Sunday Mornings

~*Anya*~ This is my blog about things that make me happy, like Sunday mornings, coffee, nerd stuff, and cute animals. If you happen to stumble in I hope my posts bring you a smile as well. <3

[fromhersoul]

ⓘ This user wanna sit in front of the ocean and listen to the waves.

[peekingsunshine]

@rosezemlya Not gonna lie, I live within a reasonable distance to the Pacific and don't go nearly as often as I should.

But also, OH MY GOSH YOU KNOW THE LAST UNICORN? I'M NOT SURE I KNEW THIS ABOUT YOU AND OH MY GOSH THIS MAKES ME SO EXCITED.

(sorry if my fangirl is...abitmuch, but I swear you're so cool)

[brainstatic]

A little advice from someone studying extremist groups: if you’re in a social media environment where the daily ubiquitous message is that you have no hope of any kind of future and you can’t possibly achieve anything without a violent overthrow of society, you’re being radicalized, and not in the good way.

[embervoices]

If the solution to your problems sounds like “we need a blank slate” it’s a lie. There are no blank slates, and the closest approximation people can generally imagine is “burn it all down and let God/fate/history sort it out”.

That’s not problem solving. It’s barely catharsis, in practice. It doesn’t just create more problems than it solves, it destroys more solutions than it creates.

Put the apocalypse down, and back away slowly.

Real solutions to complex, systemic problems are not so easily reduced to “us good, them evil; kill them.”

[punkrorschach]

[flower-crow]

[image transcript:

Voting as Fire Extinguisher

When the haunted house catches fire: a moment of indecision.

The house was, after all, built on bones, and blood, and bad intentions.

Everyone who enters the house feels that overwhelming dread, the evil that perhaps only fire can purge.

It’s tempting to just let it burn.

And then I remember:

there are children inside.

—Kyle Tran Myhre. end id]

[catchymemes]

via

[sexy-raccoons]

[shitposting-hobbits-to-gallifrey]

BTW for anyone too lazy to do the math a wage of $125 a day works out to about $15/hour for an 8-hour workday so..... someone in 1923 definitely had a vision of the future

[brightlotusmoon]

[peekingsunshine]

I am Pouting™

I was supposed to hang out with my new friend today, and despite the fact that I am an introvert that usually gets dopamine from cancelled plans, the--frankly, ridiculous--amount of snow my non-winter city got in the last day has destroyed the roads just enough that the freezing rain scheduled for tonight has made my driving across the city A Very Bad Idea™.

I'm making me wonder if I'm suddenly becoming extroverted.

I wanted to see himmmmm.

[sarahwroteathing]

Drabble Request:

Sam, Cantankerous, Icicles

“I’m dying,” Sam announced loudly as he slammed the car door behind him. You frowned but couldn’t afford more than a quick glance as you hit the gas, taking to the icy streets at the highest speed you could manage. 

“Hospital dying or first aid kit dying?” Checking the mirrors told you nothing about any possible pursuit, but you hoped that the heavy snowfall would make you just as hard to follow. 

“I’m soaked to the skin; the muscles in my legs are all cramping from hiding out behind that damn warehouse for four hours; I’m so fucking freezing I think there’s an icicle hanging off my nose, and it was all for nothing.” 

“No one showed?” you asked as Sam cranked the heat up in the crappy little car until the vents started whistling. 

“No.”

You grimaced, taking a sharp turn that nearly slid you onto the sidewalk. The intel had been good. Promising. A real meeting of the creepy minds, people every last branch and shadowy division of law enforcement had been dying to get their hands on for years. You checked the mirrors again. 

“Have you heard from Bucky?”

“Not since we got there.”

You quickly plotted a new route in your head, one that would let you circle back to where Bucky’s borrowed car would hopefully not still be parked. 

“I’m just going to drive by and check,” you told Sam, reaching out to stabilize him with one arm as you took an even more aggressive turn. 

“I’m sure he’s fine. That asshole is probably back at the safehouse hoarding all the blankets and using all the firewood.”

You smiled a bit at the low, grumpy mumble but did your best to hide it. Sam hated being cold. He would have all the attitude of a napless toddler until he found a way to warm up again. 

“Then I’ll make him chop more. Promise. We’re coming up on the alley. Can you check for me?”

You flew by the mouth of the alley, barely slowing, but it was enough for Sam to see clear to the other side, unobstructed.

“He’s gone.” 

“Excellent. Hold on.”

Sam was unfazed by your reckless driving, bracing a hand against the door with a sullen but unpanicked expression. You’d never crashed before, and there was no reason to think today would be any different. This was one of the skills that brought you to the ragtag little team in the first place. 

Once you were safely away from the mission site and driving required much less of your focus, you turned some of your attention to Sam, still shivering and frowning in the passenger seat. 

“Glove box.”

Sam glanced at you for a second before reaching to open the compartment. A spare hat and pair of gloves were tucked inside with three hand warming packets. Without a second’s hesitation, Sam tossed his saturated gloves and hat into the back seat and donned the new ones, tucking an activated warming packet into each palm and shoving the third one down his sweater. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, still frowning a little but not quite so severely. 

“I’ve got you,” you said simply, reaching one hand off the wheel to poke at his, admittedly very cold, nose. “And see? No icicles.”

Sam didn’t answer, but the face he made was so close to a smile that you didn’t let up quite yet.

“I’m not above bribing you into a better mood, you know.” 

“Mission failure doesn’t bother you?”

“We’re all alive, and we all did our jobs perfectly. Whatever went wrong wasn’t on us. So no, it doesn’t bother me. We’ll get another opportunity.”

“Yeah…” 

“But before that happens, we get to go relax. In a home we don’t pay any bills for. With three fireplaces. And an extra box of blankets I smuggled into the trunk.”

Sam perked up a little, finally looking at you.

“And I gave Bucky very specific instructions on where to pick up food on his way back, so there should be lovely, warm takeout waiting for us.”

Some of the tension eased out of Sam’s shoulders, and his head lolled back against the seat.

“Keep talking.”

“You can change out of your wet clothes and into something cozy and soft. And you can take a warm shower before bed. And then fall asleep while I cuddle you with such single-minded focus that you’ll mistake me for a weighted blanket. Or I can be your big spoon. Whatever you want.”

“You’re not messing with me, are you?” Sam checked.

“I would never joke about cuddling. I take it very seriously.”

Sam snorted, winning a triumphant laugh from you. 

“So, do you think you can stay alive for a few more minutes?” you asked, reaching out blindly until he grabbed your hand.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

[peekingsunshine]

Saaaaaaaaammmmmmmmm ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

He is me and I am him. I hate snow. Being cold and wet is the worst.

I will cuddle him for warmth!!!!

[chadlesbianjasontodd]

you ever think about how in star wars the four heroes that overthrew the tyrannical empire and inagurated a new government are the princess of a tragically destroyed planet, a wisecracking rogue, the last heir of a religious order of wizards who do actual literal magic, and.........a city mayor

[chadlesbianjasontodd]

i should clarify that im not disparaging lando here i'm just wondering what it's like to be in a space fantasy adventure as the ONE member of your friend group who knows what a zoning law is

[ekjohnston]

You can frequently see this in Lando's face.

[sarahwroteathing]

Giddy

[Steve Rogers x Reader]

Word Count: 2950

Summary: You take Steve on a surprise date.

Request: Steve Rogers, Giddy, Ice Skating

Warnings: None

A/N: I got VERY carried away by your choice of mood word, dear anon. I had a lot of fun with it, and I hope it's just as fun to read. Merry Christmas, my loves!

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a cuter sight than Steve Rogers sitting in your passenger’s seat for a surprise date. He brought two changes of clothes. A tote bag of snacks. A “fancy coffee” that Natasha taught him how to make, presented to you proudly in a giant thermos. Now he was sitting straight up in his seat, alternating between staring out the windows and staring at you with a goofy smile and bright eyes like this was the best day of his life. 

“Are you excited?” you asked with a laugh.

“Sorry. No one ever surprises me,” he said, looking faintly embarrassed. “At least not good surprises.”

“Nothing to be sorry about! I’ve just never seen you like this before. It’s really cute.”

From the corner of your eye, you thought you saw him begin to blush, and you wished there was a way to admire it more thoroughly without recklessly endangering you both. 

“And you still won’t tell me how long we’ll be driving?” he checked after a moment, earning a narrow-eyed look from you.

“No, Mr. GPS Brain, I’m not telling you how long,”

“Fine,” he said, still smiling, taking a moment to dig through the snack bag. “Here.”

He poked at your bottom lip until you opened your mouth to take the chocolate-covered pretzel he held up for you. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

“Mmhmm. Wait, you ate breakfast before you picked me up, right? You told me you were going to.”

“Yes, I did.”

You didn’t have to look to know he was eyeing you suspiciously.

