#//god I wish I could organize this more bu my brain is fried

[woodlandsandwanderers]

[🔥 abt fandom portrayals of your top three]

//Oh my god

//Okay I'm gonna skip Woodie bc I have a WIP of another ask purely for him but

//-I'm going to slaughter the entire sect of the Don't Starve fandom that keeps making Lucy just 'Woodie but Girl'., 'Dead Girl That Makes Woodie Sad', 'Dead Girl That Woodie Killed On Accident And Makes Him Sad', and giving her nothing more. Please stop giving her the sexy trauma lamp treatment and then throwing her in the fridge. Please..... I beg of you.......

-While on that topic, I also wish more people would think about giving her a personality and relationships beyond Woodie. True, she doesn't really trust other people with herself, but everyone else are basically total strangers! Who also probably aren't as familiar with her needs and boundaries as Woodie is! They've clearly known each other a very long time, judging by both their dialouge. (Lucy knows Woodie well enough to know something's bothering him from an expression, while Woodie mentions having built a house together, which he calls the "first" house, implying they've built multiple. They're also comfortable enough to poke fun at one another.) Not to mention, it's also really hard to trust people when you have literally no physical agency whatsoever on your own. Really all I think would need to happen is to give her the oppurtunity to get comfortable with other people, and for them to learn at least the basics of how to treat her.

(I think her and Winona specifically would have some things to bond over, both being rather chatty women working in fields that are typically dominated by men.

And both Lucy and Willow take joy in destroying things, one way or another. Willow also says that she thinks she and Lucy could be friends and I grab that and run with it.

Maxwell also already seems to know Lucy, and greets her a lot less stiffly than he does other characters.)

-Also in terms of human interpretations. Muscles. And practical work clothes. Please. Consider giving her those. You think Lucy, given a body and an axe to swing *wouldn't* be out working just as much, if not more than Woodie? You're wrong.

-There's so much more I could say but this is a mess and it's getting long already im gonna move on to WX-78

WX-78:

-This robot is so fucking sad you guys

-Given hints in dialouge and similar naming schemes it's likely Wagstaff built them and honestly?

-If Robert Wagstaff was my first introduction to humans I'd want them all dead too. I doubt this man would have ever treated WX-78 as much more than a machine, or a means to some end, or just another successful experiment. And. WX-78 is not just a machine. WX is sapient. And they. Clearly experience and expresses emotion, they just lack empathy, which isn't the same thing.

-I also think that the talking to non-sapient machines things and projecting onto them actually comes off as really, really, lonely.

-Which, moving onto DST. I don't think WX actually really hates or doesn't care about what happens to the other survivors. Likes the others? God no. Tolerates them? Yes. Have accidentally gotten attatched to them once they realize that the organics *aren't* trying to pull some trick and are just? Genuinely treating it like something that is alive and worthy of basic respect because they aren't smelly capitalist old men? And also increase WX-78's personal chances of survival? Absolutely.

-So the other survivors are probably the closest thing to stability that WX-78 has ever had and they don't know how to deal with that because depite having the intelligence of an adult, life-experience-wise they're probably like 3 so they just climb on top of the furniture and hiss and bite at anyone who gets too close.

-In conclusion WX-78 is basically the nightmare family cat who hates everyone but would also crumple up like a tin can if they somehow lost the rest of the survivors.

[kirencer]

febuary seventh (i’m seeing you)

Y/n and Spencer's relationship collide around a single day: the one where they first looked into each others eyes.

[Or, the all of the secret love letters they wrote during the beginning of their relationship]

Word count: (part one and two) 9.2k

Warnings: Language

Rating: Gen audiences

A/N: it was too long for tumblr, so I broke it into two parts!! Enjoy. GN! Afab reader (it’s important, trust me)

Part Two

Y/n looked up. They had just finished reading Spencer’s journal, the one dedicated to them. Spencer was kneeling and in his hand was a small box, the dainty ring he’d gotten years ago from his mom sat in between the white.

