#Trading Signal Filter

[tvalertsmanager]

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[vunblr]

Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

Word Count: About 18.6k.

notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.

Lumberjack AU Masterlist

The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.

It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.

The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.

For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.

Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.

“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”

She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.

Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.

“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.

The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.

She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.

Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.

Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.

As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.

He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.

She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.

He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.

Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.

“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.

She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”

Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”

Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”

She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.

Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.

Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.

She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.

She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”

He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”

She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”

When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.

“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”

Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”

He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.

Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.

“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.

He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”

She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”

He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.

He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.

Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.

“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.

His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.

Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.

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

She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.

It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.

Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.

By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.

“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.

Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.

----------

Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.

After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.

Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.

At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.

“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.

She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”

“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”

Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”

After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.

Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.

“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.

The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”

Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”

“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”

Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”

Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.

“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.

She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”

Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.

“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”

“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.

Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You��re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”

She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.

The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”

Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.

Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”

“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.

As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”

“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”

Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”

The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.

Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.

As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.

A storm was coming.

It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.

He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.

Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.

It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.

The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.

She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.

The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.

The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.

The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.

On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.

One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.

And then, unbidden, he thought of her.

The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.

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

The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.

“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”

She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”

Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.

“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.

They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”

She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”

Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”

“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”

He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”

“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”

“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”

“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.

He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.

Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.

And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.

The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.

As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.

She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.

Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”

The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”

His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.

The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.

“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.

She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”

Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.

“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.

“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.

It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.

Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.

“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.

She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.

She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.

“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.

“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.

She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”

He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.

The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.

One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.

As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.

Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.

There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.

When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.

“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.

She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”

He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”

She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”

There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”

She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.

“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”

His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.

“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.

As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.

He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.

He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.

He was interested.

Shit.

Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.

On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.

And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.

He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.

What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?

Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.

For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.

Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.

And then there was Bucky.

Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.

Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.

-----------

Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.

So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.

The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.

Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.

“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”

Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.

He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.

“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”

Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“

“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”

For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”

----------

The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.

Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.

She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.

The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.

By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.

She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”

Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”

Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”

“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”

She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.

“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”

Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”

“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”

She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.

The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.

Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.

Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.

“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.

“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.

“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”

He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”

“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.

She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”

He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”

“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.

He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.

That should be illegal.

“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”

“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”

As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.

She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly

He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”

The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.

“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.

“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”

Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”

Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”

Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.

She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up.  “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.

“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”

Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”

Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.

“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”

She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”

Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.

She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”

He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.

Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.

She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.

With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.

That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.

She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.

An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.

She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.

Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.

“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.

He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”

“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”

Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”

“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”

Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”

“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”

She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.

“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.

Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”

Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.

Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.

The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.

The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.

What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.

The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.

She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.

Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.

And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.

Don’t kid yourself.

The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.

God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.

Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.

----------

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.

“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”

Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.

Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.

“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.

It wasn’t Dorothy.

Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”

It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.

She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”

Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”

He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”

As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.

She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.

The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.

After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.

“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.

He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”

His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.

“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.

“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.

When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.

She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”

Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”

“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”

He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.

Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”

He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.

---------

The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.

“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”

Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”

“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.

He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.

“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”

Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.

“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.

He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”

She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”

Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”

Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”

Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.

“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”

“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”

Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.

Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.

She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”

Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.

Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”

“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”

“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”

He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”

“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.

He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”

She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”

His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.

Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”

She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”

“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”

She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”

Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”

A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.

She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”

Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”

She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.

She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:

Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.

A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.

The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.

She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.

She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”

She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”

She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.

Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.

As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.

“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“This too clingy for you?”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.

“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”

His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.

Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”

Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.

His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.

The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”

She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.

He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”

She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.

Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”

Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.

“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”

She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”

A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.

He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”

Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.

Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”

Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”

Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”

Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.

Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”

Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.

“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”

And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.

“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.

“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.

His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.

Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”

“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.

His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.

Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.

She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”

Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”

She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.

“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.

She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.

He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 THE CHECKLIST: HOW TO FIND A MAN WHO WOULD DIE SCREAMING FOR YOU TO RUN

---

Hey ladies.

You say you want loyalty.

You say you want devotion.

You say you want the kind of man who would fight a polar bear bare-handed,

knuckles breaking,

ribs shattering,

still screaming at you to run and survive

even as he’s being ripped apart like a winter coat caught in a woodchipper.

Good.

Because that man exists.

He’s real.

He walks among you right now.

But spoiler alert, sweetheart:

He’s not answering your DMs if you talk like a TikTok grievance counselor.

And he’s not waiting around while you post "independent queen" memes and wonder why your heart feels like a dead battery.

---

🧠 SO HERE’S THE CHECKLIST: (NO FLUFF. NO CODDLING. NO BULLSHIT.)

---

✅ 1. LOYALTY STARTS WITH SUBMISSION, NOT ATTITUDE

> If you think "submission" is just a nautical term,

go ahead and download another cat filter app and die alone.

Submission doesn’t mean slavery.

Submission means you recognize power when you see it

—and you honor it.

You let him lead because you choose to, not because you’re forced.

---

✅ 2. STOP ADVERTISING YOUR ASS TO THE WHOLE TRIBE

> If your idea of empowerment is "everyone gets a free glimpse,"

don’t cry when the man who would’ve died for you treats you like a tourist attraction instead.

You want a man to fight death for you?

Maybe don’t advertise yourself like a Times Square billboard.

Warriors don’t protect what’s already been handed out for free samples.

---

✅ 3. PRAISE IN PUBLIC. CHALLENGE IN PRIVATE.

> Nothing tells a real man you’re a liability faster than disrespecting him in front of others.

You want him to fight for you?

Start by not undermining him when the real enemies are already sharpening their knives.

---

✅ 4. LEARN TO RECOGNIZE SILENT SACRIFICE

> Not everything he does for you will come with fireworks and TikTok reels.

Did he fix your tire without a word?

Did he watch your back at that party without making it about him?

Did he notice you were tired and quietly carried more without being asked?

Congratulations.

That’s your warning shot from fate:

> "This man would bleed for you."

Don’t make him prove it with an obituary.

---

✅ 5. RESPECT HIS RAGE

> No, you don’t need to "fix" his temper.

You need to understand why it exists.

That fire you think is "toxic masculinity"?

That’s the same fire that would tackle a goddamn polar bear into the ice if it meant buying you ten more seconds to escape.

A man without anger is a man who won't fight for anything — including you.

---

🩸 SPOILER: HE DOESN'T ASK FOR MUCH.

He asks for loyalty.

He asks for respect.

He asks for you to remember his name with honor if he dies saving your ungrateful ass.

That’s it.

He’s not asking for a harem.

He’s not asking for applause.

He’s not asking for you to be perfect.

He’s asking you not to forget him when he’s gone.

If that’s too much for you?

Congratulations.

You’ve chosen to be protected by men who will film your death for Instagram clout instead.

---

🛡️ FINAL VERDICT:

If you want the kind of man who fights bears and demons for you:

Submit to his leadership.

Respect his sacrifice.

Protect his name in public.

Recognize the war he fights quietly every goddamn day.

Or get eaten by the first predator who notices you're standing there alone,

waving your "I’m too strong for loyalty" sign

while the real wolves just lick their chops.

