#11 in. x 14 in.

[matthewfelixsun]

Spatter - 飛濺 - Spritzer by Matthew Felix Sun Via Flickr: Spatter Ink on Yupo Paper 11" x 14" Completed in 2023 Inventory #5855.310.2023.04.055 © Matthew Felix Sun www.matthewfelixsun.com

[casualist-tendency]

[expectiations]

you know wouldn't it be funny if the Doctor was like flippantly telling River "oh and btw this is your bank account" or something and she just stares with her jaw dropped open cause she just went on a stealing shopping spree with side quest money she earned and all along her significant bother had this bank account (or money stash because it's the Doctor who didn't even know they're on UNIT's payroll lol) just for her because, and I quote:

if we're gonna make this 14river though, she'd be gobsmacked he knows more humany-wumany stuff such as opening a bank account and being responsible enough to manage it but he totally should cause it's her <3

[jokeanddaggerdept]

[thevikingwoman]

I heard it was post smut Thursday, well here's something that was on my mind and in my drafts for a long time.

Set at an undefined time in the Stormblood patches, Meryta swings by Onokoro again (of course)

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words : 918 | Read on Ao3

Metyta Khatin (wol) x Tansui | SB patches | smut Rating: Explicit. Sexual content, oral sex, fun times, banter, semi-public sex

Good Company

“I told you you’d be back”

Meryta laughs, joy bubbling in her belly.

“I am. What are you going to do about it?”

“Come?”

He grabs her hand, but his tone is a question, so she nods and follows him willingly.

As soon as they’re out of sight of everyone else, up the stairs and behind a building, he pushes her against the wall and kisses her soundly.

“Missed me?“ she gasps between kisses, “that much?”

“You’re the one who followed me.”

She has nothing to say to that, not when he is kissing her neck, eagerly sucking bruises into it, worrying her flesh and scales between his teeth. The skirt she’s wearing is terribly short, her top leaving her belly bare, and perhaps it was not an accident. She throws her head back when he sinks to his knees, and kisses the exposed skin there, digging his hands into her ass. She clutches his shoulders and moans, biting her lip to prevent too much noise from escaping.

They’re not really private here, not even the illusion of a closed door between them and whoever may be assigned on guard here, or wandering the stairs on their own business.

Tansui doesn’t care, bracing her against the wall, pulling one leg over his shoulder, kissing the inside of her thigh. She bucks against him when he sucks, another place she’ll surely have bruises tomorrow. He didn’t forget when she said she liked it, and he seems more than excited by it.

He kisses her again, bolts of want running through her as his hot lips meet the sensitive flesh on her thighs. She bucks her hips forward when he bites her, and sticks her hand in her mouth. She doesn’t want to be heard, and she doesn’t want him to stop.

He doesn’t, his eyes mischievous as he kisses the bruise he just made, brushing his lips against her scales, as he’s kissing the leg still on the ground.

She moans into her hand.

Tansui grins.

“Stay quiet, now.”

“I thought you had a – oh!”

With one hand, he pushes her smalls aside, and his mouth is right there, licking, sucking at her most sensitive spots. She does her best not to let out any more noises, but she knows she is unable to be completely quiet. Right now she doesn’t care if anyone hears or comes to investigate – Confederacy recruits or the Auspices or the emperor of Garlemald himself. Tansui sucks and she moans into her hand, her other falling on his head, tangling in his hair.

Tansui doesn’t let up, using one hand to keep her steady, the other tangled in her smalls. Satisfied they stay out of the way, his hand falls down where she can’t see as he lets out a low moan against her cunt. She pushes him closer, clenching around nothing, pleasure building in waves down her spine. He’s already as close as he can get, relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure, sucking, licking, beard scraping against sensitive flesh, his teeth pressing against her clit in delightful pressure.

She throws back her head and has to squeeze her eyes shut, focusing on staying upright. There’s a rustle of fabric and she realizes he’s working himself, aroused by the pleasure he brings her. It’s enough to bring her over, her climax hitting her in a furious burst. Tansui keeps going, but lets up a little, the aftershock having her tilt her hips off the wall and into him. When she looks down, he pulls back and grins up at her, dark lashes and her juices smeared across his chin.

She vaguely feels she should do something, touch him, but she’s lost in a post orgasmic haze, simply patting his hair awkwardly. Her legs wobble as she slides her left leg down from his shoulder, and he lets go of her, busy touching himself. Unable to keep herself upright, she slides all the way down to the ground, sitting against the wall. Her eyes are locked at where his hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking it fast and firm. Tansui’s eyes close and with grunt he comes, his spend hitting the dirt between them.

