a footprint of feelings

Pretence - 3

(Moments) | (Part 1) | (Part 2)

summary: “For Nat’s sake, Y/N, will you pretend to be my girlfriend?”
words: 1155
warnings: brief description of nsfw content

“Let’s play a game!”

You’re drunk enough that you can’t remember who’d suggested the drinking game in the first place. Maybe it was Sam. It was probably Sam.

There’s a round of ’shit’s and ’fuck you’s as Natasha spills another carefully articulated statement of ‘Never have I ever.’ You take a shot too, even though you’re not listening at this point.

Your eyes are trained on Bucky Barnes, sitting across from you with nine empty shot glasses, more than anyone else and contrasting Steve’s nine full. He’s laughing, face flushed from intoxication and heat and lust for the gorgeous woman throwing a wink at Sam as he downs his sixth or seventh glass himself. She’s avoiding his gaze, even daring to look at you, but not sparing him a glance as she laughs with the rest of the team.

You don’t know what to think of him. He’s like a drug– you know he’s bad for you. You know that the long term effects of being around him are harmful, that he hurts you more than he makes you feel good, but oh god, you can’t get enough. And with the way he’s been acting for the past few weeks, with the are you okay’s and the arms around your waist, you can’t tell what he wants.  

It’s Sam’s turn to play. His drunk eyes search the room, squinted and devious, lips pursed in drunk concentration. He sees the one remaining shot glass in front of Bucky, and he breaks out into a grin. “Never have I ever…”

He pauses, eyes catching yours. “Never have I ever kissed Y/N!”

A chorus of laughs break out. Clint is giggling, Steve’s grinning from ear to ear, and Sam keeps saying, “Drink up, old man.”

But Bucky’s not laughing. His eyebrows furrow together, flesh hand gripping the shot glass tighter than necessary, and god, he won’t even look at you, longing after Nat who is skillfully laughing along with the others. He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, it’s like there’s someone else in his place. Bucky’s gone, and the man in front of you is laughing again and joking again and living again, calling Sam out for targeting specifically him because, 'man, what the hell, that’s not fair.’ Except– when he downs his shot, everyone’s too drunk to notice how his eyes stay closed a second too long. You’re drunk enough to notice just that.

“Guess you lost, Tin Can,” Tony says, breaking out into a fit of laughter.

“Sam cheated,” is all Bucky says in reply, grinning as he stands up. He stretches, yawns in a way that’s so fake you’re surprised that no one calls him out, and then claims that he’s tired and going to bed.

Then he saunters off, and you’re left staring at the spot where he was sitting and your eyes are stinging because he can’t even bare to look at you and a simple statement makes him not even want to be around you and how is he your soulmate when him and Nat are made for each other and you’re just an obstacle in between and and and–

“Your turn, Y/N.” Someone pulls on your arm, but you shrug them away.

You don’t care about this stupid game and your six empty glasses anymore, and– the irony! – you’re pulling a Bucky and lying through your teeth when you say that you’re tired. And then you’re leaving the group of laughing people and storming towards your room, where you’re going to do what you should have done months ago. You’re going to end this stupid relationship and just tell him and Nat to get together and live their happily ever after and then you’re going to leave them the fuck alone.

You’re going to go somewhere far away where Bucky won’t matter and Nat won’t matter and Sam and Steve and Tony won’t matter and nobody’s going to matter, because you deserve at least some fucking peace.

So when you open the door and barge through to the middle of your room, you’re ready for a yelling match. You’re ready to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone and that you’ve had enough and that he can move on with his fucking life because you’re going far away. You’re ready to be composed and collected and to fight your fight.

You’re not ready to find Bucky pushing you against the wall, bringing his mouth so close to your ear that his breathing sends shivers down your back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, with the same genuineness that’s been tangling the strings of your thoughts into knots you can’t figure out how to undo.  "I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.“

You don’t know what to do. It’s like all the anger just moments ago you were ready to streamline towards him was a balloon that’s deflated, and you can’t really make sense of everything that’s happening around you. "What are you–?”

