#i adore this hc

[circusinarun]

Can u guess what I'm working with? :)

I promised that I'll draw it in digital and here we are

[versatileversion]

I love the idea of Nicky dancing in front of Erik.

Like he just feels so safe and comfortable he sometimes just lets loose in front of Erik, smiling as brightly as he can.

Erik watches him and when he’s done, gives him a world of kisses and praise- because he always wants Nicky comfortable enough to do this in front of him.

I love dancing Nicky.

[hinamie]

newest issue of first years fashion just dropped

[the-phantom-peach]

🗣️ huh?? what do you mean I haven’t posted any Link signing propaganda yet??

[eternalmomentss]

Looking back now, it really is so cool how Robbie created Dorian as a character that is so different from the stereotypical horny bard trope. Dorian has charisma and charm, yes, but that mostly comes from the fact that he is extremely awkward and anxious and introverted. Pathetically adorable, as Liam put it once. He flirts and it's fun but flirt back and he gets flustered immediately. He loves music, he hums when he is nervous, but is hesitant to sing (he even said to Opal "no one has ever heard me sing") because he feels uncomfortable when put on the spot (which is also neat in a meta way, cause Dorian showcases how you can still play a bard even if you are too shy and uncomfortable with roleplaying singing etc). Dorian needs a little push, a peptalk or a cup of ale. He also is sexually inexperienced and never really seems that interested in sleeping with others. He fell in love once in his life. His outfit is flashy. He has stagefright. He loves to show off. He gets embarassed ten seconds after. He is a such a breath or fresh air. Literally. He honestly made the entire class more interesting to me again, to the point where I really wanna play a bard next.

[dozzerxb]

more dogman fanart but as old men and a teen

[ihavea-natural-curiosity]

Viktors Disabilities, a Speculative Analysis

Ever since i first watched Arcane i have wanted to know (and i mean this in the nicest way possible,) what was wrong with Viktor. His disability was never explained beyond “he was born with a malformed leg”.

And so, i was left alone in the house with my thoughts today so i took it upon myself to figure it out, (and talk about his medical issues so i can ignore my own lmao) and i am releasing my thoughts upon yall!

(disclaimer: yes i am aware that this arcane is a fantasy world that is not our world and the disorders/illnesses and treatments will not be the same but the issues he has have to be based off of something (especially with how detailed this show is and how many references are made throughout.) this is not me trying to say that he definitively has any of these conditions, i’m just comparing them to conditions that exist today and suggesting what Viktors disabilities may have been based off of.)

(disclaimer pt 2.: i have not played League of Legends, i do not intend to play League of Legends, i have only watched Arcane and i am only talking about Arcane and Arcane lore and what i have been able to figure out from watching Arcane and spinning it around in my brain like it’s in a microwave.)

Now, i think i’ll just start from the beginning, and go in order of development.

1. Viktors Leg

According to the wiki (and about every other site that talks about Viktor) he is said to have been “born with a malformed leg”, and said pretty much nothing else. Now, when Viktor is an adult, his leg appears to be very not-malformed, so, let’s start at the flashback.

Now, even in the flashback Viktors leg looks normal. It’s pointing forward, and looks totally fine. But as the clip goes on, and he gets up and starts moving, the problem becomes apparent. Here’s a clip:

Yall have probably already noticed what i’m talking about with this clip, but i want to illustrate it more because the clip moves so fast:

As Vikto moves faster, his foot shifts inwards! It shifts inwards pretty severely (i mean, he full on trips on it), and the only time in this entire clip where it is doing so. And that is because the other times he is around someone else. I think he is purposefully pointing his foot forward and in turn walking on the wrong part of his foot (balance issues), and more than likely causing himself pain 1. to appear less ‘crippled’ and more “normal” to other people, and 2. because clearly, his foot is pointing inwards to a degree that is impairing his ability to walk.

Now to me, (and i’m not a doctor so if any actual doctors want to call me on incorrect information please do so!) this looks like Femoral Anteversion, or a twisting of the femur that points the knees inward (it’s typically found in both legs but it can happen with just one)

Now this isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, ~10% of children are affected with Femoral Anteversion (or “pigeon toes”), and most of the time it resolves itself, unless it is super severe, at which point it requires surgery to fix it. Which, of course, Viktor did not have access to.

Now, his leg does appear to be normal as an adult, but the femoral anteversion thought is still plausible. There are 3 reasons i can think of for this one.

