#film taste calibration

[power-chords]

Also I saw The Insider last night at Metrograph in 35mm and it's absolutely insane how much that movie is calibrated to my specific tastes, interests, and lived experience. The fact that it isn't my favorite Mann film is a testament to just how much I love Heat, Thief, and Collateral (though it does rank an extremely close fourth, and those top three are practically interchangeable). My guy was really like "I am going to make a movie about Journalism, Lawyers, New York City, an obstreperous commie Jew, and a loving father with emotional problems and a short temper who nevertheless lives and espouses noble principles." There are multiple street shots of BOTH my parents' office buildings. It's pretty wild.

#happy mannday #the insider #the insider 1999

[sloshed-cinema]

Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery (2022)

If Rian Johnson and Daniel Craig collaborate on a Benoit Blanc mystery every two or three years in perpetuity, I would be perfectly fine with that arrangement.  Whether Knives Out originated the current wave of whodunnit flicks, I cannot be sure, but Johnson is certainly better at capturing the spirit of the genre while putting his stamp on it than anything produced by Kenneth Branagh or the likes.  With the Netflix deal, production here gets a notable bump, but Johnson manages to work with the scale and avoid the having film collapse into bloat and Grey Man style blandness.  But I guess that’s what you get with an assured captain at the helm.

As with the original, the heart of both the film’s narrative and its charm is in the ensemble cast.  The group here are relatively smaller than the Drysdale clan, so the film is able to lend each character more of a backstory and relationship to the central billionaire tech mogul.  The result is a twisting web of mutual hatred and dependency, Miles Bron’s hangers-on swallowing a bitter pill in exchange for the payout of money and influence.  But that’s a precarious situation to put oneself into, especially on a private island.  Every cast member shines, helmed by Daniel Craig’s return as Benoit Blanc and an alternately cool and frustrated Janelle Monáe.  Dave Bautista makes the most of his appearance and his speedo as a Red Pill type YouTuber Duke Cody, and Kate Hudson gets to swing for the fences as airheaded influencer Birdie Jay.  Kathryn Hahn is perfectly calibrated in her role as an upward-climbing politician.  Edward Norton brings the group together just in time for his house of cards to collapse, revealing his essential idiocy.

Perhaps the film’s biggest weakness aside from a first act which is slow to get off the ground is its “in the moment”-ness.  This was an issue in the first, with some of the characters seeming a bit like “hello fellow kids” inside jokes about Zoomers in the name of screenplay expediency.  Here, there are a few too many cameos and name-drops which just felt like a bit of an excuse to get more names in for a bit of an “oh I recognized that person” thrill moment.  That said, Stephen Sondheim and Angela Lansbury were fun nods to their association with murder mysteries, and poignant inclusions in light of their passing.  And Hugh Grant was perfectly acceptable as Benoit’s “roommate.”  I’d be fine if they trimmed some of the other scenes in favor of the pair engaging in, ah, “roommate activities.”

As in the first, costume and production design are absolutely on point.  Everything everyone wears, especially Janelle Monáe, is both iconic and very indicative of their character.  Kate Hudson’s ludicrous fishnet “COVID facemask” when the group all gather on the pier is a perfect piece of costume-based characterization.  The vapidness of Bron becomes apparent through his crass displays of excess in interior design, famous paintings (likely originals) hanging up everywhere with no sense of taste or thought in their exhibition.  Johnson nods to Hitchcock both in the cheeky tone of his work, blending the macabre and the humorous, but also in his use of closeups and montage.  Especially apparent is the scene when Helen discovers the hiding place of the napkin with the original business plans that Bron stole.  Monáe’s face is bathed with colored light, evocative of Vertigo, and objects loom large in the frame as they do in the likes of Notorious.  Then again, sometimes he’s just cheeky—the film lingers intentionally on a statue’s large ass after everyone else has left frame because it probably made Johnson giggle like a schoolboy.  

THE RULES

SIP

Someone says ‘disruptor’.

Birdie screams.

Cameo or name-drop moment.

Someone flips the bird.

BIG DRINK

Jump in the timeline.

The Joseph Gordon Levitt DONGGGG noise happens.

Someone references COVID-19.

A gunshot is heard.

#drinking games #glass onion #knives out #rian johnson #daniel craig #janelle monae #kate hudson #dave bautista #edward norton #kathryn hahn #leslie odom jr #hugh grant #angela lansbury #stephen sondheim #comedy #crime #mystery #whodunnit

[ceasarslegion]

I used to be a James Bond blog, my url was d0uble-0h-se7en before this. I've seen all the movies and rewatched Skyfall just last night and it got me thinking of why it rubs me the wrong way when Benoit Blanc fans act like Bond is less-than as a franchise. I used to think that maybe it was just that I enjoyed a rather antiquated series thats always had its issues regarding how it portrays British monarchism and espionage, but honestly thats... not what it is

And look, I love Glass Onion and Knives Out and I love Benoit Blanc too, but it's the attitude that Bond has nothing to offer because you may like Benoit more that's been rubbing me the wrong way. And I get that Bond isn't for everyone, it's got a pretty unique style to it that appeals to a pretty specific audience, and old-school spy films have fairly erratic pacing when compared to your average action or whodunnit. It's totally fine if you don't like it, but I don't vibe with the attitude that one of the most influential franchises of all time for cinematic storytelling, cinematography, practical effects, stunts, the list goes on, has no artistic merit because of someone's personal tastes. Especially when Bond's influence is so baked into modern cinema that it's arguably impossible to decouple any hollywood-calibre film made today from the things it contributed, including Knives Out and Glass Onion.

You don't have to like them, but you can't act like it has no value or influence on film history and modernity alike

#some thoughts

[mahavirsoundroom01]

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[mywifeleftme]

233: Freddie Gibbs & Madlib // Piñata

Piñata Freddie Gibbs & Madlib 2014, Madlib Invazion

As of 2023, Freddie Gibbs & Madlib’s Piñata sits at #18 on RateYourMusic.com’s user-generated all-time hip-hop chart, and #113 for all albums. RYM, for the unfamiliar, is sort of an IMDb for music, and if its rankings aren’t as aggressively gauche as IMDb’s (I just looked at their top 250 films for the first time in years and guffawed), they’re still pretty slanted towards the tastes of the mostly white collegiate dudes and divorce dads who feel compelled to, well, rate their music. Though I wouldn’t accuse either Gibbs or ‘lib of trying to curry the white vote or anything, Piñata is perfectly calibrated to pleasure the sort of guy whose hip-hop canon is rooted in AllMusic Picks—and speaking as one of them, allow me to say it’s pretty good for that! But at the same time, there is a consistency to both beat and rhyme that makes it kind of like elite-tier background music, stuff that sounds great when it’s on that I nonetheless have difficulty paying deep attention to.

Madlib, like his friend Dilla, has always been sort of the avant-garde within the traditional. No matter how out there he gets, the beats he makes are still very clearly rooted in ‘90s boom-bap, and the tracks that Gibbs selected for Piñata are among the most conventional ‘lib’s ever done. When you throw the record on, you’re hit with pure soul-sampling nostalgia from the moment the needle drops, and there isn’t really a beat where the energy slacks or loses the groove. The mostly hook-free tracks do that classically Madlib thing (a la his Beat Konducta tapes and Madvillainy) of blending one into the next like you’re listening to a DJ set. As a result, you might have trouble remembering which songs stood out unless they’ve got a particularly memorable guest appearance or sample (a la “Higher” and “Harold’s”).

I have it on good authority that Freddie Gibbs says a lot of very cool shit on this record, but if you searched me for quotes, you’d just find three lighters, a dry pen, two metro cards and some illegible receipts. At no point does he sound like anything less than a stud on the mic, and his flow is faultless. But he has a way of munching his way through his bars with such metronomic efficiency my attention is lulled. Even on the more off-kilter beats like “Bomb,” he just calmly assesses the challenge ahead, nods to himself, and then attacks it with his usual casual, high PER athleticism. I was surprised to find myself perking up when a jabroni like Domo Genesis showed up, but honestly the occasional cameos from rappers both great (Raekwon and Danny Brown) and corny (Mac Miller and Ab-Soul, who uncharacteristically kills it on “Lakers”) inject life where Freddie’s shark-eyed flow just stacks bodies.

This review sounds a lot more negative than I really feel about this record (I bought it! I don’t plan on selling it!), but in the face of the intensity of praise this one has garnered in some quarters, I can’t help but compare it to the records that really seeded my love for rap. Despite its masterly technique, this lacks the flair and personality I’d need to put it on that classic level. (Freddie and Madlib are absolutely crushed, I’m sure.)

233/365

#freddie gibbs #madlib #'10s music #'10s rap #rap #hip hop #boom bap #music review #vinyl record

[mosesfarah58]

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[glenngaylord]

This Bouche Is Not Amused - Film Review: The Menu ★1/2

Clearly we’re living in a zeitgeist moment where so many filmmakers have taken swipes at the 1% with such titles as Triangle Of Sadness, The White Lotus, Succession, and Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery, to name a few, hellbent on exposing the class divide. Enter The Menu into the fray from Director Mark Mylod (Succession, Game Of Thrones) and Writers Seth Reiss and Will Tracy, and to risk the groan-inducing puns likely to accompany this film wherever it goes, the fantastic ingredients don’t end up making for a satisfying meal. In fact, I think it’s one of the worst films of 2022.

How could this have gone so wrong? We have a terrific filmmaker in Mylod, a stellar cast, sleek visuals, and a restaurant culture worth satirizing, yet the whole thing fell completely flat for me [insert lame soufflé joke here]. A group of twelve wealthy patrons have plunked down $1,250 each for a meal at the exclusive Hawthorne restaurant, located on an island and presided over by celebrated chef Julian Slowik (Ralph Fiennes). He and his large, militarily precise staff prepare molecular gastronomic courses from their open kitchen for the lucky few who can score a seat at the table. They include an influential restaurant critic and her editor (Janet McTeer and Paul Adelstein), a couple who have dined there many times (Judith Light and Reed Birney), an actor and his assistant (John Leguizamo and Aimee Carrero), a trio of obnoxious tech bros (Arturo Castro, Mark St. Cyr, and Rob Yang), and mysterious elderly woman sitting alone and getting hammered (Rebecca Koon) Finally, we have our ostensible protagonists Tyler (Nicholas Hoult), a foodie who overdoes it on the “mouth feel” of it all, and Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy), a last minute replacement for Tyler’s original plus one.

