#honestly highlight of my year wow

[oolongtealong]

watched the new book thief musical tonight. oh my life. what a gorgeous gorgeous piece of art. I can't wait for it to become an international phenomenon. so grateful God has kept me alive to see it oh my

#the book thief #book thief #musicals #the book thief musical #honestly highlight of my year wow

[lovelybarnes]

Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises. 

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

-

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you. 

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

-

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

-

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug. 

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

-

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains. 

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

-

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

-

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably. 

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. 

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously. 

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

-

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks. 

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?” 

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.” 

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons. 

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

-

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose. 

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend. 

-

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path. 

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

-

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down. 

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh. 

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back. 

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve. 

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

-

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

-

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

-

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit. 

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily. 

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can. 

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability. 

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.” 

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues.  “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader idiots in love #bucky barnes x reader mutual pining #bucky barnes x reader fluffy #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes college au #college!bucky barnes #college!bucky barnes x reader #best friend!bucky barnes x reader #best friend!bucky barnes #best friend!bucky #best friends to lovers #bucky barnes best friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader best friends to lovers #friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes request

[fandomshatefatpeople]

Hey so I get that this mainly a blog about media but I have no one fat-positive in my life and I need help. I’ve been fat all my life and now I’m on a mood stabilizer that makes me consistently gain weight and like I’m at the point where even plus size stores don’t carry clothes that fit me. Everyone keeps wanting me off the pills but I need them right now.

I worry I’m doomed to never like how I look again because I won’t be able to wear the clothes I want. And with how many health problems run in my family I just don’t have time for the world to get more accommodating.

I don’t know what to do to or how to be happy

*hugs*

I'm so sorry you're having people fat shaming you in your life. I've personally gained like 100 pounds from different psychotropics over the last 22 years. Some of it was really fast (like when I got put on lithium and gained 50 pounds in 4 months). I've done my fair amount of yoyo dieting as a result and let me tell you please start curating your online presence to feature fat positivity. A lot of the fat positivity of the last decade or so is just... it would make teenage me feel a whole lot better honestly. There's tons of resources like @fatphobiabusters and the tag #fatshion if you want to see other fat people who are wearing whatever they want.

I personally gained a lot of weight with my knee injury 2 years ago and its been very comforting to see so much more in the way of options now.

I'll give you a few tips for shopping. 1) only shop sales and clearance on popular retail sites like torrid or lanebryant. (I've gotten so much cute stuff from Lane Bryant that I don't see in their stores and like everything in their stores is for rich people I swear). 2) Shop with different occassions in mind. Pick one fancy dress for things like weddings and parties or clubbing. Lots of chic cocktail dresses can be dressed up or dressed down depending on your accessories. Get some work outfit staples (black pants or skirts are a must have for everyone but as long as you don't shop impulsively and recklessly at the last minute you should find a few things on sale now that will wow people when you finally debut them) 3) I know its hard to shop online but it can get easier if you do a few things. First of all is know your measurements. Get a measuring tape and measure your chest/bust your hips and your tummy where you want your pants to be. (this totally depends on whether you're looking for like high waisted pants or jeans btw).

Ok that's all I can think of right now but I might do a post that highlights my recent shopping sprees.

mod laina

#fat acceptance #fat shaming #psychotropics

[queers-gambit]

I would really really like to request something with drunk reader being all cute and smiley? Maybe a bit clumsy, too? Just a total drunk sweetheart? With Eddie, Steve or Billy? You can choose.

why not all three? 🖤

pairings: Steve Harrington x female!reader Eddie Munson x female!reader AND Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

Steve -

• you're at a house party together celebrating the end of senior year. unknown to the others, you and Steve share a private toast to the crazy shit that had gone down already, praying for it to be over.

• however, it's because of the crazy shit that you drink a little more than usual. NOT by much, but just enough to tip the scale into being "drunk".

• Steve's a sweetheart about it because he'll take note of how quick you went through your first drink and picked up the second. you don't notice, but he doesn't even go for a second - he just nurses his first to keep you from asking, "Stevie, what's wrong? you're not drinking?"

• your drunk pout could honestly get you anything but Steve won't let you know that.

• and oddly, everyone you interacted with was the same-level as intoxicated and therefore, surprisingly nice. it fueled your mood and Steve had to catch himself from smiling like an idiot.

• you'll cling to Steve only because he adds to your good mood - what with his charming smile, soft eyes, and luscious, flopping hair. his hands are always warm and never far from you; often tugging you closer just to press a kiss to your cheek or temple.

• and yeah, he lets you drag him to the dance floor. he's more inclined to dance once his one drink is fully in his system, but it's also because you only have eyes for him. it doesn't matter the song, your hands are on him and while sometimes you'll look foolish, Steve's right there with you - probably looking just as silly.

• he'll keep track of your drinks and intervenes after a certain point, playing it off because he "wants a sip" and you're too inebriated to ask for it back because Tammy Blitz is gossiping your ear off about something trivial.

• and when it's time to go, you'll whine a little because you want the good times to keep going but Steve's a little tired and more than ready to head out.

• so, he busts out his secret weapon - a dramatic pout of his bottom lip and a comment of, "just wanted to spend some alone time with you, baby. that's all."

• you're so much easier to get in the car after that.

• Steve makes sure he has snacks not only in the car, but at his house. and he'll giggle with you when your feet "forget" how to work; thumping up the stairs of his parent-less house.

• trying to get you changed is cute, too; you're cracking really bad jokes and Steve's trying to be serious. but then you ask, "baby, what's brown and sticky?"

• "what?"

• "a stick."

• "oh, my God - get your shirt on, please!"

• but he's laughing through it because wow - you're just so God damn cute and finally looking carefree that he doesn't want to be what brings your mood down. plus, your own laughter is addictive and you swear you're the funniest person you know in those moments.

• and you'll cling to him when he gets in bed; meaning the fan's on and only the sheets cover you guys. body heat + alcohol = warmth. so, he's prepared for when you want to be close to him, but also for when you start to complain it's "too hot to cuddle". your alcohol induced mind will assure you it's Steve's fault for how hot it is, so, he's making sure you're comfortable.

• he'll hold you close and fiddle with your hair, a soft smile on his lips as you recant the party to him - as if he wasn't there - and really highlight how much fun you had.

• "yeah? so, it was a good time tonight?"

• and your doe-eyes lift to his, "any time i spend with you is a good time, baby."

• about an hour later, he's holding your hair back as you heave into his toilet. but it's okay - he's got a cold washcloth to lay across your neck, some ginger ale at the ready with some saltine crackers, and your favorite movie plugged into the living room TV where he makes you both cozy for your hangover recovery.

Eddie -

• there's no real reason y'all need to start drinking.

• but maybe you're at the Hideout, watching him perform with his band. and the bartender and you became friends from the amount of time you spent there.

• so, imagine Eddie's grin when he gets off stage, pouring sweat, and you're sitting at the bar - cracking up over something - with a glass of liquor in hand.

• "Eddie!" you squeal when you see him, launching off your seat and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. "you were amazing! oh, my God - right, Bobby?"

• that bartender chuckles and slides a glass of beer over to Eddie, nodding, "great show, kid."

• Eddie can't help but flush slightly but his attention is drawn back to you as you gushed about his show - as if he hadn't been the frontman of the whole thing.

• his eyes go soft as he gazes down at you as you're practically vibrating from how excited you were. and it spurs you to drink a bit more, and Eddie's chuckling as you dance around the floor.

• and you'll shower him in complements, making him flush and gently shush you. but you don't - you're just getting started.

