#honestly ily and its a little sad to not have you on tumblr anymore

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

CRYING ur so sweet 🥺🥺🥺 here’s a bunny for u

MIMI! tons of good vibes and hugs for you

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 3

 chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.  

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those  birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh.  And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?  

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you  lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.  

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

[jungblue]

Where are these idiots coming from?! You can write about anyone, you can write about a specific member. I mean what if that specific member inspires the writer to write. Anyway, its your choice! Its your blog! And I 100% support it! Taylor please ignore such people. We love your writing.

@vivian146 said:I heard that you’ve been getting backlashed for only writing about one member BUT DO NOT LISTEN TO THEM! YOU CAN WRITE ON WHOMEVER THE FUNK YOU WANT ;) 😘 I personally have not read your work before but you just got a new follower and I am excited. I love jungkook fics 💕💕 keep up the great work hon, and give whoever hates on you the buns 🍑 and tell them to kiss 👏 your👏 ass👏 YOU GO! FUCK IT UP! I AM SUPPORTING YOU❤❤

@beastforlife said:Sweetie, I don’t understand the hate. I always laugh at the “You don’t support the hyung line” like not posting blogs and fan fictions on tumblr about them doesn’t freaking mean you don’t support them. Support means you appreciate them, listen to their music, streaming MVs, downloading and buying album, you can support and appreciate them without writing about them on your blog all the time. Just remember you are awesome, don’t let those childish words get to you, love your blog and writing!

@totallylikeliterally said:You are amazing. You write beautifully. I respect you and your work. I appreciate you as a writer and as a person. Thank you for taking the time to write anything at all. All these anons with a hard-on for you writing about whoever you want should try and do what you do before they say a word because I promise they couldn’t produce what you do. Keep your head up, keep doing you, and keep writing whatever and for whoever you want ❤

@morganosborn101 said:Tay, you’re doing great sweetie. The anons are just going a little crazy today for some reason. You’re like the third or fourth person I’ve noticed they’ve been bothering today. Must be time for a full moon or smth. Regardless, I think that if you are inspired to write something you will, so please don’t feel the pressure just because of a few rude and disrespectful people. You can’t rush art, and I am looking forward to whatever you decide to write and post in the future.

Anonymous said: To the anon giving hate about supposedly only supporting and writing about Jungkook, why don’t you start your own blog for fics and start writing them for every member equally then? While you’re at it make sure you focus on each member equally and post as much about all of them equally I mean god forbid you post one too many supportive posts about a member, you’re automatically dissing the rest….oBIVIOuSLY. Seriously just ignore that anon they’re irrelevant and dumb, you’re doing amazing

Anonymous said: Theses anons can kiss my ass lmfaoo you guys must be new to her blog to go assume things about her

Anonymous said: I love you. Your valued. Your work is one of a kind and it’s beautiful and no one else can create it. Only you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Write what you ant to write and ONLY what you want to write. Don’t write to impress anyone. Only write for yourself. Your a beautiful person and I personally love your work. Please don’t let the hate get to you personally. People are jealous that you have a skill that they can only wish and hope for. Stay strong beautiful and keep doing what you do

Anonymous said:I love you. Your valued. Your work is one of a kind and it’s beautiful and no one else can create it. Only you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Write what you ant to write and ONLY what you want to write. Don’t write to impress anyone. Only write for yourself. Your a beautiful person and I personally love your work. Please don’t let the hate get to you personally. People are jealous that you have a skill that they can only wish and hope for. Stay strong beautiful and keep doing what you do

Anonymous said: Btw author, I chanced upon your fics because it was recommended by some other fics writer!! And UR FICS are sooo good!! 💕 hope this misunderstanding wouldn’t affect you in any way!!! And know that there’s a lot of readers here loving your amazing creation and writings. Fight on! :)

Anonymous said: what are the anons gonna gain from it ? nothing. i’ve visited this blog on separate occasions and was actually pleasantly surprised that it was you writing a couple of my favorite pieces. your writing style is just inspiring, i love everything about it i don’t know how explain it. i wish i could express and capture feelings and moments as well as you do. jokes on the anons bc while they’re sending you baseless hate, you’re writing classics. shakespeare? shaking in fear

Anonymous said:There’s one thing I never understood and it’s why these people choose to send hate anonymously when they can literally do the easier thing and JUST LEAVE THE BLOG ALONE? Yo my dudes, it takes so much effort to write “i HaTe uR wRiTiNg” so like, why do you do so??????????????? I don’t get it???????????

