#lorna's writing

[chaossmagic]

Human Lens (Stucky Big Bang 2024) - 8/?

@taybay14's art of photographer!Bucky

Torn from his old life and dumped unceremoniously in the 21st century, and then having to face an alien attack just months after coming out of the ice, Steve Rogers is struggling to come to terms with everything he's lost and isn't sure the title of Captain America is one he feels 100% comfortable with anymore. Alone, deeply lonely and desperate for anything to help him feel like his old self again, he stumbles across the work of fellow veteran and photographer Bucky Barnes, who specialises in helping wounded soldiers reclaim their bodily autonomy and sense of self after injury in combat.

When he asks Bucky to take his own photograph, he finds the connection he's been looking for the entire time. And, as it just so happens, Bucky finds exactly the same thing.

___________

This was written for the Stucky Big Bang 2024 @stuckybangs and inspired by the gorgeous art of photographer Bucky by @taybay14 which will be embedded in the first chapter shortly and is also included here.

It's currently incomplete, but will be posted weekly - six chapters have been written so far, and I can't wait to share with you all the story of self-discovery, healing from trauma, and finding love in unexpected places that this version of Steve and Bucky go on.

Read on AO3

[chaossmagic]

Not to toot my own horn, but the fic I'm currently writing is about exactly this!

It really is all about Steve's sense of displacement and the isolation and loneliness that comes with it, his relationship with his own queerness and status as a propaganda symbol, and learning to forgive himself and allow himself new feelings and experiences that he does deserve (even if initially he thinks he doesn't).

You might like to give it a read if you fancy it :) (It's also a Stucky fic with a healthy dose of hurt/comfort Shrunkyclunks, so there's that)

Steve Rogers: In Queerness, Time, & Loneliness

I think about being queer and how that intersects with my perception and experience of time a lot. I think about how we, as queer people, live the same length of time when untouched by cruel violence of ignorance (re: hate crimes) or brutal disease compounded into something worse at the fault of human stigma (re: the AIDs crisis), but how it can feel different even though it is the same objectively. With the same length of time, queer people don't typically--in my experience--follow the assumed cishet trajectory of Western life with these particular scripted milestones. Get an education. Get a steady job. Fall in love. Settle down. Be married. Buy a house. Have children. Grow old. Retire. And die surrounded by your spouse, children, and grandchildren. It isn't always that exact order but, usually, those milestones are hit in one order or another, rather, they're expected to be hit.

How isolating must it be then for Steve Rogers? The isolation of pure time in so many ways. Steve who thought that maybe he wanted a spouse and family, and that typical cishet life, only to meet tragedy head-on without time to grieve unconsolidated dreams.

He blinks and finds all of his friends have done those things. They're on the way to completing the list--those friends he was supposed to age alongside and have peaks and valleys with are dying now. They have complete families. There are generations with children and grandchildren.

And I think it strikes Steve as a feeling of incompleteness in himself, even if he's not sure if that's what he wants in this new era. A strange longing for something he can't(?) have, something he doesn't even want(?).

Steve just doesn't have the same sense of time anymore, post-ice. It's as if his internal clock has been altered and warped by the serum right alongside his very bone and flesh. He is in purgatory. The markers of his life, the one he was assumed to want, to have unfulfilled and waiting for him after the war, haven't come. He's missing so many milestones that should've come and gone already. Are they gone? Are they still ahead of him? How old is he really? Does he deserve the typical life, if he finds the want for one in himself, buried underneath this crushing loneliness that presses on his lungs and makes it hard to breathe air? Air that's the same. His lungs are the same. He is no different, but it seems that everyone else has changed and the rhythm of their breathing leaves Steve out of sync.

If Steve ignores the typical life, deeming it already too far gone, what can he shape his own life into? What is the life of someone who isn't heterosexual in the time he's been woken to? A life of secret would've awaited him in the 40s if he hadn't been chasing a pre-prescribed life with a family and children and social acceptance. Now, he needn't hide. What does being unhidden look like when he has no connections, though? He feels invisible in plain sight.

His life feels unscripted and he needn't know what comes next. And in an attempt to catch up and cure some of his deep loneliness so he's on the same page as all the people around him, Steve consumes pop culture, right?