• he doesn't mind how clingy you get, he's happy to keep you close cause you've been known to trip over yourself a few times. plus the look of love on your face when you gaze up at him is enough to make Eddie's cheek blaze.

• he'll dance with you, of course. he'll do anything you ask.

• your smile is contagious and riding the high of his performance, Eddie was feeling pretty on top of the world. your giggle makes a grin stretch across his face and your higher-pitched voice is an indication that you're totally wasted.

• but you're too cute and that smile doesn't fade the whole night.

• he wonders if your cheeks are hurting from the way it doesn't wavier all night.

• he's just as clingy and wants you close; it being easier to yank you into his lap when you're a couple drinks in. it's actually pretty normal for Eddie to hang in a back corner with his bandmates, you on his lap, and his ringed fingers pressing wherever they could.

• your energy is similar to that of a puppy and Eddie's entertained trying to keep you on a leash. he doesn't like you being far from him while drinking, so, there's typically a hand one either of you to keep you close. whether it's your hand on his belt, or his around your neck, you're both always close.

• and Eddie is laughing with you as he tries to corral you into his van because you want to keep going but Ed's tired. he doesn't mind that your energy is tenfold his own, he's just happy to be around you.

• you'd whine about whatever music was on the radio, but won't change it because your mind is jumping different topics. you'll pass some cattle in a field and coo about how fuzzy they look - making him snicker lightly.

• you're definitely trying to convince Eddie to go skinny dipping with you. you're successful about 50% of the time because Ed has a difficult time saying no - sober or not.

• back at his place, he'll kiss your nose and forehead a lot as he gently coaxes you into doing what needed done before bed. and when you're stripped of your pants and tangled in one of his shirts, Eddie's smiling fondly before helping you.

• he'll lay there for about an hour, tracing his fingertips over your shoulder blades as you mutter incoherently in your sleep - and thank whatever God out there for someone like you.

• drunk or sober, Eddie's more than happy to take care of you.

Billy -

• you and Billy are definitely at a party. there's no tension and your good mood carries through when you start drinking.

• B might be standing with a few of the basketball dudes before catching sight of you dancing wildly with a few girlfriends.

• he'll chuckle and push away from his friends just in time to catch you around your waist just as you trip slightly.

• you'll gasp before realizing there's strong arms around you, looking up to see your smirking boyfriend and gasp, "baby!"

• he chuckles, "what're you doing, peaches?"

• you'll shrug, "it's summer." because that's all the explanation needed for getting trashed.

• Billy doesn't mind keeping an eye on you for the rest of the night. he has a stony look of indifference masking his emotions, but on the inside, his stomach's a little warm because you're so sweet, so cute.

• your clumsiness is exaggerated when you drink, meaning Billy's always close by to catch you at the last second.

• he's not a dancer, but he'll watch you go. and the grin on your face soon mimics his own and Billy's approaching you to wrap you in his embrace.

• "what's got you smiling like that, baby?"

• "you're just so pretty."

• he'll drive you home with his hand locked in your own - listening to you sing to his radio or recount certain pieces of gossip you heard.

• he just mockingly goes, "oooh." "mhm, yeah?" "no - you don't say?"

• you're not offended because the alcohol in your system makes you think he's listening intently. he just chuckles and helps you out of the car, into your house, and to your bedroom.

• you'll whine a little about your feet hurting and B's just chuckling and nudging you onto your bed before yanking your boots off. he's used to you bumping around things but it's worse when you're drunk, so, after you're barefoot, he's standing you up and helping you out of your tight jeans.

• and once in bed, Billy's chuckling as you burrow into his warm chest - basically completely on top of him - before muttering you should get some sleep. he won't move you, he'll just stroke over the back of your head, make sure there's a bottle of water near-by, and that a trash can was within reach - just in case.

• in the morning, he's definitely teasing you about your drunken antics before his arms are tight around your waist, back against his chest, and his lips tracing over your ear as he assured he thought you were adorable.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #billy hargrove #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #billy hargrove headcanon #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things

[cinnamoodles]

the language of flowers — part two, irises

warnings: more angst than part one which is great, also reader throwing stuff bc she’s a badass, and in character Anthony which is honestly more of a red flag than ooc Anthony but you love him anyway you nasty :)

word count: 1.4k (wow I impress myself sometimes)

author’s note: we love this part bc reader stands up for herself and Anthony is one major daddy issues boy.

read the other parts! — part one, daises | part three, peonies

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

--------- . . . ---------

ii. 1804, iridaceae versicolor. irises, trust

Anthony paced the length of this study—which wasn’t all too large, but stress relieving nonetheless. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a tempestuous mix of newfound worry and lingering doubts. Today marked one year, one year without his father, one year his mother was cast into a depressive state, one year since he had taken on the mantle of viscount, and become the father figure that his youngest siblings did not have.

It had been far too long since he had last spoken to you—days? Weeks? He had never gone so long without even seeing your face, and that was a stretch. He’d spent his last few months mourning, brooding, and perhaps being a tad overbearing on himself, but he had to, for the sake of his family’s honour, it’s prestige. 

There’s a sharp knock on his door, it’s most likely Colin or Daphne, who are frequent in irritating him. He makes no effort to open the door, and with a practiced gesture, he dips his quill into the inkwell, resuming his task of poring over the estate's financial matters. How often had his father sat here, absorbed in these very same calculations? A pang of longing pierces through him at the thought, his heart echoing the emptiness his father's absence had left behind.

Another knock.

It must be Colin, his eyes sparkling, attempting to irritate him once again. “I’ve got a job,” he snaps, “and I suggest you get one as well, one that does not involve vexing me at every given minute.”

The door creaks open, candlelight flickering over the stacks of leather bound tomes and haphazardly organized scrolls, casting lanky shadows over his face, playing upon the strong angles, highlighting the lines of exhaustion that marred his usually composed countenance. His normally impeccable attire was slightly disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through his hair in frustration, and his ink-stained fingers spoke of long hours spent in diligent work. He wasn’t in a position to meet anyone, much less usher yet another one of his young siblings out of his room.

“Oh, I vex you? Is that why you've been evading me like the plague?” Your presence was like a sudden burst of sunlight piercing through the storm clouds—startling, yet warmly welcomed. The quill slipped from his fingers as his eyes widened in surprise, locking onto your face, a vision that brought back a flood of memories and feelings he had attempted to suppress.

Your stormy eyes burned through his deep brown ones, and you crossed your hands across your chest. Your soft hair was tucked behind your ear, and your eyes were wide, as if staring directly into Anthony’s soul, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to become lost, to dream, and to gaze into them as if he was merely a boy again, holding you in his arms.

“Say something, Anthony! I’ve not seen you in weeks, properly, and you’ve barely held a conversation with anyone other than your butler, and frankly, I—” 

Anthony quickly wrapped you in a hug, burying his face in your shoulder, your cotton dress soft to the touch. He mumbles. “I missed you.” He can feel you stiffen, but soon gently relax into his arms.

“That is why I came,” you smile, and pull away, holding him at an arm’s distance. “Oh, and my brother is getting married. I wanted to invite you personally to the wedding.” Your oldest brother, twenty eight years of age, was getting married, Anthony recalled. He was, of course, to be the next Duke when your father inevitably passed.

Anthony rubbed his eyes. “My sisters will come, of course, but I may not be able to.” Your invitation was tempting, and the prospect of seeing you again filled Anthony with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed you until this moment, when you walked in the door. But his responsibilities as the viscount weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he feared that leaving the estate at this crucial time might jeopardize his mother’s already precarious emotional situation.

