#and I couldn't offer any advice on how to do that other than... just randomly decide to stop

[medicinemane]

Basically, if you think I know how to do something, and you want to know how to do that thing, you have permission to ask me to try to teach you so long as you know I may be slow to ramp up to having the focus to do that, and so long as you know I can't promise anything but to do my best to help out

Not that any of you need anything I know per se, just I know how much it sucks not knowing how to do something you wish you knew how, so I might as well at least leave an offer on the table in case it helps anyone

[myrtles-and-blood]

𖤓 Lucifer, the Light Bringer, Prince of Hell 𖤓

This is pretty long and corny, it's mostly for Lucifer and that's it. In case someone relates.

The freedom from your arms, bloody wings. A leap without faith, unbearable agony.

But the floor does not keep me for long. There is no bone that does not heal, there is no body that does not fight to live.

Without you I am everything I have never been, I finally cry with joy.

Quick poem without any pattern for Lucifer, but I would spend all my time writing for him. There's no special occasion for this offering.

I wanted to make this as a way of describing how I see him. He's very tall and lean, usually with a black suit and depends if he has his jacket on or not. Long black straight hair, and his eyes appear for me in many colors (red, blue, gold, black, and sometimes he mimics my eye color, so a blue/green weird color). He's very pale and has sharp features, and as we know he is very handsome, too.

I think I talked about this before but this is my blog and I do what I want:

I met Lucifer when I was really stressed because I couldn't write something for an assignment. I thought about writing about christian mythology because I started having a really hard interest in it.

I was having yet another faith crisis, but I did feel a heavy, tall presence on the right side of my bed. I was writing about Lucifer here, so I kind of thought it was him. I was extremely nervous, shaking and I just couldn't look at him (where I thought he was).

So I asked him (trying to appear normal about the situation) to help me write this, put some creativity in my head, I don't know, something.

I'm not gonna post it here, but I am really, really proud of it, and I got the highest score and a really good note from my teacher. I thanked him, of course, but that was it.

He appeared one or two more times randomly. However, he was living rent free in my head all the time, every day. There was not a day I didn't think about him. I started reading info about him, started to look into books about him, fiction about him that wasn't shit, but I didn't have time for anything.

One day I got tired. I couldn't think without thinking of him, and I was going nuts. So I told him (reinterpretation of the situation, he is very different now and there's a context behind his words)

"Hello, you have been in my head for a long time, and I want you to help me with —— because I think we have a pretty good connection and, to be honest, I just can't stop thinking about you"

He told me "Good, good. I'm fine with it. I'm not going to do anything, though. Do whatever you feel like you want to do, and we'll see how that turns out. I don't think you're gonna last a week, you're weak about all of this"

"That is... rude. I don't know, I don't trust myself much on this but I want to try"

"If you don't trust yourself, why would I trust you? Again, do whatever you want and call me if you need me, but I don't want you to waste my time like you've done before with others. I have better things to do than being around someone as irresponsible as you with your own time" and he was gone.

He caught me with a really good humor, because I took that as a base to get started. I finally made his altar (it's very small and cramped but he thinks it's nice), and talked to him a lot. I insisted I wanted some signs because I thought I was going crazy, and since then I've been seeing white and grey feathers everywhere I go to cheer me up.

He listens to me, he likes to listen to my opinion and likes when I want to hear his advice. He cares when I tell him something when I'm stressed and gives me great advice. He likes roses and I like drying them so he can always have some in his altar. I never liked the sun much but since I met him, the light feels different. I have a place to cry, and stars to look at, because they look back at me. I have someone that smiles when they look at me, and I have the best source of inspiration in the world.

I still think I sound extremely crazy, I hate being corny, but he's just really nice to be around. He's dad 🫶🏼

I hope that anyone that wishes to work with him has the best experience, because he is the best.