I assume that includes some updates in social acceptance with regards to the LGBTQIA+ community. And when he finds those stories, he must encounter the trope, again and again, of queer people claiming that their life only began when they came out. Steve doesn't know what that means to himself. Is that why time feels the way it does? Not existent and yet so utterly constricting? How has he lived such a life that people tell him about all the great, incredible things he's done, but his life--his real life--has yet to begin? Where is he in his life? Is he supposed to be making mistakes and finding out about what it means to actually stand on his own two feet as an emerging adult in his mid-twenties? Is he supposed to be sucking oxygen through a tube from a tank with rattling breaths as he dies, aging out of life? Where is he? What time is it? Is he alive? Is he dead? Who can he talk to? Who would understand? Would anyone understand?

When won't he be so lonely and unmapped? Straddling two worlds. Time: between the 1940s to the 2010s. Identity: his sexuality as well as his life goals. Both time and identity seem equally tearing and isolating.

Who does he become, a man out of time?

gif credit @/theavengers

[capseycartwright]

every little thing the sun shows, well it’s worth it

ao3 link

Buck should – he should be freaking out, right? He’d lived thirty-two years of his life without coming close to kissing another man, and it should be making him freak out that tonight, he did – but Buck felt flooded with the oddest sense of calm he’d ever experienced in his life.

He’d kissed a man.

or - after his kiss with Tommy, Buck goes to Hen.

Buck can’t help but bring his hand to his lips as Tommy leaves, fingers brushing gently against where the other man’s lips had been just a few minutes previously.

The other man.

Buck should – he should be freaking out, right? He’d lived thirty-two years of his life without coming close to kissing another man, and it should be making him freak out that tonight, he did – but Buck felt flooded with the oddest sense of calm he’d ever experienced in his life.

He’d kissed a man.

He’d kissed Tommy Kinard.

The giggle escaped his mouth before Buck could even try and contain it, and one turning into a fit of laughter faster than he could control, Buck unable to wipe the smile from his face as he grinned. He’d just kissed Tommy Kinard – and he’d really fucking liked it, actually. It had been different, that much he was certain of – the way Tommy had tugged Buck closer, two fingers under Buck’s chin, purposeful and confident as he responded to Buck’s weak attempts at flirting with a kiss. Tommy had been solid, under his trembling hands, broad and big and nothing like Buck had ever experienced before.

And he’d liked it.

Buck was moving before he could even really think about it, his feet somehow knowing where to take him, on autopilot as he slid behind the wheel of his Jeep, too lost in his own thoughts to realise that the radio had been switched to some criminally bad pop music station (Eddie’s doing, he was sure), the music background noise as he drove, replaying that kiss over, and over, the phantom drag of Tommy’s facial hair against the sensitive skin of his upper lip a feeling he was sure he could come to get very used to, if he was allowed a little more kissing.

Buck was parking up in front of Hen and Karen’s house before he even realised where he was – but, now he was actually thinking about it, he wasn’t sure where else he would have gone, there and then. Hen was – Hen was another big sister, to him, and a lesbian big sister at that, so she was the right place to come in the midst of his –

Buck didn’t want to call it a crisis. He didn’t feel like he was having a crisis. But he was definitely experiencing something – and Hen would understand, he knew.

Knocking softly, so as not to wake up Denny, Buck waited patiently for someone to answer. He hoped Hen would answer. He wasn’t sure if he had the words to explain to Karen that he needed to speak to her wife because he’d kissed a boy for the first time in his life, and he’d liked it.

“Buck?” Hen answered the door with a raised eyebrow.

“Tommy Kinard kissed me,” Buck blurted, because why beat around the bush, right? He might as well dive right into it. “Tommy kissed me,” he repeated, in an effort to sound somewhat less manic. “And I liked it. I wanted him to kiss me.”

Hen’s surprised expression morphed into something softer, and she gestured for Buck to step inside, closing the door softly behind him. Gently – always gentle, because Hen was the gentlest soul Buck had ever known – she sat him down on her couch, bustling around the kitchen for a couple of minutes before she reappeared with a steaming cup of tea.

“Chamomile?” Buck breathed in the familiar smell, knowing that Hen would have added honey – the good one that Karen always bought at the farmers market – the sweetness a familiarity he had come to be grateful for over the years. “No tequila?”

“This is a tea conversation,” Hen replied firmly, sitting next to Buck on the couch. “So. You kissed Tommy.”