"I wish I could attend, truly," Anthony replied with a hint of regret in his voice. "But with the estate's financial matters in such disarray, I can't afford to be away for long. I must attend to my duties here."

You frowned slightly, concern glazed across your soft, delicate features. "Anthony, you can't carry the burden of the entire estate on your own. There must be someone who can assist you, even for a short time."

"I've considered that," Anthony admitted, his mind aching from the internal struggle. "But finding someone trustworthy, capable, and knowledgeable enough to handle the estate's affairs is not an easy task. I fear leaving things in someone else's hands might cause more harm than good.”

You crossed your arms, frustration evident in your expression. "Anthony, you can't keep shutting yourself off from the world. Your family's honor and prestige won't matter if you run yourself into the ground!"

He takes a step back, feeling defensive under your stern gaze. "I am taking care of things. I'm doing what I need to do to ensure the estate's survival, which is all that matters to me, at this point in time."

"Are you?" you snap, your voice tinged with disappointment that Anthony could see etched in your face. "You've barely spoken to anyone, including me, for weeks. You're burying yourself in work, and for what? To prove some sort of point? That you’re fit to be the man of the house?"

"I don't have a choice," Anthony replied tersely. "As the viscount, it's my duty to oversee everything. And after losing my father, I can't afford to let anything else slip through my fingers."

"You can't live in the past, Anthony," you urged, taking a step closer to him. "Your father's gone, and while it's natural to mourn, you can't let grief consume you. Of course, you have responsibility—"

His jaw clenched, and he shot back, "Responsibility? What would you know of responsibility? You don't understand the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. I can't just leave everything behind and go gallivanting off to weddings, like an immature child."

Pain flashed across your face, but Anthony was much too in his head to take a look at his surroundings. He continued, as if possessed by some spirit. “You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You’re spoiled, and the only thing your family has ever thought of doing for you is getting you married.” He spit. “So why don’t you worry about your responsibilities, and I’ll worry about mine.”

A single tear fell from your eye, and in that moment, Anthony wished he could take it all back, swallow the poison he had thrown at you so mercilessly. “I…” you bite your lip, and he wanted to take you in his arms, comfort you, and hold you.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I’m sorry for whatever sin I’ve done to have you treat me like this.” You quickly wipe your tears and rush to the door. Anthony wanted to stop you, to scream about how he didn’t mean any of the words he said.

You quickly turn around, revealing a bouquet of irises, the specific ones Anthony had commented on the last time he visited your estate. He could barely remember when. “By the way, I bought you flowers. I thought they’d cheer you up,” you retort, before throwing the delicately tied bunch of flowers straight to his head, hitting his nose.

The door slammed, and Anthony was once again left alone, only this time, he’d have done anything to bring you back. Slowly, the petals of the irises cascaded down onto the ground, fracturing the flowers, and Anthony noticed a small piece of paper.

The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: In the quaint world of botany, the charming iris blooms have long been regarded as symbolic emissaries of trust and faithfulness. Like an ancient scroll unraveling before our very eyes, the iris, with its alluring hues and delicate petals, unravels the story of steadfast devotion and allegiance. Just as an honest man's handshake vouches for his sincerity, the iris bestows its trust upon those who approach with an open heart and gentle touch, and a receiving of this gentle bloom from either gender discloses that the gifter trusts you with their whole heart. Its regal demeanor, reminiscent of a gallant knight in armor, instills in us the assurance that this flower is a beacon of loyalty and constancy.

Trust. You had trusted him, and what had he done with that? He’d tossed it away, and your gift had broken. Anthony wasn’t usually one for symbolism, but these broken irises were pretty damn apparent.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #Anthony Bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #Bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #Bridgerton x you #Anthony Bridgerton x you #anthony Bridgerton x y/n #anthony Bridgerton x female!reader

[stoopid-turtle]

moar made-up thoughts about dd's thoughts

Some of the replies on my previous post left me re-evaluating, and I don't know that I was incredibly effective at what I meant to communicate (honestly, that is really frustrating for me). So I just want to clarify and maybe add some context.

I assume it goes without saying that everybody in turtleland adores dd and gg and that we think dd is a sweetie-pie (I can't conceive of being a turtle without that belief). And as a group, dd and gg's sweet moments get highlighted a lot, which I adore. These posts I have on dd are more about stuff I don't see discussed quite as much and they're not meant to encapsulate all that dd is because, wow that's a lot. For the previous post, I'd been thinking a lot about dd's mentality and how he approaches things, as seen in SDC, because his captaining style seems really distinct in a way I wanted to dig into.

Honestly, we've known dd for years at this point, and he's grown and changed throughout that time. He's been influenced by gg and by other friends and mentors. And like most people, how he acts is variable and dependent on context. 

I do think dd was sometimes thoughtless when younger, but I don't think that's anything out of the ordinary for his age at the time, and I think he's grown out of it. In any case, it was never mean-spirited. Still, I think the way he expresses his feelings is pretty reserved and that he's not incredibly prone to sentimental gestures, like the gifts he sent Yang Kai. I think he can be thoughtful in that he's responsive when people indicate what they want, but I don't think he's the type to think up a gift idea on his own. Given that Yang Kai actually knows the guy and said as such, I don't think it's too far off-base to say that. I honestly think he probably gets help from gg with that sort of stuff, and he's likely to have gotten better at it as a result. But dd has never struck me as a sentimental guy.

(though with the captain gifts, I have no idea the logistics of how those worked, and I suspect, like most things on reality shows, that production assistants helped with suggestions and such)

I think he's a fantastic captain! I don't think I said that, because it's one of those things I assume goes without saying, especially as it's often said as such in turtledom. I think even back to Produce 101 when he was mentoring the young girls who were fawning over him. He did the cutesy dance with them to support them, even though he hates being cutesy (and bless him for it. That dance is a gift (and led to cute bts moments of gg poking fun at dd)). He's passionate about dance and he's passionate about helping other people improve (and learning from others). Dancers want to join his team because of that passion, and because dd just has a natural talent for it that is incredibly inspiring.

But he does like winning. He explicitly said as much himself. And that one episode I highlighted where his team lost is pretty tense. The rehearsals were tense, the performance was tense, dd's response to everything was tense. During one round, his team only gets 4 votes compared to, like 40 for the other team. I can't recall the score ever being so lopsided, especially when the losing team is full of top-tier dancers.

And dd's behavior then is incredibly relatable to me. He laughs about it, joking about how he only got 4 votes. But it's the laugh you get when you're really unhappy and kinda embarrassed but trying to keep a good, positive face on things (or at least, that's a strategy I have for those moments, and given dd's switch to serious-times when he's doing the team debrief, I think he's somewhat similar). 

And dd recovers well. He has a debrief with his team. He talks to Han Geng about what his team is lacking (they specifically talk about his team performance not being thematic like the others) and realizes they need a choreographer to pull everything together and give them direction. And the very first round of recruitment, he gets a choreographer for them. 

I don't think dd only likes winning. The reference to "not here to make friends" thing was a bit of rhetorical exaggeration for fun. Like I noted, he makes friends. He learns a lot and he mentors a lot, and that's definitely a big part of the draw for SDC for him. And while dd never intentionally cultivates a family atmosphere (as opposed to the other captains who explicitly tell their team that they're like a family), they come together like a family anyway. But he still likes winning, and I think he has trouble enjoying everything else as much if he's not winning. 

