#* study ↷ s. wilson.

[zomboyfren]

More teef

[mrsbarnesblog]

my everything

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before.

Word count: 6.8K

Warnings: angst and fluff, I fucked up original timeline so there is no civil war in here, bucky needs and gets a hug, you're bucky's gf from the 40's, cryofreeze, self hate talk, happy end.

Author's note: enjoy💘

“Aren't you fucking tired of this?” Bucky growled as he burst into the common room where Sam, Steve, and Natasha were sitting. "If you set me up on another date, Wilson, I'll break your fucking wings."

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Calm down, cyborg. Look at you, all angry and stressed out; you need to get laid! When was the last time you’ve been on a date?"

Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise as he glanced between his two friends.

"Sit down, Barnes." Nat nodded her head at the couch across from her. Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, as too many feelings were bubbling inside of him, but he obeyed and sat down, crossing his arms over his chest. ���Now explain what happened.”

 "This idiot is trying to set me up again.” He said, nodding towards Sam. "And I told you I'm not interested."

 “But why? Don't you want to feel like back in the days and have some fun with pretty women? This Hydra shit clearly wasn’t good for you. You’re too tense and always mad. Go on a date, maybe you’ll find a good girl to spend some time with.” Sam genuinely wanted to help his friend, and he didn’t understand why Bucky was so mad about it.

The look on Bucky’s face was weird. Like he wanted to say something but, at the same time, didn’t want to share his thoughts. 

“Are you already dating someone?” Natasha leaned with her elbows on her knees and studied his face. There was definitely something that Bucky didn’t want to say.

Steve looked between the three of his friends, and when Nat asked Bucky a question, it was like a bulb turned on in his head.

 "Buck…" Bucky met Steve's eyes, holding eye contact for a few seconds, like they were talking about something that only they knew.

 “Hey!” Sam said, waving his hands. “What are you two doing? Do you know something, Rogers?”

 “Buck, is it because of her?” The blonde said it almost in a whisper. “You still remember, right?”

“Did you have a girlfriend before the war?” Natasha, as always, understood everything immediately, and it was funny to see how Sam’s mouth fell open in shock.

Bucky clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap, not sure if he should reveal the truth. He had kept it to himself for so long—ever since he escaped Hydra and the memories from the past started to flood his head. It was too painful to think about you. To think about the woman who was his whole life many years ago. He remembered everything, and now he sees you in his dreams almost every night. Sometimes in nightmares, sometimes in the good ones, about the life that you two would’ve had if he hadn’t gone to war.

“What the hell are you hiding from us?” Sam shouted again, trying to get attention.

 “I…” Bucky frowns, staring at his hands. “I had a girlfriend... before the army, before the Hydra.” He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Just the thought of you hurt him, making him regret everything. That he left, that he didn’t marry you, and that the universe had this shitty plan.

 “And that’s why you don’t want to go out with someone?” Come on, man, how long has it been?  80 years? Get over it. It must have been another one of your girlfriends that you hooked up with when you were young.” He chuckled, looking between his friends, none of whom seemed happy with his choice of words.

 "Sam, don't—"

“You sound like an asshole.” 

 “Get over it?” Bucky didn’t let Steve or Nat finish their sentences before he barked at Sam, looking even more angry than before. “Just another one of my girlfriends? Do you have any idea what the fuck you're talking about, Wilson? " He looked like he was ready to kick his friend right in the face. “She wasn’t one of them. In fact, there was no “them”. In my entire life, I’ve never even touched another woman because I've been in love with Y/N since I was 14. We started dating when I turned 18, and I proposed before I had to go to the war.”

Bucky’s emotions quickly changed as the hot rage turned into a longing for memories and feelings. He felt a lump in his throat, so he reached into his pocket for his wallet, from which he pulled out your old and shabby photo, gently running his finger over your face.

“Y/N was everything to me. She said yes, and I promised her that I would return so we could get married. I imagined that I would spend my whole life with her, you know? I don't need any other woman. I do not want it. I still love her, and I don't care if either of you find it funny.

The room fell into heavy silence. Steve just looked out the window, remembering the times when the three of you went to Coney Island, and he was always the third wheel. You were his friend too, and the aching feeling in his chest was too heavy.

Sam felt a little bit awkward after saying these things about your relationships. He wanted to tease Bucky, not be rude.

Natasha was the one who took the first step when she stretched the arm so Bucky would give her the photo. “You two look so cheesy. She’s really gorgeous.” She smirked, looking at the old black-and-white photo of you two sitting on the bench. Your back was almost lying on Bucky’s body, and his arms were wrapped around you. It seemed like you were talking about something and enjoying the private moment. Bucky had the biggest smile Natasha has ever seen on his face, as he was looking at you with heart eyes.

 “Can I see?” Sam finally asked, nodding at the photograph in Natasha's hands. She passed him the photo and Bucky moved in his place, feeling a little bit uncomfortable about revealing this part of his life. 

“You two look cute. Weird to see a smile on your face.” Sam chuckled.

“Where did you find this photo?” Steve leaned closer to the picture, immediately remembering the day you and Bucky took it and the way Bucky has had it with him ever since.

 “I took it to the war. Always had it in a jacket, even on missions. She was with me that day on the train. I think Hydra found this in my pocket. When I ran away from there, I found a box with my stuff; the photo was there.”

 “Have you… tried to find something about her?” Steve lifted his head, studying his friend's reaction.

 “Yeah,” Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know how, but I didn’t find anything. Two years after my fall, there was no record of her. No marriage certificate, no place of residence, no place of work. Nothing. Like she just disappeared.” He shook his head in despair. 

 “But it's impossible.” Steve frowned, giving the photo back. “A person can't just disappear and leave nothing behind.”

 "I don't know," Bucky shrugged, looking back at the photo for a second and then slipping it back into his wallet. "Maybe it's for the best. I don't know how I would come to terms with the news of her death.”

It’s been almost two weeks since that conversation, and luckily for Bucky, Sam didn’t attempt to set him up with anyone anymore.

Earlier that day, Tony announced that his new technology had spotted some weird activity in something that looked like an old and hidden Hydra base. It was pretty much abandoned, but there were signs of small energy consumption, as if something was still constantly working. That’s why the team of Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Tony had to check it out and destroy any possible danger.

After being free from Hydra, Bucky didn’t take part in many missions because the team agreed that it would be better for him to heal and stay far away from triggers. But this base brought up many concerns: it was hidden far away, there was no information about it in nonofficial papers, and even Bucky himself had never heard about it. Tony insisted that someone with knowledge of the Hydra system should go there too.

When the four of them arrived on the quinjet at something that looked like a well-hidden abandoned bunker, they decided not to split up and go through the main and only entrance.

“Be careful; we don’t know that they might hide in here.” Steve said, going in first with a shield in front of him. Bucky and Sam went after him, holding rifles and checking the big and almost empty room.

“They should clean in here, kinda dusty.” Tony chuckled in his usual playful voice. 

“It’s not a good time for your jokes, Stark.” Steve was always a little too serious during missions, and Tony really liked pushing his buttons. “I see the light in the other room.” He whispered, carefully opening the door. 

“Holy shit.” Sam and Tony spoke at the same time when all four of them entered the giant room.

There were five big glass machines that were a little bit foggy and had a little lightning in them.

“What is this?” Steve ran closer to one of them and saw that there was a man inside. “Oh my god, there is a man in here... It looks like he’s alive.”

“There is a folder called “The Winter Soldier Program” with personal information.” Sam said, picking up a file from the shelf in the corner of the room. “George Harris, 27 from New York. Kathleen Hill, 21 from New York…” He read, mumbling to himself.

“It’s a cryostasis chamber. Hydra used it to freeze me.” Bucky lowered his rifle, coming closer to one of the chambers. Another man. “It lowers your body temperature to the point that you can be kept like that for many years. Hydra– “ Bucky went silent when he got to another glass camera. 

“Barnes? Why is there—” Sam didn’t finish his words when the sound of Bucky’s weapon falling on the cold concrete filled the room. 

“No-no-no, please, no!” He whispered, moving closer to the glass. He couldn’t believe what he saw. 

You were right in front of him, with closed eyes and too pale skin. That was impossible. It’s not you. There was no chance that you somehow ended up with Hydra. 

Bucky felt like he was unable to breathe. He tried to inhale some air, but the lump in his throat was too big. The tears blurred his vision; he didn’t hear anything around him, as your almost lifeless body was the only thing that he thought about. You, his sweet girl, somehow ended up trapped with monsters, and he couldn’t do anything to save you from it. 

“Bucky!” Two pairs of hands dragged him from the chamber, and the blurry vision of his best friend was now visible in front of him. “Bucky, listen to me! You should calm down, buddy. Just breathe, okay?” Steve deeply inhaled and exhaled to help Bucky, and after a few minutes, he was finally able to speak.

“T-that’s impossible, Steve. She shouldn’t be there! She should’ve found another man and lived a happy life with her family!” He said in a shaking voice, angrily wiping away tears from his face. 

“I don’t know how this happened, Buck; I really don’t. But she may be alive there.” Steve supportively squeezed Bucky’s shoulder. 

“We can’t just take these people out. We should transport them to the tower and find the safest way to unfreeze them.” Tony said in a serious voice, not joking around anymore. He walked closer to the chambers, studying each of them. “It looks like they are working on their own power, and this one, “he pointed at the one that was dark and with water drops from the inside. “Doesn’t work anymore. The man is probably dead.” 

“Are there any chances of getting them out of there alive?” Sam glared at Bucky, who was just staring at your peaceful but haggard face through the glass.

“I don’t know, but me and Banner will do everything we can.”

It took another day to find a way to move four of the still-working chambers to the compound and ten more hours to defrost everyone. and to say that Bucky was completely stressed out and exhausted was an understatement. He didn’t sleep at all, staying in the room near the lab to get all the news as soon as possible. He walked around the room for hours, overthinking everything—what will happen if you die or if you survive? Is it really better for you to wake up and see all the damage that he has done for the past years? To see the empty shell of the person you loved in the past?

“Barnes!” Tony blasted through the doors with a grin on his face. “We did it.”

“You did it?” Bucky’s whole body was buzzing with energy and anxiety. “Where is she? Is she alive? Is she conscious? Can I see her?”

“Wow-wow, calm down. She is alive, but you can’t see or visit her right now. Dr. Cho has to run many tests to find out whether your lovebird is healthy or not.” Tony nodded his head toward the corridor so Bucky would follow him. “We put each of them into a different room, and your Blonde Bestie insisted on putting Y/N into the best and the biggest one. There is a special window through which you can see her, but she cannot see you from the inside. So you can be as creepy as you want to until she gets better.” Stark slapped Bucky on the shoulder to show some kind of support when they stopped in front of the said window. 

You were lying on the bed, surrounded by too many wires and monitors. Dr. Cho was standing above you, writing something down, and checking the device near your head.

She said something aloud, probably talking to FRIDAY, and came out of the room. 

“Oh, Mr.Barnes, I heard that Y/N was your girlfriend, right?” She smiled, and Bucky slightly nodded, not being able to completely drag his attention from your body. “I’ll tell you this: it’s my most difficult and unique case, but she’s a strong one. Her body heals faster than other people’s from cryo. I believe she’ll be fully awake tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, Dr.Cho.” Bucky felt a little bit better now that he had more hope that you could really be back. Dr.Cho gave him another smile and left to check on her other patients. 

“I have to find out if these people have families. Did Y/N have someone who might be alive?” Tony asked. 

“No, she didn’t.”

“I’ll go, and you, Barnes, will stay away from her for now, understood?” He pointed a finger into Bucky’s face. 

“Yes. I’ll just watch from here.” 

You were alive. You were awake. Bucky saw with his own eyes as your body started moving and you slowly sat on the bed, confused by your surroundings. He saw panic on your face because you were clearly disoriented and scared to be alone in an unknown place. 

As fast as he could, he found Dr. Cho, who was in the room with Steve and Natasha. When he, choking on all the emotions, told them about you, it was a mess. 

Dr. Cho and a few other nurses ran to your room to check your condition because you were the first one to open your eyes.

Bucky, Steve, and Nat stood on the other side of the window. Bucky wasn’t able to fully convince himself that it was true that you were so close to him. It felt like a dream, like a weird picture that his brain created to comfort him. 

“She’s okay, Buddy.” Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder because it seemed like he didn’t even blink or breathe. “You can see her soon.”

“No.” He mumbled.

“What?” His friend’s head shot in his direction.

“Someone else should talk to her first. Tell her about my past. Maybe she won’t even want to see me after everything I’ve done.”

“I can go and talk to her first.” Natasha softly smiled. She knew the feeling when you’re afraid that someone will leave you because of your past. “I think it’s better for Y/N to first find out that she woke up in the new century and that she was cryofrozen for many years. I’ll tell her that Steve is alive, and then me and you can both tell her about Bucky.” 

Bucky just nodded to her words, still not being able to look at anything besides you. He wasn’t sure that after you find out all the truth, you’ll allow him to even be around you, so for now, he tried to memorize you as much as he could. 

Since the moment you opened your eyes, everything felt unknown and different. You couldn’t explain it, but something had changed. You didn’t know where you were, what time it was, how you ended up in that place, or who all these people were. You felt scared as too many doctors crowded your room and fussed around, talking about tests and medical procedures. 

The young woman who seemed to be in charge was actually really sweet. After only you and her were left in the room, she sat on your bed with a pile of clothes in her hands and smiled at you. 

“So, Y/N, my name is Dr. Cho, and I’m here to help you heal faster and without any consequences.” 

“Where am I?” Your voice was too raspy and harsh. It felt like you swallowed a glass of sand. 

She sighed, looking at her journal. “It’s hard to explain, but I promise that there’s nothing to worry about. You are safe. In a few minutes, someone will visit you to talk about everything and answer any of your questions. Now, I was told to give you these clothes so it would be more comfortable for you. You can change in the bathroom right there; there is also anything you might need like a toothbrush, soap, and so on.” She pointed at the door in the corner of the room. 

You stayed silent until Dr. Cho left your room, and then slowly, feeling kind of scared to move around this place, you went to the bathroom to change out of the hospital gown. 

The bathroom looked even weirder than the main room; you had never seen such furniture and interiors. And when you unfolded your new clothes, it took you a few seconds to figure it out. It was some kind of soft pants and a large t-shirt. What kind of clothes was it? Yes, they were actually comfortable, but it wasn’t something that you saw in the stores. 

While you were brushing your teeth, your brain was working too hard trying to figure out what the hell was going on, until you heard someone calling your name. 

“Hey, Y/N, my name is Natasha.” The pretty red-headed woman was standing near your bed with a tray and food in her hands. 

