#my eyeliner is a mess! i was lazy! took another picture with it fixed but eh

[toonfinatic]

Me today!!!!!

[starsfic]

Family Dinner

Summary: Xiaotian is invited to be a buffer at Red’s family dinner.

Notes: So Family Dinner won the Art School poll so...enjoy!

-_-

“I need your help.”

The tone, barely audible over his music, was enough to make Xiaotian stop his music and look up from his tablet. Red looked nervous, bouncing from foot to foot, and it didn’t help that his hair was down in a poofy mess and he looked like he hadn’t slept for three days. “Sure.” he said, hoping that would help that look fade. “What do you need?”

The look didn’t ease. “Just so we’re clear, you can say no, but my family dinner is coming up and I don’t want to be alone with them but-” Realization came to life. He hadn’t heard much about Red’s parents, but enough had been heard that Xiaotian could get a picture.

“Sure.”

Red came to a stop, eyes widening. “Really?”

Xiaotian nodded, saving his work and then turning off his tablet. “Yeah! If you don’t want to be alone with them, I get it. This hasn’t been the first time I’ve been a buffer.” The other blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it, clearly confused. “Xiaojiao’s parents love me.” he said, shrugging.

Red blinked again. “...okay.” he finally managed out, clearly moving past it. “Dress up nice and I’ll pick you up on Friday. Thanks.” And just like that, he was walking away.

“You’re welcome!” he called after him, unsure of what else to do.

-_-

Thankfully, Xiaotian had two nice outfits. Unfortunately, he also had a complete unawareness if they were nice enough. A quick text to Red, asking where they were going, fixed that. Thankfully, the outfits he had looked nice enough for the place which meant he didn’t need to go shopping.

Thirty minutes before he was supposed to be picked up, Xiaotian smoothed down his shirt. He had decided to go with the dress shirt and black slacks inside of the pretty orange dress, which still left him the question of what to do with his hair. He considered his reflection, humming in thought. He could leave it like it was, with his red headband making it spike up, but that felt too casual. Maybe down? He tried it, considering it. Xiaojiao was at a race in the next town over and was probably asleep at this hour, so he couldn’t call her for her opinion.

A knock on the door made him pull his eyes away. “It’s open!”

The door creaked open, revealing Red. He was dressed similarly, what looked like a fancy jacket slung over his arm, golden earrings in, and eye bags still visible. “I was wondering if you were-” He paused, staring at Xiaotian. It might’ve been the light, but for a moment, he had thought Red had been looking him over in a... boyfriend way, for lack of a better word. “You… have your hair down.” He sounded flustered, at least.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was nice enough or I should put it into a ponytail…”

“Keep it down.” Red said, scanning him over again with a much more technical look. “But it is missing something.” He looked around before landing on Xiaotian and Xiaojiao’s shared jewelry box. “Mind if I-?” Xiaotian nodded his approval, so Red hurried over. After a moment of rustling around, he pulled something out. “Here we go.”

He had pulled out a pair of golden monkey earrings, a gift from Tripitaka when he returned from visiting New York one time. Xiaotian took it with a word of thanks and slid them in. “You ready?” he asked when he finished, stopping to grab the flowers he had ordered just in case. Red shook his head but gestured to him to go first, closing the door behind them.

Outside, the night was cool. Red led Xiaotian to a small red car and once, they were buckled in, drove silently away from the dorms. 

After a few minutes of tense silence, Xiaotian glanced over at his… he wasn’t sure what they were. In any case, Red was as tense as a board, glaring straight ahead, and looking ready to pass out. “Hey,” he finally said. The other blinked. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s just… it’s the first time I’ve brought a guest to these dinners and my mother wasn’t exactly pleased when I told her you were coming after I asked you.” His knuckles went white on the wheel. “And I’m just freaked out you’re going to hate me after this is done.”

He reached out, holding Red’s shoulder. “Hey. Nothing your parents can do will make me hate you.” Xiaotian tried his best to pour every inch of sincerity into his voice. “You’re great. And there is nothing- RED LIGHT!” At his cry, Red slammed on the brakes, an inch from crossing the red light.

The car once again went silent, except for their frantic breaths and furiously pumping hearts. Ahead of them, traffic furiously drove and drove, busy, busy, busy. The two finally managed to catch their breaths, glancing at each other. When they met eyes, they lost their breath again- this time to relieved laughter. Finally, their light turned green and Red started again.

The brush with life and death had seemed to calm him a bit. He started smiling when Xiaotian turned on the radio and started to bop his head to the music.

But, soon enough, they were pulling into a parking lot. Red went stiff again the minute they had parked. Following his gaze, Xiaotian watched as a black limo dropped off two people at the front. When it passed, he finally got a good glance at Red’s parents.

