Pinned
- hiiii i'm bella
- late 20s
- he/they pronouns
- this is a sideblog :)
- some posts will be nsfw (#nsfw text) so 18+ to interact/follow pleaseeeeeee
Reblogged johnbottoms
why are his hands so big??
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someone needs to gift john egan a wall mounted singing fish that will play 30 seconds of the b52's love shack so 5-7 years later when the speaker breaks and bucky tries to throw it away gale can break out his soldering iron and play doctor to the thing that has more often than not served as background music to the majority of bucky-related migraines he's had since they moved in together
Reblogged swifty-fox
austin butler photographed by collier schorr, styled by gro curtis for vman 49 f/w 2022
this one deserved its own post imo
coming at this purely as a sandbox thought since i don't personally know too much about the history of raf scarves and/or their significance beyond what a handful of cursory google searches have offered me but since bader scarves were popularized (as i understand) and favored by raf pilots it is a fun thought experiment to imagine just how gale cleven from the middle of nowhere wyoming obtained one... and in such a pretty pale blue color too...... either bucky was hustling bringing back bet-won gifts or gale pussymatized a random raf pilot OR maybe just maybe if one can dare to dream in a beautiful yaoi world it can be Both
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okayyy bucky lipstick fic done, somehow it grew to be about other things? you can read it here if you like!
His smile is wide, a little dark, a little conspiratorial. “No, I think you push me around just fine as is. And without so much as a promise ring.”
The toothpick in his mouth reminds Gale not to bite down. “Watch yourself, Bucky.”
The roles Gale and John play for one another undergo a change.
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If you put headphones on, you can definitely hear Bucky say "so cute" while smiling so wide at Buck just before he grabs his face 🥹 Thanks to @caterina07121 for catching it! I tried to heighten the sound so it's clearer but I don't know if you can hear it without headphones
“Jeanie's a sweetheart,” Bucky says, finally. “And her couch is great and all, but I thought, y’know, I could cash in for a night or two.” “Cash in,” Gale repeats. “At the house?” “Well, you got a couch, too, don’t you? Kid-free and all. I’ll be on my best behavior, scout’s honor.” Gale thinks about this woman who she barely knows in the empty sprawl of her father’s house, about all the words he’d have to say about it if she hadn’t just buried him. John C. Egan– John, yeah, but my friends call me Bucky– who drinks and gambles and smokes like a man, who wears clothes made for them, who had grabbed Gale’s bloodied hand one night without asking and sprawled her name and number on the inside of her arm in barely legible sharpie. Hey, she’d said, marker cap still wedged between her teeth. You kinda look like a guy I know from– “Buck? You there?” Gale blinks. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay, Bucky.”
what if you were a baby closeted lesbian standing on a metaphorical cliff's edge with gender issues spawning faster than you could possibly find shelves inside of yourself to bury them and god said boom. meet a dykey shelf-opening and flying-right-towards you wrecking ball in bootcut jeans. And she's gonna give you a version of her boy name in your meetcute