“Please, tell me what’s going on. Where am I? Why does everything look so strange here?” You said in a desperate voice, you almost wanted to scream because you woke up several hours ago, but no one told you a single thing.

“Don’t be nervous, honey. Let's sit on the bed; you’ll eat your special meal, and I’ll tell you everything you want.” She was so nice and genuine, so you nodded and sat down. 

Natasha placed a tray near you, and you saw that it was your favorite food of all time. You took a bite, and your taste buds were immediately filled with the taste of the meal that James cooked you almost every day. James. It was his recipe. The tears flooded your eyes when all of the memories about your dead boyfriend returned to your head. Yeah, how could you forget that it had been at least two years since he was gone? 

“Y/N? What happened?” Natasha’s worried voice distracted you. 

“It just reminded me of someone. I felt like I was home, and it hurts me because nothing is the same anymore.” You wiped your tears away, taking another bite. 

“I promise you that everything is going to be okay. You are not alone here.” You frowned at her words but still nodded. “So ask whatever you want to.” 

“Where am I, and why does everything look so different?”

“You are at the Avengers Tower, located in Manhattan, New York City. I know that might sound ridiculous, but you were in the cryostasis chamber up until now. It’s 2023, and a lot of things have changed in the world; that's why it might be confusing.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, overthinking Natasha’s words. “It can’t be true. I can’t be more than one hundred years old now. And I look the same.” 

“This is how cryostasis works—it freezes the body so it can survive many years without any changes. Now tell me how you ended up with Hydra. What is the last thing you remember before waking up here?” 

“Back in the 40s, I was a nurse. My– my boyfriend— he died during the war.” You stopped because of the lump in your throat. It was too hard to bring back these memories because it was the first time you said these words out loud. “He died, and then my closest friend died too, and I just had no one left. I was alone, and I didn’t even know what to live for because all of my dreams about family and a happy life with the person I loved died too.” Natasha put her hand over yours on the bed and gave you a supportive squeeze. “Then one day in our hospital, scientists were looking for people who would like to test new serums. I decided that I had nothing to lose, so me and a few other nurses signed in.” 

“Kathleen, Josh, Adam, and Frank, right?” The woman in front of you gave you a sad smile.

“Yes, how do you know that?” 

“We found them with you. Adam’s camera was broken, so he died a long time ago, but the rest of them are here too, but, unfortunately, they haven’t regained consciousness yet.” 

You nodded. Your food was now done and set aside, and you sat on the bed more comfortably, bringing your knees to your chest. “These scientists were running some tests on us in the lab that they brought us in. It felt weird, and I remember that Kathleen always complained that it was painful. The last thing that happened was that they told us to step into a weird-looking machine that was meant to be a part of some kind of experiment. That’s it.”

“It was Hydra. A terrorist organization that tried to rule the world. They were evil, and you were lucky to get out of there alive.” Natasha pursed her lips. “Thank you for telling me this.” 

You two sat in silence for a few seconds until she looked over her shoulder at the weird-looking mirror that took up almost a whole wall. 

“Is anything wrong?” You furrowed.

“I have to tell and show you something really important, but everyone is worried about how you are going to react to this.” She studied your face with a weird expression. 

“Is there anything more crazy than me being in another century after I was frozen?” You tried to smile, but Natasha just nodded. 

“I’ll be right back. Please, try to breathe, okay?” She stood from your bed, took the tray, and left. 

Natasha came back, and behind her was the last person you ever expected to see again. You jumped on your feet, feeling like your eyes were lying to you. 

“This—this can’t be true... No, Natasha—Steve, you died.” You mumbled under your breath. Your heart rate was way higher than usual, and it felt like you were drowning. You put your hand over your eyes, as your body started shaking. It’s just a dream. It’s just a weird fucking dream.

Two large hands wrapped around your body, pulling you into the hard chest. “Sh-s, Y/N, breathe, just breathe.” His familiar voice filled your ears, and you started crying harder, gripping his shirt.��He was rocking you from side to side like a baby, while your tears and sobs filled the silent room.

“What– how– how is this possible? You crushed the plane into ice.” You shattered, tears running down your face.

“The Super Soldier serum saved me. The S.H.I.E.L.D. found my body 12 years ago.” Steve loosened his arms around you, allowing you to look up at him. He was exactly the same. This blonde hair, these light blue eyes, and that soft smile that he always had for you. “Please, sit back on the bed. We have a lot to talk about.” His face was now more serious. Even though he was extremely happy to get back his second closest best friend, he knew that Bucky was dying without you.

Steve and Bucky both looked at your interaction with Natasha, and it was obvious that everything Bucky wanted was for you to be near him. He looked through that window without any distraction, and his face lit up with a small smile when you tasted the food that he cooked for you and became emotional. He knew that you would appreciate it.

“About what?” You wiped your face with the back of your hand and sat down, holding Steve's hand. Natasha, who was still standing in the middle of the room, passed him a thick folder and left. Steve sat near you and gave you a supportive smile. 

“Bucky.” 

You froze and snatched your hand out of his. 

“Steve, no. Please—” You wrapped your hands around your body, as if you were instantly trying to hide from the pain that was aching in your chest. “Please, don’t hurt me anymore. I can’t handle that. Talking about him w-when he’s not with me anymore.” The sods started to get out of you, and you hid your face from Steve’s soft and apologizing eyes.

“He is alive.” Steve’s hands fell on your shoulders, and he lowered his head, trying to make you look him in the eyes.

“Don’t lie to me! He is dead; I saw the reports; I got the letter from Phillips saying that he’s sorry for our loss!” You particularly yelled at your friend. 

“Y/N, listen to me, okay? Bucky is alive. He is here. Behind that door, he’s watching us right now.” You were shaking your head in denial. 

That was impossible. You knew all this story; Steve himself told you what happened that day. There was no chance for Bucky to survive the fall from that height in the middle of nowhere. Yet here was Steve, sitting right before you. His big blue and soft eyes were looking into your eyes, and you didn’t see a single sign of hesitation or lying in there. He was so genuine that you wanted to believe that your boyfriend was, in fact, a few meters away from you.

“How? And why? James– he would’ve been with me if he were alive. Why isn’t he here?” You sobbed, and then the realization came to you. “That food—the food that Natsha brought me. It tasted exactly like he made it.”

“Bucky thought that it might comfort you. He found you in that laboratory, he has been near you since that day, and he saw that you were scared and disoriented when you woke up. And that's why I am here. Bucky insisted that I should talk to you first and tell you everything. He is afraid that you might not see him anymore after finding out everything that is written here.” Steve picked up the folder and put it on your lap. 

“The Winter Soldier” was written on top of the old-looking piece of paper, and for some reason you felt something weird in your chest.

“I want to let you know that whatever is in here, it cannot make me hate him.” You mumbled, hesitating to open the folder. “What’s in there, Steve? Tell me everything.”

“These are the papers that S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra had on the Winter Soldier. Everything that happened to him: experiments, torture, assassinations, crimes. This is what happened to Bucky after the fall. This is what Hydra did to him over these years.” 

You felt a lump in your throat when you opened the first page and saw Bucky’s photo from the army. But nothing prepared you for everything you read and saw after that. He wasn’t even James or Bucky anymore. He was a Soldier. An Asset. Someone without an identity. All the detailed descriptions of the medical procedures, brainwashing, electroshock, torture, and punishments with attached photos made you want to vomit and cry hysterically. You couldn’t stop crying when your shaking hands took a picture of the love of your life sitting shirtless and unconscious on some kind of stool with wires attached to his head. 

How could someone do that? How could someone torture a person almost to death and then just write about it like it was a fucking dairy? 

“His arm, it’s metal. Why is it made from metal?” Your teary-red eyes shoot back to Steve’s face. 

“Bucky lost it during the fall. They gave him a new one, but it causes him a lot of pain. Physical and mental.”

“I don’t— Steve, I don’t understand.” You took another picture with Bucky standing in his full black costume and a mask, not a single emotion on his face. “Why did they do this? For what?” 

“Hydra wanted to have the perfect asset. Killing machine. To commit crimes, kill unwanted people, and basically rule the world.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking at the floor. “They made Bucky the best. They completely cleared his head from the memories of his past; they trained him to be invincible and invisible. They had a special combination of words to control him, so he would always come back and do as he was told.”

You closed the file and moved it aside, closing your face with your hands while you were crying.

“And he thinks that I can reject him?” You whispered.

“Y/N, please try to understand what such things can do to your brain. Bucky goes to therapy, but he probably would never be able to fully heal from this experience.” His hand fell on your shoulder and squeezed it slightly. “Bucky always was a good person; that's why right now he feels so much guilt that it’s unimaginable. Even if nothing of this is his fault, he can’t forgive himself for these murders and damage. He has PTSD, nightmares, and a lot of trust issues.”

“I understand, but I would’ve never rejected him. He’s everything that I had, and when I lost him, it felt like hell.” You took a deep breath, looking Steve in the eyes. “Please, let me see him. I need it, and he needs it too.” Steve’s eyes softened at you. He almost forgot the love that his two best friends had for each other. 

“Give me a minute, okay?” He smiled, kissed your head, and left your room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You were really going to see the man that you thought you had lost forever in a few seconds. It was almost three years for you, but almost eighty for him. A wave of anxiety washed over you when you thought that maybe he doesn’t feel the same anymore and doesn’t have the same feelings as you do. You almost went down a rabbit hole until the door started to open. 

You slowly stood up, feeling a little bit uneasy. Even though you and Steve were just talking about it, seeing Bucky alive felt unreal. Your eyes were sliding up and down his face to remember every little part. He looked different, more mature, with a broad chest and shoulders and long, silky hair. 

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his ears, and his mouth was completely dry while you were observing him. You had tears in your eyes, and your lower lip was trembling when you tried to hold yourself from crying out loud. You were in some baggy clothes that Nat found for you, but you still looked fucking gorgeous. Still the most beautiful girl on the whole planet. 

“Doll…” Bucky’s raspy voice filled the room, and it was everything you needed. 

In just a second, you ran to him, falling right into his body. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, and your face hidden into his neck. 

As soon as Bucky finally hugged your smaller body and felt that it was real and that you were real, he broke down. Every last piece of strength went through the window as the tears rolled down his cheeks, probably soaking your t-shirt.

He wanted to drop to his knees and beg for your forgiveness for all of the awful things that he had done. He didn’t deserve you anymore, not with this much blood on his hands. But Bucky couldn’t do what he wanted because your grip on him was so strong that he wasn’t even able to move away for an inch. 

“James…” Your quiet voice filled his ears, and it sent shivers down his spine. Only you and his ma called him that, and he missed it so fucking much.

Bucky’s hands moved from your waist a little bit lower, and you viewed it as an opportunity to get even closer. Your legs instantly wrapped around his body, and Bucky, making sure that you wouldn’t fall, went to the bed and sat down with you on his knees. 

“I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry for everything that I’ve done.” He sobbed, shaking his head. You pulled away a little bit, finally meeting Bucky face-to-face. 

“Don’t you dare apologize for the things that you weren’t able to control, James!” Your voice suddenly became rough, filled with so much anger toward the people who hurt your precious boy. His hand on your waist tightened, and you slid your own to cup Bucky’s face. “I want to kill every one of them. Everyone who hurt you, who punished you,” Soft fingertips traced the delicate skin of the templates where, as you remember from the photos, wires with electricity were placed. “You didn’t deserve to go through this, James. I wish I was there for you.” 

“You were always with me. Even when they wiped me, I still had someone in my head. A woman with a soft voice, who told me that I'm strong and that it will end soon. I would’ve died without it.” You both were looking into each other's teary eyes, both feeling too much love and desire. 

Your head slightly tilted towards his, connecting your foreheads, and for a few seconds, it felt like home. Like nothing happened and you two were just having a lazy morning in bed.

The calloused hand on the side of your face brought you back to reality. Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes were looking into yours, and, sharing one thought, you both moved closer and connected your lips. The kiss was so soft, slow, and gentle, like you had the whole time in the world. It was this type of kiss that said that you both were there and alive. It was a reminder of the love that you had for each other. Reassurance, that no matter what, you will be there.

“I missed you so fucking much, doll. Since the day I first remembered everything, all I could think about was you. Even tried to find you, but there was not a single document. I started to believe that you just found a man, changed your last name, and moved away from that mess.” You were so close to each other, not wanting to split up even for a second. Your hands were moving up and down Bucky’s hard chest while he was rubbing the soft skin of your cheek with his thumb.

“Are you joking, James? No one was able to replace you. The only people I talked to during that time were your mom and Becca.” His facial expression slightly changed at the mention of his family, and you placed a soft kiss on his stubble cheek. “I should’ve been the one who took care of them, but I was nothing without you, and Winnie almost made me move in with them. That’s why I jumped at the opportunity to be a volunteer for these tests.” 

Bucky shook his head, his eyes again full of regret and pain. “I hate that it happened because of me.”

“At least I’m here right now. With you.” You smiled, sliding your hand into his dark, long locks. “You know, James, you look really good for someone who’s older than one hundred years old. I like your hair. And stubble.” His eyes rolled back at the feeling of your nails on his scalp. It had been so long since someone touched him without an intention to hurt him, and the realization of that made your heart swell with the need to take care of your boyfriend. 

“You know that you’re one year younger than me, right?” Your favorite little smirk in the whole world appeared on Bucky’s lips, and you smiled, moving a little bit closer to his body. The metal hand on your waist tightened, and you realized that you hadn't seen it in person yet. 

Your right hand reached behind you, grabbing a hard wrist that was covered in leather. Bucky’s body immediately froze under you, and his eyes snapped open. 

“Doll, no… You don’t have to...” 

“I want to. Give me your hand, James.” You said without any hesitation. Bucky looked you in the eyes for a few seconds, but then brought his metal hand between your bodies. “It’s just me, okay? I’m not scared, and I want to know everything.” You wrapped both of your hands around his hand and then gently started to take off the glove. 

The dark metal with beautiful golden stripes was shining under the bright light of the room. Your mouth slightly opened when you moved each finger with interest. Your gentle hands slid higher, rolling up the sleeve of the red henley Bucky was wearing. It was so smooth, without any sharp details, just an amazing and mind-blowing mechanism. 

“That’s so beautiful.” You mumbled in awe. Suddenly the plates under your hands moved, and a quiet whirring sound filled the room. You shot your eyes back at Bucky in shock, only to see that he was already looking at you with so much love that you almost melted. “Did you do that?” 

“It’s a new arm, not from Hydra. It reacts to my emotions. No one ever touched it without any fear.” You almost missed that last sentence, but the hurt in Bucky’s voice made you grab his face with your hands to get his whole attention.