“Will you, Y/n L/n, do me the greatest pleasure by marrying me?” Spencer said with his anxiety showing through. Y/n gasped and threw themself at Spencer, wrapping their arms tight around him.

“Yes!” they cried, pulling away for Spencer to slide the ring on their finger. Then they took a deep breath. “Wait here.”

They disappeared into the two’s bedroom, rummaging through some things before running back with a black binder in hand. “It’s only fair if you see my unsent love letters, too.”

Spencer grasped it and flipped the binder open as Y/n guided him to the couch.

“They’re in order but aren’t as neatly organized as yours - I stopped writing before you did, though.”

————————————————

For Spencer Reid, february 8th 2008 10:17 am

It was yesterday, a little more than 24 hours ago at 6 am that I was on a bus. Tiny, white and cramped, but now I realize it was actually a ferry to the love of my life. Even though at the moment all I cared about was when I was going to get to stretch my legs next, it still buzzed with excitement because I was about to be in your city even if you didn’t come to see me, that would’ve been enough. Being three feet away from you is more than enough. Being Two inches away from you is bliss. But your head on my shoulder is nirvana.

But then, only two hours after I had started my d&d campaign (the moon isles or something) there was an urge to look behind me. I tried to ignore it but I looked anyway.

What I saw scared me. Not because I’m afraid of you Spencer, but because I was scared of myself. I wanted to run to you and hug you, but I was too scared of scaring you away that I didn’t. My head seemed to spin as a second glance felt like a hundred years. Then a smile broke out on my face and I looked away. At first I didn’t think it could be you, I half screamed at the two people sitting on the left side of me. “Don’t look now, but my boyfriend’s here” of course they looked and Sophia told me that you were walking over here.

My insecurities flared up, but I remembered that you love me, even though I'm tired and probably covered in acne. She said you sat down behind me and I risked a quick glance, or two, or three times every two minutes. I tried to act as normal as possible even though if I looked back I would see the smile that lifted your cheeks when I looked at you. It was hard to focus on my campaign because it’s cliche, but I could sense you behind me and I was shaking. My friends were hyping me up to say Hi and I was trying to not scream. I ran to the bathroom, splashed water on my face and tried to calm down. I ran back, probably looking a little too excited. Ok, I was totally too excited.

My campaign finished up, you caught me staring at you a few times and my friends told me you were looking at me anytime we all made a loudish noise. After that, you followed us to lunch, well, followed me. You stood beside me and I said Hi, you replied the same. Then you grabbed your stuff and seemed to have left. I visibly deflated, my one chance to see you and I missed it. Then you came back, with a takeout bag in hand and some fries. I didn’t mention it already but you looked adorable in your glasses, from afar they look too big for you but then you see the big warm eyes behind them. Your cheekbones are so nice and everything about you is handsome, even more than I could have imagined. Photographs don’t do you justice. I hoped you had liked your dice, I got the red and black ones but I was scared you didn’t like yours.

You sat directly in front of me and my friends (Deriasia and Emma) immediately made fun of me and I almost died. At that moment. When you smiled and laughed. My friends gave us their blessing, which kinda fit because you were as tense as if you were meeting my parents.

I asked you to sit with me during the next campaign and you did (we snuck you in without paying). You played with the first character I ever played (Bida the high elf wizard). I was almost too distracted to really compete in all the things, instead focusing on you. You let me use your journal to doodle, a weird eye and a girl. Did you notice me fiddling with my hands? If I didn't keep them busy I probably would’ve put my hands in your hair or grab your hand. I remember you asking me if I needed a hug. I said yes and I think that hug is the most important one I've ever had. You laid on me and I didn’t care what my friends would say, all that matters was you.

My skin in two weeks will not remember the feel of your hair, my lips will not remember your cheek, but my brain forever will. At that moment, physical immortality is not as important as the immortalization of those touches.

They linger in my head, fuzzy and soft on my skin but they’re there.

I remember you telling me not to buy you anything (i still got you a resin skull magnet and dice) I remember flirting with you, i remember it all. I remember how you know all of Sappho’s poems and fragments, I want to remember everything about you. I know I won’t, you’re the one with the crazy good memory, after all.