Ave Lucifer 🌌

[sashayaweh]

Sam and Bucky dance to this song after having to take refuge in a safe house during a particularly high stakes mission. Theres a record player and Sam makes this necessary senior citizen taunts when he catches Bucky's frequent glances towards where it sits on the wooden shelf. Eventually, Sam walls over to fiddle with it because Bucky insists on faking disinterest, but Sam really wants to see him being not-so-boring for once. It was rare to see the other man take interests in his surroundings, barring the hyperawareness that he had for every environment he found himself in.

Sam could almost imagine Bucky's robo-brain whirring to calculate all the exits, people, and vantage points for any possible threat. He never seemed to fully relax. Even sitting in a chair, he sat stiffly as if he was ready to leap out at at any moment. Sam could understand. He wasn't brainwashed and weaponized for 70 years, sure. But he has seen war and death. Things he'd rather forget. And he's felt fear. The initial fear of the thousand foot free falls, the fear of the police and the banks, and the fear of losing himself in it all. So, Sam gets the mental burden and understands how hard it is to leave once you're in.

So, he fiddles with the record player and pretends not to know how to work it. There's no other records visible, but luckily one is still in place. Bucky would eventually get irritated and put everything into place because he knows what Sam is doing. And he knows that Sam knows. Because Sam knows everything. Bucky assumes this from the amount of time the other man spends talking. So, he puts the record on like old times and ignores the lump trying to force its way up and the memories that resurface. Steve-

"You're lucky, man. Etta James, and a classic at that, talk about a two for one. Looks like our luck it starting to turn around, CP30," Sam smile toothily and Bucky wants to do do something to that gap in his teeth. He doesn't quite know what that is yet. Maybe punch it because Sam knows he doesn't understand that obvious reference. But Sam's smile soften to a close, and the corners curl at the edges as his head begins to sway with the notes. Like silk curtains, his eyes slip close in simple pleasure as if he was settling himself into the music.

Bucky watches and feels awkward. At some point, in the past, he would know what to do in the situation. He would know what to do with the violins and the soulful tones curling words of longing into the air. And tired fulfillment. Maybe, he would know what to do with Sam but he doubts it. Or at least how to...be himself. Maybe then they wouldn't argue for once. Sam opens his eyes and looks over to see Bucky who stood, stone faced and deep in thought. The focus of his hooded stare was intense and Sam scoffed. The other man was being broody again.

"Are you even listening to the music or did you zone out again?" He shifts, slightly elbowing his companion and Bucky blinks, his thoughts shifting back to the present.

"You started talking, I couldn't help myself," Bucky quips and Sam let's out a soft scoft that becomes a short laugh. Bucky feels his own lips twitch.

"You gotta relax, man. You could beat a piñata with the stick you have up your ass," Sam shakes his head. That wide tooth smile is back but this time its less cocky and a little more warm. Bucky rolls his eyes and looks away. He does that a lot. At least he understood the reference this time.

Sam sighs and stops the music. He replaces the needle at the original point and let's it go. After a few seconds of crackling silence, the song fills the room again. Sam slaps the back of his hand gently against Bucky's chest and steps back with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Wanna dance, old man?"

Bucky gently freezes in shock but Sam catches it because he expected it, really. Its why he asked in the first place. He wants to shake up that tightly wound exposure that Bucky has at all times. And he was bored. Bucky was not a talkative person and their current predicament left them without many sources for entertainment. It'd been hours since they arrived, yet Sam was feeling the time pass under his skin like an itch. He was exhausted and body weary, but it was better to stay awake so he could orient to the new time zone. As a result, he couldn't help but pester the other man.

"No."

Sam just kept looking at him. His gaze was sleepy, but a twinkle of the earlier mischief still shined through. Similarly, his skin reflected the warmth of the sun as it clung to the early evening and seeped through the windows. It was lucky that they got to be above ground this time.

The staring lasted a long moment. Like it always did. Then Sam shrugged.