Anonymous said: Istfg why can’t that anon be satisfied with what you have?? From one writer to another, you DON’T have to write about hyung line ALL THE TIME. You can write about what you want and take your time with it. And if they want hyung line works so bad, why are they complaining about it when you DO write about the hyung line???? I’m so mad for you???? Anywho write whatever you want and don’t mind anyone’s bullshit ily have a good day

Anonymous said: Anon don’t be angry!! Author’s choice of character doesn’t mean that she favours one member over the other!! I just hope you can enjoy her stories with an open heart and understand that she loves the Hyungline as much as you do!! Also, I hope no one will Attack that anon anymore, she means no harm!

Anonymous said:You a babe Don’t let anyone ever tell you else wise Fuck the anons

Anonymous said: People are really out here overanalyzing your blog, your work, your hair and blood probably, I mean I love hyung line just as much as the next person, but is attacking someone like this really necessary???? @ the negative anons: ain’t y'all got anything better to do?? Go pet a dog, take a nap, apologize to your parents for being a disappointment. 👋👋

Anonymous said:OMG IM SO TRIGGERED BY THE ANON HATE YOURE GETTING! I HOPE U FEEL BETTER THO. REMEMBER THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO’LL CONTINUE TO LOVE YOU AND SUPPORT U DESPITE WHAT FANFIC U OUGHT TO WRITE. IT AINT YOUR OBLIGATION TO ADJUST FOR THEIR LIKINGS, HELL NO. SO PLEASE GO DO WHATEVER THE HELL U WANT. WE LL SUPPORT U NO MATTER WHAT!

Anonymous said: I just want to say that I love you and you don’t have to explain to immature people why you mostly write jk, and just because you do doesn’t mean you have any less of love for any other members… i don’t get why ur receiving hate for this, it makes me sad as u are one of the writers i really love here~ ♡♡♡ sending tons of hearts ur way! Have a nice lovely day/afternoon/night! 

Anonymous said: hey! I just saw a lot of negativity on your blog and just wanted to remind you that it’s your fucking blog. Do whatever the hell you want to do with it. If people don’t realize that then it’s their loss, they missed out on a lot of great writing. Thank you for being one of my favorite authors, I love you and your writing 💕

Anonymous said:Gosh your anons are so fucking dense. If I had a dollar for every time someone in the fandom made it sound like having a bias was illegal I’d be rich. Why are they always coming for fanfic writers for the number of fics they have for each member like that defines the level of love/support they give to each different member. Inspiration and characterization does not work that way—sometimes a character just fits a member’s personality more, and writers can’t help it when motivation strikes. 

Anonymous said: Honestly if every bit of your blog was coated in jungkook and nothing else who cares you’re aloud to post what you want and have a bias. I hope you don’t pay any attention to those being hateful.

:’)))) i honestly can’t thank you all enough. i promise i read every ask and appreciated them all so much! i’ve always been in the camp that yes there’s always some bad in every group and unfortunately i of course have some people who follow my blog that’re less than descent in seems, but i’m very aware that the good outweighs the bad. i know there are a lot more of you out there who are loving, supportive, nice people, and that’s why comments such as that don’t bother me that much. plus i just started a new birth control and I’M EMO AND CRYING BC OF THE KINDESS THANKS GUYS ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

[hsj-scenarios]

The Ryosukekeke Saga  Continues...

Mod J had not checked her inbox, phone, and messages in a while, mostly avoiding messages from the OG who continued to vacillate between out of control anger with threats and swear words, and completely broken sobbing, pleading. That said, she finally felt brave enough to take a look--we peek into her world as she skims through the hundreds of messages...

Eighteen days ago:

Ryosuke:

I see what you all have done! （；¬＿¬) Who is this...this.... @keito-okamoto person? A new Mod? Is that what it is? AND MOD L!!!!!!! OMG WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (☞◣д◢)☞

Ryosuke:

Mod L (╬ಠ益ಠ)  backing up this person, this @keito-okamoto person, plus I never settled on the ‘OG’ title. Still! What, did you guys bring on a new mod for the express purpose of disparaging my character? Honestly, I’d like to talk about this. 

And the fact that you’ve changed your password Mod J. 

⁀⊙﹏☉⁀ WTF

I thought we had an agreement. I’m so put out with you I am going to avoid any song with your name in it from now on. Seriously, I’m making someone else sing my lines--and when I say “I love you, Juliet” I am talking to every other Juliet in the world, but NOT YOU!!!!!!!!! 

（￣へ￣）

Mod J: ( responding two and a half weeks later)

ILY. That’s not the new mod, that’s Mod C, your paranoia is on high alert,  you need to simmer down now. Look no one is even talking about this anymore! I won’t even be at the concerts, so I don’t care what you do at them......you’re such a toddler.