The small woman in the front must’ve been Iron Fan. She was dressed in an elegant red and gold dress. Her long dark hair was pulled away in a complex hairstyle to reveal a beautiful face with red-painted lips and sharp eyeliner. Behind her was DBK. Sharing his son’s liking of colored hair, his purple hair was pulled back into a short bun. He was dressed in a dark suit that failed to hide the fact that he was built like a tank, amber eyes scanning the parking lot. Looking for them.

Red took a deep breath before pulling on his coat. “Okay.” he breathed out, readjudting his ponytail one last time. “Let’s do this.”

“Are you ready?”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

The two bundled out of the car, Xiaotian gripping his bouquet tight. Together they headed towards Red’s parents. In a walk that both felt too long and too short, they were at the sidewalk. The two elders turned and he felt a shiver run down his spine. DBK looked… not pleased. But Iron Fan had the same look on Xiaojiao’s face whenever she was mentally planning to gut someone. Red came to a stop and Xiaotian mirrored him.

“Mother. Father. My apologies for being late.” Red’s tone was formal, apologetic.

His mother stepped forward, the gutting look replaced by some kind of look that was too cold to be maternal. “We were wondering where you were,” Iron Fan said, cupping Red’s face. And then she was squishing his cheeks. “My sweet useless boy.” Before Xiaotian could say something, she was turning to him. The look was back. “And this must be Qi Xiaotian.”

“Yes!” Xiaotian said, trying to not be cowed. He held out his hand. “Red’s told me so much about you.” A lie, but one he hoped worked. Iron Fan considered his hand before shaking it. Her red-nailed grip was ridiculously strong. “I… hope you like flowers?” he managed out, holding out the bouquet.

Iron Fan took it, considering the flowers. “How sweet.” she said. Without another word, she turned. “Come on, let’s go before our table is given away.” The boys followed, not sure what else to do.

When their backs were turned, Xiaotian slid his hand into Red’s hand and squeezed it in a hopeful attempt at comfort.

Red squeezed it back.

Inside, the decor was elegant- one of the fanciest places Xiaotian had ever been in. Their hostess led them up a grand staircase, overlooking the rest of the restaurant, and to a round table with a lazy Susan tray in the center. “We hope you enjoy it.” she said, promising their waiter would be by soon. Xiaotian thanked her before looking down to realize Red had pulled out his chair. Across the table, DBK had done the same to Iron Fan, pushing her in.

Together, they opened their menus. “I think we will get our usual,” DBK said, his voice rough. Xiaotian nearly jumped at it, since the man hadn’t said a word. “Do you have any thoughts, Xiaotian?”

He glanced at the menu, trying to figure out what would be best to say. The menu had been online and he had given it a quick scan ahead, but Red’s parents were leaving him floundering. “Do you have any recommendations?” he finally managed out.

Iron Fan’s grin, cold and cruel, showed he had mistepped.

In the end, it felt like they had ordered the spiciest things on the menu for their main courses. Xiaotian resisted a scream and the waiter had a pitying look on his face. So did DBK, much to his surprise. Now, all that was left to do was wait for the first course.

“So, Xiaotian,” Iron Fan said, all her attention on him. “What do you study?”

School. He could do school. “I’m doing a painting and graphic design major.” Xiaotian said, trying to sound confident. “I’m working on a webcomic idea. But if that doesn’t work out, I’m planning to go into museum work.” He had worked with his dads to figure out this backup plan, just in case.

“Oh, really.” The waiter returned to pour dark red wine into their wine glasses. Iron Fan took a sip. “What is your webcomic about?” Next to him, Red stiffened. Xiaotian stiffened as well.

“It’s… about my dad.” he finally squeaked out.

Iron Fan stiffened but this time DBK leaned forward in interest. “How is Wukong?” he said. “I haven’t heard much since my… return.” And there was another fact- they used to be friends. If things had been different, Xiaotian probably would’ve grown up with Red. “I only heard he adopted a son.”

“He’s married.” Xiaotian squeaked.

The dinner did not get better from there. 

When the food arrived, there was a glass of water that came with it for Xiaotian (which seemed to be the only mercy), and Iron Fan and DBK seemed to laser-focus on Red. It didn’t seem to matter that he was there, their words were cold, casual, and cruel as they picked at things here and there, no matter how trivial.

Finally, the dessert course was done, the check arrived, and DBK paid. “Remember your grades.” Iron Fan said when DBK’s credit card was returned. Without another word or an actual goodbye, she was standing and she and her husband were leaving. Red shuddered the minute they were out of view.

“That went well.” he finally managed out.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.” Xiaotian said, not sure what else to say. At least Xiaojiao’s parents tried, or at least didn’t have their issues in front of him. “I didn’t expect…”

“Nobody expects my parents, Noodle Boy. Let’s go home.”