“Listen to me, James. I’m not afraid of you. I won’t reject you. You are everything that I want. You still have the biggest and kindest heart of the guy that I met many years ago, and I’ll do everything to prove to you this.” The metal hand carefully touched your hand on the side of his face. “I love you. I love you so much, James.”

“I love you too, Doll. More than anything in this life,” Your lips crushed into each other, now sharing a more passionate and deep kiss. You slightly tilted your head, allowing Bucky to part your lips with his tongue and playfully bite you. It was almost too overwhelming, and you both were completely lost in each other until you finally needed to breathe. 

“Stay here with me, please. I don’t want you to leave.” You whined, trying to push your big and strong super soldier onto the bed. 

“I won’t leave, baby.” He chuckled, allowing you to push him back. You happily giggled and laid near him, interlacing your bodies together. 

You two were just staying in your own little bubble on your bed for what seemed like forever, talking about everything and nothing at the same time, until you finally fell asleep, feeling happy and peaceful in each other's arms.  

[buckybabesonly]

Only Kinda Sorta Hate You

Summary: Your professor asks you to tutor another student for extra credit, and you end up with Bucky, who you hate. Kinda.

Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Female!reader

Genre: Romance, dash of angst

Word count: 5.8k

A/N: I've not written anything in almost a year, but I watched Thunderbolts* recently and it reignited something. I dug this out of my drafts - I am a big fan of 90's rom-coms like She's All That, 10 Things I Hate About You etc.. so just wanted to write something cheesy and sweet

I'm at the library, where are you?

Hello?

chill. i'm on my way

You sighed, tapping your foot impatiently on the carpet, arms folded across your chest. The audacity of this man to keep you waiting whilst you sacrificed your precious time to tutor him. Bucky Barnes, the most ungrateful person you'd ever encountered.

A huff of air escaped from your mouth when you finally spotted his figure in the distance, sunglasses hiding his eyes and a cap shoved on top of his long, messy brown hair. So obnoxious, you thought to yourself.

You almost sighed aloud in frustration when you saw him stop to smile and talk to a pretty blond girl who had been browsing the library shelves, her face flooding pink at the sheer excitement of catching the attention of the college's infamous football captain.

As if Bucky could hear your mental cursing, he waved his fingers at the girl and continued on. Everything about him radiated confidence, from the way he held himself to his purposeful stride. When he got closer, he whipped his shades off and tucked them into the front pocket of his t-shirt, but the hat stayed on.

"Alright, I'm ready. Tutor me," he said, cracking a smile as you glowered at him.

"Follow me," you said sternly, turning on your heel and marching towards one of the study rooms that you had reserved.

He followed closely, humming a tune as you muttered under your breath. If it wasn't for the promised extra credit from your math professor, you swore you would never subject yourself to spending time with him. Not that you exactly ran in the same circles, anyway. In fact, before two weeks ago, you weren't even sure Bucky was aware of your existence.

As soon as you were both seated and you'd spread out your materials - textbooks, calculators, stationery, and a whiteboard - Bucky leaned back in his chair and studied your face.

"You don't like me very much, do you?" he asked finally.

You cracked a wry smile at that. "You don't miss a thing, do you?"

"What have I done?" he asked innocently, clearly fighting back a smile. He seemed to enjoy how easily he irritated you.

"Let's see. You're always late, you don't respect my time, you never take this tutoring seriously - "

"Woah," he interrupted. "It's only been a couple of weeks, cut me some slack. I'll do better, I promise." He cleared his throat and took off the cap, running his fingers through his hair. He was enjoying this.

You took a deep breath and pinned on the most artificial smile you could muster. You could be cordial... you think.

It was going to be a long semester.

Are we still good for this afternoon?

can't sorry. football practice

"See!" you exclaimed indignantly, shoving your phone into Wanda's face. "See how blasé he is about his education?"

Wanda shrugged, plaiting her silky red hair. "He did get in on a football scholarship, to be fair."

"But he's flunking math," you retorted. "And Professor Wilson asked me to tutor him. If he fails the next exam, that's going to reflect badly on me."

You, Wanda and Yelena had been in the middle of lunch in the dining hall when you had decided to check in on Bucky, seeing as he had proven to be extremely flaky so far. It frustrated you to no end.

"Are you mad that he's going to do bad in the exam, or did you just want to spend time with him?" Yelena asked with a mischievous smile, knowing fully how much that would set you off.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, c'mon," Wanda chimed in, quickly catching on. "He's cute, he's funny, who wouldn't want to spend hours inside a small study room with him?"

"Okay, if you guys even think for a second that I'd be interested in Bucky Barnes-"

"Okay, okay," Yelena said quickly, raising her hands in surrender. "God, it is so easy to get under your skin."

"Just a few more months of this, and it will be over," you said under your breath like a prayer.

"Here."

A coffee cup was unceremoniously placed in front of you the second Bucky Barnes stepped into the room. You could hear the liquid sloshing about as you stared up at him.

The first thought that reached your head, annoyingly, was how good he looked today. He was wearing a white vest beneath an unbuttoned blue linen shirt, the color complimenting his bright eyes.

"What's this?"

"I thought you were smart," Bucky quipped, smirking. "Coffee. Oat mocha. To apologize for blowing you off last time."

"Uh - thanks," you said, taken aback at the gesture. Your brows furrowed. Oat mocha. How did he know?

"You had that last time we met up, so I went with it," he said, as if he could read your thoughts.

"Right. Thanks," you said, almost stumbling over your words. He had totally caught you off guard.

No, you scolded yourself mentally. You would not let yourself become one of those simpering girls that fawned over his feet. You would be civil, sure, but don't you dare start staring at his tousled hair and think about how soft the strands would feel between your fingers -

"So, what we learning today?" Bucky cracked his knuckles, interrupting your thoughts. Thank God.

"You know, I don't know much about you," Bucky said suddenly one evening.

"What does that have to do with calculus?" you asked dryly.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Can you relax a bit? Would it kill you to talk about something other than math?"

"Fine," you said, surrendering. Even you had to admit that you were getting bored with talking math. "What do you want to know?"

"Favorite movie?"

You raised an eyebrow. Seriously?

"10 Things I Hate About You. Next."

Bucky burst out laughing, the noise rippling through the room. The blood rushed to your cheeks.

"Sorry, sorry - I'm not laughing at you."

"Oh, is there somebody else in the room I can't see?" You were defensive at Bucky cracking up at your movie choice. "I like corny rom-coms, okay?"

"Okay, okay," Bucky said, tapping his pen on his notepad with a grin. "I've never watched it, but okay, I'm sure it's a great cinematic masterpiece."

"What's your favorite movie?" you shot back.

"Oldboy," he said quickly. "The original Korean version, not the terrible American remake."

That was a pretty good movie, you thought internally before Bucky was firing off the next question.

"Cats or dogs?"

"Dogs," you answered easily.

Bucky pulled a face.

"Oh, c'mon. Dogs are so much better than cats!" you exclaimed.

"No way. Cats are self-sufficient, independent. Dogs are too...clingy," he settled on the word like it was worst thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile threatening to spread on your lips. You hated to admit that you were actually growing to enjoy his company.

"Okay, enough of this - back to calculus," you said, trying to sound stern.

Later that night, as you were lying in bed, you suddenly received a text.

just watched your favorite movie

You blinked at the screen, surprised at the unexpected message. You hesitated before sending a casual response.

And? What did you think?

Twenty seconds passed.

not the worst movie in the world, i guess

This time, you really couldn't stop the smile that blossomed on your face.

You guess it could be said that you and Bucky had reached a truce. Not that he even knew you were waging an unfair prejudice against him from the start - you admitted to yourself that you had misjudged him. He wasn't so bad, and he was no longer flaking on you as often for your tutoring sessions.

One evening, as you both prepared to leave the library and go back to your respective dorms, you were surprised by a sudden onslaught of rain.

"Freak storm," Bucky commented as you both stood in the open doorway, unwilling to step out into the icy rain first.

"Great," you groaned. You were hungry and wanted to go get some food, but you had forgotten your umbrella and you really did not want to catch a cold this close to exam season.

In your peripheral, you could see Bucky start to peel off his leather jacket. You turned to him, perplexed as he thrust it into your arms.

"Here. Use this," he said simply. "See you tomorrow." He all but dove into the rain, the water pelting him immediately and soaking his hair and clothes.

You watched him sprint off across the quad, trying not to notice how his t-shirt was beginning to cling to his back. You clutched his jacket in your fingers, oddly touched.

"Snap out of it," you told yourself sternly even as your chest began to feel the warmth of something not totally unfamiliar. You held the jacket over your head as a shield and quickly ran out of the library and towards your dorm, trying to ignore the fondness that was growing inside you.

The next day, you returned his jacket, thanking him for it bashfully.

"It smells like you," he said suddenly. You looked at him in time to see him swallow and shrug, like he was embarrassed he said anything.

Do I smell bad? you thought, suddenly paranoid.

"Sorry?" you said awkwardly.

Later that evening, your phone buzzed with a text.

smells like vanilla

Slowly but surely, your tutoring sessions with Bucky were turning into less studying, more chatting. You had both developed a little habit of bringing your favorite snacks for the other to try, and had started to rank them on a virtual leader board on Bucky's phone.

"All right, what do we have today?" Bucky grinned as you walked into the room, tipping the bag of goodies onto the table.

"I'm definitely taking the lead with this one," you said triumphantly. "My homemade chocolate chip cookies."

Bucky snorted, trying to suppress his smile. He picked up one of the individually packaged cookies that you had lovingly placed into it's own cellophane pouch. He couldn't deny that this was extremely endearing.

"Aw, c'mon. Chocolate chip cookies? Basic," he smiled as he rushed to unwrap one of them.

"They are the best," you said confidently. "Nothing wrong with keeping it simple."

You watched as he ate half of the cookie in a single bite, eyebrows raising as he chewed. He leaned back in his chair.

"Okay. Damn, that is good."

You laughed, pulling out your textbooks and settling down opposite him.

"You like to bake?"

"Mm-hm," you nodded. "When I can. It's my love language"

You realized what you had said a beat too late, your eyes widening and cheeks flushing.

"I mean - I like baking for my friends and family," you spluttered, trying to play it down.

Bucky didn't seem phased, raising an eyebrow.

"I must be pretty damn special then."

You were in trouble. Big, big trouble.

You weren't stupid or ignorant to your own feelings. You knew exactly how Bucky made you feel whenever you were in the same room together. You knew how your heart skipped a beat when your phone lit up with a text from him. You knew how your skin tingled whenever he stepped close to you, arms brushing against each other as he worked over yet another math problem.

You knew how much harder it was becoming to not get distracted by the intensity on his face sometimes, how pieces of his thick brown hair sometimes fell in front of his eyes. You fingers itched to sweep them back.

Oh god. It was such a cliche. You had totally fallen head over heels for him.

"How did I not see this coming?" you groaned into your pillow as you lay back on your bed, Yelena and Wanda observing your distress for 'emotional support', as they had put it.

"What's the big deal? You like him, so what?" Yelena asked, tossing popcorn back into her mouth.

"Do you know how it feels to like someone and not be able to do anything about it?"

"So do something about it," Wanda said, tilting her head at you. "Just tell him how you feel."

"No, because then he'll reject me, and then it'll be super awkward between us, and then we'll never speak again," you rambled. You could see it now. The awkwardness on Bucky's face as you confessed to him, as many girls had done so before.

Women fawned over him. Why would you be any different in his eyes?

But were they right? Should you just bite the bullet and tell him how you felt? What if maybe - just maybe - there was a chance he felt the same way?

Sometimes you felt like he might. Whenever he flirted with you, or paid you a compliment. But then again, he flirted with everybody - every ounce of him oozed with charisma. It was just in his nature to easily charm people.

But there were other moments, too. The way he carried your books when he could tell they were too heavy. The way he never, ever forgot to bring you a coffee and a sweet treat, too. The way he looked at you sometimes when you were explaining the solution to a math problem, like he was just focused on your face and wasn't even listening to your words.

If you lived in a rom-com, this would be exactly how things were supposed to pan out. Awkward girl falls for popular guy, and is shocked when he returns her feelings.

Except, well, this wasn't a rom-com. Bucky Barnes was most definitely out of your league.

You and Bucky were having lunch together out on the quad, taking advantage of the beautiful May weather. It was an impromptu picnic after a study session - the sun was shining hard and Bucky's football practice had been cancelled. He had bought sandwiches for the both of you and suggested eating them at the foot of one of the huge trees that dotted the grounds.

You were still battling your indecision about telling him how you felt, but for now, you'd just enjoy his company. He looked so handsome today, sunglasses perched on his face as he tilted his head up toward the sky, a soft smile on his lips.

Your phone rang suddenly, knocking you out of your reverie. It was a new friend you had made recently during a beginners' sparring class that Yelena had dragged you to.

"Hey, Cam," you said lightly.

"Hey!" she exclaimed brightly on the other end of the phone. "What are you and Yelena doing tonight? You wanna come hang out with me and my roommates for dinner?"

"Sure, what time?" you responded eagerly.

She told you the details and when you hung up, Bucky was staring at you curiously.

"Got asked to dinner," you said, shrugging.

"Oh," Bucky said, face neutral.

"Made a new friend recently - Cam. Been spending so much time together which has been so fun, actually," you hummed, taking a bite of your sandwich.

"Right."

A few moments of silence passed in which Bucky said nothing, which was completely uncharacteristic of him.

"You okay?" you asked finally.

He cleared his throat, finishing off his sandwich in a few large bites. He stood up suddenly, patting his shirt down to brush off any food crumbs.

"Yeah. Hey, I just remembered - I promised Steve I'd go to the gym with him this afternoon."

"Oh, sure," you said, thrown off by the sudden change in his attitude. "Have fun.”

"Thanks. I'll see you around, yeah?"

You barely had time to respond before he had turned his back to you and was walking away, without giving you so much as a second glance.

Bucky called you out of the blue whilst you were having breakfast. You felt embarrassed to take the call in front of Wanda and Yelena, but it was too late - Yelena had seen his name flash up and quickly swiped the answer button, shoving the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" you said as you glared at her. Yelena shoved a piece of toast into her mouth with a grin.

"Hey. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we can't hang out today," Bucky said on the other end.

"I'm tutoring you, we're not hanging out," you reprimanded, still wishing he'd take it a bit more seriously. "And why is that?"

"I have a date."

Despite yourself, you felt your face fall. Wanda cocked her head at you, curious.

"Oh. Great," you said flatly. "Okay." The disappointment that grew in your chest was truly unexpected and painful.

"I'll text you later to reschedule, yeah?"

"Whatever," you said shortly, trying to ignore the acidic feeling in your chest. "Bye." You hung up abruptly, slamming your phone a little too hard onto the table.