Tansui tucks himself away and leans forward to kiss her. Slower, but still intense, pressure and pleasure and the taste of herself on his tongue. She makes a small sound, and grabs his shoulder. She wants to hold him, or be held.

“Shhh,” he says, smirking, when they break apart. “Plenty of people about.”

“They’re you people. Your problem, right?”

He chuckles. “If you put it like that.”

“Wouldn’t mind going somewhere more private, though.”

“Oh? And here I thought you’ve gotten what you came for?”

She punches him lightly. “I came for your lovely company, of course.”

“So, this is but a bonus?”

He smirks, gesturing between them.

“A good one.”

She grins and grabs the hand he extends to her, pulling herself up and adjusting her clothes. No hope of covering the bites and bruises he left, and she doesn't care. Especially when his eyes rake over them, a new stab of want already simmering. 

“I can offer you company and a trip if you want. I’m set to go to Sakazuki today.”

“I’ll love to.”

hey will have time, later. She does want his company, simple time with him settles her in a way she cannot explain. She stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. Tansui looks away, and then crushes his arms around her.

[lovealwayssay]

My brain has completely forgotten almost everything about Supernatural seasons 9 and 12-15. I remember bits and pieces, but I cannot for the life of me tell you what the overarching plot was for any of those seasons. Here’s what I know about each of those seasons:

9. Sam is possessed by an angel? Dean dies in the end and becomes a demon idk

12. Peak Destiel vibes, Mary’s back, Cas is killed?

13. Widower arc, Jack is there

14. Jack kills Mary at some point idk

15. Lets kill God, divorce arc, “You changed me, Dean”, worst finale ever

[dare-g]

11 x 14 (1977)

[secrettreestuffidk]

you ever think about how pretty much the only reason we use base10 is because we have 10 fingers and if everyone had 6 fingers on each hand we'd use base12 and never even think a thing of it and also math would be pretty much better in every way?

[silly-anon]

Specific Hermitcraft rules cuz I'm bored:

1) Grian is to not have TnT unsupervised - X

2) Grian is required to go to therapy 3 times a week - X

3) Doc, leave the Ender Dragon in this time - X

4) No copious amounts of chickens or boats - X

5) STOP PUTTING POISON IN SOUP - X

6) Joel sleepwalks, stop pestering him about it - Etho Efo

7) No changing people's names on the rule board - X

8) I am going to stare until you go to bed, stop complaining - Keralis

9) Bdubs is only allowed to skip the night twice a week - X

10) No voids! - X

11) The moon is not big, stop joking about it - X

12) Baby shark is banned - X

13) Grian is banned from making music - X

14) Pearl is not allowed to flip animals that are not hers - Grian

15) Pearl is not allowed to disappear into space to get out of trouble - Grian

16) Do not wind up Pearl - Grian

17) Xisuma is not allowed to lock his office door - Keralis

18) Ren is not allowed to continue the Martren bit - Grian

19) Scar must accept that help is okay and that he's allowed to ask for it - Cub

20) STOP SUMMONING LIZZIE JOEL! HOW ARE YOU EVEN DOING THAT?! - Gem

21) Skizz, please stop trying to fly without an elytra - Impulse

22) Tango needs to be seen outside of his projects at least twice a day - Zed

23) Joe is flammable, that is not an excuse to set him on fire - X

[matthewfelixsun]

Red - 紅色 - Rot by Matthew Felix Sun Via Flickr: Red Gouache on Paper 11" x 14" Completed in 2023 Inventory #5888.309.2023.08.088 © Matthew Felix Sun www.matthewfelixsun.com

[undertale-writing-times]

🎊 w/ wiseguy plz

(*gives bag of chips* Have a good day/night)

Gimmie my chips. Also, I decided to try something different with how he talked.

Wiseguy knew before you even did.

The real question was, did he want to know? Did he want to believe it? He didn't know. Wiseguy, as his name suggests, was smart, but he also knew too much about this world.

He knew how dangerous, mean, and evil this world could be. You know why? Because he was part of it. He was part of the problem, and he was bringing a baby into it?

How much of an idiot could he be?

But then he saw the souling start to grow and felt his magic drain whenever he was near you! It made him... happy.

He laid on the bed beside you, his head resting on your stomach. "Ey, Y/n?" When he got a hum in response, he continued. "I know yo' were shocked when yo' found out dat yo' were havin' my babybones. Yo' ain't upset 'bout dat, r' yo'? I've been worried 'bout dat." he asked, rubbing your tummy.

