It’s charades night in Stark Tower.

Bucky is just out of frame, trying to get Steve to guess “50 Shades of Grey” and doing some particularly interesting moves with the metal arm. Steve suppresses laughter because he obviously knows what it is, but he wants him to keep going anyway because it’s too amusing to put an end to it, plus Tony and Rhodey have no idea what it is and they’re confused and somewhat frightened.

Clint is sulking because Natasha won’t be his partner anymore, not after the last time, when he couldn’t guess “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”

“What do you want me to say? You looked like you were doing bunny ears.”

“Bunnies hop, Clint.”

After reading @brbimstudying ’s post, I decided to show my side of the story as well.

What you see here are only the pictures. You don’t see how my hand gets frequent spams and how my right arm is hurting because of how much I’m writing. You don’t see the migraines I get practically every single day because of stress and exhaustion, to the point when I’m actually having to go to a neurologist.

You don’t see how many mental breakdowns I’ve had over a grade. You don’t see how many hours I’ve spent just lying in my bed because I’ve been studying for too long and now I’m too dizzy to get up. You don’t see all the times I cried and “gave up”.

I don’t know why, but I don’t really give up. I keep coming back to it.

Yesterday, I had a free afternoon and got home around 6pm. I studied until 10pm and had to listen to my parents go on and on about how irresponsible I was, just “throwing away study hours like that”. Had to listen about my math grade. I know about the math grade.

I am human. I am not motivated 24/7, or happy to study all the time. Sometimes I sit and stay there because I HAVE to, because I feel a terrible guilt when I stop. I fight my back, arm ,and hand pains and I keep going.

That’s what you don’t see.

“You would think after two years of living in this city, I wouldn’t get lost on my way to class anymore. Today I ended up in a hookah bar instead of my literature class. I mean, I wasn’t complaining, but imagine the look on my professor’s face when I told him that I was late because I took a wrong turn and ended up in a smoke shop. Not funny at all.”