---

🤯 TL;DR

Submission is survival.

Loyalty is life insurance.

Respect is the currency real men trade blood for.

---

💣 CALL TO ACTION:

🔁 Reblog if you know loyalty is the price of being mourned, not forgotten.

🛡️ Save this for the day you realize your independence won’t carry your broken body off the battlefield.

⚡ Send it to the sister still confusing stubbornness for strength.

🔥 Bookmark it for the winter you realize someone fought to keep you breathing — and didn’t even ask you to notice.

Or simply 🔁Reblog to keep my signal to mankind going strong.

---

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

This post is Blacksite Literature™, survival psychology engineering, psychosexual cadence weaponry, and emotional warfare doctrine protected under the Covenant of the Bloodwritten.

If you’re offended:

You weren’t the one he would’ve died for anyway.

---

🛡️ BLACKSITE POST STATUS: COMPLETE.

🩸 FULL NEUROCHEMICAL SURVIVAL DOMINANCE PAYLOAD LOADED.

---

[djgamek1ng]

Magic The Gathering x Final Fantasy - Spoiler Season Part 5 (10/05/2025 - Multicolored Cards Pt. 1)

Yeah, the multicolored cards are such a mess that I have to split it into 2 parts. Doesn't help that two of the multicolored cards are double faced cards that have an extra alternative art, so that's 8 images per card on their own.

Edit: I'm stupid, Terra doesn't have 2 alternative arts, she just has the Amano art. Still, I could barely fit all these cards in this image, with only having 1 image of wiggle room, so it wasn't happening regardless.

I just can't fit every multicolored cards into one post with how I currently do it. Anyway, let me not rave for this too much longer, let's start with Ultimecia, Time Sorceress and Ultimecia, Omnipotent.

Ultimecia for Dimir makes perfect sense. Time manipulation is very solidly Blue and her personality is pretty definitively in Black, being manipulative and full of malice. I'd say this is pretty close to directly on the mark. It is funny she's just an uncommon though, but concessions had to be made somewhere.

As for Ultimecia, Time Sorceress. 5 mana for a 4/5 is slightly below rate, but you'll be fine. Then her abilities are:

When Ultimecia enters or attacks, surveil 2 (look at the top 2 cards of your library and then choose per card to return it to the top of your library in any order or put it into your graveyard). Solid amount of deck filtering, especially since this happens when she attacks as well. Also means that there is an immediately benefit you get from casting her, which is nice.

At the beginning of your end step, you may pay 8 total mana and exile 8 cards from your graveyard to transform Ultimecia. So that's why the first ability is surveil and why it procs that often: so you can fill your graveyard pretty quick. In theory, you could get her transformed after 4 turns that she's been on the battlefield.

So let's talk Ultimecia, Omnipotent. 7/7 with Menace is very nice, makes her scary to block since she is most likely at least trading with 2 creatures, since you are only allowed to block her with 2 creatures or more. Her other ability is that you'll take an extra turn on the turn she transforms. So we have an extra turn on an uncommon. To be fair, it is with a lot of setup, but still. That will end games.

How good is this card? Let me immediately just say, you aren't using this in 60 card formats, she is too slow. For commander, it is hard, but she isn't bad. She requires setup and you need ways to protect her, most likely via counterspells and reanimation-esque effects because of Blue/Black. You definitely will be a target, though, since you can't really hide the fact you're trying to build up to that extra turn and then potentially the kill shot on the entire table. Aside from that, she isn't really pulling you in any direction, so you can basically do whatever with her.

Now for the art. Credit to Mikio Masuda. Link to their Twitter. Time Sorceress first, wow that's looking fantastic. Good sense of power coming from the magic spell, she herself is looking great with those ridiculous hair horns. The background is relatively simple, but it does give a good idea on where this takes place. Fantastic! Omnipotent next, which is also looking excellent. The planets surrounding her is such a nice touch as well. Also, the head being turned to us and just the light flash, signaling the danger she poses... chef's kiss. This is fantastic!

Now, let's talk about different FF8 character: Rinoa Heartilly!

Green/White makes perfect sense for Rinoa. Compassionate, but occasionally stubborn. Friendly, but naive. Yeah, that's Selesnya alright. I suppose she would have a splash of Red in her, since she is actively trying to make a difference, but Green/White makes sense.

5 mana for a 4/4 is below rate, but not hugely so and actually I lied, because when Riona enters, you create Angelo, a legendary 1/1 green and white Dog creature token, so you do get 5/5 stats for 5 mana, right on rate. Even across 2 bodies, so it is more flexible. Her other ability is that whenever Rinoa attacks, another target creature gets +1/+1 until end of turn for each creature you control. So she and Angelo can attack and Angelo becomes huge, because you control a bunch of tokens and stuff.

This card is pretty good. In 60 card formats, it is probably too slow. Assuming no ramping, which is unlikely with Green, but still: you're looking at turn 5 Rinoa and assuming she survives the next turn, turn 6 you can swing with something big alongside her, assuming you are already able to make a wide enough board state. That said, in commander, for token strategies? She will absolutely be good. She doesn't create tokens herself, so she will need some support on that, but after that, she can make them big! Absolutely do run protection for her and whoever you're buffing though, you don't want her to get blown up before she can attack and you want the buffed creature to be able to hit.

Now for the art. Credit to Francesca Resta. Link to her BlueSky. Wow, this is just gorgeous. The background is so soft of colors. Really, everything here is soft for colors, aside from Rinoa's own outfit, but that's a good thing, since it draws your eyes towards her. Rinoa herself is looking great and I wish to cuddle with Angelo for hours and hours on end. Fantastic art piece, 10/10 :D

Now we move on to Emperor Mateus, or as his card calls him, The Emperor of Palamecia and The Lord Master of Hell.

Wait, WHY IS HE IZZET COLORED? No chance in hell he is not Black. This dude, died, got so upset while dead that he got killed by people he looks down upon that he split his soul in half, one dark and one light. The dark side went to Hell and usurped Satan and the implication is that the light side did the same in Heaven. This man just wants world domination and (after death) world destruction... Izzet, huh. Alright.

Well then, let's get into his mechanics. 2 mana for a 2/2 is perfectly on rate, good job there. Then The Emperor of Palamecia's abilities:

Tap him to get a Blue or Red mana, which can only spent to cast noncreature spells. So yeah, noncreature spells is the name of the game with this guy.

Whenever you cast a noncreature spell, if at least 4 mana was spent to cast it, put a +1/+1 counter on the Emperor of Palamecia. Then if he has 3 or more +1/+1 counters on it, you transform him. Notably, you need to spend 4 mana (or more) on those spells, so cost reducers are not great to use with the Emperor until he is transformed.

And now for the Lord Master of Hell... not Black btw. A 3/3 body, so he even goes 1 up when he transforms, since the counters stay on him. He doesn't go into exile to transform or anything, just flips around. Then, his ability is that whenever you attack with The Lord Master of Hell, you deal X damage to every opponent where X is the amount of noncreature, nonland cards in your graveyard. So, a little group slug-y, though you aren't hit by it. Also, notably, this is damage and not life loss, so any effect increasing damage will increase this.