“He kissed me,” Buck corrected, because he didn’t want to take credit for the way Tommy had leaned in and kissed him, confident in a way that Buck wasn’t – not yet, at least.

“And you wanted him to?” Hen repeated Buck’s own words back to him, gentle even in the way she pried.

“I didn’t know I wanted him to until he did, if that makes sense,” Buck’s brow furrowed. “I – I didn’t know why I was so jealous, that he was spending so much time with Eddie. I thought I was jealous that he was replacing me in Eddie’s life.”

“But that wasn’t why you were jealous?”

“It was, a bit,” Buck admitted with a grin. Hen laughed, and Buck felt himself getting comfortable, genuinely comfortable. He – he’d never talked to anyone about his sexuality before. An hour ago, he thought he was straight. “But I – I think I was jealous that Tommy wanted to spend time with Eddie, and not me.”

Hen’s smile was soft, her expression new – it was new, he supposed. He was Hen’s annoying straight little brother, deep conversations about queer identity were new territory for them. “Was it a good kiss?”

Buck let out a spluttering breath. “Hen!”

“Oh, come on! You look like you’ve sat down and had a beer with God himself Buck, I’ve got to ask if it was a good kiss.”

Buck had been kissed a lot in his life. He didn’t say that to slut shame himself – that usually earned himself furious glances from Hen, and Eddie – it was the truth: he had been kissed a lot in his life, by people he loved and by people he’d only just met – and kissing Tommy had been nothing like he had ever experienced before.

“It was a good kiss,” he admitted, worrying the corner of his lip, his face burning as he spoke. “It was a really good kiss.”

“It sounds like there’s a but coming,” Hen drawled, taking a long sip of her tea. She knew Buck too well, sometimes. He supposed that was why he came here, to her – he could have gone to Maddie, or Eddie, or Bobby, even, but Hen had been the person he’d come to. He needed to be seen, there and then.

“But – how did I not know? How have I lived thirty something years of my life and not known I’m into guys that way?”

That was the confusing part, Buck had decided – he had never really even questioned his sexuality, shouldn’t he have questioned it long before now? Spent years being tortured with this great big queer secret he was carrying around?

Hen was quiet, for a second, contemplative. “There is no one queer experience,” she began, pausing again. “Some people – they don’t know until they know. There’s no requirement to have your big gay crisis when you’re fifteen, Buck.”

“That’s the thing – I don’t feel like I’m having a crisis,” Buck sighed. “That’s what makes it more confusing.”

At least – at least if he was having a crisis, he might be able to put words to the strange mix of feelings churning in the pit of his stomach, none of them bad, all of them unfamiliar.

“How do you feel?” Hen asked, giving Buck a gentle nudge.

He –

How did he feel?

Buck felt like he was on cloud nine, for one. He was still replaying the kiss with Tommy over, and over, in his head, remembering the way Tommy had lifted Buck’s chin, the way Buck’s heart had thudded to what had felt like a dramatic stop as the other man had moved closer, Buck forgetting how to breathe for a second when Tommy kissed him, soft, and gentle. He was excited, too, thinking about Saturday at eight. What would he wear? Where would Tommy decide to take him? Should Buck offer to pay?

Buck felt – well, he felt like every part of himself he had never understood had clicked into place, the puzzle that made up Evan Buckley finally taking shape and making a picture Buck could see himself in. Buck felt like everything in his life made infinitely more sense now, strange interactions and friendships making more sense as he looked back on his life with queer-tinted glasses, hindsight lifting a haze of confusion he’d carried with him for his entire life.

Buck felt –

“I feel like I can breathe properly, for the first time in my life,” he finally managed, tears rolling down his cheeks before he could even attempt to blink them away. That was the truth of it – Buck felt like he could breathe, his chest free of the strange tightness he’d felt for as long as he could remember. Buck felt like he was free.

Hen’s watery expression reflected his own, her voice gruff with tears as she spoke. “Welcome to the club, Buck,” she smiled, reaching for Buck’s free hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “We’re happy to have you.”

Buck couldn’t help the half sob, half giggle that escaped his throat as he let Hen’s words wash over him. All his life, he’d been searching for a place he belonged, bouncing from job to job, bed to bed, and state to state, all in a desperate search for belonging. He’d found it – mostly – with the 118, but there had always been something that was missing, something he’d never had the words for.

