s the longest I’ve written till now. And it’s the most popular on my blog! Whenever I go back to read it, I’m always impressed with how fucking good it is! Like I honestly can’t believe that I wrote this! I usually don’t think my writing is really all that special but let me tell you… THIS ONE DEFINITELY IS!

2. Amen

↳ Summary: Your parents invite Father James to your home for dinner. Throughout his stay, he just can’t seem to keep his hands to himself…

Ok but I have to say that my whole Priest!Bucky AU is something I’ve worked so hard on and I’m super proud of each and every fic I’ve written so far in this twisted, sinful and blasphemous journey! But the one mentioned above is probably my favourite!

3. His Little Plaything

↳ Summary: His toy. His property. His little plaything. That’s all you are, and love being for your Stepdaddy. A piece of meat to be used as he pleases.

This fic is now almost a year old, but I still think it holds up really really good! I remember when I first wrote it I was absolutely on cloud nine after posting it and it got received so well. It’s so disgustingly smutty! And still holds a special place in my heart.

Some honourable mentions that I just have to include are:

Nights & Mornings w/Mob!Bucky

Falling In Love Forever

Late Night Rides

Send Nudes

#i’ve got mail 💌#bucky barnes smut

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croimilis · 1 year

Text

Seeing as all the first pieces are now out, here's how all the YNs in the Fly Me To The Moon series got their nicknames.

Angel

It started when you were younger, specifically in middle school before Bradley hit a growth spurt and bulked out from playing baseball. You're 12 years old and a little taller than Bradley, you've got a mean right hook and a bad temper. Some older kids from the next grade up were bullying Bradley about he was too small and scrawny to be a pilot, how he would never live up to his dads legacy, and you just see bright red and swing for them without thinking. You break 2 of their noses and the other runs away before you can land a punch. You end up in the principals office, your mom at your side and though she's acting strict in front of the principal as she's dishing out hour week long suspension, she's sending you a wink so you know she's not actually mad at you. Its later that day when you're home, Carole and your mother drinking wine in the kitchen while you and Bradley stargazing out the back, that Bradley says your like his guardian angel always looking out for him. He makes little comments about you being his guardian angel, or simply just being an angel ("God (YN), you're an angel" is a frequent saying), throughout your middle school years but it doesn’t really evolve into a nickname until freshman year in high school and he starts to call you angel unconsciously saying things like "thank you angel" when you hand him a water bottle after baseball practice, or letting out a begging "please angel?" as he begs for help studying for a test, even starting to greet you with a "hey there angel". You stop blushing at it after 2 months, your heart stops racing after 3 and after 6 months you barely even register that he's calling you it anymore. By the time senior year rolls around, people are convinced Bradley doesn't even know your real name with how often he calls you angel. After you and Bradley start dating, the dagger squad also start calling you Angel stating it is now your honorary call sign.

Peaches

You grew up with Jake Seresin, your family orchard and vineyard only a few miles down from his family cattle ranch. When you weren’t helping around the Orchard and Jake wasn’t helping around the ranch, you would often spend time on each others land, either running around the wild flower field on Jakes ranch or star gazing on top of the barn, or climbing the apple, plum and peach trees in the orchards or going horse riding through the vineyard and out into the open land your family owned. You were best friends throughout your entire childhood and moving into high school you were the typical pairing of the star football player and cheerleader that were rarely seen apart, to the point that everyone thought you were dating and you constantly had other cheerleaders asking you if Jake was available and other footballers (as well as guys from the other school sports teams) asking if you were available. It was your sophomore year when Jake started to realise he may have thought of you as little more than a friend he also noticed you always smelled like peaches, most likely from your body wash or shampoo. He also realised that your lips tasted like peaches after a game of spin the bottle at one of your friends birthday where he finally got to kiss you. After that he started to call you Peach or Peaches and when you asked about it he simply shrugged with that cocky grin of his on his face saying “because you smell and taste like peaches”, causing a huge blush on your face, which only caused him to continue using the nickname throughout the rest of high school and into your adult life. When he finally introduces you to the dagger squad, they only know you as peaches as that what Jake used when talking about you so they all call you peach as well and you don’t mind it.

Siren

You and Bob had known each other since the naval academy, meeting on your first day. He was ever the wall flower, probably more so back then, and it was the classic trope of the introvert (Bob) being adopted by the extrovert (You). It was good for Bob, you instilled a sense of confidence in him that he didn't have before and he came out of his shell little by little (mostly just around you). You were attached at the hip and followed each other to Top Gun, where you were considered to be top of your class. It was on a night out with your class, at the Hard Deck (before Penny took over), that you got your call sign. The Hard Deck was doing a karaoke night and the other members of your class had made a bet that no one had the balls to get up and sing, all putting in $20 each for the brave soul to go up and sing. Never being one to back down from a challenge, and being confident in your singing talent, you wink at Bob before going up to the karoke machine and belting out a killer version of 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot' that leaves everyone in your class shocked, and Bob absolutely mesmerised as he watched you perform. Its after your performance that someone makes a comment that you had Bob in a trance (causing a blush to flare up on his face), like a siren luring a sailor to their death, and thus your callsign was born.

#fly me to the moon #angelxrooster #peachxhangman #sirenxbob #top gun maverick x reader #bob floyd x reader #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader

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alarici · 14 days

Note

hello! i found the jockey mello / horsegirl near AU you posted about a little while back really fun / compelling, if you wanted to write anything for / about that :') !!

imo the term "horsegirl" is gender neutral so tbc near is a guy/he him prns here. the transness of cisness of his gender here isnt addressed.

warning for mentioned animal abuse. i don't approve of the racing industry as is, but i'm also interested in the workings of it and also i guess writing about it. warning for mention of drug (cocaine) use & of body image/weight issues--mello is tall to be a jockey.

teen rating, 837 words

siri play pale green things by the mountain goats

---------

Mello wakes up before dawn and finds the horses in the stables. The groom is already up. There's mist on the track. The barn is alive, and it's cool out.

The horses will be warm and snorting fire, soon.

Mello exercises ten horses before breakfast. Rides ten of them a couple kilometers around the track until he can't feel his legs. It's good, clean work. No time to think too much about anything but the burn of his forearms and the young colts and fillies gnashing at the bit. It's a breeze[1] day, so he's running them all full out. This used to feel like flying.

It felt like the closest thing to salvation when there was a reason for it. A shining goal.

Mello's been in Saratoga for three months. No matter how good he is, not matter that he passed his jockey certification in the New York state two months ago, he's just exercising the ponies.

He hasn't jockeyed in so much as a cheap claimer[2].