The ride back was in exhausted silence. “I have mochi.” Xiaotian mumbled out when they parked. “Want some?” He needed something to eat after trying to not burn his tongue off and he really didn’t want to leave Red alone.

“...yeah.”

[chuckling-chemist]

Let’s Start The New Sweep Right (10/14)

((Opening starts with Careen, so again, if bad relationships upset you I advise just skipping down. Song referenced this time was Libertango. Love me that Libertango))

“Darling, I’m going to dance with a very important political troll. I do hope you don’t mind, because frankly I don’t think you can change mine.”

Dontoc nodded absently. It hadn’t taken particularly long for Careen to end up getting bored of him after the first couple dances and had pretty much left him near the wall for her to flit about the ballroom. He offered to go with her out of obligation, but she declined, citing improper dress for the kind of politicking she needed to do at this event. Not that being told he can’t go with her upset or disappointed him in any way, but it did lead the way to having nothing to do. Initially he tried looking for Mayola or Valeba, but the search ended rather quickly when the crowd in the main floor thickened and his anxiety took over. Dontoc ended up hanging on the wall next to a bowl of unfortunately mediocre punch kept cool by an ice sculpture of some sort of bird.

“Dontoc? Are you even listening to me?”

He jumped, inhaling sharply. A shaky hand ran through his hair, trying to calm himself. “My...my apologies. Did you say something? I am afraid I may have become lost in my own thoughts there.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “I’m going to dance with another troll, and you can’t stop me from doing so.”

He blinked owlishly and furrowed his brow in thought. “Oh...yes. Yes. You just said that. Was...was there nothing else?”

“You’re not going to try and stop me?”

“Careen, you are your own troll. I am not going to become upset and possessive simply because you wish to dance with…” he trailed off as he looked around for whoever she was talking about, but found no one amidst the sea of trolls, “with someone political.”

She tapped her foot with tightly pursed lips, making soft clicks with enough fervor Dontoc thought it might go through the floor. He steadied his breath, bracing himself for the worst. They were not about to have this fight. They were not about to fight because he let her do what she wanted.

Another troll appeared out of the crowd: a towering indigoblood, taller than Dontoc by a good few inches, in a pair of pantaloons and puffy white shirt who’s pompadour made him instantly recognizable to him. He wrapped an arm around Careen’s shoulders with a noticeable smarmy grin. “I see we meet again, seadweller.”

Dontoc gave the troll a lazy once over before turning back to Careen. He hadn’t noticed the tight boots going overtop his pants, up past his knee and tight enough it hugged every crease of his body to the ankle, and to be frank he wished desperately he hadn’t. “Please, do not mind me,” he told her, amiable smile plastered on his face. “I can entertain myself for a few songs.” Not as if you have not already led me to do such a thing.

“But are you sure?” Careen asked. She patted the indigoblood’s hand. “You’re not upset or anything?”

He shook his head. “We have already had this conversation. That would be--” Dontoc stopped as Careen whipped her and her partner around wordlessly away from him to mesh in with the waltzing dance partners. “--idiotic,” he finished softly.

Well, it wasn’t a fight.

He filled his champagne flute up to the top with more punch. He held no desire to return to the VIP area where Atenic likely still sat in perfect silence to stare vacantly until some other troll thought her mannerisms were cute or endearing and not deeply, deeply disturbing. And while the area was certainly less populated, the closer quarters made it feel just as busy as the main floor without the benefit of being able to easily escape outside without passing by burly bouncers in suits far too tight for them, nor was it possible to really disappear into a crowd when there wasn’t technically one to begin with. Hanging on a wall here to watch the orchestra musicians switch out between sets made him look no different from the other rainbow of castes collecting near the wall for whatever reason. Staying near the wall in the VIP area, where every troll appeared to have brought a date or have the charisma to snag another troll going stag, actively made him look lonely.

Another song started up, this one opening up with the director leading others into a steady clap in time to the staccato hits of the piano. Many of the trolls closer to the orchestra dancing picked it up immediately. Some of the more clever ones even worked it into their tango. Dontoc watched a few trolls not far from him that also wallflowered to the wall give half-hearted claps. He didn’t himself, but he also didn’t wish to set down his glass.

“Too good for a few claps?”

Now there was a voice he wasn’t soon to forget. A voice like good chocolate: smooth, familiar and reminiscent distinctly of late mornings on the computer in comfort. He didn’t even need to look over to check who was talking. He could never forget the voice of his moirail.

“Perhaps one should look in the mirror, for I at least have justification,” he said cheekily. He lifted up his glass, taking the smallest sip before setting it down gently on the table.

“Well I do too.”

He turned to her, quirking an eyebrow. “And what, my dear, would that be?”