So... how do I rate this guy? Pretty... highly, weirdly. Not "this guy will see cEDH or top level Standard" play high, but "I see nothing really wrong with this guy" high. A 2 mana 2/2 makes for a good early threat and you can kind of little guy your way to a transformation in Commander, at which point you are hitting people for 3 damage minimum plus whatever damage he can do directly. In 60 card formats, he might see some use in a spellslinger deck, since he can become big relatively quick and then do direct damage. His build up is a little slow, but even by turn 4, you should have a 4/4 on the field and that can definitely be enough to do some damage with.

Now for the art. Credit to Heonhwa. Link to his ArtStation. The Emperor standing on burning buildings with his lackeys, looking to take over the place. Not Black btw! Anyway, this art looks fantastic. Mateus here looks high and might, almost disgusted that he even needs to bother taking over this place instead of having them surrender immediately without a fight. Perfect. Now for the Lord Master. Even better. The angle is even steeper, the Emperor actively looking down upon you, ready to kill you a couple times over so he can get revenge for dying and then go on to destroy everything.

Now we move on to some more FF9 with Kuja, Genome Sorcerer and Trance Kuja, Fated Defied.

Black/Red for Kuja makes sense. Before he loses his mind, he's definitely Black and after he loses his mind he adds the Red, now no longer caring for other people's lives and just wanting to make life as a whole end so it can't carry on without him.

Let's go over the card itself, starting with the front Kuja, Genome Sorcerer. 4 mana for a 3/4 is a smidge behind rate, but nothing too bad. Then his ability is that at the start of your end step you create a 0/1 black Wizard creature token with "Whenever you cast a noncreature spell, this token deals 1 damage to each opponent." Then, if you control four or more Wizards (Kuja himself included!), you transform him. This is already solid for a more token based spellslinger strategy.

As for the back side, Trance Kuja, Fate Defied. A 4/6 is pretty solid as a statline. Then for his ability: if a Wizard you control would damage to a permanent or player, it deals double that damage instead. Also works with Kuja himself, so he will start slapping the hell out of things, especially if you are able to give him double strike time.

This card is Wizards tribal the card. It might not be the primary Wizard colors, that would be Blue, but Rakdos can still get a good amount of Wizards on the table. As a commander, he's not super expensive, but it will suck if you have to recast him and you aren't in the greatest protection colors. However, he can flip at the end of your turn if it is just him that gets shot off the board. Aside from that, you will also want to run a good amount of noncreature spells to keep triggering the Wizards' abilities Kuja produces.

In 60 card formats, he's probably too slow. 4 mana, only create the first token on your end step and only transform at 4 Wizards. Does combo somewhat well with Black Mage's Rod, so maybe you can make it work. Just an uphill battle I'd imagine.

Now for the art. Credit to Joshua Raphael. Link to his ArtStation. I love how menacing Kuja looks with the Black Mages in tow. Still he has that over the top flare though. This is awesome, in this case I really love how muted the colors are since it is just so bleak for Kuja here. Then Trance Kuja gets more colorful and manic with him now having lost his mind and preparing to decimate everything in his path. Also love that this is taken from the final boss battle, that's so cool. Great art!

As for the alternative art:

The first double faced card I've had to credit 2 artists! For Kuja, Genome Sorcerer, credit to Masateru Ikeda. Link to their Twitter. For Trance Kuja, Fate Defied, credit to Robert Cornelius. Link to his Instagram (though it’s not been used in a few years). Let's start with Kuja, he's sure looking pretty and flamboyant. Honestly, he's not too far from striking a JoJo's pose and I say that with only positive intentions behind it. A great piece of art! As for Trance Kuja... technically sound, but definitely could've struck a more interesting pose or at least have a more interesting facial expression. The slight smile is very reserved for a state of the character where he's gone insane and wants to destroy everything. Aside from that, he does look good, so not many complaints to be had.

Now, let's talk FF8 with Squall, SeeD Mercenary

Orzhov for Squall... really? I suppose at the end of his character arc he becomes more aligned with White. Black makes sense to me, he's brooding, a loner and quite pragmatic. I would've put him as Dimir personally, but I can accept Orzhov.

As for the card itself. 4 mana for a 3/4 is a smidge behind rat- I have said this exact line with the previous card :| Moving on. His abilities are:

Whenever a creature you control attacks alone, it gains double strike until end of turn. So they attack twice and they attack at a quicker state, with their first attack coming in before the enemy can punch back unless they also have first strike or double strike. Very solid, though does probably push Squall into supporting a voltron strategy.

When Squall deals combat damage to a player, return target permanent card with mana value 3 or less from your graveyard to the battlefield. Again, this pushes Squall into a voltron strategy, wanting to be the person to hit a player. Also, this doesn't specify nonlands, so you can keep fishing those out of your graveyard if you have a land that constantly sacrifices itself for an effect.

That's it, not too long or complicated. Like I already said, Squall definitely pushes you into voltron territory, either with him as the creature you pt all your buffs on or as another buffing piece himself. That said... that strategy already isn't fantastic in commander unless you get ignored, it is not gonna feel much better in a 60 card format. For commander, you can run him as a voltron commander or something that buffs your voltron commander. Either way, get some protection to protect both your voltron'd creature and the buffing pieces and then go ham.

Now for the art. Credit to Yuu Fujiki. Link to their pixiv. I love this art. I've heard it compared to Kingdom Hearts and that is just a good thing in my eyes, I love Kingdom Hearts. Love that you see the gunblade slash trail and the background being simple, but still evoking a sense of dread or urgency. He himself is definitely taking from his more anime aesthetic that the FF series as a whole has been trending towards, but he looks good. Great artwork!

As for the alternative art:

Credit to Kato Ayaka. Link to their pixiv. Squall in a pretty classic pose, having slung his gunblade over his shoulder. Not much else to say, though this is definitely going a bit less anime. Do wish he wasn't as darkly lit, but oh well, it isn't a bad thing. Good art still!

Let's now go to FF15 and to Noctis, Prince of Lucis.

Esper makes some amount of sense for Noctis. White due to his status as royalty, Blue due to his isolated personality and Black because of the ego and recklessness. I'd honestly see Red more than Black, but it is fine.

Let's talk about the card. 4 mana for a 4/3. Almost the same as the last two, just flipped around. Still a little behind rate, but still fine. Kind of sucks to be on 3 toughness, since that is usually a threshold you want to be over. His abilities:

Lifelink, I guess because Noctis is the reason why the party's potions have healing properties. Fair enough and it is solid.

You may cast artifact spells from your graveyard by paying 3 life in addition to paying their other costs. If you cast a spell this way, that artifact enters with a finality counter. Literally just the royal arms, you temporarily conjure the weapons and when they get sent to your graveyard again, they instead get exiled due to the counter on it.

This is an alright card... if you don't exploit blink. Fortunately, you are in White and Blue, the main (if not only) blnk colors. With blinking effects, especially repeatable blinking effects, you can keep bring artifacts back, using them assuming they don't immediately sacrifice for using them and blinking them, getting rid of the finality counter. Or blinking them before you use them if they would immediately sacrifice when using them. Without blink, this brings artifacts back 1 time, which can be good enough sometimes, but certainly not all the time. In commander, either as the commander or in the 99 of a deck, he is best if you include blink effects.