1. He got to Piltover and after a little bit Heimerdinger noticed how messed up his leg was and Viktor got the surgery to correct it as much as possible (it’s implied that Viktor was in Piltover for years, based on how he acts and the fact that he’s Heimerdingers assistant) (this thought doesn’t seem very plausible to me, i don’t remember seeing any surgery scars on his leg in the hexcore scene, but it is a possibility.)

2. He’s simply just still correcting his leg. The reason we wouldn’t see him mess up like we did in the flashback is that he’s about 24-25 in act one, and i’d say that 14-15 years is probably enough to get used to doing that sort of thing.

3. (Honestly this one seems to be the most plausible to me) His leg has (partially) corrected itself. Most children whose femoral anteversion fixed itself had normal gaits by age 8-10, but that’s an average age and those typically aren’t perfectly accurate to everyone (i have. very personal experience with that.) and it makes the most sense to me that his leg has mostly/partially corrected itself and he’s just also continuing to self-correct to avoid appearing any more disabled than he already does (he shows quite a bit of internalized ableism throughout the season, and his line about people not listening to him because he’s “just a poor cripple from the undercity” really drives it home for me, honestly.)

2. Viktors Deterioration

When we first truly see Viktor in act 1, he seems lively, and unless he’s actively walking, he’s not using his cane, not really (he hangs his cane on his arm to read a book with both hands (really great rep btw, we do in fact do that!), he leans it against a desk to pace in front of a chalkboard with Jayce, he puts it down somewhere to go help Jayce with the experiment, etc.).

I mean, look at his stance, he’s not really leaning on his cane for support, more likely he’s using it for balance, and as an assist to his bad leg, rather than an attempted replacement like we saw in the flashback.

But in act 2? Hoooo boy

Look at that, beyond just looking 10x sicker, look at his posture, his shoulders specifically. He is actively leaning on his crutch (because he needs a crutch now, the cane wasn’t enough), using it like a replacement. Now, over the course of the ~7 year time skip, Viktors condition has deteriorated enough that he 1. needs the braces 2. needs a crutch 3. can no longer even get up without his crutch, let alone take a single step!

i mean, even when he’s sitting down, he’s holding onto it, leaning on it. The way he uses his crutch, how skinny he’s gotten, how much more tired he seems, all of these things say some sort of newfound muscle weakness, but why?

And the braces. Let’s start with the leg brace, since it’s right there. How it’s built around the actual leg and knee looks a whole lot like a much cooler unloader knee brace, or a knee brace that redistributes weight away from the weakened knee. I have to wear one of those when my knee gets really bad in the winter, when it starts buckling randomly and just.. not working. Which makes sense for the muscle atrophy/weakness theory i have, because that leg was already weak to begin with, and his knee would have been all kinds of fucked up if he did spend basically his whole life misaligning it like i’m thinking he did. (and to support that theory even further, the way that the brace goes over his foot as well reminds me of the braces some children wear to attempt to correct their ‘pigeon toes’ (which have been proven not to work, btw)

Now, the back brace. I’m gonna be honest, this part took me the longest, it truly confused me.

When you look at it, it just looks like a thoracic back brace, with some extra support on the hips (once again, pointing to muscle weakness)

But the thing that really confused me?

The screws in his back.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out what procedure this was referencing (Percutaneous Pedicle Screw Fixation (i’m like really sure that the screws aren’t showing in the real life surgery but the fact that they are makes sense with Arcanes style)), and an even more embarrassing amount of time to realize that the golden screws in his brace weren’t connected to him. (i am. very tired.)

But essentially, a Percutaneous Pedicle Screw Fixation is a less invasive spinal fusion procedure. Now a spinal fusion can be done for many, many reasons, but only one really fit.

Support, because of muscle weakness.

Every single thing that got added on to Viktor could be explained by muscle weakness, but there’s never any explained reason why he was so weak all of a sudden. His terminal illness is cited as a reason but that didn’t really make sense to me, all of these procedures, all of these mobility aids made perfectly to his measurements would’ve had to have been caused by something with a much slower onset than the illness would have given him.

And after literal hours of scouring, i have a theory.

Post-Polio Syndrome.

The timeline makes sense, Viktor would have most likely gotten sick before the flashback, when he was a child (a lot of children who get Polio fight it off without even knowing they have it). Viktor is estimated to be about 32 in act 2, and the average time between the initial Polio infection and Post-Polio Syndrome onset is about 20-40 years (inconsistent numbers).

Now some of the symptoms we have no way of knowing if they affect Viktor or not, but the main ones that caught my eye were muscle atrophy, chronic fatigue, and, you guessed it, muscle weakness.