"What was that all about?" Yelena asked.

"Nothing," you muttered.

"Didn't sound like nothing," Wanda said, raising an eyebrow.

"He was just calling to cancel our tutoring session for a date."

Wanda and Yelena exchanged pointed glances.

"What?" you snapped.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you said tersely.

You couldn't even convince yourself.

You felt like Bucky was starting to avoid you.

No, not avoid - you weren't important enough to him for that. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with all these dates with whatever girl he was now seeing.

It started with excuses about football practice. And then football related injuries which meant he just wanted to rest. Then -

just not feeling it today. will let you know when i'm free to reschedule

You didn't even reply to that one. If he didn't want to reach out first, then you weren't going to beg him to let you tutor him.

It stung when he eventually stopped texting, though.

Since you started tutoring him three months ago, you had begun messaging more and more, until eventually it was basically an everyday occurrence. To go from that to basically zero was extremely jarring.

It hurt you more than you wanted to admit.

The feelings grew and grew and reached a crescendo when one evening, after a whole fortnight of zero texts from Bucky and no word of when he wanted to see you again, you bumped into him and his friend outside one of the campus coffee shops. You had been on your way to your morning lectures, and when you spotted his face, you had briefly deliberated ignoring him and continuing to walk. Despite yourself, you found yourself stopping awkwardly, giving him a smile. Even if you felt uncomfortable, you had truly missed him and the sound of his voice.

"Hey Bucky.” You greeted him, trying to keep your tone light and non-accusatory. What you really wanted to say was, why the hell have you not reached out in so long?

You thought you were friends. You really thought he liked being in your company.

"Hey," he said as his friend smiled at you. He introduced you quickly to Steve, who shook your hand like a gentleman.

"How are you doing?" Steve asked politely. You had heard so much from Bucky about his best friend, but this was the first time you had met him in person. Figures, considering he clearly didn't consider you as a friend - why on earth would he have introduced you to his before now?

"She's the girl who's been tutoring me," Bucky said slowly, almost deliberately avoiding eye contact with me, looking down at his to-go cup instead.

You decided to swallow your pride and be more direct.

"Yeah - when are we next doing that, anyway?" You tried to force a smile, to not sound too desperate.

He paused, finally meeting your eyes.

"I actually think I've had enough of the tutoring for now," he said firmly. "I think I need to focus on my football and other stuff."

The unspoken words hung heavy in the air. You knew exactly what he meant. By other stuff, he just meant other girls. He was dating someone now, that much you were sure of, and that meant he simply didn't have time for people like you.

And you really thought…

The pain of rejection rushed through you. It was humiliating, how upsetting it was, how you physically had to take a step back. He probably felt cornered by you, approaching him like this and asking when you’d next meet - you felt embarrassed.

"Right," you said, trying not to let the emotion show on your face. "Okay, sure. See you around, Bucky."

Bucky's lips parted slightly at your torn expression, like he wanted to say something. Rather than give him the chance, you nodded a curt goodbye and hurriedly walked away, wanting to put as much distance between yourselves as possible.

Her name was Sharon.

That was the name of the girl that Bucky had been seeing. You noticed it more and more now, suddenly seeing him, her and Steve everywhere around campus, the most good looking trio of people you had ever seen.

You saw them the moment you stepped into the main campus hall that had been decked out for the summer Golden Hour Gala, a dance that they held every year on the final afternoon before semester officially ended. It was a nice chance to dress up, dance with your friends and have a blast before the students went home for summer.

That was how you ended up here in a midi-floral dress, cream in color and adorned with tiny pink flowers. You had felt pretty cute, but didn't look anywhere near as gorgeous as Sharon did.

Her hair was long and silky, falling down her back like a sheet of gold. She was wearing a long, lilac dress that complimented her figure perfectly.

You had barely wanted to go to this glorified garden party to begin with, but now you were really regretting being here. Especially with how good Bucky looked, casual but sophisticated in a blue shirt and beige chinos, the sun shining directly in his face and making him squint adorably.

You blamed Yelena for pouring you glass after glass of spiked punch, telling you it would cheer you up.

"It's the Russian way!" she screamed delightfully as she tried to coax you and Wanda out on the dance floor.

As the hours passed, you felt yourself growing more and more emboldened. For the past few days, you’d forced yourself to distract yourself from thoughts of Bucky - but here, with him just a mere few feet away and the alcohol breaking down your inhibitions, you felt yourself stewing.

Call it liquid courage, but you felt a renewed confidence (or stupidity, maybe?) when you found yourself marching towards Bucky, who was sitting by himself for the first time that day. Finally, Sharon and Steve weren't flanking him, which made him more approachable as you plopped yourself down onto the seat next to him.

He spoke your name with surprise, like he wasn't expecting to see you. Of course, you had practically turned invisible to him by now.

"Hi," you said, trying to figure out if your speech was slurred or not. You hadn't drank that much, had you? No - you just wanted to know right there and then what his problem was with you.

"Long time no see," he said, his eyes flicking up and down you to appraise your outfit. Hang on - was he checking you out? In your current state of mind, you truly entertained the thought.

"You," you said, punctuating your point with a finger to his chest, "have been avoiding me."

Bucky started at the physical contact, his hand reaching up reflexively to wrap gently around your wrist. You pulled away like you had been shocked with electricity.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, forehead creasing. The teasing smile that you missed oh so much was playing on his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Shit.

"Pfft. No," you said unconvincingly. "I just want to know what your problem is." You paused, unable to stop your voice from wavering. "I thought we were friends."

The expression in Bucky's eyes was almost unreadable, but for a second you thought he looked remorseful. He seemed to pick up on how genuinely upset you were.

"We were - we are," he corrected himself.

"Then why the hell have you not texted me or called me in almost a month?" you cried, fully aware of how desperate you sounded now. But you didn't care - the alcohol did a good at shooing the shame away. You wanted answers. You deserved a proper explanation.

Bucky looked torn.

"Did you ever like me?" you asked quietly. You weren’t sure if he heard.

All of a sudden, you caught a flash of blonde hair in the corner of your eye. You thought it was Sharon, but - thankfully - it was only Yelena, red in the face and totally unstable on her feet.

"What are you doing?" she shouted, totally oblivious to who you were speaking to. She grabbed your hand, trying to pull you up. "C'mon, Cam wants to dance with you."

Bucky straightened his back, the soft look in his eyes dissipating and settling into something colder.

He leaned away from you - you weren't even aware that you were almost touching - and stood up.

"You should go be with your friends,” he said stoically. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” He gave you one last look you just couldn’t decipher before he walked away.

Your heart ached.

Summer break was long and tough. It was arguably the much needed time away from college that you needed to nurse your heartbreak, but if anything, it just made you yearn for Bucky more.

You missed him.

You replayed the events of the last few months in your head over and over again. Where exactly had you gone wrong? What had made Bucky cut you out of his life like that?

Was the whole friendship just a lie?

Even if he didn't return your feelings, or if he was dating Sharon - surely that didn't mean he couldn't be friends with you?

Maybe this whole time you had simply severely overestimated your importance to him.

When the new academic year started, you did your best to avoid him totally. You spent most of your time either in your room, or at the library. Even the latter was bringing up unsavory feelings - the two of you had spent too much time there together, and everything reminded you of him.

You hated feeling this way.

You needed to admit to yourself that this wasn't just a crush you were getting over.

You had fallen in love.

The feeling in your chest, the way your heart constricted at the thought of him, the way his lack of attention tortured you - it was undeniable. You missed having him in your life, you missed your idle daily conversations and simply being in his presence.

You had never fallen in love before. You weren't sure you knew how to get over him.

One thing was for sure - unrequited love was a bitch.

Being emotionally devastated definitely showed in physical ways, too. You weren't getting much sleep, tossing and turning at night plagued with thoughts of Bucky. You weren't eating very well, skipping meals and avoiding spending time with your friends so as to evade having to talk about your feelings.

But, alas, you couldn't ignore the problem forever. You were trudging across campus from one lecture to the next, looking down at your feet. You barely registered your name being called until it came accompanied by a hand waving in front of your face.

And there he was. Of course he looked as good as ever, skin slightly more tanned over summer. He had cut his hair, and it suited him this way as much as it did long, looking totally and utterly gorgeous.

Bucky seemed taken aback at your appearance. You wondered how tired and weary you must've looked.

"Hey. Are you okay?" he asked, a concerned lilt in his voice.

"I'm fine," you lied, taken aback at how his sudden appearance was affecting you. You hadn't had time to brace yourself for it - the object of all your affections and the subject of your every day thought was standing right in front you, whilst you felt and looked like an absolute mess. It was so unfair.

You were horrified when you felt your eyes sting and the corners of your mouth start to tremble.

Oh my god. Do not cry. Do not cry.

"You're not okay," Bucky said suddenly, planting both hands on your shoulders and steering you several feet to the right, to a small alcove near the exterior of the closest building, away from the traffic of the footpath.

"I need to get to class," you blubbered, wanting to get away from him as soon as possible before the tears fell.

Bucky was firm as he shook his head.

"You're upset, and I want to know why," he said resolutely.

"Why do you care?" you snapped suddenly. Bucky was looking blurry in your vision - your eyes were filling with tears. Fuck. This is so embarrassing.

"Because you're crying," he said gently, his eyes staring into yours.

"No I'm not," you said as the first tear fell. You wiped it away, mortified.

"Okay, now you're crying," he said, trying to hold your gaze. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Why do you care?" you repeated. "We're not friends - you were very clear about that."

Bucky looked speechless for a second, hands planted on his hips. He reached one out to you, like he wanted to touch you, before thinking better of it and letting it fall to his side.

The way he was looking at you made you feel so damn pitiful. All too suddenly and all at once, the dam broke and the tears were flowing. You were just so sad, and you wished for nothing more that he would be in your life again.

"You made me think that you cared," you sobbed. "I really thought we were friends. Then you just pushed me away like I was nothing, a nobody. Stopped talking to me without any explanation."

Bucky looked sincerely sorry now, looking distressed by your tears. "Please, sweets, don't cry," he said softly.

The affection and tenderness took you aback, only making you cry harder. He was messing with your feelings so much, and you had had enough.

"I really liked you," you spluttered through your tears. To hell with it. You'd already embarrassed yourself enough. “I love you, Bucky. I fell in love with you for the first time ever, and you broke my heart."

Bucky's face dropped as you dug the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to will the tears to stop.

"You love me?"

You choked through your sobs. "I know you don't feel the same, but -"

"What about your boyfriend?" he interrupted, looking perplexed.

"What boyfriend?" you shot back with equal confusion, finally meeting his eyes.

"Cam?"

Your mouth dropped, speechless for a second.

"Cam is a girl," you squawked.

Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, eyes widening in realisation. "Oh. Oh."

"Is that what this has all been about?" You were bewildered. "You thought I had a boyfriend so you - you what, you just decided not to be friends with me anymore?"

Bucky stared at you what felt like the longest time, though it could only have been a few seconds.

"I liked you too,” he said finally, stepping closer towards you. “I mean - I love you, too.”

The words were barely above a whisper, but they took your breath away. He was holding your gaze so gently, apologies etched into his face.

"I fell in love with you, and I was this close to telling you how I felt. And when I thought you were seeing a guy - Cam," he cringed, now realizing just how badly he'd misunderstood, "I decided to nip things in the bud before my feelings got worse. I know it was selfish to push you away, but it was the only way I knew how to deal with my feelings.”

Hearing the words fall out of his mouth felt like a dream. Had you both really been so stupid this whole time over a couple of misunderstandings?

"You couldn't have asked me directly about whether or not I had a boyfriend?" You were frustrated now, and still in disbelief at the revelation that Bucky actually returned your feelings.

"You didn't tell me how you felt either," Bucky said defensively, before giving you a sheepish grin. "I guess we both suck a little at communicating?"

You had no words, unsure of what to do next as you stared up at him. You wanted to kiss him, hug him, make up for all the lost time where you had both been stupidly avoiding each other.

"Well - what happens now?" you asked quietly.

He reached out, his hand coming at your waist to pull you towards him. "Well. I've been wanting to kiss you for months," he murmured, looking down at your lips. “So that’s a suggestion.”

His other hand reached out to tilt your chin up, leaning closer and closer. You suddenly shot a hand up to his chest, leaning back before your lips could meet.

"What about Sharon?" You absolutely refused to be the other woman in this scenario, your face falling again at the thought of her.

"What about her?" Bucky asked blankly. He paused as the pieces slot into place. "You know she's dating Steve, right?"

"What?"

"She's not my girlfriend. Never was, never will be," he said clearly. "It's always been you. Only you."

That was all your needed to hear before you closed the distance between you, letting yourself melt into the kiss that you had dreamed of for so long. This man actually loved you back - maybe rom-com endings did exist.

When you both pulled back for air, Bucky kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips soft.

"Actually, there is something I need to confess to," he murmured against your skin.

"What?"

"I purposely started doing poorly in math and asked Professor Wilson to get you to tutor me," he said, giving you an embarrassed smile. "I'm not really bad at math. I'm actually really good at math."

You didn't know what shocked you more - this revelation or the fact that -

"Did you just quote Mean Girls to me?"

Bucky cracked your favorite dimpled smile.

"Only for you, sweets."

[mikeymagee]

Sam Wilson: The American Redeemer

Why Sam Wilson is the only choice for the mantel

"No super serum, no blond hair, or blue eyes. The only power I have is that I believe we can do better" --Sam Wilson,

I think one of the main things that separates Sam Wilson's tenure as Captain America from Steve Rogers's is how they functioned within the role and what they were expected to do.

During World War II, Steve Rogers was expected to protect the country from foreign dangers. He was the American protector. Keeping citizens safe from international (and interdimensional) threats. Steve protected American against "The Other" (Nazis, foreign terrorists, aliens, etc).

But Sam Wilson is someone who is tasked with protecting the country from itself. Sam stands firm against America's worst impulses (its inability to emphasize, its lust for power and status, its refusal to deal with its own history, etc,) and guides this country towards its better angels.

Sam Wilson origins in Marvel Comics

Sam Wilson was created as a result of the Civil Rights Movement back in the 1960's. It's no accident that he was created to be the partner for a superhero that represented America, and its values. The first African American superhero paired with a man who represented everything this country believed about itself. Sam Wilson was created as a kind of redemption for America, or at least, the beginnings of redemption. African Americans in this country have fought side by side with white Americans in every war and every conflict. From the American Revolution to World War II and beyond. And yet Black Americans were never allowed to take part in the American dream, whether through unjust laws, or the denial of economic growth, Black people have always been shunned from the country they helped defend. Sam Wilson's creation and inclusion was a (small) way to make up for that lack justice. And even through his friendship with Sam, Steve Rogers gained a new perspective on the American identity. Sam brought America's failings into light and gave it the opportunity to correct itself.