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” you laughed, holding out your hand for a pinky promise. 

“Just checking… Do you want some apple chips? I got the green ones you like.” 

He was holding your pinky hostage now, dropping a kiss onto the back of your hand as he waited for the specific answer he clearly wanted.

“Of course, Passenger Princess Steve.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he said, not sounding particularly bothered as he released your hand to dig for the apple chips.

“You can look it up. It’s not bad.”

He hummed, depositing an apple chip in your mouth before pulling out his phone. You smiled to yourself as he typed.

“I don’t not drive. You don’t let me drive.”

“I let you drive. Just not my car.”

“I’m a fine driver.”

“Steve. I’m not convinced you’ve ever had to pass a driving test. You drive every car like you stole it.”

“Rude,” he said even as he fed you another apple chip. 

“I fear for my life and insurance rates.”

“Just break up with me now, I guess.”

You snorted. 

“Nah. It’s endearing in its own way. And you’re very good with the motorcycle, at least when I’m on it. Very gentle.” 

“Well, yeah. I don’t want you falling off.”

“I appreciate that,” you laughed.

Things continued this way for about three hours as you drove out of the city and the buildings grew more and more sparse, eventually giving way to frost-covered trees and stretches of snow-covered ground. Steve never lost his smile or his excitable energy, choosing songs that only contributed to the mood. The music had you dancing in your seat and singing to him while he laughed and watched you, joining in for a few lines when he got the hang of it.

By the time you turned off the main road, Steve was wiggling in his seat too, craning to see out all of the car windows. After two stretches of tree-lined country roads, you arrived at your destination, a large tract of land with a few large, well-maintained old buildings and wide open spaces. 

On one such space there was a decently sized outdoor ice rink, a low wooden wall with evenly spaced high posts fencing it in and rainbow colored twinkle lights upping the charm. Three small sets of wood benches like partial bleachers surrounded it on three sides, with a cheerfully painted food truck taking up the fourth side. The chalkboard menus placed just in front of the window advertised an assortment of hot drinks and pastries. 

There weren’t many people here, late morning on a weekday, no more than ten total wandering the scenic walking trails in visual range and braving the ice.

“I’ve never been ice skating before,” Steve said quietly, staring out his window with a boyish grin that set your stomach fluttering. “I never had the money for skates and then…. But that’s what we’re here for, right?”

“It is,” you said, parking in a small dirt lot and shutting off the engine. “If that sounds fun. We can also take some of the trails if you’d rather.” 

He turned to you, responding to you with an enthusiastic kiss that had you giggling against his lips.

“Yeah, it sounds fun. I want to try.”

“Fabulous. I bought you some skates. They’re in the trunk.”

Steve’s eyes got wide again, and he scrambled out of the car so quickly he almost strangled himself with the seatbelt. You followed at a calmer pace, watching with a smile as he unboxed your scuffed up old skates and his shiny new ones. 

“Thank you so much, sweetheart.” 

“Of course,” you said with a shrug. “Let’s go see how they fit.”

You grabbed your coats, scarves, and hats, leaving the skates for Steve to carry as you headed towards the rink. 

“You’ve been skating before,” Steve guessed.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been skating since I was a kid.”

He hummed, smiling at you with a mix of excitement and nerves as you approached a free space of the bleachers.

You took it upon yourself to help Steve into his skates, and he let you, teasing at the way you fussed over the fit and the laces. You got yours on much quicker and guided Steve to the gap in the barrier with one arm around his waist and your other held out for him to grab onto. 

He wobbled a little as soon as his first foot met the ice, a panicked little grimace flashing across his face as he reached out to you and the wall on his other side.

“It’s alright,” you said, trying to hold in a giggle. “You’ve got it. Hold on until you feel more comfortable.” 

You slid onto the ice seamlessly, gliding along beside him and continuing to steady him until he became a little less wobbly. 

“This is hard,” he laughed, jerking both his arms when he overcorrected his balance.

“It is,” you agreed, catching his elbow. “You’re walking on ice with knives strapped to your feet. It would be weird if it wasn’t hard.” 

“You’re making it look easy,” he said with a flustered smile. 

“Well, of course I am. I’ve had years of practice. Plus, I planned this date very intentionally. I couldn’t show off and perform a super cute romantic cliche if I wasn’t good at it.” 

“If you kiss me right now, I’m pretty sure I’ll fall,” he warned you.

“Noted,” you laughed. “Not what I meant.”

You skated out in front of him, turning smoothly to skate backwards. Steve raised his eyebrows, and you grinned at him, holding out both your hands to him.

“Give me your hands. I’ve got ya. I won’t let you fall.”

Steve glanced uncertainly at the wall, which he had been maintaining a tight grip on as he shuffled along the edge of the ice. You shifted your stance, bringing your hands closer so he could more quickly shift his grip from the wall to you. With a quick breath, he made the change, only wobbling a little before steadying again.

“There you go!” you said encouragingly, now holding both of his hands in yours, towing him gently forward as you skated smoothly backwards.

“If I’m about to take you down with me, let go, okay?” he said, with a giddy little smile that made you wish you could kiss him. But he was right. It wouldn’t take much to knock him over at this point.

“Not a chance. We’re in this together. Look how damn cute we are right now,” you said with a smile. 

Steve relaxed a little, visibly took a moment to appreciate the moment, the two of you skating together with your hands linked, staring into each other's eyes. 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he whispered to you, squeezing your hands when you laughed loud and carefree at the question.

“Obviously. Is it working?”

“Obviously,” he laughed. 

The two of you made two laps that way, earning a few smiles from the other skaters. Steve wobbled quite a few times, but you managed to steady him each time, maintaining a slow and patient pace with him. 

“You skate better backwards than I do forwards,” he noted as you began your third lap together. “I almost feel bad for slowing you down.”

“Don’t you dare,” you said, squeezing his hands again. “I’m loving every second of this.”

“I kind of want to see what you can do, though. Give you a chance to show off.”

You didn’t want to abandon him on the wall, but the smile he was giving you, somehow already proud before he’d seen you do anything, was impossible to deny.

“Alright, but just for a minute,” you said, slowly guiding his hands to the wall and helping him find a position where he could see the rest of the rink and stabilize himself at the same time.

“I got it,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he laughed. “I got it. Go make me fall in love with you again.”

“Steve!” you gasped dramatically, making him laugh again. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be charming you!” 

“You are,” he promised. “Go do it some more.” 

You bit your lip, shaking your head fondly at him as you started moving backwards again, picking up more speed before turning around. You were by no means an expert, but your grandma had enrolled you in several skating classes when you were younger, and you knew plenty of moves that looked extremely impressive to beginners and weren’t all that difficult for you to execute. First, you enjoyed a lap at full speed, enjoying the feeling, and laughing as Steve gave a loud cheer when you passed him. It was the encouragement you needed to start showing off a little more, taking care to only pull out the big guns when you were in spaces of empty ice, safely out of the way of the few other skaters on the ice.

You were halfway through another spin when you heard a brief shout and a heavy thud. When you turned back, Steve was in a bewildered heap on the ice. Biting back a laugh, you weaved quickly through the other skaters, crouching carefully as you slid up to Steve. 

“Are you okay?”

“I fell,” he said, his eyes still wide as they found yours.

“I see that,” you said gently. “Are you okay?”

“I’m bad at this,” Steve laughed, shock morphing into utter delight. 

You smiled hesitantly, reaching for him.

“Did you hit your head?”

“What? No! I just - ” He laughed again. “I fell over. I didn’t get pushed or hit a rough patch of ice I just… Lost my balance and couldn’t save it. And I fell.”

“I’ve literally never seen anyone this happy about falling on their ass in public,” you said, a giggle bubbling up at the sight of that wide, delighted smile still fixed on his beautiful face.

“I feel so normal,” 

“I’d maybe up the angst a little if you want to be normal. Bruised tailbone and all.” 

“Okay,” Steve said simply, flopping straight on his back on the ice like a toddler and sending you into a fit of giggles in the process. 

“That’s not quite what I -” You could barely breathe to get the sentence out, clasping a  hand over your mouth in an attempt to get ahold of yourself.

“That HURT!” Steve called out, still sprawled out on the ice. “I’m so EMBARRASSED!” 

“Steve,” you laughed, letting yourself drop into a seated position next to him. 

“Don’t LOOK at me!” he continued. “Leave me here to DIE!” 

“Incredible,” you said through your giggles. “We found him. The most normal man on the planet.”

Steve was laughing now too, eyes sparkling as he discovered you sprawling on the ice beside him. He wrapped an arm around you, dragging you closer to him and muffling his laughter against your skin, pressing cold little kisses to your face.

“Ready for a break?” you asked as you recovered your breath. 

“Sure,” he said. “But you’re either going to have to teach me how to get up or drag me to the exit.”

You snorted.