You let out a soft laugh at the question and shake your head. "No, I'm not... I will admit that I was shocked, but not upset. How do you feel?"

He didn't respond as he thought about it. How did he feel? He breathes out slowly and lets out a soft laugh as he responds. "I think dat I'm gonna have ta git used ta dat. As o' naw, I'm pretty happy. I got a babybones, I got a great datemate... What the heck else could someone want?"

"Good answer." you tell him, leaning down to press a kiss to his skull and letting out a soft hum. He chuckles, shutting his own sockets. Maybe getting a babybones would be a good thing for him... even if he never thought he would get one.

[bluejaywuzhere]

Collisions of Then and Now

For the Flufftober prompts: Days 4, 11, 13, 14, 18, 28, Alt 1, Alt 2, and Alt 3: Market Day; Ingredients & Spells; Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room; Fantasy AU/Mundane AU; Bewitched; Lucky Charm; “I’ve got you”; Rainy Day; “Wait, you love me?” - “I always have”

- - - - - - - - -

James Buchanan Barnes hadn't always been of the magical world. He had been normal, once. Before the war, before Hydra, before ice, he’d been a normal young man in a normal village with a normal best friend and housemate. 

Well, he supposed his housemate wasn't the most normal. Stevie had always had health problems, and despite his best efforts, it’d been hard on him and his mother’s finances. When Ms. Sarah passed (bless her soul) and Stevie needed help with managing the house, Bucky moved in to help his buddy out. Yeah, sure maybe it wasn’t the most normal of situations, but it worked for them and they were happy. And then their kingdom of America declared war and everything got a lot more complicated. 

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky said he’d volunteered (that was a lie. The royal guard had threatened his sister). He said he was fighting for his kingdom (that was also a lie. He was fighting for his sister. He was fighting for Stevie. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't give a damn about America). He said he’d be back soon (he hadn't meant that to be a lie. It was). 

- - - - - - - - -

His entire troop was captured by the other side, instead of being slaughtered (at the time, he was thankful. But later, Bucky decided he would have preferred death to the hell they put him through). 

- - - - - - - - -

It was a league of witches, witches who called themselves Hydra. They were experimenting with spells and potions and runes,  combining all three into dangerous magics that they hoped would help achieve immortality (and if not immortality, enough power to win the war). Bucky became a test subject (it felt like they were pumping lava into his veins sometimes, turning his skin inside out other times, and some of the worst times it felt like all the warmth was being leeched from his insides. He wasn’t surprised that everyone died, he was only surprised that he had survived). 

- - - - - - - - -

Steve (brilliant, wonderful, idiotic Steve) rescued him. Steve had signed up for an American experimental program and had become extremely strong and fast and tall and healthy. Steve had barged into Hydra’s little lair and stolen Bucky away. Steve, who used to be fifty pounds soaking wet and couldn't run more than six feet before wheezing. (Stevie, who made the most fantastic paintings and had the biggest heart ever for such a tiny body. Stevie, who fought guys three times his size in back alleys, on the justification that “he was attacking her, Bucky” and “he can’t just say that about the men who’re out there dying for us”). Steve, who their kingdom called Captain and lauded with glory, who didn't care beyond the muscle and blonde hair, who girls fawned over and littered with kisses. Steve, who meant no more to America than a glorified weapon. (Steve, who Bucky knew better than himself and who he would die for a thousand times).

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky didn't know it, but Hydra had stuck magic inside him. America had done the same with Steve. Magic that would keep him alive. Through tortures, through swords, through ice. 

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky fell. Hydra found him. And this time, they made sure that he could never resist them again. 

- - - - - - - - -

Seventy years. They kept him spelled him, tested things on him, and made him a murderer. He was their puppet for seventy years. 

- - - - - - - - -

Stevie saved him. Stevie always saved him (true love broke the most powerful of curses). 

- - - - - - - - -

After everything was said and done, Bucky left America. He established his own little hut in the forest, bought spellbooks, and tried to make a living for himself. After a few years, Stevie hesitantly showed up on his doorstep. Bucky, like always, welcomed him with open arms. It was five years before anything disturbed them again.

- - - - - - - - -

After almost a decade of practicing magic (or well, ninety-something years if you counted the mindless Hydra puppet years, which Bucky did not), Bucky Barnes was getting used to being a witch. And he humbly considered himself to be fairly decent at it. So, when a traveler asked for a luck charm, Bucky deemed it an easy request to answer.  