He puts a finger on your lips, and your words fade into the silence of the room. “I have to do this.”

You don’t even get a chance to process his words, your mind hazy with all the alcohol you’ve consumed that night. When his lips touch yours, there’s a part of you telling you that you’re drunk, that you’re going to regret this in the morning, but it’s such a small, small part, that it’s muffled by the rest of you that’s only ever wanted this.

His mouth travels from your lips to the edge of your jaw, leaving sloppy, open mouthed kisses as footprints. It feels as if you’ve been dropped in a pool of water and your feet can’t reach the ground. When his mouth reaches your neck, you can barely stand upright.

“Help me forget her,” he croaks into the edge of your collar bone. You moan in response, the feel of his lips against your skin mixing with the whiff of whiskey sending you into euphoria. Your fingers travel down to the hem of his pants, palming him through the fabric of his boxers. “Y/N,” he gasps. “Please.”

It’s then that you start kissing him back, taking the reigns and guiding his hands up your shirt. And god, this is wrong, this is so wrong, but this is all you’ve ever wanted, and maybe, right now, it’s all you need.

You can’t remember your own name when his fingers slip into your folds, and after that all you hear is your name as he eases himself out of you, falling on to the bed with an exhausted sigh.

And as you lay there, bodies glistening with sweat, pulled flush against each other in the heat of the moment, you stare at the beautiful man who’s nuzzled against you, eyes closed, chest rising and falling softly.

For the first time in months, you let yourself cry.

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the sky was bruised and blooming
above us, deep
purple and black

the pool lights darted
by our feet 
distorted and refracted.
moving with the water

i lay floating 
on my back, and

for the first time since
calling you mine, i felt

you wrapped your arms around
my waist

for the first time 
since calling me yours, 

you carried

when the weight returned 
to my body
we ran home

our wet footprints left
to dry 
beneath the winking moon.
—  night swimming // a.s.m 
Cherry Blossoms

One-shot inspired on memime’s Paladin Aku au, and the episode ‘Jack remembers the past’. After the finale and Aku’s death, i needed some fluff to get over it! I’m happy Jack returned home and lots of cruelty and slavery were spared, but I loved Aku’s character!

Anyway, i hope you like it!

“Are we there yet?”

Aku muttered under his breath, containing the urge to growl a reply, but he couldn’t really blame here for asking that. Heck, he didn’t even know where they were going, he just didn’t want her to realize he didn’t know, or it would make him look like an idiot. So he simply turned around and said. “No.”

He didn’t even know where he wanted to go, he was just walking around the landscapes, looking for food and maybe someplace to sleep, and little Kuni just followed him around, she had nowhere else to go and no place to return to, not anymore. Sometimes her naivety amused him, other times it infuriated him, but he had never even considered leaving her behind at some town to fend for herself however he could, not in this hostile environment, not after the Nameless Samurai had probably realized the child was his companion, not after… Aku shook that thought out of his head.

They had been travelling through the mountains for a good while, enduring the snow and the high altitude, contrasting the woods they had travelled through earlier, and often he had to turn into a pony or a mountain goat when Kuni couldn’t traverse through a particularly dangerous area, such as a cliff or rocky ledge, but he had to save his magical energy for an actual emergency. They were running out of provisions, and Kuni didn’t stop complaining about her feet hurting. Heck, what did she complain about when he was the one who ended up carrying her and doing all the climbing while all she did was use his cape as a blanket?!

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To all girls on this fandom, whether you are my follower or not: (even if it’s the March 9th on your country)

First of all, happy women’s day.

I just wanted you to know how special you’re. No matter if you are a girl of color, if you are 12, if you are a trans girl or if you are a part of the rest of letters on the LGBT+ community (they all are important, but I don’t like when people say trans girls are not girls so that’s why I emphasize). You are a girl, you are important and today is your day.

 Actually, forget that: every day is your day. Today we are just making it a little bit more special.

(I have a few things to say to you all if you want to read my little message for you, read under the cut.)