Hell, he's below weight. He won thousands of dollars on grass and on turf back in England. His boss at Saratoga doesn't seem to like him. The boss says he doesn't like his attitude, which Mello swears he's getting a better handle on (he isn't).

Not when the best way to be good at this is the blow. Not when Mello feels split from where he should be, where he ran from a year ago, as soon as the sharks closed in.

Mello ran away, and Near's out there still whispering to the horses at auction.

This one will be a winner. Bet on it.

Mello speaks to the horses running under him. He can make them faster. He can ride up the rail at the eight-pole and storm to the wire, a come-from-behind. He can tap another ounce of effort from the seasoned racemares and the newly-saddled two year-olds.

Mello's callouses grow callouses, and he doesn't know what the next step is.

Of course nobody gave him a damn recommendation to get work here. Not with how he left things back home.

But he knows if they let him run, he'd win. And that's the fucked up part.

It's utter humiliation to land in Dublin, two years after the first departure from England. He'd seen New York and than Indianapolis and finally Vegas. Nothing stuck. America found me wanting.

I made friends with some kids who grew up on farms and only knew horses, but I already have friends like those in the old country. I met many wonderful horses. I gave them carrots and dark beers and stroked their flanks. I got sanctioned for breaking the whipping rules[3]. I won many races. They never let me into a single graded stakes.[4]

Near is where Mello left him, just outside Liverpool. His hair has grown a little. He's fallen in with a rich man who buys ponies for fun, and every horse Near's told the man to buy has won a graded stakes.

Mello knows the last time Near sat on a horse, it was the dead broke old track pony. A gelding so long in the tooth and gentle that they could put little children on it.

"What about steeplechase?"

Near must have celebrated his twentieth birthday rolling in his modest earnings. At least one of them had been able to convert their only skillsets. Near is always the winner.

Mello thinks--they gave you a deeply unsettling ability to pick young horses. They gave me a bloody mouth and a bloody nose.

This is what's left of the operation to turn children into ready-made horsemen. Mello doesn't even want to think about it. He's got nothing left, and he'd lucky they didn't run him out of America before he packed up and left.

"You should rest. For the first week," Near says. As though he thinks Mello has learned to rest. As though he thinks speaking to Mello at a time like this is a good idea. Mello's lying in the dirt, wind knocked out of him. The devil of a filly they had him ride, to test her out over some minor hurdles, threw him and then flipped herself. She's trotting away from the scene of the crime, unhurt. Mello stares up at Near. Near has no dirt on him. There's mud under Mello's fingers and certainly a splatter of it on his face.

Mello gets himself up and fights the vertigo--the standing blackout--as Near watches on.

"Help me catch her," Mello grunts, jogging after the filly.

Mello doesn't rest. But they don't let him ride another horse, valuable property, until Near can vouch for him.

"You're going to take her to the Grand National."

"Near, she's three years old. The youngest horse to win was…" Mello runs in front of the horse and dares her to kick him in the chest. That could put him out of his homecoming-in-failure-induced misery.

"…The youngest horse to win the Grand National Steeplechase was five years old, and that last one to win at that age was a century ago," Near finishes. He's walked after Mello as Mello's gone to fetch the horse.

"This horse is fucking insane." Mello says, finally wrapping his fingers around her reigns.

"Her name is Run Melos," Near says. "We claimed her for five thousand quid."

breeze -- racehorses are exercised by running them on a track but it's usually not every day the riders have them running full out. breezing is running the horse at top speed

claimer -- there are many levels of the "quality" of horses races that increase the stakes/money/prizes involved. claiming races, where horses can be bought out by another owner for a set price at the beginning if they place/win are seen as low teir races

whipping rules -- in the US and many other countries, there's a set limit on the amount of times you can use the riding crop on the horse as a "signal" to get the horse to move faster.

grades stakes -- most prestigous tier of racing further subdivided into black type, grade 3, grade 2, grade 1 (think kentucky derby, the derby is grade 1). a similar system exists in steeplechase i think

steeplechase is racing over hurdles. it's kind of fucking nuts--very dangerous for the horses & the riders

the thing is i'd want to explore an element of how being in a sport makes you fucking crazy to outsiders and do things that are morally not okay but are in your profession, but i might just make mello come off as a dick.

this is what i consider animal abuse, but mello also cares very much about that horse type this. issa right mess. less a 'they didn't know better' but the mind is full of justificationsisms for bad things.

#a.personal

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buckysfaveplum · 2 years

Text

between two lungs

chapter 2

summary: y/n is desperate as her coven is in jeopardy. with no one else to turn to, she gives bucky a call

pairing: bucky barnes x witch!female reader

word count: 3.8k

warning: i don’t really think there’s any in this one :)

a/n: y'all thank you so much for your patience with my updates!! i know it's a lot, but my life is so crazy and jam packed rm, it's hard to find time to sit down and write. but chapter 2 is here, hope you like!!!

and pls lmk what you think, comment anything. it truly does encourage me to keep posting when i know you like my stuff <3

masterlist | series masterlist | send requests

Bucky knew you would owe him one the minute he saw you. It was your fault he had to sit in the car with Sam on the ride back from the airport, listening to him drone on about some old movie Bucky was a dumbass for putting off. It was your fault, not because you asked him to come. Because you had him so under your control, all you had to do was ask and he’d come crawling a thousand miles.

He couldn’t stop thinking about your text, vague as you often were. When he texted back, agreeing to come and asking if you were okay, all he got back was your address. The pit in his stomach wouldn’t go away, just growing and growing with every mile added to Sam’s car. If he didn’t stop bouncing his leg in the passenger seat, he would surely drill a hole through the floor.

“Thanks for coming man, I know it was short notice. But I appreciate it,” Sam said, taking a swig of his coke as they made their way down the highway. Bucky gave him a sharp ‘no problem’ and a quick nod before returning to silence. He couldn’t engage in small talk and cheap conversation, not when you needed him. All of him, all of his focus. Perhaps if he concentrated enough, staring down the endless pavement before them, the time would pass quicker.

“Hey, so how’d you meet a girl in New Orleans anyway?” Sam asked.

After you texted him, Bucky immediately called Sam back. Practically begged him to give him a ride to your place, with a promise that as soon as he was done helping you, he’d assist Sam. His friend understood, was intrigued actually. The idea that Bucky had a secret friend in his home state that he’d never heard of before was too alluring to ignore. He agreed, but only with the compromise that Bucky would be more pleasant to work with than last time.

“A mutual friend,” Bucky said, staring at the trees breezing by in his window.