The something was this – queerness. He was a part of a community he knew would fill that missing piece in, colour it in liberation and freedom and wrap him up in something bigger than himself.

Buck leaned into Hen’s embrace, his tea long forgotten on the coffee table, Hen’s warmth more of a comfort than the chamomile could ever be. “I’m so happy to be here,” he replied wetly, Hen’s arms wrapped tightly around him, and, well -

It was the truth. He was happy. Happier than he’d been in a long time. The happiest he’d ever been in his life, maybe. Happy, and free – and bisexual. Evan Buckley was bisexual. A bisexual man who had a date on Saturday, but he’d have time to freak out about that later.

For now, he was going to enjoy the way breathing came easier than it ever had done before.

[lochdandloaded]

felt like designing X-Men Evolution Polaris so I did

Check out my pinned post! <3

[lyralu91]

🖤 Inbox open for fanfic requests - James Delaney 🖤

After finishing my "Taboo" fanfiction ("The river that connects us" - link here!) I've decided to open my inbox for James Delaney requests! ✍🏻🤓

I'm only doing this as a side thing/fun thing/no pressure thing, partially to keep my writing going but mainly because I want to see more James fics out there and encourage others to give it a go! 🤗

To start with I'm up for writing

Drabbles

Imagines/short scenes

Oneshots (max 4 000 words).

If you want smut or porn I won't write anything I personally find degrading (this is best discussed in pm's where we focus on an actual scene/story you have in mind 😉).

I'm TOTALLY up for writing more James and Lorna as well! Set during/after "Taboo", or during/after my fanfiction! 😍

[foliosriot]

WILL AS YOUR BOYFRIEND

nsfw headcanons under the cut! 18+ only MDNI or i’ll block you!

lots of inspo taken from the wonderful @malice-ov-mercy <3

SFW!!

so fucking sweet and loving

the literal definition of golden retriever bf

loves going on adventures with you

energetic as hell

if you ask him, he’s gonna drop whatever he’s doing to be with you, even if that means abandoning the guys

loves calling you silly little pet names that literally have no significance or meaning

such as: “my human-shaped teddy bear” “my little ketchup packet” “sweet baby ray’s award winning barbeque sauce”

funny shit that he generally uses whenever he wants to make you laugh or crack a smile if you’re ever mad at him for whatever reason

the guys tease him about that so much

most notably, moke calls you similar nicknames just to make fun of him

the pet names he actually uses for you consists of mama, princess, and flower

loves giving and receiving flowers soso much

soft lil kisses all the time

kisses to your head, neck, face, hands — literally anywhere that is accessible at that moment

very handsy, mostly just keeping a hand on you and touching you overall without any sexual intentions in mind

he just loves touching you

NSFW!!

very big on body worship

touches you and admires you for what feels like hours before he’s actually doing anything

even then, he is constantly worshipping you no matter the circumstances

just loves it when you get all whiny and whimpering with how much he’s loving on you

slow sex where he can take his time with you when he gets home from tour is a must

knows he’s good with his tongue so he definitely uses it to pleasure you in every way he can

you called him “papi” once as a joke and you won’t stop using it after seeing how he reacted (fucking you into the mattress fast and hard whilst calling you a “little slut” and degrading you for getting him “all worked up”)

vocal as all fucking hell

like the guy is super talented, but when he trades in the controlled harsh vocals for loud moans and those high pitched whines when you just feel so good? when he lets himself lose control a bit? an aphrodisiac in and of itself

furthermore: pull on or play with his hair and he becomes a pliable, whimpering mess

facefucking/blowjobs are his absolute favorites

besides when he’s fucking you nice and deep and praising you like there’s no tomorrow

one of his favorite things is edging you

absolutely fucking loves it when you become so desperate and needy

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

I propose a different theory about the black turtles: they are a motif for despair and make those vulnerable to despair tools of the Beast (who is himself despair).

Auntie Whispers is able to eat them (thereby ridding the Unknown of their malign influence) without turning evil not because she is magical, but because she is not vulnerable to despair

[catofthecanals289]

I could see for miles (and miles) | 16.1k | maxiel fic

I need to talk to you.

Max stares at the words until his eyes get blurry, until the row of blue bubbles, text after text after text to Daniel left unanswered, disappears behind fuzzy grey as he drops his head into his hands, heels pressing into his eye sockets, his vision nothing but buzzing static now. If he scrolled up far enough, he knows he’d get to the last message Daniel sent back to him. A simple thumbs up in reply to Max asking if he’d remember to pop by the shop on the way back from his hike with Blake. They’d run out of treats for Jimmy and Sassy. That had been a week ago.

