#contains pictures of food under the readmore

[storiesofsvu]

A Dangerous Game Ch 11

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol consumption, smut, kinda semi public/very public smut, daddy!emily, two idiots in denial but slowly realizing it, minor talk of past hurt/angst/relationships. some more foreshadowing and parallels from previous chapters (v interested to see if y'all pick up on them...) sergio being a little shipper/instigator. House pictured is yn's, i have a real estate link i'll add later thanks to the constant glitching from earlier. Also the triple stars *** mean it’s the next week. The * means time passage same day. I AM PUTTING A READMORE IN, IF IT DOESN'T WORK AGAIN THAT IS NOT ON ME IT IS ON THE HELLSITE AND I AM SO SORRY.

It was incredibly easy to fall into a routine with Emily in the following weeks.

You’d leave work on Fridays, sometimes at the same time, but never together, always making sure to say goodnight to everyone as if you weren’t about to spend the night together. The first week Emily had left Sergio extra food, and since your place was closer to the BAU, you spent it there. The following you ended up back at Emily’s and the habit was made to make the trip to D.C every Friday.

Emily would claim it was because Sergio destroyed a couch cushion and puked on the entry way rug in retaliation of being left out of take out night but you knew it was because she liked her own bed better. You had to admit, you weren’t complaining about it at all, her bed was comfier, bigger too and she had a larger selection of toys. The unspoken argument was that because it was further in miles from Quantico, it felt it, you felt less like you were breaking the no fraternizing rule, when you were there you were still wrapped in the safety of your Vegas bubble.

***

You were fresh out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel, hair pulled up to keep it out of the way when your phone buzzed on the basin counter.

‘I dunno about you but after that fucking hell I am absolutely not cooking tonight.’

‘Are you still at work!?’

‘Last minute budget meeting.’ She inserted an eye roll emoji, ‘I’m just getting in the car now.’

‘Well you just take your pretty ass home, uncork a bottle of wine and relax, I’ll worry about dinner. What’re you feeling?’

‘You were in field training all day; I’m not making you cook.’

‘Never said anything about cooking. I drive right past Carmine’s on the way to your place.’

‘Sounds perfect. See you in forty?’

‘Maybe a teeny bit longer, I’m literally still dripping from the shower.’

‘Won’t be the only time you’re dripping tonight.’

‘Emily!’

*

Dinner was eaten on the couch that night, a little bit of extra relaxation for everyone, more physically for you and mentally for Emily. Leaning forward she picked up her wine glass from the coffee table, replacing it with the mainly eaten container of carbonara before she settled back against the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. You had your back resting against the arm of the couch, your legs extended across her lap, container of classic spaghetti and meatballs in your lap. You let out a small groan, shifting your legs and stretching out one of your calves before it cramped and Emily chuckled.

“Morgan put you through the ringer?”

“Honestly not as bad as I expected.” You laughed, letting out a happy hum as she began to gently massage the muscles.

“Probably helps you guys work out together.”

“Yeah. And my cardio is better than his, I can run circles around him.”

“I’ll make sure I don’t work you too hard tonight then.” She said with a grin and you scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes.

“How kind of you.”

You were distracted momentarily when Sergio leapt up onto the couch beside you, crawling into what open space your lap had and you greeted him with a gentle scratch behind the ears. He leant into it with a soft meow and your hand shifted to under his chin while you cooed at him for a moment. Emily watched with a soft smile, her hands still gently rubbing at your skin, not only could she get used to this, she already had and it was after only three weeks. Your gaze had drifted from Sergio back up to the television, your fingers absentmindedly picking at the leftover meatball on your plate, handing off little bites of it to Sergio who eagerly scarfed them down.

“Hey.” Emily pinched at your leg and you let out a squeak, your eyes shooting over to her, “you keep doing that and he’s gonna like you more than me.”

“Sorry.” You felt your cheeks heat, closing the lid to the takeout container and Sergio batted at your hand with his paw, “mom said no.” You muttered, booping his nose as you shifted on the couch and you directed back toward Emily, “and that is literally impossible. Emily Prentiss is number one in everyone’s book.”

“Oh please.” She laughed, easily handing off her wine glass to you to be topped up while you stood from the couch.

“First in mine.” You said with a shrug, not really realizing what you’d said, padding through the apartment. Wine glasses found home on the breakfast bar while you tossed the leftovers into the fridge, pausing to check something on your phone and Emily felt a warmth spreading through her, watching the way you tugged your lip into your mouth before pocketing your phone again. “You want the gelato now or should I leave it in the freezer?” You asked, breaking her from her trance.

“Oh, now for sure.”

“Kay.” You shot her a grin, refilling the wine, grabbing a couple of spoons and the gelato containers from the freezer before you made your way back over to the couch. “Glad you said that ‘cause I do believe I deserve a treat after today. Remind me to make Derek pick up the tab next time he insists on drinks.”

“You guys go out a lot?” She asked, scooping into her dessert.

“Every couple of weeks.” You shrugged, moaning over your food for a moment, “god this is good. But yeah, Savannah’s a gem, Derek seems to always forget that if I come out for drinks it’s two against one, but it’s all in fun.”

“You don’t feel like a third wheel?” She asked and you bit back a loud laugh.

“No.” The laugh remained on your cheeks and Emily couldn’t help but smile, “hell, a couple of weeks ago Derek was bragging about being hit on at the bar so we bet that either of us could get more phone numbers from girls than him.”

“And?” She raised a brow with a smirk.

“Derek got three, Savannah got eight girls, three dudes, and I ended up with six girls, the bartender and our server… and Savannah’s, but I don’t think that counts.” You let out a little laugh, “oh.. I don’t think I can stay too late tomorrow; we’re going for manicures.”

“That’s fine.” Emily smiled in response, softly squeezing at your leg, “I’ve got more than enough errands to catch up on.”

“You know if you’ve got shit to do we don’t actually have to do this every week.”

“Nah.” She smiled and you could tell there was a tease coming by the look on her face, “I like not having to pay for dinner once every two weeks.”

“Well at least you’re getting some kind of benefit out of this.” You shot back and she laughed, spoon digging back into her gelato.

Your gazes redirected back to the television, old sitcom reruns playing to keep you occupied through the silences. You were halfway through your dessert when the commercial break started, the first a movie trailer, the second for a fast food joint, the third a very over the top jewelry ad complete with obnoxious fake public proposals and crying.

“Gross.” You muttered over a bit of gelato and Emily chuckled softly, though she was mainly in agreeance with you, it was just a little too much for her style.

“Says the one who’s been engaged.” She teased, nearly wanting to take it back the moment your body tensed at her words. She watched the way you froze in your movements, spoon still in your mouth as your brow furrowed before you slipped it out, digging into your food for a second, lost in thought.

“When did I tell you that?”

“Couple of weeks ago.” She shrugged, squeezing at your leg softly, a wordless way of telling you that you didn’t need to talk about it if you didn’t want to. “Well, you mentioned something about nearly marrying a lawyer, I’m just taking liberties.”

“Well you’re right.” You admitted quietly, suddenly very distracted with picking out the cherries in your gelato. It wasn’t that you were avoiding talking to Emily about it, you didn’t mind, it was just that you could feel your chest tightening already with the thoughts of your past.

“Anyone else know?” She asked softly, her fingers tracing patterns on your bare legs.

“Nope.” You finally looked up at her, “wasn’t exactly my star shining moment… can’t say I’m proud of it.”

“What’d’you mean?”

“It was… one of those relationships that when you get out of, everyone around you is all ‘oh my god, it’s about time, she was so terrible to you, I’ve been waiting for you to break up for years, I’m not surprised’ kinda thing.”

“Meanwhile the entire time you’re together they’re telling you how cute you are?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, “Skylar was… something else. I mean she already had the unfair advantage of me in a new city where I didn’t know a lot of people and certainly no family. She proposed in the middle of one of her family dinners, I couldn’t exactly say no in the moment and it sparked a huge fight when we got home.”

“Did you want to marry her?”

“I loved her.” You replied with a huff, “I thought she was the love of my life. A couple of weeks later was when she got the job offer in LA, I coincidentally sat in on a couple of lectures about profiling while we were working a DV case and it kinda all clicked, started to realize just how manipulative she had been the entire relationship. How terrible she’d been treating me. I was blind to all of it, made me realize that if I couldn’t see the real motivations of someone I saw everyday, someone I thought I knew inside and out, then how was I supposed to be able to see through psychopathic serial killers?” You risked a glance up at Emily, the tightness in your chest relaxing when you found her attention on you, a soft encouraging look in her eyes, “It was part of why I decided to specialize in profiling when I moved to Florida after breaking up with her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. But there’s no need for you to be, you’re not the one who fucked me up when it comes to understanding love.” You let out an ironic laugh, finally digging back into your gelato.

“You ever talk to her? I know how feelings can get stuck deep down inside you no matter how much you want to ignore them.”

“God no.” You scoffed, “the only thing I feel when talking or thinking about her is the urge to shoot things.”

“You wanna go to the range?” She offered and your head tilted in her direction.

“Isn’t a little late?”

“Oh c’mon, I’m a unit chief! I’ve gotta have some kind of pull.”

“Really?” You looked over to her with a wicked grin that made her smile for real.

“Yeah.”

“Well then fuck yes.”

“Okay but just one question.”

“Shoot?”

“You pawned the ring right? Didn’t give her the chance of getting it back?” She asked, raising a brow and the look on your face had her instantly wondering what happened as you bit back a laugh.

“I fed that piece of shit to a gator my first day in Florida.”

Emily howled out a laugh, swatting at your leg, the two of you both laughing so hard tears had started to blur into your eyes at the sheer thought. There truly was no better way to win a break up than the path you’d ended up on. By the time you were done at the range you were both feeling much more relaxed, any frustration or build up of emotion lifted from your shoulders as you returned to Emily’s apartment.

But just in case, Emily did still drag you into the bedroom to remind you just how special you were, worshipping every inch of your body, her lips and fingers not leaving any of your skin unexplored until you were completely exhausted, curling into her arms into a deep sleep.