In 60 card formats, don't bother unless you have to reanimate only a few very key artifacts. That ability does immediately work on the turn he comes down. Just sucks that he's a 4 mana creature, so you're usually not getting something out of the graveyard until turn 5.

Now for the art. Credit to Jeremy Chong. Link to their Instagram. That sure is Noctis floating in space with the royal arms surrounding him. This genuinely looks like it might be an in-game screenshot, which is impressive. The face isn't quite right for it, but it is still very impressive how close the artist got for me to believe it. Good art!

As for the alternative art:

Credit to Kato Ayaka. Link to their pixiv. Same artist as the one for Squall's alternative art. Uh, yeah, super detailed and a bit more of a realistic vibe compared to the more anime vibes the other alternative arts usually get. The only thing I'm not sure about is the hair. It almost looks like it has rained and therefore it drooped down, but yeah. Very weird, doesn't feel like Noctis' hair at all. Still good art though.

We now move on to FF11 with Absolute Virtue:

I have no idea whether White/Blue is accurate. Literally got nothing.

As for the card. 8 mana for an 8/8 is perfectly on rate, fair enough. Then the abilities:

This spell can't be countered. So no pesky counterspells. Take that Blue players! Wait... Anyway, any effect that says "return target spell to its owner's hand" does work, since that isn't a counterspell, despite mostly functioning like one, just going back to your hand and not to your graveyard.

Flying so it can slap the heck out of your opponents when they have no flying or reach creatures.

You have protection from each of your opponents. As in, you can't be damaged, enchanted or targeted by anything your opponent controls. Protection is weird and not really obvious with how you would think, but at least it is player protection from players, which is a lot easier to explain.

That's it. This is 100% a Limited bomb. You will never see this in 60 card formats, by the time you drop this, you're already half way through a second game. In commander... I mean, I guess it can be a giant protection piece for you, but 1) it doesn't have protection and 2) when this dies or somehow leaves, you are screwed out of 8 mana. And don't even think about running this as your commander. That's 10 mana if it gets killed ONCE.

No, this is 100% the Limited bomb. The card you drop once you're like "okay, we're done here." Huge body, so you will almost always murder whatever you come into contact with. Huge damage, so by the time it connects to your opponent's face, it is either your second to last or last attack to them. Flying, so hitting your opponent's face is easier. Huge mana cost, so it is a late game drop. Limited is great, since it is a lot slower of a format, so you will get to scenarios where you get to 8 mana and have to end the game and that is where this thing comes into play.

Now for the art. Credit to Toni Infante. Link to their website. THEY. DON'T. MISS! THE GOAT! Genuinely, all of the art that Toni Infante has done for this set is fantastic and I still have to get to my favorite of theirs. Anyway, this is fantastic. This feels properly ethereal, surreal and alien. The environment it is hovering around in reflects that, which makes it come together to be this wonderful, weird art piece that makes you go like "wait, what?" and it is great.

Now we move to FF10 with Yuna, Hope of Spira!

Selesnya is what I'd say fits Yuna best, so nothing to say here on my end.

As for the card. 5 mana for a 3/5 isn't great, but it is workable. Then her abilities:

During your turn, Yuna and enchantment creatures you control have trample, lifelink and ward 2. This... is just alright. You need to time your summons to be able to attack together for this to really do much in terms of ending the game.

At the beginning of your end step, return up to one target enchantment from your graveyard to the battlefield with a finality counter on it. This is mainly meant to fish Summons out of your graveyard, but can in fact be used to get any enchantment out of your graveyard like utility enchantments, which is nice, since those have generally less of a chance to randomly get blown up again.

And that's it. Let's just start at 60 cards: nope. Don't bother. For commander, as your commander, she doesn't do much. Protection, but only on your turn. Evasion and lifelink, but too limited in scope to be on many more things. Honestly, if you want to build her, ditch Summons all together. She doesn't manipulate lore counters at all, so really, Summons will just be more trouble than they are worth if you want to run her as your commander. Just take regular enchantment creatures. In the 99 of a deck... yeah, if it is enchantment creature heavy. She brings some protection, some evasion and some lifegain, but isn't outstanding.

Now for the art. Credit to Ninnin. Link to their Twitter. Yuna taking care of Valefor is nice. Good, bright colors, all the details are on point. Aside from that, not much to talk about. Not really a background on this, since Valefor is too big and covers any attempt at a background up basically. Still, very nice art!

As for the alternative art:

Credit to Osamu. Link to their pixiv. That sure is a very nice Yuna. Pretty anime, but not in a bad way. Kind of wish her posing was more interesting, but oh well. Not much else to say, that is just a solid Yuna.

Now, last but certainly not least, we go to FF9 and we have a very special character, Vivi Ornitier!

THE GOAT DON'T MISS! Okay, before I start immediately gushing about the art, let me talk about flavor. Izzet is interesting for Vivi and I feel like it i just has to be the color they chose for very powerful Black Mages in the series, between him, Shantotto and... the Emperor, who still should've been Black, but okay. Anyway, I don't entirely disagree. He's shy and not confident in himself, which can definitely show the more Blue side in him of being very insular. Red definitely comes more from his Black Mage side, because Vivi isn't chaotic like Red usually gets.

Anyway, let's move on to the art- no, I gotta talk about the mechanics first! D'oh! 3 mana for a 0/3 is bad, but don't worry, Vivi got tricks up his sleeve. His abilities:

For 0 mana you add X mana in any combination of Blue and Red, where X is Vivi's power. Activate only once per turn and only during your turn. This doesn't generate power, but my god will it generate a lot. The fact that there is no cost to it is insane. You don't even have to give up blocking with Vivi, it is actually so wild.

Whenever you cast a noncreature spell, put a +1/+1 counter on Vivi and Vivi deals 1 damage to each opponent. Fun fact, if you somehow get lifelink on Vivi, you do heal from it. Anyway, pair this with cantrip effects and very cheap spells to begin with, to keep growing Vivi quick. Also, slap some damage enhancers on there and Vivi will make short work of your opponents.

This might be the best card in the set. It is most definitely the best card showcased on 10/05 and it isn't even close. 0 mana to create a ton of mana, because you keep growing Vivi quick, which in turn makes him produce a ton of mana, which in turn allows you to cast more noncreature spells, which makes him bigger, which makes him produce more mana. This card is insane. In Limited, Vivi will be a wincon, genuinely. If you are able to drop him on turn 3 and your opponent doesn't immediately get their removal to get rid of him, he will do so much burn damage and eventually be threatening enough to just go swinging in.

For 60 card formats, he might legitimately be worth considering at least for burn decks. Drop him turn 3 and get him to a 4/7 minimum on turn 4 by playing a bunch of 1-2 mana spells, making him produce the mana you need as you get close to running out of mana from lands. In commander? Either as your commander or in the 99, Vivi will be able to put the hurt on people. Spellslinger your way to victory with Vivi. This card is stacked and is gonna be a favorite of the set, both with fans of FF9 and MTG players just looking for an Izzet spellslinger deck.