“This.” With a laugh, she took his arm and pulled him into a tight embrace. Dontoc let his head bury itself into her shoulder. The warmth from her body radiated from her, from the arms wrapped around his back and the hair tickling his face that made his fins twitch and flutter. “God Dontoc, never knew you were one for PDA,” she joked.

“I think the troll world at large will manage to accept a brief moment for two moirails who have not seen each other in...oh goodness how long has it been?” He pulled his head up to look at her, letting his arms fall down to her hold her hands. Valeba was radiant. Now that they were close up, he could see every intricate piece to her outfit. And was her eyeliner winged? Did Mayola convince her to wing eyeliner? “Goodness you look fantastic. And Ardeen is not even here to watch.”

“Yeah, but can you imagine Ardeen here?” She turned around briefly as the accordion swelled to take a look at all general populace. “He owns like...one suit. Maybe. I’ve never seen it. I think he’s fucking with me.”

“Does it still fit?”

“Did yours when we first met?” She smirked.

Dontoc smiled sheepishly, purple blush inflaming his cheeks. “Ah...well I had yet to phase them all out, yes. Ace...ace...Aisral is a very busy troll, you are aware, and well, she had to fix all of my suits due to the lack of care I had given them and... oh you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah.” Her smirk fell. “Everything okay?”

“As okay as it can be when you are stuck with Careen. And her company. And the crowd. And....” He sighed, shaking his head. “I should be glad she abandoned me some time ago, but...well, you know. Afraid it is rather limiting.”

“Yeah, I do.” Her smile returned in coupling with gently squeezing his soft hand in her calloused one. You need to take your thinkpan off things, or do you wanna talk?”

His fins fluttered furiously to match the deepening violet. “Here? Valeba, a hug is one action, but we are moirails and this is not a Sandyhorn party. For the two of us to curl and talk so brazenly at this would be frowned upon. Normally, I would not care so much, but you’re Mayola’s kismesis now and--”

She chuckled. “Okay, I get it.” With a pat of his shoulder, she added, “Doing it at a formal ball with your moirail is eons different from doing it at a diner with a crush.”

Dontoc’s mouth fell open. “Valeba that was your idea!”

She wasn’t wrong by any stretch of the imagination. Valeba was one of the only few trolls who knew how his and Pallia’s relationship existed in a dubious red area, seeing as it was her advice that backfired.

She grinned. “And did it make things feel better, after the awkwardness faded away?” Dontoc wanted to answer to try and refute it, but his phone got to him first. Lying and saying he wasn’t texting anyone was one thing. Trying to convince his moirail he was texting anyone other than Pallia was another story entirely. “That’s her isn’t it?”

He slid his phone out just enough to see Pallia’s name flash over top the words “glassin’s utterly trasshed lol” along the top of the screen. He held back a grin as the mental image of what Glacin could possibly be doing to necessitate a text flooded his mind. Hopefully there was a picture attached to it. Pallia wouldn’t just hang him out to dry.  “Of course.” He slid his phone back down to look back up at her. Checking it around company was impolite. “You know me too well, Valeba.”

“Well first off, I’m your moirail. Pretty sure that’s expected.” 

“This is true, yes.”

“Second, I’d like to think you’re pretty easy to figure out.” She shrugged nonchalantly. She paused to push a loose strand of hair that fell from her bun behind her ear. “You’re a geek who does geek things with anxiety, so sometimes you don’t do geek things. Like now, you’re hanging on the wall because there’s a lot of people and these types of fancy shindigs really aren’t your thing.”

Dontoc nodded. His hands slid into his pockets, pushing the tweed jacket back behind them. “So you can predict, theoretically of course what I shall do next with a relatively low margin of error.”

“Probably.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I am afraid, your calculations are off.” 

She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “And where would that be, oh wise seadweller?”

The song ended in a flurry of sixteenth notes running about the scale. Anyone watching, on the dance floor or out of the corner of their eye, could catch the bowstrings of the violins moving about furiously all the way until the finale. Trolls, dancers and onlookers alike, stopped what they were doing to applaud the orchestra musicians. A couple doing the solos even stood up and bowed. Somewhere in that crowd was Careen and that ridiculous indigoblood, possibly laughing and judging him for something now that he was away. Careen undoubtedly also told him more, about his choice of moirail and “unwilling” attitude about dancing. He wasn't sure if Careen was trying to send some kind of message (what that would be, he couldn't begin to fathom) or if she was attracted to men in ill-fitting clothing. It certainly explained her initial draw to him, much as that thought it really was that shallow left a bad taste in his mouth.

But Dontoc shut all that out. Focusing on the crowd led to nothing good, especially now of all times where doing such led to the desperate want to leave. Not when he wanted to do something unexpected. He let out a slow breath, silencing his thoughts and forcing his shaky hands to steady long enough to take hers again. A sly smile played on his lips. “From the sounds of it, you do not anticipate for me to request an official dance. And yet, I would like to ask my lovely moirail if she would like to dance. Crowd be damned.”