“Man, I’m your only friend,” Sam said with a laugh. Bucky just gave him a flat look. “Did she say why she needed help?”

Bucky just shook his head. The more he dwelled on your text, the more he began to spiral. You were one of the strongest, most powerful people he knew- whatever you were facing, if you needed to ask him for help it was terrible.

“Do you think it has anything to do with the disappearances we’re tracking?” Sam asked. Bucky froze. “I mean, you did say New Orleans, and lots of the young girls were from there.”

“I didn’t even think of that,” Bucky said. His mind had already begun to divulge down that new path, creating horrifying scenarios he would never have imagined if Sam hadn’t made the connection. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The tarmac was neverending. It seemed as though with every mile they traveled, another was added at the end of the road. Bucky’s old strategy of disassociating no longer seemed to do the trick. Not after his head found a new way to torment him. For the first time, he was glad for Sam’s rambling to keep him distracted.

From what he could remember, Bucky had never been to New Orleans. Maybe he visited briefly during his time as the winter soldier, but some of those memories were beginning to blur together, losing focus and forming into one mass of trauma instead of the old string of torments that used to clutter his mind. But that mass was shrinking, day by day.

There was no way he’d visited the south as a kid. Though he couldn't remember everything from his childhood, he recalled enough to know his family was too poor for a vacation like that. But he’d always heard of the famed city of Louisiana. Of their massive Mardi Gras celebration, soul food, and rich culture. Only good on the list about the city and reasons to go. You were just another one of them.

Bucky loved your visits. The days you’d spend with him in New York were enough to make him forget the drag of his own life. To make him feel secure and at ease. Never did Bucky come to you, you always came to him. To be fair, you had your reasons. You’d tell him that you had some witches from your coven who’d moved up north to the city and that you wanted to check in on them as well. But deep down, he felt like that wasn’t it. You rarely were away from him when in the city, rarely left to be your friends. Deep down, he hoped that maybe- just maybe- you were there just for him.

Walking through the cozy streets, Bucky could tell why you loved your home so much. The city was alive in a way so different from the concrete jungle he was trapped in. Warm buildings of aged brick, flickering neon signs, the swirling iron of gates and railings, every block was bathed in character and charm. He could just picture you walking through, your boots clicking on the pavement, and that bag you wore everywhere swaying at your side.

Sam had found parking near your block, the two of them heading down your street in search of your place. Bucky had no idea where you lived or what it looked like, he just had an address. Bright colored buildings with lush greenery past them, each with a number counting down to yours. Vinery twisted up the aged bricks and knotted around windows. It was so much more inviting than the cold steel of his home.

They approached a large building that sat at the corner of the street. It was impossible to miss its grandiose architecture. The orangy-red brick flashed before them, peaking out from behind the swirling iron railings of the two-story balconies. The aging of the stained glass windows added to the character of what was obviously a very old building. The shudders of the windows a warm black, hanging upon their arched details. Thick greenery was hung all across the balcony, trailing down some spots and twisting around the black poles along the front patio. Among all the beauty of the place was a big forest green door, at the center of the first floor, pushed back by dark stone steps. Marble columns with blooming black and brown details framed the door, obviously added for decor as their glistening shine stood out against the aged charm of the rest of the building.

A small sign hung on the door: “For herbs, oils, and other spiritual needs, find us at the French Market every Saturday!” Bucky recognized the print anywhere, that was your handwriting. If the sign hadn’t clued him in already, the little numbers along the top of the door matched the address you’d sent him. This was it.

“This is it,” Bucky said, shoving his phone in his pocket as he made his way to the door.

“This place is incredible,” Sam said, following behind. “Man, look at these windows!”

Bucky just ignored him, rolling his eyes as he stopped in front of the door. He went to reach for the door knocker but stopped, his vibranium fingers hovering just over the gold latch. What was stopping him? He loved to see you, to hear your voice, and watch as your eyes lit up when you saw him. Nothing could beat the feeling he got when he first saw you when you’d come to visit. That first look as you ran down the street to meet him out front of his building. Like a breath of fresh air after spending months trapped inside.

Maybe he was delaying what he knew would await on the other side of the door. Pain, worry, fear. It always followed him anywhere, anytime. If you needed his help, it was bad. Something terrible had to be behind the thick mahogany doors. Perhaps he just needed a minute to prepare.

“Buck, just knock,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. Bucky took a deep breath before grabbing the latch. Before he could pull back and knock, the door swung open, ripping the latch from his hand.

Suddenly, he had that feeling he loved. Out of nowhere, unprepared and unexpected. There you stood, before him in the doorway. You wore those familiar boots, running up your mid-calf, covered in buttons all the way up; the little charms and strings of beads hanging off the hooks added a little touch that was just you. A pair of rust and black tights covering your legs, soon hidden under a sheer lacey black skirt skimming your shins and another lacey dress layered over top. Bucky always loved how you dressed. You always told him you preferred “used clothes” or vintage, telling him how you thought it was so unfair that beautiful things had to wither just because society had decided to move on to something else. The lacey and silky slips you always wore reminded him of his years as a teen in the 30s, the dresses the same as the nightgowns girls at the time wore. It was familiar but in a completely new way.

He glanced at your hands on the door. A dozen gold rings stacked atop your fingers, with different crystals adorning each. Little bracelets of gold and leather and ribbons wrapped around your wrists; they always made a soft clanking noise when you spoke, waving your hands in a way only you did.

He ventured up, making his way to your face. Just like your hands, you had a couple of necklaces layered around your neck. The gold chains drawing his eyes to your collarbones, peaking out from the wide necklines of the slips. Finally, he met your eyes. Your kind y/e/c eyes stared back at him. It had been too long since he saw them.

“Hi,” you said, giving him a wide smile. Your words pulled Bucky from his trance, remembering where he was.

“Hey,” he said with a smirk.

You turned your attention to Sam behind him, taking a step forward and stretching out your arm to introduce yourself. Your body grazed Bucky’s as you did so, the smell of your perfume hitting his nose. A deep blend of teakwood, rose, and bergamot.

“I’m Y/n,” you said to Sam, shaking his hand.

“Sam,” he said.

You pulled back, giving Bucky a quick smile before welcoming them inside. Bucky didn’t miss how urgently you slammed the door behind them, watching as you did up all the locks.

