#syd stuff

[seeds-knees]

spotify needs to give me back the liked song feature immediately this is disgusting

[fraternum-momentum]

yeahhhqwaa

[grantaere]

SYD and RICHIE + personal space

[faunandfloraas]

241026 시드니 © minggijug

[syd-ships]

falls asleep

[ziggy0-o]

i finally found this video guys (you can watch it on youtube through the link !) it’s from the song ‘One of These Days’

[dilidos]

Rewatching season 2 and people probably talked about this to death already, but I just gotta whinge like a bitch or I'll explode. There's so much missed opportunity for Sydney&Carmy content bro. It's not even a ship thing, it's like...all these times Sydney went around eating food, we could've had Carmy going with her. Like, ordering too much because they overestimate their stomachs, shit talking the menus and restaurant decorations, eating from each other's plates - "Hey this is really good. Try this" "Yeah? Okay, uh, yeah, try mine", nerding out over specific cuisines, sharing utensils because they're weirdos, Carmy showing off his fancy connections, Sydney bouncing her ideas off him, talking about their past and their dreams for the new restaurant, talking to other people, sharing that huge fucking sundae at the end. Fuck, I just love it when they talk about the food man. It's the biggest reason why I can't accept Claire, like Carmy ditched that whole wonderful experience to go on a fucking date and it's so goddamn devastating seeing Sydney shouldered the dream of two. We could have a roadtrip episode. We could have a roadtrip episode.

[cejav13]

Season 3 of The Bear was disappointing for some critics but one episode stuck with them this year.

[treliss]

Syd Mead (1933 - 2019)

[half-facedfig]

Fink Ployd

[threads-of-gold]

I have two other things I'm working on but I'm also trying to work on another entry in the "awkward encounters" universe.

My hand slipped.

[seeds-knees]

happy they/thursday

[fraternum-momentum]

Me and the boys on our way to harass PC

portraits only under the cut:

[grantaere]

— By the way, those OGs you love waxing on and on about all come here, split one sandwich and a free cup of water and then treat the rest of us like shit.

— So this is a war on poor people?

— No, this is a war on you shutting the fuck up, Richie, and learning how to use the tablet.

THE BEAR 1.07

[jomespotter]

Suguru Geto ❥

- would satoru and shoko have been able to prevent his downfall?

maybe in another life

[weneverfreeze]

every battle-earned bruise

Elbows deep in sudsy water, scrubbing plates with his eyes kept safe on the sponge in his hand, Bucky too close to his shoulder and all the farther for it. Steve hands him a plate. Their fingers don’t touch. 

There’s a dance to this. Something careful, measured; he feels Bucky’s eyes resting directly on the corner of his jaw, then slip to his neck, then drop down his forearms. If Steve looked back he’d probably see Bucky staring at the corner like he hadn’t been watching. 

His gaze flits around the room quick as anything these days. There was a time when he’d spend hours looking at the clouds from the fire escape. Now he’s looking, always looking, always assessing threats and risks and exit plans. Steve still isn’t sure which category these particular examinations fall under. 

In the space between them, Steve asks, “You remember that time in the alley, after Peterson punched my lights out?” His voice is quiet, quiet. There is a fragility to this rhythm that could break as easily as a dropped plate. 

Bucky shifts his weight. “I remember.”

A shouting match, a sharp, radiating pain that just wouldn’t quit, not for days and days after. Bucky’s soft swear and flitting hands. Steve hands him a glass and asks, “How much of that do you remember?”

Steve risks a glance up and in their reflection in the window, Bucky meets his eyes. And back then Bucky had cursed him up and down with a damn you, damn you, why do you do this and his fingers on Steve’s jaw and Steve had spat blood out of his mouth and said, far more pathetic than he’d wanted, Steve had wiped his chin and said, I like your hands on me like that. 

They hadn’t talked about it afterwards. The draft and the war and the Howlies, the serums in both of their veins running counter to one another back then and even still now, history weighing so heavy on both their shoulders, eyes that once focused on clouds trained to focus through sniper scopes. Memory is a fraught thing. They haven’t yet cleared all the landmines stretching between them. 