Given where Viktor lived as a child, and how heavily polluted it was (remember that Viktor was in the undercity over 10 years before we saw it in act 1 with Vi and Powders childhood), it’s not too far of a stretch to say that he could have contracted an illness very similar to Polio as a child, and only really be feeling the affects of it now.

3. The Illness

I have 2 main theories for Viktors illness, the first one seems to be the most popular among the fandom: Tuberculosis.

If you’re unaware, Tuberculosis (TB) is a sickness that mainly affects the lungs, with the main symptom being coughing up blood. Now this is a really good theory imo, it fits pretty well, with some of the other symptoms being muscle atrophy, fatigue, malaise (general feeling of discomfort/unease with no discernible reason), loss of appetite, and severe unintentional weight loss. all of this sounds like our guy, no?

TB can take weeks to be symptomatic, so we probably just caught Viktor at the worst time ever lol with this theory.

My other theory is actually one my friend suggested to me, and that theory is COPD.

Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) is a progressive disease that is basically a terrible combination of chronic bronchitis and asthma that can be caused by exposure to pollution (Viktor grew up in the Undercity before Cassandra’s vent system, i mean the river he was playing on had an oil slick on it, i think it’s safe to say he was exposed to some pretty severe pollution as a child.)

This theory makes a lot of sense to me, because it’s said in the show that his illness was probably caused by the air where he grew up, which this would have been, while TB would not. (not 15-20 years later, at least) COPD, once it reaches stage 4 is very severe, any flare up of symptoms could be life threatening at that stage, and the symptoms? Fatigue, shortness of breath, coughing, weight loss, and less frequently, coughing blood.

Anyway, i guess that concludes my analysis/comparison? I’m gonna repeat that i’m not definitively saying that ‘he has this condition and this is why!’, i’m just analyzing and speculating on what different parts of his disability is based on in real life. So, let’s just all be nice, yeah? (also PLEASE feel free to use this as a reference point for modern aus and stuff!!)

i do genuinely think that Viktors disease progression and his deterioration is one of the best examples of chronic illness that i have seen in media, in my experience (both with my own issues and what i’ve seen in other people) and Viktor himself is one of the BEST representations of what it’s like to be young and disabled and the internalized ableism that comes with it (if anyone wants to hear about that i will happily yap your ear off about it!

Anyway, for real this time. Yap session over.

[edit: if you like this you should look in the reblogs there’s a couple of really good in-depth deep dives from others that build on this!!]

[celpii]

Do you think that Vaugardians would make murals and statues of the saviors, especially of Mirabelle?? Idk but I’ve been thinking about how Vaugarde would idolize and immortalize the saviors and how there’d be reminders of their quest/victory all over the country. And how years down the line they would become like a legend told through stories and art

Anyway, black and white version under the cut

[hatsbuckets]

price | gaz | ghost

John Mactavish who is restless after missions.

John Mactavish who talks his teammates’ ears off on the ride back, not caring an ounce if they’re listening.

John Mactavish who fills the space, the silence, the leftover tension with words, jokes, stories that tumble out like they don’t need to stop just for the sake of keeping the air from settling too heavy.

John Mactavish who laughs too loud, too easily, who tries to make them laugh too, because if they’re laughing, they’re okay.

John Mactavish who keeps talking, keeps moving, keeps the energy up. Who should feel tired but doesn’t.

John Mactavish who follows an antsy Sergeant to the locker room, lets himself be dragged into banter, back-and-forth, sharp and familiar. And throws a wet towel at one Kyle Garrick's head and dodges when it’s thrown back.

John Mactavish who lets himself be normal, lets himself be loud and easy and himself and feels the buzz of adrenaline settle—not gone, just quiet.

John Mactavish who moves again, because stopping isn’t an option yet.

John Mactavish who finds his lieutenant, sitting stiff, sitting quiet.

John Mactavish who crouches in front of him, grinning, teasing, nudging at him like that alone will shake off whatever is brewing in his head.

John Mactavish who doesn’t stop when the man huffs, rolls his eyes, glares—just keeps at it until the weight in his chest starts to feel lighter. Talking, teasing, waiting on one Simon Riley.

John Mactavish who watches Simon’s fingers twitch, watching for the moment Simon actually listens. Then pretends not to notice when Simon exhales, slow, steady, a release of tension that wasn’t meant to be noticed.

John Mactavish who grins just a little softer, who leans in just a little closer. And taps Simon’s knee as he stands up, as if to say, You’re with me, yeah?

John Mactavish who lets himself be stopped when he turns to go when a gloved hand catches his wrist. glances back, eyebrows raised, breath caught as the hand squeezes his own, just once, firm and grounding.