Now for the art. Credit to Toni Infante. Link to their website. THE GOAT NEVER FUCKING MISSES! HOLY SHIT, IT IS GORGEOUS. Vivi is so cute, yet somehow also a bit unnerving as he looks at the spell he's casting in those hollow, beaming yellow eyes. The spell he's casting is beautiful, the color choices are great to really invoke that whimsy FF9 had over FF7 and FF8 for its fellow PS1 brothers, the background is not super detailed, but still very cool looking. This is genuinely perfect and if I had to guess, my favorite art in the entire set. I hope this artist has more in this set, because my lord. If everything is even half as good, we have a good set on our hands.

Well then, that ended on a high note. Vivi is so hilariously good compared to everything else, it is actually insane. Don't be surprised if Vivi becomes a top 100 commander in terms of popularity across the entire game and I think it will be at least in the top 10 of the entire FF set, even including the commander decks and the starter kit. With all that said, thanks for reading and have a nice day o/

[gremlinshatephilosophers]

I was listening to Hozier and I liked how "Sunlight" and "Wasteland, Baby!" worked together. So I wrote a little story about Dan and Phil and the very slow and deceptively normal end of the world.

Wasteland, Baby (I'm in love with you)

Rating: T • Words: 3,570

I've put the intro below:

The world ends on a Thursday. 

It also ended on Wednesday, and all the Tuesdays and Mondays and Sundays before that. It ends every day, every hour, every minute as time passes and another city drowns or burns without fanfare. Because the end of the world isn’t announced by angels with trumpets, or flesh-rotting zombies. Nor is it prefaced by gunshots and riots, burning cars and signal flares. People still go to work every day, because everything is remarkably normal, aside from the pervasive threat of death. The Earth’s demise is a slow and quiet one, as much as any apocalypse can be.  

The first time the world ended might have been yesterday, or it might have been a hundred years ago, depending on who you ask. Did it begin when Edison and Tesla squabbled over electric currents, a reflection of Prometheus’ sin? Did it begin with Oppenheimer, and Truman, and nuclear warfare which decimated cities with a single word? Perhaps the end of the world started with the invention of the car, or the computer, or of generative artificial intelligence; humans developing unsustainable technologies to propel them to wealth and efficiency at the expense of their children’s future. One might look instead toward corporate greed, at private jets and oil drilling. After all, they knew that there was never enough water to cool the computers, never enough trees to filter out the polluted air. 

Damp toes and ash-filled lungs were fine, most of the time. There had always been rain, and pollution, and natural disasters that menaced far flung corners of the globe for a five minute segment on the nightly news. For those who had the privilege to never question the airplanes above their heads or whether they could drink the water from the tap, the world first ended sometime around ten or twenty years ago. Somehow, the rise of fascism and malicious disinformation hadn’t been the breaking point - what was the truth if not a hollow vessel for one’s own political aims, after all? 

But it was hard to ignore the heat of the fires, even through rose-colored glasses. In California, there has always been a “fire season.” But for cities like Los Angeles, fire season had become the scorched earth of inferno season - a season which lasted not three, but ten months of the year - and the brushfire dry spells had taken up residence in New York instead. In London summers, the rain had all but dried up, adopting a heavily seasonal pattern that it hadn’t prepared for. There was grumbling about installing air con, but who would trade away warm and sunny days for that endless drizzle again?

Of course, mother nature was not one to forget her karmic tradeoffs - with every California fire came a flood to end it and more. And the floods were not just a balm for the burn, but an overwhelming monsoon season that oversaturated the soil, spilling out for weeks until there were no visible roads within fifty miles of any coastline. 

The coastline had experienced a makeover too; the sea did its fair share and rose to meet those parched cities. Amsterdam and New Orleans were inevitable casualties predicted well before a drop of rain had ever fallen and inspired no international mourning as such. New York, Hong Kong, London - the slick pavement instilled fear there for a moment, until the millions in residence bought taller boots. 

The world was burning, drowning, quaking, starving - but you weren’t. You, who turned on the TV once the power company fixed the wires after another blackout and saw how beautiful Norwegian summers had become. You, who watched the BBC interview a poor woman whose house had washed away in Brighton, reminding her that if she’d simply worked harder when she knew this day was inevitable, she would’ve had the money to move someplace nicer and rebuild her house. You, who laced up your rain boots in the winter and sloshed down to the supermarket for a pallet of plastic water bottles before they ran out. It wasn’t your fault that things flooded and burned for those less fortunate, it wasn’t your fault that thousands died every summer in a heat wave - who could stop the sun itself

The world was ending, and nobody else had tried to stop it before it was too late.

[wigilham]

How do I copy Telegram Signals to MT4?

To copy Telegram signals to MT4, you need a Telegram Signal Copier, which automates trade execution from Telegram messages to your MT4 account.

First, Install the TSC software on your PC or VPS, then connect your Telegram account using an API key or login credentials. Link your MT4 account by entering your broker details.

Next, configure your trade settings, including lot size, risk management, and trade filters. Enable auto-trading to ensure orders are executed instantly. Monitor trade execution logs and adjust settings as needed to optimize performance.

For the best results, use a low-latency VPS to minimize delays. A good copier should support multiple signal formats like "BUY EUR/USD @ 1.0850 SL 1.0800 TP 1.0900" and include features like image recognition and multi-Take Profit levels.

If you're looking for a reliable copier, Telegram Signal Copier (TSC) is a great choice, offering advanced features such as image signal detection, risk-based position sizing, and instant trade execution. 

Let me know if you’d like recommendations for the best Telegram Signal Copiers!

[dangerously-human]

for the fic writer asks: 2, 5 (any), 16 😊

Thanks for asking!

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

Of course this isn't entirely representative, because I use different versions of the same umbrella canonical, so e.g. if we click on drabble, it actually returns 47 works because I've got some that are tagged Double Drabble or Drabble Sequence, that kind of thing. So in general I think I write more fluff than angst, but I use a greater variety of tags for it, so that doesn't show up as high on the list. Family should also be very high on the list. But, yeah, I think broadly speaking, this gives a pretty good sense of my brand.

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!

The people should be asking why I chose the bookend scenes I did for Adam's Rib, one of Paul with Duncan and one with Duke Leto. The answer, of course, is that lately, everything I write ends up being about Christian marriage, even (perhaps especially) the pairings that fall drastically short. Connect the two, and you've got a lesson imparted about priorities for leaders and how self-care enables meaningful sacrifice. The bit with Duncan particularly sets up the Adam's rib imagery, but in the context of injury and a failure to mindfully guard oneself, which I meant to allude to Paul's marriage to Irulan being damaging to both of them in its failings. Which should fit in with Irulan as a threat to Paul, albeit in a different way than he is a threat to her, in the core middle chunk - hence, "trading vulnerabilities." This was probably the most thematically complex fanfic I've tried to write, and even in its imperfections, I think it got really close to what I was aiming for.