From the very creation of the character, Sam was an opportunity for America to rid herself of her sins.

Sam Wilson in the Winter Soldier

Its notable that the first interaction we get with Sam in the MCU is as a counselor for veterans. America is notorious for touting to "Love its soldiers" but always ignoring its veterans. Many men and women who go off to fight in wars often times come back home to a country that is less willing to put the time and effort into understanding and helping the heal. You can see this with the lack of funding for Veterans Affairs offices, the housing crises that a lot of returning veterans face, the lack of adequate mental and physical healthcare that veterans are afforded. Veterans are an underserved community in a country that claims to love its military. There is a hypocrisy in this.

Yet, Sam took on the work of helping veterans heal.

The History of Isaiah Bradley.

It's no secret that America is a country that was built off of antiblack racism. I could cite multiple books, articles, documentaries, and studies that prove this. However, the narrative of Isaiah Bradley not only showcases America's antiblack racism, but the removal of Bradley's story showcases America's refusal to acknowledge its own faults. There have always been efforts in this country to remove Black history (and the histories of other marginalized groups of people). Sam Wilson, when he found out about Isaiah, not only had to reconcile with this country's racism, but he also had to reevaluate how he viewed the country as a whole. Bradley was not only court martialed and jailed, but he was experimented on and his story was scrubbed away.

The United States has always had a habit of rewriting its own history to maintain a certain image. Whether it be one of liberty and equality, or one of militaristic might and pride. America loves the image of the strong soldier, going off into the world but hates the image of the war torn veteran who still hears gun shots at night. Sam, during his conversation with Bucky in Maryland, had to reconcile America's image of itself (a bright beautiful country that welcomes all) with the reality he had just been exposed to (a Black man who did the exact same thing that Steve Rogers had done back in the 40's and was punished for it).

America's treatment of Isaiah was a sin against veterans and a sin against Black Americans, and Sam bringing Isaiah's story into the light was a reckoning that helped to redeem the country's past actions. Actions that America has no one to blame for but itself.

Karli and the Flag Smashers.

Sam's handling of Flag Smashers in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier was controversial, but the one thing he was correct about was the usage of simple labels to justify inhumane treatment of others. The United States has always been a country that others its enemies to justify violence of disenfranchisement. Black slaves in the US were called animals. Post 9/11 Muslims (and really, anyone from the middle east) were called "terrorists", Latino immigrants were/are dehumanized and called criminals to justify ICE raids and the breaking of families. During the 90's, America created the "Super Predator" narrative that painted a target on Black men and accelerated the militarization of police officers.

The government's reactions to Karli and the Flag Smashers represents the same line of thinking. Take a group of people and label them as something that is easy to hate/vilify and then take them out. We can argue that Karli's actions were extreme, and we can argue that Karli's actions were violent but we also have to understand were these feelings came from. Empathy and understanding has always been something America has refused to engage with. It's easy to say that Black people don't work hard and are poor when you refuse to acknowledge how America has burned Black neighborhoods and undermined Black education. America has always worked to eliminate the symptom rather than treating the disease.

And Sam, through his speech about Karli and the Flag Smashers, reminds America of its own failings. And again, this isn't some conspiracy that was created by HYDRA or a Nazi organization. This wasn't some evil plan, it was simply The United States turning its back on its own ideals. The blame falls squarely on the shoulders of the country.

But Sam's handling of Karli is a reminder to the country as a whole that we must choose to be better. And note how his speech isn't just for the senators, it's for the American people too. Notice how Isaiah Bradley and his grandson are watching, notice how the crowd of people are listening, notice how Torres is watching from his computer feed.

Sam is offering every American a shot at redemption.

Ross and the War with Japan

"Diplomacy must be hard for you, a man in a country to used to taking what he wants by force."

-Prime Minister Ozaki

In Captain America Brave New World, President Ross is facing an international crises with Japan over the adamantium that is found in the middle of the ocean. Originally, the world leaders, lead by President Ross, wanted to share the new resource evenly, however as negotiations breakdown between America and Japan, Ross's first instinct is to lead the country to war over the adamantium.

American Imperialism is no secret, in fact, everyone in the world is aware of America's dedication to consuming resources. In many instances (ones highlighted by Sam himself) America has a lack of understanding of how the world works, and how to decenter itself for the good of its allies. President Ross even says as the international conflict reaches a head,

"If any country is going to control adamantium, it's going to be us." --President Ross

Ross leans right back into American imperialism, and its perceived entitlement to resources. You can even draw parallels with Erik Killmonger's usage of Wakanda's vibranium and how Erik (an American man) uses American imperialism in the same way. To take whatever he wants by force. Damn the consequences.

Ross was not thinking about how the impending conflict could harm American citizens, or harm other people in the world. Ross's only concern was with the securing of international power.

But Ross's actions speak to a broader pattern of behavior that Sam has seen throughout his tenure in the MCU. The tendency for Americans to fall into simple definitions that justify a lack of empathy. When diplomacy with Japan fell through, Ross pivoted to conflict without further introspection. When Isaiah Bradley's existence threatened the ideals of American equality, America hid their shame away without needing to reflect on its own mistakes. When Karli and the Flag Smashers became a threat, America became incentivized to neutralize that threat without understanding reasons behind the Flag Smashers in the first place.

America is a country that prioritizes action over introspection, and violence over understanding. If not for the intervention of Sam Wilson, America would have fallen to its worst impulse and dove into a war that didn't need to be had.

"The fight you're taking on ain't going to be easy, Sam." --Isaiah Bradley

Perhaps this is where Steve's fight and Sam's fight differ. Steve was a warrior when America needed one. He was a man who fought whatever threat came to our shores. It was easy to root for Steve because Americans could understand that the "bad guy" was some foreigner.

But Sam's fight is with America's soul itself.

Sam isn't fighting to "save the country", he's fighting to redeem it. He's fighting to make this country live up to its ideals. And how exactly do you redeem a country that sends it soldiers off to war, but shuns them when they return? How do you redeem a country who's first instincts are to dehumanize and disregard anyone who doesn't fit the idea of America? How do you redeem a country that refuses to learn from its own mistakes, and instead works to shift the blame to someone/something else?

Bucky has said that Sam gives people something to aspire towards. But aspiring towards something takes work. It takes introspection. It takes being brave enough to look at one's own mistakes and being humble enough to do admit wrong doing, and then being strong enough to make it right.

In every instance in the MCU Sam Wilson gives this country a chance to be its better self. Most critics of Sam in TFATWS and BNW is his tendency for political messaging over character. Critics say that Sam is more interested in giving lectures over being a 3-dimensional character and to that I disagree. Even in isolated narratives (such as BNW), Sam is still faced with the conundrum of holding this country accountable to itself. And the narrative seems repetitive because each time America refuses to live up to itself. If Sam Wilson's story arc seems repetitive it is because the country he represents refuses to grow. It is not Sam's failing as a character, but America's failing as a nation. Sam Wilson lives James Baldwin's words:

"I love America more than any other country in the world and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually"

Patriotism without introspection is simply stagnation. Love without growth is simply indulgence, and Sam Wilson reminds us of that everyday.

Sam Wilson may not be the Captain that this country wants, but it is certainly the captain this country needs.

But whether or not America deserves a redeemer like Sam Wilson, is a question that many are too afraid to ask.

[creacherkeeper]

the reliance of college students on gen ai thing is particularly crazy to me as a college writing instructor whos also about to finish an educational psychology certificate because like one huge thing ive learned in my classes is that the american college system is pretty dogshit at teaching students when it comes both to content mastery and also preparing them for the workforce. like these kids are graduating college and going into jobs that they have their degrees in and dont know how to thrive in the workforce and Also dont really know much about the thing they got their degree in. and theres a lot of reasons for that that i could go over in depth but i'll spare yall

BUT the thing that college is like the most decent at is changing the way people think about knowledge itself. further education (high school to undergrad to graduate school) is a huge factor in what develops your epistemological beliefs (epistemology being the nature and theories of knowledge). like your epistemology does naturally change as you get older, but with further education you learn that knowledge itself is complex, ever changing, and interrelated, meaning you inherently trust "facts" less and actually perform critical thinking when presented with new information

but,,,,,, with that new study microsoft did on generative ai showing that usage of gen ai in the workplace can lead to the degradation of independent problem solving skills and that people who trust gen ai actively use less critical thinking to do tasks,,, and that giving yourself fewer opportunities for critical thinking degrades your ability to think critically at all even when it comes to important tasks,,,

like. all these students are using gen ai and sometimes their classes are actively encouraging them to use gen ai and i fear were losing like the one big thing american undergrad is good for bc lets be real its pretty dogshit at everything else

and considering the nature of the topic:

Bransford, J. D., Brown, A. L., Anderson, J. R., Gelman, R., Glaser, R., Greenough, W. T., Ladson-Billings, G., Means, B. M., Mestre, J. P., Nathan, L., Pea, R. D., Peterson, P. L., Rogoff, B., Romberg, T. A., & Wineburg, S. S. (2000). How people learn: Brain, mind, experience, and school. National Academy Press. (pp. 31-50) Lee, H.P., Sarkar, A., Tankelevitch,L. Drosos, I., Rintel, S., Banks, R., & Wilson, N. (2025). The impact of generative AI on critical thinking: Self-reported reductions in cognitive effort and confidence effects from a survey of knowledge workers. CHI Conference in on Human Factors in Computing Systems. https://doi.org/10.1145/3706598.3713778 Mezirow, J. (2000). Learning to think like an adult: Core concepts of transformation theory. In J. Mezirow (Ed.), Learning as transformation: Critical perspectives on a theory in progress (pp. 3-34). Jossey-Bass. Svinicki, M. D. (2004). Learning and motivation in the postsecondary classroom. Boston: Anker Publishing Company, Inc. Torff, B., & Sternberg, R. J. (1998). Changing mind, changing world: Practical intelligence and tacit knowledge in adult learning. In M. C. Smith & T. Pourchot (Eds.), Adult learning and development: Perspectives from educational psychology (pp. 109-126). Lawrence Erlbaum

[henrykathman]

The Miraculous Horror of Stop Motion

From the same artform that brought you Coraline and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, comes three stories that evoke the existential fear of art.

Original Music by Molly Noise

Bibliography below

Atrocity Guide. “The Animators Who’ve Spent 40 Years on a Single Film.” YouTube, 9 Oct. 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=73hip3pz0Xs&pp=ygUMdGhlIG92ZXJjb2F0. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Brubaker, Charles. “The Japanese Studios of Rankin/Bass.” Cartoon Research, Jerry Beck, 14 Apr. 2014, cartoonresearch.com/index.php/the-japanese-studios-of-rankinbass/.

Bute, Paris. “Introduction to “a Rankin/Bass Retrospective from a New Perspective.”” Citizen Jane, Stephens College, 19 Nov. 2021, www.citizenjane.org/home/cwwicd2ucb2fvs64kgfaocfykjhaum. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Crome, Althea. “Coraline.” Althea Crome | Micro Knitter, 2012, www.altheacrome.com/coraline. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Harold Halibut. Directed by Onat Hekimoğlu, Slow Bros., 16 Apr. 2024.

Hekimoglu, Onat, and Gabriel Schmitz. “Unite Berlin 2018 - Harold Halibut and Making a Stop Motion Game.” Unity, YouTube, 6 Aug. 2018, youtu.be/9usssSQc0wQ. Accessed 6 May 2023.

Jon "Sikamikanico" Clarke. “The Making of Harold Halibut.” XboxEra, YouTube, 21 Mar. 2024, youtu.be/WMyxM9t3o7A. Accessed 19 June 2024.

LAIKA Studios. “Sweater and Gloves: Knitting Coraline by Hand.” YouTube, 11 July 2017, youtu.be/zUvkfcGR-7U. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Mad God Productions. “Phil Tippett’s “Mad God.”” Kickstarter, 17 May 2012, www.kickstarter.com/projects/madgod/phil-tippetts-mad-god/posts.

Olson, Mathew. “Report: Michel Ancel Accused of Abusive, Disruptive Practices on beyond Good & Evil 2.” VG247, 25 Sept. 2020, www.vg247.com/report-michel-ancel-accused-of-abusive-disruptive-practices-on-beyond-good-evil-2. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Ono, Kosei. “Tadahito Mochinaga: The Japanese Animator Who Lived in Two Worlds.” Animation World Network, AWN, Inc, 1 Dec. 1999, www.awn.com/animationworld/tadahito-mochinaga-japanese-animator-who-lived-two-worlds.

Orland, Kyle. “Claptrap Voice Actor Accuses Gearbox CEO of Assault, Underpayment.” Ars Technica, 7 May 2019, arstechnica.com/gaming/2019/05/claptrap-voice-actor-accuses-gearbox-ceo-of-assault-underpayment/. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Pilling, Jayne. A Reader In Animation Studies. Indiana University Press, 1998. Project MUSE muse.jhu.edu/book/40033.

Prehistoric Beast. Directed by Phil Tippett, Tippett Studios, 1984. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlaXIRTjNfo

Randles, Jonathan. “VFX Studio with Star Wars, Jurassic Park Credits Goes Bankrupt.” Bloomberg Law, 1 May 2024, news.bloomberglaw.com/bankruptcy-law/vfx-studio-with-star-wars-jurassic-park-credits-goes-bankrupt. Accessed 19 June 2024.

Shanley, Patrick. “Gearbox Software CEO Accused of Contempt in Latest Filing.” The Hollywood Reporter, 27 Aug. 2019, www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/digital/gearbox-software-ceo-accused-contempt-latest-filing-1235064/. Accessed 19 June 2024.

The Making of “Jurassic Park.” Directed by John Schultz, Amblin Entertainment, 1995. https://youtu.be/8r01mk6F_Pk

The Making of Mad God. Directed by Maya Tippett, Shudder, 2021. https://youtu.be/sfUOHh0xmwc

The Tale of the Fox. Directed by Irene Starewicz and Ladislas Starevich, UFA GmbH, 10 Apr. 1941. https://youtu.be/Us_Pn6Q1dBQ

Wikipedia contributors. "List of films with longest production time." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 12 Jun. 2024. Web. 19 Jun. 2024.

Wikipedia contributors. "List of media notable for being in development hell." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 19 Jun. 2024. Web. 19 Jun. 2024.

Wikipedia contributors. "List of Rankin/Bass Productions films." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 9 Jun. 2024. Web. 19 Jun. 2024.

Wikipedia contributors. "Tadahito Mochinaga." Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 28 Nov. 2023. Web. 19 Jun. 2024.