The home was massive, much bigger than it seemed on the outside- if that was even possible. The dark green walls decorated with antique paintings and photographs, each wrapped in a gold frame. Same as the exterior, the interior was full of luscious plants, filling every little cranny that was left empty. Bucky could only imagine how hard it was to keep them all alive. On the walls not covered in paintings, there were towering bookshelves, lined with antique-looking texts. Little trinkets and objects also sat on the shelves, things Bucky would never be able to name. The stained glass of the windows allowed the bright light of the sun to shine through, bouncing off the velvet chairs and couch and showering the spiral staircase leading to the next floor. Decorative rugs were thrown over the dark hardwoods, making Bucky self-conscious of his old combat boots on top of the Moroccan throws. It was beautiful, ornate, and unique, just like you. It was so fitting that you lived there.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, pacing around the living room. Bucky could immediately see the anxiety radiating off of you. You never were good at hiding what you were feeling, at least not from him. He watched as you fidgeted with the maroon polish on your nails, peeling it off in little chips at your cuticles.

Sam sat on the couch, you eventually came to sit in one of the chair across from him. Bucky stayed on his feet, too alert and concerned to get comfortable. Just as awkward as he always was.

“So, I gotta ask, how do you know the cyborg?” Sam asked, smiling at you. You chuckled, biting your lip as you gave Bucky a look. He just rolled his eyes again.

“Um, through Steve,” you said.

“Wait, you knew Steve? How?” Sam asked.

“Well, after the Chitauri invaded New York, I guess Shield was on the lookout for more ‘enhanced’ individuals. We seemed to pique their interest. They sent down Steve and we talked,” you started.

Bucky watched as you explained what happened all those years ago. He knew it all of course, but it was still a little foreign to hear you tell it all again. The two of you rarely discussed Steve anymore. After you got to know each other and grew closer, it was clear how much Steve’s leaving hurt him. You didn’t see any point in dwelling on the past any longer. And to Bucky, you were here and Steve wasn’t.

“We wanted nothing to do with Shield or the government, no offense,” you said, giving Sam a little smirk.

“I get it,” he scoffed with a laugh.

“Our coven has protected and served this city for centuries, even if the people didn’t know. We didn’t need Shield and Fury coming in and sticking their nose in something they didn’t understand. Steve turned a blind eye, he understood. And I guess, we just stayed in contact.”

“Coven? Wait, so you’re-”

“Yeah, witches.”

Bucky bit back a little laugh at Sam’s dumbfounded face.

“I mean I figured it was pretty obvious. The books, the sign on the door, the fucking shelf of herbs and potions behind you?” you said with a giggle.

Sam turned to see said shelf, nodding as he soon understood.

“Oh, and also,” you started. Sam turned back over to look at the chair you were sitting at. Only to watch as your figure disappeared from the seat. Not with a flash, no big bang or smoke or sparkles like he’d come to expect with some members of the former team. Just gone in a poof.

“Teleportation could give it away,” you said, tapping on Sam’s shoulder from behind. He spun around, jumping to his feet in fright. You chuckled as you watched him catch his breath. A smirk grew on Bucky’s face as he watched you show off. He was always amazed by what you could do, whenever you decided to show him.

As Sam calmed down, a bit of laughter coming from him as he relaxed, you came back to your seat. Bucky couldn’t help but notice that anxious, somber mood settling back on your face.

“So, your text,” Bucky said, giving you a soft but stern look. You bowed your head, the heaviness of your situation soon coming back to the forefront of your mind.

“Witches have been disappearing along the lakes around the city. It’s been happening sporadically for a while, but things have picked up. We know it’s not witch hunters, they haven’t been a problem since heroes like you guys started popping up. Three of my sisters have gone missing, at first, we thought they left of their own will but our High Witch felt their magic fading. Our coven is fading. Something bad is going on and I don’t know how to investigate this or handle this myself.”

As you finished, Bucky came over to stand by your chair. Giving your shoulder a soft squeeze, pushing you to continue.

“Our magic is old, we operate on a balance between dark and light magic. Each witch is called to one side as she ages. Many choose light, we can control the balance and keep things safe. But when the dark side gets too strong, it’s dangerous for everyone. Our High Witch was convinced these disappearances are connected to dark magic,” you said.

“High Witch, what is that?” Sam asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees.

“The most powerful witch in our coven. She leads us and protects us all.”

“Well, you did the right thing reaching out. I was working on a case I called Bucky down for, and I think we’re investigating those same disappearances. Working together would be the best idea,” Sam said with a kind smile.

“You’ll really help?” you asked, looking up at Bucky. He gave you that same look he always did, one of adoration and care. Sometimes he wondered if you could tell how devoted he was to you just by his face.

“Of course, doll,” he said.

“I think the best start would be to talk with your, ‘High Witch’ was it? Get as much information as we can,” Sam said.

Your throat went dry at his words. The room was suddenly fuzzy and suffocating. You could feel the blood pounding between your ears, your boots were too tight, the rings on your fingers too cold, the velvet of the chair too itchy on your back. You could feel the building panic blooming in your chest, banging and clawing to get out.

Bucky’s brows furrowed as he watched your foot begin to tap, your knee bouncing, and your hands shaking. He knew you, he knew when you were stressed, scared, upset. He wanted to get down on his knees, take your hands in his, and press soft kisses to your knuckles. To pull you close and tell you everything would be okay. That he wouldn’t rest until you and your family were safe. You did so much for him; held him as he cried and pulled him out of some of the darkest places in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to do the same for you.

“Um, oh! I forgot, let me get you both some tea. I’m such a shitty host,” you said, a subtle southern accent dripping out as you frantically spoke.

Before Bucky could say anything, you rushed off around the corner and into the kitchen. He turned to his friend, exchanging a concerned and confused look. After giving you a moment, he made his way to the kitchen.

He watched from the doorway as your hands bounced from cabinet to cabinet. Pulling out a teapot, then cups, then a tray. You zipped through drawers, pulling out little jars of what Bucky could only assume was tea. The way your fingers trembled and struggled to a pot to the faucet wasn’t lost on him. He waited til you’d placed a pot at the stove before making his presence known with a soft knock on the doorframe.

You turned to meet his eyes, seeing the kind smile and blue-eyed gaze you’d come to love. You motioned him in with the quick cock of your head before going back to your task.

The beauty of your home just kept leaving Bucky awestruck. The kitchen carried the same dark green as the living room into the cabinets. With dark floors and a hardwood ceiling looming overtop. The walls were a soft cream with the textured swirls of the plaster left visible. Copper pots and pans hung from a rack on the ceiling, maps and charts hung along the walls, and flowers covered the marble countertops. Bucky didn’t even have to look around to know there were even more plants trailing down the shelves next to the pantry.

“Your place is really something, Y/n,” he said, coming to rest on the marble island behind you.

“This home has been in our coven for generations,” You said as you pulled the steaming pot off the stove. “The whole coven used to live here at once, but not anymore. Just a few of us.”