--- A fic I wrote for my best friend @lilyrizzy 💚 as christmas gift

Thank you to Leah for making the header! And to Linnea for giving this a quick read and assuring me it didn't suck so I it would do as a gift :)

[chaossmagic]

Here it is, my first Stucky fic and first completed Bang fic, ever!

I agonised over this and it wouldn't have been possible without my lovely collaborator @estelior who listened to my ideas and let me worry about not finishing on time, and was generally really supportive and wonderful to talk to throughout the whole process.

It's short but sweet and hopefully all will like it :)

'Smile for me'

Fic by: @chaossmagic (anythingbutplatonic on AO3)

Art by: @estelior (Estelior on AO3)

For @buckybarnesevents ShrinkyClinksDoubleBang2023 💙

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen and up

Word count: 4,2k

Tags: Shrinkyclinks, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes/Non-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Artist Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Steve loves his giant nerd boyfriend, Bucky loves his tiny artist boyfriend

Summary:

It's been a long road since they first met, but Steve and Bucky still know how to make each other smile

Read on A03

Thank you so, so much to my wonderful writer @chaossmagic for choosing my art! And for our discussion of your wonderful story. I was very honored by your beautiful and sweet fic! I'm very proud of us!💙

And a big thanks to mods of the @buckybarnesevents for organized this Bang, and to every participant and their beautiful works! You are heroes! 💙

[sitkowski]

(IDK WHAT THIS IS AND I KNOW NEXT TO NOTHING ABOUT LORNA SHORE OR WILL BUT)

You know what fic trope itches my brain?

Huddling for warmth.

Because winters on the East Coast are no joke. The cold snaps into place and there's nearly a foot of snow on the ground two weeks before Christmas. Everything is cold and dark. Eventually, the power goes out in your area. You're lucky enough to have inherited your parent's place and while it's out in the woods practically in the middle of nowhere, it's got a wood stove and there's a decent stash of wood in the cellar. As long as you crack a window, you won't suffocate. So you load the sofa up with blankets and grab the portable charger you keep for times like this.

The knock on the door surprises you. Who the hell would be stupid enough to be out in this? When you open the front door, the first thing you see on the other side is a human shaped blob that you realize you know. Will has on at least four layers, maybe more. You see hints of a beanie, maybe two hoodies, all beneath a heavy puffer coat and at least two scarves.

You ask him if he's insane, even as you let him in. Because there's no way he drove here. When he tells you he walked, you start yelling at him. It doesn't matter that your places are only separated by a thin woodline and it only took him about ten minutes. Last time you checked the temperature, it was nineteen degrees out.

He doesn't seem phased by your complaints, standing by the wood stove and shedding layers. It won't be dark for hours, and the living room is the warmest room. You've got water running to protect the pipes, and enough non-perishable foods. It's not the first time you've been in an outage in the winter. You're watching him strip out of hoodies—and three pairs of sweatpants— when you realize: Will walked in nineteen degree weather to see you. When you ask him why, he just says he missed you, that as soon as he got home from tour he wanted to see you but knew there were other things he had to do first. But he was making time for you now, and the two of you could be snowed in together.

By the time he's down to his jeans and a thermal shirt, he's shaking, as if the cold finally caught up to him. You make him get beneath the pile of microfiber blankets and curl up beside him. He's freezing even with all of the layers he had on, and you wrap yourself around him, letting your body heat seep into him. He tips his head back, kissing you softly. When you look out the window beside you, you can see that the snow is starting up again and you pull the blankets up higher. The air between the two of you is humid and relaxing, and he's asleep before you know it. You pull his phone from the nest of blankets and text one of his guys, just in case someone is looking for him. Closing your eyes, you let him burrow closer, tucking his head beneath your chin as you trace your fingers over the ink on his throat.

[chaossmagic]

In the two years that Steve spent searching for Bucky, he saw him everywhere, while simultaneously finding him nowhere.