“Alright, come on. Scoot closer to the wall. That’ll be easier for you.” 

After a couple of false starts, Steve managed to regain his footing, grumbling playfully at the ease with which you popped up from the ice once he was standing. 

You made it to the gap in the wall successfully, and you pretended not to notice the way Steve very intentionally overbalanced as he shifted from ice to snow, falling into you with overly innocent eyes and the fakest apology you’d ever heard. 

“You’re getting too confident already,” you chastised playfully, as he hugged you tightly. “You’re not good enough to start fake falling. You’re going to actually knock yourself over again.” 

“Wow. Meanest teacher I’ve ever had,” he said, barely audible from where he had his face nuzzled against your neck.

“I’m a monster,” you agreed, tugging on his coat until he at least started shuffling back towards the bleachers with you. “Let's get our shoes back on for a minute so we can get our hands on some pastries and hot chocolate.” 

You changed quickly, tucking your belongings neatly under the bench and heading towards the food truck. Steve caught you up in his arms again as you inspected the chalk sandwich board, standing behind you and reading over your shoulder. You swayed slightly along with the music playing from the large outdoor speaker. 

“What do you think?” you asked after a moment. 

“Trying to decide between a croissant and a cinnamon roll.” 

“Easy. we’ll get both. What about a drink?”

He hummed thoughtfully, pointing at the bottom corner of the board.

“What’s this list for? Do you know?”

“I think it’s extra flavors you can add to your coffee or hot chocolate.” 

After another minute of quiet conversation, you stepped up to the window. An older woman with bright silvery hair smiled at you welcomingly.

“Hi! Can we get two croissants and a cinnamon roll, please?”

“Of course! Any drinks?”

“Do you have a favorite?” Steve asked. 

“I think hot chocolate is the way to go,” she said with a bright smile. “I like cherry in mine, but you can’t go wrong with mint.” 

“One of each?” Steve suggested, tilting his head to see your face better.

You smiled and nodded, pulling your wallet out of your purse as the woman rang up your order and read out the price. Steve’s hand disappeared from around your waist for a moment, re-entering your field of vision with his own wallet in hand.

“Hey!” you said, snatching it out of his hand. “I told you to leave that at home!”

“You sure did,” he said, eyes dancing with amusement as you flailed your arm around to keep his wallet out of reach. “Must have forgotten. Oh well.”

“You did not,” you argued, hurriedly shoving it down your sweater before he could get his hands on it, keeping one arm tucked around your own waist to keep it from falling out the bottom. 

“Seriously?”

“I win,” you said proudly, shifting awkwardly to fish your credit card from your own wallet with one hand. 

The woman in the food truck grinned back at you as she handed you your receipt.

“Oh! Almost forgot to ask. Do either of you want marshmallows or whipped cream on your hot chocolates?”

“Marshmallows,” Steve answered, poking at your sides until you squirmed, trying to dislodge his wallet from your sweater. 

“So many you can’t actually see the liquid,” you added.

“My kind of people,” she said approvingly before moving out of view to prepare your order.

“We got a good grade in hot chocolate,” you whispered to Steve, swatting at his hands. “Quit!”

“Give me back my wallet!”

Your dramatic sigh devolved into laughter as Steve kept tickling your side. You unclenched your arm, letting his wallet fall out of your sweater, knowing he would catch it before it hit the ground.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, elbowing him lightly. “Even though you broke the rules of surprise date day.” 

“Won’t happen again,” he promised, wrapping his arms back around you once his wallet was safely stored in his back pocket. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed, unconvinced. “I’ll believe it when I see it, pal.” 

“How about…” He kissed the wrinkle between your brows until it smoothed beneath his touch. “Tomorrow?”

“What?”

“We could do another surprise date day. I’ll leave my wallet at home.”

You laughed, surprised and incredibly pleased at the eagerness and joy in his eyes.

“You really want to?”

“I really want to. It doesn’t have to be - I mean, we could do this again. Or stay in all day. I don’t care.” 

You smiled at him, shaking your head in awe at that soft, excited expression on his face. 

“I’ll see what I can do. For my super cute boyfriend,” you said quietly, giggling at the way his cheeks grew a little pinker. 

“Thanks.”

“Anything for you,” you said. And you absolutely meant it.

*****

A/N: My heart is TOO SOFT HELP! As always, replies, reblogs, and asks are deeply appreciated and provide all the happy writer juice. Love you guys!

Tags: @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @a-book-pressed-rose @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr  @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us @majesticavenger @buckybarneshairpullingkink @patzammit @pato-el-cerdito

[peekingsunshine]

Oh my GOSH. SARAH. The fluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuufffff. So warm and cozy like a warm and cozy scarf and Steef being a cupcake. 😍 I love every word!!!!

[sarahwroteathing]

Friendship is Mandatory (4)

[Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Word Count: 2409

Summary: Bucky digs deep in his therapy session before heading home for laundry day with you and a new friend.

Warnings: Therapy session, cursing

A/N: Your fav dysfunctional roommates are back, and they're trying their pretty hardest! Also my glasses broke, so I was doing this blind. Be kind, please!

“You’re smiling more today,” Joe said quietly into a comfortable silence. 

There was a candle burning on the table today, wafting a warm vanilla scent through the small office. It reminded him of you. Three days ago, you’d dragged him to a candle store with a tight grip on his sleeve, insisting that you discover his candle preferences right that very second and it’s serious, Bucky, it could make or break our friendship. 

“Am I?” Bucky asked, dragging his eyes up from the slowly dancing flame. Joe nodded, gave an encouraging smile of his own.

“You’ve been smiling since we started talking about your new homelife.”

“Oh…”

He honestly hadn’t noticed, too caught up in the memories, probably talking too fast following his phone call with you in the hallway. You’d talked for fifteen minutes without breathing, hopped up on sugar from two back-to-back cake tastings. 

“How is that landing for you?” Joe asked, drawing him gently back out of his thoughts again. 

“Makes sense, I guess,” Bucky answered with a shrug. He didn’t really have any bad memories with you, something he couldn’t say of anyone else in his life. You were separate. You were safe.  

“Say more.” 

“Um…” Bucky tilted his head, eyes straying to the window as he tried to find the words he wanted. “It just feels… better. Better than before, when I was living on my own. I mean, I was fine. But I wasn’t… happy. Didn’t really expect to be.” 

“You didn’t expect to be happy,” Joe repeated curiously. 

Bucky shrugged again, shifting a little in his chair. 

“No. I was just waiting for something to happen, I guess. Waiting for…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

“Waiting for something to happen to you,” Joe guessed. “Something bad.”

“Can you blame me?” Bucky asked quietly, looking down at his hands.

“No.”

They sat in that moment together for a little while, silent but for the sound of traffic echoing up from the street beyond the windows. When Bucky looked up again, Joe did the same, meeting his eyes with a tiny smile. 

“Backwards or forwards?” he asked.

He did this sometimes. When the conversation they were having could stray in either direction. He gave Bucky the choice. 

Bucky took a deep breath, clasping his hands together in his lap. He should probably do both today. For this. Backwards first, to explain. 

“I used to take care of people,” he said quietly. “That was my whole… life. I took care of my ma, and I took care of my sisters. I took care of the neighbors. Took care of Steve. For a while.” 

If Joe was surprised by Bucky’s decision, he didn’t show it, just nodded in encouragement. 

“That was what mattered the most to me. I was good at it, proud of it. It made me happy to make them happy.”

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, mind rushing ahead into things he didn’t want to say but still probably needed to.

“But…” Joe prompted gently.

“But… then I got drafted. And things weren’t the same anymore. I mean, I still… I still was responsible for people. I still tried to take care of people. But.”

“Taking care of people meant something else.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said rubbing a thumb over the palm of his hand. “And it was… It was terrible to fail. Unthinkable. But succeeding didn’t feel… It felt bad too.”

Joe nodded thoughtfully, left space in the silence for Bucky to feel what he needed to before moving on. 

“And then for a while there wasn’t really a me to take care of anyone. And then I was barely able to take care of myself, couldn’t afford to think of much else. Just. Confused. And scared.”

“Overwhelmed,” Joe read off his face, and Bucky nodded with a frown.

“Then surrounded by people who knew more about me than I did. Or thought they did. And I was stuck being someone that wasn’t quite what anyone wanted me to be, all good or all bad. Just a… cheap imitation. That didn’t work quite right.”

Joe tilted his head, just a little, all concerned eyebrows and compassionate eyes, and Bucky rushed on before he could reflect anything. He’d already pushed himself deeper than he had planned on going today. He didn’t want to linger in this one. 

“But now,” Bucky said firmly, and Joe leaned back in his chair again, made a small gesture with his hand: message received, we’re moving on. “It’s different. It’s better.”

“Better. Unpack that for me.”

“I feel like more of a person…” Bucky said carefully. “Less like a ghost.” 