17 Days Ago:

Ryosuke: 

WTF is this!?! (; ･`д･´) I thought ( •̀ω•́ )σ you were going to talk to Mod L to get her back on my side! Instead of putting this entire debacle to rest, she is fanning the flames. That quote is taken entirely out of context. It’s absurd and it might even be defamation, or libel, or something, hell, I’m no lawyer. But I DO keep one on retainer--your blog may be hearing from him. 

（　｀ー´）OG OUT! 

Mod J:  (2 minutes after two and a half weeks later)

Ah, see I never said that, ever--you said it...a thousand times, but I never said it or agreed to it. I told you that you needed to take it up with them, because I am NOT your messenger. I’m sure this quote IS out of context, the same way you screaming “Mommy” while on the roller coaster was. I didn’t know Kekeke was such a gifted ventriloquist! *sarcasm off*

15 Days Ago:

Ryosuke: 

Tell Mod L she at least got this s*** right. (*´ー`)

OMG-- @(。・-・)@ your blog is a three ring circus lacking a f***ing ringmaster on it’s best day--on its worst it’s like one of those zoos on Zoo Tycoon where they build this huge zoo, with hundreds of thousands of patrons, and then start feeding the pedestrians to the dinosaurs--or just let all of the carnivorous animals loose. 

へ‿(ツ)‿ㄏ Either way. 

Still, factually speaking, if I were to be a courtesan this is absolutely and unequivocally true. I would be the best, I would win it all, and I would f***ing crush everyone else out of the competition with my prowess.

╭( ･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ ＂

I want more about me, and this, who am I making the check out to?

(also, I’m gonna beat the hell out of Chinen for putting a d*** filter on my computer now!) （○｀Ｏ´○）

(also, wtf Mod J, ༶ඬ༝ඬ༶ why you gotta bring that up? Am I no longer your number one?)

Mod J:  (5 minutes after two and a half weeks later)

I just...no comment. (yes, you are still my no 1! mmmwah)

11 Days Ago:

Ryosuke: 

I see you’ve closed the requests. <(_ _)> Thank GOD! I know there are at least fifty requests that I sent in about me, which have not been filled to date. Now maybe you can put some quality material out about ME! Please, Mod J, it’s been so long, so long....I’m so sad all the time. I can’t even handle and we’re on tour and I need happy happy happy--give me the happy please!? 

.·´¯`(>▂<)´¯`·.PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU.

BTW, why aren’t you responding to me? 

｡･ﾟヾ(✦థ ｪ థ)ﾉ｡ﾟ･｡

I’ve left messages on your cell phone, your house phone, your email (both), Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, Linked In, Live Journal, and of course, here. I even got a hold of your neighbor and asked them to tell you to contact me, and if they didn’t I need to know, I gave them a lot of money to do that.

((*｀ﾟдﾟ)ゞ PLEASE SHOW MERCY ON ME!

(and I didn’t even catch the kiss, didn’t even watch it come near me, I swatted it away with great force!)

8 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

This fill was strangely accurate. Terrifyingly so. Pls stop. (⁎˃ᆺ˂)

(；´･Д･)(where are you Juliet?)

6 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

Mod J, I am going to need you to help me out here. ヽ(ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ  I’m not even kidding, okay? I need you to be f***ing serious right now, cause I am in dire need of your help! 

( ⚆ _ ⚆ )

How much do you know about this “Mod L” person? ( ⁰д⁰) Cause...well...I mean, I had a detective come into my house looking for hidden cameras and taps. Paranoid? Nope, realistic, because this is too much like a genuine conversation I actually had with Yutti. I’m freaking out right now. ヽ〔ﾟДﾟ〕丿 Could Mod L be a spy? Could Mod L be someone close to Jump? Could Mod L be someone IN JUMP!?!?! <|๑⊙Д⊙|/

OMG!  ε=ε=(怒ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ

Please help! Σ(ﾟДﾟ;≡｀ﾟдﾟ)

Mod J  (7 minutes after two and a half weeks later)

You do need help, but not the kind I can offer. Yama-chan, this is all just fiction, not your actual real life. I mean, if you need us to, we’ll put a disclaimer like those movies where it says anything resembling a real life event or person is strictly coincidental. But still...Mod L isn’t in Jump. 

You’re just really not as complex as you think you are to be honest. I mean, how do you think we all write you so accurately? 

Ryosuke: (2 seconds after the response from Mod J)

Is that an insult? (｡•́︿•̀｡) I’m dizzy again, I mean the world is tilting sideways, why have you forsaken me Mod J?! 

.·´¯`(>▂<)´¯`·.

Why!? 

6 Days Ago:

Ryosuke and Daiki’s friendship in one gif:

Ryosuke:

Yes.

Not gonna lie, I was drinking a soda when I scrolled past this and it literally came out of my nose. It  hurt.  