“Steve, we’re out of yarrow again!” Bucky yells over his shoulder, frowning at the empty space where the dried yellow flowers were supposed to be. 

Steve pokes his head through the wide open doorway separating the kitchen and the sitting room, furrowing his brows as Bucky rifles through the cupboards. 

“You sure? I swear we just bought some three suns ago.” 

Bucky sighs and shakes his head, his grown-out hair swishing strangely around his face. 

“Yeah, I did! Where’s it all gone?” He complains. Steve thinks for a moment, walking into the kitchen and resting his big blonde head on Bucky’s shoulder. “Well, if we’re really out, then the market is open until sunset tonight. You have a deadline, right?”

Bucky groans, thunking his temple against Steve’s head. “Yes.” He grumbles, turning his face into Steve’s fair hair. Bucky distantly notes that it smells faintly of grass and fresh linen. “I have seven suns as of today. It takes two to brew the potion, and then it has to soak for three. ‘M already cutting it close as is.” 

Steve smiles into Bucky’s shoulder before pulling away, reaching around Bucky’s head to close the open cabinet. 

“Well then, you better get to it, Mr. Magic Man.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes and swats Steve’s shoulder, nodding towards the door. 

“You gonna come with me?” He demands, and his acerbic tone would have sounded terse and harsh to anyone else, but Steve knows it was simply Bucky’s way of hiding (whatever it was that it was hiding). Steve beams at him and whacks his shoulder as he passes. “Of course! I need to get some more sorrel anyway. I’ll grab the umbrella.” 

- - - - - - - - -

One accomplishment of Hydra’s experiments with Bucky was diluting the effects of what Hyrda dubbed ‘wasser-seele-korrosion,’ literally, ‘water-soul-corrosion’. A common consequence of gaining witch powers was that fresh or running water would erode one’s core of magic, destroying them from the inside out. Hydra’s efforts to reverse the side effects were not entirely successful, but they did manage to reduce the fatalistic nature of water to witches: instead of the water eating away at one’s soul, it would eat away at one’s skin. Thus, instead of killing the subject, it would merely cause them unbearable pain. Needless to say, Hydra saw this as an outstanding breakthrough and tested it on a live subject at the first opportunity. Specifically, the super-enhanced, bewitched live subject they had helpfully in custody.

- - - - - - - - -

When in the process of changing, Bucky resolutely avoided the mirrors. After nearly a decade of being free from Hydra’s control, he still wasn’t able to look at his patchwork of scars without feeling sick. Especially his arm- god, every time he caught even a flash of metal, he had to stop and breathe for a moment. 

- - - - - - - - -

In another one of their experiments, Hydra had turned his left arm into solid metal. They spelled it to feel normal, to move like normal, to feel no different than his arm made of flesh and blood and bone, disregarding the fact that they had irreversibly transformed skin and muscle into steel. They then made him use that arm to spatter blood and crush bone. 

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky takes a breath and pulls off his shirt, flinching as sunlight glints off the metal. He closes his eyes and breathes, feeling the air in his lungs and the wooden flooring beneath his feet. He pulls on a new shirt, the feeling of his fingers scraping over his pockmarked back sending shivers of revulsion down his spine. Eyes still closed, he grabs a glove to fit over his metal hand. Only once the entirety of his left arm, from his shoulder to his fingertips, is covered, only then does he open his eyes and breathe freely. No panic attacks, then. A good day.

- - - - - - - - -

Steve smiles brightly when Bucky emerges. If he notices Bucky’s shaking shoulders and the way he grasps Steve’s arm a little too tight, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, Steve starts chattering about his paintings. Bucky knows that Steve mostly paints for himself, but he’s recently received his first commission, which he’s working on now. Steve talks about the difficulty of certain pieces and how hard it is to get the colors right, but also about how good it‘s turning out. Bucky relaxes bit by bit at the sound of Steve’s voice. Warm, familiar, soothing, and above all else, safe. Then Steve says something that makes Bucky tune back in sharply: 

“Hey, do you mind if I draw you sometime?” Bucky shoots him a sharp look, mind whirling. Steve just gazes at him, expression open, honest. Bucky doesn't know what to say. He’s… he’s thought about Steve drawing him. He’s always squashed that thought down though, because… well, that’s not really something friends do. And Bucky‘s long since buried any hope of being anything more than friends with Steve. 