***

Paperwork days were usually loved around the BAU, a little bit of a break, time to spend with friends and family rather than chasing serial killers around the country. This one would be, but it was involving a lot of wrap up from a tricky case out in Salt Lake and everyone was already tired from the week out of office. You’d been paired with JJ that week and the two of you had taken down the unsub together, but alone, so your reports were needing just that much more detail for the deputy director to be satisfied. Then JJ got the call that Henry had a school emergency and she had to take off for that, she apologised profusely and said she’d try to finish at home but you assured her to just email what she had to you and you’d finish up.

You’d done as said, reports sitting in your printer while you got distracted looking through case files. Part of you was always waiting for Dewald’s signature to pop up somewhere other than Florida, you knew he was still out there and were sure he wouldn’t be able to resist this long. The office had started to empty out, you, Derek and Spencer left in the bullpen while Emily worked away in her office, though her voice suddenly broke through the room, causing the three of you to nearly jump.

“Wilson are you done with those reports? I need them asap.”

Your head shot up in the direction of her office, worried that she was mad but you could tell by the look on her face that she, just like the rest of you, wanted to get out of there for the weekend.

“Yeah, sorry!” You scooped up the papers from the printer, quickly jogging up the stairs to her office it was nearly out of instinct you swung the door shut behind you, ready for a lecture for your superior. “Sorry, I should’ve filed them earlier, I just got sidetracked.”

“It’s fine.” She let out a small laugh, turning back to you, “I just wanted to make sure they were done. I’m only an asshole when someone above me is an asshole, promise.”

“Okay.” You laughed, sliding the papers onto her desk, watching the way she paused, her eyes dragging up your body and you nearly gulped, feeling yourself flutter around nothing. “Anything else?”

“You never wear skirts…” you glanced down at your outfit, she was right, you were normally ready for field days but had been running out of work clothes today, throwing on a pencil skirt suit and heels.  “And to be honest it’s kind of driving me insane.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow, a small grin taking over your cheeks as she stepped toward you.

“Yeah.” She murmured, her fingers cascading up your neck before pinching at your chin, “thinking about pushing it up, sitting you on my desk so I can get a taste before bending you over it, stretching you out over my cock.”

“Well it is Friday…” You murmured back, your lips nearly brushing against hers as you spoke “office desk? Kitchen island? Same difference to me, I have an imagination.”

“Good girl.” She praised, her lips ever so briefly meeting yours before you could both hear the sound of high heels outside her office door and stepped apart before Penelope knocked and darted through the door once Emily gave her the go ahead.

Once you were home that night Emily wasn’t about to forget your words, propping you up on the island while she ate you until your legs were absolutely shaking, pussy clenching around her fingers and you were practically crying for her cock. She wasn’t about to let you down, flipping you over and bending you over the counter, cock plunging into you as you moaned, fingers scrambling against her skin as you could never get enough. No matter how she fucked you, you were almost always left aching for more, her touch burning into your skin as you fell asleep curled in her limbs.

***

You let out a quiet groan, your eyes scrunching as you shifted in the bed, you didn’t want to wake up yet, especially as you felt Emily’s body next to you. Her breath was warm on the skin of your throat, her face nuzzled gently into your body as the two of you slept. You could feel her body raising and lowering as she breathed, still completely asleep and something inside of you softened, knowing she was that comfortable and safe with you by her side. You dared to crack open an eye, hoping you’d be able to keep a hold of the sleep afterwards and your lips broke out into a grin.

She was absolutely stunning, the sun peaking through her curtains, bouncing colours off her hair splayed against the pillows. She looked absolutely peaceful, like she was as relaxed as she possibly could be and that made your heart swell in an entirely different way. You couldn’t help but reach out, your fingers ever so lightly tracing over her skin, trailing around her lips, up her jaw before they ran down the bridge of her nose. No matter how much you didn’t want to move you shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose and you nearly winced as you watched it scrunch up, her lips twitching up into a grin.

“You’re staring.” She mumbled, her arm wrapping tighter around you.

“Lies.” You murmured, your lips ghosting over hers and she chuckled softly, stealing a kiss without opening her eyes.

“I think you’re the one lying.” She yawned softly and it was your turn to let out a sleepy laugh.

“Maybe if you weren’t so cute when you’re sleeping I wouldn’t have to stare.”

“You ever wonder how I feel?” She murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips and you felt you chest swell, a giggle bursting from your lips before you nuzzled back into her and the two of you were back off into dreamland.

***

When Emily slipped the g-spot vibe into you after your morning session you thought it was to keep her cum buried inside your still dripping pussy, remind you who you belonged to while you went about your day.

You were proven very wrong when you got to the farmer’s market.

Up at a candle stand the tiniest gasp escaped your lips as the toy began a dull buzz inside you. A moment later and Emily’s hand was on your hip, her lips teasing your neck, her words hot on your skin,

“Think of it as a training exercise, gotta keep your poker face sharp. This should do the trick.”

“Yeah, right.” You muttered back, with how close to you she was you could feel the bulge in her pants, you knew exactly what her intentions were.

“Be a good girl for daddy.” She whispered into your ear, nipping at your earlobe before she pinched your hip and stepped away, pretending to look at something else in the stall.

It was a torturous hour and a half at the farmer’s market, every time you Emily picked up her phone you felt your skin prickle in anticipation. The vibrator would pick up speed, change to a more intense pattern before slipping back down. It only took the first three times before she noticed she had a tell, a smirk taking over her lips and she set it to a pre set edging pattern so it would change without her having to touch her phone. Though that didn’t stop her from picking up her phone to pretend she was about change things up, smirk practically plastered on her lips the entire afternoon.

By the time you got back to Emily’s apartment you were certain you were about to explode. The door swung shut, the bag in her hand dropped onto the kitchen island and she was on you. Her lips met yours in a fiery kiss, one that she was in complete control of as her hands made quick work of your clothes, pulling your panties down your legs as she did so.

“Daddy please….” You whined, collapsing against the wall behind you and she could see your thighs trembling.

“Oh princess…” her hand caressed at your cheek, “I never said you weren’t allowed to come. Poor thing. You must be incredibly pent up.” She stepped toward you, slotting her thigh between your legs and you let out a shriek as it nudged the toy deeper into you, the denim of her jeans brushing against your throbbing clit. “Go ahead, make a mess of daddy’s pants.”

Her hands clutched at your hips softly, rocking your body and you cried out as pleasure shot through you, your entire body trembling, gasps leaving your lips as your juices dribbled around the toy. Emily couldn’t help but smirk as you rode out your orgasm on her thigh, the damp spot on her jeans getting darker and bigger with each twitch of your body.

“Fuck.” You swore, a hand clenching at Emily’s shoulder like a life line and she chuckled darkly. Nudging you up off her thigh just enough to pull the toy out you let out a whimper as the rest of your juices drenched her leg.

In an instant she had you spun around, your forearms bracing against the wall. Her hands sunk down your body, pulling down the cups of your bra as she went, your nipples hardening in the cool air of the apartment. You knew she wasn’t done, especially with the tell tale sound of her belt clinking as she undid her pants.

“Just want one more from you angel.” She said, “want you to come around daddy’s cock, okay?”

“Yes!” You practically shrieked, her fingers toying with you already before she coated the dildo in the mess of your juices and her leftover cum from that morning and slid it into you with ease. “Oh fuck…”

It was almost embarrassing how quickly your pussy was fluttering around her cock, the tip of it nudging against you with each thrust of her hips. The sounds coming from your cunt were ones of absolute sin, sopping wet, each time Emily pulled her cock back it was covered in more of your cum, completely drenched.

“Oh god daddy!” The cry left your lips louder than you expected and Emily urged you on with a particularly rough thrust, her hand coming to spank at the curve of your ass.

“That’s it princess. Let everyone know just how good daddy fucks you.”

“S’close!” You whimpered, your eyes scrunched shut as your fingers clawed at the wall, wishing for some sense of balance while your legs began to shake. Fire prickled under your skin, pleasure building deep in your gut, a moan leaving your lips with each thrust of Emily’s cock. “oh god… god! Please!”

Emily’s free hand found your chest, pinching at your nipple, rolling it between her finger and thumb and you practically screamed, your pussy clenching down around her. Your body shook as you hit your peak, your legs began to give out and Emily’s arm wound around your waist, keeping you upright and pulling you to her. She kissed up your neck gently, stilling her thrusts while you whimpered, shivering every couple of seconds until you could finally open your eyes again.

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered and she laughed softly, kissing your shoulder as she pulled out, watching the mess drip down your thighs.

“How about we get you in the bath angel? I’ll start on dinner.” She suggested, nudging you in the direction of the bedroom once she was sure your legs weren’t complete jello any longer.

You were particularly blissed out post bath, wrapped in cozy hoodie and stolen pair of Emily’s sweatpants sat at the kitchen island. Sergio quickly took place on your lap, purring loudly as he curled up to wait for treats while you ate dinner. Emily had taken a few of the super fresh ingredients from the farmer’s market to make pasta pomodoro with chicken and goat cheese and to be honest it was one of the best dinners you’d had in a while. You’d offered to help with the clean up considering she’d cooked but she waved you off, insisting on you continuing to relax and refilled your wine instead.

You couldn’t help but watch her as she flit through the kitchen, placing leftovers in the fridge, a pan into the sink to soak before loading up the dishwasher. It was all very menial, almost boring daily tasks but there was something about being around while someone was doing them that made a warmth bloom through you in a completely different way than earlier. Sure, it had been another six weeks of your no strings situation, being in each other’s company on the weekends was a very regular occurrence and nothing new. And honestly? You wouldn’t change it for the world, being able to watch Emily in the comfort of her own home, underneath the shell of the FBI agent was something you adored.

“What?” Her voice broke through your thoughts, a small laugh evident on her lips and you laughed yourself.

“Nothing.”

“You that blissed out?” She teased, coming around the island to wrap an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Kinda.” You admitted with a little giggle, “guess I’m just used to days that are either all sex, or all casual. You took me on one hell of a rollercoaster today.”

“Sure did.” Smirking, she leant down, kissing you softly. “You let me know whenever you want to do it again.”

“Think I’m pretty wiped right now honestly.”

“Not tonight.” She laughed, kissing you quickly again before she swiped both your wine glasses off the island, nodding toward the couch, “but you’re welcome to stay over tonight too. I think I might just owe you some cuddles after how well you did today.”

