need more fics where derek makes jam and farms organic raspberries and has six goats and makes cheese and wears sweaters
going on ao3 is very reminiscent of ff.net. twilight/teen wolf crossovers make me shudder
X-Men: Days of Future Past | Official Trailer 3 [HD]
the lack of kitty pryde makes me angry
"I went to coach a little league baseball team when I was a junior in high school. I showed up to the first practice and I wanted to be all hard nosed and wanted to make an impression, “Drop and give me ten, and do a pole to pole!” So I go in with this stern face and someone says, “Hey, you’re that kid on YouTube!” They all knew who I was and it was the weirdest thing.”
When Bucky looked down at his hands, he realized one was made of metal.
No, that’s not right. He didn’t not know it before, he’d always known he gripped one half steel. But he looked down one day and realized it wasn’t his for the first time. He spread both hands, metal and flesh, and flexed his fingers.
If he thought about it, he could imagine feeling the metal instead of knowing it; the way it never hurt or ached or sweat but it did slow down and grind and sometimes even creak. He thought about how many of the things he knew but hadn’t felt had been smoke and mirrors, lies and tricks.
And the metal didn’t even feel cold.
Sam appeared at Bucky’s side. Not stealthily, the way all the spies and heroes did. Sam moved in straight lines, always was exactly where he seemed to be.
"Let’s say hypothetically," said Sam, "that someone was working through some pretty severe trauma."
Bucky almost smiled. Sam plowed ahead.
"And this guy has trouble with all the stuff that was done to him outside of his control, both in his head and in his body."
Sam had a box of Mike&Ikes and he tipped out a few into his hand. He held the hand out towards Bucky, palm up. He was sitting on Bucky’s left.
But Bucky’s left arm wasn’t what it once was.
"So this guy takes some of that out on the arm they forced on him, right," said Sam, is hand still outstretched. Bucky didn’t turn his head but he looked at the little pills of candy sitting perfectly on a fleshy hand, held motionless in the perfect dip of the palm.
"I wouldn’t blame him," said Sam quietly.
Bucky twisted around to take the proffered candy with his right, flesh hand.
"I would only ask him: you want it gone or do you want it working?" said Sam, popping the rest of the handful into his own mouth.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, he thought.
If Bucky held Sam’s hand, flesh-to-flesh, while Tony took a blowtorch to his left side, it was only to feel the pulse under the skin. It was only to grip harder and feel the perfect palm—not a mark, not a blemish on the beautiful skin—to be closer to that.
They had put rubber in his mouth once, but Sam put flesh in his hand.
Bucky had been staying with Steve for exactly twelve hours when he met Darcy.
He scouted the kitchen twice before he ventured into it because he really, really didn’t want to run into Steve’s team of super-special-good-people. He waited through Steve grabbing his bottle of water and heading out for a run with Sam; Tony eating a microwaved burrito and heading to bead; Bruce and his bowl of yogurt; Natasha and Clint and their cereal (half of which Clint flicked at various spots around the room and some which Natasha batted away with her spoon); Thor and Jane and about six boxes of poptarts.
So he went rummaging in the cabinets when they all had wandered away. He had the bottle of orange juice in one hand and was hunting down a glass when Darcy appeared.
"Oh my god, listen to this," she said as she came in the room, popping one of her earbuds out of her ear. Without any more ado, she put the earbud in his ear.
"No, shut up," she said when he opened his mouth to protest. "Listen, jesus.”
So he did.
There was a sweet, honey voice singing over a sort of hypnotic pulsing beat. Not quite Lena Horne, but good. He couldn’t really pick out the lyrics.
"Look, if you don’t have room in your heart for disco roller derby odes to cunnilingus, I don’t wanna know you," said Darcy.
"…OK?" said Bucky.
"So you like it, right?" Darcy asked, grinning.
The song hit the chorus and, oh, an ode to cunnilingus, he saw what she was saying now. And, yeah, it was great.
He said so.
"Ten points to Gryffindor," she said and pulled the earbud away. "JARVIS, can you blast Bey out of every surface on this floor?"
"I feel I must inform you that this floor is occupied by others besides yourself and Sergeant Barnes," said the ceiling in a snooty British voice.
"So you can’t?" asked Darcy, winking at Bucky.
"I am well versed in this sort of manipulation, Miss Lewis," said the ceiling. Then the song began to blast from all sides.
Darcy grabbed Bucky by the metal hand and spun him around like he used to spin the girls in jazz clubs.
She played the song three times in a row, once while describing in minutiae what this Beyonce lady did during every frame of the music video. He could sing along with her by the third time through.
NOT ENOUGH ART OF DEREK HALE IN LARGE CABLE KNIT SWEATERS
[this has been a psa]
walking. Apparently walking is a thing he has to learn how to do again.
"You walk like you’re trying to kill someone, Bucky," Steve says, in what Bucky knows sounds like a supportive tone to the idiots around them, but what is, in fact, Steve Rogers’ patented Why Are You Such A Moron voice.
"People don’t talk to me when I walk like this," Bucky points out.
"They also won’t give you coffee."
And well, fine.
bedtime. The sleeping thing is rough. He thinks it’s safe to blame that on—well, life in general. He’s been frozen on and off for years, and they never kept him awake long enough to need to sleep (he thinks it’s why—well, he thinks that the sleep deprivation contributed to his programming failing). Before that, it’s been the goddamn war, and you slept when you could, where you could. And before that, there’d been the odd jobs Bucky had always worked, anything for an extra penny.