The film does an excellent job of breezily setting up its characters, with Taylor-Joy in particular relishing her role as the audience surrogate who can barely stomach the level of pretension on display. Hong Chau also commands immediate attention as Elsa, a Drill Sergeant of a chef who leads our group through the premises. Chau’s knack for turning exposition dumps into crackling entertainment filled me with the hope that, again, pardon the bad pun, a five star film laid ahead.

With a jump-scare worthy clap of hands, Fiennes’ Slowik, who gives an excellently coiled performance, welcomes his guests and implores his diners to not eat but to taste his food. A second course of bread but without the actual bread gets an amusing eye-roll out of Taylor-Joy. Slowik will tell ridiculous stories about each dish, preceded each time by that annoying hand clap. As the evening progresses, we soon realize all is not as it seems, with blood, violence, murder, and other horrors on the horizon.

Sounds like a good thriller at its core, no? In theory, yes, but with satires such as this, the tone needs perfect calibration for it to work. Unfortunately, I didn’t believe anything these characters said or did. As danger escalates, we see a couple of stabs at revulsion and protest, but not nearly enough when faced with carnage. I know the filmmakers have aimed to show the lengths people go to in order to justify keeping their heads in the sand, but this film favors taking cheap shots instead of exploring actual human behavior. How Slowik’s blindly obedient staff react to the events of the film, left me particularly baffled. I know the film exists in a milieu of heightened realism, but despite Taylor-Joy’s valiant efforts to act as our eyes and ears, we know so little about her, thus we have nothing to latch onto to get us through this supremely silly film. By the time we get to the last act, the stupid costumes and concept produce a figurative and literal flameout. It puts the camp into campfire, which feels like the final nail in the coffin of this film connecting on a truly emotional level.

On the surface, the twists and turns of the story pack some punch. It’s fast and furious, and Mylod keeps things moving at breakneck pace throughout. Peter Deming’s cinematography and Ethan Tubman’s production design prove beautifully immersive, credibly presenting the rarified air of this world. Characters acting real isn’t required in satire. Look at Dr. Strangelove, The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover, and the recent Triangle Of Sadness as examples of successfully heightened reality. Despite some cartoonish performances in all of these films, the tone and subtle elements of the screenplays proved key in getting us through some of the more outrageous plot points. The Menu, by contrast, takes a rich premise and turns it into dumb gags and throws its characters around a chess board in service of its plot instead of letting us believe any of their motivations. I’m sending this one back, and that’s my final terrible Dad joke.

The Menu opens in theaters only on November 18th, 2022.

[softwater3452]

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[patterson48raymond]

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[astrognossienne]

scandalous star: gary cooper -an analysis

“I don’t like to see exaggerated airs and exploding egos in people who are already established. No player ever rises to prominence solely on talent. They’re molded by forces other than themselves. They should remember this – and at least twice a week drop to their knees and thank Providence for elevating them from cow ranches, dime store ribbon counters and bookkeeping desks. ” - Gary Cooper

He didn’t say much, but when he did, it carried a lot of weight. He was the archetypal hero of the Old West; the quintessential masculine ideal of the stoic and “strong silent type” that most Taurus men are. But for famously laconic Gary Cooper, his good looks and earnest, haunted eyes for decades made him the quintessential lonely American of motion pictures.He was a more equanimous, human protagonist versus boisterous, bigger-than-life Hollywood supermen. He was renowned for his quiet, understated acting style and his individualistic, emotionally restrained, but at times intense screen persona, which was particularly well suited to the many Westerns he made. He was a man’s man...as well as a ladies’ man. Cooper became a hero to many, even as he developed a reputation as one of the most notorious philanderers in Hollywood. Privately a debonair ladykiller with a taste for high society, he crafted an image as just the opposite from his prototype cowboy image he materfully portrayed on the silver screen. He was insatiable, before and during his marriage. How did he reconcile his moral righteousness onscreen (Taurus sun) with his philandering offscreen (Sagittarius moon)? That was the work of the fixers, gossip magazines, and the studio system at large, which ensured that Cooper was never caught, never denounced, and held up as a paragon of American values.

Gary Cooper, according to astrotheme, was a Taurus sun and Sagittarius moon. He was born Frank James Cooper in Helena, Montana, the second son of an English farmer from Bedfordshire, who later became an American lawyer and judge, Charles Henry Cooper (1865-1946), and Kent-born Alice (née Brazier) Cooper (1873-1967). As a child, he met a freed slave woman named Mary Fields, otherwise known as Stagecoach Mary, and so awed by her was she that he later wrote an account of his memories of her in Ebony magazine. His mother hoped for their two sons to receive a better education than that available in Montana and arranged for the boys to attend Dunstable Grammar School in Bedfordshire, England between 1910 and 1913. Upon the outbreak of World War I, Cooper’s mother brought her sons home and enrolled them in a Bozeman, Montana, high school. Upon graduation, he eventually matriculated at Grinnell College in Grinnell, IA, where he attempted to nurture a passion for drawing - until a serious car accident ended his college days in the summer of 1920. He would recover from his severely injured hip through an odd but painful therapy, horseback riding.

When his father retired from the bench and moved his mother to Los Angeles, Cooper gave up agriculture classes to try his hand as a Hollywood extra. Cooper played an extra in a handful of silent films before arriving on the set of The Winning of Barbara Worth in 1926. The actor cast as the second male lead didn’t show, and someone shoved Cooper into the part. He appeared with Clara Bow (who soon became one of his conquests) in her star-making film It, but it was his appearance in another Bow vehicle Wings, released later that same year, truly launched his career. He plays a World War I flying cadet, and although his screentime was still relatively short, there was one scene — an extended close-up shot, the light streaming in from outside — in which he looked gorgeous. In 1929, he filmed The Wolf Song with Lupe Vélez. He soon had an affair with Velez, who purportedly claimed that Cooper “has the biggest organ in Hollywood but not the ass to push it in well.” For more on their relationship, read my star analysis on Lupe.

Cooper filmed The Virginian — his first real “talkie,” and the film was a major hit and cemented the foundation of Cooper’s image. His ability to project elements of his own personality onto the characters he portrayed, to appear natural and authentic in his roles, and to underplay and deliver restrained performances calibrated for the camera and the screen helped make him a cinematic success, often lauded by those he worked with. However, his good looks and charisma made him a success with women, whether he worked with them or not. Over the next few years, Cooper was paired with the most gorgeous and promising female stars in Hollywood —with Carole Lombard in I Take This Woman (whom he slept with), Claudette Colbert in His Woman (whom he allegedly slept with), Marlene Dietrich in Morocco and Desire (who he famously slept with more than once), and Joan Blondell in Make Me a Star (who he allegedly slept with). In 1932, Cooper and his Paramount “rival,” Cary Grant, were cast against Tallulah Bankhead in Devil and the Deep (1932). Like Lupe Velez, Bankhead was a loose cannon, with most famous quote being:

“The only reason I went to Hollywood was to fuck that divine Gary Cooper.”

Amidst all his public and private action, Cooper began courting Veronica “Rocky” Balfe, a starlet who went by the stage name of Sandra Shaw. She was also best known as the blonde dropped by King Kong. The two were wed in late 1933. Balfe retired from the screen to become a wife and mother, with her giving birth to their only child, Maria, in 1937. Cooper portrayed a new type of hero—a champion of the common man—in films like Mr. Deeds Goes To Washington and 1941′s Sergeant York (which won him his first of two Best Actor Oscars). Cooper met Ernest Hemingway at Sun Valley in October 1940 and they were friends for the rest of his life. He co-starred with Ingrid Bergman (with whom he had a year-long affair with) in a the film adaptation of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. He kept starring in more films and bedding his female co-stars until he got more than he bargained for when he made The Fountainhead. Naturally, the 47-year-old Cooper had an affair with his co-star, the 21-year-old Patricia Neal. However, this time things got crazy: Neal wound up pregnant with Cooper’s child. He insisted she have an abortion. When Cooper’s long-suffering wife found out about the relationship, she sent a telegram demanding he end it. This didn’t work; he also confessed that he was in love with Neal, and continued to see her. Cooper and his wife legally separated in May of 1951. Cooper’s daughter Maria, by then in her early teens, famously spat on Neal in public. Neal later claimed that Cooper hit her after she went on a date with Kirk Douglas. Neal ended their relationship in late December 1951. Amid all this drama, Cooper starred in what is now regarded as his defining role: the beleaguered sheriff in High Noon, which won him his second Best Actor Oscar. In later life, he became involved in a relationship with the costume designer Irene, and was, according to Irene, "the only man she ever loved".

Maybe all his previous actions had an affect on him because Cooper converted to Catholicism in 1958, and reconciled with his wife and daughter. Also, he began starring in films that centered around searching for redemption, such as Friendly Persuasion (1956) and Man of the West (1958). In 1960, Cooper fell ill with prostate cancer, which quickly spread to his colon, lungs, and bones; he died of it shortly after his 60th birthday in 1961. A year after his death, Irene committed suicide by jumping from the 11th floor of the Knickerbocker Hotel, after telling Doris Day of her grief over Cooper's death. Regardless of his philandering, regardless of the arduous work of his studio’s publicity departments, there was something plaintive, almost childlike, maybe even innocent about Cooper, so he can easily be forgiven his sins. He acted out what mattered to millions of people, and that act made him a star beyond measure.

Next, I’ll focus on his former paramour Lupe Velez’s arch nemesis. A woman who happened to be wife of MGM art director Cedric Gibbons (Gary Cooper’s wife Rocky’s uncle). She was another pioneer of Mexican cinema who was arguably the first Latina to successfully crossover to Anglo audiences: Leo Dolores del Río.