Still...｜ｏ゜）Accurate. Terrifyingly accurate. ヘ（。□°）ヘ TOO accurate. I am still leaning toward my hypothesis. Until you offer me proof, anything is possible. Still, I’m for sure the guy in yellow. 

⁀⊙﹏☉⁀ Right? Right??

5 Days Ago:

Ryosuke: 

YES. (it wasn’t me I swear!)

4 Days Ago:

Management: Okay guys, I know Dear was a great outlet to show your sexy sides but we kind of want I/O to be a little more PG.

Ryosuke:

The actual conversation was “Guys, this is going to be a tour with a lot of children attending so we are going to need to keep the atmosphere ‘family friendly’ this time.”

Just to be clear, they were sure as hell staring straight at me while they said it, and you know, that just makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up like someone’s challenging me right up here in my dojo. 

So I plainly responded, “F*** you, how’s that for family friendly?”

Actually, that didn’t really happen, okay, so it did in my head though and that should count for something. That said, an intelligent conversation took place and they decided it would be wisdom to allow us to perform what we wanted.

ヽ( ･∀･)ﾉ┌┛Σ(ノ `Д´)ノ 

(If Dai-chan or Chii-chan contact you and tell any lies about me pitching a fit and crying and threatening to quit because the world NEEDS my “ah ah ahhhs”, please hear them as the blatant and bold-faced lies they are!)

4 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

This is true, except it really wasn’t Keito. (>^_^)><(^o^<) He’s been going through a lot lately--and you know...no matter how selfish you guys seem to think I am, I have a heart for the guy! (ps I meant love, not give-- (; ･`д･´)  I can’t write the word f*** on my phone but it can apparently feel the f*** free to change my non-swear words at will!)

3 Days Ago:

Ryosuke: 

This isn’t a good thing--it’s still being talked about. 

(ノ｀Д´)ノ~┻━┻

STILL BEING TALKED ABOUT! 

This is a bad thing. Stop them--don’t you have any power or control Mod J? What are you DOING about all of this!?! First it was the bane of my existence the BPA, I can’t f***ing drive anywhere now, because everyone apparently knows what car I drive! I mean, let’s be honest, I stand out anyway, so I mean the car--I mean, f***, I’m getting off track--listen, this same person is...just, now they’re saying they did the Kekeke thing too? 

┻━┻ ︵ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY TIMES THAT MAN HAS LEFT MESSAGES ON MY CELL PHONE CACKLING MADLY!? All hours of the day and night I tell you! 

Щ(º̩̩́Дº̩̩̀щ) Can’t you ban them? For me? Please?! I’ll say “I love you Juliet” and mean you, only you in all the world of all of the girls named Juliet! 

(/□＼*)・゜PLEASE.

3 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

Please? 。ﾟ(ﾟﾉД｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

3 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

(ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc) I LOVE YOU JULIET! PLEASE 

・゜・(ノД`) PLEASE PLEASE!??!?!!? (｡♥‿♥｡)

2 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

(⊙_☉) What the actual F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!? F***ing hell! This is insane. You’re all crazy. (⊙.☉)7

ꉂ (๑¯ਊ¯)σ л̵ʱªʱªʱª (ps I sent this to Takaki--and now he’s mad at me because I wouldn’t tell him where it came from! lolololololol)

2 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

Less food network, more writing about me. (´｀;) ？What has happened to your blog?

YOU STILL AREN’T ANSWERING ME!?!? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY??

2 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

Did I do something? (′︿‵｡) Did I? (´•ω•̥`) I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me.

2 Days Ago:

Ryosuke:

This is both alarming at how accurate it is (again!) and that you guys paint me to be some kind of control freak who can’t handle a relationship without knowing every intimate detail of someone’s life. 

...

...

Well, it’s still alarming how accurate it is anyway. 

I’m hiring a bodyguard.

I quit you. ~(>_<。)＼

1 Day Ago:

HS7 @ the 113th 1130000000000000th time that Chinen mentioned Ohno: 

Ryosuke:

I fixed this for you.

(I can’t quit you, please, you guys gotta still love me, okay!? I didn’t mean it!)

1 Day Ago:

Keito after he watched Ryosuke’s kissing scene 4 84 times, twelve times while Ryosuke was in the room with him begging him not to.

Ryosuke:

I fixed this for you.

1 Day Ago:

Yuto: Date someone who will drag you outside at 3am to look at the stars :)

Ryosuke: If anyone, and I mean /anyone/, wakes me up at 3am to go look at the damn sky without sexual gratification in some way, shape, or form they will be removed indefinitely from my life.

Ryosuke:

I fixed this for you. Just saying, I love to sleep but c’mon. Just...c’mon!

Mod J:  (12 minutes after two and a half weeks later)

Bless your heart. Just...bless it.