Bucky watched as you opened a jar with a decorative border full of roses wrapped around the top. The loose bits of tea spilled into a small strainer overtop your teapot. Your fingers continued to shake as you poured the hot water through the strainer and into the teapot.

“You know, you’re the first not witch to step foot in this kitchen- well, to be invited in at least. It’s a house rule, no outsiders beyond the living room,” you said.

“Look at you, breaking all the rules, huh?” Bucky said with a smirk.

He wished he could take his words back when he saw your face. You placed the pot on the countertop and buried your face in your hands. Tears began to spill over as you could no longer hold everything in. Bucky rushed over, his frame looming at your side as he debated what to do.

“Hey, babydoll, what’s wrong?” He said, taking your shoulders in his hands. You tried to hide your face as the tears kept flowing, but he wouldn’t allow it. Gently, he slipped his vibranium hand to your cheek, hoping the cool of the metal would help calm you down. “Doll, please, talk to me.”

Slowly, you peeled your hands from your face. Your feet shuffled you closer to him as you took his dog tags in your hands, fidgeting with the plates as you tried to steady your breathing. All those nights you sat with Bucky as he fell apart in your arms flooded the front of your mind. You couldn’t help but wonder if each time he came to tears in your presence he felt the same way you did then. Ashamed, childish, and pitiful.

“She’s gone, Buck,” you whispered, though your word came out as more of a whimper through your tears.

“Who’s gone, doll?” Bucky asked.

“Allegra, our High Witch. She’s dead.”

More tears began to flow at your confession. You pressed your face into the crook of Bucky’s neck as you cried, dampening the neckline of his henley. Your frame shook as you felt his strong arms come to wrap you closer to his chest. The plates of his vibranium fingers roamed across your spine and shoulder blades.

“What happened, Y/n?” Bucky asked, after giving you a moment to collect yourself. Through sniffles and hiccups, you pulled back and let out a trembling breath.

“We don’t know, I found her along the bayou swamps. She could barely speak, she…” Bucky didn’t let you finish, seeing as your voice began to shake again.

“Hey, breathe, it’s gonna be okay,” he said, taking your face in his hands.

“That’s why I called you, I don’t know how to handle this on my own. I don’t know how to save my coven,” you said, leaning into his touch.

“It’s not all on you, babydoll. We’re gonna help you.”

Your lips began to quiver again, slick with tears. Bucky’s thumbs brushed along your cheekbones, trying to keep your breathing steady.

“It is on me though, Buck,” you said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I’m the new High Witch.”

---

taglist:

@lanabobananna @baby-banana @mattymurdocksbitch @themorningsunshine @skyfullofinfinities @hotleaf-juice @ethreal-love @animegirlgeeky @newgirlintheneighborhood @ka-x-in @weirdowithnobeardo @iminlovewithenchilidadas @verygraphicink @rayofsuunshiine @eve-dusk @f-ergj @marchtothefuckingsea @marvelbitch1332 @cyanide-hysteria @emmabarnes @sebsgirl71479 @mcsnig @charmedbysarge @cowboibeepbeep @ugz4dayz @rhiamaymay @bitterstar88 @cjand10 @wbyss @deandreamernp

(extended taglist posted immediately after)

(if you asked to be tagged and are not seen here, pls message me. it's likely because your username didn't come up)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #fanfiction #marvel #tfatws #fanfic

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locowolf · 8 months

Text

finished RDR the other day and i have some thoughts.

ofc going in i knew the vibes were different from RDR2, but i still was not prepared for how LONELY it felt. sometimes when i was just riding around the feeling would hit me like a train and make my stomach turn. i think a big reason why it feels this way is the urgency of what john is doing. sure, there’s stranger missions and random events and challenges just like RDR2. but who cares? there’s no time for any of that, john needs to find his old friends. he needs his family back. everything else can wait. i saved most of the stranger missions and everything for jack just to give him something to do (which i will get to later). i’ve always been wicked fascinated by spaghetti westerns so i absolutely loved the lonely vibes btw

i’m pretty sure i’ve said this to literally anyone who will listen (all my friends) but john looks so so sad. angry and so so sad. he looks like he’s perpetually about to burst into tears. all i could think about was young john in RDR2, who was always second to arthur. whose abilities were doubted. who was left to die by the man that raised him. who tried his best to live an honest life. who bought a run down plot of land and built a home to win his family back. john was just trying his best, and only four years later (which does not feel like a long time to me) his family is kidnapped, and he has to work for the government and hunt down his old friends. it’s all just so sad and depressing UGH

speaking of RDR2, i think it’s really interesting how it changes the way players view RDR. i did do the strange man stranger missions, and hearing him mention the woman dutch shot during the blackwater incident was?????? literally mindblowing to me?????? this little remark, both about the woman and the incident, was actually the catalyst for the plot of both games and the disillusionment of dutch in arthur and john?????? also just knowing the past john had with javier, bill, and dutch makes their endings so much sadder (besides bill honestly lol he was always annoying). also also the little things, like returning to beecher’s hope and thinking about charles and uncle building the home with john and getting shitfaced after it was done :)))

i bought the game for my PS3 (because FUCK spending $50 for the same goddamn game) and it was a nostalgic experience. the PS3-era graphics and controls (reminds me of GTA IV) plus playing with the PS3 controller was very very fun! the horse handling still trips me up (again reminds me of GTA IV’s odd driving mechanics) and is probably my least favorite part about the game. i also watched my dad play it all the time when i was like six or seven, so it was cool seeing the things i remembered, like the shootout at fort mercer and how silly the horse breaking looks :3

i wish there were a little bit more references to RDR2 (or i guess it’s the other way round?). just a teeny tiny little bit more fan service. also i wish we saw more of abigail and jack :((( i know the ending is meant to be abrupt but i just love their dynamics so much :(((

and speaking of abrupt!!! the fucking ending!!! i had already seen the last mission (because i love spoiling games for myself), so when that cutscene in the barn started playing i was like ?!?!?!?!?! already?!????? i still don’t know if i love it or hate it. i know it happened so soon because the govt was just using him and could not give two shits about him or his family, “our time has passed, john” or whatever dutch said, not being able to run away from your past, etc. but i just love john so much and wanted him and his family to live happily ever after :(

this brings me to what is, in my opinion, the saddest part of RDR, which is jack. he’s a moody teen who doesn’t really understand the world yet. he has a complicated relationship with his father. he doesn’t want jack to be a gunslinger like him, but he doesn’t want him working for the government, either. he wants jack to be a man but treats him like a boy. jack just wants his father’s approval. him and his mother are kidnapped by the government, not knowing what his father is up to, then is reunited with him a few weeks(?) later. but jack isn’t an idiot and he can put two and two together, and he probably looks up to john for what he did to save his family. john takes him out hunting a few times, he jokes about him and abigail growing old, and things start looking hopeful. jack is finally going to have a chance at a normal life. but then the army shows up, kills uncle, and massacres john. when jack is like fifteen. then his mother dies three years later.