Stats

birthdate: May 7, 1901

major planets:

Sun: Taurus

Moon: Sagittarius

Rising: Taurus

Mercury: Taurus

Venus: Taurus

Mars: Leo

Midheaven: Aquarius

Jupiter: Capricorn

Saturn: Capricorn

Uranus: Sagittarius

Neptune: Gemini

Pluto: Gemini

Overall personality snapshot: He was torn between an instinct to roam free and a determination to find security and make a solid, lasting contribution to the world. As he repeatedly changed horses in search of both ultimate certainties and high-spirited adventure at the same time, he could find himself deeply divided and uncertain. He sought to earth the fire from heaven and put it to work, but he found all too often that it would not let him rest. In his search for stability and security, he became a farmer and was immediately confronted with the changing seasons. He embraced the solid certainties of geology and are hit by an earthquake. He liked to feel the solid earth move. He sought certitude and permanence, yet his endless inquiries constantly confounded yesterday’s certainties. When he got his own uncertainties together (by accepting he wanted the best of both the changing and the unchanging worlds), he could have been a brilliant teacher, conversationalist, counselor, entertainer, wit, creative artist or entrepreneur – in fact he could have been anything he wanted. Once focused, he could be a human dynamo, and wonderfully humorous, witty and entertaining with it. As he discovered, his quest for solid material certainties did not make a happy bedfellow for his yearning for excitement and larger religious and spiritual understanding. In one way or another, be it through philosophy and the spiritual quest or through writing, music or art, he needed to put together and formulate a total vision of the universe which is based on unassailable facts yet satisfying to his idealism.

Constantly seeking, he was a natural agnostic, applying the criteria of science to counter woolly speculations, yet at the same time highly skeptical of the limited and statistical pronouncements of unthinking science. The danger, if he did not marry these elements within him, is that he would swing from one to the other and undermine the virtues of both. A restless changing of jobs, careers, partners, visions or aspirations left him drunk with his own spinning. When he deliberately tried to remain sober and commonsensical, it seemed to make matters worse for there was something of the gambler in him. This all-or-nothing streak can temporarily overcome your natural caution and enable you to burn your bridges (though you will usually ensure there is something tucked away for a rainy day). He felt an impulsive need to do things on a grand scale, to live with commitment, to feast on the world, and to understand what it was to be alive in all possible ways. He seemed to be called both to explore the reaches of the imagination and to build secure foundations. He brought far-reaching visions into manifestation, and these visions injected his conservative desire for stability and security with flair and colour. His vision of tomorrow and the larger world gave spice to any project he undertook. He saw endless possibilities and wanted to make them real. In this he could be the natural entrepreneur who saw economic opportunities at every turn, an inspiring counselor and teacher, and a stimulating companion whatever he did.

His well-shaped body displayed a warm attractiveness and ripeness. In his later years, he may have needed to watch the tendency to gain weight too easily. His strong broad shoulders supported a very large neck size. His most outstanding feature was his eyes and his gentle smile and voice. He was big-boned. He enjoyed dressing well, preferring soft colours. He was practical, steady and patient, but he could  be inflexible in his views. One thing he did have was plenty of common sense and good powers of concentration, although he tended to think that purely abstract thought was a waste of time. His thought processes weren’t as quick as others, but his decisions were made with a lot of thought behind them. He also had the welcome ability to bring people together. He needed to be able to show his originality and independence in any job for complete satisfaction. His work should also satisfy his scientific bent and humanitarian leanings. He needed scope for his inventiveness, because he was able to bring a fresh view to any job. Ideally, his work should permit him to express the idealistic side to him character and allow him to help as many people as possible. He could be extremely efficient in the way that he tried to get maximum result out of minimum effort. He didn’t like extravagance and waste. He was a thoughtful and resourceful person, who was well-informed on many subjects. Success came gradually and as a result of hard work. Success and growth, for him, were expressed by material and financial achievements, bringing status and prestige.Worldly success was well within his reach, because he possessed all the necessary talents to gain power, influence and status. He was practical, determined and patient. When there were hitches in his plans, he simply worked around them. He knew where he was heading to, and had already figured out the best way to use his talents to reach his goals.

Although he could be fairly pessimistic about life in general, it didn’t put him off aiming for the top. He could be very single-minded about reaching his goals, and was prepared to put his career interests above his personal happiness. He was extremely aware of his own worth. He was prepared to work beyond the call of duty. His strong sense of ambition gave him a certain rigidity, arrogance and selfishness in the eyes of others. He belonged to a generation with fiery enthusiasm for new and innovative ideas and concepts. Rejecting the past and its mistakes, he sought new ideals and people to believe in. As a member of this generation, he felt restless and adventurous, and was attracted towards foreign people, places and cultures. As a member of the Gemini Neptune generation, his restless mind pushed him to explore new intellectual fields. He loved communication and the occult and was likely also fascinated by metaphysical phenomena and astrology. As a Gemini Plutonian, he was mentally restless and willing to examine and change old doctrines, ideas and ways of thinking. As a member of this generation, he showed an enormous amount of mental vitality, originality and perception. Traditional customs and taboos were examined and rejected for newer and more original ways of doing things. As opportunities with education expanded, he questioned more and learned more. As a member of this generation, having more than one occupation at a time would not have been unusual to him.

Love/sex life: His sexuality was a wonderful combination of sensuality and basic laziness. He let himself be carried along by his pleasure-seeking instincts, greeting every new experience with fresh eagerness and then slowly draining from that encounter all the joy it has to offer. This passive, easy-going approach to sex not only made for good technique, it also conceals the egocentric strength and stubbornness that was at the core of his erotic nature. People don’t realize that beneath all that luxurious hedonism he was always the person in control. He was a conservative lover for whom appearances were always important. There may have been occasions when his sensuality lured him into indiscretions but he was quick to cover his tracks and hide the evidence. The quiet practicality of his sexual nature served as a handy antidote for his Martian braggadocio. He knew that he was the best there is but he was willing to sit back and let the world find out the good news on its own. In his youth Cooper was endorsed by several female “experts” of the time (such as Clara Bow, Marlene Dietrich and Tallulah Bankhead) as Hollywood’s sexiest man. His soft spoken and manly sex appeal projected just as well on the screen. After marrying at age 32, Cooper’s sex life became somewhat more sedate though he never lost his ability to attract women.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Scorpio

Lilith: Scorpio

Vertex: Libra

Fortune: Capricorn

East Point: Taurus

His North Node in Scorpio dictated that he needed to be careful not to let the more emotional side of his personality overwhelm him. Instead, he should have set out to consciously develop his more practical abilities. His Lilith in Scorpio ensured that he was dangerously attracted to those women who seduced and conquered on a daily basis; who liked life intense and was judged for her sexuality and general vibe and learned early on how to deflect moral judgments. His type of women may have been tried in the court of public opinion but no way were they going to show up for the sentencing. His Vertex in Libra, 6th house dictated that he llonged for a union of souls that was based on a model of pure peace and justice. Images come to mind of a mythical life on Venus, the planet of love, where there is never a discordant beat between lovers, but rather, continual harmony even if played in the minor chords. Physical lust was certainly a necessary aspect of two beings eternally intertwined, but the platonic component far outweighed it in importance for him. He had an attitude of duty, obligation and sacrifice when it came to heartfelt interactions. The negative side was the tendency to become hypochondriacal or martyristic to get the love he so desperately wanted. There was a need for others to appreciate the sincerity of his intentions, to the daily tasks he executed in a conscientious and caring way and for others to know that his actions, no matter how routine they may seem, were based on devoted love. His Part of Fortune in Capricorn and Part of Spirit in Cancer dictated that his destiny lay in creating practical and long-lasting achievements. Success came through hard work, determination, responsibility and perseverance. Fulfillment came from observing his progress through life and seeing it take a form and structure that will outlive him. His soul’s purpose guided him towards building security in his life, both emotional and material. He felt spiritual connections and the spark of the divine within his home and family. East Point in Taurus dictated that he was more likely to identify with the need for pleasure (including the potential of liking himself) and comfort.  

elemental dominance:

earth

fire

He was a practical, reliable man and could provide structure and protection. He was oriented toward practical experience and thought in terms of doing rather than thinking, feeling, or imagining. Could be materialistic, unimaginative, and resistant to change. But at his best, he provided the practical resources, analysis, and leadership to make dreams come true. He was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. He generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. He was exciting to be around, because he was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, he could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Ultimately, he chose the latter. Confident and opinionated, he was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because he was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—he was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at his best, his confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

fixed

He liked the challenge of managing existing routines with ever more efficiency, rather than starting new enterprises or finding new ways of doing things. He likely had trouble delegating duties and had a very hard time seeing other points of view; he tried to implement the human need to create stability and order in the wake of change.

house dominants:

12th

9th

8th

He had great interest in the unconscious, and indulged in a lot of hidden and secret affairs. His life was defined by seclusion and escapism. He had a certain mysticism and hidden sensitivity, as well as an intense need for privacy. Traveling, whether physically across the globe, on a mental plane or expanding through study was a major theme in his life. He was not only concerned with learning facts, but also wanted to understand the connections formed between them and the philosophies and concepts they stood for. His conscience, as well as foreign travel, people and places was also of paramount importance in his life. He loved the totality of the human experience and embraced the whole cycle of human life, including birth, sex and death. His darker side, and the complexes and emotions that he preferred to keep hidden, even from himself was a theme throughout his life. His ability to undergo deep personal transformations and spiritual regeneration was also highlighted.

planet dominants:

Venus

Saturn

Sun

He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships. He believed in the fact that lessons in life were sometimes harsh, that structure and foundation was a great issue in his life, and he had to be taught through through experience what he needed in order to grow. He paid attention to limitations he had and had to learn the rules of the game in this physical reality. He tended to have a practical, prudent outlook. He also likely held rigid beliefs. He had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. He likely had strong leadership qualities, he definitely knew who he was, and he had tremendous will. He met challenges and believed in expanding his life.

sign dominants:

Taurus

Sagittarius

Capricorn

His stubbornness and determination kept his around for the long haul on any project or endeavour. He was incredibly patient, singular in his pursuit of goals, and determined to attain what he wanted. Although he lacked versatility, he compensated for it by enduring whatever he had to in order to get what he wanted. He enjoyed being surrounded by nice things. He liked fine art and music, and may have had considerable musical ability. He also had a talent for working with his hands—gardening, woodworking, and sculpting. He sought the truth, expressed it as he saw it—and didn’t care if anyone else agreed with him. He saw the large picture of any issue and couldn’t be bothered with the mundane details. He was always outspoken and likely couldn’t understand why other people weren’t as candid. After all, what was there to hide? He loved his freedom and chafed at any restrictions. He was a serious-minded person who often seemed aloof and tightly in control of his emotions and her personal domain. Even as a youngster, there was a mature air about him, as if he was born with a profound core that few outsiders ever see. He was easily impressed by outward signs of success, but was interested less in money than in the power that money represents. He was a true worker—industrious, efficient, and disciplined. His innate common sense gave her the ability to plan ahead and to work out practical ways of approaching goals. More often than not, he succeeded at whatever he set out to do. He possessed a quiet dignity that was unmistakable.