Wilson, Josh. “Phil Tippett: 24 Frames per Second < the Fabulist Words & Art.” The Fabulist Words & Art, 5 Nov. 2021, fabulistmagazine.com/24-frames-per-second-the-phil-tippett-interview/.

Worse than the Demon. Directed by Maya Tippett, Shudder, 2013. https://youtu.be/ghKqvDNRe4c

[awsok]

shin hati — season one character study

introduction in the odyssey, emily wilson / ahsoka, 'master and apprentice' / ahsoka, 'fallen jedi' / so we must meet apart, gabrielle bates & jennifer s. cheng / ahsoka, 'far far away' / between dog and wolf, rené-xavier prinet / ahsoka, 'far far away' / ahsoka, 'dreams and madness' / ahsoka, 'dreams and madness' / camp damascus, chuck tingle / ahsoka, 'the jedi the witch and the warlord' / the sun is also a star, nicola yoon

[simbistardis]

Stem(me) Lesbian Theory Masterpost

A stemme or stem lesbian is short for stud-femme lesbian. This is a Black lesbian term to describe lesbians whose mannerisms and gender presentation fall between stud and femme. This is a post of the key sources I've found:

Articles and Studies

John Jay College of Criminal Justice LGBTQ+ Terminology, Eli R. Green, 2003-2004)

'Stem – A person whose gender expression falls somewhere between a stud and a femme. (See also ‘Femme’ and ‘Stud’.)'

Lipstick or Timberlands? Meanings of Gender Presentation in Black Lesbian Communities, Three physical presentations of gender: Femme, gender-blender, and transgressive, Moore, Mignon R. (2006)

'Rather than a de-emphasis on femininity or masculinity, genderblenders combine specific aspects of both to create a unique look.'

Selection from "Black lesbian gender and sexual culture: celebration and resistance," by Bianca D.M. Wilson, published in Culture, Health & Sexuality, Vol. 11, No 3, April 2009 - Taken from belowdesire reblogged by princessrococco on Pillowfort

'Despite a consistent description of femme and stud at the extremes of lesbian gender expression, participants also discussed several labels that fell between the ultra femme-hard stud ends of the continuum, such as ‘soft stud’ and ‘aggressive femme’. Labels like these represented lesbians that blended both masculine and feminine ways in their public expression and/or sexual behaviours, but with a purposeful leaning toward more masculine or feminine identity.'

Lesbian Identity: Stemme, Nell S., 6th Nov 2009

'A Stemme is the in-between identity of a Stud and Femme. She is apart of both groups and her identity is subject to change at anytime. A Stemme identity is often referred to as the transitional stage; however, some lesbian women remain a Stemme because they enjoy representing male and female dominance."'

STORY OF INTEREST: Lesbian Speaks Out, Dominica News Online, April 12th 2010

'"one who could switch up one day, she could be a femme and other occasions dress like she has a li’l hood, li’l ghetto inside her; a stemme – part femme part stud a tomboy"'

Good gay females and babies' daddies: Black lesbian community norms and the acceptability of pregnancy, Sarah J. Reed, Robin Lin Miller, Maria T. Valenti & Tina M. Timm, 21st April 2011

'Stemmes presented themselves one day as femme and another day as stud; as such, they were visibly unrecognisable unless they divulged their gender identity. Stemmes expose the amorphous nature of gender identity and are invisible – silenced, ostracised or prescribed a gender identity.'

“It Ain’t All as Bad as it May Seem”: Young Black Lesbians’ Responses to Sexual Prejudice, Sarah J. Reed and Maria T. Valenti (2012)

'Stemmes, often blatantly ignored, derogated, or even physically threatened because of their vacillating gender identities, often made use of this strategy: "…if they wanted to act like a femme that day, they could get pleasured. If they wanted to act like a stud that day, they can pleasure. They got the best of both worlds actually. To me, that’s how I see it." '

Labelling, Butch, Femme Dyke Or Lipstick, Aren't All Lesbians The Same?: An Exploration Of Labels And "Looks" Among Lesbians In The U.S. South, Danielle Kerr, (2013)

'Short Dawg said, "A stem, for me, is a little mixture of a lot of different things. One day you can be super feminine, and the next day you can be not so feminine."' 'Jessica states: They [stem] might…have hair. They might not go straight to cutting their hair, or they might have haircuts, and some stems have short little afros, natural things.'

Good and Messy: Lesbian and Transgender Identities by Matt Richardson, taken from forum: Lesbian generations, L.J. Rupp, Nan Alamilla Boyd, R. Vanita, M. Richardson, S. Stryker (2013)

'“Stem” (or the combination of “stud” and “femme”) is a Southern African American term for someone who identifies as masculine and feminine.'

'Cultural Factors in the Adherence to Traditional Gender Roles in the Same-Sex Relationships of Black Women, Bianca D. Christian (2019)

'Stem. Another important term to consider in this subgroup is “Stem,” which is a term that is also almost exclusively utilized in the Black lesbian community. This term is a conglomeration of the aesthetics of the “Stud” and “Femme.” Often these women can appear very feminine one day and then appear very masculine the next day. Some of these women can also style themselves with both aesthetics simultaneously. '

Videos

WTH is a Stem?? - Amberscloset (2013)

The Black Lesbian Handbook: The Stem (2015)

[novy2sirius]

The funniest numerical energies

3 energy

This is the number of comedy itself. People with 3 energy in their birthday are very quick with their puns and quite witty. They may roast you a lot. They do have child like energy though, so depending on their other numbers at worst they can be obnoxious at times or really loud

• [Example] Kevin Hart - life path 3, Chris Rock - life path 3, Tana Mongeau - life path 3, Megan Fox - attitude # 3

7 energy

They’re one of the most intelligent numbers and studies show that being funny is actually linked to higher intelligence. You’ll find a lot of comedians are life path 7’s most often

• [Example] Dave Chappelle - life path 7 (also 8th month), Matt Rife - life path 7, Jack Harlow - life path 7/attitude # 7

8 energy

The number 8 looks like two 3’s put together. For this reason 8’s have a bit of 3 energy in the sense that they’re very funny

• [Example] KeKe Palmer - born on the 8th/attitude # 7, Druski - life path 8, Rebel Wilson - life path 8, Bobby Lee - life path 8, Jonah Hill - life path 8

9 energy

9’s are known for being great entertainers and are one of the most intelligent numbers which as I said earlier is linked to people being humorous

• [Example] Aubrey Plaza-life path 9, Jim Carrey-life path 9, Adam Sandler - born on September 9th

33 energy

This number has two 3’s in it (the number of comedy) which makes them very funny. Since they’re old souls they tend to be naturally very funny even in their childhood

• [Example] Albert Einstein - life path 33 (a lot of people don’t know but he was so funny, charming, and intelligent that even Marilyn Monroe wanted to date him but he turned her down), XXX Tentacion - life path 33

Honorable Mention: 13/31

• [Example] Theo Von - 31 life path with attitude number 13

[hughiecampbelle]

Essential (Will Graham Oneshot)

Character/s: Will, Hannibal mention

Word Count: 1,507

Inspired By: Siren Song by Natalie Wilson (this is one of the most beautiful songs on my playlist)

Inspired By: Okay I will never shut up about this fic (Kendall Roy x Depression!Reader) by @chaithetics - I can't praise it enough. I adore it for so many reasons and I'm incredibly grateful to have read it 💕

A/N: Ahhh okay. So. Currently it's pouring out and the rain smells wonderful and I have a candle lit and my room is (mostly) clean - will be sorting that out lol. I haven't been feeling very well mentally recently. The holidays are always hard. My step-dad said some things and it really got to me. His judgement shouldn't matter at all, but it voiced every opinion I fear. It put all my insecurities on blast and I ended up sobbing to my therapist about it. I'm trying to focus on my goals, studying for the LSATs and getting everything ready to apply to law school. Trying to focus on the new year and all the possibilities it holds. It just hurt, y'know? And I thought writing would help, plus I love Will lol. Sorry for the rant!! Not my best work, but it feels good to get it out! Feedback is always appreciated!!! ❤🥩❤

*This is not part of the writing event, this is just a silly therapy fic. I will make a proper post about it, I pinky promise!*

The sun has set. Bright, twinkling stars poke holes in the cobalt sky. It’s your favorite version. The warm lights of houses splash outward through the windows. Some are muted by curtains. Others remain unobscured. Throwing itself across the snow, butter-yellow and bleeding. The snow falls in fat, robust flakes and you hear the wind howl, picking up the longer the night goes on. Downstairs the dogs bark and whine. Pawing at the door until it creaks open, they key sticking just a little. His voice carries through the house like music, song-like, in a key you cannot name, but love nonetheless. He laughs, telling them to be quick as they scatter in the yard. You count the heartbeats until they’re back inside. Safe. He sets down his bag, hanging his coat and shaking off his boots. His glasses, you assume, are not on his face, but placed on a table. The kitchen, most likely, though if he stopped at his desk, perhaps they sit among his things. His familiarities. He works in routines, straying little, if at all. You know what he will find, picturing it from memory. The cupboards and fridge undisturbed. A single mug in the skin. Tea, coffee, something hot cooled off, frozen even, half-filled or half-empty, the decision is up to him. It’s all you could manage today. An act you talk yourself into, a feat you are not prepared for, but crave regardless. Sugar and milk. You made it last the day and yet, it remains unfinished. You hear the faucet run, the stream steady. Imagine his hands. Holding the sponge, circling the inside of the ceramic, filling and pouring until bubbles have subsided. Less severe, less violent, less and less and less. He places it on the drying rack upside down, the clink of it alongside the rest of the dishes filling you with guilt. You could have washed it. You could have unloaded the burden from him. It was your mess. Despite it, despite this grief, he will wave it off. Happy to do it, to help. Still, you might argue, and he will shrug, out of words, but not out of fight. 

His footsteps patter through the first floor, pouring food into bowls, calling them each by name. Dinner is served, you think. Unzipping his bag, the sound high and sharp, retreating what he needs before you follow him to the stairs. Each step groaned quietly, as if announcing his presence in whispers. Contaninig their excitement or, perhaps, swapping secrets. Gossip. Down the hall, he makes his way towards you. His cologne, subtle, is a welcomed scent. Woodsy, earthy, like soil. Hints of tobacco. Fabric softener, too. Lavender, you think, though they are all the same. Knocking quietly at the bedroom door, lazily left ajar, before walking inside. Hey you, he says. You were right. He’s not wearing his glasses. You can see his eyes - an amalgamation of color. Blue mostly, though there are hints of green and specks of brown. Puppy dog, exceptional in conveying emotions. You search for anger in them, fury or wrath or disgust, but there is only understanding. Relief. His smile is serene and his movements gentle: placing his files full of photos and notes on the nightstand. Overflowing with gore and mutilation, there is so much work he has brought home, so much responsibility, and yet he makes time for you and your dishes. You’ve been up here all day. He says it as a statement rather than a question. You wait for reprimand, for abolishment or scolding, but his features remain soft. Were you warm enough? The blankets and duvet wrapped around you, piled atop one another. You nod, unable to find your voice. Good, he says, leaning over to kiss your forehead. He is warm despite the cold, his cheeks rosy. The bridge of his nose has two small, red marks. It must’ve been a glasses kind of day. Little time to take them off, to get up close. 

He talks without expectation. About Jack and his demands. About Hannibal and his repetitive, yet fascinating, takes on the world. Undressing as he does so. You watch him unbutton his shirt, a white t-shirt bright underneath. He does not say that he went to his psychiatrist about you. What to do, how to help. Should he be doing something differently? Should he be approaching the subject with more grit, less tenderness? Pulls a sweater over his head, the navy blue one you always liked on him. Unbuckling his belt. Searching for the flannel pants he loves, the pajamas he wears as often as he can. Should he make you go to a hospital? Is that the right course of action? Dr. Lecter hushes his worries. Reminds him he is doing everything right. That this will pass, and you will find your way back to him. He knows this, he must remind himself. He will be patient. He will take care of this, of you, as long as you both need. Bev who made a funny, albeit inappropriate, joke at the crime scene. Another killer on the loose. Too early to track, to pattern match. Talk of two offenders instead of one, a duo. He climbs in beside you, his voice steady, his hands moving as he speaks. Reminiscent of a conductor with no orchestra. Caught up in the drama, the obscurity, the way the bodies were found and how they were killed, he loses himself in the anticipation - a pressure in his chest - he must get out every word before it is too late. It is only after he has finished, catching his breath, does he notice you've fallen back to sleep. 

Trapped in a half-sleep, you catch parts of the truth. The bedside lamp has been turned on, the room even darker than you last saw. His side of the bed is empty. The faucet running in the bathroom. He sits, his files on his lap, string through each image and note. Smells of mint. He hums quietly to himself, a sound you have learned to cherish. The light is off. The bedroom black. He lies beside you, but he is awake. Softly, the words come out. Are you mad at me? He takes a moment, pausing, and dread begins to fill your chest. Why would I be mad at you? He asks,and then adds, Of course not. You can’t bring yourself to explain without tears welling up in your eyes, a sob trapped in your throat, so you say nothing. Because, you start, but cannot bring yourself to finish. Quickly wiping your eyes, grateful for the lack of light. Because I’m a burden, you think. Because I’m not myself. Because I ruin everything. Because you deserve better. Because, because, because. Will moves closer, wrapping his arms around you, rubbing circles into your back. You feel his knuckles across the spokes of your spine. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Another night crying. In the morning your eyes will be bloodshot, your face puffy. Another mess you’ve created that he cleans up. Finally, he whispers: I could never be mad at you. But what about-? Never. His tone, not unharsh, is serious and something about that settles your nerves. The gnawing guilt inside chews with its gums instead of its teeth. Get some sleep, okay? He squeezes you a little tighter. You fall asleep like that, intertwined. 

You don’t hear him get up. You don’t feel his absence until it is too late. A note left for you, his handwriting distinct and melancholy. I made you a drink. Be careful, it’s hot. Love you - Will. The mug he washed, the one you dirtied, sits beside the paper. Steam no longer pours from the top, but the cup itself is still warm. Downstairs you hear the symphony of dogs chewing. Loudly, you note, but happily. Another chore taken care of. Softly, you sip, grateful for him. For his actions, his selflessness. Today will be a little better than the last, that you are certain of. One step at a time. Will will talk to Dr. Lecter again. He will question if he’s helping. He will fear he isn’t doing enough. The two of you wrapped up in your worries, not distinct from one another, similar words with different meanings. Am I doing enough? Am I failing them? He will be talked down, reminded that this thing, this cyclical phase, it always ends. No matter what, there is always an endpoint. He must remind himself that, he must remind you, too. The two of you journey through this not out of obligation, but of necessity. He needs you. He adores you. A world without you is not one he’d like to take part in. Where you sense burden, resentment, anger, he will meet you with generosity, with compassion and understanding. It is a surprise every time, and yet it shouldn’t be. He needs you more than words could ever describe. You can’t get rid of him that easily.