“With your roommate?” Joe clarified.

“Yeah… She doesn’t expect me to be anything besides…” Bucky gestured vaguely at himself. “Whatever’s going on in here.”

“And she helps you take care of yourself. The candles and sweaters. Bedding.” 

“She does,” he agreed, letting himself flash another smile, thinking about how you’d crawled all the way into his duvet cover trying to shove the fluffy new duvet into the corners, came out with your hair a mess of static. “And she lets me take care of her too. We take care of each other. It’s… It’s really nice to have that again.”

“I see the joy that brings you,” Joe said softly. “I can feel it too.” 

Bucky nodded, smile coming back slower and softer this time.

“Yeah.”

—---------------------------------------

When Bucky got home, you were waiting for him, bouncing on your toes as soon as you saw him and rolling up the sleeves of your oversized sweater. 

“Laundry day!” you sang. “You ready?”

Bucky smiled, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it by the door next to yours. 

“Yeah, just give me a second.” 

“I will give you as many seconds as you could possibly want. I’m not going into the murder basement without you.”

“It’s not that bad,” Bucky said with a snort, earning an unconvinced noise from you as he eased past you and your overfilled basket to retrieve his own. 

“How was therapy?” you called out. 

Bucky made a face as he swiped a pile of folded clothes from his nightstand into his laundry basket. 

“Uh, it was fine!” 

He changed quickly, not bothering to close the door when he knew you hadn’t budged from your spot by the couch. When his old clothes joined the laundry pile and he was comfortably dressed in a new hoodie and sweatpants, he joined you in the living room, laundry basket balanced on his shoulder in a way that always made you smile.

“Overcooked spaghetti fine or burnt toast fine?” you asked when he came back into view.

That was the way you always described yourself post-counseling. Either soft and mushy, in need of blankets and kindness, more prone to weepiness and affection. Or with a lingering bitterness of negative emotion, brittle, in need of nothing but space. 

Bucky took a deep breath as he followed you out into the hallway and locked the door behind you. 

“Overcooked spaghetti,” he answered, thinking about exactly how much of his session had been spent talking about you. 

“Well, good thing we’re doing laundry then. You can put on a sweater right out of the dryer. Instant cozy.”

He hummed his agreement, and you bumped his shoulder companionably as you made your way through the stairwell down to the basement. 

You grimaced a little as you hip-checked the door open. The dim lighting, electric buzz, and unfinished walls and floors always freaked you out a little, and it made Bucky unreasonably happy that you considered this the creepiest place you’d ever been. 

“I hate this place so much,” you muttered, eyeing the bottom foot of the laundry room walls, where the drywall gave way to studs and chicken wire. 

“I know. But look what I did today,” Bucky said, flipping the second lightswitch on the wall which had been abandoned by all the tenant for months. The other half of the fluorescent light panels flickered to life and you gasped, dropping your basket onto the nearest machine.

“You fixed the lights!”

“Told you I wouldn’t let you get murdered down here,” he said, claiming the machine beside yours. 

“Yeah, but I thought you were just going to mount a defense with a dirty sock or something,” you said, grabbing his hand and holding the back of it against your cheek. That’s what you did instead of hugging him, he was pretty sure. You’d never talked about it but seemed to assume it was off limits, a violation of some unspoken boundary. You didn’t ask, and he didn’t know how to offer. So you did this instead.

“Well, I can do that too,” he said, squeezing your hand gently before you let go. 

“A man of many talents,” you praised.

Bucky scoffed but said nothing, and as he sorted his laundry you tapped away at your phone until you found the playlist you wanted, half his music and half yours, created on a lazy Saturday. 

Just as Bucky was pulling the drawer out to add detergent, you gasped again.

“Did you buy fabric softener?”

“I did. I was very annoying about it too. Smelled every single bottle before choosing one.”

“Love that for you,” you laughed. “What did you go with?”

Bucky removed the cap and  held the bottle out, and you leaned in to smell the contents.

“I’m getting….” you squinted your eyes slightly. “Trees.”

“Trees?” he laughed. “You think they’d just slap ‘trees’ on the side and call it a day?”

“I’d buy it. I respect an honest label.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, setting the fabric softener on top of the machine and spinning it to face you.

“Ooooh, Alpine Vista. Well, excuse me, your Majesty.” 

“You’re not excused. I have excellent taste.”

“You do,” you said, with a great beaming smile that made Bucky flush against his will. “I’m so proud!”

“It’s just laundry. Settle down,” he laughed, but he felt a little proud of himself anyway. 

For the next three hours, you trekked up and down the stairs together with your laundry baskets, not wanting to loiter any longer than necessary in the godawful basement. Just like your two previous laundry days, you kept up a steady stream of animated chatter, though with notably more good-natured arguing than before. Bucky felt himself start to settle after the emotional rawness of therapy, and by the time the two of you hauled your baskets up the stairs for the last time, it was no longer weighing on his mind. 

He ran to the bathroom during your last bit of pre-folding stretches and was washing his hands when he heard you shriek. 

He was out of the bathroom so fast it was a miracle he didn’t break the doorknob.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

You were standing on a kitchen chair, hands clasped in front of your mouth.

“Your laundry basket moved!”

Bucky’s eyes sought out the basket in question, sitting where he left it on the rug.

“What do you mean it - ” 

He didn’t get to finish his question before it became unnecessary. The pile of sweaters and jeans inside shifted ever-so-slightly. 

“It fucking moved!” you said with an accusatory point, dragging him back towards you by his hood. 

“Okay… Uh…” He reached back, blindly patting your leg in a way he hoped was comforting as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to do about this. 

You were way ahead of him, leaning from your perch to snatch the kitchen broom and press it into his hands. 

“Okay…” he said again, approaching the basket with slow steps. You hopped off the chair and shuffled along behind him, never releasing your grip on his hood. 

He poked gently at the pile of clothes with the broom handle. Nothing. 

“Do it again,” you whispered.

Bucky shook his head, hooking the broom into the neckline of the top sweater and dragging it off of the pile. You both took half a step closer.

There was a white furry tail and one tiny paw visible for a brief second before they disappeared under the clothes again. Bucky dropped to his knees this time, reaching in to move handfuls of clothes to the couch beside him until he uncovered a small white cat curled up in his laundry basket, blinking up at him grumpily and letting out a small plaintive noise at having her cozy little home dismantled.

“You have a stowaway,” you said with quiet awe, kneeling down beside him. “Hello, friend.”

You held out your hand, and the cat gave it a dainty sniff, a tiny lick. After a nudge, Bucky did the same. His offer was met much more favorably, as the cat sat up to nuzzle her head into his hand.

“She’s so cute,” you said, mouth hanging open as you watched the cat affectionately bully Bucky for more pats and scratches. 

“I’m going to try to pick her up,” Bucky said, unsure of the reception as he reached his vibranium hand into the basket too. The cat seemed utterly unbothered as he scooped her up and set her tentatively on his lap, nosing at his legs and stomach for a moment before resolutely burrowing her way into his hoodie pocket. 

He stared down in shock at the lump in his sweatshirt as you laughed delightedly. 

“You’re the chosen one.” 

He set his hand gently on the outside of his pocket, feeling the cat begin to pur moments later. 

“Can we even keep her?” he asked, glancing up at you uncertainly. He wanted to, he realized belatedly, as the cat’s fuzzy white head poked out of his pocket again. 

“I think we’d better. She’ll track you down if we don’t,” you said with a smile. 

“You sure?” 

You switched abruptly from petting the cat to petting him, ruffling his hair until he laughed and batted your hand away.

“It makes you happy, right?” you asked, smiling like you knew the answer already, like it was the only thing worth considering.

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted.

“Then yes, I’m sure. What are you going to name her?”

He hummed thoughtfully, looking around the room until his eyes caught on the new bottle of fabric softener. 

“How about Alpine,” he suggested with a smile. 

The cat meowed quietly as if in answer, and you laughed, reaching out to pet her tiny head. 

“Nice to meet you, Alpine.”

-------------------------------

AAAAAAAH we have an Alpine! I already love her.

Give me a shout, and tell me what you think! Anons more than welcome! I can’t do what I do without you

Tags: @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @a-book-pressed-rose @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @marvels-mistress @bornfortherainydays @mybuck @my-drowning-in-time @intrepidacious @im-a-light-child @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us @creideamhgradochas @buckybarneshairpullingkink @rebekahdawkins @xxbuckysbxx

[peekingsunshine]

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Everything is going so softly and I adore it. 🥹 Scents are super important. Like, partially from a vibe perspective but also because the dishsoap my roommate and I bought for a long time always smelled like rot to me, but I didn't say anything until like two years into us living together. She was like, "why didn't you tell me? Let's get something else!" So. Totally understand the importance. But also candle scents can tell you a lot about a person. *nods sagely*

Awwwwwww, the bit where she's scared of the basement and Bucky's glad it's the scariest thing she's seen? I'm WEAK. And Alpine will help so much with Bucky accumulating *stuff*. 🤣 He's totally going to be the cat dad that absolutely spoils her and she's going to be so sweet and I love it all alreadyyyy.