Read more about him under the cut.

Actor Gary Cooper was born on May 7, 1901, in Helena, Montana. Spanning from the silent film era to the early 1960s, Academy Award-winning actor Gary Cooper built much of his career by playing strong, manly, distinctly American roles. The son of English parents who had settled in Montana, he was educated in England for a time. He also studied at Grinnell College in Iowa before heading to Los Angeles to work as an illustrator. When he had a hard time finding a job, Cooper worked as a film extra and landed some small parts. After his appearance in

The Winning of Barbara Worth

(1926), a western, Cooper's career began to take off. He starred opposite silent movie star Clara Bow in Children of Divorce (1927). Cooper also earned praise as the ranch foreman in

The Virginian

(1929), one of his early films with sound. Throughout the 1930s, he turned in a number of strong performances in such films as A Farewell to Arms (1934) with Helen Hayes and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) directed by Frank Capra. Cooper received an Academy Award nomination for his work on the film. Cooper continued to excel on the big screen, tackling several real-life dramas. In Sergeant York (1941), the played a World War I hero and sharpshooter, which was based on the life story of Alvin York. Cooper earned a Best Actor Academy Award for his portrayal of York.

The next year, Cooper played one of baseball's greats, Lou Gehrig, in The Pride of the Yankees (1942). Again, he scored another Best Actor Academy Award nomination. Appearing in a film adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls,  Cooper starred opposite Ingrid Bergman in a drama set during the Spanish Civil War. This role garnered him a third Academy Award nomination. In 1952, Cooper took on what is known considered his signature role as Will Kane in High Noon. He appeared as a lawman who must face a deadly foe without any help from his own townspeople. The film won four Academy Awards, including a Best Actor win for Cooper. In addition to his excellent on-screen performances, Cooper became  known for his alleged romances with several of his leading ladies, including Clara Bow and Patricia Neal. The affair with Neal, his co-star in 1949's The Fountainhead, reportedly occurred during his  marriage to socialite Veronica Balfe with whom he had a daughter. Their marriage seemed to survive the scandal. By the late 1950s, Cooper's health was in decline. He made a few more films, such as Man of the West (1958), before dying of cancer on May 13, 1961. (x)

#taurus #astrology #star analyses #gary cooper #scandalous stars #long ass post #mine

[first-thought-best-thoughtt]

Perception is malleable.

Pluck the experience raw and wretched from the bed of lies, a grave of insolence where chaos reaps; a place of rest where slumber sleeps. Dig it out from its very root, nails caked in the crimson of my own mechanical labour, elbow deep in an agony so revoltingly neon that it repels even the connoisseurs of my fragmented suffering and leaves me walking on my knees like lady grief herself.

Experience is manipulatable. Acuity is subjective. Mould the memories into divinity, dance a bloodless ballad with death, ivory tones fashioning the figure of my sentient being, a pale flush of silence withering the night into a fragmented moment of loveless sin.

How do you manipulate a manipulator?

Kiss nostalgia in the dawn of a new day, insist that the memories are not deception, promise that things were beauty despite their confinement. Paint over the obscene darkness, exploit the exploiter, take the carving tool and pull the right strings- the puppet master, the corruption behind the mastermind. Paint over the filth with purity, breathe my own lies into existence.

(These things are lucrative, the white runs rivers beneath my skin. Your eyes are shrouded with a film of insistence. Paint it all gold. Watch it glow as the sun’s rays burn away my decay. Paint it pearlescent, watch it wink in the dark of night, a whisper in my ear, your lies are barely a step behind you. When they catch you, they will kill you, and the laughter beneath my tongue, first they will have to catch me.)

The thickets of people are a stifling, burning thing. Think wavelengths of salt and sea. Think frequencies of fire and destruction.

Think pain personified. 

What is one star in a galaxy? (Nothing, small, indistinguishable), and yet the sun which is annihilation in all its rife riot, a massive thing ensuring existence is of the same calibre, from a distance of infinite light years it too is simply one star among the masses.

What I'm saying is nothing is insignificant. What I'm saying is perception does not equate to actuality.

(What I mean is you are more than just the destruction you may have caused.)

People are dark, dehumanising entities, a foliage of thorns, a crown of condemnation. A cry of attention, the wicked shouts of narcissism. A filthy shade of envy lays dormant beneath my tongue and weeps in a ploy to be seen. The tastes dissolve like ecstasy in my mouth. My gaze wanders.

Your eyes are infrared. They burn two holes like bullets to the back of my head.

(Do you really believe I cannot perceive your incessant stares? I bathe in your achromatic valence. A tender change from all the red. The reconstruction of purity. Something good. Something aching to be seen.)

The light is a gaping vulnerability. You get eight minutes of naivety once the sun destroys itself. (I fear the naivety may one day be mine. I fear it may be yours.)

How do you manipulate a manipulator?

The truth is abstainment with a cleaner face. I have manipulated the reddened coals of love into existence, exploited those who have ever loved me into loving me.

Does that make me an exquisite liar?

(Or does it simply make me very unlovable?)

Our eyes meet across the chessboard and all the wavelengths come together, scream through the prism and emerge, holy and white.

#literature #dark academia #writing #writeblr #aesthetic #vent #extract from a story i'll never write #exerpts from a book i'll never write #poison #perception #light #manipulation #narcissist #love #toxic love #toxic relationship #pain

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sunshine City: Three

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read/reblogged/commented on the last chapter. You are all lovely and deserve a Whiskey of your own. This chapter still revolves around the plot of the film, so if you have any questions just let me know! I hope this little story can make you smile at least for a moment. My asks and DMs are always open.

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 5.7k

Rating For This Chapter: T for guns, blood, injuries

Catch up on the Prologue, Chapters One, and Two here!

Y/N sat at the bar and ordered a cranberry juice.

Butterfly Guy was sitting with Eggsy, Whiskey, and a guy who insisted on being called Merlin in a booth near the window.

“Rough day, sugar?” Paula the bartender asked as she set down the cloudy glass filled with purple-red juice.

“Rough couple of days,” she muttered and handed over a handful of crumpled bills that Paula methodically straightened out before placing them in the till. Paula was basically an agent in her own right. She’d been part of the bar for nearly twenty years and since only Statesmen drank here and knew of its existence, they spoke freely about their work. She probably knew more classified intel than some junior agents.

“You sure I can’t get you anything stronger?” She asked, her bleach blonde hair swiping over her shoulders. “Something with a little more oomph?”

“Just the cranberry juice for now.” She smiled and sipped on the too-bitter drink and resisted puckering her lips at the taste. “But thank you.”

Paula nodded and cast a glance at the table where the agents sat. “You know, Whiskey keeps lookin’ over here.”

She ignored the twisting in her stomach and took a large gulp. “ ‘s just post-mission jitters.”

“Uh-huh,” Paula said with a roll of her eyes. “Sure. When a handsome man looks at me like that…” she drifted off with a raise of her eyebrows.

(But she wouldn’t deny that she noticed Whiskey looking at her a little more often. When they met up after she implanted the tracker in Clara, she noticed Whiskey kept turning away every so often, a hand tucked in his front pocket. It was a common gesture used by men to hide an erection, she knew that—she just didn’t believe he would have one at that moment. They were in the middle of a mission. There was no way he was hiding a boner. But the thought was fun.)

Thankfully, Agent Moonshine started hollering and she sighed into her drink and got up from her barstool and walked behind the bar.

Paula was watching the scene unfold like she hadn’t watched a million bar fights before and looked ready to piss herself. Sunny patted her on the shoulder and signaled for her to hide in the little cubby beneath the register.

The Butterfly Guy quickly made a fool of himself, trying to teach Moonshine and his buddies some manners and she leaned against the sticky bar to watch as Whiskey stood from his seat. It wasn’t the first time she would watch Whiskey kick Moonshine’s ass but it was always fun to witness.

And those tight jeans did wonders for his butt.

While she would never understand his affinity for his lasso or his whip, it was nice to watch him work (and to see Moonshine bleed a little).

As he finished, Moonshine and his hangers-on all unconscious or bleeding enough to keep them still, Whiskey adjusted his hat and let out a whistle. “I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.”

She snorted and finished her drink as Paula slowly came out from the cubby and gaped at the mess. “It looks like a tornado came through here, boss. I think you owe Paula another window.”

“And new glasses!” Paula said with a frown.

She patted Paula’s shoulder again with a promise that the window would be fixed within a handful of hours as the televisions switched from the football game and were overtaken by a wash of yellow and red with an obnoxious chime.

A woman draped in a horrendous yellow outfit with fiery red hair soon filled the screens. “Mr. President, my name is Poppy Adams. I believe the UN has no teeth. So I've selected you, as leader of the free world, to receive this communication. And I invite you to begin negotiations on the largest scale hostage situation in history. A few weeks ago, an engineered virus was released and contained in all varieties of my product: cannabis, cocaine, heroin, opium, ecstasy, and crystal meth.” Each line item popped up on the screen in a pretty font. Cap looked over to see Whiskey already looking at her, lips pulled into a frown. “Some of you are already infected. And this is what you can expect in the coming days. After a brief incubation period, victims present with stage one symptoms: a blue rash. Next, second stage symptoms appear: mania, as the virus enters the brain. Very distressing to the victim and those around them. Stage three: paralysis. Muscles enter a state of catastrophic seizure. And once the muscles of the thorax become affected, breathing becomes impossible.” She watched as one new victim after another was revealed on the screen until blood spurted out of the last man’s eyes and nose, dead for millions to witness. “This leads to a very nasty death within 12 hours. But I have good news to the millions already affected. It doesn't have to be this way. I have an antidote.” Poppy held up a clear vial filled with an amber liquid—and Elton John behind another glass wall.

“What have you done to me, you fucking bitch?” God bless Elton John.

Undeterred by Elton John’s outburst, Poppy continued, “100% effective and ready to ship out worldwide at a moment's notice. I will do this if the following conditions are met. First, you agree to end the war on drugs, once and for all. All classes of substance are legalized paving the way to a new marketplace in which sales are regulated and taxed just like alcohol. And second, my colleagues and I receive full legal immunity. Meet my terms. I look forward to helping you keep our beloved country great, boosting our ailing economy, and easing spending on law enforcement. Or continue this blinkered, outmoded, and, frankly, disastrous exercise in prohibition, and live with blood on your hands. Save lives. Legalize.”