“You want me to… you want to draw me?” Bucky hedges, still eyeing Steve for, well, he doesn't know what he’s expecting. Steve doesn’t seem like he’s joking, or playing some kind of prank, but Bucky can't quite believe the words coming out of his best friend’s mouth (best friend, that’s what Steve is, dammit, and that's all he’s ever going to be, Bucky has to keep reminding himself). Steve is still smiling, oblivious to Bucky’s overthinking. 

“Yeah! You have a very pretty face. I’ve wanted to draw it for a long time, but I wanted to be able to do it justice. Now, I think I can draw you right.” Steve says sheepishly, and well, how can Bucky say no to that?

- - - - - - - - -

The market is surprisingly busy, considering it’s past mid-sun and barely halfway through the lunar cycle. It is always busy on a full or new moon, or solstice, or at night, but to be this busy in the sunlight on no remarkable moon is… odd. Bucky finds himself uneasy. Something’s wrong. Steve feels it too. There’s something different in the air, and it’s making them both nervous. Instead of splitting up like they usually would, by unconscious and mutual agreement, they stick together. Bucky pays for the yarrow with quick hands and a strained smile, every hair on the back of his neck sticking straight up. When he bids hasty farewells to the yarrow seller and looks around anxiously, he accidentally locks eyes with a strangely familiar-looking guy across the square. Bucky has a moment to wonder where he’s seen him before, and then Steve brightens and hurries over, beckoning Bucky to follow him.

“Sam!” Steve whisper-yells and the guy nods tersely, glancing around. 

“Oh yeah, I remember you,” Bucky realizes, finally remembering glowing red wings that appear and disappear at will. Sam nods hello, then turns back to Steve. 

“America’s rounding up anyone magic. Everyone, actually. The king sent out the whole royal army, they’re sweeping every house within a three-sun journey. Word on the street is that we’re all gonna be killed. Be careful.” Sam warned. Steve nods seriously, sharing a nervous glance with Bucky. 

“We’ll be careful. You be safe too, okay?” He asks, and Sam smiles. “Hey, I’m not the one with a damn metal arm, for Christ’s sake.” 

Bucky tries not to flinch, Steve takes his hand, and Sam notices. “You two take care of each other now.” He says, a not-so-subtle smirk tugging at his lips. Steve, for some reason, blushes. As they leave the market, Bucky’s mind lingers on it because what the hell was that?

- - - - - - - - -

It’s a long walk back to their hut: Bucky chose a pretty secluded spot deep in the woods, which is a little inconvenient for trips to and from the market, but it’s rather protected. They have plenty of time before the soldiers get there. Nevertheless, Steve and Bucky begin preparations. There have been raids in the past, usually lawless flash mobs with torches and pitchforks. Not much danger if one knows a simple concealing spell. But the king's royal army would be a much more formidable force. Their armor is constructed to see through enchantments and their blades are sharpened to slice through any conjured barriers. No, against this foe, Bucky and Steve have but three options: they can either stay and pretend to be nothing more than simple peasants (difficult, considering they’re a fair distance from the nearest village and Bucky has a solid metal arm), they can abandon their home and flee into the woods until the guards move on (problem is, neither of them wants to leave), or they can split up, with Bucky hiding in the woods and Steve staying behind to watch the house (no way in hell). After too much time spent deliberating, Bucky finally sighs.

“Steve, there's nothing for it. We're gonna have to jump ship.” 

“Buck, we can't just leave. Our lives are here, we have to stay and fight.” Steve, unsurprisingly, is being stubborn, but Bucky’s made up his mind. 

“No, Steve, listen. I can hide the magic stuff. We can pack a bag each, fill ‘em with what we can’t leave behind, and we can go.” Steve opens his mouth to argue, but Bucky presses on, reaching out and gripping his arm. 

“Steve, Stevie listen to me. We can leave the house. The house doesn't matter, what matters is that we don't lose each other again, okay? That's what's important.” 

And well, Steve can’t seem to argue against that.

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky’s in the middle of transfiguring the cauldron when a rough thunk-thunk-thunk sounds at the door. Bucky knows that noise. It’s armor on wood. It’s the royal guard, hours early. Some bastard must’ve let slip about the witch in the woods, and now the royal army is seconds away from knocking down Bucky’s front door and he’s not ready, they aren’t supposed to be here yet, why are they here- 

“Breathe,” Steve’s voice cuts through Bucky’s panicked spiraling, and he blinks, suddenly staring into Stevie’s blue blue eyes. 