[sleeplesssmol]

Snippets from Mesmer Jr's Anecdote 

I highly recommend playing this one though. Lots of things to pick apart and analyze.

This anecdote takes place after Lilya beaks Vertin out of her forced coma in Ch 4, El Oro de Los Tigres. Mesmer and the rest of Laplace are cleaning up “Vertin's mess.” Mesmer doesn't seem angry with Vertin here, rather more annoyed by the work. She says this will be the “last time” she cleans up after Vertin. Medicine Pocket also makes a short appearance here.

Interesting fact: Midazolam is a real drug mentioned in the Anecdote. It's used to “calm down” patients in the anecdote. Midazolam is a Benzodiazepine (benzos), so it acts as a sedative. The other brand name for Midazolam is “Versed”, which is fun cause its “Reverse 1999” .

Cristallo is one of Mesmer Jr's patients. Tooth Fairy brings Cristallo in weekly for the equivalent of a cancer screening. They don't call it cancer outright, but it is described in a very similar fashion where a stray cell travels somewhere it's not supposed to and wreaks havoc. Cristallo discovers a journal of a Laplace psychiatrist known as Dorothea. This journal gives insight into a younger Mesmer Jr.’s life after joining Laplace and she was someone who looked out for Little Mesmer.

Little Mesmer Jr. had a patient’s blood splattered all over her face and clothing during an emergency procedure but she seemed to be the calmest one in the room. She also wore socks with little bears on them.

Arcanist blood subtly influences a child's development, impacting their hormones and emotions. Most arcanist children naturally discover and use their arcane abilities. However, a few experience severe physical and psychological issues, with their bodies rejecting their bloodline. In such cases, compensatory reactions can occur.

A patient from SPDM ended up in Laplace’s care. A student Mesmer recognized named Joseph. He had his legs amputated due to the compensatory reaction. Mesmer is the one who disposed of his legs after surgery. 

Dorothea was later killed by a Manus Vindictae member, Jerry Wilson, who she was treating. Years later, Mesmer Jr. is the one who has to sign the release of Jerry Wilson. Mesmser Jr. isn’t aware that this is the Foundation’s scheme to locate Forget-Me-Not and the rest of Manus Vindicate by tracking Jerry.

The Mesmers’ authority over Mesmer Jr. was emphasized during the anecdote. Like Vertin, she is forced to keep calm and obey orders from people above her. However, it is implied that she is now a member on her family’s council. Mesmer also finds out Dorothea’s studies were funded by the Mesmer’s. Dorothea might have been another pawn used by the Mesmer's to further her agenda.

She feels responsible for Dorothea’s death. Mesmer’s Jr. guilt about what she did to Vertin manifests as Madam Z and Lilya berating her in a dream. Vertin got the Laplace treatment of having her legs broken before being placed in a coma despite the fact she wasn't resisting. Laplace takes these extreme measures with Arcanists suffering from Storm Syndrome, meaning it was uncalled for in Vertin's case but Mesmer followed her orders anyway. She blames herself for Isabella, The Ring, and the other children's reversal. In her dream, she is confronted by the many faces of people she feels she let down. When asked why she would do these things, she answers "Because I'm a Mesmer."

[mikkaeus]

house md hilson fic rec - medium to long fics (10k+)

Other house rec lists: short fics | episode tags | postcanon | infidelity trope (all of these are mutually exclusive apart from the infidelity one) // Edit: I added the longer postcanon fics to this reclist as well because this one got the most traction!

These are all House/Wilson unless otherwise stated. Before we get into the fics, here are some of my fave authors that have written several house fics.

fourteencandles: im literally in love with them . 10/10 writing no notes. also long fics?? hello???

ictus: this author has the range! from emotional to fluff to funny. very smooth writing. all of their fics have different vibes which was fun to read. they’re all very good. 

Transformatron: fics that are transcendent and porny, all featuring a d/s undertone or theme (wilson as the dom)

Namaste (livejournal / ff.net): Some short fics, some much longer ones. Mostly gen focussing on H&W friendship, with some fics on canon pairings. Interesting character studies and discerning prose.

In order of length. *faves, ***underrated faves

*Brain Damage by fourteencandles (8k) (Ok I know this isn’t over 10k but I wanted all of their fics on one post and it’s close enough so.) This was brilliant. Like a real episode of House, with Wilson as the unfortunate patient-of-the-week, with bonus House/Wilson. Characterisation was bang on, and the plot was original and engaging and had a satisfying conclusion. Love to see House taking care of Wilson.

Down to the Water + Bound for Home by blackmare (~10k) Aftermath of season 4. House and Wilson go on a road trip. Quiet and sad and fragile, with excellent writing. This fic appears to have been fairly well known in lj days but I don't think a lot of newer people know about it.

*A Smaller World by fourteencandles (10k) The thing between them works, if Wilson doesn't push for more. God I’m so soft. I have so many feelings!!! In love with this established relationship hilson, still a little precarious, but with Wilson adapting, and House willing to put in effort.

*What's Past by fourteencandles (10k) The guy who used to have Wilson's job comes back for a visit, and it turns out they have more in common than Wilson ever knew.

*Touch Therapy by nomad (10k) It's not that House needs the human contact. It's just that when you're sharing an apartment, these things happen sometimes. Light hearted and funny, canon divergence from when Wilson’s staying on House's couch in s2. This is pretty much the homosexual waters have started flowing in House's direction post. Excellent dialogue.

***not another medical drama series (10k) by captainharkness Retelling of season 1 with House and Wilson as an established relationship. Great slice of life stories! Ongoing. The first is H/W POV, the second is Cameron, and the third is Chase. My favourite is definitely the second one (someone else’s story). I adore seeing H/W through the ducklings’ eyes. 

Synchronicity by copperbadge (10k) Dead patients, car wrecks, drug overdoses, journalists, Comatose Charlie, and orange chicken. Must be love.

systemic by ictus (10k) Ever since Wilson moved in, House has presented with some inexplicable symptoms. Fortunately, he has a team of talented doctors to aid him with his diagnosis. Season 2 fic! This one is funny and sweet and overall a great read.

Rush Down Darkness by Starlingthefool (10k) House MD/World War Z crossover. Told mainly through interview dialogue from house’s pov. Engaging story. House/Wilson definitely takes a backseat to the plot — there’s no grand getting together or anything. That's not to say it's not about them though, because there were still lots of good moments (good in the sense that my heart hurts). More succinctly, it has the vibes of an established relationship fic., although it isn't technically one.

Defensive Strategies by Milkshake Butterfly (~10k) (lj) In which Wilson is tired of being asked out by women when he's not ready to date again, and naturally House proposes a simple solution: pretend to be together. An enjoyable read.

******Commonplace and True by celestialskiff (11k) It would be a simple story--House and Wilson meet at a medical conference, have sex, and enjoy each other's company--but nothing is ever easy, or simple. Explores Wilson's relationship with House, with women, and with himself. House and Wilson throughout the years — with the version of canon where Wilson has cheated on every wife and girlfriend with House. When I tell you I am FROTHING!!! Pining while fucking?? The way it’s never the right time?? The greed of wanting to have your cake and eat it too? (That one’s specifically for Wilson, our beloved three-wives guy.) The vibes are immaculate. The prose is elegant verging on poetic. I’m eating this fic whole and it will be on my mind always. It is THE hilson fic for me. It is criminal that this fic has been up since 2012 and it only has 200 kudos. Go read it immediately & give the author some love.

***Declarations of Independence by Namaste (ff.net, also on livejournal) (11k) House and winter, throughout the years. I really enjoyed this. Excellent writing. Copy pasting a part of a comment by bedawyn which articulates why this fic is unique better than I can: “So far, I've seen a lot of focus in the fanfic (and the eps) on the pain and the Vicodin, but very little awareness of the practical aspects of limited mobility and the emotional impact of those even apart from the pain. So this was a very nice change.”

***Rule of Three by Transformatron (11k) (House/Wilson/Foreman) Foreman sees something he shouldn't have. And, maybe, wants something he shouldn't have, too. This was well written and super hot, with fun dialogue and descriptions that do justice to the excellent writing of the show itself. Foreman is faithfully characterised in a way that made me sympathetic. Also H/W outsider perspective as a third is such a treat to read. Lower me into my grave!!!!

*Warning Signs by out_there (12k) Excerpt: House looked to the left, staring down at the open box. Wilson knew that expression on his face: House was torn between denying it all and gleefully acknowledging his schemes. Normally, his ego won out and, like a comic super villain, he'd explain all. Wilson just needed to stay quiet and wait. This fic was fantastic. I am disgustingly fond. Superb characterisation. Light hearted and funny.

The Oncologist Trap by zulu (13k) (2007) House subtly seduces Wilson. Somehow.

The Line of Thought by tevinterimperium (13k) House and Wilson pretend to be together to play a prank on the ducklings, which is an extremely plausible scenario. From the perspective of the ducklings. Set sometime after 3x15: Half-Wit.

hail mary by ictus (13k) A post-canon fix it! In the weeks since finishing the show and reading this fic there are times I forgot that this wasn’t canon. It’s such a believable (and well-researched) alternate ending that feels like an actual episode.

Son of Mine by simoneallen (14k) Sherlock is House’s long-lost kid. Usually I’m not a fan of cross-over fics but I enjoyed this one. Established relationship on the johnlock side, getting together on the hilson side.

***hearts turn red by ictus (14k) In my head this is the counterpoint to Commonplace and True. When I found it after reading that one it really was a holy shit two fucking cakes?? moment. The delicious infidelity vibes are similar, but the vibes of the writing are pretty different -- whereas the above fic has a more quiet, subdued atmosphere, this one has more snappy prose and it’s more light-hearted with funny moments as well as emotional ones. It’s not just the infidelity theme that makes me crazy about both of them though; it’s how they play on the great tragedy of House and Wilson. In the author’s own words: In a way they do feel a little bit doomed to never quite be on the same page with each other until the very end of the series and by then it's too late. Of course, in these fics, they’re rescued earlier than the end, but the wretched vibes remain. Also, I’m obsessed with this line: By Wilson’s read, House is somehow simultaneously joking and sincere: Schrödinger’s sexual advance. That is the entire fucking show.

An Inconvenient Truth by annathaema (15k) Wilson helps out Cuddy and reveals something about himself in the process. House freaks out accordingly. Also features banana-colored babies, the men's room, and Skee-Ball.

*at the rind by ShanaStoryteller (19k) An AU where Wilson experiences all the near death moments House has in the show as a series of nightmares. Set between 1.19 and 2.05, but spoilers for the whole show. Protective Wilson!! We love to see it. I also like Wilson’s characterisation here - you can very much see how not-normal he is. We love unhealthy co-dependency.

***Esopus Creek by shaycat (24k) An eighty-year-old widower by the name of Eugene Skinner ventures out one September day in upstate New York for his usual morning activity - fly fishing. His leisurely hobby is interrupted by a bickering pair nearby in the river. That chance encounter with Greg House and James Wilson changes the course of his life. Told from the perspective of the last friend the boys make on their final road trip. This was the perfect post season 8, Wilson-still-dies fic. A sad fic but not a depressing one. It’s quiet and heartwarming, in a bittersweet way. Highly recommend. It has great use of outsider POV — I’m always a sucker for it but it worked particularly well in this case to have the angst but not be drowning in it. Also I just really liked the OC.

***Howler Tone by baffledbear (25k) The calls always happen late at night, and they're extremely sporadic, with weeks, sometimes months bridging between them. They talk on the phone otherwise, of course; about patients, or dinner plans, or carpooling. Typical stuff. But the calls that always end a certain way always start a certain way. Wilson is so repressed but so attracted to House. House is taking as much as he can get while still remaining in relative safety. Together they push a platonic relationship to the absolute limits of plausible deniability. Overall totally realistic within the canon of the show — the natural step up from the gay chicken already depicted. It’s just such a perfect scenario for them! That combined with silky smooth prose, faithful characterisation and accurate dialogue makes this fic is a definite hilson favourite and also a hilson-thesis fic.

*The Open Road by Pun (25k) A fandom classic. Road trip fic set in the earlier seasons. It's good; read it.

*He Won't Tell You That He Loves You by hellshandbasket (25k) [In which Nolan pulls at the Wilson thread, and House can't stop it all from unraveling. Repression is a hell of a drug.] Early s6. Another fandom classic that is worth its salt.

no need to worry (making up your mind) by scribespirare (25k) House makes the mistake of telling his mother he can't join her for Christmas because of his new boyfriend. Somehow, this becomes Wilson's problem. Cute and fun. I put off reading fake-dating fics because I was worried about them being OOC but this one definitely wasn’t!

***Sticks and Stones by Transformatron (25k) (WIP) House has an innovative new idea for managing his chronic pain. Wilson’s not sure he approves - but when has House ever asked for permission? This is such a great concept I am climbing the walls!!! D/s with House as the sub. The story is currently still at pre-relationship stage, with House experimenting with BDSM and Wilson being unhappy with the proceedings (for some unknown reason /s). Also the writing is nice and snappy with some great figurative language that manages to incorporate medical themes impressively well. 

Fresh Feeling by justkeeptrekkin (30k) House is tricked into going on a team-building trip with his colleagues. He does far more bonding with Wilson than anyone else. Funny and well written. The team interactions are very cute.

***Tracking Time by Namaste (37k) (ff.net) A look at House and Wilson's friendship over the years and how it has changed from their meeting through the end of the first season. I don’t usually read long genfics but this one was exceptional. I like Namaste’s take on House and Wilson’s characters. And they are a very good storyteller — one thing that you don’t tend to see as much of in fanfiction is the old adage of ‘show not tell’. The writing in this fic is careful and subtle, and lets you read between the lines, making it so that no part of the 37k words is a drag to read.

*The Body Found by fourteencandles (46k) Wilson's missing. When I tell you I cried... Premium angst & hurt/comfort. Excellent dialogue with some alternating POV (House mainly, but you also get the three ducklings & Cuddy).

You Already Know How This Will End by fourteencandles (46k) What if House had gone to rehab right after/around "Merry Little Christmas"? (3.10) This fic was interesting. It’s told in a series of short vignettes with a variety of different perspectives. It’s not really a hilson fic (or a fic for any ship). It just explores the characters. I did wish for more hilson but it’s a good read (I mean, it’s fourteencandles). The one hilson scene near the end where they hire a hooker in Atlantic City lives in my head rent free. Warning that the ending is rather abrupt and I didn’t find it satisfying, but I think it works for this kind of story, in a way. Messy people and their complicated relationships, with a lot of loose ends left untied, because that’s just what life is. 