I wish I would’ve looked in your eyes and told you that I saw you. I wish I would’ve pressed my lips to yours, but then again there’s always next time. And next time I will, even if it’s right in front of the whole world. Because I love you. I really fucking love you and everyone can suck it. I love you.

And I think that’s all that matters.

____

I have waited almost six months to hold you in my arms, and now I wait longer. I hate myself, I didn't hug you. I should’ve.

I didn’t tell you I love you enough, I didn’t kiss you properly. I wish I did.

Currently my arms ache to hold you, my eyes burn to see you and my lips yearn to touch yours. I can’t wait to indulge myself in thousands of kisses, I hope they are as sweet as your skin. Kinda licked my lips after kissing your nose, cheek, and right under your neck. You taste sweet, I think I'm addicted.

I still feel the ghosts of your touch on my skin, I love it. I love you. I want to have your actual skin under my fingertips, to hold you when you wake up from a bad dream, to dance with you under the stars. Decide what song is ours and argue over how cheesy it is. Cry on the day we say our vows, cry at the birth of our first child, cry when they go to school, cry when they grow up, cry when I realize that we did it. I can’t wait to have life with you.

If there’s such a thing as soulmates then the word was made to describe us.

I love you.

____

I fell asleep, I woke up right before you texted me. I dreamt about you, in my mind I fell asleep with you in my arms. In my mind I am sitting in a cafe, right across from you drinking tea.

I prefer it to real life, by about an infinite percent. My friend came in and basically yelled at me to let him use my box, I told him to fuck off. I know I won’t be able to fall back asleep but I do hope to continue my dream tonight. Currently im trying to believe that you think i’m “stunning” it’s starting to work it’s way into my mind that i’m not ugly.

Spencer, I love you.

You have such an effect on me, the first week we were together you weaseled your way into my mind. You sprouted a tree that is still a sapling but has rooted to the core of my mind, slipping into my heart and spreading through my limbs. You’re almost a drug (the only one I approve of).

You’re poison, searing through my veins and warning my skin. But you’re not toxic, you’re candy, sugary sweet, something tangible that almost floats in and out of existence.

If you are a God, I am your most loyal patron.

____

Time is meaningless but it goes so fast, only eight minutes left to talk then my day ends. So many more ‘I love you’s I could say.

But time will not permit our love, that’s fine, I’ll wait it out till the end.

You’re worth it.

Seven Minutes

____

You always deny that you’re adorable, and that’s so adorable.

It’s frustrating sometimes because you’re so beautiful you deserve to know it. But oh well, i’ll just have to prove you are.

I told you I’d rather go on a date with you first before doing anything sexual. you also deserve to know your love is all I need, not your body (that’s just a perk)

You’re hot, sue me!

____

In the shower, I have most of my daydreams. Ranging from cotton candy clouds to a place where my parents accept me. However, the best daydream i’ve ever had is about a boy. A boy with chocolate brown eyes and a beautiful smile. Ding Ding Ding, his name is Spencer.

My dream is about his last name, well it involves it. I imagine myself talking to him while I say an important speech, in front of a crowd of people. I’m talking about our relationship, about how much I love you, and how much I can’t wait for the next chapter of our life to start. I always tear up when everyone is quiet at the end, and then you say what you have to say. It’s fuzzy and I don’t remember any of it (kinda want you to make your own in the future) but after you say it. It's time.

You say two words, so low only I and the person standing next to us can hear, “I do”

That’s the best day dream I’ve ever had, because I know it won’t be just a dream (I hope)

____

The best part of my day is looking at any photos from you: they always make me smile. Even when my day has been utterly terrible, your bright eyes are always a light in the dark.

I often don’t even need to think about you to have your smile in my mind, it’s just there, like a constant bright sunshiny beam. A single thought about you makes my day, a single touch my year, remembering that you’re mine makes my life a whole much better.

You, make living better.

I live for you, you’re all I ever want to have.

Je suis fou amoureux de toi.