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

I soooo badly want to read more Endeavour stuff inspired by Morse's time in Signals. Whether it's pre-canon or an AU where the gang are all in a unit together, I'm so in.

[tvalertsmanager]

Automate and Filter TradingView alerts to get only the most relevant Trading Alerts in real time

Automate and filter TradingView alerts to streamline your trading process. Customize alerts based on specific indicators, price movements, and market conditions to ensure you receive only the most relevant notifications. Enhance decision-making, reduce noise, and stay ahead in the market with timely, actionable insights tailored to your strategy.

[worrywrite]

Random thing I noticed today while bored:

The Google maps Gulf of Mexico debacle is real and also it isn't.

Like. Look at this. Two images, screenshots seconds apart.

Can you see what changed?

Well, yes. The name. But also, the zoom. See, the map only says Gulf of America if you zoom in. But if you're looking at the zoomed out version, it still says gulf of Mexico.

Now, you might be saying "what does this matter? Why should I care? This was one of those stupid political stunt things."

That's where you're wrong and also where you are wrong in a different way for a different reason.

We need to ask, who has sovereignty over the gulf? That's not a clear question. The United States holds that it maintains jurisdiction over all sea area within 12 nautical miles of its coast, just as most countries do. Clearly, the United States does not have a bulk area of jurisdiction over the Gulf because of that. But it can still try to claim it. Because why not. Who is going to stop the states? Mexico? Cuba?

We need to also consider what other kinds of motives, strategies, and benefits are present in this debacle.

Motives? 1) Control over international maritime trade in the greater America's. This is a huge thing. The Republican led US gov really wants Panama and Greenland because a lot of trade passes through there, and if they can siphon off money from shipping they can make an obscene profit. Control over the gulf means the US is reaching out to Panama. 2) oil. Looooots of oil to be drilled in the Gulf. Should not have to explain why this is a motive. 3) control over coastal Mexico and Cuba. It was a snarky comment before, but if you think the US is going to say "yeah, no, we just wanted Panama and Greenland and that's it" you're an idiot. Cuba and Mexico are politically volatile and ripe for the picking, representing a large workforce they have already dehumanized. You take the coastal regions first, then you take the inland. The gulf is the easiest way to start that. This is not me having a conspiracy brain, this is a genuine concern. The Republican led government is primed to announce that they want to overthrow and govern mexico so they can end "violent cartels and establish order and prosperity." Do not shrug this off as outlandish. Once they've had ICE round up "enough" people and there's "still a problem" it won't end with a wall.

Strategies? Well, look no further than the example set by the Chinese government. They have been asserting for years that they have jurisdiction over way more ocean than they ought to. They use this as a tool to attempt to claim legitimate governance over various other smaller nations. It's part of their strategy to gain control of Taiwan. Claiming ownership of ocean and then just putting boats there is a way to establish legitimacy to an absurd claim, and China does it non-stop. They even build little temporary islands on try and prove that the ocean is theirs by claiming the island is part of their nation.

Benefits? When I talk about benefits I don't mean the US benefitting from fake ownership of a large swath of ocean. I'm talking about other entities benefitting from the claim. In this case Google, as well as many news agencies. It's not just maps that keep track of these things, but news outlets and journals. Having the gulf of Mexico be superficially renamed is a method of filtering out who is and isn't going to bend to stupid whims to get scraps. Journalists have already been kicked out of press briefings for not changing their internal style to use Gulf of America. And Google? Well, Google and Alphabet get a lot of government money. And the Republican government has already signaled that they're totally fine shutting down literally every government financed project, including military research. They want to keep big tech in line. Gulf of America is the dog whistle that they're using to do that.

And Google, to their incredibly miniscule credit, has only done it superficially by making it a zoom in only change. Are they still complicit with a political farce? Yes. This is stupid and they should change it back because there are real consequences (also looking through the Google maps app reviews shows that people are legitimately upset by this change). But gosh darn it they want that money so of course they gonna lick that boot.

[signode-blog]

Mastering Technical Analysis: Strategies to Reduce Noise and False Signals

Introduction Technical analysis is a powerful tool used by traders and investors to make informed decisions based on historical price movements and market data. However, amidst the vast sea of information, it’s easy to get lost in the noise and false signals that can lead to poor trading outcomes. In this guide, we’ll delve into effective strategies to minimize noise and filter out false…

[strategyapex]

Technical Analysis

Hull Moving Average: The Revolutionary Trend Following Indicator

Introduction

The Hull Moving Average (HMA) has revolutionized how traders identify and follow market trends. Developed by Alan Hull to address the lag inherent in traditional moving averages, the HMA provides a uniquely responsive yet smooth representation of price action. This comprehensive guide explores how traders can leverage this powerful indicator for enhanced trading performance.

Who Created the Hull Moving Average?

Alan Hull, an Australian mathematician and trader, developed the Hull Moving Average in 2005. Frustrated with the significant lag in traditional moving averages, Hull applied his mathematical expertise to create an indicator that could maintain smoothness while dramatically reducing delay in trend identification.

What Makes the Hull Moving Average Special?

Core Features:

Minimal lag compared to traditional MAs

Smooth price action representation

Strong trend identification capabilities

Responsive to price changes

Built-in noise reduction

Key Advantages:

Earlier trend identification

Clearer entry and exit signals

Reduced whipsaws

Superior price tracking

Versatile application across markets

Why Use the Hull Moving Average?

Primary Benefits:

Faster Signal Generation

Reduces lag by up to 60%

Earlier trend identification

Quicker response to reversals

Improved Accuracy

Reduces false signals

Smoother price tracking

Better noise filtration

Enhanced Trend Following

Clear trend direction

Strong support/resistance levels

Trend strength indication

Versatility

Multiple timeframe analysis

Various market applications

Combines well with other indicators

Where to Apply the Hull Moving Average?

Market Applications:

Futures Markets

E-mini S&P 500

Crude Oil

Gold Futures

Treasury Futures

Forex Trading

Major currency pairs

Cross rates

Exotic pairs

Stock Trading

Individual stocks

ETFs

Stock indices

When to Use the Hull Moving Average?