The broadcast ended and the televisions screens quickly flipped back to the football game. Whiskey was at her side in a blink of an eye. His hand brushed down her back. “We gotta talk to Champ, Sunny.”

And that was how she found herself bundled in winter gear on an Italian mountainside. Clara had called Charlie, and thanks to the tracking device she had implanted at Glastonbury, they were able to pick up the conversation. Charlie told Clara (who was now covered in the blue rash) to meet him at the ski resort they’d visited last year so he could give her the antidote. The tracking device could pinpoint their exact location and everyone was betting that the Italian resort was one of the storehouses for the antidote.

But she was also wondering, once again, why she found Whiskey attractive. He was in a terrible blue and white snowsuit that had to have been made in the 1970s. And he still refused to take off his damned cowboy hat. She appreciated the dedication to his aesthetic but it still seemed…ridiculous.

And he’d been grating on her last nerve on the flight over.

Ginger had buzzed in and suggested that Cap be the one to retrieve the antidote because only Clara would recognize her as opposed to Charlie possibly recognizing Eggsy or Butterfly Man (who she was told to call either Galahad or Harry). Whiskey then laughed—loudly—and stated plainly that he would be planning the mission and Ginger should stick to her computers and gadgets. “It isn’t like ya have any experience in the field.”

She really thought about murdering her boss for the rest of the flight. Her plots to kill him only got more creative when he told her to stay at the safe-house when they landed.

She was tired. She was angry.

And that was probably why she finally snapped. “If you didn’t want me to come along, you could have just told Champ. God knows you don’t listen to anyone else.” She hefted her bag filled with her own weapons and ammo higher onto her shoulder and turned away from him, readying to hike up toward the house and stew in her lonesome until the three men returned—hopefully with the antidote in hand.

But his hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop before she could get very far. “That ain’t fair, Sunny.”

She pulled out of his grip with a poorly hidden snarl. “No. You’re not fair. To me. To Ginger. All because of some bullshit you think is right.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. I’ve been in this game a long time-”

“And I’ve been in it longer-”

“-and I can take care of myself. What you’re doing to Ginger is so fucking backwards I’m surprised you can see straight,” she hissed it out like a curse. “I’m tired, Whiskey. I’m so tired of watching her jump through hoops trying to get you to notice that she could outperform half the agents in the field and you want her stuck behind the desk until she dies. I’m tired of you thinking you know best in the field. Why do you even request me to go with you if you’re going to undermine me every step of the way?”

Whiskey’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Her shoulders slumped. Harry and Eggsy both looked like they were very interested in the calibrations of their earpieces and not listening to what just happened. God this whole situation was pathetic. They were trying to save the world and she was waffling between yearning and rage for her stupid boss. She trudged away in the snow toward the safe house and barely heard Whiskey say, “what are you lookin’ at, Butterfly Guy?”

But she continued on, up the mountain and found the small shack of a house and swept the perimeter before settling in. She comm’ed in only to say she reached the safe house. Eggsy responded cheerfully but she didn’t respond when Whiskey also chimed in with a, “good work, Sunny.”

Time ticked by.

There was a commotion on the other end of the comm line when Butterfly Guy wouldn’t respond—and then all she heard was Eggsy and Whiskey screaming. She rolled her eyes. They were so dramatic. But soon, the trio was making their way toward the safe-house and she didn’t bother to open the door when she heard them outside. They all hobbled in, mid-argument.

Eggsy pulled out a small vial and showed it to her with a smile she had to reciprocate. “You got it.”

“We did. A little dicey—Charlie recognized me.”

She glanced at Whiskey who frowned in return. It didn’t matter. Ginger had been right and now he knew it.

“Can I see it, kid?” Whiskey asked with his hand outstretched as he walked toward them. But then his dark eyes tracked to the window and widened. “Get down!” Whiskey all but tackled both Eggsy and her to the dusty ground of the house as bullets started to fly. Glass shattered. Wood splintered.

She watched, unable to do anything from her pinned position, as the small vial was all but knocked from Eggsy’s hand and shattered on the ground.

“You fucking dickhead!” Eggsy hollered as he scrambled out from under Whiskey to look over the spilled antidote, almost uncaring of the bullets whizzing by.

“Fuck you, I just saved your life!” Whiskey retorted.

“Yeah, and cost millions of people theirs!”

She had to slap at Whiskey’s thigh to get him to move off her and she rolled off into the corner when he did. The rain of bullets stopped for a moment and she looked out the window. “They’re reloading.”

Whiskey nodded. “All right, I'll fix their wagons. Cover me, boys!” And then he all but bolted out of the house, guns blazing.

With a roll of her eyes, ignoring how Whiskey had told the ‘boys’ to cover him, she followed suit and ran out into the snow, pulling her guns out from their holsters. The shootout was nothing she hadn’t seen before and, while she didn’t have all the flair most of the Statesmen agents had, she could mow down people just as efficiently. (The acrobatics the Statesmen and Kingsman agents seemed so fond of really just seemed…excessive.)

Whiskey went through the left flank so she went through the unlucky men on the right.

It was easy pickings, really. Despite the heavy artillery and uneven numbers, it was almost too simple of a gunfight. But the adrenaline rush was nice. It had been too long since she had felt her heart beat this fast. Bullets were flying by her head as she dove behind a tree and then twisted to shoot down the other man. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Whiskey pull out his electric lasso and then cut a man in half who came out with a knife.

“Fucking ridiculous,” she muttered as she stood, lowering her guns and quietly thankful that Whiskey wasn’t hurt.

There was a single gunshot and she froze. A familiar cold crept up her torso and one last man stepped out from the tree line with his gun raised right in her direction. The barrel smoked. But his eyes were wide like he couldn’t quite understand that he’d actually managed to shoot her. With a snarl, she pulled her guns up again and fired twice, painting the trees and snow behind him in a spattering of red.

“Sunny!” Whiskey yelled as he spotted her.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and felt the terrible, wet warmth soak her palm. She holstered her guns again and stepped out to look at him, turning ever so slightly to hide the blossoming red from him. “We’re good.”

“You should’ve stayed in the house.”

“You needed back up!” She said, marching toward the house despite feeling her legs shake. Pressing against the wound only made bile rise in her throat.

“The kid and Butterfly Guy-”

“It’s over, boss. Let’s just-”

Whiskey suddenly grabbed at her waist and all but threw her into the house and she nearly lost her footing. She barely had time to recognize the pain suddenly roaring through her system as the adrenaline started to fade.

“Troop carrier coming in. And I’m out of ammo—whaddya got?” He asked, pointedly looking at Eggsy and Harry.

But they were both looking at Whiskey’s hand.

He slowly raised it to his face and saw it covered in blood. His head snapped to the side to look at her. “Sunny?”

Her knees finally buckled and she hit the weathered wood. She shakily caught herself with her other hand, feeling blood slip between her fingers. She coughed and watched as blood splattered against the wood.

“They’ve got Gatling guns!”

Whiskey was yelling. Bullets whizzed by. And the beat of her heart started to drown out everything else.

“Harry, no!” She barely heard Eggsy shout.

And then, in her quickly-hazing vision, she watched Whiskey’s body crumple to the floor beside hers. She reached out a bloody hand toward him without thinking, pressing crimson-colored fingers against his face as if that would stop the bleeding.

“He broke the vial on purpose, Eggsy. If we made it out of here, he was gonna kill us both!”

The world went dark.  

                                                     **

The sterile scent of HQ’s medical wing was a welcoming aroma as her eyes opened.

“There you are.” Ginger leaned over her with a soft smile. “How ya feeling?”

“Tired.”

“No pain?” She asked as she helped Cap sit up slowly.

“A bit tender—but I know what feeling shot in the chest feels like so I would prefer this.” She pulled at the bland, cotton-blend shirt she was dressed in and saw her stomach covered in a bit of gauze and tape. Despite Ginger telling her not to, she pulled at the coverings to reveal the mostly-healed bullet wound and then pushed back into the pillows. It looked like it had already been healing for weeks instead of a day or two. Statesmen truly knew how to patch someone up. But then a thought struck her. “Where’s Whiskey?”

And Ginger’s soft, answering smile calmed her suddenly clenching heart. “He’s in the next room over, Cap. He’ll wake up soon. Eggsy gave him the Alpha Gel and it worked like it was supposed to.”

She pushed out a long breath through her nose and nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Ginger’s watch beeped. She looked at the small screen and sighed. “I will be back. Don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

“I promise nothing.”

Ginger chuckled, having heard that answer many times before, and let herself out of the room. 

She let herself stew for a moment (it was really about an hour). Her life had really gone off the rails since Vegas. It was one thing to secretly harbor amorous thoughts about your boss. It was another to scream at him, get shot, and then see him get shot after seeing him (possibly) thwart any efforts to get the antidote and save millions of people. And she had a chance to say something to Ginger. But she didn’t.

Hm.

She carefully slid off the bed and winced when a bolt of pain zig-zagged through her body as her feet touched the cold floor. Shuffling over to the door, she peered out into the hallway and then stepped out. Whiskey’s holding room was only a few footsteps away.

Should she go in? But then what would she say?

Should she just go back to her room and pretend she was unconscious the entire time and remembered exactly nothing from Italy? But what was she trying to forget anyway?

But, thankfully, Eggsy found her in the middle of the hall and broke her rambling thoughts. He pocketed his phone and looked a bit worried as he noticed her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Better than I should be after being shot. You?”

He started to nod but then shook his head. “My girlfriend…she, uh, she’s got the blue rash.” He rubbed at his forehead.

“You care about her. Probably more than you should, right?” That was easy to see. Eggsy was a good kid, probably a little too easy to read. “Especially in this line of work.”

“You get it—Kingsmen aren’t allowed to have attachments. And I…” he tried to grasp at the words he needed, “love her.”

“Statesmen doesn’t have that rule. Probably because we’re very bad at following any sort of guideline anyway.” She shrugged and regretted the movement as it pulled at her wound. “But that means you’ve got less than 12 hours. You got a plan?”

Eggsy quickly explained that they had been able to trace Poppy’s location to Cambodia and they were heading out there now. But his eyes quickly widened as he realized he had just revealed a plan to a potentially dangerous adversary.

“Relax, Eggsy. I’m not the one you shot in the head.” She waved him on. “Go. Save the world. Look out for landmines.”

“Landmines?” Eggsy parroted, face scrunching into a confused frown.

“If Poppy’s as crazy as I think she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has nonsense like that. Who knows? Maybe she has a fleet of man-eating robots, too.”