***

Your house was split into three floors, the entry level being home to a small office, storage room and half bath, safe to say the least lived on floor. You were currently on the second level, home to the kitchen, dining space and living room, the tv on in the background for noise as you finally had the chance to curl up on the couch with a book. It was the middle of the week, the team had gotten back from San Antonio midday Saturday so you’d taken some time tonight to toss some laundry in and tidy up around the house. You heard a noise from downstairs, glancing toward the window, wondering if it was your neighbour getting home when you suddenly heard it again, this time you were certain it was knocking. Tossing back the blanket you scooped up your phone, it was nearing ten thirty and you had no notifications but there was definitely someone at your door. You meandered down the stairs, flicking on a few lights here and there before checking the peephole to find Emily on the stoop.

“Hey…” You greeted, pulling open the door.

“Hey.” She smiled meekly at you and your head tilted in confusion, “oh god… this is so much more awkward than I expected…”

“Well if you’re gonna be awkward can you be awkward inside? It’s freezing.”

“Sorry.” She nearly winced, quickly stepping over the threshold, toeing out of her shoes.

“C’mon.” You’d already flicked the lock behind her, nodding towards the stairs before you jogged back up them. “Wine?” You asked as you approached the kitchen island, turning back to her.

“You got anything stronger?” She asked with a sigh.

“You okay?” You asked, pulling down the bourbon from the top shelf, pouring some into a tumbler for her.

“It’s, ugh, God! This is so stupid.” She groaned, grabbing the glass to take a hefty swig before starting off on a mini rant, “I just, it’s been a hard week and I feel even dumber because it’s only Wednesday and it’s not even like the last case was a rough one. I’m just… tired… ya know?” She glanced in your direction and you nodded, “I don’t know where I am but it’s stuck somewhere between wanting to shoot someone and wanting to curl up into a ball feeling sorry for myself. Apparently I’m crap company too because Sergio wanted nothing to do with me, every time I tried to pick him he’d run off so if I’m bringing the mood down you’re free to kick me out. Oh, and you left a shirt at my place that he’s stolen so I don’t know if you’re ever getting that back”—

“Okay,” you interrupted with a giggle, hands grasping gently at her forearms, “now you’re rambling.”

“Sorry.” She mumbled, ducking her gaze, “I guess I just wanted some company, even if I’m garbage at it.”

“You’re not.” You assured her, your fingers curling under her chin so gain her gaze before you leant in, kissing her softly, “trust me.” You squeezed at her hand, “and you don’t need to feel stupid. Just because you’re this big bad ass FBI Unit Chief doesn’t mean you always have to be in control and know what you’re doing. We’re only human, you’re allowed to feel vulnerable.”

“Even if I hate it?” She asked, her nose scrunching in distaste and you laughed.

“Yeah. You’re even allowed to cry, but I’m honestly not sure if you have tear ducts.” She scoffed, but you saw the smile flash across her face and you knew it had worked. “Everyone needs a little bit of comforting sometimes, doesn’t matter how tough you are.”

“I think…. That’s what I want.”

“Then c’mon.” You squeezed at her hand again, guiding her over to the couch where she collapsed down beside you, letting you wrap an arm around her as you tossed the blanket over your laps, your fingers gently coming to comb through her hair.  

An episode or two later and you could feel her body while still stiff wasn’t as tense, her fingers were tickling at your skin and you found yourself climbing into her lap, lips meeting hers tenderly, tongues slowly exploring each other’s mouths. You broke the kiss, eyes dark as you looked down at her, tilting her chin up to you,

“Let me take care of you daddy…” you whispered, slowly sinking to your knees between her legs, “would you like that?”

You were practically pouting back up at her and Emily felt like she could explode at just the sight of it alone. Her hand reached out, caressing at your cheek gently and you leant into it before turning your head to press a kiss into her palm.

“Yeah angel.” She nodded.

“Just relax for me. You’ll feel better, promise.”

A moment later and she was kicking her pants off her legs and your face was buried between them, bringing her to the full point of relaxation that she hadn’t even realized she’d been needing.

____________________

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#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #a dangerous game #daddy emily prentiss #emily prentiss series #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic

[bronanlynch]

bi-weekly update

it sure has been a wild time here and tbh I had enough to do one of these last week and just. didn’t?? for some reason?? anyway

listening: the Promare soundtrack went on sp*tify recently so I’ve been on Promare soundtrack lockdown over here. I know Kakusei is the iconic Promare song but Inferno (the opening song) always makes me tear up??? love to experience emotions about a movie in a reasonable and normal way. so anyway my standout track from the OST is Piromare because I am so very not immune to sad soft piano renditions of a motif that is usually triumphant/cheerful/etc

reading: I have, for once, read a bunch of books. I got a giftcard to my favorite local indie bookshop for Christmas and finally got around to using it to buy two books I’d been looking forward to, Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson (bi polyam Dracula retelling, kind of) and Winter’s Orbit by Everina Maxwell (gay arranged marriage space opera)

Dowry of Blood was very satisfying to me, someone who has lots of opinions about how vampires ought to be sexy and also terrifying, and I really enjoyed this specific take on vampire lore. also the formatting/pagination was really really cool and reminded me more of poetry books than prose usually does. for the first couple of pages there’s only text on one side of the page and then there’s one line on the back of a page and it hits really hard. extremely good and cool printing choices. would def recommend, but it is also explicitly an exploration of getting into and then out of an abusive relationship so. warnings for that in addition to the murder/blood warnings

also look at how sick this cover is (by Marlowe Lune, an artist whose work I really like in general)

I previously read Winter’s Orbit when it was on ao3 as an original work (called Course of Honour) and it was really cool to read a familiar story that I uh. read several times on ao3 but with added layers, because the author added a bunch of worldbuilding and an entire overarching higher-stakes political plot. I really really liked the added worldbuilding, and for the most part I enjoyed the new plot stuff, though at times I felt like it distracted from what I liked the most about the original, and there was one specific scene that was taken out that I was disappointed about. fave thing about the worldbuilding is when something is referred to by normal familiar words (like pigeons or bears) and then the actual thing is like, a fucking dinosaur that only vaguely resembles the word that’s used for it. very fun

also slightly mixed feelings about the framing of empire in the book, since there is some discussion about the consequences of imperialism and the resolution of the plot involves getting more rights and political sway for colonized planets. but the majority of the plot is about preserving an unjust status quo, and the representative of one of the colonized planets is working for the interests of the empire so that they can appear unified in the face of a larger-scale potential threat, which I’m not sure I love. and I also didn’t really care for the way the resistance movement (whenever it came up, which wasn’t often) was portrayed. so. on one hand yes there is a message of ‘empire bad and we should maybe try to be less Like That’ but on the other hand sometimes it did feel like the imperialism was an under-examined backdrop for a romance. like don’t get me wrong, I love the romance, I love the characters, it’s just that some of the politics didn’t quite do it for me and I think I just wanted More of things that just. weren’t the focus of the story

warnings for discussions of abusive relationships in this one, except this time it’s backstory for one of the characters, not something that’s present in the central relationship. and for all of the things that I wasn’t quite satisfied with, the parts of the book that are about like, learning how to be a person again after being in a situation where you’re not allowed to be yourself are still very well-handled and hit me real hard.

I also read a whole bunch of KJ Charles because sometimes all my brain can handle is marathoning romance novels, but I’m not gonna talk about all of them because this is already long enough (have not read the new one that came out today yet though that’s what I’m gonna do after this)

watching: Supernatural season 13 is incredibly boring and bad in ways that aren’t interesting or fun to talk about so I haven’t watched any recently. I did watch the first episode of Lupin, and really enjoyed it! will definitely watch more, though slowly because it takes too much of my brain to marathon it, partially because I know just enough French to almost not need the subtitles but having to read and also automatically trying to translate as I’m listening takes more brain energy. love a good heist though, and it has some good social commentary on race and class and crime

also the main character is very good. fucking superb you funky gentleman thief

playing: still making my way through the last mission of Knife of Dunwall. I made a bunch of progress since I whined at my friend about how hard it was and they told me to just stay in the building that has places to hide (the one you have to make your way through as Corvo, so I already know the layout, which helps lol) instead of the one that’s falling apart with nowhere to hide. who would have thought.

have also watched my roommate play lots of games and have thoughts on those too. Final Fantasy games (or at least the ones I’ve seen anything from, which is 7, 14, and 15) really appeal to me on a character/aesthetic/plot level but the gameplay looks like it would be bad for my brain. and yes all of those have very different gameplay but they would all be not fun for me in different ways. my roommate showed me like an hour of cutscenes from 14 last night that was basically a movie of tropes I love but holy shit I could never play a game where I have to wait for other people to be ready to also play the same part of the game before I can advance the plot

they’ve also been playing Persona 5 Scramble/Strikers (I don’t know which one the S stands for and at this point I’m too afraid to ask), which I do intend to play myself some day. it’s a sequel to Persona 5 with the same characters and damn they really nailed the feeling of seeing your friends again after not seeing them for a while, both in terms of. I care about these characters and am happy to see them again and also, they haven’t seen the protagonist in a while and they’re so happy he’s back and it makes me very soft. would love to reunite with friends whom I haven’t seen in a while

making: haven’t worked on cosplay but we did make some very tasty tortellini soup last weekend, and then last night we made fish & chips which was a lot easier than I was expecting and turned out pretty well? we just used frozen fries instead of like. frying them ourselves but we did make some very tasty lemon-garlic green beans

writing: well. I have a couple of things I’ve been noodling away at for a bit, and then a couple days ago I had a little bit of a breakdown and wrote 3000 words of angst in one sitting for an entire different new fic (Persona boys having a miserable time), and then yesterday decided to get in on a thing in The Untamed fandom of people writing short ““boring”“ domestic oneshots, and I love domesticity so I wrote one, which various reviewers have called “very sweet” and “a callout post” (it is both of those things)

I’m also organizing an event for P5 trans content because someone was shitty to one of my roommates over a trans headcanon and I got so pissed off that I’m running a prompt week now. love to have reasonable emotional reactions to things that happen in my life. why would I think about my actual problems when I could get petty and spiteful over someone saying that a fictional character couldn’t possibly be trans

#this one is real long i'm sorry #contains pictures of food under the readmore #tuesday no problem extended universe #dreaming.txt

[medleymisty]

We lost Nova, one of our cats, yesterday. Under a readmore so you can decide if you want to read it or not.