It's not a bad thing to be competitive like that (I once got into a fight with my wife because I kept losing in thumb wars against her. I personally know when competitiveness becomes stupid). DD has a passionate drive to succeed. This is how he's managed to excel at basically everything he tries (except cooking). I think way back to the auditions in SDC 3, when dd impresses his group by being savvy about street dance gestures (like the plagiarism gesture) and by knowing how to appeal to dancers (by having them warm up with some freestyling). He quickly overcomes any doubts the dancers have based on his idol background by being genuine, sincere, and passionate and that's why people want to join his team.

 *rereads all this* Hmmmm...feedback and replies are good. This is a better post.

Also, this judge is the one who always says nice things about dd. He's said at one point that dd has an extraordinary natural talent for dance even among professional dancers. He's right and he should say it. Best judge. A+ I hope they keep bringing him on.

#bjyx #yizhan #in this house we use a lot of words #the first photo i put in this tumblr and it's some random white dude wtf me #dd would def roll his eyes at alla this #still an honor

[makingspiritualityreal]

Lessons from my Anime Phase

Many years ago, before I matured into my spiritual journey, this used to be an anime blog. I don't regret this phase of my life, even though I completely outgrew it, because I believe it taught me something important.

The content of a creation is more important than the form. There is anime (sadly not as many as you would think) that is a good piece of art. There are regular movies that suck. These years taught me to look deep beyond the surface form and into the meaning of any creation. I'm still waiting for a movie as good at depicting the power of wishful thinking and self repression as Perfect Blue.

Supressing one's emotions leads to serious repercussions. One of the reasons some people find anime so weird is because it is literally an outlet for the collective mentality and emotionality of Japanese societal pressure. It feels exaggerated, but it is a reaction to the external forced numbness and politeness the Japanese society is plagued with. If you don't deal with how you feel regularly and don't express it and process it, if you don't make friends with your demons, you keep bubbling like a cauldron. It leads to having a very edgy, very draining life, not being present with yourself. It leads to not being able to function and ultimately making simple things feel like the end of the world.

Getting older is awesome. I would never come back to my past. Every morning felt like torture. Sometimes, even if life is never perfect, it moves you on in simpler ways that allow for balance. Establishment of healthy routines does wonders for mental peace. The Universe putting you in an environment where you can do that, after years of having that taken away from you, feels blissful. With time comes perspective and you can see your life shaping up and taking you somewhere. That allows you to approach the rest of your life with the same philosophy. I can read this post another 10 years into the future, and think wow, my life got even better. But at least now I am relaxed about it and don't overthink how every tiny little thing can go and I don't try to control or micromanage the future.

Youth is overrated. Hottness is overrated. Very few people really get to enjoy being young and hot, and those that do, are probably on Youtube's most watched list now. Being young and hot only pays off if you happen to be an artist, you're in a good film, or you're lucky enough to be in a music video. With those things, you build a legacy you will have forever. But most young women spend their youth and beauty on dating guys they wish they could forget in their 30s. At least I can say I spent it on spiritual growth, which I am really proud of. I was younger and "hotter" once, but paradoxically I feel like I'm becoming more beautiful. I had absolutely no benefits from being young and hot. I had no good relationships and everyone irl always criticized me for breathing. I never felt attractive. My highlights were compliments from my online friends, because noone around me actually thought well of me in my physical life. I'm married now, but this is my first serious adult relationship. I didn't have any good relationships that really appreciated my looks back then. So whatever has passed, hasn't really been used anyway. I was very insecure because I lived surrounded by unfair criticism from many people, who should have been supporting me but betrayed me. Maybe some people have fun in their youth, I honestly didn't. Moving away from all the people that made my youth something I'm glad to put behind me was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Being different growing up is hell for everybody, no matter what form it takes. Being an outcast is probably the number one debilitating thing that makes youth difficult. You have no role models, you have no support, you endure extra pressure. But over time, even those that are different end up finding their place, and they realise they were just different to people around them in their early environment, but they're not that different from the rest of the world.

#spiritual journey #spiritual growth #spirituality #spiritual awakening #personal

[booskwan]

arirang radio highlights!

when junji picked up the camera for greetings nine goes “oh scary”

(the mc mentioned it’s been about 3 years since they last went on and asked if they’ve been doing well)

n: we haven’t been well

host: why why why?

n: we missed you! of course we haven’t been doing well we missed you!

jj: i don’t know if i can say this but

n: then don’t

jj: bc it’s kind of awkward. [something about his back being bad]

host: wow you already feel that (at your age)?

jj: so i think i should work out/exercise a bit

kb said in his heart [only] he’s still in his teens

host: [eng] i remember this actually ooo has no leader right? [kor] you don’t have a leader right? -*he probably brought this up bc it’s kind of unusual for groups to not have a leader but it does feel a bit….

kb: we do

yj: [we didn’t] but we have a new one!

m: while we were preparing for this comeback a new leader appeared

host: ah while preparing for this comeback? then…who is it

(yoojung and mill both ask who he thinks it is)

host: oh this is kinda difficult they’re all well spoken

m: go by feeling

host: by feeling…the way i see it….(looking at yoojung nine and rie’s side)ah!

jj: it seems like you’re excluding us (from the options)

n: *laughing* he didn’t look over there

m: please look at us too

host: oh i immediately went over to this (yj, n, rie) side! ah is the leader over here (jj, m, kb)?

n: no, no

kb: pls include us as candidates

n: [eng] choose one, choose one

host: honestly i was thinking it might be kyubin. he kind of has that pose

kb: did you see my age by any chance

host: oh no no no

(i think nine said something about kyubin’s hair going grey or him losing hair)

host: he’s kind of calm when he talks so [i thought it was him]

(everyone goes ahh)

host: oh was i right?

kb: it’s not me

n: rie please explain (who the leader is)

(kb and nine saying rie wanted to do it but-)

rie: i gave the chance up. our nine has a strong sense of responsibility and he already kind of took the position and said he wanted to try it and he’s well-behaved so i gave [the position] up.

host: ahh

rie: so now nine is the leader

host: [eng] nine is the leader! [kor] nine why did you want to do it?

n: [eng] ah because we want a leader [kor] we thought we needed a leader [eng] so i [kor] stepped up. i stepped up

host: [eng] i think he’s gonna be fantastic [kor] i think he’ll be a good leader!

(everyone agrees)

jj: i think he’s a leader who does his best

junji said with the stephanie situation mill was beside him and goes “hyung it’s stephanie, it’s stephanie”

yj: sungho said this to me “you kind of look young for your age.” i think that too

(he said that he hears it a lot)

yj: and the people around me when they hear kyubin’s actual age say that he looks young for his age

rie: what about junji

jj: unfortunately people dont tell me that. mom, dad. i love you

n: it’s like that for me too. when i go out [people say] i look older than kyubin

host: how do you feel when that happens?

n: how do i feel? i ask “are you sure?” with a scary gaze

(what is your dopamine lately)

m: for me of course the one that always is beside us, with an angel-like existence,

yj: me?

n: kyubinie?

m: lyons

host: i also thought you were gonna say kyubin. when do you feel dopamine most from fans?

m: this comeback lyons have been giving us so much love and we can always really feel it

kb: by any chance have you thought about repaying that love

m: i’m repaying it a lot. i’ll work hard. i’ll do well!

after the dopamine performance kb said he forgot the words for the first time

(nine is complaining again about mill not pursing his lips during the beyond kiss scene)

host: what did you do about it?