Ryosuke:  (20 seconds later)

Are you patronizing me? ｢(ﾟﾍﾟ)

Mod J:

No, I really want your heart to be very blessed, you’ve worked yourself up into a frenzy, haven’t you? Deep breath, everything is fine, people are all about Yuya and the salad ship now, you know? Kekeke will get tired of paying us to torture you, and everything will go back to normal, with our blog filled with lots of stories that make you look like the amazing guy you really are! Just take a deep breath, it’s all going to be okay! I’ll take good care of you from here!

Ryosuke:

ヾ(;ﾟ;Д;ﾟ;)ﾉﾞYou promise?

Mod J:

I promise.

Ryosuke:

(‘∀’●)♡ ILY Juliet.

Juliet:

ILY2 (´∀｀)♡

Today:

Ryosuke: 

Mod J, I take back everything! I just saw that the person who started all of this Ryosukekeke craziness is the one who was in Paris! 

(‘∀’●)♡ Listen, I was terrified, being in a foreign country, facing so many fans, and not sure what the reception would be. I’m used to facing those kinds of challenges with the other Jump members, not by myself--there’s always been a level of security in having everyone there, you know? But this time, I was all alone...

So here I was feeling so alone and worried and afraid and then there was this lovely fan, smiling, and happy, and overjoyed--holding this uchiwa that said “Ryosukekeke” and I swear, I laughed so hard! I really did!

It was this bright shining moment, and the fan was so lovely--a happy smile in the midst of so much trepidation--and there was such peace to be found in the idea that there was at least one fan there who wasn’t going to approach me from the perspective that I was Japanese ( ´△｀) and not whatever nationality they wanted Ed to be (despite it being fictional), who wasn’t going to come at me from the thought that I couldn’t possibly be good enough, ฅ(๑’Δ’๑) that our team couldn’t pull it off, that I was going to fail the collective FMA fandom.

That one fan was going to be there to see me, ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Yamada Ryosuke, and not just as the Idol from Jump either! But as the ~ヾ(＾∇＾) PERSON I really am--as there’s no show that proves more about who I am genuinely than our own show does! That fan watched the show enough to know about my love/hate relationship with Kekeke--and you know what? 

d=(´▽｀)=b I’ll go through anything to give back to that fan, even suffer through months of ridicule from my members, and incessant phone call messages from Kekeke, and even having a lot of posts on your blog that make fun of me! Because, there’s no way I can say, not for one second, that my feelings are more important than that single fan’s happiness. 

（⌒▽⌒ゞ Not for one second.

To my Dear @sekairiinu, (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc) my “Ryosukekeke” fan--thank you for being a bright light in a sea of uncertainty. 

（*’∀’人）♥ I pay my respects with my embarrassment gladly! 

--OG

PS I am still not so sure about your Mod L. Can you give me definitive proof that she ISN’T someone in Jump?!

[tayegi]

im crying not only bc of your amazing writing, but bc i was scrolling thru my dashboard and i saw you answering all these asks about new rules and i’m so dump thinking that you set up new rules or sthg, i didn’t understand it so i read all those asks and fucking spoiled myself kmp, but on another note yOU FUCKING ROCK OMG NEW RULES IS SO AMAZING I LOVE IT 💘💘💘

Anonymous said:I'M LOVING NEW RULES SO MUCH just wanted to show my support. i love your writing in general don't get me wrong but new rules is messing with my heart and it's amazing

Anonymous said:Hi! I just read both parts for "New Rules" and I loved them! If this goes in the same direction as Dua Lipa sings (I guess it will) it sounds like it'll be very interesting. I love how everyone in the story is human, not just good or bad, you know? 90% of fics would've made Mijoo the stereotypical barbie bitch, but you didn't and I was pleasantly surprised! I also feel very identified with the OC. I really want her to open up and discover who JK really is, whoever that is. Keep up the good work!

jabaelashit said:Hey! i already wrote you a message on one of your posts but i just wanted to say that i am feeling so skabakks right now, I can't stop thinking about new rules and i'm torn between crying or crying but w angsty. I hope oc learns her worth and can understand she's just as amazing as mijoo, even better if we're talking about morals but oh well people fuck up:( I'm glad she forgave her but I hope she distances from her cause that gurl ain't having the same respect for the friendship as oc/1

jabaelashit said:and i also hope she gets to tell jimin her feelings not to like make him break stuff w mijoo, but to let him know she hadnt seen the note and to release some pressure and feelings cause oc bottles up so much and i just want to go and hug her and don't leave her until she understands shes fucking badass and cool and that the way she thinks is 👏👏👏 lu you've made me feel such a diverse amount of emotions i don't know what to do w myself anymore, your writing is amazing! love love loove you❣/2

Anonymous said:Hey!!:) idk if this is the right place to send compliments cause im really new to tumblr but THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR FICS. Tbh I'd buy it if you published a physical compilation;)

Anonymous said:Wow for the longest time I was searching your old username; idek why cause I’ve known you changed your username and have been keeping up to date with you LMAO this is what being sick and delirious does to me. ANYWAYS! Hope you’re not too down with the crazy anons your story is great and I’m thankful for the dynamic characterizations you create! It makes it so much more interesting cause you create many characters with depth!!