John Mactavish who lets himself be grounded and settled—drowned—in those beautiful, grease marked eyes that look up at him.

John Mactavish who swallows hard when Simon lets go first. And nods, just once, and walks away grinning like nothing just happened.

John Mactavish who finds himself at his Captain's office, where the door is unlocked, and the sight of one half-asleep John Price behind it with Gaz on top.

John Mactavish who makes his way in like he belongs there, because he does.

John Mactavish who grins at them both, full of mischief, before shoving his way onto the couch without a word, forcing himself into the space he belongs.

John Mactavish who burrows in, leans into the warmth, lets his body finally slow down. He closes his eyes, exhaustion creeping in now, welcome and familiar.

John Mactavish who is knows Simon isn’t far behind.

John Mactavish who is restless after missions,

but never too restless to be lulled into calm with the boys.

John Mactavish who groans at Price's snoring, but smiles, because he's undeniably comforted by the sound anyway.

price | gaz | ghost

[qcoded]

I personally hc Tails as half french, although I think he wouldn't be THAT fluent in the language. BUT, he does know a few phrases, and one of them is "I love you" = "Je t'aime"

for the longest time, he'd randomly say it to Sonic, mostly when they'd say goodbye (albeit casually). Sonic wouldn't think much of it, just another one of his brother's quirks. Until one day he decides to actually translate "Je t'aime" and everything just makes sense to him LMFAOOO (mostly finding it cute)

[silicated]

legacy

1 | 2 | [3] | 4

[greenlaut]

bitter tea & oranges

sequel -> tea & dates

[justaz]

merthur marriage of convenience. arthur is complaining that his council is on his ass about marrying and siring an heir and they keep trying to arrange marriages but arthur doesn't fucking want any of them. merlin knows that arthur would like to marry someone he loves but he also knows that arthur has shown no interest in like anyone except when he was enchanted so like...who tf is he gonna marry? he needs to marry someone to get the council off his ass so he's just like "why not marry a friend? ik it wouldn't be a marriage of love but at least you'd have some control and choice in this." and arthur is like "hm. but who tho?"

anyways they make a list of everyone they know who can bear children (bc arthur will need an heir eventually). then they narrow it down, crossing off names like gwen bc she is happily married to lancelot and in a loving relationship with morgana (she has two hands and i love morgwencelot) and morgana (she's literally arthur's sister but they were just putting every name they could think of down first) and elyan (he may be able to bear children but they know he wouldn't be happy going through it bc of medieval dysphoria). eventually it's down to two names, mithian and merlin and arthur looks at merlin's name then up at him and is like "you're literally a trained physician so you should know this but you were literally born a man...how tf are you gonna bear children?" and my beloved genderfluid magic incarnate emrys just shifts her form to female and is like "don't be an idiot. anyways, mithian or me?"

dumb idiot whipped and in love arthur is like "you" and dumb idiot whipped and in love merlin is like "bet". anyways they marry but they're very insistent it's just as friends. lol they have to consummate the marriage the losers. they insist they did that as friends too. the entire round table has way too much fun with this. anyways they remain married "as friends" as they slowly morph into a very loving and touchy relationship "as friends" until they're like casually kissing as greetings and farewells and have that moment of "oh shit we're like actually married and in love" bc they're stupid dumb idiots.

anyways they unite albion and are recognized as high king arthur and high queen merlin and finally have an heir - the high prince/princess whatever you prefer. uhhhh anyways merthur happy ending bc i'm a sucker for it.

[fridgrave2-0]

hehe ghost-turbo haunting felix au

turbo is connected to the last piece of his code in the whole arcade - a trophy he gifted to felix in mid 80s as a symbol of him genuinely caring about their relationships on par with being the best racer. felix also gave him one of his medals and both kept their gifts next to other rewards, but when roadblasters and turbotime were unplugged, the medal was gone with everything else

now, after burning in cola-lava turbo is basically dead, but scraps of his code still were intertwined with the trophy (after all, it was his first winner's cup, but felix never knew about it), giving turbo an opportunity to exist as a shadow incapable of interacting with anything and anyone besides felix, who kept the trophy even after the roadblasters incident

also I went crazy in tags, feel free to check them out

[chiacanwritesometimes]

everybody adores you, at least i do.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

based on “everybody adores you (quiet)” by matt maltese :)

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.9k

authors note: i wrote this after listening to ^^^ on repeat, god i love matt maltese. there are scenes of alcohol intake, a panic attack and brief self harm. please dni if these topics bother, trigger, or make you uncomfortable. this was a pretty long drabble, hope you enjoy :D