A picture of Nova and Midnight. Nova is in the back on her pillow and Midnight is in front. Nova was 16 and Midnight is now 19 and a half.

Nova was in a litter at my mother’s house. I brought her home when she was a tiny kitten. Midnight and Oreo were three years old then. They accepted her into the family fairly quickly.

She was very smart and independent and fierce. Her favorite song was Rage Against The Machine’s Killing in the Name. I’d sing along with it and when I started yelling “Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me!” she’d come running and jump up in my lap. Because that’s who she was.

Once as a kitten she watched the spousal person open a container of cat food by twisting the lid. She reached out with her paw and drew it around the lid in a circle a few times, trying to open it herself, but her lack of an opposable thumb defeated her.

When we moved out of our second apartment and to the house, she did not like all the furniture being gone at all. She ran as fast as she could around the edges of the walls, hissing and spitting and growling. We eventually got her into the carrier, and she adapted to the new house quickly. She didn’t hide behind the couch like Midnight.

A couple of weeks ago I noticed she was drooling occasionally, and she wasn’t eating as much. We took her to the vet, and all they saw was a little mouth ulcer. So they gave her a steroid, and it helped for a bit. But then she started feeling bad again, and Wednesday she had an ultrasound done to see if there was anything else going on, and while she was sedated they got a better look at her mouth than they could while she was awake.

The mouth ulcer was actually aggressive cancer that wasn’t treatable and that would end up wrecking her quality of life. She also had another cancer that could have been treatable with surgery if not for the stupid fucking mouth cancer.

The spousal person left work and took her home, and yesterday when we were both off we took the vet’s advice and ended her suffering before it got any worse.

We’ve already been through this with Oreo, although it’s very different to have a good three and a half years or so of remission after a cancer diagnosis and then a slow gradual decline as opposed to a diagnosis followed quickly by loss. Not sure how they’re different right now, but they are different. One thing is that the grief hits you suddenly all at once, instead of having years to get used to the idea.

But we know we can survive this, that one day life will go back to normal and we’ll remember the good times and laugh and smile. But god, it hurts right now.

But we have each other, and we’ve been hugging each other tight a lot, and petting all the other cats and telling them we love them, and doing what we can to cope. Like watching kdramas to distract ourselves, and I’ve been playing Sims and the spousal person has been reading when I play.

I love the spousal person so much. He’s the best partner I could ever have in cat caretaking and in grieving and in life in general. At least we have each other to help get through this time.

I told Midnight she has to make it to at least 25. 30 if she wants. Or even 50. The spousal person said she can set all the records she wants.

Life is stupid and hard sometimes. I wish you all the best coping with it. *hugs*

#animal death #non-sims #misty the teal deer #text

[thehealingplum]

I do not miss my job.

I had to quit immediately.

I used to work at a Christian radio station and it was very unpleasant. But people definitely had a sort of... Positive image of it because it was a Christian radio station and they had been going for decades. The owner uses the radio station to promote his school. He does not take care of the radio station at all.

Putting under a readmore because it’s gross and also includes a picture of insects.

[ID 1]The front desk area of the station. A bucket, a large container, and multiple trash bins, collecting water dripping from the ceiling and the light fixture. There are several large brown stains on the ceiling, one of which is heavy with water. [end ID]

This is what we would walk into. First thing when we pass through the door. I did not turn on the light because I was afraid of the fire hazard, what with the water getting into the light fixture. He has since “fixed” the problem by hopping up onto the roof to patch it up himself, and has painted over the water damage stains.

[ID 2] The corner of a small office. There is a desk covered with a lot of junk and trash bags. There is a hole in the ceiling in the corner. Underneath the hole is a large container that collects the water. The ceiling also has stains showing the water damage.[end ID]

This room stays closed. I don’t know what its purpose was before, but now it just serves as a storage area. I do not know if he ever fixed that hole.

[ID 3] A small carpeted room with shelves containing books and papers. There are also some other pieces of junk strewn about, but most of it has been moved to catch the water in buckets and trash cans. There is a large water stain beneath the bucket in the center of the room. [end ID]

This is another room that was used as storage. There is a noticeable scent that comes from this room. I cannot imagine how disgusting it looks underneath the carpet that has been there since before my time there.

[ID 4] A small back room. There is a small table with a microwave and a miniature fridge. There is also a small counter with a sink. Next to the sink is a water cooler. Against the wall, there is a broken chair, a vacuum, and a desk lamp. Next to the desk lamp is an open door leading to a bathroom. [end ID]

This is our kitchen. That light in the corner? That’s our only source of light besides the bathroom light back there. Our kitchen has a water cooler, which is probably the nicest thing in the station. The mini-fridge is probably older than me, and it is constantly leaking. I stopped putting food in there because there was a strange odor coming from it.

[ID 5] A small room that was a makeshift recording room. There is carpet on the wall. An old and beat up desk has duct tape along the side as to avoid splinters. There are trash bins and containers to the right, on top of where the fax machine, modem and router are all plugged in. There is a broken chair in the middle of the room. [end id]

This was my workspace. Yes, that is carpet on the wall. It was how they made the space suitable for recording. But it isn’t used for that anymore. We just play the programs, pressing buttons and turning knobs.

[ID 6] A carpeted wall with water drippings. There are two trash bins, and the modem on the desk is covered with a plastic covering. [end id]

We frequently had to cover the electronics because that back room was prone to leaking. Leaking that got so bad that we would get flooding. Water would be pooling at the floor, dripping from behind that disgusting carpet that has been there longer than I have been in this world. We cleaned up the flooding with towels. We did. Not the owner. The board operators and the manager. Sometimes the owner would come in to check, and to empty the water buckets out back, but he really didn’t do any more than we did.

[ID 7] A broken office chair that has been messily put back together with duct tape and trashbags. [end id]

The chair pictured in the earlier picture was broken. We got tired of the seat moving around, so my manager tried to duct tape it. We’d end up with adhesive on our clothes. Instead of getting a chair that could accommodate everyone, we had designated chairs that most of us could sit in, but my heavier coworker was... well basically they were shamed to sit in this chair while we sat in the nicer chairs. I stopped sitting in the nice chair and sat in the duct tape chair. I didn’t feel right sitting in the good chair when my coworker would have to see that they weren’t allowed to sit in the other chairs.

[ID 8] A red solo cup with some two adult millipedes in it. Underneath them are juvenile and baby millipedes. [end ID]

As much as I love millipedes, I shouldn’t have been seeing so many. This was a regular occurrence. They do fill me with joy because I love their little legs scurrying about. But not in my workplace. They are not the only visitors we got. I do not have any pictures of the roaches and mice. I do have a picture of a lovely black widow though! And a couple of other big spiders. But that’s for a more pleasant post because I don’t want to make the buggies look bad..

[ID 9] A hand written note that reads:

“There is a man named Tom that used to work here a long time ago. He is in town this week. If he comes by, do not let him in. Just follow our police to not let anyone in.” [end ID]

I was terrified when they told me this. I had talked to this man on the phone. This Tom fellow. He was very angry about the owner and his wife. He spent a while on the phone with me, venting about his troubles. He told me I had a nice voice and that I could be a good counselor. But. He was still very angry, regardless of the nice things he said to me. I legitimately thought that because this man had showed himself here and talked about how much he hated these people, he was going to stop by and take revenge on them. I legitimately thought that this man was going to come to the station to kill someone. 

I. Do. Not. Miss. This. Job.

On top of all the pictures I’ve shared, the content that was being broadcast was often very ignorant brainwashing. I would often hear people talking about how the republican party was better, how our previous president was better than this new one, how he was making sure that we kept Jesus the center of things. There was a lot of anti LGBT, anti abortion, anti BLM, and other ignorant bigotry. Their content made me feel like I was not allowed to exist as a queer black person who did not want to conform.

I had to listen to this every weekend. Every single weekend. Sometimes I had to pick up other peoples’ shifts because of family emergencies, so I got to heard MORE stuff that I was not okay with.

I do not want to return to this religious abuse, and I do not wish any of what happened to me on anyone. I had to call a crisis line multiple times while on the job. Because I was going to go out back and touch something that could have easily ended my life.

And that’s only half the reason I had a meltdown earlier this year.

#long post #personal #bad working conditions #poor working conditions #fuck capitalism #religious abuse #water damage #insects tw #unsanitary

[thekavseklabs]

💣 ⛈️ 🦄

This got loooooong because I wasn't sure which muses you wanted me to do it for so i did them ALL and put it under a readmore!

💣: A stress headcanon

3: Just... Look at them. Everything stresses them the fuck out. But let's focus on something specific- they're seriously germaphobic, and have NO coping mechanisms for this! They are always, always stressing about what they're touching and what is touching them and what they're breathing and oh god oh shit where is the hand sanitizer they need to DRINK IT-

C: Now, C struggles with this tendency to dehumanize strangers, but if they don't do that? If they awknowledge youre a person? Oh boy. They are so anxious about what people think of them. Are you scared of them? Do you hate them? Do you know what they've done? Are you going to hurt them for it? They are freaking out.

Vynathr: The man is rarely more stressed than when he is in a crowd. So many sights and sounds, he is surrounded, his back exposed, his movement limited, and he can't process any of it. He's terrified that he'll hurt someone somehow, or that the crowd will become violent. It will leave him frazzled for the rest of the day and the next morning too.

Spades: I don't talk about it often but Spades has an empire of his own to lead! He's always busy, and when he's not working he's thinking about work. Slowly taking over larger and larger areas, extending and expanding his forces, keeping loyalty and keeping all at arms-length. He's about one bad day away from exploding from the stress and work of it. Someone give the poor boy a massage and a snuggle.

Xavier: Being an alcoholic and a pathological liar leading a crew of pirates is... Not always a fun time. He has to handle all of the smart and responsible things to do, keep a budget for food, and keep them all from getting killed while lacking any healthy coping mechanisms for dealing with all of this. Man is on the world's shittiest glamorized rollercoaster and there is no end to the loops and spins.