n: i went in like a gastroscrope and tried to find them (mill’s lips)

host: this is the first time i’ve heard something like this. seriously i’ve done this for 10 years and this is the first time i’ve heard people talk about a kiss scene. mill why did you do it like that? it’s a scene yk

m: i was so shy

n: [eng] so shy

host: ah it can be a little cute

n: [eng] so cute

host: if you have to do it again,

m&n: we did do it again

n: we shot a drama, called bump up business, and we had a kiss scene

host: before you do a kiss scene, do you have something you need to prepare?

n: ah of course i have it with me now

host: what is it?

yj: breath spray

n: *pulls out spray and uses it* [eng] and, kiss them

host: ah ok ok ok ok. so mill hadn’t prepared

n: yeah yeah he hadn’t prepared

host: but why are you prepared today, you don’t have a kiss scene?

n: you never know [eng] we prepare always we always prepare 🤷

rie: suddenly a kiss schedule with mill could come up

host: i think i’d run away like mill because im shy

n: [eng] its okay im so fast

host: what was the question

#ooo #onlyoneof #theo.txt #also the way it’s written may make it seem like the host is being rude but obviously written is different than spoken so just fyi he wasn’t #being rude or anything

[whumpy-wyrms]

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

here’s some wholesome Dew art because he deserves to be happy :3 (also his sweater is supposed to look like colorful firework explosions)

now here i go getting all sentimental under the read more…

first off, thanks @mottinthemainpot and @toyybox for requesting New Years art because i wouldn’t have drawn this otherwise!! it was fun and i love how colorful it turned out :D

also here’s the version without the background

anyway, i have to say that making this blog was one of the biggest highlights of my year. i did so many things that i thought i’d never do! like show my writing to people, post oc stuff… make actual friends. seriously, just creating something that makes other people happy is what i’ve always wanted to do, and i did it! writing and drawing are my favorite hobbies and i’m so so happy that i’m making other people happy by doing what i love more than anything.

i know TLLR may not matter all that much to other people, but it had a huge impact on my life. it caused me to start sharing my stories instead of keeping them in my head, it caused me to come out of my shell and actually talk to people online, and make so many amazing friends that i never would have met otherwise. it made it easier for me to be myself and interact with people, instead of hiding or being too shy like i’ve been doing my whole life. i used to be soo scared of talking to people online, because i thought nobody would like me or i’d be too awkward. but all of your amazing support made me able to do that, made me able to express myself and find a friend group that i can relate to and who likes me for me. that’s something i’ve always wanted, so thank you all!!

ever since i was 12, it was my dream to make something- a series and characters- that inspired others and made people happy (aka the same impact that Gravity Falls had on me). i know TLLR isn’t much, and it’s not super popular or anything, but i’m so unbelievably happy that i created something that makes people excited to read and think about and make art for. i’m so happy i created something that inspires people and makes people happy (even just a little bit). that is honestly all i’ve ever wanted and it makes me excited for all the amazing things i’ll do in the future.

to all of you invested in my silly little story, THANK YOU!!!! without any of your support or kind messages or reactions or art, i literally wouldn’t have made it this far. i remember the first ask i ever got (you know who you are :)) and i just wanna talk about how that affected me. because holy shit, back then, that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about something i made. i can’t even describe how happy i was when i first read it, like it literally made my entire month. it made me realize that i’m capable of making something that makes people happy. and to everyone who has ever left nice messages about my series, thank you so much again!! because wow, it’s just so surreal that people like my creations. thank you

this is super rambly and completely unplanned, but yeah i just wanted to say thanks for the amazing past few months. i’m so happy i joined this community, everyone here is so nice and it’s led me to make amazing things. even if you don’t read TLLR (i recommend it ehehehe /nf), thanks for following me and supporting me with my art. drawing all those tllr drawings definitely made me improve a lot (this year was also a huge year for my art in general. i’m so proud of myself for how much i’ve improved with my art).

ALSO WRITING!!! my writing has definitely improved thanks to tllr. before this, i just wrote for fun about my other ocs and never showed ANYONE. it wasn’t in chronological order and i didn’t care much for mistakes or perfect grammar or anything. don’t get me wrong, i love the other stuff i wrote for myself, but tllr is by far the best in my opinion. it challenged me to write something not only for myself, but something other people would read. it put me out of my comfort zone at first, when i posted the first chapter. my writing has improved so much because of that and i’m so fucking excited for what i’ll be able to accomplish in the future.

oh yeah! thanks to the whump community for inspiring me to post my stuff in the first place! tllr specifically is something very important and personal to me, but something that i’m able to share with other people so easily. tllr isn’t just mine anymore, it’s everyone’s who’s ever read it (don’t take that too literally)

anyway, i know i’m forgetting something but yeah i just wanted to say thanks!! you are all so amazing! i’m not gonna tag all of the friends i made but you all know who you are, thank you!!! 2023 was amazing for me and i’m so excited for what 2024 will bring (besides me literally graduating high school this year)! big things are coming up with tllr too, new characters, twists and turns, crazy stuff. i’m so fucking excited

OH YEAH! i usually don’t make new year’s resolutions but this year i definitely want to draw more of my friends/mutuals’ characters. all of you are so creative and drawing art for other people is something i realized i love to do!!

i don’t know how to end this, it got longer than i planned loll. thank you all for the amazing year!! thanks for all the support!! :DDD

#:D #my art #dew oc #tllr art #the last lab rat

[royallpetrichor]

Okay so I haven't posted in like 12 years and I know I'm like a week late, but what's everyone's thoughts on the live-action ATLA teaser? I'm genuinely very interested to know, because I certainly have thoughts, and I've definitely seen some polarised opinions. What do you like about it, and are you worried about anything?

Anyway, my long personal thoughts are below the keep reading line. I probably haven't said anything super new, or any hot takes but they're there.

First, what I loved about the teaser. It looked visually stunning! The shot composition all looked amazing (to someone who knows nothing about film), the visual tone was definitely there, and the set design was gorgeous! The entire time I was just going "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god" but in a good way. The characters especially look great. In particular, I loved Suki, Aang, and Zuko. I know some people were disappointed with how the characters looked, but I really think it's the best we could have gotten considering the wide disconnect between animation and live-action, and I think it's something people need to remember.

The acting obviously hasn't been shown very much, so it's still up in the air in that regard. I've been trying to convince myself I'm cautiously optimistic, but quite honestly I've gone straight to pure excitement, despite my worries.

We're also getting more flashbacks, as shown by the fact there's a scene of the Air Nomad genocide. More worldbuilding and backstory is definitely something I'm very happy about, so I'm excited to see where it goes. The thing that stumps me on it is whether they're going to do it well. In the film that shall not be named, Shyamalan put references to the original show everywhere, but he never took the time to understand why they worked. It was like he wanted us to say "Wow! They said the thing!!!!!" as if we'd clap at the screen without actually thinking about anything. I'm really, really hoping that's not the case here.

The tone is definitely something that people are concerned about, myself included. The teaser was very serious and dramatic. Of course, the show has those moments but it's overall very lighthearted. It's a show about friendship first and foremost, and those positive messages are highlighted throughout the series. I'm hoping this teaser is more Netflix saying "Look at these cool effects!" and less "This is the overall tone of the entire series!".

The humour also comes to play in this. ATLA has a lot of jokes. You know this, I know this, they work, I don't have to talk about it. I'm curious about the humor in the live-action series because a lot of the humour in ATLA works because the show is animated, and wouldn't work in the live-action setting. In the film that shall not be named, Shyamalan tried to take jokes from the show, but they just fell completely flat because it was the completely wrong genre and just created tonal dissonance.

The last big thing I'm worried about is the characters, particularly Katara and Zuko.