Legitimately, this whole chapter just felt like Bucky was giving me a cozy hug. Thank you for my Bucky hug, Sarah. I hope you get a similar feeling (especially since I know you're not feeling well atm). ❤️

[sarahwroteathing]

Scents ARE important! I made my old roommate go to the store with me when I got a wax warmer to pick out scents. It was a bonding exercise 😅

Okay but THANK YOU for pointing that part out because I made myself emotional with that. An unfinished basement being the worst place in the world for her? Bucky was like cool cool cool I feel so normal about this I will protect you with my life but in a chill normal way this is fine

Yeeeeessss Alpine demands a pile of soft, Bucky-scented sweaters. And pillows. And blankets.

Aww I love that!! Thank you so much 💕

If I remember my outline correctly, we get a special guest star next chapter 👀 Something to look forward to

[peekingsunshine]

ohmigaaaaassh guest star????? You give us guest star? 😍

I will spend the time speculating happy thoughts....

[sarahwroteathing]

Beginner’s Guide to Falling

[Sam Wilson x Reader] Journalist AU

Summary: Your life ambitions are simple and fairly straightforward: independence, an apartment with at least one window, a career you are passionate about, and a coffee maker that doesn’t break when it smells fear. Romance has never been on your list. But when a frustrated comment at a staff meeting lands you with an assignment way out of your depth, you find yourself teaming up with Sam Wilson, the senior staff writer of a viral romantic advice column.

Chapter 1 - Coming Soon

[peekingsunshine]

Oh. My. Gosh. YAAAAAAAAAS!!! GIVE US SOME SAMMY; I'M READY!

But obviously not until you're feeling better. And then I will devour ever word. :D

[sarahwroteathing]

I’m still formulating all the little nuances of this AU Sam and it’s very fun for me. I’m so damn excited. He’s a dreamboat in a nostalgic romcom way. Thinking about this story was how I calmed myself down before my evaluation meeting today

[peekingsunshine]

He's definitely a tall glass of cool water. 😁😍 Very soothing, indeed.

I hope your evaluation went well?

[sarahwroteathing]

Friendship is Mandatory (4)

[Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Word Count: 2409

Summary: Bucky digs deep in his therapy session before heading home for laundry day with you and a new friend.

Warnings: Therapy session, cursing

A/N: Your fav dysfunctional roommates are back, and they're trying their pretty hardest! Also my glasses broke, so I was doing this blind. Be kind, please!

“You’re smiling more today,” Joe said quietly into a comfortable silence. 

There was a candle burning on the table today, wafting a warm vanilla scent through the small office. It reminded him of you. Three days ago, you’d dragged him to a candle store with a tight grip on his sleeve, insisting that you discover his candle preferences right that very second and it’s serious, Bucky, it could make or break our friendship. 

“Am I?” Bucky asked, dragging his eyes up from the slowly dancing flame. Joe nodded, gave an encouraging smile of his own.

“You’ve been smiling since we started talking about your new homelife.”

“Oh…”

He honestly hadn’t noticed, too caught up in the memories, probably talking too fast following his phone call with you in the hallway. You’d talked for fifteen minutes without breathing, hopped up on sugar from two back-to-back cake tastings. 

“How is that landing for you?” Joe asked, drawing him gently back out of his thoughts again. 

“Makes sense, I guess,” Bucky answered with a shrug. He didn’t really have any bad memories with you, something he couldn’t say of anyone else in his life. You were separate. You were safe.  

“Say more.” 

“Um…” Bucky tilted his head, eyes straying to the window as he tried to find the words he wanted. “It just feels… better. Better than before, when I was living on my own. I mean, I was fine. But I wasn’t… happy. Didn’t really expect to be.” 

“You didn’t expect to be happy,” Joe repeated curiously. 

Bucky shrugged again, shifting a little in his chair. 

“No. I was just waiting for something to happen, I guess. Waiting for…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

“Waiting for something to happen to you,” Joe guessed. “Something bad.”

“Can you blame me?” Bucky asked quietly, looking down at his hands.

“No.”

They sat in that moment together for a little while, silent but for the sound of traffic echoing up from the street beyond the windows. When Bucky looked up again, Joe did the same, meeting his eyes with a tiny smile. 

“Backwards or forwards?” he asked.

He did this sometimes. When the conversation they were having could stray in either direction. He gave Bucky the choice. 

Bucky took a deep breath, clasping his hands together in his lap. He should probably do both today. For this. Backwards first, to explain. 

“I used to take care of people,” he said quietly. “That was my whole… life. I took care of my ma, and I took care of my sisters. I took care of the neighbors. Took care of Steve. For a while.” 

If Joe was surprised by Bucky’s decision, he didn’t show it, just nodded in encouragement. 

“That was what mattered the most to me. I was good at it, proud of it. It made me happy to make them happy.”

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, mind rushing ahead into things he didn’t want to say but still probably needed to.

“But…” Joe prompted gently.

“But… then I got drafted. And things weren’t the same anymore. I mean, I still… I still was responsible for people. I still tried to take care of people. But.”

“Taking care of people meant something else.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said rubbing a thumb over the palm of his hand. “And it was… It was terrible to fail. Unthinkable. But succeeding didn’t feel… It felt bad too.”

Joe nodded thoughtfully, left space in the silence for Bucky to feel what he needed to before moving on. 

“And then for a while there wasn’t really a me to take care of anyone. And then I was barely able to take care of myself, couldn’t afford to think of much else. Just. Confused. And scared.”

“Overwhelmed,” Joe read off his face, and Bucky nodded with a frown.

“Then surrounded by people who knew more about me than I did. Or thought they did. And I was stuck being someone that wasn’t quite what anyone wanted me to be, all good or all bad. Just a… cheap imitation. That didn’t work quite right.”

Joe tilted his head, just a little, all concerned eyebrows and compassionate eyes, and Bucky rushed on before he could reflect anything. He’d already pushed himself deeper than he had planned on going today. He didn’t want to linger in this one. 

“But now,” Bucky said firmly, and Joe leaned back in his chair again, made a small gesture with his hand: message received, we’re moving on. “It’s different. It’s better.”

“Better. Unpack that for me.”

“I feel like more of a person…” Bucky said carefully. “Less like a ghost.” 

“With your roommate?” Joe clarified.

“Yeah… She doesn’t expect me to be anything besides…” Bucky gestured vaguely at himself. “Whatever’s going on in here.”

“And she helps you take care of yourself. The candles and sweaters. Bedding.” 

“She does,” he agreed, letting himself flash another smile, thinking about how you’d crawled all the way into his duvet cover trying to shove the fluffy new duvet into the corners, came out with your hair a mess of static. “And she lets me take care of her too. We take care of each other. It’s… It’s really nice to have that again.”

“I see the joy that brings you,” Joe said softly. “I can feel it too.” 

Bucky nodded, smile coming back slower and softer this time.

“Yeah.”

—---------------------------------------

When Bucky got home, you were waiting for him, bouncing on your toes as soon as you saw him and rolling up the sleeves of your oversized sweater. 

“Laundry day!” you sang. “You ready?”

Bucky smiled, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it by the door next to yours. 

“Yeah, just give me a second.” 

“I will give you as many seconds as you could possibly want. I’m not going into the murder basement without you.”

“It’s not that bad,” Bucky said with a snort, earning an unconvinced noise from you as he eased past you and your overfilled basket to retrieve his own. 

“How was therapy?” you called out. 

Bucky made a face as he swiped a pile of folded clothes from his nightstand into his laundry basket. 

“Uh, it was fine!” 

He changed quickly, not bothering to close the door when he knew you hadn’t budged from your spot by the couch. When his old clothes joined the laundry pile and he was comfortably dressed in a new hoodie and sweatpants, he joined you in the living room, laundry basket balanced on his shoulder in a way that always made you smile.

“Overcooked spaghetti fine or burnt toast fine?” you asked when he came back into view.

That was the way you always described yourself post-counseling. Either soft and mushy, in need of blankets and kindness, more prone to weepiness and affection. Or with a lingering bitterness of negative emotion, brittle, in need of nothing but space. 

Bucky took a deep breath as he followed you out into the hallway and locked the door behind you. 

“Overcooked spaghetti,” he answered, thinking about exactly how much of his session had been spent talking about you. 

“Well, good thing we’re doing laundry then. You can put on a sweater right out of the dryer. Instant cozy.”

He hummed his agreement, and you bumped his shoulder companionably as you made your way through the stairwell down to the basement. 