____

So uh, you might have noticed but I don’t know how to talk to people, let alone talk to you.

It’s not that I have nothing to say, I have too much to say. It all bubbles in my mind and makes me jump on topic every three seconds. But when it comes to you, I'm stuck on which way to tell you I love you.

So, how about all of them?

I don’t need to focus on a single part of your face to know that it’s beautiful, but I do. All the parts work in harmony, like a choir. But individually they are still beautiful. I love every single inch of your face, individually and together.

I love you for your personality, I fell in love with a genius who is so much more than his memory or intelligence. Then I fell in love with a sweet boy who whined when I said self deprecating things. When we first met, I instantly fell in love again, with a shy boy who would look up at me from under his lashes.

Fuck, my mind is racing too much to distinguish anymore. But, I hoped I showed you.

That, I love you now, and forever will.

Happy Valentine’s day, my love.

____

Happy anniversary, god I can’t believe it’s been five months already. It seems just yesterday I was crying over whether or not I should continue liking you (i had told myself I wasn’t good enough for you).

Well, turns out I was wrong. I’m just enough for you. It doesn’t matter to me anymore if you’ll ever leave me, well, it does, `but there’s something more important, you being loved and being happy is what matters. And I can’t wait to give you what matters.

I love you babe! I’ll try to write more to show it.

____

My mind is a cavern of echoes, words (well a name) revertibrating in my skull.

The things used to be about art, school, anything slightly important.

But now, it’s filled with the most important person in my life. Analyzing the color of his hair (a warm brown), thinking of his eyes, thinking of his name and my name with a change; Spencer Reid (and sometimes Y/n Reid) has taken over my mind and burrowed into my soul.

I think if the red string of fate was real then we’d have been connected when we first met. Fuck, we are connected.

If we weren’t why would I have fallen in love with you? It was fate that I sent a letter to a wrong address, fate that I stumbled upon the boy that would change my life for the better.

Our souls are connected, being pulled because of the distance though, and I can’t wait to be with you. Not two halves of a whole, but two souls that fit like a puzzle piece.

I love you, and you love me. Even though I'm a coward.

When we have a daughter, her name should be Rhiannon. We will both dote on her like the goddess she is. Just a thought :>

____

You were in my house today. I think I'm dying, I'm wearing your sweater. It smells like you. I think you left it behind on purpose.

You smell really nice. It’s not like a cologne or anything, but it's nice. You’re nice

You kissed me. You’re a really good kisser. You should do it again and again and again.

I got the news yesterday, my transfer went in, I'm sending my letter to you tomorrow. I know you’re in my city but I'd rather it be like this.

I don’t think i'm going to write any more, don’t think that means i don’t love you!!

I am going to hold you for hours, I promise, I love you.

————————————————

Spencer finished reading and smiled up at his new fiance. “We were such dorks! It's crazy how similar we thought.”

Y/n nodded and looked down at their ring. “We were dorks in love! Um, so how do you feel about the name Rhiannon?”

“It’s pretty, but I don’t think we need to be worrying about baby names - we need to figure out how to tell my team we’re engaged.” Spencer quipped, wrapping his arms around Y/n before it hit him.

Y/n’s morning sickness, the weird secretive doctors appointment, and what they had just said. “No!” he whispers, a smile growing on his face, “I’m gonna be a dad?”

They nod and bury their head into Spencer’s chest. Spencer can’t stop the smile that beams across his face. He grabs Y/n and spins them around in his arms, “This is the best news!!”

He pressed a deep kiss to Y/n’s lips, then went onto his knees to wrap his arms around Y/n. “Jason Derek Reid if it’s a boy and Rhiannon Penelope Reid if it’s a girl.”

Y/n smiles and nods, “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Let’s be on the same page, forever from now on, okay?”

They nodded, Spencer’s hands finding place on their back as he pressed his lips right below Y/n’s navel. Y/n’s hand’s dug into his hair: “Forever.”

Years later the two do indeed wake up on a Saturday morning to impatient kids who demand to be made pancakes. Sometimes after a hard case they do dance at three am in their underwear. Sometimes they do a lot of things in their underwear. They’re together in every way imaginable.