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best kimya dawson lyrics:
“let your emotions be fuel to your flame”
“eyes like omens”
“walk like thunder (leaving footprints that are light)”
“sometimes whispering is okay but maybe you’d feel better if you screamed today”
“i’m tossing out my thoughts like handfuls of confetti”
“it’s crucial to raise children who won’t do what they’re told, who will fight for what’s right, and who can’t be bought or sold”
“you may feel strange, well, you are an angel”

Some thoughts on going vegetarian

8 months ago I decided to go vegetarian for a year to see if it would benefit me physically and emotionally and now that I am a little past the halfway mark, I have to say it has helped me immensely. 

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anonymous asked:

I loooove your blog and was wondering if you could recommend any others that are like yours? You know, ufologists, starseeds, that kind of thing?

thank u so much!! i know some amazing blogs (:

UFOs/Aliens: @larger-universe @theufos51 @ufosandextradimensions @weveneverbeenalone

Starseeds: @starseedwitch @pleiadian-starchild @sunflower-footprints @starofsirius @starseedmind @starseednetwork @starlightsol

i feel like i’m forgetting some people…i’ll come back and edit this when i can think of them! or any starseeds that i’m forgetting or other ufo/alien blogs that see this that i didn’t mention, feel free to reblog this!

january walks out of the church and into a storm. welcomes the wind like an old friend. he’s always liked the cold. how sharp and bitter it feels against his skin. he crosses the street and hurries toward home. turns to see one set of footprints in the snow. how quiet the world is when it feels like you’re the only one living in it.

I keep tossing around the idea if I should get Molly a slightly bigger cage or if I should keep what she’s comfortable with. She’s only in the cage at night and when I’m out, otherwise she’s a Velcro bird. The upgrade would only be taller, no bigger footprint wise. I just feel like it’s small and get so jealous seeing these big iron cages.

Taurus know the things that bring them comfort and tend not to stray away from them. They can watch the same film a bunch of times, listen to the same song to emulate the feeling they had when they first heard it, leaving them vulnerable to the criticism of being limited in some way, of not experimenting or breaking through their personal barriers. Yet it is in these familiar experiences that they leave a kind of footprint, a feeling to return to, to ponder and reminisce. It is in this that they find a sense of magic. Sometimes, the same is enough.

anonymous asked:

Speaking of Alone on the Water, what made you decide to write such an incredibly sad fic? lol. And did you ever anticipate it becoming so incredibly popular?

Wow, I haven’t thought about this in awhile.  There isn’t really a story there, but I’ll try to answer your question.

I first saw Sherlock when it aired in the UK, what was it, fall of 2010?  I loooooooved it but wasn’t fannish about it immediately.  It wasn’t till the following spring, after I’d shown it to a couple of interested friends, that the fangirl in me woke up and decided that this was Her Next Thing.  And for me, the first thing the fangirl does is WRITE FIC.

I can’t really say why I chose that subject.  I mean, it’s not like I just sat down and went “You know what’d be fun?  DEATH.”  I suppose I wanted to get at Johnlock somehow, and the first thing that occurred was “terminal illness.”  Call it a morbid bent of mind.  AOTW was partially inspired by an old semi-obscure movie called “It’s My Party” starring Eric Roberts (yeah) in which a man with a month to live decides to end his own life, and he throws a weekend-long party with everyone he’s ever loved there to say goodbye, at the end of which he swallows pills and dies with his closest family and friends around him.  Obviously the tone of AOTW is quite different, but the “choose your death on your own terms over a slower more painful and debilitating death” thing came from there.

Actually, re-reading that - I DID just sit down and go “You know what’d be fun?  DEATH.”

I wrote it in one sitting.  I wasn’t sure whether to post it.  I was very very  new to the fandom and didn’t have a good grasp of its tone - some fandoms react badly to deathfics, some thrive on them.  I asked the lovely-and-talented mazarin221b, who I’d known for a long time, to read it - she’d already been around the fandom and could advise me.  She said yeah, post it.  So I posted it.