============

you can act all shy, but you know that i want you.

you aren’t one for flattery, that much was obvious. every time bucky took the time to compliment you, he knew what your next words would be. like clockwork, you would turn red, look away, and sheepishly mutter, “thanks”. you fiddled with your hands, and quickly changed the subject. how desperately he wanted to hold your hands, and kiss them. for years, he pined over you, and you’ve always been almost at his grasp. these past couple of weeks though, it seemed to hit you, that he wanted you.

in the dead of night, i want to live with you.

it all started three years ago, after everyone came back from the blip. people were everywhere, and it seemed that all the noise that lacked from the world came back in an instant. after realizing what happened to you, your environment and your home, you couldn’t help but laugh. how comical, that it seemed like nothing changed. your family hadn’t contacted you, well, the distant family that you still had. you walked to a bar in the hazy hours of the night, and met him. some guys were bothering him about his glove, but he seemed unaffected. he just stared ahead, and drank his whiskey. you devised a plan, to distract the assholes and to maybe introduce yourself. you didn’t want to seem like you were trying to pick him up, but you were trying to make friends in this new world. you asked the bartender quietly to escort the two loud drunks out, and sat down next to him. you didn’t think you’d get this far, so you were at a loss on what to say. did people still talked the same five years later? of course they did, but how do you navigate yourself into talking? your thoughts piled up, and they kept piling up, until his gruff voice interrupted them.

“thanks.” he grumbled quietly.

“hm?” you didn’t catch what he said, as you were too distracted. he cleared his throat.

“i said thanks. for the, yeah.” he pointed to the two men outside. he wasn’t much for words, you realized. you sighed in relief and nodded.

“yeah, dont sweat it.”

he offered to walk you home, as a sign of gratitude. it amused you both that you lived in the same building. small world. you invited him inside, but he hesitated.

“we can take a rain check, if you’d like. ill write you my number.” you assured him, and walked inside to grab a post it. what were you doing? giving a stranger your number? you put those thoughts to rest as you wrote your number.

he awkwardly waited at the half open door. he was glad to have made a…friend? he didn’t know what to call you yet, but he was sure to catalogue you at the back of his mind to let his witch of a therapist know. over the next couple of weeks, you had began to know him better. he had a cat, alpine. he had a past that he wasn’t open to sharing. his apartment was empty, almost ready to be left without a tenant at any moment. he froze at your touch, so you made a mental note to not do that. what a strange person. you knew he disappeared during the blip as well, but you felt as if he had lost more than five years.

so terrified of the road that takes you, me too.

a year had passed for your friendship. you came to his apartment, unexpected, and brought two little cupcakes with candles on them.

“what’s this?” he asked, a little embarrassed to be touched by such a small little gesture.

“its our friendship anniversary, goofy.”

“do we sing happy birthday, or what?” you paused. you weren’t sure, you didn’t really think of singing.

“um, we can have toasts if you’d prefer that. yes, toasts! ill get the glasses.” you sprung to your feet and gracefully navigated yourself in his small kitchen. you had spruced up his place a little, buying him hand towels, candles, and little trinkets that make a house a home, or rather, an apartment into a cozier place to live. you brought the two flutes, and filled them with champagne. he frowned.

“that is definitely not mine.”

“i brought it to celebrate, we need something fancy.” he rolled his eyes, but went along to your little celebration. he sat on his couch and observed you placing the cupcakes on the coffee table, and as you passed him his glass.

“ill go first. um…” you didn’t want to admit that you had started liking him, so you decided to say general statements.

“i hadn’t had a friend since, high school? maybe…so thank you for letting me be yours. err, friend, that is. to many more.” you clinked your glass with his, and motioned for him to go next.

“my last friend died a year ago. you haven’t died yet, so cheers to that.” he said dryly, with a little smile on his face. he thought he was so funny. he clinked his glass with yours, and drank the liquid. you rolled your eyes and mirrored him.

you started watching a movie with him, but you weren’t really paying attention. he started to accept your touch more and more, and you watched the movie with your head leaning on his shoulder. he leaned his head on yours, and tried his best to not move, so as to not bother you. the second act of the movie was commencing, and he had something on his mind. he had to fess up eventually about who he is- who he was, that is. someone he no longer was, someone he despised so vehemently.

“doll?” he tested the waters. he started calling you that, a reminder of how much of a casanova he was when he was in high school. you protested but eventually let him continue calling you that, as it was more effort telling him to stop than you cared to give.