⛈️: A sadness headcanon

3: Their feeling of being unworthy and unwanted has persisted through their life. They have considered many times the sum of their actions. They know that dying will not fix anything, only make it worse. Or worthless. But they know that if they succeed in their experiments, they will become a core- and at times, they wonder if those downsides they have heard of are downsides at all. Wouldn't it be nice if their sins were erased by the warp of time whem they are gone?

C: C has never been pet on the head. Never had a parent to do so, never a loved one. Even in verses where their mother is alive, she does not love them to do so, and neither did their babysitters. The closest they've come is a friendly pat on the arm from an opponent after a good fight. They long for touch more than anything in the world.

Vynathr: He remembers being a kit. Remembers being cradled in his mothers arms as she tried to hide him from their slave masters, remembers the horror in her eyes. Remembers the sounds of screams. He remembers as well the feeling of her hand in his short hair, her beautiful hum, her well wishes. Her fingers which seemed so large clutched in his little hands as his unsteady paws carry him across the floor in his first steps, supported by her patience. He remembers being loved when he was nothing. He knows that now that he is something, he must be something bad, because no one loves him.

Spades: He was in love before he ran to earth. He never got the chance to say so, and would never go back to try. If asked, he would not tell you the name of this individual- only that he knew that he was loved in return. Perhaps this was what stung him the most. Oh, how he misses that fool of a boy. He hopes he's okay, wherever he is now.

Xavier: He had a little sister. One of his many necklaces he wears at all time is actually a locket, containing two pictures of them. The first is them looking excited, grinning with their arms around each other. They seem to be at a party or dance of some kind. His sister is holding a wrapped box. The second is them snuggled together, his arm around her. She's asleep, and he looks content, nearly asleep himself. There are two larger adult figures half out of frame on each side, arms wrapped around the children. The lighting is dim in both. He misses these moments more than anything, and cries over the locket often.

🦄: A physical health headcanon

3: They are just, physically gone to shit. They have Marfan syndrome with moderate to severe damage, an eating disorder, severe dietary issues, an exremely weak immune system, insomnia, and periodic bouts of severe illness. Not to mention old injuries from experiments that act up at times, and in fantasy verses, the red plague/consequences of blood magic gone severely wrong. They are typically quadriplegic, and this is less serious but they're pretty nearsighted too. They look like death warmed over at all times. God help them.

C: You would think that a cyborg would be in stellar physical health. You would be wrong. They have bouts of a strange illness called Reversal, in which their body malfunctions due to their unusual diet. It involves fever, chills, spasms, hallucinations, abdominal and throat pain, and vomiting at times- said vomiting is dangerous to others considering they essentially eat time-and-space-warping acid formed from pure life force. 0/10, would not reccomend.

Vynathr: He has gigantism, however, he's very lucky in that it has pretty much only affected his height. His face (and specific facial features), hands and feet are proportional, as are his organs. He doesn't suffer from muscle weakness (obviously... Look at him), double vision, the sweating, restricted movement, none of it. Extremely lucky indeed. He does suffer from hearing issues, and his puberty was delayed. Due to the differences in how humans and kei grow, I will note that the abnormal growth did not begin until after he left the "kit" stage, which took a very long time for him. The growth ended in his lower 20s. He does have various other physical health stuff i could talk abt but I thought I'd get specific about the gigantism this time.

Spades: Spades is farsighted, and this does impact his ability in combat. His depth perception is also slightly off at times. He struggles with eating at times, and requires occasional doses of Progressive Energy- you know, that spacetime warping acid formed from pure life force. Very fun. It gives him fevers sometimes, the rare occasional spasm, but thankfully not the rest of C's illness. He uses a cane, leg braces, or crutches sometimes, depending on severity of pain and stiffness in his bad leg that day.

Xavier: The man is at his peak right now, but that could end at any time. He smokes, drinks, and does various drugs- at some point that is definitely going to impact his health, if he doesn't get injured first. He suffers a few bodily aches as well due to old injuries, such as stiffness and pain, occasional limited range of motion from a bad dislocated shoulder he once got on the battlefield. He has tinnitus and headaches at times as well, and there's some shrapnel in him. That's not even getting into the whole missing hand and the struggles that come with that.

[huntresswarlock]

Belated on the ask meme but do them all or all the ones you haven’t done give me content BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

i haven't done any of them so... a-all of them it is ;;v;; puttin under a readmore because long

1: Summarize your WIP in 10 words or less.

The price, responsibilities, and benefits of second chances.

2: Post a line from your WIP with no context.

Make it stop, he strung the words together in his head as they burned away on his dried-out tongue, please, I will do anything, I don’t want to die, not here, not like this, this wasn’t supposed to happen, please, please, please...

3: Does your WIP have a title? If so, explain its significance. If not, what are you calling it for now?

and if you fall, the sun will catch you

It was a suggestion by @z-nogyrop when I was kicking around the initial idea for the main character. Given that said main character's name is Icarus, and another major character is the god of fire... I think the significance is pretty obvious lmao.

4: Describe the setting of your WIP.

Small faux-friendly village with a dark cult underbelly.

5: Search for the word “knife” in your WIP. If you find it, paste the line and explain the context.

"Somehow the sight of those pathetic little things twisted a sharp knife in his gut harder than if his wings had been completely bare."

Icarus tried to use fire to burn away his past, and it got out of hand and ended up nearly killing him. His life was saved, but his wings were not salvageable, and are now only bare flesh, like a plucked chicken.

6: Search for the word “dream” in your WIP. If you find it, paste the line and explain the context.

"His nights offered nothing but dreams of a vast field covered in flames beneath an orange sky."

In exchange for saving his life, the god of fire charges Icarus with preventing other people from using fire irresponsibly like he had, as well as helping those who have been hurt by fire. To give more specific orders, the god manifests in Icarus' dreams as described above.

7: What are you most proud of?

I'm really proud of my beginning, which opens with Icarus nearly burning to death and explores the immediate aftermath before closing on a slightly more hopeful note. I think it sets a tense tone and communicates a lot about Icarus, as the first thing readers see of him is his close brush with death.

8: What is your biggest challenge?

Pacing! Also weaving character thoughts into the narrative. But mostly pacing. I am on a wickedly self-indulgent chapter right now, and it's hard not to just linger here.

9: How would you describe your writing style?

According to you, it's Ray Bradbury-esque. ;;w;; I use a lot of imagery and metaphor, and short-to-medium length sentences.

10: How would you describe your WIP’s narrative style? (1st person, 3rd person, multiple POVs, single POV, alternating chapters, etc.)

3rd person limited

11: Which character do you have the most in common with?

That's a hard one, because there just aren't that many characters in this story. I suppose Apollo, the tiefling love interest to Icarus?

12: Which character do you have the least in common with?

Icarus himself, I think.

13: Your characters are stranded on a deserted island. What happens?

Icarus would be very miserable and go back and forth on whether he can overcome his fear of fire to light a rescue beacon. He'd also probably hate the idea of having to forage for his own food and water.

14: Have you chosen birthdays for any of your characters? If so, when are they?

Icarus was born on a winter solstice, but I haven't nailed down anything further than that.

15: Do you know your characters’ MBTI personalities?

Nope!

16: What would your characters be for Halloween?

Icarus - something subtle, since he's never participated before and doesn't want to get it wrong; some kind of animal, probably, since he can just put on/take off ears and a tail

Apollo - a chef!

17: Does your WIP have any themes or motifs?

Birds/flight and fire.

18: What’s easier, dialogue or description?

They're both hard DX writing is really hard... if I had to pick, I'd say dialogue is easier.

19: Post a picture or gif that describes your WIP.

I... I have this moodboard I made for Icarus... does that count...

20: Post a brief excerpt.

To him, it resembled nothing less than an animate pile of dry kindling. Hardly a threat, even if it had startled him when it began moving. The voice had told him only to collect information about it, that he wasn’t ready to face it... but the voice had also said it couldn’t tell exactly what it was, either. It was entirely possible that Icarus could kill or destroy it, especially since it didn’t seem to have noticed him. If he did so, then surely he could prove that he wasn’t taking his second chance for granted, and the voice would be happier with him.

He had to try. The voice had mentioned that he was equipped with further magic, now, and he could feel it thrumming in time with the heat in his chest. How much, he couldn’t precisely tell, but it was more than likely enough to handle a pile of moving sticks. Icarus held his breath, one hand curled around his locket, the other clenched into a fist. If he shifted his focus just right, dim light began to seep from his closed fingers, but he held back from fully channeling his magic until the entity was just about to round the edge of the doorway.

When he whirled out from behind the barn wall and flung his hand away from him in a way that felt right, a bolt of sunlight arced from his outstretched palm and straight into the creature’s spindly shoulder. Not exactly where he’d wanted to hit it, but the explosion of dry wood as the limb fell away and it stumbled put an updraft beneath his spirit. Icarus shouted and pulled on his magic again, drawing more sunlight to his palm. One more good hit like that, properly aimed, and–

The dismembered arm thrashed against the ground and swung into his calves and that soaring energy vanished, replaced with a free falling sensation, almost literally as he staggered and tried to regain his bearings before it swung again. A desperate kick only gave it an opening to twist, ropelike, over his ankle, digging searing hot splinters into his skin as it clawed into the ground to keep him from moving.

The searing wood hurt, but he couldn’t afford to keep his attention on it, not while the rest of the entity hissed and twined its remaining arm into a whip that lashed a burning wound straight through his shirt. He fought down the rising panic in his throat and hurled another spear of sunlight at it as it advanced on him. It barely noticed or paused as it continued to drive him back, further into the barn, forcing him to drag the detached limb with him. He pulled on his magic again, willed a third well of light to his palm.

But no sunlight rose to his fingertips. Whatever had been fueling his magic, it was now entirely spent, and its absence felt unnaturally cold in his chest. He had never been much of a fighter, had never been one to do more than avoid attention by sticking to the sidelines. His one great act of recklessness, trying to burn away the parts of himself he hated, had gone horribly for him. And now he had done it again, and there was no stern but careful voice to save him. How could he have been so stupid, to not listen to it?

He had to run, had to make a break for the barn door and the field beyond. Maybe he could run back to town, get help, get the guards, something, anything to avoid dying here. Another kick at the wood wrapped around his leg managed to crack it enough that it lost its grip on him for long enough that he could get away, skirting around the creature and towards his escape. It stopped moving and tracked him with sunken, eyeless sockets, turning its head on a swivel almost all the way around with a sickening crackling.