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We need to go, Buck,” He says, calm and sweet as molasses candy on a Sunday morning. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Come on Buck, that’s it. One foot in front of the other.” Steve gently leads Bucky over to the back door, snagging both their bags as he goes and quietly turns the handle, slipping out into the wild as the soldiers finally break down the front door. 

- - - - - - - - -

There’s a tree hollow that they’ve hidden in before. When the nightmares were too much, when the walls were closing in, when Bucky found himself awake at night, he’d make his way out to the little tree hollow and let nature lull him to sleep. Crickets and frogs drowned out the venomous spells that slithered around in his mind, and he could finally close his eyes peacefully. He often awoke in Steve’s arms, the blonde curled protectively around him even in sleep. 

That tree hollow is where Steve and Bucky hide, trusting good old-fashioned vines and leaves to artfully hide the entrance from view. They crouch there for what feels like hours, still as stone and hardly daring to breathe as soldiers clomp and stomp and yell and grumble, searching the undergrowth for the duo, at times mere inches from the witches in question. And when the soldiers finally, finally leave, the heavens open wide and dump the heaviest rainstorm of the season. Safe to say, Steve and Bucky aren’t going anywhere.

- - - - - - - - -

Bucky keeps pale blue eyes fixed on the deluge outside, hugging his knees to his chest and leaning his head on Steve’s solid shoulder. He knows Steve well enough to know that the blonde is very nervous about the sound of hammering raindrops against wood. They’re both more cautious of rain nowadays. Bucky doesn’t know what to do to help though, so he drops his soft brown head on Steve’s shoulder and breathes.

“You know I’m shit at emotions and stuff, but I’m here, okay Stevie? I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve sighs but relaxes minutely and rests his head on top of Bucky’s. 

“I know. Thanks, Buck,” 

- - - - - - - - -

Two days later, the house is more or less completely fixed, the royal army has moved on to bully some other witch, and Steve and Bucky are finally getting back to some semblance of normal. Then Bucky remembers the lucky charm he was supposed to make for the traveler and groans. 

“Steve, do you remember if we stored that yarrow?”

- - - - - - - - -

“Buck, could you grab the crushed buttercup for me?”

“Stevie, pass the hare fur.”

“Sweetheart, I needed oregano, not mint.”

“Ooh, hand me the goldenrod, doll,” 

- - - - - - - - -

Miraculously, they brew the potion, soak the charm, and have the package ready in time for the traveler to pick it up. 

Honestly, Bucky doesn't know how they did it. But hey, the traveler paid up generously (enough money for Bucky to get a nice new pack of paints for Stevie’s birthday), so Bucky wasn't about to complain over a job well done. 

After the whole soldier fiasco is over and the potion is delivered, Bucky decides to be productive and make a little hidey-hole in the cellar. When Steve comes down with a drink, a cool rag, and a few questions, he gives answers. 

“Don’t like seeing you scared. We can just hide down here next time bad guy come a-knocking.” Bucky mentions flippantly, wiping dirt off his forehead. 

Steve feels a tender warmth welling up in his chest, and he can’t contain a smile. “I love you, Buck.” 

They both freeze. 

It's the first time it’s been said out loud. 

Bucky’s heart is pounding too loudly in his throat, and he coughs, trying to dislodge it from where it’s very stubbornly hanging out by his vocal cords. 

“Wait, you- you love me?” He asks, his voice hoarse and crackly, scarcely believing what he’s hearing.

Steve swallows, and for a terrifying moment, he can’t speak. Everything freezes, his lungs seize up and his mouth won’t move. Bucky’s face shifts. He suddenly looks… frightened. Scared. No, terrified. It’s that heart-wrenching look that snaps Steve out of his frozen trance. He has to say something, anything to get that awful expression off Bucky’s face. “I- yes. God yes. Of course I love you, Buck. I always have.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, a blinding smile illuminates Bucky’s face. It's one of those rare, precious smiles that Steve treasures, hoards like valuable gold. Bucky’s sky-light eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips curl up, his skin turns a lovely shade of pink, and he smiles, brighter than the sun, moon, and all the stars in the sky. 

Steve would kill to keep seeing that smile. 

Bucky strides forward and grasps Steve’s head between his two hands, one flesh one metal, and presses their foreheads together. Steve closes his eyes, breathing in the orangy smell of Bucky’s soap, the slight tang of iron from his arm, the mildewy odor of the basement, and the woody, earthy scent of his magic that seeps from his being. Bucky’s flesh hand grazes against Steve’s jaw, and the blonde half-opens his eyes to find Bucky gazing at him, open, curious, hesitant, eager. He gently tugs Steve’s chin just a hair closer, then stops. 