You grimaced a little as you hip-checked the door open. The dim lighting, electric buzz, and unfinished walls and floors always freaked you out a little, and it made Bucky unreasonably happy that you considered this the creepiest place you’d ever been. 

“I hate this place so much,” you muttered, eyeing the bottom foot of the laundry room walls, where the drywall gave way to studs and chicken wire. 

“I know. But look what I did today,” Bucky said, flipping the second lightswitch on the wall which had been abandoned by all the tenant for months. The other half of the fluorescent light panels flickered to life and you gasped, dropping your basket onto the nearest machine.

“You fixed the lights!”

“Told you I wouldn’t let you get murdered down here,” he said, claiming the machine beside yours. 

“Yeah, but I thought you were just going to mount a defense with a dirty sock or something,” you said, grabbing his hand and holding the back of it against your cheek. That’s what you did instead of hugging him, he was pretty sure. You’d never talked about it but seemed to assume it was off limits, a violation of some unspoken boundary. You didn’t ask, and he didn’t know how to offer. So you did this instead.

“Well, I can do that too,” he said, squeezing your hand gently before you let go. 

“A man of many talents,” you praised.

Bucky scoffed but said nothing, and as he sorted his laundry you tapped away at your phone until you found the playlist you wanted, half his music and half yours, created on a lazy Saturday. 

Just as Bucky was pulling the drawer out to add detergent, you gasped again.

“Did you buy fabric softener?”

“I did. I was very annoying about it too. Smelled every single bottle before choosing one.”

“Love that for you,” you laughed. “What did you go with?”

Bucky removed the cap and  held the bottle out, and you leaned in to smell the contents.

“I’m getting….” you squinted your eyes slightly. “Trees.”

“Trees?” he laughed. “You think they’d just slap ‘trees’ on the side and call it a day?”

“I’d buy it. I respect an honest label.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, setting the fabric softener on top of the machine and spinning it to face you.

“Ooooh, Alpine Vista. Well, excuse me, your Majesty.” 

“You’re not excused. I have excellent taste.”

“You do,” you said, with a great beaming smile that made Bucky flush against his will. “I’m so proud!”

“It’s just laundry. Settle down,” he laughed, but he felt a little proud of himself anyway. 

For the next three hours, you trekked up and down the stairs together with your laundry baskets, not wanting to loiter any longer than necessary in the godawful basement. Just like your two previous laundry days, you kept up a steady stream of animated chatter, though with notably more good-natured arguing than before. Bucky felt himself start to settle after the emotional rawness of therapy, and by the time the two of you hauled your baskets up the stairs for the last time, it was no longer weighing on his mind. 

He ran to the bathroom during your last bit of pre-folding stretches and was washing his hands when he heard you shriek. 

He was out of the bathroom so fast it was a miracle he didn’t break the doorknob.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

You were standing on a kitchen chair, hands clasped in front of your mouth.

“Your laundry basket moved!”

Bucky’s eyes sought out the basket in question, sitting where he left it on the rug.

“What do you mean it - ” 

He didn’t get to finish his question before it became unnecessary. The pile of sweaters and jeans inside shifted ever-so-slightly. 

“It fucking moved!” you said with an accusatory point, dragging him back towards you by his hood. 

“Okay… Uh…” He reached back, blindly patting your leg in a way he hoped was comforting as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to do about this. 

You were way ahead of him, leaning from your perch to snatch the kitchen broom and press it into his hands. 

“Okay…” he said again, approaching the basket with slow steps. You hopped off the chair and shuffled along behind him, never releasing your grip on his hood. 

He poked gently at the pile of clothes with the broom handle. Nothing. 

“Do it again,” you whispered.

Bucky shook his head, hooking the broom into the neckline of the top sweater and dragging it off of the pile. You both took half a step closer.

There was a white furry tail and one tiny paw visible for a brief second before they disappeared under the clothes again. Bucky dropped to his knees this time, reaching in to move handfuls of clothes to the couch beside him until he uncovered a small white cat curled up in his laundry basket, blinking up at him grumpily and letting out a small plaintive noise at having her cozy little home dismantled.

“You have a stowaway,” you said with quiet awe, kneeling down beside him. “Hello, friend.”

You held out your hand, and the cat gave it a dainty sniff, a tiny lick. After a nudge, Bucky did the same. His offer was met much more favorably, as the cat sat up to nuzzle her head into his hand.

“She’s so cute,” you said, mouth hanging open as you watched the cat affectionately bully Bucky for more pats and scratches. 

“I’m going to try to pick her up,” Bucky said, unsure of the reception as he reached his vibranium hand into the basket too. The cat seemed utterly unbothered as he scooped her up and set her tentatively on his lap, nosing at his legs and stomach for a moment before resolutely burrowing her way into his hoodie pocket. 

He stared down in shock at the lump in his sweatshirt as you laughed delightedly. 

“You’re the chosen one.” 

He set his hand gently on the outside of his pocket, feeling the cat begin to pur moments later. 

“Can we even keep her?” he asked, glancing up at you uncertainly. He wanted to, he realized belatedly, as the cat’s fuzzy white head poked out of his pocket again. 

“I think we’d better. She’ll track you down if we don’t,” you said with a smile. 

“You sure?” 

You switched abruptly from petting the cat to petting him, ruffling his hair until he laughed and batted your hand away.

“It makes you happy, right?” you asked, smiling like you knew the answer already, like it was the only thing worth considering.

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted.

“Then yes, I’m sure. What are you going to name her?”

He hummed thoughtfully, looking around the room until his eyes caught on the new bottle of fabric softener. 

“How about Alpine,” he suggested with a smile. 

The cat meowed quietly as if in answer, and you laughed, reaching out to pet her tiny head. 

“Nice to meet you, Alpine.”

-------------------------------

AAAAAAAH we have an Alpine! I already love her.

Give me a shout, and tell me what you think! Anons more than welcome! I can’t do what I do without you

Tags: @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @a-book-pressed-rose @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @marvels-mistress @bornfortherainydays @mybuck @my-drowning-in-time @intrepidacious @im-a-light-child @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us @creideamhgradochas @buckybarneshairpullingkink @rebekahdawkins @xxbuckysbxx

[peekingsunshine]

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Everything is going so softly and I adore it. 🥹 Scents are super important. Like, partially from a vibe perspective but also because the dishsoap my roommate and I bought for a long time always smelled like rot to me, but I didn't say anything until like two years into us living together. She was like, "why didn't you tell me? Let's get something else!" So. Totally understand the importance. But also candle scents can tell you a lot about a person. *nods sagely*

Awwwwwww, the bit where she's scared of the basement and Bucky's glad it's the scariest thing she's seen? I'm WEAK. And Alpine will help so much with Bucky accumulating *stuff*. 🤣 He's totally going to be the cat dad that absolutely spoils her and she's going to be so sweet and I love it all alreadyyyy.

Legitimately, this whole chapter just felt like Bucky was giving me a cozy hug. Thank you for my Bucky hug, Sarah. I hope you get a similar feeling (especially since I know you're not feeling well atm). ❤️

[sarahwroteathing]

Coffee and Cinnamon Masterlist

[Steve Rogers x Reader]

Mini Series Summary: You and Natasha own a small bookstore next to an even smaller bakery. The fact that both establishments sell coffee is… a bit of a problem.

Coffee and Cinnamon

Maple Latte

Apples and Cherries

Strawberries and Chocolate - Coming Soon

[exposition-belongs-somewhere]

Oooh. There’s a master list now for these two 💕

[sarahwroteathing]

There sure is. The little human disasters ☺️

[peekingsunshine]

SARAH MY CURRENT TONE IS JUST SCREAMING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE YOU HAVE SO MANY THINGS COMING OUT!!!! 😍😍😍

[sarahwroteathing]

I do indeed 😂

Also I believe there was a Friendship is Mandatory update while you were gone, if you wanna go indulge in some “oh my god they were roommates”

[peekingsunshine]

OH MY GOSH AND I GET AN OH MY GOSH THEY WERE ROOMMATES?!?!

Sarah, you spoil me!!!!

[omgpoetry]

this is funny

like really, really funny

[fakenails]

I have googled my life away. I have read bible verses. I have studied the ohilosophical meaning behind the numbers. I have become a modern Gallup trying to ask people to help me figure this out. What the FUCK does it mean.

[agentstarkrodgers]

Reblog when you get it…

[yongmalyang]

THIS IS DRIVING ME CRAZY WHAT DOES IT MEAN

[sarahwroteathing]

Coffee and Cinnamon Masterlist

[Steve Rogers x Reader]

Mini Series Summary: You and Natasha own a small bookstore next to an even smaller bakery. The fact that both establishments sell coffee is… a bit of a problem.