***For Every Closed Door by starlingthefool (around 50k?) (lj) Overview of the chapters (14 with 4 interludes and an epilogue) is on the author’s lj (scroll down).  House MD/Dead Like Me crossover.  I love this fic a lot! It’s canon divergence from Season 3. House gets killed in a freak accident and becomes a reaper, remaining in the mortal world to harvest souls, able to interact with people but not be recognisable to those that know him. As the author says, this is an Afterlife!Fic and therefore a deathfic. They also said it’s not depressing — which is true, because it’s more plotty than an angstfest, and there are lots of light-hearted parts, but it is definitely heartbreaking at points. I literally cried all the way through the last chapter. Happy ending though!!! Don’t worry about the cross-over aspects. I haven’t seen Dead Like Me, and as far as I can tell, it just takes the premise of the show. I’m glad I found this fic whilst trawling 2000s livejournal because it’s really a hidden gem. Great plot, dialogue, compelling OCs — the whole package! I got so emotionally invested in the story. I think there were maybe a few parts that were a little unpolished but just keep reading. It’s really worth it. 

*A Modest Proposal and Involuntary Commitment series by ignaz (98k) The one where House and Wilson get married so Wilson can’t testify against House in the Tritter arc.  I have an unfortunate habit of downloading fics and then forgetting to bookmark & comment once I’m done, so I don’t have anything detailed to say about this one, but it’s a classic and a favourite of mine.

Twenty Years of Stealing My Food by hwshipper (100k) A backstory taking place over twenty years, from how House and Wilson met all the way to canon. A reimagining of their fucked up, magnetic relationship, with a straightforward writing style. They get together nearly as soon as they meet and maintain a steady open relationship whilst cheating on their various girlfriends and wives throughout the years. 

[theogonize]

nothing drives me up the wall more than surrogate father figure wilson… having him praise you, telling you all the “good job”s and “i’m proud of you”s you never heard growing up, totally feeding off of your need for validation from an older man and taking complete advantage of the fact that the smallest ounce of praise makes you weak in the knees. he knows he’s always just one “good girl” away from breaking you, and knowing the influence his words and commending brown eyes have on you arguably drives him crazier more than it does for you.

everything about this.

everything about your purest submission, your unquestioning, unwavering desire to be loved by him, to obey him, to be good to him. everything he's felt before but for a system. for life, the torment of it all. he feels like he's constantly holding this invisible leash around you, strangely, you put on the collar yourself. you dont know why you do it or what you see or why his words make you feel this way. but he does. he's older, so much older, ofcourse he does. you're his own case study, his own psych experiment (a bit in house's territory, arent we?) his praise, he sees it heal a broken part of you each time, but he knows the light he's seeing is just because he's broken the walls down, not opened a window. you're worse with him. his paternal, fatherly traits. he's out to break you in some way.

and he's cared for everyone in his life. but it's different with you. he treats you like his china doll, his glass chalice. he washes your hair, takes you to the beach, buys you figurines and merchandise of the characters you like. he tucks you in every night, even if he has to work overtime, he'll come home just to tuck you in. but it's messed up. he loves you, he feels disgusting amounts of lust for you. he doesn't know why he plays into it. is it the power he craves? he has that over you, already. he wants to have a child with you, one just like you, so he has another escape. because god knows one of these days he'll break and tell you just how much he likes it when you treat him like your daddy.

he knows he’s always just one “good girl” away from breaking you, and knowing the influence his words and commending brown eyes have on you arguably drives him crazier more than it does for you.

(this fucked me up btw <3)

[ltbarnes]

‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”

[eddieredmayneargentinablog]

"Day of the Jackal: Why Eddie Redmayne Couldn't Resist Returning to TV".

"I had massive trepidation," Redmayne tells emmy, but reading Ronan Bennett's scripts convinced him to join Peacock's adaptation of the classic thriller.

by Benji Wilson, for Television Academy, June 4, 2025.

📸 Photos by: Charlie Gray / TRUNKARCHIVE

In Frederick Forsyth’s classic thriller, The Day of the Jackal, the titular “Jackal” is a master of disguise. So when it came to casting Peacock’s TV adaptation, the first requirement was a lead actor who could transform .

“We all knew that Eddie Redmayne was a fantastically talented, ferociously intelligent actor who had chameleon-like qualities,” says director Brian Kirk (Boardwalk Empire, Game of Thrones). "But we were most taken with what he did in The Good Nurse; he was playing very aggressively in a contemporary space. And he was playing a character who was inherently unknowable and very dangerous — perfect for the Jackal.”

“With Eddie, it’s not just what you can do with prosthetics and how you can change looks, but also his physicality, his gait and all of those things,” says executive producer Nigel Marchant. “He has that ability for you to empathize with him, but then he can also play very, very cold. You believe he could be an assassin that can kill people. So, we were thrilled he came on board. It's an iconic role. We've got an iconic actor for it.”

In the last decade, Redmayne has played a transgender pioneer in The Danish Girl, a genius diagnosed with motor neuron disease in The Theory of Everything (for which he won the best actor Oscar), a gentle and eccentric wizard in the Fantastic Beasts film franchise and a psychotic serial killer in the Netflix film The Good Nurse. What he hadn’t dabbled in, at least since 2012’s Birdsong (a 2012 BBC limited series available on Netflix), was series television.

“All of it was slightly new to me,” Redmayne says, speaking from his home in the U.K., “because I hadn't done TV for a good decade.” But Redmayne, who was educated at Eton and Cambridge, is a fast study. “In that time, I'd watched friends work in television and seen shows like Succession and The White Lotus and become a massive fan of this ‘golden age.’ So I was always curious a bout how the system worked.”

Back in 2023, three scripts entitled The Day of the Jackal, written by Ronan Bennett, arrived in his inbox. “I had massive trepidation because I admired the original movie, but when I started reading them, I loved the fact that they were modern," Redmayne says.

Producer Christopher Hall (Showtrial, Bloodlands) explains how the series differs from the movie: “We're making 10 episodes, so it's a much bigger, richer canvas. It's the Jackal’s backstory; it's his personal life. In the film, you didn’t know who the Jackal was, even to the last frame. He’s on a mission to carry out a single hit, to kill [French President Charles] de Gaulle, but the Jackal himself is always a mystery and a cipher. Obviously, we play into that, but we do answer some of those questions.”

Bennett — whose latest show, MobLand, is on Paramount+ — has a very particular view of the world, according to Hall. “When you talk about AI writing scripts, I don’t think AI could come up with Ronan Bennett. He’s an original and a one-off. Look at [crime drama] Top Boy. He has that piercing intelligence and a particular worldview that’s really interesting. If I were to encapsulate his worldview, it’s that everyone has both good and evil in them. The Jackal is ultimately a sociopathic killer, but there’s something that we warm to in him enormously.”

In this series, the Jackal echoes classic action heroes, and for Redmayne that was part of the appeal. “This is a genre that I love, you know? The Bournes, the Bonds and those ’70s thrillers like The Parallax View — but it was never necessarily a genre that I thought would come my way.”

He says his success in roles such as Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything had sidelined him from consideration as a gun-toting action hero. “Sometimes people go, ‘Oh, you’re the sort of actor that always transforms,’ and I really was never that actor. I just got cast as Stephen Hawking and had to play a real person, and suddenly it’s that cliché that after something successful you get sent more of the same thing. It was, ‘You’re the guy that plays real people.’”

Ironically, playing the Jackal required multiple transformations, personas and prosthetics — but it was undoubtedly a move away from introverts in tweed jackets. “I love that he’s a more physical character. He’s a peacock,” Redmayne says. "I love that every time you see him, he’s wearing something different, going somewhere different."

Playing the Jackal required Redmayne to portray several different roles: He speaks German as a janitor who roams silently through the 30-minute, wordless opening scene; he plays an urbane family man back in his Cadiz villa with his wife, Nuria (Úrsula Corberó, Money Heist, Snatch); he jousts and parries with Bianca Pullman, an MI5 operative played by Lashana Lynch (The Marvels, No Time to Die).

He also had another role on this production: executive producer. Being an exec on a TV show is often a trophy title, but Redmayne was a committed and passionate fan of the original story, and of English actor Edward Fox, who starred in the 1973 film. So if he was going to be an EP and the star, he wanted to do The Day of the Jackal justice.

“Control freakery,” is how Redmayne describes his character type, adding, “There’s a control freakery to the Jackal that perhaps bled into my producorial role.”

In film, the director is usually the control freak, the person in charge. But The Day of the Jackal runs 10 episodes with four different directors using different cinematographers and multiple noncontiguous locations. (A second season has been greenlit.)

"That was all new to me, and I wanted to understand how one found the continuity, or who was overseeing the whole thing," Redmayne recalls. “The answer was: There were tons of eyeballs on it, but it became clear that for Lashana and I, we were the continuity — we were the tissue between it all.”

According to Corberó, being that connective tissue meant a lot of hard work for Redmayne during the shoot. “I was a little bit worried about him, because he was carrying all the pressure. He was shooting every day, spending hours putting on all these prosthetics. It was hard work. I remember, at like 9 p.m., he was texting me asking, ‘Should we rewrite the scene for tomorrow?’ So we were having a lot of conversations.”

Corberó says Redmayne is demanding of himself and of other people. “But the craziest thing is that at the same time — maybe it’s because he’s British — he knows how to do it in an elegant way. He’s charming. And he fights for you. I know that I’m in this show because of him, because he was the one who insisted, ‘We need Úrsula for this.’ I will always be grateful to Eddie for that.”

Corberó’s role in the drama is a new one, but a vital one. As the Jackal’s wife, Nuria, she adds a home life, a backstory and a modicum of compassion to a character who in the book and film is just a stern-eyed shadow. “Nuria is the Jackal’s weakness,” she says. “It’s good for the viewers to see him being a very bad man, like super professional and dangerous, but then just being afraid of his wife. I think that’s what humanizes the Jackal.”

Humanizing the Jackal was the intention from the outset, Redmayne says. “The archetype of the empathy-less assassin whose blood runs cold couldn’t work in this version.” Television demands character depth. This new telling of the Jackal’s story offers explanations for why he is how he is. “We have him as a family man with a military background. Is he also sociopathic? I believe there was a juncture in his life from which point he has held those two things at the same time,” Redmayne says.

Part of the puzzle that Bennett’s scripts unlock is the Jackal’s logic of empathy. How does he square his love for his young child with the brutal demands of his job?

“He had assumed he would be alone all his life, and that’s how he was always going to function,” Redmayne says. “And yet when he meets Nuria and is floored by her charisma, you know that it’s an Achilles heel. When we meet him, he’s made a huge amount of money, he’s married with a child and he wants this to end. He’s lied to his wife from the word go but thinks he can wrap it up if this thing ends, so they can start a new life. And that’s his weakness as an assassin. We’ve been leaning into their love for each other and his love for his kid. That’s really important, and I hope that, again, what slightly differentiates the piece is that you’ll believe all that and you’ll care.”

The Day of the Jackal is executive-produced by writer Ronan Bennett along with Gareth Neame, Nigel Marchant, Sam Hoyle, Sue Naegle, Brian Kirk and Eddie Redmayne. The series is a production of Carnival Films, part of Universal International Studios, a division of Universal Studio Group.

*This article originally appeared in emmy Magazine, Issue #7, 2025, under the title: "Assassin's Lead."

[wisteria-lodge]

Assorted historical notes for the first chapter of my jedtavius fic (happy pride everybody...)

~ Romans took their public baths extremely seriously, and setting one up would be high priority for a garrison stationed out in the territories (basically the situation in these movies?) Nudity in the context of baths was just normal.

~ For some reason, Octavius wears his cape slung across his chest

instead of pinned to his shoulder(s) like a Roman cape.

If anything, this seems to be riffing on the 1600s half-cape, which is often strung cross-body like that in a sort of Renaissance *costume.*

Note: these are both modern historical costumes. It seems in the actual 1600s it was more normal to just sort of balance your capelet on one arm, or wear it over both shoulders (like when you wear a big coat without putting your arms through the sleeves.)

1600s capes are especially annoying to study, because basically all of them were tailored into 1700s coats, but WHATEVER.

(diegetically, since Octavius the tiny Roman lives in a museum, I guess he could be influenced by the 1600s cape costume, and just decide to wear his cape like that.)

~ “Sinister” is just Latin for “on the left side.” Couldn’t resist a latin joke, especially since Owen Wilson (and therefore Jed) is left-handed.

~ Roman orgies and sex parties were not really all that common. Like sure, they're brought up in the context of Caligula, Nero, Tiberus - the classics. But, your Roman writers historians and archivists were extremely political, and when you hear about this stuff there is always a political motive behind it, and almost certainly some exaggeration. Roman writers loved their gossip.

However, as a literary trope 'the Roman orgy' is extremely important. Most people in the buttoned-up 1800s saw Rome as this fascinating but immoral free-for-all, and we haven't totally shaken that off. And since Octavius is written as a slightly comic version of our current cultural idea of ‘Roman’... orgies are absolutely part of that.

(It’s the same reason I threw in the two-handed ‘Roman Handshake,’ even though as far as I can figure out, it was invented for a production of Julius Caesar in 1898. Romans seemed to just - shake hands.)

~ One of the interesting thing about the The Night at the Museum franchise is its interest in exploring the 21st century Idea of a Roman, the Idea of a Cowboy, the Idea of Theodore Roosevelt (even more than the historical reality.) It's a plot point that Museum Exhibit!Teddy knows that he's not Teddy Roosevelt, and kind of struggles with the symbolic importance people give to him. Octavius is very much a Movie!Roman, not a History!Roman. Even the fact that he's played by a British actor with a very British accent makes him seem like a background Roman General in Ben-Hur, here to deliver a letter, say "Yes sir, the rebels have returned from the provinces with new allies," and then die half an hour from the end to raise the stakes.

The exception to this is Ahkmenrah, who as a mummy that comes to life, is not a museum exhibit, he's just A Guy and *that's* the joke. He's not engaging with, or symbolic of 21st century tropes and stereotypes surrounding the idea of "pharaoh." He's just a person doing his own thing. Compare this to Kahmunrah from the sequel, who IS both a pharaoh and an exhibit come to life. So of course he's all about the literary tropes historically attached to the linked ideas "pharaoh, desert, villain." He's sadistic, he's camp, he's super queer coded, he's got a lisp, and he's putting our hero in a hour-glass death trap just like Jafar.