Steve, who’s always slept like a goddamn princess, doesn’t want to hear it. He throws a futon mattress on the floor (Bucky doesn’t even know what a futon is) and pointedly goes to bed. Bucky lays there, and he can feel Steve looking at him.
"Just go to sleep," Bucky snaps, night after night after fucking night.
"You’re keeping me up," Steve replies.
They go to bed at 9:30 and wake up at 7:00, like they’re actually 95 and 96.
"I didn’t want to say anything," Steve says over waffles when Bucky points it out, "but you could really use the beauty sleep, Buck."
Bucky smacks him. “Punk.”
(He gets used to it—eventually. He just requires some physical exertion before he goes to bed, and if he enlists Steve in that—well. It’s for a good cause, and Steve’s always been a sucker for those.)
eating. Steve Rogers can’t cook. Bucky doesn’t know who thought Steve could cook, but he can’t. Sarah Rogers taught Bucky all the family recipes because Steve was never going to carry on the family traditions, only shame.
The Winter Soldier didn’t eat for taste, he ate for sustenance. And it’s a weird thing, retraining himself from that. To eat and enjoy it, to consider a meal, to sit down and consume.
But there’s more available now than boiled dinners and potatoes and whatever things you could get cheap.
"Everyone eats well now," Steve says one night over Indian food. "It’s not seasonal, and you don’t have to make a bone last for a whole winter."
That’d been a bad winter—Steve’d been sick a lot, Bucky’d been working to help support both their families, and Sarah’d just started getting sick. There’d been one bone and by the time they threw it out, they’d gotten months’-worth of broth from it.
They get a lot of take out, places they have to look up, because Bucky thinks he’s been to at least some of them, but can’t remember. It’s easier, somehow, to eat it when it’s an adventure, a fixed point of shared experience instead of—well. This is good.
dating. “You clean up nice, I don’t get why you think she wouldn’t,” Steve says, rifling through his mail. The girl in 9H just flirted with Bucky, and Steve is offended on her behalf that Bucky wasn’t fumbling all over himself to get her number.
"I got a mirror," Bucky points out, because he knows he cleans up nice. He knows, even with the metal arm, he’s got enough going on that a girl will forgive that. Knows he can spin it into a sob story—hell, could just say wounded in combat, which is true. Doesn’t even need a cover—
But that’s the problem. He thinks about it all as covers, lies, how to seduce, edit his own history, get what he wants and then go. And maybe that was how it was, before the war. Maybe that’s how they’d been, but he can’t remember. And even if it was, it was a game, simple and light-hearted and nothing like being whored out for a cause.
"So?" Steve prompts, and Bucky longs for the days when he was goading Steve into dates, not the other way around.
Steve sighs, and picks up a take-out menu as Bucky locks the door of the apartment. He’s seen—they’ve come a long way. Guys who date other guys don’t have it as bad—can even marry, in New York. They even got a word for people who like both, but—thing is. There are other things Bucky’s got to get right. Like going into crowds, feeling threatened, walking like a human, having a social interaction, eating three meals a day and sleeping at night.
The whole dating thing—
"Sudanese?" Steve asks.
"Yeah," Bucky says, and then sighs when Steve hands him the phone to order, because Steve hates ordering food.
Y E P
Wallace Fennel, Veronica Mars
"Underneath that angry young woman shell, there’s a slightly less angry woman who’s just dying to bake me something. You’re a marshmallow, Veronica Mars. A twinkie!"
please don’t ask me how much time I spend thinking about how the metal arm attaches and how much scarring there is around it
lies down, thinks about life choices
derek sweater appreciation
derek deserves comfort
this escalated quickly
YEAH. OH, YEAH. GIMME ALL THE SIZE DIFFERENCE KINK. GIMME PRE-SERUM!STEVE BEING SO TINY THAT BUCKY CAN LITERALLY PICK HIM UP AND THROW HIM ONTO A BED, OR EFFORTLESSLY HOLD HIM UP AGAINST A SHOWER DOOR WHILE FUCKING HIM, OR FOLD HIM IN HALF AND RUT INTO HIM HARD ENOUGH TO SLAM THE HEADBOARD AGAINST THE WALL, OR CURL ALL THE WAY AROUND HIM AT NIGHT TO KEEP HIM WARM.
➸ gets into a cab only to find someone else already inside AU
➸ out walking their dog who starts chasing after the other person’s dog AU
➸ cat/dog runs away and other person finds it AU
➸ mistaken identity AU
➸ pen pals AU
➸ sit next to each other in orchestra AU
➸ partners in (literal) crime AU (theft? fraud? hacking? murder?)
➸ partners in dance class AU
➸ trapped on a deserted island together AU
➸ wizard AU where one accidentally apparates into the wrong house
➸ protester and police officer AU
➸ lab partners AU
➸ new neighbors AU
➸ one’s blind and falls in love with the other’s voice AU
➸ hair stylist/make up artist and actor/model AU
➸ bffs when they were little but one moved away and they run into each other again AU
➸ mailman(/woman) and person who receives a lot of mail AU
➸ private detective and client AU
➸ archaeologist AU
➸ paramedic AU
➸ runaway royalty and confused commoner AU
➸ android and human AU
➸ ghosts in love AU
➸ go to the same support group AU
➸ just keep running into each other everywhere AU
➸ orchestra player/pianist and concertgoer AU
➸ younger siblings are best friends AU
➸ photographer and model AU
➸ writer and editor AU
➸ immortal and non-immortal AU
➸ screenwriter and director AU
➸ greek god and roman counterpart AU
➸ ALL OF THE AUS