“mm?” you hummed softly, half asleep.

“i wasn’t joking about my toast.”

“i didn’t think you were. you don’t have to talk about it if you don-“

“i want to talk about it.”

you paused. this was rare. you didn’t know what to think, so you gave him the space to talk.

“there’s a reason i’m always wearing this glove, you know.”

“yeah, circulation problems.” you joked, but he didn’t laugh.

“doll, i was born in 1917.”

“…” you sat up. “what? james, you’re not being funny right now.”

he continued tentatively.

“my name is james buchanan barnes and i was born in march 10, 1917.” he recited as if giving a memorized speech, his monotone words hitting you, syllable by syllable.

“i was forced to be the winter soldier, and i was framed for the U.N bombing.” your facial expression must’ve hinted that you put the pieces together, and he stopped.

“and, yeah. i have a metal arm.” he added almost rushed, he wanted to explain that part as well. he gave you space to fully digest everything.

“so…your friend that died was…” he nodded.

“steve rogers.” he finished for you.

“wow.” you didn’t know what to say, you just sat there. everything made so much sense now, why he always wore a glove, why he never had any pictures of friends or family, nothing. suddenly, you smiled.

“doll?” he looked confused. your best friend admitted to lying about his identity to your face for a year, and you’re…smiling?

“the first friend i made in ten years is someone who’s older than me by eighty years.” you giggled.

“i don’t- you’re not mad?” his brain short circuited. you’re not responding the way he thought you would’ve. you shook your head.

“i mean, what kind of friend am i for you not to be able to trust me with that? yeah, im a little blindsided, but i understand. i still see you as my friend.”

he didn’t know what to do. tears threatened to fall.

“pay attention to this part, its my favorite.” you leaned back to your original position, as if nothing happened. you offered your hand, and he took it.

don't modify, every one adores you, at least i do.

“dont look at me like that.” you said, a little tipsy. you had been friends with him for two years now, and you had invited him over to your apartment, for new year’s. you both didn’t really have any plans, or friends, for that matter. of course, he had sam, but sam was with his sister for the new year. he had barged into your apartment with a six case of beer on him, and two little paper hats saying, “happy new year!”. how adorable. you weren’t dressed up, gracing yourself with an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. you sat on the couch with your legs on his lap, his flesh hand holding his beer and his metal hand holding you. he traced small circles on your calves, which felt really intimate. you’re grateful he used his metal hand, because you weren’t sure what you would’ve done if he used his skin to tease you so.

“like what?” he asked. his tone was quiet, his eyes searching for permission in yours. permission for what?

“like you want to kiss me.”

“and what if i do?” there it was. you didn’t want to ruin any friendship you still had left after he threw that bombshell. you paused and looked away. you took another sip of your beer.

“i’m afraid i’ll have to decline your advances.” you quietly said. its not that you didn’t love him, but it all felt so wrong. the only reason he wanted to kiss you was because it was the new year, and that stupid fucking tradition.

“you know i could get lost in those eyes. i’d trip over my words trying to find my way back.” he admitted. he really did love you. god, he loved you.

“if you keep looking at me like that, i might think that you have a crush on me.” you teased, face red. from the intimacy or from the alcohol? you weren’t sure, maybe it was both.

“and what if i did?”

“bucky…” you sighed. you sat up and moved your legs away from him.

“i mean it. would that be such a crime?” he leaned his body towards you. you noticed that his cheeks had their own hue of red, and his eyes felt unsure.

“bucky.” you cut him off. you didn’t know what to say. its not like you could say, “i dont want you to kiss me for new year’s, because i want you to kiss me for real.” you didn’t know what to say, so you just shook your head slightly. he nodded, stood up, and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“i understand.” he whispered into your ear. you bit your lip, this was the friendliest he had ever been towards you, and you only wished for more. he smiled softly and said,

“happy new year, y/n.”

right where the black wood sighs, i look at you, through and through.

your birthday was coming up, and he decided to surprise you. he researched thoroughly about forests located next to you, and found the one. things had been a little rough post new year’s eve, but your connection through knowing who he was kept the friendship close. you soon were back to your old self, but remained a bit guarded.

your birthday was today. you hadn’t received any messages from him, so you felt a bit let down. you sighed throughout the day as you kept checking. suddenly, around 2 in the afternoon, he knocked on your door with a basket in hand, and flowers in the other.