Dense, dry underbrush sprouted beneath his feet, catching him by surprise and sending him tumbling to the ground. It grasped at him and slowed him down as he tried to keep crawling forwards. He kept pulling himself hand over hand, inching ever closer to the door – until burning hot tendrils of wood wrapped around his neck and ripped him from the entangling plants, holding him high above the ground. It did not move for a long moment, letting Icarus struggle to draw breath and watch, helpless, as its detached arm reconnected to its ruined shoulder, the fractured wood smoothing over until it looked as if it had never been broken. A jagged seam split its head with something that was almost a smile as it brought him closer, reaching with its free hand towards his chest.

Towards his heart? No–

His locket.

Icarus clawed and kicked at the wood around his neck hard enough to give himself splinters, to no avail. It hissed at him, like dry grass rubbing against itself, begging for a spark. A spark like the one contained in the golden pendant, because surely that would be more than enough to set it ablaze, if it wanted to burn. But he couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t let himself and this barn and field and town go up in flames–

The only warning he had before the entity dropped him was a brief flaring of the heat in his chest. No, no it hadn’t dropped him – its grasp had passed right through his neck as his body... dissolved, burst not into flames but smoke, his limbs going from solid to vague impressions. The creature’s hissing cut off with a choking noise, and though he could no longer see anything, he could sense the dull heat of it scrambling away from him.

He gasped – or tried to, at least, even as his thoughts and body swirled in chaotic air currents left in the creature’s wake. It was leaving, getting further away with every moment he spent huddled on the barn floor, and he knew he ought to follow it to figure out where it went to recover, but he could not will himself to move. Even the slightest twitch seemed liable to separate his limbs from his body, and he wasn’t sure he could ever get them back if he lost them while he was like this.

Calm, calm, he had to stay calm, there had to be a way to reverse this, if he just thought hard enough and didn’t let himself panic. Icarus forced himself to pretend he still had lungs and go through the motions of breathing, the insubstantial matter of his chest rising and falling. He didn’t have eyes to squeeze shut but he tried anyway, pressing his face to the ground and blocking out the flickering warmth of distant animal bodies. With every fake breath, the smoke that his body had burst into coalesced more, until he had lungs and eyes again, until he could curl his fingers into the dirt and feel it wedge beneath his nails. Until he was, for better or for worse, back in his usual, solid form.

#thank u alden i'll die for u #manicdragondreamgirl

[wickedpaths]

some unasked for pain for the one and only @mindshatters​

readmore for length. tw cancer, tw death.

the rain is softer than he remembers.

overcast skies are washed out into fading grey as he wanders along quiet roads. he still remembers so much: remembers scenes and pictures from his childhood like through a view-master - like dias clicking into place, forcefully yet comforting as they push themselves in front of his inner eye. the sharp steep towards the barrens as he rests cold hands on the railing of the all too familiar bridge, the abandoned clubhouse as he gets his shoes dirty in the mud of the kenduskeag shores. it’s still there, hidden under layers of fresh earth --- years and years of rotten foliage turned into dust turned into mud turned into forgetting. the now closed pharmacy --- mr. keene’s name nowhere to be seen, instead a faceless, generic drugstore chain that breaks through the foggy air with stinging neon lights. 

it’s all still here, he thinks, like a picture underneath a picture. i know how this road looks today, i can see it; but the memories are there. they’re still there, even though blurry and shapeless like ghosts from the past are supposed to be. 

it’s all still here.

he makes it a point to not think about where he is going: let’s his body decide, hands buried deep into the pockets of his chinos. lets his feet carry him wherever they feel like going, slowly wandering through town until he thinks he might turn into a ghost himself. not a soul is to be seen, not a whisper of the wind in leafless trees. a town full of families, full of people who used to be someone --- until derry buried it’s claws into them, into their very hearts with its cold, lifeless grip, its whisper of death even now, even now. even twenty-seven years later, he can feel it, feel it tugging at his core, pulling and driving him in ways he doesn’t understand. 

the spring in his step has left him the second he had set foot into town again --- his life seems aeons away, as if he has never lived it at all: as if he’d always been waiting for this call, as if something inside him knew he was just wasting time, trying to build a life that was bearable until the time came to leave it. the thought of myra briefly crosses his mind -- what she would be doing now, what she would look like with her apron tied to her fleshy hips and her meaty cheeks covered in sweat from cooking. how the steam from the pot would be filling the kitchen, fogging up the windows, and how he’d stare at the blind glass, wishing he could get up and draw a face, a smiley face that looked sad despite its painted on expression. it feels like watching a movie, a movie about a distant man wrapped up in blankets of fear that felt like safety when he didn’t look too hard. the american dream, cars, money, good food. he had it all, didn’t he? and if it felt like a lie, who was to say that a lie had to be bad? when it helped you through nights filled with terror and nightmares, how could it be?

lightning fills the sky for just the blink of an eye. like a photograph of his misery: he knows he will never forget this particular moment, how he felt, what he saw. sharp forms of naked trees against the sky, drowned in the angry, dusty pink of the lightning bolt that cracked to earth with force. how the air felt electric, how his hair stands on end as he walks down the street towards an unknown destination. ( it’s fate, isn’t it? or something much more cruel. ) no, he will never forget again.

but you did before, didn’t you? left behind a childhood that crushed you to death, that pressured your entire being into a cold, hard diamond, smooth on the surface, formed by overwhelming love and heart-wrecking trauma. a child filled with pain and fear so profound that the words just simply didn’t exist, that even today it only feels like a vast, dark emptiness that festers inside him and makes him hold onto rituals and habits that should be long cast-off. and still, you forgot: forgot what it felt like to be that kid, forgot what you fought for, what you promised. you forgot and then you remembered, but only the things you needed to remember: who mike is. what you did, what you did when you were just a child, what strength felt like when you held those familiar hands in that divine circle. seven of us. seven. seven hearts beating in unison, and then: another heartbeat, a weaker one, one that jumped and jumped and jumped and never seemed to find its rightful rythm.

eyes had been blind to where he was walking, too enraptured by introspective and memory to pay attention to where his feet carried him, but that heartbeat -- that heartbeat, that hand -- not the one he thought it would be. not bill, not richie. not.. no, not beverly. 

he should remember. he knows he should remember, feels the purpose of that heartbeat echoing in his every cell, knows that the knowledge is still there. a name, one he hasn’t thought about in years ( hasn’t spend a single second of his life not remembering / deep down / buried buried buried so deep because it was too much it was too much for a heart so young he should have lived oh god how he should have lived how he deserved so much more how he deserved the world and then he got nothing but death ) and at once, he knows where he is even though he doesn’t know why.

the cemetery is contained in old, broken walls: thick stones stacked atop each other in frantic patterns by unpracticed hands centuries ago, too high to be anything else than silent reminders that the dead do not rest easy in this town. the gate is rusty metal, feels wrong under the palm of his hand as he pushes it open. its creaking goes through mark and bone, like a shrill scream of agony, and he almost wants to leave. but it’s not his decision anymore, being pulled forward with force as he keeps walking, gate falling shut behind him with a bang like a gunshot. no turning back now. whatever it is you need to remember: oh, how we are going to make you remember! how you will feel it all! every second of immeasurable pain, every minute spent crying over lost friend, oh how you will feel it!

he knows he has arrived before he even lays eyes on the inscripture, before the engraved letters spring into form. the name - the date - the name - the date - the n a m e : the name, the name he had sworn to never let ring out, the one he had repeated over and over and over and over because it could not be real it could not be happening this is a nightmare and i will soon wake up surely it is just a dream but it is not oh god it’s not a dream this is reality and how will i ever live with that how can i go on if nothing makes sense anymore when everything falls apart in your palms and you try to hold onto it with shaky hands that grasp nothing but emptiness a hollowed out space that once held your entire heart and now it’s just an abyss that eats you alive and

his knees go weak with the sheer weight of remembering, and suddenly the world goes black.

it’s a day like any.

tiny feet tipper-tapper over mint-green laminate floors, echo suppressed by seemingly randm paintings and the occasional houseplant every here and there, by colorful curtains that cannot hide the stale visuals of a hospital.

it’s a day like any.

he turns the corner where he always turns the corner, knocks swiftly on the door just for the sake of it before he barges into the room, arms full of new comics and old promises and a bit of giddish excitement because he’s allowed to stay an hour longer today.  ( at the arcade, of course. dear mother would never allow fragile boy to be in the presence of sickness. so: he improvises. )  

excitement drains when he finds the room empty. a second of confusion: has he walked into the wrong room? the numbers on the door deny it, so do the paintings and the polaroids and the stack of toys in the corner. ( a broken firetruck. an old police car. childish games that are secretly still very much enjoyed. ) with a shrug, magazines are discared onto the empty bed, and then he tries to find a nurse, more tipper-tapper, more laminate floors.

the worry only actually starts to set in when he finds the nurses’ room empty, too.

heart is suddenly going harder, breath going shorter, and nervous hands find his aspirator at once. it’s fine, he thinks. maybe they’re just busy. maybe he is getting some sort of treatment right now. he will be back. 

and so he sits, alone ( scared ) on dark-blue chairs neatly put in a row in the waiting area. he buys a soda from the vending machine down the hall, he waits. he gets one of his comics from jax’s room, he waits, flips through pages without actually seeing them. he buys some candy from the other vending machine down the hall, doesn’t eat them, waits.

he should be back by now.

he really, really should be back by now.

and finally: finally, a nurse, eyes puffy and red, cheeks glistening, and he gets curious. it’s a cold curiosity, one that doesn’t seem to be his own - one that observes, like he is an unfazed bystander. just steps out of his body, watches himself walk over to the nurse with wobbly legs. watches his mouth move as he asks the question, innocent interest, and the nurse seems choked up and maybe she is crying. no, she’s definitely crying, eyes as sad as the empty sea, grey and stormy. watches her shake her head, just once, before she continues down the corridor too fast, as if fleeing a scene of a murder. but she’s not fleeing from a murder, now is she? she’s fleeing from fate, from cruel, unforgiving fate, from not fair not right not how it should be.

he watches himself sit back down, and he rips open the packaging of the candy, eats the chocolate bar, feels nothing, tastes nothing. he looks very small from here, very small and very alone, like he is the only person in the world right now. like time is standing still for just a second, and everything goes so quiet that your own breath rings like booming thunder in your ears.