He watched with amusement as Valeba’s expression morphed from surprise; looking about the room to hide the rising blush on her cheeks; then confusion, then playful. She mirrored his own smile with shining eyes. “Well…” she said lightly as she shifted to the balls of her feet to ready herself, “since you asked nicely, I just don’t think I can refuse.”

[cassiopeiassky]

Never Surrender

So I did a thing that I shouldn’t have done, because I have 542,396 other things to do.  Oh well.  I did the thing anyway.

This is a songfic inspired by Skillet’s Never Surrender.  It came up on my playlist yesterday and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.

Bucky x reader

Word count: 3898

Warnings: This story deals heavily with depression and self-hate.  There’s a fair amount of angst, although it also has a fair amount of fluff at the end. Language, because I'm me. Oh and Bucky is an absolute angel.

Lyrics are in italics

Do you know what it’s like when

You’re scared to see yourself?

Do you know what it’s like when

You wish you were someone else?

You rummage through your closet for what feels like the fiftieth time, and you fight back the tears. Again.  The problem isn’t that you don’t have any clothes, it’s that none of them fit right or make you feel good about yourself.  Then again, nothing really feels good anymore.  Hasn’t for a few weeks.

A heavy sigh finds its way out.  It isn’t exactly that you’d forgotten about your family pictures, it’s more that you chose not to think about it, and things you don’t think about tend to sneak up on you…like your junior year of high school, when you knew you were going to Homecoming but put off buying a dress until the afternoon of the dance. That hadn’t worked out well for you – the only options available were picked over, ugly, and Ill-fitting. “Procrastination, just another one of my amazingly incredible talents,” you snark to yourself.  God, can’t you do anything right?

The portraits were your dad’s idea, and you thought you’d have enough time to do what you needed to do to get ‘picture ready,’ but no.  Everything’s exactly the same as it was three months ago when the appointment was scheduled.  The same weight you aren’t comfortable at, the same height you hate.  The same hair, skin, eyes…everything’s the fucking same and you hate it.

You hate yourself.

You really don’t want to be memorialized this way, to have a tangible piece of evidence of your glaring imperfections, but it isn’t like you can call in sick to your family pictures. Well maybe….no.  No, you can’t.

Shit.

You pull on another pair of pants, and immediately take them off when you see how they emphasize the wrong parts of your body.  Maybe a skirt would be more forgiving of your flaws?  One shirt, two shirts, three shirts later…one was too short, one too long, and one too loose in one area but too tight in another.  

By this point the dam is ready to break, and you aren’t sure what’s holding you together.  Well yes, actually, you do.  Your boyfriend will be home soon and you don’t want him to see you like this. It’s not that he’d judge you – he’d never do that, in fact, if anybody would know how you feel it’d be him – it’s just that Bucky deals with enough.  It’s not like you to hide yourself away from him, but you can’t help but feel how unfair it is to Bucky that you’re like this; he carries enough, he doesn’t need to shoulder your burdens, too.

Because that’s what you are, right?  A burden. And not even a pretty burden.  You choke back the sob that threatens to destroy your composure as you look in the mirror.  Worthless.  Stupid. Hideous.

 Do you know what it’s like when

You’re not who you wanna be?

Do you know what it’s like to

Be your own worst enemy?

 30 minutes till you have to leave – back to the closet.

Maybe that green shirt would look better if you wore the pink bra?  Fuck, where is the pink bra?

The tears threaten again, and you decide to change tactics.  “Make up, don’t fail me now,” you mutter as you take your place at the brightly lit vanity; a gift from Bucky when you’d moved in together.  You’ll deal with the clothing situation in a bit, you still need to get your face and hair done.

Well, today is not your day, to say the least.  You can’t get the shading right on your eyeshadow, the eyeliner is smudged and not in a good way, and your left eyelashes are a mascara clumped mess while the right eye has a perfect imprint of the mascara brush just above your lash line. And then there’s the Mount Vesuvius of zits on your chin that you have to try to disguise – you might as well put a fucking Hello Kitty bandaid on the thing for all the luck you’re having hiding it. “Goddammit.”  Seriously, will you manage to get anything right today??

You glance at the clock – fuck, you have to leave in 15 minutes.  You fix your eyes as best you can and move onto your hair.  Your hair that you’d skipped washing this morning because you’d overslept, because on top of everything else, you’re lazy and greasy and gross.  Okay, well, there’s not much you can do about that now.  Maybe some dry shampoo?

The bottle spits pathetically.  Empty. Of course, because you couldn’t fucking remember to pick more up.

“GodDAMN IT!” you screech as you slam the bottle down.