“happy birthday, doll.”

it’s safe to say that you spent the rest of your day very content, and impressed at the picnic he had organized.

right where your father died I'll hold on to your hand.

you don’t remember much from your father, other than the fact that he died early in your youth. you detested seeing children with both their parents with them, even as an adult. you felt jealous, angry at your father for dying. you knew it wasn’t your fault, but still. you occasionally visited his grave, and the place where he passed on. it was a rainy day, the day he went with you. you asked him to go, as you weren’t feeling so well. he obliged.

the downpour matched the dreary mood, and as you stood near the bench he died on, a bench he felt was familiar. he started to panic, thinking that somehow he was the one responsible for the death of your father, wondering if you taking him here was some sort of ploy to avenge your father.

“he got caught in the crossfire of a crime.” you admitted. “police were chasing this guy, and he meant to shoot the…” you trailed off. he knew what you were trying to say and he nodded. he sighed, partly from the mood and partly from relief that he wasn’t the one that took him from you. you took his hand and held it. he squeezed your hand, and rubbed circles on your knuckles.

“thank you.” what an odd thing for him to say to you, but you knew that he meant for taking him to a place so sacred to you.

“now we’re even.” you smiled at him. no more secrets about the past.

so terrified of the road that takes you, me too.

panic attacks didn’t hit him often. it was around two weeks since his last one, and it wasn’t something he wasn’t thinking of at the time, until now.

he spent so much time at your place, so much in fact, that some of his mail correspondence was sent to your place by the mailman. how silly. he was over for some random dinner, and conversed with you as you cooked. you were making spicy chicken alfredo, or something along those lines. he didn’t really pay attention, he only focused on you. he noticed how fluid you were in the kitchen, as if you were dancing. when he thought you were going to run into a cabinet, you moved away just in time. wether that be for your reflexes or by chance, he wasn’t sure. he had shared with you a couple vinyls, a way of sharing his past with you. he hummed along to the smooth voice of ella fitzgerald, until you interrupted the noise with a yelp of pain. he turned to you, and noticed you had cut your finger with the knife, which confirmed to him that in fact, the reason you didn’t run into cabinets was by chance, maybe some guardian angel working overtime. he kissed your finger, and walked to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. everything was going so well, too. its just a small setback. until, he came back.

you looked to be covered in blood everywhere, with a heavy concentration on your torso. there was a gunshot in your stomach area, and you hunched over the cabinet for support. at least, that is what he saw. in reality, you leaned on the cabinet, waiting for him. his heart dropped and his eyes scanned you so worriedly. he ran to you, inspected your arms, your eyes, your neck, your stomach. your confused expression felt almost like daggers at him, and he started hyperventilating. he felt hands all around him, suffocating him. he knelt to the ground, gasping for air. his hair started clinging to his forehead, his clothes suddenly felt too tight, the air felt too hot, his metal arm too familiar. did he do this? he kept thinking. he heard a voice, his voice, but different. it was him.

“of course you did this.” he said, full of poison. tears fell down his eyes, and they kept falling, even when he shut them so tightly. he clawed at his metal arm, at his reminder of who he was.

you tried your best to make him realize that you were there, and in fact, not dead. no matter your volume, he couldn’t hear you. he was rocking back and forth, and you kneeled to his eyeline.

“bucky?” you kept saying. you kept repeating, kept trying to open his eyes, move his hand from hurting his shoulder. soon, your hands were stained with the blood drawn from where metal met skin. you sat with him, and listened to his cries. you didn’t know what to do, he hadn’t discussed panic attacks with you, so you weren’t sure if you could hold him or not. you decided to take a risk and rub his back, and lean your head on top of his. a few minutes were spent like that, his quiet sobs filling the apartment. eventually, he calmed down enough to the point of hugging you, and whispered “i’m sorry”. that’s all he said, and he kept saying it. his face was nuzzled into your neck, and he kept saying that. your hands held him tightly, your own tears falling as well. he stopped hurting himself, but seeing him in this state broke your heart. you knew why seeing you bleeding affected him so badly. he didn’t often tell you of all the people he killed, but when he did, he was always filled with immense grief. you’d always remind him that it wasn’t really him, and that he didn’t have body autonomy. those words, although comforting, felt like a lie. he was scared you believed differently, thought of him differently. your words and your touch remained the same, though. after his panic subsided, you led him to the sink, and washed his hands. you cleaned his wounds, and wrapped them with gauze. you asked him to stay at your place, and he accepted. you set his bed, and gave him some spare clothing you had. he sat down next to you, and watched you lay down, before looking at you. his blue eyes looked into yours, asking for permission. you held your arms up, and he instantly moved. he laid on top of you, almost tentatively. you ran your fingers through his hair, and he adjusted himself on top of you, holding your waist. no words were exchanged.