"I know dancing may not be a particular talent of yours-" but before he could finish, Bucky was in his space and the rest of Sam's sentenced disappeared with some of his bravado. Bucky was fast and his sudden closeness wasn't expected given the man's reservations a second ago. The sudden adrenaline that had sparked through Sam's started to fade too. He wasn't scared of his companion, but the man's behavior was largely still a mystery to Sam which meant that sometimes he was caught off-guard.

Bucky raised his right hand out, brow arched expectantly, and Sam took it with caution. The man's other hand rose to hover a few inches above Sam's hip, and it took a few moments before he realized Bucky was waiting for permission. His cheeks warmed and he hoped his complexion made it less obvious. He gently guided the metal hand until Bucky settled it on the jut of his hip, the surface cool and smooth under his soft hold.

"Aren't you a gentleman? Thats that old-school chivalry," Sam teased. Bucky pulled their bodies closer and smirked wryly.

"I aim to please." A new song had started and Bucky briefly tore his attention from the heat he felt spreading along his front. He hadn't danced in a long time. Not like this.

The current song featured a masculine husk crooning affections for the listener. It was accompanied by the distinct, steady tempo of a piano. Bucky felt his body catch the music, the way he'd been taught, quickly adjusting to an appropriate rhythm. Sam followed without much of a pause, finally starting to settle into the feelings of sharing this foreign intimacy with the familiar stranger who was holding him so damn gently. Even so, Bucky gripped him firmly like he'd catch Sam if he even thought about falling.

It was...nice. Nicer than Sam (or either of them, really) had expected. He hadn't been held in who knows how long. He was too busy and had mostly outgrown flings, but it wouldn't be fair to a potential partner if he randomly left on long missions that required little to no contact with those who didn't have the clearance. But that was kind of an excuse. Since everything that had happened, Sam hasn't much felt like having others in his space. He was a social person and owned that, sure. But it was hard to open up authentically as much as he teased Bucky about his tendency to isolate himself. He tries to take the advice he regularly gives to the veterans he takes under his wing. Its enough to sustain his close relationships, including whatever he has going on with One Armed Wonder, but he has little energy to offer anyone else. He has to remind himself that thats okay.

Without thinking, Sam realized he had sunk his head into the crook of Bucky's shoulder. He had started to drift, still following the gentle sways of his partner's body like a boat welcoming the gentle rocking of small waves after a storm. Bucky hadn't said anything, luckily, so Sam remains in his position and enjoys the comforting sounds of soul that has wrapped around them.

He had finally put Bucky onto some real good conditioner after growing sick of the greasy tresses the man sported as the Winter Soldier. No judgement. Its hard to have a solid hair care routine as an international assassin for magic super Nazis. But now, it smelled like honeyed coconuts instead of the scentless, dollar brands he used to buy at random. Even though Bucky's hair was shorter, Sam still caught wiffs of it near his neck. It was more noticeable this close given the man's lack of cologne.

Bucky had noticed earlier when Sam's head dipped into his shoulder. Shortly after, he though he had heard soft snores, but the man's body had otherwise remained upright and solid like usual. He had continued to follow the pattern they'd set, so Bucky had just shifted his hand to his partner's lower back to provide support and kept their pace steady. Otherwise, he lost himself in the heat of Sam's hand and the confusing stillness that had settled in his chest. He felt...anchored. But that was Sam. He was strong and steady, and reliable, but just as capable of sinking as anyone else without the support he inarguable deserved. The support Bucky tried to provide.

Steve was gone now. He'd left the both of them to figure out the aftermath of everything that had happened. Bucky wondered if it hurt Sam like it hurt for him. He didn't blame his Steve; couldn't begrudge him that act of selfishness after all they'd been through. Without Rogers' strong presence between them, they had been left to scramble in the gap and reshape it for two. Sam had his family and Bucky had his therapist, but nobody could understand the them as much as the other, as different as they are. So here they are, slow dancing in a safehouse Rhodes had been generous enough to lend them on short notice. He was amicable towards Bucky, but the generosity was really for Sam. Bucky's neck itched, likely with dried sweat, and he sighed internally. He needed a shower.