Bucky sets the glass down. Steve holds his breath, stays still as Bucky’s fingertip outlines the memory of a scar on his jaw. Then Bucky’s thumb dips, resting on Steve’s bottom lip as he frowns in concentration. His memory face, Sam calls it. He slightly tilts Steve’s face from left to right and back again like he’s remembering the blood and the bruises before leaning in and kissing him. 

Oh. It’s a breath of a kiss more than anything and he wasn’t — he’s too slow, he wasn’t expecting it; Steve kisses him back a second after Bucky pulls away, still studying him with that searching expression on his face. He catches a glimpse of his own wide eyes in the window and oh, he wasn’t expecting that. Oh, oh. 

“Is that right?” Bucky asks, thumb still on Steve’s lip. “Did I do that then? In the alley?”

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he says, and Bucky’s hand falls away. He clears his throat. “No, you never — never did that.”

Bucky shrugs. Picks up the dish towel. “Must’ve just wanted to then. It’s hard spotting the difference between memories and wishes.”

He’s far away again. Farther, because he was so close just a second ago. It’s like lowering your mouth to a mirror and breathing on it to see the condensation, that’s what that kiss was. Bucky was testing him out to see what’s left between before it faded. Wasn’t he?

“Bucky,” Steve says. 

And — Bucky catches his eyes in the window, looks away, turns and leans so he’s facing him. “We really never did that before?”

“I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“But you wanted to?” he asks. 

And Steve says, “Yes.” And he says, “I would’ve kissed you back then, if you’d kissed me first.”

Bucky’s gaze dips, finds the door, the empty space at Steve’s hip where he usually wears a gun, skim past his thigh before flicking back to Steve’s. Threats, risks, exit plans. “And now?”

“Now—” Steve’s breath catches. He dries his hands on the towel Bucky’s holding and says, “Yeah, Buck. I’d kiss you now.”

He leans in this time. This time, he brushes Bucky’s hair behind his ear, threads his fingers through to cradle the nape of his neck, leaves some space between their bodies in case Bucky wants it there. Slow movements. Steve isn’t sure which one of them he’s afraid of spooking off. He exhales as Bucky eases him closer by his belt loops and when they kiss, it’s gentle. It’s a dance he half-remembers the steps to, a routine learned in dreams in a Brooklyn apartment years ago. 

Bucky’s lips are soft. He wasn’t expecting that. He thinks a lot of things would’ve been different if he’d known this back then. 

Bucky moves away first. Steve is struck again by the normalcy of him here in his kitchen, standing next to counters Steve installed and drying dishes Steve picked out at random. He doesn’t look out of place anymore. He looks — pleased. Like he got away with something he thought he’d get nailed on for sure. And Steve knows. 

“You remembered, didn’t you?” he asks. He laughs a little; Bucky smiles a little. “You knew we hadn’t—”

“I’ve been wanting to,” Bucky says. “I know you’ve noticed me looking at you. Seemed like you’ve been wanting to, too. Do you still like it when I touch you like that?”

He thumbs Steve’s bottom lip as he asks it and Steve — well. Steve’s pinned by his touch. Something like anticipation whispers its way up his spine. 

“Yes,” he says. Bucky doesn’t move his hand; Steve says, “If we finish the dishes first, will you kiss me again?”

And oh, there — that ghost of a laugh. Those eyebrows pulled in for a challenge and those eyes bright with amusement, teasing the way they used to decades ago. Shoulders broader and his smile heavier too. Bucky Barnes in his kitchen. He’d do it all over again if this is where they ended up. Every battle-earned bruise brought him back to Bucky Barnes in his kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder, waiting to finish the dishes so they can kiss again, closing the loop on a circle a hundred years in the making. Steve’s so in love he almost can’t bear it.

“Okay,” Bucky says simply, eyes alight, and their fingers brush as Steve hands him a plate.