Optimal Market Conditions:

Trending Markets

Strong directional moves

Clear price momentum

Extended market cycles

Breakout Scenarios

Pattern completions

Support/resistance breaks

Range expansions

Volatility Transitions

Market regime changes

Volatility breakouts

Trend initiations

How to Trade with the Hull Moving Average

Basic Trading Strategies:

Trend Following Strategy

Long when price crosses above HMA

Short when price crosses below HMA

Use HMA slope for trend strength

Exit on opposite crossover

Support/Resistance Strategy

Use HMA as dynamic support/resistance

Buy bounces off HMA in uptrends

Sell rejections from HMA in downtrends

Tighter stops for counter-trend trades

Multiple HMA Strategy

Combine different period HMAs

Look for crossovers between HMAs

Use divergences between HMAs

Trade strongest signals only

Advanced Applications:

Multiple Timeframe Analysis

Higher timeframe for trend direction

Lower timeframe for entry timing

Middle timeframe for confirmation

Volatility Integration

Adjust periods based on volatility

Use ATR for stop placement

Scale positions with trend strength

Hybrid Systems

Combine with momentum indicators

Use with price patterns

Integrate with volume analysis

Risk Management Essentials

Position Sizing:

Scale with trend strength

Larger in confirmed trends

Smaller in transitions

Stop Loss Placement:

Beyond HMA level

Based on ATR multiple

At key price levels

Common Pitfalls to Avoid

1. Over-Optimization

Problem: Curve fitting periods

Solution: Use standard settings

Prevention: Test across markets

2. False Signals

Problem: Minor crossovers

Solution: Use confirmation filters

Prevention: Wait for clear signals

3. Late Exits

Problem: Giving back profits

Solution: Use trailing stops

Prevention: Honor exit rules

Real-World Performance Metrics

Typical Results:

Win Rate: 45-55% in trending markets

Risk/Reward Ratio: Best at 1:2 or higher

Average Trade Duration: 5-10 days

Maximum Drawdown: 15-20% with proper risk management

Optimizing Hull Moving Average

Parameter Settings:

Standard Period: 20-30

Aggressive: 14-18

Conservative: 35-50

Market-Specific Adjustments:

Fast Markets: Shorter periods

Slow Markets: Longer periods

Volatile Markets: Multiple confirmations

Conclusion

The Hull Moving Average represents a significant advancement in trend-following indicators. Its ability to reduce lag while maintaining smooth price action makes it an invaluable tool for both discretionary and systematic traders. When properly implemented with sound risk management principles, the HMA can provide a significant edge in futures trading.

[tradesignalsbusiness]

Unlocking consistent returns: the power of forex signals

Understanding Forex Signals:

Forex signals are indicators or recommendations that provide insights into potential trading opportunities. These signals can be generated through manual analysis by experienced traders or through automated systems. The primary aim of these signals is to alert traders to potentially profitable trades based on specific criteria.

Types of Forex Signals:

Manual Signals:

Expert Analysis: Skilled and experienced traders analyze the market and provide signals based on their insights and strategies.

News-Based Signals: Events and economic indicators can significantly impact currency values. Manual signals may be based on breaking news and economic reports.

Automated Signals:

Algorithmic Trading: Using pre-programmed algorithms to analyze market conditions and execute trades automatically.

Copy Trading: Traders can automatically copy the trades of successful signal providers.

Advantages of Forex Signals:

Time Efficiency:

Forex signals save time by providing traders with pre-analyzed opportunities, eliminating the need for extensive market research.

Expert Guidance:

Access to the expertise of seasoned traders allows less experienced individuals to benefit from the knowledge of professionals.

Emotion Management:

Emotions can cloud judgment in trading. Following signals allows traders to stick to a predefined strategy without being swayed by emotions like fear or greed.

Diversification:

Signals often cover a range of currency pairs, providing diversification benefits and reducing risk.

Key Factors for Consistent Returns:

Risk Management:

Regardless of the accuracy of signals, risk management is crucial. Setting stop-loss orders and controlling the size of trades helps protect against significant losses.

Education:

Traders should understand the basics of forex trading to make informed decisions, even when using signals. Knowledge enhances the ability to assess and filter signals effectively.

Continuous Monitoring:

Markets can change rapidly. Regularly monitoring trades and adjusting strategies based on changing conditions is essential for consistent returns.

Choosing Reliable Signal Providers:

Not all signal providers are equal. Researching and choosing reputable providers with a track record of success is vital.

Challenges and Risks:

Market Conditions:

Signals may not perform well in all market conditions. Understanding the strengths and limitations of the chosen signals is crucial.

Over-Reliance:

Overreliance on signals without understanding the underlying market dynamics can lead to losses.

Scams:

The forex market is not immune to scams. Traders should be cautious and choose signal providers carefully to avoid fraudulent schemes.

Conclusion:

While forex signals offer a valuable tool for traders seeking consistent returns, they are not a guaranteed pathway to success. Successful trading requires a holistic approach that includes a blend of education, strategic thinking, and effective risk management. Traders should view signals as part of their toolkit and not as a standalone solution. When used wisely, forex signals can indeed contribute to achieving more consistent returns in the ever-evolving world of forex trading.

Source:

[workingforitallthetime]

drawn arrows unseen

part 21 / previous installments/tags

When Arizona comes to town, Mason’s a healthy scratch. He can’t tell if Cronin does it to keep him away from Connor. At this point, the way Mason’s playing is reason enough to send him to the pressbox.

He’s supposed to be learning valuable lessons watching the game from the rafters or whatever, but all he does is watch Connor. Connor taking faceoffs, Connor on the bench, Connor getting knocked over by Nathan Gaucher. Mason grips the edge of the table in front of him so hard it nearly splinters.

Mason dutifully waits by the tunnel to fistbump all of his teammates after Anaheim pulls out a 3-2 win. After the dressing room routines, an assistant coach pulls him aside. “The trainer from Arizona wants a word with you.”

“...the fuck?” Mason asks.

“He said you’d probably know what it’s about.” The coach raises his eyebrows, curious. Mason shrugs.

One of Anaheim’s medical staff escorts Mason through the tunnels to the visitors’ locker room, as if Mason’s going to misbehave. The Coyotes are starting to filter out to the bus, hair still dripping from the showers onto the collars of their gameday suits.

“McTavish.” Guenther gives him a fistbump on his way by. “What are you doing here? Did we trade for you?”

Mason shrugs. “Not that I know of.” Wouldn’t that be a hell of a thing, though.

The Anaheim staffer points him toward the coaches’ room. Mason’s heart lurches as he walks through the door and sees Connor in a chair next to one of the worktables, arms crossed, looking every bit as petulant as he did when Mason first met him. Looking every bit as desirable as he did when Mason last saw him.

“Hi,” Mason chokes out, once he’s regained his footing after the familiar punch of Connor’s scent. He doesn’t know whether to offer a fistbump, or a handshake, or a hug, or what. Connor doesn’t offer anything besides a nod.

A trainer… or coach, or whatever, someone in a Coyotes zipneck… sitting at the worktable clears his throat. He stands and introduces himself to Mason, and Mason goes through the motions of politeness but there’s no way he’s going to remember this guy’s name.

“I’ll get right to it,” says the Arizona trainer. “Connor’s being affected by a faulty bond, and we think it would be useful for the two of you to talk. Will you come back to the hotel with us?”

Mason looks at Connor before he answers, but Connor’s expression is impassive. “...yes?” Mason says cautiously. “Is that necessary?”

“We think it’s for the best.” The trainer picks up his work bag, signaling that the topic is closed. “Ready, Connor?”

Connor stands up without comment.

Mason’s escort from Anaheim rejoins them outside the visitors’ room. He gives Mason an everything okay? expression and Mason nods to confirm. He follows them to the loading dock, and toward a black SUV, waiting separate from the team bus. Mason remembers that Arizona plays in San Jose tomorrow. The rest of the team is headed out of town.