jack is eighteen and alone. no family or friends. i guess he has the macfarlane’s but i doubt jack was close to them. there’s nothing for him. a big empty house, a big empty ranch. and he continues the cycle that john was trying to end. arthur saw the faults in his outlaw ways and convinced john to get out of it, to protect his family and build a life for them, to run and don’t look back. john listened (mostly), but then he was forced to take down the known remaining VDL gang members. even though arthur doesn’t say it to him, i think john understands that revenge is a fool’s game. he understands that the days of the gunslinger are over, and he wants jack to live a better life than he ever had, in the same way arthur wanted john to settle down and marry. but jack is young. i can imagine him seeing what his father did as revenge, even though he was forced into it. but john never got the chance to have the “revenge is a fools’s game and the world is changing” conversation with him. jack watches the government murder his father, who he undoubtedly looked up to. his father who did everything in his power to get his family back. i can only imagine the anger and betrayal he felt for those three years he took care of abigail. him and his teenage brain trying to grapple with it all. then, once he’s an adult and he’s lost everything, he becomes a gunslinger and gets his revenge.

(i forgot to get back to the part about saving the side stuff for jack lol. i just feel bad about him being alone so i saved everything for him to do. maybe he can make some fucked up friends or something idk)

i like to imagine jack lives a decent life. maybe sadie or charles reconnects with him. maybe he explores the US and runs into tilly in saint denis. maybe he befriends the macfarlane’s and decides to become a rancher like his father was trying to be.

i think in his early twenties he would be an absolute train wreck, drinking and gambling and letting beecher’s hope fall into disrepair. but he would mature. he finds arthur/john’s old journal tucked away in the attic and thumbs through it one night, reading the passage where arthur tells john to protect his family. and jack thinks he has a chance. he doesn’t have pinkertons or the government breathing down his neck like arthur and john. he’s smart, he has a plot of land, he has a whole life ahead of him. he has a chance. so he cleans up beecher’s hope with the help of the macfarlane’s, he finds a wife, he starts a family, he has an honest living, and he lives happily ever after.

(this has huge fanfic potential tbh)

and my biggest takeaway from the game is: everyone was just trying to live for something. john, bill, javier, dutch, ross, everyone. they were just trying to survive. they were just trying to survive. of course, their survival methods varied greatly, and some were definitely more honorable than others, but in the end, weren’t they all doing the same thing? they were corrupt killers trying to live in a world that hated them. they were fighting for what they believed in. they were trying to make it out on top by any means necessary. all that varied was how they did it.

what a fantastic game. i think i still prefer RDR2 as a whole because i just fucking love collectathons, but RDR is still an amazingly tragic story. i binged-played it in two days.

#this ended up being more than just some thoughts #it just has me in my feels rn #rdr1 #rdr1 spoilers #john marston #jack marston #rdr2 #arthur morgan

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therainbowfishy · 1 year

Text

100 Things That Made My Year 2022

Austin Kleon’s 100 Things That Made My Year lists, which inspired this one.

That it finally felt like an actual year and not like I’ve been sitting, unmoving, in the same chair like it had for the past two years. Starting to feel more like myself again.

Starting a new job, this time in small publishing at Hub City Press, on a small but mighty team. Can’t believe I applied for the job about 15 minutes before the application window closed…a good reminder to not procrastinate and just do the thing.

Learning more about small presses and independent publishers. (If you so happen to need a decentralize publishing t-shirt…)

Bookshop cat, Zora, and illustrating postcards and even a tote with her on it

Keeping in touch with my bookseller friends from Avid Bookshop…

Including a visit from my bookseller friend Elizabeth in October and having what felt like a sixth grade sleepover weekend (eating snacks in a cemetery, wandering around on foot, hanging out in the kitchen, watching cartoons, talking good nonsense) and hunting the giant skeletons of Spartanburg.

And taking the Amtrak to Atlanta (the stations in Spartanburg and Atlanta reminded me a lot of the one in Poughkeepsie with the wooden benches; I love a fall train ride)

to go to another bookseller friend’s wedding! It was exclusively fun and games with a magical forest ceremony. I also got to eat the best rectangular potatoes I’ve maybe ever eaten.

My new apartment. Very grateful for my parents’ help with the entire terrible moving process and the delirious roadtrip to get here. Also for the lamps they bought me for Christmas. (Also my entire life and livelihood, just basic things.) Getting out of Florida!! Filling up my space with art and books and snacks. Sitting with the backdoor open and reading when the weather is nice. Having a dishwasher, a laundry room in the basement, and windows that actually face the sun.

Space & calmness

Living next to the library and being able to walk to work. Libraries and living across the street from one.

Biking around town, especially down the rail trail.

The y’all giraffe. The yellow ginkgo leaves. The clouds reflected in the distorted mirrors on top of the fire station. Corporate Denny’s park. The creepy little art park and its riddles. The best-stocked little free library that tells you how far the actual library is. The trains in every direction.

My surprise, last-minute New York trip earlier this year, where I got to see old friends in person again. Visiting familiar places; new and old bookshops (Yu & Me Books! Terrace Books! Codex! McNally Jackson!); bagels; Mitsuwa in Fort Lee; snow in late March; walking and wandering.

Tofu Takes Time coming out in April and the incredible virtual launch party at Avid Bookshop!

WOODEN OVERCOATS!!!!!!!!! Becoming completely obsessed (making fanart, joining a discord server levels…) with this charmingly dark British comedy about rival funeral homes. Listening to the last season as it came out and streaming the liveshows.

Subsequently diving into the wacky, imaginative world of audio drama. Some highlights: Wolf 359. The Axe & Crown. Life with Leo(h). (Please send more recommendations.)

Other podcasts: Books Unbound. Dear Hank and John. SciShow Tangents. The annual episode of Home Cooking. Houseguest interviews.

North Carolina Thanksgiving with family and dogs in pajamas

Going wedding dress shopping with my sister :-O

Dori dog, always

Launching a new online art shop (and finally being free of Etsy!) Paper JAM Studios with friends

Tabling at the local art pop-up at Pharmacy Coffee and meeting creative people

TV: Better Things. Ted Lasso. Dickinson, season 3. Only Murders in the Building, season 2. Never Have I Ever, season 3. The Owl House. Abbott Elementary. Anything Goes on PBS. Rewatching Bee and Puppycat. A little bit of Doctor Who because of this interview with David K. Barnes, head writer of Wooden Overcoats.