Why are you such a waste of space?  Your hands clutch at your hair as you slump down, desperately fighting back the tears. You’d think that you’d be a champ at this by now.

Do you know what it’s like

To wanna surrender?

“Sugarplum?  Where are you, baby?  Are you ready to go?”  Bucky’s voice floats through the bedroom door.

If you answer there will be sobs instead of words, so you don’t answer.

“Sugarplum?”  His hand becomes a comforting weight on your shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks quietly as he kneels down to your level.

You can’t lie to him – not just because you decided you never would, but because you simply can’t. He’d know.  So you don’t.  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumble as you shrug off his touch and walk into the closet.  He follows, but doesn’t say anything.

As you stare listlessly at the clothes still hanging in your closet, you can feel his gaze.  Truth be told, you probably don’t have to tell him what’s wrong.  You know him well enough to know that he’s observed the state of the bedroom – the clothes everywhere, the way your vanity is disorganized – he knew before he even saw you.  Not to mention that he lives with you; prying isn’t his style, though, so he’s been respecting your boundaries even though you’ve been steadily closing down and pushing him away.

“Ya know, I always like seeing you in that black and teal dress, the one you were wearing when we first met.”  His soft baritone eases something, you’re not sure what, and you nod.  You hadn’t considered that dress because it isn’t in your closet – it’s still hanging in the laundry room from the last time it was washed.  You know without looking that he’s gone to get it; he’s doing his best to help without stepping on your toes.  He respects you when you say you don’t want to talk, and instead of pushing, he waits for you to come to him.  Your shoulders slump and you swallow hard when you think of how he deserves so much better than what you can offer.

“Here you go, Sugarplum,” he murmurs as he helps you put on the dress.  It’s one of your favorites – soft with a graceful and flowy skirt, it accentuates what you usually like about yourself while still managing to mostly camouflage the parts you want to keep hidden.  

“Thanks,” you mutter as you head back out to your vanity.  “I just…I have to do something with my hair.”  You speak in barely a whisper – you sound pathetic.  You are pathetic.

He’s quiet for a moment before clearing his throat.  “What about your sexy twisty hairdo?”

Confusion washes over you. “What?”

“Your sexy twisty hairdo,” he motions with his hands, and as you watch him through the mirror it’s almost enough to make you giggle.  Almost. “It’s…it’s what I call that updo you do when I keep you up too late the night before and you oversleep…the one you do with the hair stick and the thick black plasticy lacy headband.”

Oh.  Well, that’s actually a really good idea.  You’d wanted to wear your hair down, but that clearly isn’t going to work today.  Twisting and pinning it up takes care of the texture issues, and the headband hides both the slightly greasy hair and the unruly flyaways that frame your face. It’s a look that takes all of a minute to put together but looks like it took at least twenty.  And he’s right – it’s the way you wear your hair to work on mornings you run late, and you get more compliments on those days than any other.

“Thanks, Buck.”  You still can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he pulls you into a bone-cracking hug, “anytime, Sugarplum.”

***

Pictures went as well as could be expected, you suppose.  They’re still taking pictures of the new grandbaby when your mom approaches you in the sitting room.

“You don’t seem like you today.  Did you and Bucky have a fight?”

You shake your head – there’s no way you’re blaming this on him, because he’s been nothing but perfect – but she’ll poke and prod until she gets an answer.  Might as well suck it up and be honest.  “I’m just not happy with myself, Mom.”  There.  You’ve said it.  You can see out of the corner of your eye that Bucky stiffens at your words, even though he’s not facing you.  Goddamn supersoldier hearing.

“You look fine, and no one will notice your make up in the pictures; none of them were closeups.”

You roll your eyes so hard, you’re pretty sure you pulled a muscle.  Leave it to your mom to try to make you feel better by completely disregarding your feelings.  She means well, but it doesn’t help.  

“Honey, we’ve been over this before.  I’ve already told you, you’re perfect the way you are.  Tall girls always want to be short, short girls always want to be tall, skinny girls want to be curvy and curvy girls want to be skinny.  Curly girls want straight hair, and straight-haired girls want curls.  People just want what they don’t have.”  She looks at you like she expects her statements to suddenly lift the dark cloud hanging over you.

Okay, fine, you’ll concede the truth of her words to a point because you’ve had the hair conversation about a million times in your life, but the rest of what she says is not completely true.  Everyone you know has at least one thing they love about themselves, but not you.  Your self-loathing sharpens - why did you have to get the short end of the stick on everything?  Why can’t you have at least one thing about yourself that you like?

“Are you still seeing that doctor?”  

“What?”   Her question takes you by surprise.

“For your depression. Are you still seeing someone? Still taking your meds?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” you snap.  Yes, you’ve been taking your antidepressant.  No, you haven’t seen your therapist lately – you’ve been working late hours and haven’t had time.  But what does that fucking matter?  The way you feel is the way you feel.