Anonymous said:Can I please just have your writing talent? The OC is just so real, and that moment when she's deciding what to do with Mijoo, and what she actually says at the end.... I can't actually put my thoughts into words. I'm legit stunned by the sheer amount of emotions I felt reading the second chapter. I genuinely adore the banter between JK and OC, I personally prefer people to be more direct with what they want, so I already appreciate them, but also Jimin's convo with OC... (1/2)

Anonymous said:Jimin's convo with OC... Idk about these other anons going off on Mijoo, I was more thinking 'why didn't Jimin chase the note?' and then he would have had his answer then and there. But that might have just been me... And also, thinking back to it now, when JK said 'I need you' and OC repeated it back to him like super softly, like she was surprised oh god, okay, my heart is breaking even more for OC now, idk if I'm reading too much into it. I love you Lu, I hope you're well, and happy! (2/2)

Anonymous said:I love your fics so much!! The sass is real esp with jungkook 😂

Anonymous said:Anyways do ya thang hunny ✨ Keep wrecking me with your writings 💞��💞✨💞✨💞✨💞✨😩

Anonymous said:Read part 1 of New Rules and was like yeah thisll be fun, I'll have a great time. Then I read part 2 and ended up shedding some real tears at the end?!?! LU WHAT THE...... But really though its so nice to read a fic where the OC values friendship. The idea that its always girls against girls makes me sad.. we should be sticking together!!

Anonymous said:so... surprise surprise, dis gon be about new rules 😂 but I really wanted to thank you for adding so much of the oc's inner dialogue, and making her such a character in the first place. a lot of fics do not portray ocs with more defeatist attitudes, but yours does and I was glad, because I could finally relate to a fic :) also, coming back to the inner dialogue thing, it was so in depth that i could really feel what the oc was feeling, what she was going through. it was amazing ❤️ thank you!

Anonymous said:Man this is one hell of a good fic i’m highly anticipating the next chapter!!! Even though it seems like traditional frat fuckboy x ‘i hate frat bois but ye i’d fuck u’ type of girl it still is in a way a little different i just can’t quite catch how but nonetheless it’s amazing!!! Keep up the good work babe

oceanjoon said:ok so ur newest fic new rules literally is so real n relatable !! like honestly i understand seeking physical comfort in people u dont care about wen u r feeling down/insecure to validate urself n it just rlly hit home

kyarybunny said:Lu. At this point I have so many compliments to give you I can't really form it all properly. But I really am enjoying New Rules and this plot you're breathing life into! It's a different facet of your writing and I love how you can interpret every character's actions in a few different ways. Thank you for continuing to write and I hope you enjoy writing as much as we do reading/analyzing.

Anonymous said:Istg when I read the new chapter of New Rules I clenched my fist like that Arthur meme when it came up to the part about mijoo and the note. Girl got me heated lol. As usual, your works do not disappoint! I love your wittiness and how it shines in your writing. The remarks and dialogue in all of your series really proves your talent. You’re truly a gem amongst fanfic writers 💕☺️📢

Anonymous said:i was happily reblogging a few things on my dash and ch1 of new rules just came and i started reading WHERE THE FUCK DID I GET MY ASS INTO???!!!???!?! IT'S FUCKING AMAZING i don't know why i didn't start reading before. don't you ever dare stop writting, you're such a good writter and i enjoy your works very very much

Anonymous said:OC DESERVES HAPINESS JUST AS MUCH AS MIJOO. OC SHOULDVE PUT HERSELF AND HER HAPPINESS BEFORE HER FRIEND'S BECAUSE SHE IS TOO GOOD FOR ALL OF THEM DJFJFJ i hope one day jimin finds out about her feelings :(

Anonymous said:new rules just keeps getting better and better 😻😻

Anonymous said:Wow.. Okay.. I do believe chapter 2 of New Rules has officially ruined me. My heart was actually beating so fast through out the whole chapter, and it's still racing now too. I've thought this multiple times while reading your fics, but you're writing really is incredible. Your characters and the way you describe their emotions is so unbelievably relatable that the reader can't help but be sucked in. I always find myself becoming invested in your characters! Thank you for all the adventures!