I'm worried about Katara, because film has had this tendency in the past (and I know this is probably outdated) to "tone down" a female character's more "unsavoury/unladylike" traits. This is a bad example but it's the best my brain can come up with, but Hermione in the HP films compared to the books. In the films she was smart, brave, never wrong, and never made fun of. In the books, she was smart, yes, but also naive, and really mean and judgy sometimes.

Katara is a strong female character because she's not perfect. She's hotheaded and can hold a mean grudge, but those make her who she is. Also, in the film that does not exist, other character's strong moments are inexplicably given to Katara to make her more "badass" without actually putting in the work for her.

I'm worried about Zuko for an entirely different reason. I'm scared they'll "tone back" his assholeness in the first season, and possibly even give us his backstory a lot sooner. I really don't want this, because the whole reason his redemption arc works is because he was a villain first. He did bad things, but he atoned for them. His backstory explains his actions but doesn't excuse them. If we're sympathetic to him too early, the payoff is going to feel a lot cheaper, and like he didn't actually work to make himself better because he was already there.

Okay wow that was a lot, but that sums up all of my thoughts/concerns/excitement for the show. I'm really stoked to see where they go with it, and even if it's a disaster I'll probably enjoy it anyway honestly.

#atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar live action #avatar the last airbender live action #zuko #aang #sokka #katara #toph #suki

[jmdbjk]

Mid-year recalibration

It's been a year since Festa Dinner 2022. A LOT HAS HAPPENED SINCE THEN.

And on January 1, 2023, I posted my "predictions" for the year. "Predictions" in quotes because most everything I write is sort of slightly unserious, not to be taken TOO seriously, begs for you to please use your common sense... also I haz a little sarcasm dripping here and there when I express my thoughts. Drip, drip.

So let's see the status of my "predictions":

Solo albums... wellll, I sort of got that right, Jimin's FACE was released before Yoongi's D-Day. We're still waiting for Tae and Jungkook. RM keeps putting off enlistment to work on new music. I'm gonna have to drag him by the ear to training camp... get yer ass in there so you can come back sooner than later!! But we did get to see him for Festa and I'm thankful for that.

New prediction: Jungkook comes through with a chart topper that doesn't involve a collab.

Speaking of Tae, I said he'd do more acting before music and though it's not really acting, he's been in a few reality TV shows: "In the Soop: Friendcation" and "Jinny's Kitchen." There are rumors he was spotted on the set of a K-drama and now possibly he was in Spain for a movie...or was that for an upcoming solo MV? Surely he'll have at least a little bit of music before he enlists? Honestly, I wouldn't mind seeing him actually acting in a drama... we wait.

New prediction: Piano bar listening party for his solo release.

Military enlistment... wow so far I've struck out. Joon is still hanging around. Yoongi has extended his world tour (which I'm happy to say I've been to a concert). And HOBI IS ALREADY ENLISTED....

😭

So 3 strikes I'm out because obviously their enlistment timing is unpredictable. Right now I'm just hoping that by May 2024 (yes almost a year from now) they'll all be in so we can have a New Year group reunion on Dec. 31, 2025. Of course, I hope they go much sooner though it kills me to know we have to watch them enlist again and again.

My other predictions were hit and miss:

Yoongi did cut his hair so I was wrong about that. Also sad. I loved his long hair. And this NBA ambassadorship came outta left field. The D-Day world tour was the bomb he dropped on us, his big project. Oh well, guess there won't be any tangerine soju coming from his non-existent citrus orchards. Ha!

Hobi DID release more music, On the Street, and it WAS a collab with J. Cole. AND he became fashion ambassador for his fave: Louis Vuitton. God I miss him so much. Instagram is so quiet without him. Everything is so quiet without him.

We finally got PJM1 and it has a name now, FACE and Like Crazy has broken records. Jimin as an artist has broken records as we knew he would and he is still making music. And he's travelling the world being a Dior and Tiffany ambassador and snatching everyone's wig, eating everyone alive and just being Jimin. His constant happy smile has been the most meaningful thing to me this year. I'm so thrilled he is happy.

Jungkook... the Bunkoo has stumped me. The Calvin Klein contract is amazing. His spontaneous lives have been wonderful. Cooking for us has been awesome. None of that could have been predicted. He's the sweetest king of spoilers and support for Jimin's stuff. I also did not predict I would love him even more this year. But here we are.

NOT ON THE PREDICTION RADAR WHATSOEVER:

Jimin on a Fast & Furious franchise soundtrack collab. I NEED MORE JIMIN!

Tae and Jennie "soft" revealing their relationship publicly. Like WHAT? But they did that.

Also blonde Tae... I never thought we'd see a blonde Tannie again.

Attending a Suga/Agust D concert and meeting up with Army friends I met on the internet. HIGHLIGHT OF THE YEAR!

[I can't believe I saw Yoongi in real life. This close.]

2023 is already half way over. I have no idea what will happen this second half of 2023. It's a mystery.

As much as I am reveling in having so much to look forward to every day and every week, and as much as I wish this didn't have to happen...I (selfishly) really want them to get enlisted so they can be back together as soon as possible in 2025 (at any point in 2025). The first time I see them together in 2025, I am going to cry with relief. However I am always the first to say BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR so I know I shouldn't even been saying any of that...

Anyway...

I guess at the end of December, I will be looking back and saying "well, who would have thought THAT would happen?" More of "not on the prediction radar." By December, Jin will only have six months left. Time is flying faster than I thought it would when back on June 13, 2022. After that heartbreaking Festa dinner, we were staring down a bleak two and a half years of being Bangtan-less....well that didn't happen did it?

#bts festa 2023 #bts military service #2023 predictions went off the rails a little #okay a lot #taennie soft reveal was the real bomb tho am i right? #like what? jaw drop

[kharrisdawndancer]

For someone new to following! What is this about new timelines? I want to know EVERYTHING but that’s not a realistic ask! So what’s the highlight for an introduction into it! If you don’t mind of course!

OK! This a moderately involved OOC story, but honestly not SUPER interesting, lol. I'm putting it under a cut so that people who aren't interested don't have to scroll for it:

Originally I rolled Kharris on Shadow Council back in early Burning Crusade. She become one of my RP main characters and had a very full and lively time on Shadow Council with a lot of people in her life. Eventually, the player that played her husband decided they were leaving the game for what they thought was going to be forever, so Kharris got played less and less, but I still liked her character and wanted to play her. So I rolled a new version of Kharris on Wyrmrest Accord. MOST of her history was the same, but obviously who she knew and life experiences started to branch. This was not Kharris-ShC, this was a new version, Kharris-WrA.

So off and on for several years, I played both versions of the character, and both got into shenanigans. Both were still named Kharris at this time. Then Cross Realm Zoning (CRZ) started to happen in WoW. And my main RP hub for both versions of Kharris was Silvermoon City. And Silvermoon City was gettin CRZ'ed with Wryrmrest and Shadow Council together. So I would RP on WrA-Kharris with her history and friends and someone from Shadow Council would see her and act like she was ShC-Kharris. It got confusing and funny and the different spheres of each verison of Kharris started to overlap. I wasn't sure how to handle it. Eventually I name changed WrA to Khaeris to help differentiate them. Then CRZ'ing went away in favor of Sharding technology in WoW, and we didn't get smooshed together anymore really. So the In-Character story is that Khaeris somehow got pulled into another timeline--Kharris's timeline. And I had to try to figure out some storylines for that to make it work IC. I have a tag called "y2k" (Why two K's) if you really want to dig in. Big Kid K = Kharris, Shadow Council origin (though now she's on WrA too lol) Baby Karrots = Khaeris, Wryrmest Accord original

#y2k #Khaeris #Kharris

[calwasfound]

h e y, so i've been watching a lot of mcc clips lately and have been really enjoying all the illumina ones. are there any videos/streams of his that you'd recommend?