Coffee and Cinnamon

Maple Latte

Apples and Cherries

Strawberries and Chocolate - Coming Soon

[exposition-belongs-somewhere]

Oooh. There’s a master list now for these two 💕

[sarahwroteathing]

There sure is. The little human disasters ☺️

[peekingsunshine]

SARAH MY CURRENT TONE IS JUST SCREAMING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE YOU HAVE SO MANY THINGS COMING OUT!!!! 😍😍😍

[sarahwroteathing]

Beginner’s Guide to Falling

[Sam Wilson x Reader] Journalist AU

Summary: Your life ambitions are simple and fairly straightforward: independence, an apartment with at least one window, a career you are passionate about, and a coffee maker that doesn’t break when it smells fear. Romance has never been on your list. But when a frustrated comment at a staff meeting lands you with an assignment way out of your depth, you find yourself teaming up with Sam Wilson, the senior staff writer of a viral romantic advice column.

Chapter 1 - Coming Soon

[peekingsunshine]

Oh. My. Gosh. YAAAAAAAAAS!!! GIVE US SOME SAMMY; I'M READY!

But obviously not until you're feeling better. And then I will devour ever word. :D

[sarahwroteathing]

The Grey Area (1)

Word Count: 2129

Summary: As a private investigator struggling to make ends meet, you really can’t afford to turn down any cases that come your way. When a call comes in from a potentially high-paying client, you take the meeting.

Warnings: Maybe like one curse word? Descriptions of the beginning symptoms of an anxiety attack

A/N: Something new! I was in the zone last night and this just kinda. Came out. This will feature some characters from Jessica Jones, but you don’t need to have watched it to follow the plot. Future chapters may contain spoilers, but if they come up, I’ll warn you. But it will diverge from cannon. I’ll call it an AU Lite

It seemed to you that everything about this place was designed to make you uncomfortable. Polished floors, spotless glass, sleek metal. Expensive, cold, immaculate - everything you’d expect to find at the offices of Jeryn Hogarth, the most notoriously cunning attorney New York had to offer. Her reputation was undoubtedly contributing to your uneasiness.

While your sometimes - friend and fellow private investigator Jessica Jones was more than familiar with this woman, you had never found yourself on her radar. But the voicemail Hogarth had left you in the early morning hours while you slept was a chilling proof that this was no longer the case. She gave no particulars, only briefly citing the connection Jessica provided between the two of you and mentioning a job which she believed you’d be very motivated to take. While you questioned what job parameters could ever ease the anxiety that swirled in your stomach at the thought of working with Jeri Hogarth, you also knew that you were financially incapable of turning down any case that may come your way. You were willing to bet Hogarth knew that too. 

Keep reading

[peekingsunshine]

Sarah, OH MY GOSH. The CACKLE that escaped my lips at that last twist. OH MY GOSH.

Dearie, dearie me, Stevie. What are we going to do with you?

Also, may I say. I’m not overly fond of Hogarth so I can’t wait for her to go fly a kite or something.

I’m rubbing my hands together. I just know this is gonna be good. 😁

[sarahwroteathing]

Oh my goodness HELLO I missed you and there’s so much stuff for you to read and look at 😂

I’m literally so excited for this series. When I started it a while back, I was getting so much random hate for various reasons that I didn’t have it in me to take a new series off the ground. But now I simply do not care and I’m ready to have FUN so LETS GO BESTIES

[peekingsunshine]

I MISSED YOU TOO! Life has had a lot of changes lately and I'm still getting in the groove of my new life and haven't been on as much. I can't wait to catch up!

I'm so sorry that there were ignorant people who made you feel bad and didn't see how absolutely wonderful you are. You are so strong and amazing for fighting through that!!!

I am BUCKLED UP and READY!

[sarahwroteathing]

Project Amaranth (4)

[Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Word Count: 2268

Summary: Bucky and Sam move you to a new safe house.

Warnings: None

A/N: AH sorry, my loves. I had class tonight and didn't notice that the post didn't go through when it was supposed to. Nice to know that my queue still only works half the time. Reliably unreliable. Anyway! Happy Halloween!

Catch up here!

"How does he already look mad?" Sam sighed as the car cleared the last bend in the long, heavily forested road to Steve's house.

He was waiting on the porch, leaning on the rail with crossed arms and a displeased expression as he watched them approach up the gravel drive.

"His face got stuck that way when he was eight years old. Try not to take it personally," Bucky said mildly, smirking at the snort it elicited from Sam.

"Alright, I'll go talk to him. Let him know what's going on before we spring his new roommate on him"

"He's not going to say no," Bucky said, glancing at you where you sat in the backseat, hands tightly clenched in your lap.

"I know, but we still need to give him a chance to."

Sam put the car in park, pausing for a moment to meet your eyes in the rearview mirror.

"One way or another, we'll figure this out. We've never been good at giving up on people. You okay with me telling Steve everything you've shared with us so far?"

The corner of your mouth tugged down, but you nodded.

"Okay. I assume you two need to talk too. Bucky, I'll text you when we're ready for you. But take all the time you need."

With one last nod that seemed more for his own benefit than for yours or Bucky's, Sam climbed out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. You watched in silence as he approached Steve, clapping him on the shoulder and drawing him into a brief hug before gesturing him inside. Steve glanced towards the car curiously, but made no show of protest, disappearing into the house and closing the door behind them.

"You didn't warn him," you said quietly. "About me. He doesn't know I'm here or what you're going to ask him to do."

Though your words had a ring of accusation, your voice was flat, emotionless. He knew it well. It never meant anything good.

With a bracing breath, Bucky unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, moving quickly to join you in the backseat before you could jump to any dangerous conclusions. You looked a little startled by his sudden closeness, but you tried to hide it, scooting a couple inches away from him while masking it as a change in position. Your shoulder pressed firmly against the door, but you didn't reach for the handle, watching him closely.

"We didn't tell him because we didn't want to risk anyone else finding out. Sam called to tell him we were visiting, and that was enough to let him know something was going on without tipping off anyone who might have been listening."

You pursed your lips, turning your head slightly to scan the surrounding trees while keeping Bucky in your peripheral.

"I thought you said he was your best friend. Do best friends not visit each other?"

Bucky smiled a little.

"I visit. I just never ask."

Your eyes returned to his as you gave a speculative hum.

"And Sam Wilson?"

"Sets up visits at least a week in advance."

"He sounds like a better friend."

"He might be. But Steve's known me too long to give up on me now. He's always happy to see us anyway."

The small smile you'd been sporting slipped a little.

"Not this time."

"He's just worried. He'll get over it. I just want to make sure you're still okay with this plan before we go inside."

"Well, I don't have a better one, so..." You sighed. "Nothing can be worse than where I was before."

"Come on now. The couch wasn't that bad."

Bucky smiled when his comment shocked a laugh out of you. Fleeting and confused, but a laugh nonetheless.

"That's - That's not what I - "

"I know," Bucky said with a shrug. "But it made you smile for a second."

You stared at him, something strange passing through your eyes. He thought you may have been about to speak, but the chirping of his phone had you receding again behind a stoic mask. 

Sam, telling him they were ready. 

“You alright?”

You nodded.

“I trust Steve with my life,” he reminded you quietly. “He’ll always try to do the right thing. He won’t hurt you.”

“What if I hurt him?” 

“Do you want to?”

“No, of course not,” you said quietly, frowning down at your hands.

“Then you won’t,” Bucky said with a shrug. 

“That simple?” you scoffed, but Bucky stayed steady, nodding slowly. 

“This time? Yeah, I think it is.” 

You broke eye contact again to tug restlessly at the neckline of your borrowed sweatshirt. 

“Ready?”

“I guess.” 

Bucky slipped out of the backseat, holding the door open for you as you followed. Neither of you spoke as you approached the front door, the crunch of gravel beneath your boots softening to a nearly silent step on the porch. He couldn’t tell whether it was intentional or instinct.

Sam and Steve were sitting on the couch when the two of you walked in, but Steve stood slowly as you came into view. You held position one step behind Bucky and half a step to the right. 

“Hi,” Steve said with a gentle smile, keeping his hands shoved deep in his pockets to curb the habit of a polite handshake. “I’m Steve.” 

You gave an uneasy nod, face tense and blank like you were unsure how to act or what to say in this situation.

“I know we’ve just met, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, head tilting to the side in question as your eyes darted to Bucky and back to Steve again. Steve wasn’t smiling anymore, eyes solemn and projecting that 110% sincerity that only he could pull off. 

“Whatever happened before and whatever Hydra did to you, I hope you know that you didn’t deserve this.”

You blinked hard, faltering a shuffled step backwards. Bucky stepped in smoothly before the overwhelm could shift to panic.

“Does this mean she can stay here with you?” he asked. 

“Of course. As long as she needs.” 

Bucky glanced over to you, and though you still looked slightly dazed you nodded your acceptance. 

“Okay. Her stuff is in the car. Give me a hand with it.”

The sharp clap he landed to Steve’s shoulder left no room for argument, and you lingered uncomfortably in the hall as Steve followed Bucky outside. 