Anonymous said:I felt so bad for the OC this chapter ;.; If I were in her position, I'd probably do the same since causing a scene is yes, immature and not worth the energy. But, if i could be a character in New Rules I'd probably be the other best friend who'll be like "guurl, confront her ass it isnt an excuse just because she's your friend." All in all I see the OC as the kind of person who'll go out of their way to care for someone to the point of disregarding their own feelings, which is unhealthy :( (1)

Anonymous said:(2) but thats what makes her such a relatable character. I really, really like that in your OCs. This is probably the second OC i emotionally relate to, first is Copper Girl. But yeah I'm just distracting myself from assignments lol this series is amazing and just you are amazing Lu!!!! ily!!!!! PS. Jungkook is still agsjshskll he's cocky but with OC he's quite vulnerable. I wonder why? Is it just a front or does he have other intentions?

Anonymous said:alternative ending to new rules: mijoo and mc are over their respective boys, does not bother to get into any messy scenarios like that ever again, love each other and support each other and is forever the friendship that everyone envies anD I HATE THIS SITUATION SO MUCH GODDAMMIT LU!!! UR REALLY TRYING TO TEAR MY HEART APART!!

marchxseptember said:OH MY GOD CHAPTER TWO IS UP. I HAD A FEELING SO I HAD TO CHCK UR ACC AND I WAS RIGHT. BRB GONNA READ

marchxseptember said:AND THE PLOT THICKENS. I JIST FINISHED READING CH. 2 AND I AM FUCKED UP. I HAD A THEORY BEFORE BUT NOW I HAVE LIKE 2 MORE IM CONFUSED. I LOVED IT SOOO MUCH. AND I HATE MIJOO NOW. I CANT WAITT TO SEE WHAT WILL HAPPEN. THIS WAS SO GOOD LU.

omg the amount of response ive gotten for new rules is unbelievable. I dont think ppl were even this into equilibrium. the last time u guys acted like this was during the golden boy trilogy and it really feels so good to have this again.

thank you all for your thoughtful messages and for giving this ridiculous little fic a chance. I love you all

[chaosbisexual]

1-74?

Hey there nonnie!! idk why, bc tbh i’m p boring, but thank you! i’ve already answered a handful of these so i’ll just do the rest!! thank you!!

1: How tall or short do you wish you were? i mean i’m 5″2 so i wish i was taller,,,, like maybe just 5″6 or so??? just a bit taller???

2: Do you have a favorite clothing style? i LOVE dresses okay i’m that girl,, but i love dresses that come in at the waist bc i’m curvy so i like the waist,, and like high waisted shorts and jeans and skirts w shorter tops??? mm i LOVE. but i’m also comfortable with like big jumpers and stuff too so…

3: Do you like makeup? if so, What’s your daily makeup routine look like? Yes! I love makeup! i’m not very good at it but i find makeup v calming and usually when i’m upset the process of putting youtube or music on and doin my makeup is so theraputic,,, i usually do pencil eyeliner, eyebrows, concealer, mascara and eyeshadow if i have time (not in that order) but i honestly love eyeshadow pallets sm 

4: What three things/people do you think of most each day: things bc i’m boring; tea, blankets and friends. 

5: If you had a warning label, what would yours say? OVER EMOTIONAL AND OVERBEARING AND WILL PROBABLY LOVE YOU TOO MUCH,,, A BIT LIKE A PUPPY. ALSO HIGHLY ANXIOUS AND CRIES WHEN TEA IS UNAVAILABLE,,, that sounds about right,,,, 

7: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic] : I love personality quizzes and i literally just took this and i’m melancholic?? which i agree w a lot actually (look it up if you want to know more lol)

9: who’s your favorite celebrity? hmm currently dodie clark (she counts ok) emma watson, adelaide kane, or matty healy,,, hmmm,,,,,,

10: who’s your favorite viner? i dont really watch vines but i think thomas sanders and lizzza are hilarious so,,,,

11: favorite youtubers? i kinda answered this before but dodie, lucy moon, jack and dean (anyone in that circle) dan and phil, carrie hope fletcher. 

12: cat or dogs? i dont like this bc i love them both but when it comes to mutual love,,,, dogs (but my cat has LOVED me recently idk whats happening)

14: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to? i honestly don’t know,,, i LOVE the name lyra but i feel like i’d want to name my child that,,, but idk i also like laurel, lily, estelle,,,,

16: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]? i feel most productive at night, and i love night, but i feel like people diurnal is more the norm and when i’d actually be able to get stuff done,, so that

17: Any phobias or fears? bein alone, being unproductive, unhappiness,, i don;t think i have any phobias but i am quite an anxious bean

18: Favorite movie? hmmmm 10 things i hate about you, any hp film, the narnia films,,, r+j,,,, there’s so m a n y 

19: Do you get scared easily? short answer: yes,,, long answer: Y Y E E S S 

21: What is a color that calms you? blue, like pale blue, green (bc being outside makes me feel calm) and like mauve bc it reminds me of my mum 

23: Where were you born? melbourne buddy

24: Introvert or extrovert? ambivert,,,, but i think i’m closer to extrovert 

25: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs? YES I’M SUCH A TAURUS

 26: Hugs or kisses? i mean i’ve never kissed anyone so i’d have to say hugs

28: Talk about your crush, if you have one! idk where to begin w this omg,,,,

29: A sound you really love? RAIN. RAIN.  R A I N. and my friends talking, that makes me feel good too. 