Steve glances down at Bucky’s lips, red as an apple skin and half-parted. A most tempting invitation; one that Steve cannot find a single reason to refuse. 

- - - - - - - - -

A few truths of the universe:

One: Bucky Barnes has been, is, and will always be weak for Steve Rogers.

Two: Steve Rogers has been, is, and always will be weak for Bucky Barnes.

And three: strengths and weaknesses are often one and the same when it comes to Bucky and Steve.

- - - - - - - - -

Soon, the walls of Steve’s art studio are covered with Bucky’s face, in acrylic, in watercolor, in pencil, in charcoal, pale blue and chestnut, lashes, lips, eyes and a little quirk of a smile. 

Steve is in Bucky’s arms, and in Bucky’s bed and in Bucky’s heart. 

And he stays there. 

- - - - - - - - -

Thank you for reading!

[criticallyobs]

Have another bite...Here is our podcast for episode 11 of Cooking Crush...

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[freshthoughts2020]

“YOSHI’S BARRAGE 🍌 🦖 11” x 14””

[thevikingwoman]

Meryta struggles with her fears, feelings, and putting words on paper.

Fandom: FFXIV | Words: 1553 | Read on Ao3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Meryta Khatin x Tansui | after The Key to The Castle | romance Rating: Teen. Letter writing, longing, fear of death, fear of change, Alisaie friendship, dealing or not dealing with feelings

Letters and Longing, part 1

Meryta’s pen hovers over the parchment, frustration marring her face. The pen is frozen as she thinks, ink dripping on the page. She groans and puts the pen back in the inkwell, carefully mopping up the extra ink on the page. At least it didn’t ruin what she’d already written. The letter is a mess anyway, but she can’t fathom rewriting it, little as it is. It’s hard enough already. Not only are the words hard to come by, but the act of writing itself – the echo might grant her ability to speak and understand any language, but it doesn’t confer any scholarly skills, including letter writing.

After they returned from Dohn Mheg with the shell crown, a silent thanks to Soroban and the Kojin, she’d decided it was time to write a letter. Urianger had been pleased enough to supply the pen and parchment when she asked, his golden eyes kind. She is glad to see them. At any other time, her attention would have been drawn by how handsome he is, free of whatever caused him to hide before. But all she can think of is warm brown eyes and a dark beard, her thoughts returning to the Ruby Seas and to Tansui.

She wants to tell him – something.

They’ve been rushing, ever since they ran from Ran’jit in Lakeland. She’s not afraid of him, not the way she’s afraid of the Lightwarden, but to deal with Ran’jit she has to fight another Lightwarden.

She’d have to fight it anyway, or so the Exarch says. She’s afraid, and she’s not used to it. Not that she hasn’t been afraid before, but it’s been the good kind of fear. The fear that keeps on your toes, harnessed into a razor edge for the coming battle. Fear that makes you throw yourself into combat, teeth bared. No, now she’s filled with dread. She doesn’t want to fight the Lightwarden. She doesn’t want to see the sin eaters, the ones arisen from people lost. She doesn’t want to absorb the aether from the Warden, the Light overwhelming and itching beneath her skin.

The castle looms above the lake, glittering and beautiful and unreal. 

Soon enough, they’ll rush away to find the last two artifacts, and with the post moogle improbably spinning in humming circles in Lydha Lran. It probably gets on splendidly with the faeries. She decided to write and send a letter while she still could.

She worries – she worries she’ll not survive, or change – or unable to stop or go to the Source. And when she left Tansui last, she... Well, she doesn’t want him to think she forgot about him, or that she doesn’t want to come back. Or she wants to thank him. Or tell him…

She groans again.

If you do not see me again, it is not for lack of trying.

That doesn’t quite encompass all she wants to say, and it’s not quite the right way to say it. So far, all she’s said is that she is alive and well, for now, and they’re trying to end another Lightwarden. She should perhaps tell that she’s with her friends, that they are hale and well – but it’s too complicated, too long winded, and besides he’s met neither Urianger nor Thancred. Yet it’s strange not to mention them.

I’m with more of the scions, my friends. I do wish to visit again, but if I don’t --

She tries again, mulling over the sentences in her mind. How does one spell scion anyway? If the Lightwarden doesn’t defeat her and the Light doesn’t – change her – will Ran’jit catch up with them? Will the faeries trap them here forever, chasing their artifacts? She wants to explain and to write a proper letter – but it’s a jumbled mess along with her thoughts.