“You’re going to need to ease up a little, pal,” Bucky said softly as they trailed down the porch steps. 

The sun had already set, but full dark had not yet descended. Between the gaps in the trees, the clouds were clinging to the last of their fiery glow. 

“I just wanted her to know where I stand,” Steve said, holding out his hands obligingly as Bucky reached into the backseat for your borrowed duffle bag and the two heavy backpacks from the bunker. 

“I get that, but you can’t treat her the same way you treated me when you found me again. Even when I could barely remember you, I still loved you. Like muscle memory. It made things easier. But if you try to talk to her about her feelings, she might punch you.” 

“Give me a little credit,” Steve said, accepting the duffle and choosing not to comment when Bucky kept a tight hold on both backpacks. “I wasn’t going to start with that.”

“I mean it. Go easy.”

Something shifted in Steve’s eyes at the severe expression Bucky leveled him with. 

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll give her space. I’m not trying to scare her off, Buck.” 

“I know you wouldn’t mean to. But your heart's too big for your own good, and that can be… a lot. For people who aren’t used to it.” 

Steve nodded slowly, a smile starting to creep up the corner of his mouth. 

“What did Sam call it again?”

“Aggressive compassion.” 

“Yep that’s the one,” Steve said with a snort. “I’ll try to tone it down for now. No promises.” 

When they reentered the cabin, Sam had managed to convince you to sit on the couch with him. You still looked uncomfortable, but you seemed to be making a concentrated effort to push through it. 

Bucky surrendered custody of the backpacks to you immediately, and as you started to tuck them between your feet and the couch, Steve spoke up.

“Let me show you where you’ll be staying. So you have somewhere safe to keep those.”

You looked up at him, fingers tensing slightly around the straps before you nodded.

“Okay.”

The guest bedroom Steve led you too was the same room Bucky always stayed in when he visited. He’d probably spent more time here than he had in his own apartment bedroom. It was small but clean, the queen bed in the center was crisply made and covered with a plush green duvet. There was only room for one bedside table, equipped with a small lamp, a candle, and an unopened box of tissues. There were two extra phone chargers in the drawer. 

Steve set your duffle bag down on the foot of the bed.

“It’s not much, but I hope you’ll be comfortable. There’s a fan and an electric blanket in the closet if you get too warm or too cold…” he trailed off, looking around the room for inspiration before shrugging. “If there’s anything you need, just let me know. The bathroom is across the hall, and it’s just for you. I use a different one.” 

“Thank you,” you said quietly. 

“You’re welcome. We’ll give you some space to unpack. Look around.”

You nodded absently, already opening the closet and shoving the two backpacks into the back corner. Steve didn’t comment, leading Bucky back out to the living room in pensive silence.

“Everything good?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Steve said. “How long does she need to stay for? What’s the plan?”

Sam looked pointedly at Bucky who rolled his eyes.

“We’re working on it.” 

“Working on it…” Steve repeated, his face carefully neutral.

“I’ve been focusing on getting her somewhere safe,” Bucky said, crossing his arms defensively. “I haven’t had time to think much farther than that.” 

“Okay…” Steve said quietly, but the slight strain lurking behind the calm facade made Sam snort. 

“I think you’re breaking his brain.”

“He’s done plenty without a plan before,” Bucky argued. 

Steve hummed noncommittally. 

“Having no plan is better than having a bad plan.”

Sam obligingly switched sides, hearing the frustration in Bucky’s voice. This was intensely personal for him. He was terrified of fucking it up.

“Give us a couple weeks. We’ll come by again and figure things out,” Sam said, standing from the couch.

“Okay,” Steve agreed, accepting the handshake-turned-hug Sam offered.

“We should probably go. Let you guys get settled,” Sam said, turning towards Bucky. “You ready?”

Bucky glanced back towards the door of the guest room. 

“I’ll meet you at the car. I wanna…” He gestured vaguely at the hallway, and Sam shot him a significant look.

“This was your idea, you know.”

“I know. I’m not - I just want to check on her before we leave.”

“You told me you’d be cool about this.”

“And I am. But I wanna see where her head’s at.”

Sam sighed. 

“Alright. Five minutes.”

“Or what? You’re gonna leave me here?” Bucky asked skeptically.

“No. But I am gonna talk to you about boundaries and countertransference all the way back home.” 

“Fine. Five minutes,” Bucky said with a grimace, waving Sam towards the front door. 

Steve shot Bucky a curious look that he pretended not to notice before following Sam.

You were sitting on the bed when Bucky entered the room, looking around the small space with the frown of a lost child. You glanced up at the sound of his boots on the old hardwood, but your expression did not change.

“Are you going to be okay here?” he asked, resisting the urge to close the door behind him. Sam and Steve would be outside by now. “You feel comfortable?”

You tilted your head curiously, gave a little shrug.

“I’m fine. Better than the alternatives.”

“So you’ll stay?” he asked carefully. “You’re not going to run?” 

“For now, I will stay,” you confirmed.

Bucky studied you for a moment, the way you always studied him. You sat still, patiently allowing his gaze to linger without comment. You looked sincere, as far as he could tell. Nervous but not quite restless. He had no way of knowing how long your resolve would last, but for the moment it seemed that you at least wanted to stay.

“Could you tell me if that changes? Please?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. Not anger. Focus. 

“You’re worried,” you said softly, and Bucky took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Tell me why?”

He bit his lip absently. He didn’t want to lie to you, but he wasn’t sure how much of the truth to share. How much would make you feel safe. How much would make you run.

“I want to help you, but I’m not sure I’m doing it right,” he said finally.

You sat with that for a moment, never taking your eyes off him. 

“I’m not in chains,” you said. “I’m free to walk away when I want to. That’s what you told me.” 

“Yeah.”

“If you weren’t helping me the right way, I would leave.” 

“That’s… true.”

“It is,” you said insistently, standing to move a little closer to him.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “So… good, for now?”

“Good. For now.”

---------------------

I've been missing this one - what about you? How are ya feeling? What are we thinking?

Tags: @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @a-book-pressed-rose @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us @creideamhgradochas @buckybarneshairpullingkink @rebekahdawkins @xxbuckysbxx

[peekingsunshine]

inhlefwASeruagrgiHGH iPp

GIH

ihp

GIHPPg

STEEF. I love him so much! Also, aggressive compassion is a fantastic description and I will hug that phrase close to my chest. 🤣

All of the boys are the best. I love so much that they're all trying so hard to help her and are keeping each other from crossing any lines in their concern. I ESPECIALLY love when Bucky says the thing about wanting to help but not sure if he's going about it the right way--I wish more book characters (and people irl tbh) would say that; it's such a deterrent against miscommunication in a way that also makes sure the focus is still on the person who needs help (as opposed to the idea of "I want to help so that I feel fulfilled/helpful/gratified" if that makes sense?).

I CANNOT wait for her and Steve to have shenanigans (I am a firm believer that Steve is incapable of a truly quiet retirement in any universe) and to talk about Bucky.

[sarahwroteathing]

The Grey Area (1)

Word Count: 2129

Summary: As a private investigator struggling to make ends meet, you really can’t afford to turn down any cases that come your way. When a call comes in from a potentially high-paying client, you take the meeting.

Warnings: Maybe like one curse word? Descriptions of the beginning symptoms of an anxiety attack

A/N: Something new! I was in the zone last night and this just kinda. Came out. This will feature some characters from Jessica Jones, but you don’t need to have watched it to follow the plot. Future chapters may contain spoilers, but if they come up, I’ll warn you. But it will diverge from cannon. I’ll call it an AU Lite

It seemed to you that everything about this place was designed to make you uncomfortable. Polished floors, spotless glass, sleek metal. Expensive, cold, immaculate - everything you’d expect to find at the offices of Jeryn Hogarth, the most notoriously cunning attorney New York had to offer. Her reputation was undoubtedly contributing to your uneasiness.

While your sometimes - friend and fellow private investigator Jessica Jones was more than familiar with this woman, you had never found yourself on her radar. But the voicemail Hogarth had left you in the early morning hours while you slept was a chilling proof that this was no longer the case. She gave no particulars, only briefly citing the connection Jessica provided between the two of you and mentioning a job which she believed you’d be very motivated to take. While you questioned what job parameters could ever ease the anxiety that swirled in your stomach at the thought of working with Jeri Hogarth, you also knew that you were financially incapable of turning down any case that may come your way. You were willing to bet Hogarth knew that too. 

Keep reading

[peekingsunshine]

Sarah, OH MY GOSH. The CACKLE that escaped my lips at that last twist. OH MY GOSH.

Dearie, dearie me, Stevie. What are we going to do with you?

Also, may I say. I'm not overly fond of Hogarth so I can't wait for her to go fly a kite or something.

I'm rubbing my hands together. I just know this is gonna be good. 😁