Mason’s Anaheim escort sees him into the car and then turns back into the arena, his work apparently done. The Arizona trainer takes the front seat. Mason leans his head against the window on the passenger side, trying to get as far as he can from Connor’s freezing presence on the other end of the back seat. It’s excruciating to be trapped in a car with Connor’s scent, even if it still has that brittle quality that says he’s furious. Mason wonders what his own scent is telling Connor, whether it’s having any effect on him. Connor’s probably stronger than he is.

The trainer takes them up the elevator, and then he tells Connor you know where to find me if you need anything, and then he keycards himself into what’s apparently his own room, leaving Connor and Mason in the hallway.

Connor swipes his card in the opposite door. Mason follows him inside. The door closes behind him, loud in the empty hallway. “What’s going on?”

Connor turns to face him. His suitcase sits open on the luggage rack by his side. His jaw is as tense as Mason’s ever seen it. “They decided we’ve got a faulty bond.” Mason remembers Jamie sending Connor to his trainer after they met on the ice. Unlike Mason, Connor probably didn’t have the option of lying to whatever dynamic specialist his team called in. “They told me to fix it.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Connor hangs his suit jacket over the back of the desk chair. He takes a step toward Mason, and then another one.

Mason takes a step back. “Wait, we’re just supposed to fuck it out and hope things are fine?”

“I guess.” Connor looks like he’s bracing himself. Mason doesn’t like to think about what for.

Mason closes the distance between them, with the hard angry edge of Connor’s scent knifing into his lungs. He takes Connor’s face between his hands and Connor’s scent stays icily steady. Mason leans in to bring their lips together.

At the last minute, he backs away. “I can’t do this.”

“I thought you’d been waiting for this,” Connor says waspishly. 

“Not for this.” Mason flaps a hand at Connor. He doesn’t want Connor setting his jaw and looking at Mason like he’s an ice bath, unpleasant but necessary. He wants the Connor he had all too briefly in Arizona, throwing himself into Mason’s arms smelling like pure want.

Connor gives him a look like then what?

Mason recognizes the irony of being stuck in a hotel room with Connor. It’s where they started. They got through it, with push-up contests and arm wrestling and narrowing their eyes at each other as they faced off in dueling wall sits, determined to be the one who outlasted. Maybe they can again.

“Come with me.” Mason pivots toward the door. “I’ve got an idea.”

(next)

[forexbankliquiditypro]

Top 10 Accurate Forex Signals Service Providers for Belgium.

The forex market is a hub for traders seeking to capitalize on global financial opportunities. Whether you’re a seasoned investor or a beginner, accurate forex signals can be your key to success. Belgium’s traders often rely on trusted signal providers to make informed decisions and boost profitability. Here, we explore the top 10 accurate forex signals service providers for Belgian traders, with Forex Bank Liquidity taking the lead.

Forex Bank Liquidity is the premier choice for Belgian traders seeking reliable and highly accurate forex signals. Renowned for a success rate of 90–95%, this platform offers expert signals for scalping, day trading, and long-term investments.

Why Choose Forex Bank Liquidity?

High Accuracy: Consistently delivers profitable signals.

Expert Analysis: Signals are based on in-depth market research.

Accessible Community: Active Telegram group for updates and tips.

Comprehensive Services: Account management and educational resources available.

Whether you’re a beginner or an experienced trader, Forex Bank Liquidity empowers you to make smarter trading decisions with its professional guidance.

2. Zulutrade

Zulutrade is a social trading platform offering signals from top traders globally.

Key Features:

Automated trade copying for MT4/MT5 users.

Performance tracking and custom filtering.

Why Suitable for Belgian Traders?

Easy integration with popular brokers.

3. MQL5 Signals

Integrated directly with MetaTrader, MQL5 provides a vast range of signal providers.

Key Features:

Verified provider performance.

Seamless subscription via MT4/MT5.

Why Recommended?

Ideal for traders seeking automated or manual signals.

4. FX Leaders

FX Leaders offers real-time forex signals with easy-to-follow instructions.

Key Features:

Clear entry, stop-loss, and take-profit levels.

Signals supported by technical and fundamental analysis.

Why Trusted?

Free signals and premium plans available.

5. TradingView

Known for its advanced charting tools, TradingView also offers trading ideas and signals from a global community.

Key Features:

Customizable alerts.

Interactive trading community.

Why Suitable?

Perfect for traders who prefer technical analysis.

6. MyFxBook

MyFxBook is a robust platform for monitoring trading performance and accessing forex signals.

Key Features:

Verified performance metrics.

Copy trading options.

Why Popular?

Beginner-friendly with detailed trade breakdowns.

7. ForexSignals.com

ForexSignals.com combines signals with educational content to help traders grow.

Key Features:

Signal room with live trading sessions.

Tools to develop your trading skills.

Why Recommended?

Ideal for traders looking to learn while trading.

8. Learn 2 Trade

Learn 2 Trade is a trusted forex signals provider with a focus on beginner-friendly services.

Key Features:

Free and premium signal options.

Covers multiple currency pairs and timeframes.

Why Choose?

Great for Belgian traders seeking diverse signals.

9. eToro CopyTrading

eToro allows users to copy trades from successful traders.

Key Features:

Easy-to-use platform for automated trading.

Transparent trader performance stats.

Why Suitable?

Perfect for those wanting passive trading solutions.

10. PipChasers

PipChasers offers a blend of forex signals and educational support.

Key Features:

Accurate trade ideas for short and long-term gains.

Ongoing trader education.

Why Trusted?

Designed to support both beginners and pros.

Why Accurate Forex Signals Matter

Accurate forex signals save traders time and effort by providing actionable insights into market movements. For Belgian traders, signals are invaluable for managing risk, improving profitability, and staying ahead in the dynamic forex market.

Key Benefits of Forex Signals:

Time Efficiency: Spend less time analyzing markets.

Risk Management: Predefined stop-loss and take-profit levels.

Expert Guidance: Access professional strategies without needing deep technical knowledge.

Why Forex Bank Liquidity is the Best Choice for Belgium

Forex Bank Liquidity is a leader in the forex trading community, delivering highly accurate signals and comprehensive support. Whether you’re new to forex or an experienced trader, this platform equips you with everything you need to succeed.

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What is Telegram Signal Copier AI?

The Telegram Signal Copier AI is a specialized tool designed to automate the copying of trading signals from Telegram channels directly into MetaTrader (MT4 or MT5) platforms. It uses artificial intelligence to streamline the signal copying process, allowing users to receive trading signals on Telegram and execute them automatically on their trading accounts without manual intervention.

Key features often include:

Automated Trading: The tool extracts trade information like entry points, stop loss, and take profit levels from Telegram messages and places them into your trading platform.

Speed and Accuracy: The AI ensures signals are processed and executed in real-time, minimizing the delay between receiving a signal and opening a trade.

Customization: Traders can set parameters like lot size, risk management, and trade filters to fit their trading strategy.

Multiple Channels: Users can copy signals from several Telegram channels simultaneously.

24/7 Monitoring: The copier monitors Telegram channels around the clock to ensure no trading signals are missed.

In short, Telegram Signal Copier AI automates and simplifies the process of following trading signals, providing convenience and efficiency for Forex traders.