And to them? It’s the most important thing that could ever be possible.

The End

part one

[lovelyirony]

Hello friend! I'm in a mood and just feel like reading something sad. Could you pretty please maybe write some sad winteriron? Maybe something to do with terminal illness but it's up to you!

Being human means that there are many things that could happen to you and you can’t help it. 

Like cancer. 

Or being hit by a bus. 

Maybe a heart condition that you didn’t know about until you were thirty-two, had weird chest pains, and then found you didn’t have genetic testing done and neither parent told you about any extensive medical history because they both were estranged from the family. 

Okay. That was specific. 

But Tony was laying in a hospital bed and the doctors told him that he wouldn’t live past forty and he would die of heart failure. 

He feels like he should be hit harder by this. He only has eight years left to live. He shouldn’t be in his kitchen making eggs, he should probably be hysterically calling Rhodey and Pepper and Happy and asking them about funeral arrangements and what he’s going to do and quite possibly if spending the extra money to get the executive suite at the fancy hotel in Switzerland is worth it. 

Except he doesn’t want to. 

Death is a messy process. Not for him, they assured him of that. But everyone asks you questions and your loved ones. You have to figure out where to bury someone if they didn’t do it beforehand. Sometimes you have debates about cremation. Other times about how much you want to spend on a casket. 

He really doesn’t want to look at Rhodey or Pepper or Happy when they talk about that because he knows that their faces will break into tears and he will see the tear tracks when they go home to their houses and cry some more. 

Nonsense. 

If he can hide it, then he will. He doesn’t want to be a bother, it would be...unfortunate. 

Besides. He’s lonely at the top, and there’s no climbing back down the mountain. He won’t pull a Scrooge and get visited by three ghosts. 

So he lives. 

He pulls some risky moves, but nothing that makes Pepper have the “are you up to something serious that could potentially cause my midlife crisis to go off-schedule” talk. 

Again. 

He donates more money to charities and helps people pay off medical bills and walks around New York late at night to wonder why he’s going to die in eight or maybe even seven years instead of the proposed twenty to thirty. (What? He wasn’t going to be too generous, he knew himself.) 

Tony wonders sometimes if he will meet someone and they will make him want to live so much more than he can. It will be like those romantic dramas with rainfall and hair plastered to foreheads and passionate kisses that leave some of the older women teary-eyed and wishing that their husband would do something like that. 

But he’s a genius, so he knows statistics like the back of his hand. 

There will be no one. 

Eight turns into seven. He celebrates by getting absolutely slammed on New Year’s Eve and wakes up to the shittiest radio station blaring. He’s pretty sure they’re playing Maroon 5, which fucking ugh. 

New Year, new resolutions. He doesn’t bother to make one. 

“Why not? You usually make a joke one,” Rhodey says. 

“We are all going to die,” Tony answers. “Why make a resolution if I don’t want to? If I were to die in a year, it wouldn’t really matter.” 

“Okay Lord Byron,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes. “You want Hot Topic giftcards for your birthday? Huh?” 

Tony laughs. 

Rhodey always knows how to make him laugh. 

Tony doesn’t know how he’s going to make Rhodey laugh when he’s dead. So that’s a breaking point where he stares at the wall and starts to write random memories down, like the time they snuck up onto a hotel’s roof to see the city wake up and the wind chapped their lips and Tony swore that he’d never leave Rhodey. 

Except he is. 

And he realizes that he needs to let Pepper and Rhodey and Happy know that he loves them a lot. So he starts the letters. 

He writes a letter to Pepper to remind her about how much she regrets getting light blue nail polish every single time she gets a manicure, and she should never get it. (Yes, even for a wedding she’s in, get something, anything other than that.) 

He writes a letter to Happy that is basically just wondering about how they can troll asshole celebrities that they know. He doesn’t know, but maybe he will find some dirt so that if Happy ever falls on dire times, he will have some extra cash flow coming in. Not that Tony would let that happen, but say Happy ever did. Maybe someone stole his bank information. Who knows what will happen in seven or six years. 