it’s not real, he decides, throws away the wrapper, picks up his comic and goes to jax’ room. he sits down on the bed, a hand smoothing over the covers. they’re very cold, but that doesn’t mean anything. nothing means anything, really, he decides, so he’s just going to wait here until jax comes back and they’re going to read the comics and maybe play cards or just stare out the window in the kind of meaningful silence children sometimes fell into: the one that held all the wisdom of the world, that held so much purpose in the most profound way. the silence that said: i am here, and i’m not going anywhere. this life is mine, and i will live it to my full potential, because that’s what kids do. they grow up ( or die ), they go to school ( or die ) and learn things, they play baseball in the summer ( or die ) and have snowball fights in the winter ( or die ) and then they grow up and become adults and pass their childhood on to their own children.

or they die.

but that’s not what is happening here, because it’s ridiculous and just cannot be.

ridiculous.

he walks over to the board with the polaroids, filled with smiling faces of nurses and other staff, of eddie and jax and jax alone and eddie alone, names scribbled in warped letters on each one, and dates. so many dates ( and yet, still not enough! ) - dates of birthdays, dates of a next meeting ( today ), dates of important things that don’t matter anymore because he is dead and there’s no pretense or elaborate lie that can change that fact.

except that’s not what’s happening here. just another minute of waiting and he’ll come back. everything else is just ridiculous and not true and if he’s crying it’s just a coincidence and doesn’t mean anything.

the memory is vivid and bland at the same time, like it’s happening right now and yet never happened at all. fingers trace along engraved letters on the tombstone as sobs shake his body. how could he forget? how could he forget the one that he had sworn to never forget?

it’s derry, he thinks. it’s this godforsaken evil town that sucks all of the happiness right out of you and leaves nothing but a vile taste in your mouth. that’s what death tastes like, he thinks. it tastes like forgetting and fading away.

he's on his knees in front of the grave, hands shaking as he places them neatly in his lap, tears burning in his eyes. if he was religious he would probably pray now --- pray that jax could forgive him, that he knew he had never intended to forget. but he’s not religious, and so the uttered words vanish before they have even left his mouth.

i hope he knows anyway.

i hope he knows i never stopped loving him. not really.

i hope he knows that i will never forget again.

we were just children, and yet we were so much more. 

and then we weren’t at all, and maybe that’s the cruelest of realizations: that no matter how big, how important the thing feels when you feel it, it won’t last. it will fade and disappear, and then it will be no more.

( except that’s not what’s happening here. there are things you will never forget: like the trees and the lightning and the distant thunder rolling across vast lands. like the way the wet grass feels under your trembling hands. like the way jax’s name burns into your retina like fire. like the way your heart aches and aches and aches and breaks. these are the things that last. and if pain is everything that’s left of you, then so be it. i will feel it, i will embrace it, i will cherish it. i will make it a part of me, will fill that aching void with the agonizing hurt that’s you, because you cannot feel it anymore. )

#ic:eddie. #jax. ( ʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵉᵃˢ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵃˡᵐ / ʰᵒˡᵈ ᵒⁿ ʷʰⁱˡᵉ ʷᵉ ʷᵉᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳᵐ ) #mindshatters #tw cancer #tw death

[imaginetonyandbucky]

On one of incorrect quotes blog I found this dialogue: Bucky: In 20 years, I guarantee you, I will be Tony's second husband. Tony: What happened to my first husband? Bucky: Nothing you can prove. Could you write a story with this dialogue?

Nothin’ you can prove.

Author note: Hi! I’m the new author/artist, wyvernfire! (Though you are likely to find my fandom works over at getmcfucked, haha.) This is my first fill for this blog. I adored this prompt and had to snatch it up. Hope I did alright!

[AO3 Link]

“I'm serious, Stevie.”

“I know you are,” Steve said, but he had that stupid little grin that meant he absolutely did not know how serious Bucky was. “I'm sure you'll be very good for each other.”

Bucky scoffed. “No shit. I'm not marrying him on a whim.”

“You're not even dating him yet,” Steve pointed out oh-so-helpfully.

(mobile users watch out for the readmore!)

Smug (not so) little punk.

“What, you think I won't?” Bucky challenged. “I'm going to date the shit out of him.”

The carrots on the cutting board didn't stand a chance. One of the orange circles flew off under the force of the blade and Steve caught it, popping it in his mouth happily. Bucky spun the blade to flick another piece of carrot-y debris at his friend. It hit Steve square on the nose, which cheered Bucky up considerably.

“What's his favourite flower?” Bucky tried to sound casual.

Steve snorted. “A bouquet? You're gonna buy the billionaire some flowers?”

“It's a classic courting gift, Stevie.” Bucky slid the carrot slices off the cutting board and into the food processor next to him, then reached for the bananas. They looked weird. Long and a little too pale yellow, but Steve had assured him that bananas had just changed since the 40s. Something about a fruit plague. It was weird. He started slicing them too. “You don't buy flowers for your pal, you buy them for your gal or your fella. It's romantic. A big giant 'I want to date you’ sign. Can't be misinterpreted. You remember that time with Masie?”

“Who?” Steve scrunched up his nose.

“That little brunette gal you liked. Got her a bracelet and--”

“She thought it was a swell birthday present,” Steve grumbled, looking suddenly glum. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem,” Bucky grinned. “I know you got memory problems n’all that. What with the old age and--”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve growled. Bucky laughed.

Apparently deciding that he could actually be helpful for once, Steve lifted himself off the bar stool and cleared away the banana peels, chucking them into a flat green bin that had 'Compost’ scrawled across the top in Bruce's handwriting.

“Remind me again what sparked this interest?” Steve asked, and the tone was a little off.

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

Steve shrugged, grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped off his hands. “Curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Bucky warned.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” Steve said without missing a beat. “So spit it out.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve trying to figure out where the rigid posture and puffed out chest had come from. He mentally went over their conversation again, not finding anything that should've stepped on the man's toes but with Stevie? Who knew. Might be another one of those future things he'd have to research.

Well, in for a penny…

“Communal shower at the gym,” Bucky said with a wolfish grin. “Timed it juuuust right. That ass is a work of art.”

There it was. The disapproval that had been simmering since the topic had been broached. Bucky took a deep breath, trying to smooth down his instinctively raised hackles, and maybe not start a fist fight in the kitchen. It was only his second week in the tower, after all. No one needed to know how many issues between he and Steve got resolved by playing Bloody Knuckles. Yet, at least. Just seemed impolite.

“So you want to sleep with Tony,” Steve clarified in that same tone he used as Captain America.

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard it actually hurt. “No, I said I wanna marry him. Clean the gunk outta your ears.”

Steve frowned. “And you decided this based off of his ass?”

“Yep,” Bucky said, popping the 'p’ loudly. “Work of art.”

Steve's frown deepened into a full on disapproving scowl. “I don't think that's a good idea, Buck.”

“Oh?” Bucky widened his eyes with surprise and batted them as innocently as someone with a world class kill count feasibly could. “Why's that?”

“Tony's… been through a lot,” Steve started carefully.

Bucky nodded, the perfect picture of active listening, sliding the banana slices into the food processor and screwing in the plastic lid until it clicked.

“He may have a reputation for sleeping around but--”

Bucky turned on the food processor, drowning out the rest of Steve's sentence. The blond stammered mid-word then tried again.

“But he's actually quite sensitive--”

Bucky turned the food processor up from Grate to Grind, still watching Steve with wide patient eyes. Not much good came out of the whole Winter Soldier thing, but his poker face was solid. Steve squinted at him, trying to figure out if he was doing it on purpose. Bucky blinked back.

“And I think,” Steve practically shouted over the noise, “that stringing him along for sex would hurt him pretty bad. He's a good man--”

He pressed the Liquify button, willpower being the only thing keeping unrestrained glee off of his face. Steve's mouth snapped shut and he glared. Bucky bent his knees a little, leaning over to peer at the orange-y mush spinning around inside the food processor. He pretended to inspect it for a couple seconds before nodding approvingly. He pressed the off button.

Steve looked like he was ready to strangle him.

“Sorry Stevie, were you sayin’ somethin’?”

Steve puffed out a breath of air and honest to God closed his eyes and counted. Incredible. If only he'd picked up the skill in the 40s when he couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag.

“I'm saying that Tony is a good friend, Buck. He was my first friend when I woke up and…” His eyes gentled, looking down at the kitchen flooring. “I would hate to see him hurt. That's all.”

Bucky took the mixing component off the processor's stand and upended it slowly into the shiny metal mixing bowl that sat under a high powered mixing tool. Kitchen appliances these days were insane. He tapped the side, making sure to get all of it before putting the plastic in the sink.

“And I know you, Buck,” Steve said, that godawful 'please don't disagree’ undertone as blaringly obvious as the bright blue plaid stretched across his chest.”I know you can be a charming son of a bitch when you want to be--”

“Damn right.”

“--and if you pull Tony into a romantic relationship…” Steve floundered. “He puts his whole heart into things, is all. Even if he doesn't show it often.”

Bucky nodded slowly, considering. He pulled the fridge door open and grabbed two eggs, cracking them each into the mixing bowl before tossing the shells in the sink. He thought better of it then, fishing them out and shuffling towards the compost bin. Steve obligingly opened the lid for him, then handed him the towel after he rinsed his hands. He leaned against the sink, taking the time to make sure to get all the gooey bits out of the metal divots in his fingers.

Steve continued with a half smile. “So if you're just after a lay, I'm just saying that maybe he's not your best bet. Make sense?”

“Sure, yeah. Makes perfect sense.”

Bucky pulled a container of flour from one of the cabinets and carefully measured out two cups before dumping it into the mix. He could practically hear Steve's suspicion behind him as he worked and tried not to grin, adding a pinch of salt to the batter.

“Plus, folks these days don't make such a big thing outta casual sex,” Steve pushed his way through the sentence and the blush was audible. Jesus. “There are all these, uh. Apps.”

“That right?” Bucky said, because he couldn't help himself. “Apps?”