“What are you on about?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

He smiled and started to walk away. “You should come to London when this is all over. I’ll get you a drink!”

She smiled a bit and watched him disappear around a corner before her eyes once again drifted toward Whiskey’s door. “…fuck.” Against her better judgement, she walked up and let the door glide open without a sound. The room was quiet. Whiskey was motionless on the bed, face still covered by the machine to help the Alpha Gel finish its work. His vitals were steady, displayed on large screens across the wall.

He would be fine.

He would be fine.

He would be fine.

She slipped gingerly into a chair near the bed and resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. He just looked so…vulnerable. It was so unlike him. An angry, terrible twisting pulled at her chest. “I’m not sorry I yelled at you, you know.” She wasn’t sure why she was talking to him but the words kept coming anyway. “You need to let Ginger out in the field. She’d be a better agent than me. I don’t know why you’re… I don’t understand you at all, actually. I wish I did, I think. I wish I could understand you and why you do things and say things. I wish I could understand why you make me feel so stupid.”

Maybe being this close to death—again—was making her sentimental. Or maybe the pain medication was making her crazy.

Probably the second option. Hopefully, anyway.

The door opened again and Ginger stepped in. “I knew I’d find you in here.”

“How’d you figure that?”

Ginger gave her a look but didn’t answer. “It is about time we wake him up. You remember how it’s like, right?”

She nodded. She had heard stories about how most agents needed a ‘reminder’ of a traumatic event to bring them back to the present and how their minds could be a bit foggy for a few days after, but she had never seen it in person. But she basically knew what to except--right? 

With a flip of a few switches, the machine receded and Whiskey’s eyes opened. He was up and off the bed with a spring in his gait that had her laughing as he gave some terrible pick-up line to Ginger. But the laugh drew his attention and his body went rigid as his eyes landed on her. “Sunny.”

She felt tension she didn’t realize she was holding leech from her shoulders as he smiled at her. “Hey, boss.”

Ginger tucked something back in her pocket and her smile seemed to reach her ears. “I’ll leave you two…alone. But I’m just outside if you need anything.” She then scurried out and left her alone with Whiskey and her hammering heart.

“Sunshine.” The new nickname was all but crushing to her heart, caving in her chest.

She waved him back to the bed and told him to rest before she curled her fingers around his hand. It was warm and calloused and, as cliché as it sounded, seemed to fit hers perfectly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot in the head.”

She almost laughed and her other hand carefully pushed his still-impeccably styled hair away from the bandage covering a small bit of his temple. “Yeah. You look great for a dead man, though.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” But he said it with a smile and squeezed her hand. “Say it again.”

“You look great.” And her smile grew, heart a little lighter.

He huffed out a laugh but then a long silence stretched between them. She looked away from his dark eyes but didn’t pull her hand away from his, fearing he’d disappear if she did.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Sunshine?” He squeezed at her hand until she looked at him again.

“I’m okay. They fixed me up just fine. A new scar for the collection.”

His smile slowly dropped and he placed his other hand over hers, too. “I saw you drop. You were bleedin’ out and I-”

“I saw you get shot, too, you know. Butterfly Guy has an interesting way of showing he doesn’t trust someone.” She shook the thought away. Harry’s brain was scrambled, too. “I’m just happy you’re okay. Your brain might feel a bit funny for a day or two, but I’ll be here.”  

“Where are they now? The Brits?”

“They’re on their way to Cambodia. They think they’ve found Poppy’s base.”

Whiskey all but yanked his hands from hers and threw his legs over the side of the bed before standing on his long legs. She quickly stood too, chair clattering backward. “We’ve gotta go. Tell Ginger to get the Silver Pony on the runway.” He started toward the door before she grabbed at his arm.

“Boss, c’mon. You need to rest-”

“I need to make sure that bitch doesn’t get what she wants.”

She was scrambling then, hands pawing up his arm to grasp at his face. Her heart was in her throat as she looked at him. His dark eyes looked so cold. Unfocused. She knew the Alpha Gel could scramble someone’s brain as it physically repaired it, pushing them into old habits and thoughts and fears. She knew Whiskey wasn’t thinking right at the moment—no matter how soft he had been with her moments ago, this wasn’t her Whiskey. Her mouth went dry. Thoughts raced by as the pit she had felt growing in her stomach expanded to an abyss. She knew what he’d been through. The death of his wife at the hands of some coked-out druggies was an open secret. And she knew her own grief, dealt with it in her own way—not all of it healthy, she knew. But she had to try. She knew the look of a man who wanted vengeance no matter the cost—and, right now, the cost was millions of lives. “Do you know why I don’t drink?”

“We don’t have time for this,” he said as he pulled out of her grip.

“Drunk driver plowed into my dad’s car. I was at the local pool with some friends and Dad piled everyone in to pick me up so we could get ice cream after. They never made it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you think I hold it against everyone who likes to put a little something extra in their coffee? Likes to have a little liquid courage to talk to the cute guy across the bar?”

Whiskey’s face twisted and his eyes seemed to dilate before he scrunched them shut. A shaking hand pushed through his hair.

“I work at a distillery for a man named Whiskey.”

Another silence stretched between them. She would swear he could hear her heartbeat in the quiet of the room.

A careful hand reached out to touch his wrist, too afraid to do much else. “Stay,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”

And his eyes finally opened.

                                                        **

Champ smiled and congratulated them on a job well done. It was a week since the entire Golden Circle situation had been handled. Tequila was well. Whiskey’s mind was clear. And their profits had never been higher.

Merlin, Harry, and Eggsy were standing at the end of the table and each held a glass of amber liquid as everyone raised a toast. Whiskey was sitting across from his Sunny, golden glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He probably should have been listening to what was Champ was saying but all he could see was how she licked her lips after taking a sip of her cranberry juice.

Statesmen, knowing an ally when they saw one, had purchased a distillery in Scotland. It was the perfect guise to help Kingsman rebuild and keep their money looking “clean.” Yes, he should have listened.

Because the Kid opened his mouth and said Kingsman needed more agents.

“I think Ginger would be a great Kingsman,” Sunny said with a smile.

Ginger, tucked into a corner a drink of her own, smiled in return. “I…”

“Agreed,” Whiskey heard himself saying. And he quickly realized that he meant it. 

Ginger’s eyes went wide and she nearly sloshed the entirety of her drink across her shirt.

Champ laughed. “Alrighty then. Ginger Ale, well, I guess you’ll get a new code name, won’t ya?”

But the Kid’s smile widened. “And I was thinking Cap could come, too.” He turned to her and shrugged a shoulder. “Whaddya say, Cap? I’ll show you the real London.”

Whiskey looked at her, feeling like someone had shoved their fist down his throat. Don’t go. Don’t leave.

“I always wanted to be a knight of the round table.”

The men at the end of the table cheered again and Ginger walked over to knock their glasses together.

And while everyone continued to pat themselves on the back for completing the mission, all he could feel was cold.

The revelry eventually died down and Whiskey found himself the last one seated at the table. Everyone else filtered out to ready for the next mission—or the move to London. It was just him and Champ. The older man plopped down in the seat beside him and refilled his empty glass.

“London is only a few hours by plane from New York.”

He took a long pull from his glass.

“I’ve never known you to wait for something you wanted, Whiskey. But sure seemed to drag your ass on this one.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Champ?” He finally asked after another large gulp of alcohol.

But Champ just shook his head with a throaty chuckle. “You two are a mess.”

                                                     **

Royal weddings were…an event, she was finding.

After nearly losing Princess Tilde to the Golden Circle, Eggsy actually proposed. And with Harry now known as Arthur and presiding over Kingsman, the rules changed. Attachments were allowed. And because Tilde knew his fellow Kingsman were like Eggsy’s family, they were invited to the wedding. A handful of Statesmen, too. It had been a year since Poppy’s demise in Cambodia and the world was (mostly) at peace. Kingsman managed to salvage quite a bit from the wreckage of their former bases and Statesmen funded the rest of their necessary rebuilds. It was slow-going, and a handful of new agents were still finding their footing after graduating from the selection process.

“Please tell me Tequila is not wearing jeans,” she muttered.

Ginger, now known as Agent Percival, rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile as she spotted the jean-clad man amid the rest of the American crowd. “I could but that would be a lie.” She paused. “But Whiskey certainly dressed for the occasion.”

She leaned forward just the slightest bit to see Whiskey dressed in a fine tuxedo. “Is that one of ours?”

Ginger hummed. “He came in a few days ago for a fitting.”

She swallowed the saliva filling her mouth and turned back to watch Eggsy nervously fidget with his cufflinks at the end of the aisle. “Looks good.”

The ceremony finished after the vows and a bit of perfunctory reading and singing before the guests were all chauffeured over to the reception space at the royal palace. “You know, Merlin told me that you and Whiskey are quite fond of using emojis in your emails,” Ginger said as dinner was cleared away and dessert started to be served. 

Her glass of water nearly slipped from her grip as embarrassment washed over her. “I was told those were private.”

“Nothing’s private in our line of work,” Ginger said with a pat to her hand. “But you haven’t really explained what is going on between you two.”

She rubbed at her temples. How could she possibly explain that she knew Whiskey, while his brain was still scrambled, wanted to let everyone infected with the Blue Rash die? How could she explain that she, despite all that, missed his smile and stupid mustache? Missed how he had terrible pick-up lines that always made her roll her eyes? Missed how she always seemed a little lighter whenever he would waltz into her office in New York?

Their constant contact devolved away from work and missions and into their private lives. He would ask after Bela and she would ask him to tell her about the view from his office window. It was now a strange sort of friendship that she treasured and protected despite how they hadn’t seen each other in person in over a year. She had taken the position at Kingsman, took the code name Agent Mordred, moved to London. It should have been a clean break. She could have kept their communications purely professional. But she didn’t. She just couldn’t truly let him go.

But on the outside, she shrugged as her hands dropped away from her face.

“It looks like I’ll be able to see for myself because he’s on his way over here.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Ginger’s smug tone and, sure enough, Whiskey was on his way over, walking through the dancing crowd and wandering guests, right toward their table.

“But oh no. Would you look at that, I need more champagne.” Ginger then scampered off and left her alone.

Whiskey easily took Ginger’s vacated seat and smiled at her. “Hey, Sunshine.”

“Hey, bos-Whiskey.”