Summer still sucks. He thinks maybe he’ll like it more, now that he knows that his heart is going to quit. But it still smells like piss and garbage on the streets of New York, people are still blasting shitty music and riding bikes too dangerously, and he still feels gross by two p.m. when he goes outside to face the world. 

Not even the treat of shaved ice helps this. 

“At least I won’t have to face another one in seven years,” Tony murmurs. “Thank god for that.” 

Seven turns into six. 

It’s around this time when an attractive redhead shows up at his office, bends down a bit lower than necessary, and Tony gets the feeling that SHIELD should really train their agents a bit better if they want something out of him. 

He organizes a meeting with Fury, walks in, and states that they cannot afford him. 

“You know that your help would be particularly useful,” Fury says. 

“For you to get what?” He asks. “Don’t bullshit me with some answer about compassion. Peggy Carter was kind, but she wasn’t a damned saint.” 

“There are new...developments.” 

Like the fact that they’ve found Captain America. And Bucky Barnes didn’t fall off into a random ravine, so the four different conspiracy theory documentary videos that Tony watched last year were about five hours of wasted time. 

They need somewhere to stay. Fury wants Tony to foot the bill. 

“What, can’t ask the government for funding?” Tony asks. “I’m sure if they can up the budget for military every year, that covers Cap and his old pal. Hell, I bet they’ll even open up the champagne fridges.” 

“They don’t know about it.” 

“And why would that be? Because you’d rather have idols to yourself?” 

It’s a low-blow. But Tony agrees to take them in. He just doesn’t want to see them, notably because his father was a bit of a Captain America fan, Tony had had a crush on the former sharpshooter when he was a younger guy, and it was all kinds of messed up. 

But he gives them their own little apartment, one of his safehouses. 

“This ain’t little,” Steve mutters to himself, unpacking a box of plates. Natasha has been nice enough to show them around and tell them about the changes she finds relevant. She forced them to listen to what she called ‘the goddess of pop’ in the car, and Bucky nearly clawed out the stereo after “Toxic” came on. 

“Fuckin’ palace,” Bucky mutters. “Who’s is this?” 

“A man in high places,” Natasha answers. “He doesn’t want to be known. Doesn’t exactly play well with others.” 

She leaves them be, and there’s so much that has changed. Steve is still looking for any sign of the past he can find in Bucky, and Bucky...

He’s not who he used to be. He doesn’t remember half the shit that Steve does. Perks of having your brain so fried up that you can barely remember your middle name. 

They eat together in silence. 

“I guess...I guess we have to figure out who we really are,” Steve says. “Because you’re not who I remember, and I’m not...I guess I’m not either.” 

Bucky nods. 

“Do you reckon we’ll like going out dancing?” 

The answer is a strong no, although Steve has to say the drinks have improved a hell of a lot more. He likes the ones that come with the small paper umbrellas. He doesn’t know where they get them, but it gives him an idea for an art project. 

Tony doesn’t hear much about the wonder boys. He doesn’t want to, not really. Natasha just says they’re getting more and more adjusted and she has evidence of Steve Rogers going clubbing. 

“Oh my god,” Tony groans. “Romanoff, do not.” 

“It’s funny.” 

“I don’t wanna know.” 

“What, you jealous that you’re not dancing with him?” 

“Hardly. Blonde and beefy isn’t my type.” 

“Then what is?” 

“Classified.” Tony answered. “Now, is there anything else you want SHIELD to suck out of me?” 

“Well, my manicure funding is getting rather low...” 

Tony snorts, but points towards the door. 

His chest hurts. It’s been happening. He’s actually gotten used to it. In a way, he’s more concerned when it doesn’t hurt. He went to another specialist. They say his death sentence is signed, even if they don’t word it like that. Here’s how it is usually worded: 

“I have a colleague who works at insert-clinic/hospital-here...I can refer you to Dr. So-and-So?” 

They can. But it’s another list of referrals of so-and-so’s and clinics and appointments at the most inopportune times. 

