#I can’t even suggest a different activity to like. soften to blow or something

[mrwinterr]

So Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: After a night with your favorite artist, you’re left wondering where you both really stand. 

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual, but unprotected sex, oral [male & female receiving], vaginal penetration and fingering, size kink and dirty talk). Language. Light mentions of substance abuse. Lying asses. Internet toxicity (I hate it here sometimes). Angst, I guess...TIME SKIP...and absolute horrendous fluff (that’s not my brand, alright).

Disclaimer: You can read part 1 here! It would make some sense. 

A/N: This follow-up is still based on some true events. Can’t hate the players, hate the game. For the most part it’s made up because some of us deserve the ending we think we deserve. I’m dedicating this to @shawnie--jo​ for all the love, enthusiasm and the patience because this took me a while. It’s a doozy! & with that note, enjoy!

“You owe me,” is the first thing you hear your friend say the moment you stepped foot back into the hotel you had booked for the night before. It was in a much different tone than of the one she had in line for the concert.

Frozen in place, you turn your attention to her sitting figure on one of the single couches of the lobby. She wasn’t happy that much you could tell judging by the expression on her face and the way she sat impatiently, one leg over the other and her arms crossed against her chest.

The bag next to hers on the ground adjacent to her feet were your belongings. The way it was misshapen suggested she had hastily shoved your things back in it for you. She must’ve been in a rush to leave before checking out or…

“You owe me $50 for the late check out fee,” she clarifies, ceasing all thoughts of why she was currently pissed at you.

Now begins the walk of shame. It wasn’t something you were used to. Could you even call this that? You had no reason to feel ashamed because you were completely aware of last night’s events. You defended your decision as so! Then why did you feel this way?

Perhaps it had to do with you just now returning to the hotel you were supposed to have been checked out of hours ago, but instead you’re greeted to your more than displeased best friend staring daggers at you for a different reason.

Sheepishly bringing a hand to rub the back of your neck, when you’re close enough to her, you open your mouth to begin apologizing, but she wasn’t done as she got up on her feet to level with you.

“You said you would be back before check out,” she said voice slowly rising in volume, no matter the distance between you two was close or not, you could tell this was just the start of a catalyst, “and it’s...oh,” she stops to look down at her phone, which shined bright revealing her lock screen and more importantly the time, “...only three hours past check out!” Yup, not happy with you at all.  

“I know you’re upset,” you start with the obvious, “and you have the right to be. I said I would be back in time, but I wasn’t,” maybe admitting you were wrong would allow her to see you were indeed aware of your mistakes, soften the blow to come a little bit.

“Upset? I’m disappointed!” she says, her arms falling to her sides and with a look of disbelief but is quickly washed over with indisposition. “Some sell-out rockstar invites you over to see him and you lose your sense of mind?”

“Look, I’ll pay you back. It’s no big deal.” At least on your end, you’re trying to remain calm even when her tone and choice of words get under your skin. You didn’t need this weekend to end on a bad note.

“This isn’t about the money!” She proclaimed.

“Then why are you bitching at me? I’m a grown adult! I know what I did-” Yeah, at least you were trying to stay composed, right?

“Do you?” She challenges. It’s one of those rhetorical questions, in which she didn’t need an answer to, but you were still going to give her one.

“Yes, ok. I slept with Bucky and I don’t regret it.”

The defense you put up so quickly around you weren’t something your friend was used to witnessing...maybe to your parents, yeah, but not at her. Sure, you’ve both had the occasional quarrels, but your relationship and sexual life was different because she really cared for your wellbeing and would be damned if someone hurt you.

“I’m just worried,” she admits for her initial brute front, “what you did was totally unlike you and I…”

“What?” You interrupt her, growing more tired of this conversation by the second.

“I don’t trust Bucky.” She blurts out.

You scoff at that reasoning, “you don’t know him-”

“And you do?” This time she interrupts and catches you off guard on that one. “You’re right. I don’t know him, but you said it yourself. Bucky meets tons of people every day. He’s on the road a lot. It’s easy for him to get lonely.”

There it was again. The self-conscious thoughts questioning everything about last night’s events. In a pathetic display of defense, you start counter-questioning her with some of the statements Bucky said to you. Why would he tell you all those sweet things and pretty promises if he knew he could have you so easily? Why would he think you weren’t like the other women out there who exposed their escapades for their 15 minutes of fame? What made him think anything of you? There were other girls in the crowd.

“He’s going to tell you things he wants you to hear to get what he wants.” She really believed that. She knew what some men were capable of. She had more experience than you and you often turned to her for things like this.

Her last sentence was something to let sink in. The way last night played out and the last few hours you spent with Bucky; you were blinded by a rose tint world.

Earlier that morning...

“You know,” Bucky starts with his gaze first set on your face, slowly starting to drift down your body trying to catch a glimpse of uncovered skin that the blanket was doing a horrible job in concealing. You watch with bubbling desire the way he bit his bottom lip and eyes growing darker, ”...if you ever need anything. I’m here to help. I can get you out of that town and you can stay with me in Brooklyn. We’ll find you a place to work in that’ll appreciate you more.”