“Yeah,” Steve coughed. “Nat showed me. There's uh, Tinder, Grindr, uh--”

Bucky snorted, unable to hold back his laughter any longer. Steve spluttered to a stop, eyes wide and face red, spitting out protests as Bucky turned the mixer on high to drown out his words. The irritation that settled into Steve's face still hadn't changed from the first time Bucky had pulled his sorry ass out of a back alley dumpster. All righteous anger and pride.

He flicked the mixer off and pulled the motorized apparatus back away from the bowl. He let the batter settle as he fished around for a flat spatula, seizing his prize with a triumphant grin and waving it at Steve's face before getting to work scraping the less mixed batter around the sides the bowl into the center. Guess even with all the fancy equipment some stuff still needed to be done by hand. Pity.

Nah, Bucky thought with a smile. Tony could probably fix that.

He glanced over his shoulder and sure enough Steve was still staring at him petulantly.

“I mean it Buck,” Steve warned. “Don't hurt Tony.”

Bucky turned to face him fully, leaving the spatula in the bowl. He tilted his chin out challengingly, and gave Steve his best appraising look. Like expected, Steve didn't even flinch. Idiot.

“Yeah?” Bucky said. “Or what?”

Shock flickered over Steve's face, followed by disbelief, rage, and then finally suspicion.

“The hell do you mean 'or what?’ Or I'll kick your ass, that's what.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “See you're missin’ somethin’ vital here, Stevie.”

“Yeah? And what's that?” Steve's eyes widened as soon as the words were out of his mouth, quickly morphing into a sharp glare. “The helicarrier don't count, Buck. I wasn't fightin’ back. I still think I could kick your ass--”

“No you couldn't,” Bucky said blandly. “Couldn't in ‘42, and that ain't different now. I don't care if you moved a hundred weight classes. You're predictable as shit.”

Steve let out an offended sounding noise but Bucky cut him off.

“But that ain't what you're missin’. I mean, you are missing common fucking sense apparently, but that wasn't what I was getting at.” He paused in his improvised lecture to start digging through cabinets for a baking pan.

Lots of cookie sheets, a couple cupcake tins, did they not have a--oh, there it was. Bucky's metal hand clinked around the side of the bread pan as he pulled it free. Steve was still going on about how he had plenty more experience now or some shit, like it could at all compare to seventy goddamn years of professional assassinations. He grinned. Some things never changed.

“Steve. Stevie,” Bucky interrupted, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “Deep breaths, pal.”

“I don't have asthma anymore, Buck--”

“You're still turnin’ bright pink.”

Steve scowled something fierce. “Y’know what, Buck? Go right ahead. Sleep with Tony. But don't expect me to help or support you in this. It's cruel and I can't believe you would--”

“Stevie, Jesus Christ, would you take a goddamn breath for a sec? Lemme speak.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, somehow managing to look just as annoying as he had in the 40s. Bucky fought off another grin. It was hard to stay mad when he was finally stable, finally able to participate in this insane future world he found himself in. Living the impossible where Steve was taller than him and they both recently celebrated their hundredth birthdays.

Same future where a man in a metal suit could soar through the air, leaving birds in the wake behind him.

“You seem to be forgetting that part where I said I'm gonna marry him,” Bucky mirrored Steve's pose, meeting his gaze evenly. “I ain't exaggerating.”

Irritation left Steve's face slowly, but the suspicion was still there. And honestly, it was a little relieving to be suspected of toying with someone's heart rather than stabbing it. Felt more normal.

“I don't get it,” Steve finally said. “You said you made this decision when you--”

“Communal showers, yep,” Bucky nodded, affirming. He chewed the inside of his cheek a little, doing a little suspicious staring of his own. He sighed loudly. “You really gonna make me talk about my feelings right now?”

“Yep,” Steve said evenly, popping the 'p’ extra loud in his best imitation of Bucky.

What a punk.

He groaned loudly, scuffing his feet on the floor as he moved, taking his sweet time dumping the batter into the bread pan. Steve could just sit there and wait. It wasn't like they were getting any older.

When he finally slid the pan into the oven and set the timer Steve had slid back over to the kitchen stools, perched there and waiting like an overgrown and judgmental bird.

“Well?”

Bucky scowled. He stalked across the kitchen, stopping at the sink so that he could stare Steve down properly, and let the humour leave his face. He sure as hell wasn't going to be having this conversation twice.

Steve flinched, looking behind Bucky towards the door. He opened his mouth, “Uh, Buck--”

“No, you want me to talk feelings? Let's talk about my goddamn feelings,” Bucky snapped.

Steve winced.

“Tony ain't just a mechanic with a suit. Sure, it's incredible, like somethin’ outta those sci-fi books I used to get. I mean, a guy flying outside of a plane on its own is something for the records, but he makes it look graceful. Effortless. And it is for him,” Bucky shook his head, reaching down into the sink to flick bits of debris down the garbage disposal. He didn't want to see Steve's reaction yet. “Everything is. That mind of his is somethin’ else, Stevie. But it doesn't stand a chance against his heart.”

Steve's eyes widened more, and he glanced at the door behind Bucky again. Bucky snapped his fingers to get Steve's attention back on him, feeling marginally more satisfied when Steve cringed and obliged.

“I dunno if you all just got used to it, or if there's somethin’ I'm missin’, but he pours his whole goddamn soul into the Avengers. And I don't just mean funding.” Bucky stepped to the side to open one of the closer cabinets and gestured to all the various and weird cereals, snacks, and internationally imported treats that were stocked in meticulous order. “He takes the time to know you. Figure out how to turn a tower into a home. I know for a fact some of this shit was discontinued, and Nat's weird chips are definitely illegal by FDA standards. But that doesn't stop Stark.”

A small smile crossed Steve's face and maybe he was finally getting it. Bucky closed the cabinet and shook his head.

“Thing is, Stevie, the world can't be saved. No matter how ready your heroes are, no matter how good your tech is. You put one fire out and it starts another.” He held up a placating hand before Steve could interrupt him. “I ain't sayin’ that that means it ain't worth tryin’. But it's just a fact of the business. For every Captain America, there's always gonna be a Winter Soldier.”

Steve's smile faded into a pressed grim line. So Bucky pushed past it.

“Tony does it anyway. He ain't got powers, ain't got enhancements, nothin’. He's just a guy with a suit. An awesome suit, but,” Bucky conceded a little, “no obligation. And he still goes into it just like you lot do. But he goes in with his heart wide open.”

The blond’s eyes watched him thoughtfully, still occasionally seeking the door, but calmer.

“And I ain't sayin’ that you all don't care. M’not. Just that there ain't nobody on this horrible planet that still goes into hell with his heart as open and vulnerable as Tony does.” Bucky shrugged. “Don't gotta be close to the guy to see it.”

Steve nodded slowly. After a minute or so, his eyes found Bucky's again. “So you're serious about him then?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Christ, Stevie. I sure think so.”

Steve laughed a little, looking considerably more at ease. That whole 'fight me’ vibe had simmered and faded, leaving curiosity glittering in his eyes. Or trouble. Probably trouble.

“And you're gonna marry him, huh?”

“Yep,” Bucky said, popping the 'p’ extra loud. “So you better get on board, Rogers.”

“Oh, you got a plan now?” Steve grinned. “Know his favourite flowers yet?”

Bucky snickered. “I'll figure out the plan along the way. Tell you what though. In ten years? I’m gunna be Tony Stark’s second husband.”

Steve was giggling again in that way that only meant trouble. Bucky tried to look exasperated but his smile probably gave him away.

“What, punk? What’re you laughin’ at--”

“What happened to my first husband?” said a cheerful voice behind him.

Bucky froze. Steve's laughter was now generously peppered with wheezes and snorts. Of course. Of course.

Fuck it.

Bucky turned around and gave Tony his most charming grin. “Nothin’ you can prove.”

He held up his hand over his shoulder and Steve high fived him instantly. Good to know Rogers was on board, at least.

Tony laughed, a little under his breath, and shifted his weight back and forth. Like he was nervous. Bucky tilted his head and waited. Eventually those big brown eyes were back on him and the grin he'd seen plastered all over magazines and TV screens couldn't have held a candle to the one in front of him. Bucky's heart gave a traitorous little thump.

“Yeah, alright. I'll bite,” Tony said with a nod, looking genuinely pleased. His brow quirked just a little. “Favourite flowers are red Columbines. Remind me of something I'm pretty fond of. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Bucky nodded, biting his lip to try and keep from grinning like an idiot. “Red Columbines. Got it.”

“You can pick me up at eight on Friday,” Tony informed him, trying to keep the playfulness off his face and only barely getting any traction. “Wear something nice. You know what, just let Nat pick it out for you.”

“Aw, you don't think I could charm you all by myself?” Bucky asked and thanked every deity he could think of (including Thor) that his voice didn't wobble. “And here I was going to put on my best hoodie and everythin’.”

Tony laughed again and Bucky couldn't help the way his grin widened.

“Friday. Eight o’clock sharp. Don't be late,” Tony said, wavering a bit where he stood.

“Anything for you, doll,” Bucky winked.

Tony gave an embarrassing little giggle snort that Bucky would treasure for the rest of his goddamn days, then turned on his heel and left the kitchen. Bucky didn't need to look behind him to know that Steve was grinning.

“I did try to stop you,” Steve offered, not even able to get the words out without laughing.

“You're such a punk.”

Steve laughed at him some more and Bucky didn't bother trying to hide the dopey smile on his face.

“Though, he was probably coming to the kitchen to get food, not be proposed to,” Steve pointed out. “And I don't think he's consumed anything that isn't coffee in a couple days.”

Bucky's smile dropped off his face and he whirled around to check the timer. Fifteen minutes left of baking. Fifteen minutes to school his expression into something that wasn't gag worthy.

“I'll make sure to bring him some fresh carrot-banana bread. He likes all that healthy shit, right?”

“Mhmm.” Steve nodded.

“Good,” Bucky said, leaning back against the counter and trying to catch his breath. His heart was still hammering away worse than it had in years and he couldn't get enough of it. The dizzy feeling spread down to his knees as he realized Tony hadn't exactly said no to the whole accidental marriage proposal.

Well then. Ain't that somethin’.

“Good,” Bucky said again, the grin back in full spread. “Maybe I can cut down the plan to four years.”

Steve laughed and Bucky barely noticed.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #prompts #getmcfucked #Anonymous