“Hello, Meryta.” Alisaie, pulling out a stool and sitting across from her. “I thought you had already left.”

“I wanted to write this letter, but – words are eluding me.”

“A letter? For whom?”

“It’s not important.”

“It’s important enough that you’ve not yet left.”

Alisaie leans over, attempting to read it upside down. Meryta wants to cover it up, but it’s messy enough and she’s unsure if the ink is dry and she won’t ruin it more. She’s certain Alisaie has beautiful handwriting, like her brother.

“Tansui? The pirate?”

The embarrassment over her handwriting is not the only reason she wants to hide it.

“He’s a friend.” She feels like she should add something, but afraid it will come out defensively.

“Sure,” Alisaie says, interrupting her thoughts. “A friend happy to extort money from us, I guess.” She narrows her eyes. “But mayhap that’s not quite what you think of.”

She fights the instinct to hide, she can’t truly explain what he is, not fully. It’s not the times they’ve fucked, but the way he held her, last time she was there. How that makes her want to go to him again. How, despite her happiness to see her friends again, and her sympathy for the plight of the people here, all she wants is to rest in his arms again.

“I’ve visited and I –“ she stops, and freezes. Another thing she doesn’t want is to worry Alisaie, how her need to write is bound up with her fear that she’ll not be successful in the next fight. That whatever they do will not work, that the Light may consume her. She thinks of the other things she wants to tell him too, words of both affection and practicality stuck in her head.

“Feo Ul said he’d get the letters to the Source somehow,” she explains, backing up. “I want to tell him – at least to be aware of Black Rose and of the things Urianger saw in his vision. Be I’m not used to writing letters, and –“

Alisaie’s eyes soften, any judgement leaving them. “Mayhap I can help?”

She has never found it difficult to talk to Alisaie, and she shouldn’t find it so now. She’s not embarrassed, she’s perhaps just reluctant to both name her fears to those who depend on her, and to admit she ran from them. Or that – it would be easier to share if she understood her thoughts herself. She longs for the simplicity in visiting Tansu and the Confederacy, and that peace feels private.

“I would be glad.”

With her friend’s help she manages to compose something sensible, and not too long. Simply asking him, and the Confederacy, to be careful with any run-ins with Garleans and their cargo. She also tells a little of what has come to pass for her here on the First. She thinks he might find the faeries amusing, as long as he’s not on the receiving end of their shenanigans. A kinship of making people pay for their trespasses, perhaps.

“I miss him,” she blurs out at the end, wanting to add that too, needing to voice it despite her confusion. Her mind circles back to the notion that should she die or be unable to travel, would he know? That he should know he’s not forgotten, but that he means… something to her.

“You should tell,” Alisaie says. “I am not sure I’d name the Confederacy a steadfast ally, but – regrets can come too soon.” There’s something painful in the other woman’s eyes, the raw hurt unhidden.

“I’m sorry,” Meryta says. “If we’d been faster, if we’d – “

“She did what she had to do. It’s no need – it’s over now.” Alisaie shakes her head. “Please. I just – see to your letter. Mayhap I shall take my leave and trust you can write the rest without out my help. I surmise you’d rather it be so. And I think I’ve left my dear brother alone with the fairies a tad longer than he finds amusing.”

“Thank you, Alisaie.”

“Of course, my friend. Good luck with the artifacts. We will keep the Eulmorians busy.”

Meryta watches Alisaie leave, confident steps, her rapier ever ready. Meryta has no doubt about hers, and Alphinaud’s, capabilities. They will keep their pursuers at bay.

She does manage the rest of the letter, trying to shape her feelings into words, her mind occupied with the memory of brown eyes and calloused hands, and marks sucked into her flesh.

Tansui, I do not know if I will win this fight. I do not know if it will change me. I miss you. I wish to see you again. I hope to see you again if can. If I cannot know that I tried.

I would like to eat breakfast with you again. I long for it.

Satisfied, she seals the letter. At least he will know she did not abandon him, should her end come. The risk is always there, but somehow here, it feels closer than ever. Meryta shakes her head, and looks at the flowers in the blinding light. Her thoughts spin in circles.

Feo Ul and the post moogle is more than happy to accept her letter, exorbitant fee agreed on. One less thing to regret.

She doesn’t want to die. The castle on its high peak, pretty and bright. Most of all, she doesn’t want to absorb the Light of a second Lightwarden, a third, a fourth – how many are there?

She has no choice but to set out.