He saw him in the curl of cigarette smoke from a stranger's hand in the street, the tang of nicotine reminding him of days spent drawing on their crappy, banged-up couch - knees drawn to his chin, pencil in hand, and Bucky squished up next to him, desperate to see what was on Steve's paper, by hooking his chin over his bony shoulder, his cigarette waving perilously close to Steve's sketchpad. He remembered trying to bat him away, "Quit it, Buck, you're gettin' ash all over my sketchbook, d'ya know how much it cost?"

He heard him in the jaunty tune of a piano being played as he passed a packed jazz-style bar on one of his late-night insomnia-filled walks around the city, raucous laughter and people filling a dancefloor Bucky would 100% have been on himself if this were 1938 and people were drinking and dancing to forget the looming spectre of war coming ever closer.

He smelled him in the scent of chocolate and coffee coming from a bakery, Steve remembering how Bucky had become increasingly grumpier as sweet things like sugar and candies were rationed more and more strictly during the war. The first time they got chocolate in their MREs while fighting with the Howling Commandos, he'd practically cried, and devoured both his own and Steve's with a feverish kind of excitement more akin to a child than a haunted, hardened soldier.

He saw him in the window of a store selling designer men's clothing, knowing the Bucky he once knew would have coveted the silk ties and sharp-pressed suits on display. He was always a bit of a peacock, whereas Steve never particularly cared how he looked, because it wasn't like anyone was going to pay any attention to him anyway.

Ironic, he'd thought, because everyone is always looking at me now.

The rich, deep warmth of whiskey he couldn't drink anymore reminded him of nights in illegal bars where men danced with men and women danced with women and he watched Bucky with seething jealousy, the eyes of every person in the room on him, sweat-slick and dishevelled and so damn carefree it made Steve want to both kiss him and throttle him in equal measure.

A stranger's cologne. A stack of paperback fantasy novels, $5 for the whole lot, at a thrift store. A Louis Armstrong record Steve didn't have in his collection yet. A poster for violin lessons written in a hand that looked eerily like Bucky's. A stray cat with the same blue-grey eyes as his old friend casually licking its paw near a dumpster.

(He'd gone and fetched a tin of salmon for the cat and brought it back, after that, watched as it hungrily devoured the can and let Steve rub behind its ears for several minutes.)

(Bucky had always loved cats.)

He was everywhere and nowhere. For a guy who had died in 1945, he'd never been more alive - and that half pain, half hope, is what kept Steve going through long nights and dead ends and a silent prayer for please, Bucky, please send me something, anything, to tell me you're okay. Please. Let me help you. I can help you. Just come home.

I want you to come home.

[darksideoftheshipps]

VessWill

Vessel: I'm gonna fuck you through Eden and back.

Will: Holy shit.

I have this dirty though of Vessel, II, III and IV fucking, !read worshipping!, Will during their ritual. Because he wants to be one of them. He wants Sleep to accept him as one of his worship boys.

I plan to do a mood board.

[capseycartwright]

you're my sun, my moon, my guiding star

“Fine, let’s have it your way then,” Eddie slammed his phone down on the kitchen table. “You set me up a dating profile then – Hinge, Grindr, whatever you fucking want, Buck. Set me up a dating profile, and you pick which random man I need to sleep with to make it so you feel okay about wanting me.” 

in which evan buckley gets dumped, gets drunk with his best friend, realises he's in love with said best friend, and lets his abandonment issues get the best of him. because your first is never your last, right? so buck can't be eddie's first: he needs to be his last.

ao3 link

Buck was driving himself to Eddie’s before he could really even think about it, the autopilot of his brain engaging and getting him behind the wheel, and on the road to his best friend’s house without needing much thought at all. Eddie was who he needed, in that moment – not Maddie, and her sage advice, not Hen, who’d be clever, and logical about it all. No, he needed Eddie. Eddie, who inexplicably opened the front door in his underwear and a pink shirt. Eddie, who let them sit in silence, a playlist churning out eighties rock for a full twenty-three minutes (Buck checked) before Eddie said anything at all. 

“So,” Eddie set his empty drink down, gesturing to Buck for a second. Buck twisted the cap off before he handed it over, adding to the pile on the coffee table. “What happened? You said that you and Tommy were going to the movies tonight.” 

Buck groaned, the sound loud in the quiet of Eddie’s house. “I was supposed to be,” he slumped back onto the couch. “But then he dumped me.” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “He dumped you?”

“He dumped me,” Buck confirmed. “Because I am a deeply unlovable individual who is going to die alone.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I think you might be being dramatic there.”