Going to the movies with my parents to see Everything Everywhere All at Once, The Bob’s Burgers Movie, and Downton Abbey: A New Era.

Keeping up my Duolingo streak (day 962 as I type this)...still gamifying French, but also starting Mandarin again because I always disappoint desperate Chinese tourists in transportation hubs.

Cooking. Notably pan-fried scallion steamed buns, accordion potatoes, and shrimp toast

Soup! Finally finding this recipe and figuring out how to make this zucchini soup that my host family made a bunch in France. Trader Joe’s corn poblano chowder. Various potato soups.

Receiving potato gifts this year: a potato cookbooklet, potato-shaped soap (a gift from a previous year, but I’m finally using it), and a straight up bag of red potatoes

Giving my dad and sister personalized book subscriptions for Christmas where I send them each a book based on their tastes every other month. My dad is a voracious, eclectic, and picky reader and my sister’s tastes are pretty different than mine, so it’s going to be an interesting challenge!

Speaking of books…I got more into poetry this year: The Hurting Kind by Ada Limón, When I Grow Up I Want to be a List of Further Possibilities by Chen Chen, and Cleave by Tiana Nobile became instant favorites. Watched the livestream of Ada Limón’s U.S. Poet Laureate inauguration and enjoyed hearing her read her work aloud.

Enjoyed a lot of graphic novels/memoirs: Landings by Arwen Donahue. Ducks by Kate Beaton. Scout is Not a Band Kid by Jade Armstrong. Mamo by Sas Milledge. Cyclopedia Exotica by Aminder Dhaliwal.

Stayed true to my kid lit sensibilities. Favorite picture books: Mina by Matthew Forsythe. If You Were a City by Kyo Maclear and illustrated by Francesca Sanna. Mac Barnett’s and Jon Klassen’s hilarious, genius retelling of The Three Billy Goats Gruff.

Favorite Middle Grade: Hither & Nigh by Ellen Potter.

Favorite YA: The Lesbiana’s Guide to Catholic School by Sonora Reyes. The Astonishing Color of After by Emily X.R. Pan.

And fairytales. Happily by Sabrina Orah Mark contains the most creative fairytale analysis mixed with memoir writing about these stories deep in our bones. Another upcoming release that I read early: Kelly Link’s latest collection of short stories, White Cat, Black Dog. My favorite stories in the collection are “The White Cat’s Divorce”, “The Lady and the Fox”, and “Skinder’s Veil.” Did you also know she runs a bookshop with her husband, Gavin J. Grant, Book Moon, where you can join the Moonlight Club? She also occasionally co-edits the zine Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet at Small Beer Press. If there’s a magic potion for it, I’d like to be Kelly Link when I grow up.

Reading the Moomin comics during the summer and learning more about Tove Jansson’s life

Rereading the Olivia Kidney books

Enchanted Lion Books and their latest imprint-in-progress, Unruly

My epic pre-move flip flop tan and my closet consisting of 3 gray shirts (a button down, a sweater, and a sweatshirt–good for all occasions when I had to change out of my daily uniform of gym shorts and tie dyed t-shirts)

Going through old stuff in my room while packing to move out. My neon orange PayDay wallet with the following inside: my Des Plaines Public Library card, a pool pass, a ticket to visit the Colosseum, 3 Disney World key cards, a National Jr. Honor Society membership card, a name meaning prayer card, a Blockbuster receipt, a Borders gift card, a Books-A-Million discount card, two $2 bills, and my old Food Bazaar card from Queens. Drawings from elementary school, mostly of girls, princesses, horses, and Golden Retrievers. A friendship checkbook. My tiny retainer from fifth grade. Non-roll crayons.

Flipping through journal entries from the same date, years ago

Listening to more music this year

Lady Lamb!! Her lyrics are like poetry--visceral and crammed full of haunting imagery. Her song structures are also unconventional, going from melancholic to upbeat and back again. Favorites: Crane Your Neck, Regarding Ascending the Staircase, Hair to the Ferris Wheel, Vena Cava, Billions of Eyes, Even in the Tremor, The Nothing Part II, Milkduds, We’ve Got a Good Thing Going On, Rooftop, Dear Arkansas Daughter.

Ezra Furman, particularly: Restless Year (for first half of the year) and Watch You Go By (second half)

Also these songs

Looking at the sky

My New York plant Alex is miraculously still alive!

Slow mornings with no technology. Breakfast with coffee and crossword puzzles.

Karlotta Freir’s illustrations were SO. GOOD. this year, and she was also so generous in providing art resources, advice, and community.

Making collages

Of art that I made this year, these are my favorites: Skunk. Bat. Daydreamer

Animal Adventures Week

Making more comics, like this journal comic, this script-based one, and this lyric-based one.

Banana Pocky sticks

Eating strawberries all summer long after having been a lifelong strawberry hater

Strawberry banana smoothies

Practicing ukulele again

Zoom Ballet

This ABT and Nationale Opera & Ballet gargouillade showdown cracked me up.

Getting an Edible Arrangement with chocolate dipped pineapple flowers for my birthday

Kelli Anderson’s kinetic paper sculptures

Substacks, blogs, and newsletters: Robin Sloan. Rebecca Green (Her Patreon is an incredible illustration resource, especially if you’re working on picture books). Magali Franov. Slow Motion Multitasking by Julia Pott. Slowpoke by Carson Ellis (especially the Butter & Egg Parade post and the Egg Sisters series). Comfort Soup by Dasha Tolstikova.

Playing phone puzzle games: Tile Snap. Boo! Water Sort.

Revisiting The Enchanted Bookshop comic for Inktober/Spooptober and making a Goodnight Moon parody

Doing JaNoWriMo (NaNoWriMo, but in January, when it’s less hectic) with my writing group at the beginning of the year and writing the beginnings to a lot of fun, weird short stories (2022 was about starting things or muddling through the middle, and I hope 2023 will be about finishing them).