Did I anticipate the response?  Of course not.  Nobody ever expects The Spanish Inquisition that kind of a response.  And it wasn’t immediate.  Upon release, the fic got a fairly normal response.  Complimentary, but it wasn’t like a TORRENT or anything.  It sort of built over time.  It wasn’t until I joined Tumblr a few months later that I started realizing the kind of response it was getting.  The day I discovered that it had its own TAG was interesting.  It got a huge boost from deductivism’s fanvid as well - I credit that vid with a LOT of the story’s visibility.

So there you have it.  My DVD commentary for “Alone on the Water.”  Let me take this opportunity to answer a few frequently asked questions about it.

1.  Was it based on “Third Star?”  I get this question all the time.  No, it wasn’t.  I didn’t see “Third Star” until months after I’d written it.

2.  Will you ever write a sequel?  You know, when I first released it, I actually had a sequel planned.  I even started writing it.  But no, I’m never going to write a sequel.  I sort of don’t feel like the story is mine anymore.

3.  Why’d you have to put slashy stuff in it?  Because I wanted to.  Next.

4.  Moffat/Gatiss/Ben/Martin need to see this.  No, they really, really, REALLY don’t.

5.  Where’d you get the title?  From the song lyrics that are at the top of the story.  :-)

6.  Those lyrics are wrong, you know.  There are conflicting lyrics to “Sorrow” online.  Some say “don’t leave my half a heart alone on the water” and some say “don’t leave my hyper heart alone on the water.”  I like the former better both as a lyric and as a connection to the story, so barring confirmation from The National I’m going to stick with it.  And if you know of such confirmation - I’m still keeping it the way it is, so no need to send me Asks about it.

7.  You should do a reading of it at a convention.  It’s been suggested.  I’m open to the idea.

Basically, I never could have dreamed of the kinds of things people have done and made based on my story.  There’s been so much fanart, fanvids, graphics, gifsets - even original songs! - and it’s…well, those of you who are authors as well can imagine what that means to me.  Every day it’s humbling and gratifying in a way I can’t put into words.  Every time I get a review (and I read all of them) telling me the story has affected someone, and that they’ll never forget it…it makes me feel like I’ve left at least a tiny footprint on the world, and on someone’s life, and that is the most amazing thing ever.

People thank me for the story.  Don’t thank me.  I’m thanking YOU for reading it.  

Will You Stay? (JB)

Request: can you write a fluffy scenario where you and JB are going to his house and it suddenly starts to rain, you’re all wet so he lends you his clothes (no one’s at home) and he jokes around and he starts hugging you with the excuse of making you feel warmer but things get a little hot

Length: 1,455 words

Genre: Fluff

*A/N: Combined this request with the “will you stay?” drabble prompt~

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Personal problem,

*casually gets scared of my own Fucking story*

Alright so, hey,
I’m a psychological-horror writer,
And I wrote a Fucking story about footprints and shit,
Now I’m scared of it.
I feel like a disappointment. Rip.

I am obsessed at nights with the idea of my own worthlessness, and if it were only to turn a light on to save my life I think I would not do it. These are the last footprints of a headache I suppose. Do you ever feel that? — like an old weed in a stream. What do you feel, lying in bed?
—  Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West
Dear heart,
you are beginning to look like a fire escape
for all the times people have used you to be safe
and left once the fire was out,
and I am wondering if I should apologise now
for how much all those footprints must have hurt you
it probably feels like grand central in there
it probably feels like rush hour traffic
except with nowhere to go and
maybe it was me,
maybe I pried you open for too long
and now you don’t know how to close for anyone
maybe that’s why you’re so hungry
why you’re starting to look like a mouth
and not a fist, where did that fight go?
why are you so willing to love everyone?
even if they don’t love you back
even if they don’t want to stay
is it me?
did you hear about softness so often
that you thought you had nowhere else to go?
I don’t know if that’s ruining or beautiful
I’m wondering if it can be both.
I want you to know that I’ll try though
I’ll keep trying and I hope someday
someone crawls into you and decides
that there is nowhere they would rather be
and that there is no place safer
to stay.
—  Azra.T., “Dear Heart"