“Well, that’s supposed to help with…things…”  Your mom struggles with this, she always has.  You suppose it’s because she doesn’t like the idea of her baby girl feeling less than happy at all times.  

You can’t find it in you to care.  “So because I take a pill I’m not allowed to have bad feelings?  They don’t just magically go away, Mom.”

She opens her mouth to respond when Bucky steps up.

“I’m so sorry Sugarplum, but I need you to bring me into the clinic.  My arm is acting up – the upgrades Stark did this afternoon must have some sort of glitch because the nerve receptors just quit working.”

You glance at him to see his metal arm hanging awkwardly.  “Oh shit, yeah, of course,” you murmur as you start digging for the keys.

“I’m sorry to cut this short ma’am, but I’ll be sure to bring your daughter out to see you next weekend,” Bucky promises, nodding respectfully before placing his right hand at your lower back to guide you out of the sitting room.  It isn’t until you get to the car and he takes the keys from you that you realize what he’s done – his arm is absolutely fine.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it would be best to get you out of there,” he says as he opens the passenger door for you.  

You nod woodenly as you get in, but are unable to come up with anything to say.  The ride home is silent in the car, but in your head it’s anything but.

There was a time you didn’t feel like this, but it feels like it was so long ago.  You were once happy, but you couldn’t say when.  You can see Bucky chew his lip in worry as he glances at you periodically, and the guilt just about overwhelms you.  He shouldn’t have to deal with this.  With you.

He still doesn’t say anything as you get home, and you start to wonder if he’s planning to leave. It’d be understandable – you certainly wouldn’t blame him.

Fear drives you out of the car and to your bedroom as quickly as possible; you don’t know why, but you want to hide.  Well, yes you do.  Your conversation with your mother has made you realize that you’re in a depressive episode.  God, this sucks.  It brings about the tiniest but of clarity, though.

As you take down your hair and toss your headband onto the vanity, there’s a light knock on the door, but Bucky doesn’t wait before entering.  He approaches, stopping just behind you, careful not to get too close. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and Sugarplum, I’m trying to respect that but you’re starting to scare me.” Bucky sounds so timid and unsure, and you hate yourself for making him feel this way.  “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Taking a deep breath as you turn around, you’re taken aback by the look on his face; you’ve never seen him look so lost.

How do you put this into words?

“I just…sometimes I just really hate myself.”  And with your whispered confession, the dam finally breaks.

He catches you as you sink to the floor, pulling your bawling form into his lap as he cradles you in his embrace.  The words finally come as he softly strokes your hair and gently rocks, and it feels both horrible and wonderful to voice the feelings you’ve been trying to shove down.

Bucky holds you, remaining silent throughout although you hear a few poorly hidden sharp intakes of breath when he is particularly distressed by something you’ve said.

It isn’t until you’ve been quiet for quite some time, save for crying, that he finally speaks up.

“How do I help you?” Bucky sounds almost as broken as you feel.

“I don’t wanna feel like this tomorrow, I don’t wanna live like this today.  Make me feel better, I wanna feel better,” you sob, clutching him tightly.  “Please, put me back together.”

“What can I do for you, Sugarplum?  I’ll do anything.”  The desperation in his voice is clear.

“Stay with me here,” you hiccup.

“I love you, baby, nothing could ever take me away.”  He holds you impossibly close as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.  “Can you just do one thing for me?  Please?”  He doesn’t wait for your response before he whispers his request, “Never surrender.”

“I won’t,” you sniffle as you bury your face into his neck.  He holds you a bit longer before untangling himself from you and helping you to your feel.  Without releasing your hand, he leads you into the bathroom and directs you to sit on the toilet seat.

Another kiss is pressed the crown of your head as you stare at the floor in front of you.  You’ve essentially purged the self-hate that’s been brewing over the past few weeks, and now you’re exhausted.  Bucky’s tinkering with something in the medicine cabinet and then running water, but you don’t have the energy to look.

He kneels in front of you before whispering, “Close your eyes for me, Sugarplum.”  You do, and you feel the soothing chill of a cotton ball soaked in your make up remover as it passes over your swollen eyes.  Bucky then brings you to your feet and removes your clothing before leading you into the shower.  You stand under the spray, allowing the water and Bucky’s gentle touch to rinse away the remaining traces of your emotional breakdown.

It feels good to let him take care of you, and you do your best to ignore the voice in your head telling you that you don’t deserve this.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder before retrieving a towel to wrap your hair and then a second to dry your body.  Neither of you speaks; you don’t have to.  You’ve already said what you have to say and he knows from experience that words aren’t enough in this kind of situation, so instead of filling the silence with optimistic yet ultimately trite and cliched phrases, he puts his love into motion.