He chuckled at her slip. His head tilted to the side as he looked at her, eyes trailing down her form and she resisted a shiver like a teenaged girl but was silently thankful for the designer dress that fit her like a glove in a soft blue silk. “You look good.”

“You too.” And he did. The tuxedo was impeccably cut and the darkest black. A pristine white shirt was held back with a matching cummerbund and a black bowtie was slightly crooked around his neck. She reached out and straightened it.

He reached up to keep her hand pressed against his chest with a small smile. “I miss you.” It was whispered like a secret.

“We talk every day.” But she didn’t pull her hand away.

“ ‘s not the same and you know it.” He squeezed her hand. “Dance with me?” Wordlessly, he led her out onto the dance floor and pulled her close.

His expensive cologne made her mind swim but she resisted the urge to rest her cheek against his shoulder despite every nerve in her body telling her to do so. The music was slow, soft, and romantic. The lighting was low and accentuated by flickering candles that danced across the golden walls of the royal ballroom. If she could let herself remember anything—it would be this moment. Held in the arms of the man she loved even if it was just for a tiny sliver of time.

“I never thanked you, you know.”

“For what?”

“Saving me. My head was a mess—even before Butterfly Guy put a bullet in it. It took me a while but I…” He shook his head. “You’ve given me a second chance.”

She cocked her head to the side with a smile. “To save the world?”

Whiskey’s smile was small and his cheeks reddened the slightest bit but his dark eyes never left her face. His grip on her hand and waist tightened the slightest bit. “A second chance at everything.”

She chuckled and ignored how her chest tightened. Reading into it would only make it hurt.

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm​ @honestlystop​ @paryl​ @fioccodineveautunnale @lackofhonor

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey #kingsman the golden circle

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only Dancing

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin​

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: You don’t expect Bucky to join you for a night out. But who says an old wolf can’t learn new tricks.  (This is in the “Only For A Moment” universe but can be read as a one shot.)

Warnings: Smut, some jealousy, other than that just fluff

A/N: I feel like I should point out that I ship Okoye and M’Baku because she could handle that man. 

Also, this is the last drabble before part 2 starts. So. Many. Feelings. 

(Sorry if you got tagged twice. Apparently the tags didn’t take. Beginning to think that @invisibleanonymousmonsters​ is on to something by not fucking with a tag list because UGH sometimes it’s a pain. Anyway...

TAGS ARE OPEN 🙃

“Poetry,” Nakia says on a sigh as the knives fly back into your waiting palms. “Pure, violent, poetry.” You can’t help but laugh as the small vibranium knives slot themselves back into their holster around your wrist. 

“It’s not all me, Shuri made these magical things.” They really were perfect. Calibrated to return automatically to their holster at the mere whisper of your power. 

They weren’t the only magic Shuri had worked. 

Originally, the thought of letting anyone - even someone like Shuri - run any kind of tests on you was at best terrifying and at worst made you contemplate murder. Now though, you couldn’t be more grateful. 

Your whole life you’d been a mystery to yourself, never really knowing why you were different or really what you were capable of. After Hydra had their hands on you the sense of being a stranger in your own skin had only grown. How could anyone trust themselves when they had no way of knowing their limits or even how their body functioned?

In less than a week Shuri had, for the most part, unraveled the mystery. 

Your power? A genetic anomaly, likely from your father’s side. She was still puzzling over just how that anomaly worked, how it reacted with your brain to produce your telekinesis. What she did figure out was that, as you suspected, the more you used this ability the stronger and more precise it became - with limits.

“Self-preservation will kick in at some point,” she explained when you told her about the times when you’d found your ability overwhelming. “The mind can only handle an influx of so much information at a time before it overloads.”

What Hydra had done? A bastard version of what kept Steve and Bucky spry even at 100 years old. 

“The cellular regeneration is a bit slower, and it doesn’t seem to have done as much in terms of strengthening the proteins in your body,” she said. You’d stared at her blankly. “Basically,” she sighed, “you’re a really good fake to Rogers’ and Barnes’ name brand. Almost as good but your strap may break sooner than theirs.” 

Once she knew how you ticked she immediately began crafting weapons unique to your abilities, like the knives - which she called Panther Teeth, fairly accurate considering they were terrifyingly sharp and small enough that they were almost unassuming. 

As you weren’t an official member of the Dora Milaje you didn’t get the spear they carried, instead, Shuri made you twin short spears that hung at your side. They fired similarly to their full-size cousins but at a more rapid pace and shorter burst since your power could balance any recoil. 

The best by far was the vambraces that fit around your forearms. Similar to T’Challa’s suit they absorbed kinetic energy in a fight but when paired with your power they could release that energy in more focused blasts, form a shield, or even send out a powerful wave of force. 

All of Shuri’s amazing creations paired with your own growing strength made you feel like someone to be reckoned with, someone who could protect who and what she loved no matter the threat. You’d never known freedom like this. 

“So, did you convince him to come tonight?” You ask Nakia as you unfasten the holsters from your wrists. 

“Pff,” she scoffs. “A king can’t just go out whenever he wants.” She says in a pretty perfect imitation of T’Challa. 

You laugh, “A king is still mad you declined his proposal.”

“I didn’t decline necessarily,” she says, slipping free of her training gear. “I just told him I wasn’t ready to be queen.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” The two of you settle into the steam room, your tired muscles already singing in the relaxing heat. 

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you sell that wolf of yours on making a public appearance?”

You give her a sideways glance, “What do you think?” 

“I think Okoye owes me money,” Nakia says with a grin.

“What?! She actually bet that he’d come?”

“She did,” Okoye says stepping in the room to join you both. 

“Time to pay up general!” Nakia goads. 

“Not just yet,” a sly smile curls Okoye’s lips. “I have a plan.”

-

“How do you even know they’re both going to be at the farm?” You ask as the hovercraft sails in the direction of your home. 

“I know everything,” Okoye responds. 

“Not true,” Nakia quips. Okoye throws her a glare. 

“She’s right. You didn’t know the name of the second Star Wars movie.”

“Those films are not in the right order!”

“You also didn’t know that Shuri was planning to sneak out to Coachella,” Nakia points out. You nod in agreement. 

“Ok, fine,” she concedes with a half-hearted sigh. “M’Baku told me. T’Challa asked if he wanted to join them but-” 

“But that man goes where you lead,” Nakia laughs. 

“Of course he does,” Okoye says. Apparently, the leader of the Jabari had been none too friendly before the attempted usurping. Since then though, he an Okoye had grown rather close, though they refused to make anything official.  

Her plan was a simple one. Since you’d brought your things to get ready at her place in the city there was no obvious reason to go back to the farm for anything unless there was something she or Nakia just desperately wanted to borrow. So, you’d all get ready and take a quick romp to the countryside to grab a necklace or earrings as to tempt your men to join up. 

T’Challa may take the bait but you knew that, even though your ass looked immaculate in these high waist leather shorts, your husband would not be joining you this evening. You shared as much. 

“Alright, $50 he shows,” Okoye bets. 

“Oh, I’ll take that bet,” you shake her offered hand as your house comes into view through the twilight. 

Sure enough, T’Challa and Bucky were sitting by the lake glasses in hand. The two men look back as you all disembark. 

“Two elders enjoying a peaceful evening. It’s so cute,” Nakia jabs. 

“You’re so funny,” T’Challa tosses back, dragging his eyes from her plunging neckline with visible effort and back to the water. 

“Everything ok?” Bucky asks, rising to meet you. Ever the worrier. 

“Yup. Nakia wanted to borrow a necklace is all.” He nods and holds the curtain open for you to go inside.

It’s now that he seems to fully take in your outfit, his eyes growing wide.

The black lace bustier you borrowed from Nakia left little to the imagination but was kept in check by the cropped moto jacket and of course, there were the leather shorts. The whole thing was finished by the heeled Doc Marten’s which you’d nearly wept over when you brought them home from your first trip shopping with Nakia. Being able to build a wardrobe again was an unexpected Wakandan perk.

You fight back a burble of laughter as you watch him swallow hard, averting his eyes from your ample chest. 

Without a glance back at him you head straight to the bedroom to fish out a long chain necklace that would perfectly fit with Nakia’s deep cut neckline - this may have been a last-minute ruse but you had dressed people for a living once, you could amp up your girls look and try to bait your husband into going out with leather booty shorts at the same time. 

When you turn back he’s leaning in the doorway, clearly having been staring at your ass. 

“You look nice,” he says finally meeting your eyes. 

“I look hot,” you counter with a smirk. “There’s a difference.” 

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. You lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek, your dark red lipstick not leaving a single mark. 

“Have a good night babe,” you toss over your shoulder and head back outside. 

T’Challa is chatting somewhat awkwardly with Nakia as Okoye grins like a Cheshire cat beside them. 

“Got it!” You call to Nakia, holding up the necklace. 

Nakia turns her back to you and you clasp it on. The gold choker adds the right amount of shimmer and the long front piece falls down into the neck of her dress drawing the eye. Perfect. 

“See, it was just what this needed.” 

Nakia grins, “You’re right. Ok, let’s go! Bye boys!” With that, the three of you are back on the hovercraft without another word. 

-

A couple of hours later you push through the bodies on the dance floor to the booth you all claimed. Okoye and M’Baku lounge, sipping their drinks. 

“I think you owe me $50,” you say, finishing your own cocktail - it didn’t do anything much for you but you did like the taste. 

“The night is still young!” Okoye protests. “Did you see what they were wearing? It’s not like they could just roll out like that. Give them time.” 

“I’ll make sure she pays up,” M’Baku says with a wink. 

“Holding you to that!” You yell before heading back to the floor. 

It felt good to have nights like this again - laughter, and friends, and music loud enough to drown every worry. You didn’t even mind the crowd, nor the stranger with his hands on your hips. 

There’s a small ripple through the sea of people and you see T’Challa join Nakia on the floor. Okoye had pulled M’Baku out too, seeing them together her head falls back in a triumphant laugh. You shake your head, smiling, and continue to dance. 

The feeling of someone’s eyes on you sends a tingle up your spine. Methodically you scan the pulsing dark of the club, telling yourself there is no threat despite your mind automatically assuming the worst. 

In a flash of light, you see him on the other side of the floor, just beyond the crowd of bodies moving to the music. His hair hangs loose, a tight black tee strains across his chest, the left arm tucked in neatly, and his hand is shoved in the pocket of a pair of dark slim fit jeans that you’re not sure he owned before tonight. 