30: Can you do the splits? nOPE 

31: Favorite actor and/or actress? emma watson, thomas brodie-sangster, asa butterfield, tatiana maslany, dev patel,,, ugh so many people

33: How are you feeling right now?  i mean ??? neutral??? like i’m not happy but i’m not sad?? fine??? 

34: What color would you like your hair to be right now?  i mean i used to want to be ginger but then i realized i would look crap but tonight at a dinner i was called a ranga (my hair is v light brown) and now i’m conflicted,, but like i kinda want darker hair rn 

35: Something that calms you down? dodie clark, my friends, tea, long walks.

36: Have any disorders? no but i might have anxiety??? 37: What does your URL mean? combo of my fave characters, clara oswald from doctor who and james and lily potter from hp,,, not even sorry 

38: What makes you unfollow a blog? inactive, rude or a person i just don’t want to be associated with anymore (this only happened once when i had a falling out w someone irl)

39: What makes you follow a blog? nice username or aesthetic, or i find you on my dash somehow. i follow a lot of people but it’s nice there’s variety. 

40: Favorite kind of person: one who understands me and listens to me but is also completely at ease w who they are and is willing to be open with me.

41: Name three of your favorite blogs. @alicelongbottom, @hpwritersnet (i’m part of this but we’re great) and @acestephendene ,, ily all sm and your blogs are all AMAZING,

42: What is your MBTI personality type? INFJ!!!! and it fits me really well tbh.

43: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most? currently my maxi dress or my jeans :)

44: Post a selfie or two? lol i don’t currently have any up put i have a pic of ME if that counts. everything will be under the tag “my face”

45: Do you like to swim? YES

46: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you? swimming, i can’t skate for shit lol

47: Something you wish didn’t exist: tr*mp

48: Some thing you wish did exist: MONEY TREES AND TIME MACHINES

49: Piercings you have? just my ears

50: Something you really enjoy doing: reading and writing and walking. sometimes all at once oml 

51: Favorite person to talk to: hmm maybe either my two closest friends or my sister?? 

52: What was your first impression of Tumblr? *actual recreation* “plants, plants, plants, i guess they’re pretty,,,, wAIT IS THAT HARRY POTTER”

53: How many followers do you have? nearly 0.5 k :))))))))))))) (do you guys want me to do something to celebrate?? i’m so excited??)

54: Can you run a mile within ten minutes? probably not omg 

56: What are your birthstones? emerald,, thats the only one i know oops 

58: Someone you look up to: my sister (both literally and metaphorically)

59: A store you love? in australia we have this stationary store called typo,,, and it’s my favourite place on earth. and like any type of bookstore, vintage, or like anything. just books. 

60: Favorite type of shoes? boots,,, heeled boots,,,

61: Where do you live? australia m8

62: What color do you wish the sky was? i wish it always looked like it does when its dusk tbh 

63: Favorite thing about a person: their eyes, their passions, their hopes.

64: Something you love about Tumblr: all the kind people who send me asks and messages :)66: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are? ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,,,,,,, idk maybe a 4 or 5? and on a good day, a 6-6.5? which is kind of ironic when you think about the fact that i idolise my sister,,, who looks like me,,,,

67: What nicknames do you have/have had? lexi, ali, alexy-indre, munchkin, smol bitch, peanut, smol cabbage, and most recently, the good ole “al”

68: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends? when i was v little, but i think i stole them all from story books so,,,,

69: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink? i have seen a counselor, and i probably go back actually,,,70: How many languages do you speak fluently? just english,,, but i am trying to learn french.71: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person. mum, my sister, and hannah (@acestephendene)

72: Do you like BuzzFeed? i mean ??? yes ??? i know they’re problematic and all but yes i like the content,, espec unsolved its my fave. 

73: How many people are you following? i’m such a mess i think last time there was around 3,000??? i should probably maintenance that omg 

74: How many posts/likes/ and or drafts do you have on your blog? 14,168 posts, 31,092 likes, and 2 drafts (again, i’m a mess)

phew that was long!! hope ur not asleep anon, thank you so much xx