OOH! yes!! time to take up the mantle!

first of all, i'd like to direct you to @oceantail-oceantail's fruitninja guide (and honestly the rest of celia's blog) because she'll always be the master of compiling illumina & fruitninja moments! her clips tag also has a lot of fun moments from streams.

BUT, if you want my personal recommendations...

so, for starters, getting into illumina's content. namely, he's got a youtube channel (illuminaHD), which mostly features stream highlights (speedrunning), mcc highlights, and other miscellaneous minecraft gamplay. (oh, and a few world records!) he has a vods channel too, but it's run by his mods.

oh yeah, his twitch: illumina1337. could trick the fae multiple times over with the number of names we have to tag him by

here's my personal favorite youtube videos of his - or videos that feature him:

this is my Dream SMP application [Stream Highlights] / Probably my most watched highlights video of his, though they're all hilarious. General speedrunning fails and clutches, crafting shenanigans, funny commentary. All his highlight videos give a good sense as to what his streams are like!

the minecraft bingo/lockout series with SmallAnt - I challenged Minecraft's Best Speedrunner to a test of skill and Minecraft Lockouts Are Surprisingly Brutal.. / GREAT series. had me on the edge of my seat. the first video was uploaded to ant's channel, the second on illumina's, but illumina has the vods for both streams saved on a separate channel. i won't get into the twists, but... it was a ride.

Minecraft: fruitberries VS Illumina / Minecraft manhunts... everybody's heard of them. Well, this one was done with fruitninja over two years ago (wow!) Imagine being hunted across multiple dimensions but your assassin is really, really chill. Oh, and also with the expected cracked gameplay from a manhunt as well.

and as for my favorite streams...

Speedrun Showdown w/ Fruitberries VS Dani & Fireworkss (then 1.16 RSG) / So, speedrun showdown! This was the first time the tournament was hosted, which was almost two years ago. Currently, season two (?) of speedrun showdown is taking place, with the finals happening tomorrow! Charity event, super cool, two duos race to the end to kill the dragon. (Both Fruit and Illumina are participating in the 2022 run, but on opposite teams. Fruitninja aren't allowed to team very often. If you watch this vod, you'll find out why.)

Minecraft Championship 13! w/ Punz, Krinios, & Eret! / Classic. All-time favorite. There would be something wrong if this video didn't show up on my list. Illumina's first MCC win! Team vibes were great, they absolutely dominated (with one of the most nerve-wracking dodgebolts I've ever watched. Live!)

MC Championship 17 w/ fruitberries, Vixella, & Zeuz / Another staple. I think we crashed twitter when the fruitninja MCC team was finally announced. The "Unpopular opinion, but I don't think the Simmers are going to win MCC. They've been paired with Fruitninja, which is going to be difficult no matter how good they're going to be (/c)" copypasta was going around a lot. Another team with great vibes and another very close dodgebolt!

1 on Mouse, 1 on Keyboard w/ Illumina / Warning, I think you're going to notice fruitninja being a consistent trend with my recommendations! (This is all part of the fruitninja conspiracy, in which I try to get everyone to watch their content with my art. So far, my success rate is pretty high!) Fruit & Illumina are roommates and they did a stream where one person controlled the movement via mouse and the other person controlled the movement via keyboard. (Un)surprisingly, they actually did extremely well! Great fun, one of my favorites, bonus IRL content.

Diversity 3 Playthrough! / Illumina plays through a minecraft adventure map for almost ten hours straight. He parkours, he kills mobs, he participates in a space mystery adventure. It's all here. He even speedruns (kind of.)

Okay, onto miscellaneous! As I've mentioned before, celia has a youtube channel with fruitninja & illumina clips. Also, this video from Illumina's MCC 28 parkour warrior run made me laugh. And also this video on Fruitninja interacting in MCC 24. Uh, what else.. Illumina's latest MCC highlights video was really good (though I really also liked the full stream, which is up on his twitch but not his vods channel. Watch it while it's up, I guess!) And also the fruitninja Tubnet Craftmaster Showdown vod had its great moments (also on twitch. Fruit's POV of this event is also really funny, too.)

And a small self-plug - I post a bunch of fruitninja stuff on my sideblog @calwasntfound. Mainly WIPs, though all my finished art is up here! There should be enough to provide a fun scroll. And check out the other artists in the illumina tag, they're all incredible!

#cal answers #illumina #fruitninja #fruitberries #reference #mcsr #illuminahd #illumina1337 #yeah... getting in all the tags #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK !! :D #i really wrote this all in one sitting so i hope i didn't miss anything. #both fruitninja follow me on twitter so i MUST keep my clowning to a minimum there but follow me too.. i guess #okay enough self-promo!!! hope this gives you a good place to start !!! #let me know if you have more questions! years ago i was the only person consistently posting illumina art on tumblr #so seeing all this interest is really a :] <3 !! moment for me

[jils-things]

happy new year! ; my farewell letter to 2023.

last year, ive written a similar farewell letter to 2022 and i want to make this a little tradition - so here's my second one <3

okay, so - wow. first of all, just wow.

this might be incredibly bold to say, but i think this has been my best year to be alive (i promise you i do not want to sound corny about it, but i really think 2023 was amazing for me.) of course, many things happened. im at my last year of senior high before i go to college, which is very scary but i hope i can be brave for it. school has been actually very generous to me recently, despite a few minor setbacks that looked very major when i was going through it, but overall it was very generous to me. but irl rambling is boring, so let's talk about my selfshipping blog!

last year, i had a verrrry firm grip on a previous f/o that im 100% sure old followers know - though im a little sad I can't find that spark to focus on him again - the shift in media has helped me find new f/os that i can say has been incredibly memorable to me. as we all know, im in a very INSANE pokemon brainrot since november or october(?) of 2022 and it has still remained heavily active in my head right now - which i honestly didn't even know i had the full capacity of doing! I don't know what magic this game did to me but i promise you im so happy i revisited this game again.

i would talk about how grateful i am to everyone has been supportive and sweet about my romantic f/os but i think the best highlight of my blog is my newfound love for my familial f/os - before that, i never had a single one on my list because i was simply quite disconnected to the family love concept, but after indulging myself in pokemon - i would come to discover pokemon adve.ntures, or poke.spe for short hehe. i have so many fond memories of finding myself wanting to read more and MORE - i would have every chapter downloaded beforehand just so that i can read it in my spare time, not even school that demanded my attention would stop me from sneaking my phone to quickly read through the manga LMAOO - but consuming the media itself wasn't enough, i needed people to understand the ROLLERCOASTER of emotions i had while reading and well, i think its very clear who those people were, the ones who came to save my miserable ass from (insert shocking scene in poke.spe) AHSJHSHSJSJS you know who you are and i appreciate you forever and they - i kid you not, helped me create something wonderful!