You try to smile at him to acknowledge his efforts because you’re grateful for him, you really are, but it comes off as a pained grimace as a few more tears leak out.  Bucky knows what you mean, though, and he simply kisses away your tears before helping you into your comfiest pajamas.  He pauses to pull your hair up and out of your way and then leads you back into the bedroom.  As he gets dressed your eyes follow him - God, when he moves he’s like poetry in motion.  The graceful purpose with which he moves his body never fails to mesmerize you, and the glint from his metal arm is hypnotic in the dim lighting.  And yet…hasn’t he felt the same self-abhorring feelings about himself that you’ve been drowning in lately?  It sort of puts things into perspective. He still has days when he thinks he’s a monster, but you adore him nonetheless.  It occurs to you that he’s doing the same for you; loving the monster you think you are without ever seeing the ugly. Your brain wants to know why, why would he bother? And then your heart mutters its reply: because he loves you, you dolt.

If only there was a way to make your heart consistently louder than your brain.

“Arms up, Sugarplum,” his quiet voice breaks through your internal musing, and you do as he requests so he can slip one of his hoodies on you.

Finally fully warm and less lost in the cold confines of your mind, he leads you into the living room where he sits in the corner of the couch before pulling down to lie with your head in his lap. You curl yourself into a ball, and upon seeing that you’re still extremely raw, Bucky gathers you up and cradles you in his arms before shifting you both, moving until he’s mostly beneath you and you’re almost fully enveloped within his embrace with your head resting over his heart.  He somehow manages to drape a blanket over you, tucking you into him until you begin to feel safe and protected from yourself.  It’s almost imperceptible, but you’re sure you feel the shattered pieces of your soul slowly start to knit back together.

Your eyes slide closed as he grabs the remote and flips on the tv, searching the channels until he finds the movie Armageddon. Bucky reaches again, and a moment later you hear him tapping something on his phone. The sounds blend with those of one of your favorite movies as you finally drift off to sleep.

***

The sound of rustling bags wakes you, but you don’t bother to open your eyes.

“I really don’t think that the animal cracker qualifies as a cracker.” You must not have been out that long - Armageddon is still on, and it’s currently at one of your favorite scenes.

“Well cause it’s sweet, which to me suggests cookie, and, you know, I mean putting cheese on something is sort of the defining characteristic of what makes a cracker a cracker.  Damn right - you tell her, AJ.

“Thanks, Stevie.” Bucky’s quiet voice captures your attention.

“Anytime, Buck.  Is she okay?  Is there anything we can do?”

“Nah, I got this. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Alright, just text me if you need anything else.”

You feel Bucky’s nod before he presses a kiss to the top of your head.  Steve lets himself out, and you allow yourself to float a bit in the tenuous peace Bucky has provided for you.

Your stomach growls at the smell of the food that’s clearly on your coffee table - if your nose isn’t lying, it’s your favorite take out.  Still, you don’t speak or open your eyes until the horrifically wonderful sound of AJ and his team serenading Grace floats into the living room.

“From now on, I want a full rendition of Leaving on a Jet Plane before you leave for missions.”

You feel more than hear his quiet chuckle.   “For you, Sugarplum, anything.”  There’s a long pause before he continues, “Do you know why I call you Sugarplum?”

“Because you’re old, and back in the day when you had to walk uphill butt naked through 2 miles of snow to get to school, that’s what guys called their best girl?”

“Hey!  I’ll have you know - well - shit, you’re not wrong,” he concedes with a breathy laugh.

You smile, and for the first time in weeks it doesn’t feel like your cheeks will crack with the effort.

“Before I met you, plums were my favorite thing in the world. Then you came along, and you loved me when I was at my worst. And I figured, well, if a woman like you can love me at my worst, then maybe I’m worth loving after all.  You became my favorite thing, but just calling you Plum sounded kinda funny, and besides, I love you better than plums, so I put the Sugar in front of it.”  He shrugs. “And yes, it was an endearment back in the good ol’ days when you young whipper snappers respected your elders.”

You shift to smile up at him.

“I’m gonna love you through this.  I know I can’t make it better, but I’ll be by your side the whole time.  I’ll love you enough for both of us until you can learn how to love yourself.”

You think to what he just said a few moments ago.  “Well, I guess if a man like you can love me at my worst, then maybe I’m worth loving after all.”

He smiles his signature lopsided smile when he recognizes his own words.  “That’s my girl.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

There’s a light in his eyes when he asks, “For what, Sugarplum?”

“You make me feel better.”  The relief in his eyes is evident, even though you both know this is far from over.  Still, you know whether or not you feel worthy of his devotion, he’ll be with you every step of the way.  The knowledge doesn’t magically make everything better, but it gives you courage to face tomorrow.  “I promise, Buck, no matter how bad it gets, I’ll never surrender.”

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