Also writing a few abecedarian microstories

Reading picture books over video calls to writing group

Creative projects, especially ones in collaboration with friends

Starting new art and writing projects

Thinking about bookshop astrology (more on this later)

Remembering more of my dreams

YouTube: TwoSetViolin, This Savannah Brown video, Jessica Richburg yoga. Leena Norms, Honeybunch of Onion Tops, Simone Giertz, Furry Little Peach, Rosianna Halse Rojas, Marion Honey, Megan Wang, AnswerinProgress, ItsRadishTime, Leigh Ellexson, Frannerd, Ariel Bissett’s DIY home renovation

This short film

Walking around Falls Park with Sarah and Kevin in Greenville

Cutting my own hair a bunch of times and then letting it grow really long again

Art Patreon: Frannerd, Rebecca Green, Jamie Green

Daily 11am coffee break walk

Finishing a sketchbook and starting a new one. Getting new art supplies like caran d’ache crayons and colorful inks.

Painting with an underlayer of ink, and then using gouache and colored pencil

Lost my aunt this year (she was an ex-nun and still really sharp even at 90 years old), but she got to see my finished picture book, and I’m grateful that I had a nice phone call with her in the spring.

Making jiaozi with my parents for Lunar New Year and with Dad and Sarah on Christmas Eve

Tumblr continuing to be tumblr and Daily Dracula (in theory, not in practice cause I can’t read my emails that consistently, but what a great concept) and the endless stream of art, animation, poems, and weird bits of information

Continuing to avoid covid *knock on wood*

Keeping in touch with faraway friendships thanks to phone calls, letters, texts, and FaceTime

Voice notes with Kandace and Natalie

Hearing updates from friends and seeing them make big moves (Getting book deals! Getting promotions! Getting engaged! Getting married! Having kids! Buying houses! Quitting their jobs! Moving! Reevaluating what they want! Realizing there’s no one right way to live your life!)

Monthly video calls with my publishing mentor/friend who doesn’t work in publishing anymore

Spicy hot chocolate and peppermint Christmas lattes.

My dad texting videos and pictures from around Edward Gorey’s house/museum to me while he was on a business trip to Cape Cod

Running around the office as a sheet ghost

Being around people who say funny things and writing down quotes again

Going on a quest to find the kudzu-eating goats

Crispy tofu from Monsoon

Jalapeño Cheetos popcorn

Being out of high school for 10 years now and thinking about what I’ve done and made and where I lived and how I’ve changed and grown in that decade

Getting a surprise care package from Avid with intriguing ARCs and a bookmarked essay in an issue of the New Yorker about Margaret Wise Brown

Enjoying (mild) seasons again

Feeling a lot better now than when I started the year

#2022 #year in review #100 things that made my year #100 things #recommendations

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selintemel · 1 year

Photo

hello, hello again! i’m back with my third bby, selin! more about my horse girl can be found under the cut!

[ özge yağız, cis woman, she/her ] - was that SELIN TEMEL i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the TWENTY-SIX year old who has been in nightrest for A MONTH and works as an EQUESTRIAN & RIDING INSTRUCTOR has a reputation of being HARD-WORKING, but also CLOSED OFF. they reside in LOW POINT & people in town usually associate them with SPENDING HOURS WITH HER HORSE OUT ON THE OPEN FIELD, KEEPING HER CIRCLE TIGHT & WATCHING THE SUNRISE. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next.

trigger warning: physical abuse mention

BASICS

full name: selin temel

nickname: sel

date of birth: february 6, 1997

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

occupation: equestrian & riding instructor

birthplace: salem, massachusetts

sexuality: bisexual

height: 5′3″

relationship status: uhhh it’s very complicated

BACKGROUND

she’s part of a rich af family who owns the biggest stables in salem that breeds and trains horses and hosts the horse race every year (it's gambling free but lbr her family has this underground betting ring that people only with big bucks can wager in)

her family is all about one thing and one thing only: their image

they’re the picture perfect southern, horse and football-loving family but there’s so much that happens behind closed doors

(physical abuse tw) outwardly, her father is a very joyous, domineering personality (has the vibes of a local politician, if you will) but behind closed doors, he lays his hands on her mother sometimes when she says something out of turn or does something he doesn’t like

selin never understood why she never left??? and there’s definitely some resentment in there because while her father has never actually hit her as she grew up (just held onto her arms too tightly or yanked her back roughly a couple of times) and even though she was younger, she knew that wasn’t okay

this image that they’re trying to show the world is so FAKE and selin hates everything about it

it doesn’t help that her mother sometimes takes out her frustration on her, making selin feel like she’s drowning in her mother’s expectations. she has to be the smartest, the prettiest, the wittiest, the nicest in the room and it’s exhausting

she’s an award-winning equestrian and has been since she was younger but doesn’t compete as much anymore

a year ago, she got back with her ex-boyfriend, adler barnes, eventually getting married. it was a very simple (slightly secret because not a lot of people knew) ceremony

(physical abuse tw) she came clean to her parents about it and her dad laid his hands on her because he did not approve of any of it. of adler, of the marriage. it was this big mess and she was battered and bruised until her older brother got her out of there

with her brother’s help, they took pictures of everything. with her brother having been a witness and with her mother also willing to testify, they had a case against their dad

it was an incredibly public trial and because of it, selin was just tired

she pushed everyone away. gone was the sweet, timid woman who just wanted to spend time with her horses and her friends. her heart is now locked up. her dad laying hands on her changed everything for her

she doesn’t care who she hurts in the process as long as she doesn’t get hurt again

and the fact that the trial was so public because their family name is well-known in the equestrian and horse breeding community just made her revert into herself even more

she handed adler divorce papers, moved away from home (just to nightrest which is just like a 15 minute drive away but still) because she needed to distance herself from what had just happened to her family

PERSONALITY TRAITS

+ devoted, passionate, responsible

- unforgiving, standoffish, selfish

ANYTHING ELSE

she used to be such a southern belle who just wants to ride her horses, watch football, have fun and be with her friends

she’s definitely not that anymore. she still loves her horses A LOT but she’s really... mean now

she feels very unsettled about what happened with her family and WILL get incredibly mad if the trial or her dad (who’s now locked up for domestic battery) is mentioned

definitely a morning person and wakes up early to go to the stables

their stables offers horseback riding lessons and she teaches that sometimes too

she travels a lot !!!! because her family is still incredibly rich even with her dad locked up

also went to wardwell academy!!

coffee is absolutely everything. she inhales it

is technically still married because the divorce papers haven’t been signed yet but she’s already living with someone else oops

used to sleep around sO

WANTED PLOTS

her bestie/ride or die !!!!

girl gang

family friends

her older brother (will be sending a wc to the main)

ex-friends

enemies

one night stand

ex-flings

childhood best friends

what could have been but she bailed on them pretty quickly

high school sweetheart

first time/first kiss, etc

drinking buddies

bad influence

people who took up horseriding lessons

i’m more than willing to plot more things !!!!!

#nightrest:intro #physical abuse tw

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