but of course, the video games were just as amazing. would you believe me if i told you i played gens 1 to 7 in one year? that's how much i adore the game and i still have yet to catch up to other games like the spin offs :] im not sure how to end this statement but. im so happy appleshipping and memoryshipping exists 🥹 i usually don't like thinking that they'll be with me forever because i believe nothing lasts for eternity but i just wanna say that they were just ... im just so contented 🥹 again, all of this actually would not have been so impactful to me if it weren't for my awesome mutuals hearing me out about it and supplying me with even more ideas - these mutuals would also end up becoming such loving friends of mine that helped me get out of my comfort zone and im still happy they're around (hi guys!) 💚

oh! and, what a surprise, i never thought id have an oc f/o! i initially thought that this was so impossible to do but?!??;?! it just happened i guess!!!! i keep surprising myself this year 😭

ok now here's the obligatory art summary for the year 💥

literally the best thing i ever done with my art is try using csp and it actually really helped me change the way i draw, and i even managed to cross out a few items in my last year's resolution thanks to it! i still bounce between using ibispaint and csp but i certainly improved!

the last thing im forever grateful about are the people who has been consistently supportive of my art - especially the commissions, i can't stress it enough how much it has helped me outside and it allowed me to go beyond my comfort zone when it comes to my drawing skills :']] thank you all so much

and finally, big thank you to everyone who sent me nice letters to my tree 🥹💚 its a gentle reminder that im actually ... pretty cool ig 🥹 and if you didn't send one, that's also ok!! you're still cool for reading this mwamwa

again im so bad at ending posts like these but cheers to a new year and let's hope it'll be better for everyone. 💚🫡 goodbye 2023!

#~ misc #~ rambling

[shopwitchvamp]

soooo….that juggalo church con? o3o

YES OK SO

One time in.. 2014? my friends were like "Hey! We heard about this new anime con happening nearby and tables are only (idk insert some small figure here. $15 or something)!! Wanna go?" And I was like, "Yeah ok!" So we went. Thankfully it was only 5-10min away from where we lived. We got to the address and it was clearly a church. I was like ??? Hmm idk about this. We go in. It's tiny. We set up. Highlight time: They had a break room set up for artists and staff with tons of free snacks!! Honestly they treated us so much better than most cons. So the con's day officially starts. Like 5 people show up and mill around the way too many artists that are there for 5 attendees. Hours go by with no sales. At some point in the afternoon a mom with 3 kids comes up to my table, hands me her credit card, and says, "Here. They like your plushies. Just give them whichever ones they want." The kids each pick a plushie. I think the total was $45. That $45 is how much I made at the whole con ($30 proft thoooo!! well.. not counting all my time, and labor, and the yarn, and..) because at the end of the day I was like, "WOW! This is the most boring thing I've ever done!! There's a drag queen I want to see perform (2008-2016 I was a hardcord RPDR fan) in Houston tomorrow so I'm gonna pack up and not come back!!!!" My friends were like, "We're gonna give it another chance tomorrow, but have fun!" I don't think they made any money that weekend, but I hope they got a lot of good free snacks. So I packed everything up and left that evening. I then drove from Dallas to Houston and I sure did see that performance that I wanted to. Well anyway, I think some time after that weekend I was really wondering what the deal was with that church con. From some Facebook digging I found the guy that had organized it, and quickly realized he was a Juggalo. Thus the con went on to always be known (by us) as Juggalo Church Con. A gentle lesson we received in never, ever going to first year cons.

#honestly nothing against this juggalo man he treated us like humans and that's much much better than we'd usually get #it's just fun to say juggalo church con #few can say they've ever experience such a wonder #ask #witch vamp #the lore #reply #juggalo church con

[clonerightsagenda]

while we're on the topic of social media

Gill Hm Concept: FMA character most likely to be a Twitch streamer Kat hohenheim is a twitch streamer he's if twitch plays pokemon was a father in a more general setting probably that one younger guy whose specialty is radios though, he seems like the Tech Dude Gill Fuery? I could see that For some reason my mind kept going back to Ed discovering redstone building in Minecraft and vanishing off the face of the Earth for a month Kat yeah that tracks but idk if anyone else would want to watch a live stream of that maybe tune in occasionally for videos of whatever atrocities unto god this kid managed to do in minecraft this time honestly my grasp of minecraft was 'caves cool', idk how people are doing mystical rituals in there Gill Ed drops highlight reels once every quarter of whatever nonsense he’s managed to do and then if you want to watch his process it is all archived on Twitch in excruciating detail Al makes fun mob farms and then occasionally he and Ed set each other’s stuff on fire for fun Fuery regrets inviting them to his server Kat I would watch a livestream of Alphonse just to bask in his presence as he pets cats in video games Gill Al takes up coding just to make mods so You Can Pet The Cats Ed attempted Fortnite once but kept getting no-scoped out of nowhere by some rando Maybe don’t make your handle Actual_Fullmetal_Alchemist if you don’t want that kind of attention in-game my dude Kat Amestris blue checkmarks…………. Gill Good way for Scar and also internet trolls to ID targets Kat Father: where did my bitcoin go. Greed:

Gill Of course Of course Father would be into crypto He makes an NFT of the big transmutation circle, also

Kat Re your fma twitch stream concept “The presidents 10 year old headshot me in overwatch and then called me a slur” Gill Ed making a call-out video for Selim over his use of slurs in League of Legends’ voicechat Kat New gamergate Greed: I spent five years curating my beautiful animal crossing village and then my terrible brother broke my hard drive Gill Speaking of animal crossing: it may not be Raymond that Greed gets possessive over but he definitely gets Weird over other people having his favorite villagers in their towns Also: do not discuss shiny Pokémon hunting with this man Kat Ed and Al the incredibly aggressive Pokémon go players Summer 2016 the last peace and joy I knew in my life Gill Ed, about to trespass on government property: This Blastoise better have good IVs. Kat Fights church gyms just to put Pokémon with sacrilegious names in them Gill Ed is the guy nicknaming all his Pokémon “HAIL SATAN” and is part of why gyms stopped displaying Pokémon nicknames Kat Al posts a video on which games you can pet cats in and Scar accidentally likes it Ed: Isn't that the guy who commented 'GOD WILL PUNISH YOU' on my redstone video Al: idk guess he has good taste Gill Alphonse is not personally affiliated with the violent state apparatus and Scar is surprisingly consistent about the ethics of his vengeance quest What can we say Kat Roy is one of those army recruiters going after kids on twitch streams…. they made him do it because he's the youngest Gill Roy, running the Official Amestrian Military Twitch: how do you do, fellow kids. If you have any questions about joining the service let me know! Ed, maybe: hey what’s up, what’s your favorite war crime you’ve committed Kat Roy : the one you will commit for me after I hire you Al: you have to admit he's good Gill Roy’s the one dude they’ve got who can hold his own in an Internet flame war /ba dum tiss Kat lmao commenter: post another video Roy: wow I'm popular commenter: I want to see more of that hot blonde who walked by in the background Roy: hey Gill Ah yes another addition to the “chat inexplicably fascinated by streamer’s partner/roommate/colleague” club Congrats Riza Kat Roy: I get more hits if you're in the videos Riza: I said I would follow you into hell not into tiktok Gill The line must be drawn somewhere Roy Kat Ed gets cancelled by half the internet for disrespecting the troops, reveals his military credentials, gets cancelled by the other half of the internet Gill Why do I still see him trying to take all this with a Knife Cat-meme-type attitude Ah yes. He totally planned for all of this. He has definitely not been owned Kat awful teen Gill Ed: The Internet is great actually, even when you catch shit it means next to nothing in the real world And then he gets doxxed a week later Kat this is what you get for joining the military Ed people keep linking him to a reddit thread tracking Hohenheim as some kind of cryptid Gill Ed like “stop sending me this. That bastard was the one to walk out on us, I’m not about to go chasing after him” Meanwhile Al keeps tabs on the sightings just in case he needs to be braced for a surprise father/son confrontation

#tales from the group chat #fma