The man worked his hand against Sam's lower back instinctually and the other man responds with a questioning hum tinged with sleepiness. Bucky doesnt have an answer so they continue in silence. The song had changed. It was a woman again. She was singing the Blues, if Bucky guessed correctly. He's been picking up more of the music Sam liked. It could be relaxing but full-bodied one moment or rich and thrilling the next.

So far, he has only worked his way up the mid-80s. Sam jokesthat his sensitive hearing isnt prepared for the young and hip tastes that dominate the charts, but he'll still sneak recent artists into his recommendations so Bucky isnt completely "out of the loop." Like always, Bucky would just roll his eyes, but now and again he closes them and try to imagine what Sam felt when listened to the music. Wonders at the connections the man shares with the melodies, and the histories curved into the lyrics. Some things, he couldn't ever understand, even if he tries. So, other times, he just listens.

Now, he's curled over his partner's slightly shorter stature, nose brushing the other man's temple. Sam was not a small man. He was built like a brick house. His upper body was strong, but his lower half was thick with muscle and padded by soft curves of flesh. Probably because he only does legs. Meanwhile, Bucky's own body is near the opposite: wide, sturdy chest that tapers to a firm waist and steady, straight legs. They contrast nicely, Bucky thinks. Filling up the spaces the other doesn't. For two people of their size, they still manag to fit snugly with little space between their bodies. Any closer, and Bucky isn't sure how he'd handle the proximity. He feels lulled into the calmness of the evening that had unexpectedly crept up on them in the quiet of everything around them, save for the music.

The two danced a bit longer, but eventually Sam's body grew too weary after the lack of sleep. With hesitancy, they quietly parted after the final notes of the song slipped from the record player. Bucky turns stopped the music while Sam flops into the nearby couch. His growing exhaustion does not stop him from throwing a smirk Bucky's way which the man met with his regular deadpan stare.

"Not bad. Not a single hip replacement necessary. I'd say thats a success for two old men." Sam quipped. Bucky stayed silent.

"You're not old," he finally said. He hadn't moved from his spot by the record player.

"Hmmm. Well, compared to you, 42 isn't that old." Sam lets his eyes close again but Bucky clears his throat, causing one of them to open in question.

"There's a bedroom upstairs," he explains carefully. They've been on the move for some time now with little time for real rest. If Sam was going to finally sleep then it should be in a real bed, at least.

Sam lets out out a quick laugh, "if you think you can butter me up with a dance-"

Bucky cuts off his teasing with a quick glare. If there was ever a moment being the Winter Soldier has served him, it was now. Otherwise, the heat he could feel trying to redden his ears would send Sam into a fit of hysterics.

"I did a perimeter check when we arrived. There's three bedrooms upstairs. All of them have en-suites bathrooms so take your choice," Bucky grumbles out, avoiding eye contact with his counterpart. The earlier stillness he had felt was slowly disappearing now that they were interacting again. His nerves were more taxed than before. He'll analyze that later. Maybe with his therapist, but she was kind of petty, so maybe not.

Sam's teasing smirk has settled into something a little more kind as he rises frim his seat and crosses the room to where Bucky stands. He roughly claps the other man's arm a couple of times before settling the familiar weight of his hand at the ball of Bucky's shoulder.

"I'm just messing with you, man. Thanks though. That couch would do my back in after being thrown by that explosion. Luckily, you were there to provide some cushioning," he says with that toothy smile. Before Bucky can respond, Sam bids him goodnight and slowly makes his way upstairs. Bucky watches him go, dry-mouthed and slightly confused. Once Sam has completely disappeared from view, Bucky takes in his surroundings and feels the emptiness of the room without Wilson's presence.

He'll do one more perimeter check then turn in for the night. Even he can feel the pullings of sleep. Maybe tonight, he'll dream about dancing.