All for nothing, because Tony knows that he can’t be fixed. The human body sometimes works like a machine. But it’s not one. It’d be like Tony calling a dog a wolf. Similar, but no one wants to bring a wolf into their house as a pet. 

He gets a phone call from someone named Deputy Director Hill. 

-

He needs a new arm. 

Barnes needs a new arm. Of course he does. Tony should’ve expected that, of course. Hydra isn’t exactly known for revolutionizing prosthetics or being particularly kind to their projects that they work on. So Tony automatically has a one-up. 

He gets Barnes to come to this mechanic garage, surrounded by old tin signs and vintage cars that cost more than most of the monthly rent of penthouses in New York. 

Bucky does a double-take. 

“Howard?” 

“I hope not,” Tony answers. “Hop up on the chair for me, please. I’m getting you a new arm.” 

“This is fine,” Barnes automatically spouts. Tony can see the damage from here, and can even point out that the arm’s reaction time is probably the worst it has been currently. 

“If you want to stick to your Great Depression ideals, then by all means be my guest and go bitch in a grocery store about prices,” Tony responds dryly. “But if you want an arm that’s gonna be actually good, then sit.” 

So he does. 

Tony looks incredibly similar to his father. But there’s something different about him. Something softer, almost. Bucky didn’t know Howard nearly as well as others did, but he knew that Tony wasn’t his father. 

“How are you adjusting to the city?” Tony asks. 

"Still the shithole we all know and love,” Bucky swears. “I think the rats got bigger.” 

“They did. It’s amusing and horrifying at the same time. You ride the subway yet?” 

“Yes and I’ve come to terms with it. Lots of new things to learn about it.” 

Barnes’ visits become more frequent. They talk about New York stuff. Tony tells him all about the fun events that have happened that he missed while he was doing time as an icicle. 

It’s nice, talking to him. Tony finally has someone who understands fatalistic humor and doesn’t respond with 

“That’s scary, Tony.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Bucky just says “cheers” and decides to tell Tony about the time he nearly died in 1992 because he lost his footing on the Eiffel Tower. 

Tony laughs, and laughs harder than he thought he had in a long time. 

-

Six turns into five. 

Bucky gets closer, and they have...something. He’s not sure what it is yet, but he knows that they go on breakfast dates most of the time and he knows the coffee orders by heart. 

“I think you’ve found someone,” Pepper says, teasing. “Look at you.” 

“Yeah, look at me,” Tony murmurs. 

He has five years left. That’s plenty of time to date someone and break up, right? 

Except. 

It’s...wonderful to date Bucky. They go all over, have fun trying the shittiest restaurants in town, and even get Steve to get out more and socialize with the group. 

They date and celebrate holidays together and have fun candles and--

Five turns into four. 

“Not that bad,” Tony whispers to himself when he’s getting ready for bed. 

“What’s not bad?” Bucky asks. 

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Tony says. “Just got a new toothpaste.” 

They watch It’s a Wonderful Life and Tony can’t really focus, not when he’s thinking about the fact that he still hasn’t picked out a design for his urn. 

Not when he realizes that he needs to break up with Bucky and make it a whole big scene so that no one will talk to him. It has to be about two years before the date, he thinks. 

He goes to another Dr. So-and-So. They say he might actually have one more year, but who knows. 

He doesn’t. 

But he wakes up with Bucky every day and they make breakfast, and he thinks that maybe he could tell him? Maybe? 

The words get stuck in his mouth. 

He can’t. 

He meets with his lawyer for the will. 

“Why making sudden changes?” 

“Just like to shake things up,” Tony says with a smile. “Never know what’s going to happen, right?” 

“You are right about that,” the lawyer says. He’s a bit uncomfortable. Tony Stark looks at him like he knows that his life is short and that something else will come up. But it’s not the lawyer’s job to ask if things really are okay, and it’s not like Tony would tell him anyway. 

So he makes the changes to the will. 

Tony looks at Bucky as he’s napping, face so peaceful. 

He can’t ruin that.