You smile, chalking his scowl up to the loud crowded space he finds himself in. With a nod, you step away from the man you’d been dancing with and head for Bucky. When he doesn’t move forward you send a bit of your power out to wrap around him, thinking to pull him in. He doesn’t budge. 

Turning away he stalks from you and the dancing crowd. 

Now you’re a little confused. You walk all the way out to the open-air terrace at the back of the club. He’s nowhere to be found. 

You make your way down the terrace steps to the first landing, away from the crowd. Why come all the way here… You wonder when a rough hand grips your arm spinning you back into a dim service corridor. Bucky’s body presses hard into yours pinning you to the wall. 

The dark look on his face clouds his blue eyes, but still, he’s so gorgeous it makes your breath catch. Gripping your jaw with his powerful hand he tilts your face up just a bit, holding it as his kiss sears you in place. It’s a hungry, passionate, possessive kiss. His tongue immediately parting your lips, tasting you, demanding more. When he pulls back you’re panting. 

Despite the heat of that kiss, his expression remains unchanged, fingers digging into your skin. Slowly his grip lessens, calloused touch trailing down your neck until they reach the collar of your jacket. 

Faster than your flustered mind can process right now, he grips the collar of your jacket, using it to spin you around to face the wall. In one swift tug, he pulls the jacket down your arms, tossing it aside. 

His hand rests on your chest, pressing you into him. The heat of his breath on your neck and his stubble barely scratching against your shoulder makes desire sing through your body. The sensation distracts you so much you don’t notice that his hand had migrated to the button of your shorts. 

Sure fingers loosen the skin-tight garment, the zipper crawling down. 

“Bucky,” you breathe in weak protest. 

“Shut up,” he growls fingers dipping into you to find that you’re already dripping. Biting your lip you grind against him, always eager for his touch. 

 “That’s how you moved with him,” his voice is gravel rough against your ear. A light bulb goes off in your mind and your movement ceases. “Would you rather have him?” Bucky presses the outline of his hard cock against the curve of your ass. 

Holy shit. You almost laugh but manage to hold it in. 

“Are you jealous Mr. Barnes?”

There are no words just his ragged breath. He answers with the sound of his own zipper lowering, his hand roughly tugging your shorts down your ass. 

“Answer me.” The demand in his voice makes your mouth water for some reason. Tilting your head back onto his shoulder you look into those stormcloud eyes of his.

“I only want you.” You reach for him, pulling his throbbing cock from his jeans. “I only ever want you.”

“Good.” This time his kiss is rough but fleeting before he pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts himself into you. Your hand flies to your mouth to catch your cry as your body stretches around him. 

The force of him threatens to knock you off balance. He reaches his hand around both steadying you and finding your clit at the same time. Rhythmically he rolls the tender bud under his middle finger, making every nerve ending in your body vibrate. His pace quickens and you think you will not be able to hold in this scream, it’s too good, too much. 

“Quiet now, sweetheart,” he says low, his own breath staggering. 

Barely you manage to stifle the sound of your orgasm rocking through your body. A moment later you feel Bucky’s cock pulse, a soft moan from him making your hair stand on end. 

He pulls out and you tug your shorts up. When you turn to face him he’s plucking your jacket off the ground. 

“Here,” he holds it up, as you slip back into it. Once it’s on his arm wraps around your chest holding you so tight you can feel his heart still racing against your back. 

“I meant it,” you say, relaxing into the comforting feel of him. “You’re all I want, Bucky.” He nods, his cheek resting against the side of your head. 

“Seeing you… I don’t think I’ve ever been the jealous type but…”

“It was just dancing babe.” 

He huffs out a dry laugh, “It doesn’t look like just dancing.” Turning in his arms to face him you take hold of his ass, pulling his hips to yours.

“Next time just come with me then,” you move against him. “You love to dance.”

A small smile plays on his lips, “I don’t know this kind of dancing.” 

“It’s easy.” You can hear the music clear enough pouring from the open doors above you. “Just feel the music. No steps to remember. Just be present.” 

Moving your hands to his hips you guide them to move with your own. Soon enough he’s getting a feel for it, letting his hands caress your curves. 

“See, easy,” you say smiling up at him. “We should get going before Okoye comes looking.”

He nods. As you begin to step away he cups your cheek, pulling your mouth to his once more. This time the hunger is replaced with something far richer that sends tingles down your spine. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love all of you,” you respond. “Even the jealous bits.”

“Oh?”

“Yup. Especially if it gets you to fuck me in an alley, kinda hot.” He barks out a laugh.

“I’d say it’s more a hallway. What kind of husband would I be if I fucked you in an alley.”

“A fun one,” you say with a wink. Taking his hand in yours, you both head back upstairs. 

“Well you two look damn near giddy,” Okoye teases. They’d all set up at one of the terrace tables. 

“Just a quick dancing lesson. He’s a fast study,” you say. Bucky sits in the one open seat and you perch on his thigh. 

“Uh-huh,” Nakia says with a sideways glance. 

“So,” Bucky says, arm giving you a little squeeze, “You all already tired?”

“We’ve been out longer than you old wolf,” Okoye says. 

“Psh,” T’Challa waves a hand. “This is weak.” 

“You both rolled up maybe 20 minutes ago, what do you mean weak,” Nakia tosses back at him. 

“He’s right. Didn’t look like anyone could even break a sweat dancing like that,” Bucky pokes. 

“Oh, the White Wolf wants to break a sweat, eh?” 

“I think he does, Oko,” Nakia answers. 

“I don’t know if the colonizer can handle it,” M’Baku laughs. 

“Wanna bet?” Bucky says with a wolfish grin. 

Two more clubs and several hours later M’Baku is in the process of doing 100 pushups on the street with Okoye perched on his back because the colonizer had, in fact, handled it. In fact, he’d handled it better than you by mastering some new moves - you could admit you were a little jealous. 

“One hundred!” Okoye declares. M’Baku stands, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“Could have just bet money you old wolf,” M’Baku grumbles.

“Too easy. And less fun for the rest of the group,” Bucky smirks, patting M’Baku on the shoulder. 

Nakia gasps, shooting up from the step she’d been perched on, nose up sniffing the air. 

“Chapati,” she groans. 

“This is happening,” T’Challa declares, grabbing Nakia’s hand and leading her toward the intoxicating smells of meat, spices, and bread. 

Within the hour, the six of you have loaded up on Chapati, Rolexes, and Bajia - the magic of meat, cheese, and starch being truly universal - and are sprawled around the king’s living space laughing and eating. It feels almost too good to be true. 

In the small hours of the morning, you finally fall into bed, stomach, and heart full to bursting. Bucky flings his arm around you, holding you close. 

“So,” he asks in your ear, “when’re we going dancing again?”

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#bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fluff #bucky smut #okoye #nakia #t'challa #M'Baku #wakanda

[frumfrumfroo]

What I’m grieving most (other than everything else JJ and his moron brigade fucked up) is that we are never going to see Adam Driver as Ben Solo/Kylo Ren ever again. This was their last chance and they wasted it in the most offensive, disrespectful way possible. Adam is never going to touch Star Wars or probably any major franchise with a 10-foot barge pole after what they did and he is right to do so. Yet even with the crap they gave him, he remains the only good thing in this hacky cesspool.

This is yet another thing on the list of things which make it so painful, and no substitute will ever actually make up for this even if hoping for tie-in material weren’t much the same as asking someone who stole your money and punched you in the face if you can pay them to punch you a little less hard this time. (Again, leaving aside that they have murdered sw’s themes and raison d’etre in cold blood which is a bigger deal than any character death and I will not support them making more sw content ever again.)

There is nothing to compare to the fully realised character and Adam is an essential component of that. As much as I love fanfiction, it’s incredibly rare to find one where the author really manages to put across a complete picture that satisfies me and rings 100% true. He’s one of those characters that needs the performance because there’s so much contradiction and so much unspoken. You can write that in prose, it’s just difficult, you can’t fall back on your assumptions at all. You really have to think about him. Rian is a great writer (watch Knives Out), and even he fell a bit short of capturing Ben perfectly in the screenplay. It was the film where it came together. I talked about this before and compared it to Peter Capaldi playing Malcolm Tucker, but yeah.

This was the one chance to see how a healed Ben Should Be with the creative input of one of the people most essential in making him who he is (Adam Driver) and they have fucked it up. And the few minutes with no dialogue they actually did give him is the most tragically tantalising taste of how wonderful it would have been. He’s so absolutely beautiful, so everything you hoped he’d be, and you don’t get to enjoy it.

He says fucking ‘ow’. That’s it. And somehow him saying that is unbearably heart-warming because it somehow conveys he’s exactly like his father only more so and I hate that life is really this grim. I’m thinking now about my post on how they relentlessly pursued and begged an actor of this calibre to do this part, how they had to convince him they would take the character seriously because he wouldn’t do an empty hackjob role meant to commodify nostalgia and I’m just so fucking mad that’s exactly what it ended up being.

#just saw someone on twitter saying 'if you like reylo support the dickens out of this movie!! #let them know we want more!' #I just.... sigh. #what 'more' do you imagine you're gonna get? #we saw the entire five seconds #he's fucking dead #they did the bare minimum they absolutely HAD to do #stop thinking you can 'vote with your dollars' between Disney Disney and Disney #this movie shouldn't be supported it's a totally avoidable soulless corporate garbagefire #this shit needs to fail #and you are not supporting any of the individual artists in it by throwing cash into the Disney money hole #they will learn nothing except that they should make products by committee and not even try to make art #like they already learnt in the MCU #like the whole thing with Hiddles was an accident caused by Marvel hiring Sir Ken B #the higher ups weren't looking for that #but KK and DLF picked out and hounded Adam Driver to take this part #I'm incredibly fucking angry for MH CF and BDW too #I know it's a pay cheque blah blah but they really CARED about those character this franchise has dominated their LIVES #and I'm sure Ian MacDiarmid had fun but they wasted his time as well #DR and JB are going to be in serious trouble career wise like signs don't look good for them but there was always pretty good odds of that #I made a post like a year or so ago on my other blog about whether I thought the ST would achieve a lasting impression/be iconic on its own #and I said it was still hugely under the shadow of the OT and not making a lot of inroads but it depended on the ending #TFA was mediocre and forgettable but TLJ was game-changing- this could actually be real SW #I said Ben was showing some signs of breaking out and the ending would make or break Rey #welp #WEEEELPPPP #trosspoilers #adam driver