you two never spoke of that moment.

don’t modify, every one adores you, at least i do.

three years had passed since you first crossed paths, and he wanted to be the one to initiate the celebration. he didn’t know how surprise you, you two had already done a lot of things. picnics, dinners, sleepovers. he realized he needed to buy a gift. what should he get you? you already had enough jewelry, you always went thrift shopping with him, and you seemed pretty content with everything you had. it clicked in his mind. he got you a photo album for your pictures, and a star projector, showing how the stars looked like on the day you first met. he felt nervous, he hadn’t felt this close to someone in a while, and he was scared to ruin it.

you spent the anniversary gushing over your gift, and kept complimenting him throughout that night. his fears for being a bad friend were eased.

everybody has you up on their wall sometimes.

he wasn’t one for photography. his walls were bare, aside from the decorations you bought for him. you, however, loved your polaroid camera. you took pictures of anything you deemed important, like meeting someone with a similar outfit to yours, a cat you saw on the street, and him. you deemed him important, and he had to pretend like that wasn’t the biggest compliment ever. he had to pretend that every time you snapped a picture of him, he wasn’t blushing so hard, and how he loved being your muse. he started putting more effort into his appearance, so you would take more pictures. you noticed, of course you noticed. you had to keep a solid stream of film. one day, he held your camera. he often wondered how you saw the world, and seeing the little window in the polaroid camera made him smile. you were comically posing in the couch, giggling with every new pose. he clicked away, happily. he then sheepishly asked for a serious picture, for his new collection. well, your picture would be the first in the collection. how fitting, that you would be the one to star in the little joy you shared with him. your face flushed a bit as you sat up and smiled softly at him. he swallowed his nervousness, and took the picture. as he let it develop, he walked away, leaning on the wall. he didn’t want to let you see how red he was. you didn’t know if you were friends or not. of course, you were friends, but you weren’t sure if you were more. you walked to where he was, took the picture from him and placed it on a side table. you grabbed the camera from his hand, and tossed it lightly to your couch. you looked at his lips, his eyes, his scars. you lifted your hand and traced his eyebrows, his nose, his chin, his jawline. his eyes fluttered shut, as he grabbed your hand and kissed it. he pulled you closer, as if you were the air he so desperately needed to breathe, as if you were the water in the middle of the desert. he held you so gently, leaning you against the wall. he leaned his lips towards yours, but didn’t press forward. he just breathed deeply, breathing you in. you looked up at him.

“bucky?” you asked softly, as to not shatter the moment.

“please. you’re all i have ever wanted these three years. i’ve been…you’re…” he couldn’t find the words. he grew a little frustrated at his lack of ways to express himself.

“i love you. from the minute i knew you, from new year’s, every birthday, every anniversary. please, y/n. i need you, like i need air, like i need water, like i need…you.” his eyes looked into yours, waiting for a response in the almost deafening silence.

you leaned forward, kissed him, and were made his that night.

everybody thinks of you when they sleep at night.

he liked waking up next to you. he liked the way your hair ruffled up because of the pillow. he loved the way your eyelashes fluttered when you opened your eyes, and your sleepy smile greeted him.

“good morning, bucky.” you would say.

“dreams?” he’d reply. if you had any dreams, you’d go on in detail about them, and if not, you’d shrug and say,

“my subconscious took the night off.”

he’d tuck your hair behind your ear, and kiss you. how wonderful, that he was able to kiss you, show you how much you meant to him, make you his. how serendipitous, that the first words he ever said to you were “thank you.” fate knew. you knew.

when I say, "everybody", i'm actually referring to mе.

[violent138]

Martha, Alfred, Bruce and Clark, and John sitting in the kitchen and trying to have a peaceful conversation, when inhuman screeching from upstairs is followed by a stampede of footsteps, before Dick races down into the kitchen, running frantically, empty water gun in hand. 

"What is going on?" Bruce barks, with absolutely zero effect because Jason is there a second later and tackles him through the net door on the patio. 

Martha's utterly charmed watching Bruce drop the exceedingly polite guest act as he scrambled out to the cold patio to scold the gremlins.

Clark shook his head, as the drill sergeant Batman voice filtered into the house.

Both boys are grinning when they enter, still bickering, utterly unabashed. But they do apologize to Martha and John about the door.

"I'm very sorry about that. I will pay for the door." Bruce says, dropping back into his seat.

"You raised a good one, Alfred," Martha said, patting the butler's hand.

Clark grinned and Bruce frowned, confused.