“I’m not!” Buck protested. “Eddie, everyone I date dumps me – or leaves me. That apparently doesn’t even change when I’m dating a man. It’s not – I thought it would be different, with Tommy.” 

“Because he’s a man?” Eddie’s confusion wasn’t judgemental – no, Eddie never judged him, Buck was sure of that much. It was sincere confusion, his best friend wanting to understand where Buck was coming from.

“Yeah? No? I mean – maybe,” Buck huffed. He wasn’t entirely sure how to articulate himself. “I guess – I guess I just thought that now I know who I am, that I’m like – consciously aware I’m bisexual – it might be different. That maybe it didn’t work out before because there was this part of me that I didn’t know, or understand, and that had affected my relationships because I wasn’t bringing my like, whole self to the table. But if it didn’t work with Tommy, then that’s not why. Right? Then the problem is me.” 

Eddie’s expression softened. “I don’t think the problem is you, Buck.”

“It has to me! I’m the only common denominator here.”

Buck wanted to cry. He wanted to lie down on Eddie’s couch and cry until he had nothing left – and it wasn’t about Tommy, really, because Buck had liked Tommy, but the end of their relationship wasn’t what was making him feel so devastated. It was the idea of Tommy, more than anything else – what Tommy represented. A happily ever after that Buck was falling short of all over again. 

“What did Tommy say, exactly? Maybe – maybe you’re spiralling, and he gave you a good reason that you’re not seeing.” 

“He – I asked him to move in with me.” 

“Buck.”

Eddie sounded long-suffering. Buck had earned that. He knew that much. “I know,” he knew it had been the wrong move. The words were barely out of his mouth, and Buck knew it had been the wrong move – but that was sort of his thing, to cling desperately to relationships that didn’t work because he was so terrified of being alone. “I just – I felt comfortable with him, and the whole Abby thing was weird.”

“Really weird,” Eddie agreed, wincing. 

“But not the kind of weird I couldn’t get past. Right? He came over tonight, and I told him – why be apart when we could be together. Then, he said he couldn’t move in with me, because if he did, I would only break his heart,” Buck sighed. He wouldn’t intend to. That’s what Tommy had said – but who ever planned to break someone’s heart? No one was that cruel. Maybe they were – but Buck wasn’t. He’d never wanted to break anyone’s heart, even if that had been the end result sometimes. 

Eddie was quiet for a second. “Did he say why he thought you’d break his heart?”

Buck’s beer burned his throat as he took another gulp, the sour taste lingering. “He said that he was my first, but he wasn’t my last.” 

read the rest on ao3

[arborescentarecaceae]

I've been kind of meh on recent X-Men comics but this month's issue featured a gay lighthouse keeper plus Emma, Ilyana, Kate, and Lorna slaying so I have no choice but to stan

[lyralu91]

Behind the scenes of Taboo (2017) James ❤️ Lorna

[chaossmagic]

Here's mine! A snippet of my Shrinkyclinks Double Bang, with lots of hurt/comfort and Words of Affirmation style affection:

"Want me to help you take a shower, Buck?" he asked softly, keeping his voice low. "You'll feel better. It'll help your muscles relax a little, too. Might take the edge off the hurt." Bucky seemed to contemplate this for a minute. He squeezed Steve's fingers back, just a quick press of his palm, but it was there and Steve felt it. "Okay," he eventually replied, in a small, tired voice. One that Steve knew well, because it was so unlike the way he usually spoke. "You gonna wash my hair for me?" Bucky fingered the greasy strands self-consciously, chewing at his bottom lip. Steve knew he was embarrassed about his lack of self-care during bad patches, worried that Steve would think him dirty or messy. Steve, of course, thought no such things. "'Course. Got that coconut shampoo you like sittin' there, waiting for you. Could do a mask, too, if you feel up to it. Get them shiny curls out I love so much, huh?" Steve replied.

WIP last sentence game

Thanks for tagging me @sarah-writes-stucky

This is from my work for the ShrinkyClinks Double Bang

“Steve? The journalist guy?” Bruce asks and Nat nods.

I don't know who's already been tagged or done this, but I'll tag:

@sparkagrace, @musette22, @buckyismybicycle, @andrea1717, @zenaidamacrouras1, @somanywords, @dharmasharks, @cable-knit-sweater, & anyone else who wants to do it