He was a dream. He was so sweet, but you weren’t going to deny it. As much as you adored what little you knew about the real Bucky, a part of you that was always so careful was also skeptical. That voice in the back of your mind, whether it was your parents, teachers in the past, PSA spokespersons or your best friend, was still trying to tell you Bucky wasn’t an exception.

Then on the other hand, you were finally getting what you wanted. You weren’t a little girl anymore. You could take care of your own heart. Why couldn’t you have some fun? Indulge a little. Life is too short to sit around and wait. If he was serious about any of the things he said, then great! If not, oh well, you’ll live. What’s life without experience, right?

You just never imagined any of the harmless mentions or replies through social media were going to get you in bed with him and so smitten.

When Bucky pulls his lips away from you, he repositions himself on the bed to lie on his back and bask in the comfortable silence. You’re still on your side, but your eyes suddenly widen as you curiously take a peek over his frame and notice the red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn shut, so you had no trace of the actual time of day.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, but was no use. It was just you and Bucky in the room and he’d definitely wonder why you’d grown frantic.

“Whoa. What’s the rush?” He says slowly sitting up, still exhausted, and watching you throw the hotel comforter over your body to get out of bed. You didn’t even care that you were naked in front of him. He’d have a souvenir to remember you by.

The sex tape was the least of your worries though. You fucking missed check out! You can only imagine the look on your friend’s face when you reunite.

“I missed check out,” you respond while momentarily being thrown off course in search of your underwear, but then instantly remembering how Bucky tore it off of you, and you did your best to push aside last night’s activities.

“What?” He asks, rubbing his face trying to rid himself of sleep. He had to get going too. The band was off to play in the next city in some hours. Unfortunately, you didn’t have enough time to take off from work to follow him.

“The hotel I’m staying at. I missed check out and my friend is going to be so pissed at me,” you explained beaten. You can’t for the life of you see where your clothes were in the dark room.

Drawing the curtains open or switching the light on without warning wouldn’t be ideal to the both of you and not only that, the effects of the substances your body was coursed through, the physicality of you and Bucky’s actions last night, the consequence of it all topped with the lone fact that you’re now standing naked in front of Bucky starts to seep in.

You try not to stand there awkwardly and do the only thing you can do. Inhibition creeping back in, you cover your face with your hands and breath in and out, hoping the floor would swallow you whole so you could escape this embarrassment and your friend’s pending wrath.

“Look,” Bucky says now in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face, he’s naked too, washing away some traces of vulnerability away, “you’re already late. You can’t change that. We can only keep moving forward,” he says, his arms slipping around your body to pull you close to his.

The sudden jolt from the skin-to-skin contact quickly subsides with the warmth of his body transferring onto yours. You hold onto his biceps and nod in acceptance. Any attempt to rush back to your hotel wasn’t going to do you any favors now.

“So then, what do you say we get cleaned up and try to enjoy our time together?” The way his head tilted to the side, a not-so-subtle hint in the direction of the shower in the bathroom, his smooth voice and his eyes half-lidded, ready to get lost in you one more time.

You said it yourself, life was short, so if you already knew your friend was going to chew you out, why deny yourself of its pleasures right now, especially if it’s coming from Bucky. 

“Can we just get going? We’ll catch traffic on the way back to the city if we just stand here and keep putting each other down,” you ask, slightly shaking your head of the early morning activities and straightening yourself up, bending forward to pick up your bag and sling it over your shoulder.

This little spat would eventually pass. None of the arguments you two had were ever threatening to your friendship with each other. You’ve both fought over things much more critical that it’d be a shame to let it be over someone like Bucky.

Before you could turn back around to exit, your friend grabs a hold of your arm and stops you. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I could be wrong. Bucky could be the one, but I want you to be smart about doing whatever you end up doing with him. I just want you to ultimately be happy,” she says wholeheartedly.

You knew she was only coming from a good place. She only ever encouraged you to do your best and the right thing. She was the one you sought out advice from and she never led you astray. In the end, you knew you couldn’t ever truly be mad at her. You owed her more than $50 alone.

“Thanks. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know your intentions are in the right place and I really appreciate you for everything. You even agreed to come to this show with me! But I’m only human and I’m going to make mistakes along the way,” you say and notice the fallen look on her face, but you don’t give her long enough to feel sorry for you with your follow up statement, “...if I get hurt, it’s going to suck, but I’ll get back up, learn from it and move on. Plus, I’ll have you there by my side to tell you I told you so...again, and we both know how much you enjoy that!” You end it on a joking note.  

A look of hope creeps back in on your friend and she’s pleased to see your resilient attitude again. You give her your best steadfast smile and it seemingly proved to be successful enough for her to accept your answer as she pulls you in for a warm hug.

You wonder, what Bucky’s motive was? He was Bucky Barnes. He could have anyone. Why did he trust you enough to be intimate with? What was his game? You just had to keep telling yourself for your sanity and wellbeing, with or without Bucky, in the end you’d still be happy.

The months to follow after that tour, you and Bucky had continued to stay in touch. You genuinely felt happy. He was giving you attention! From daily texts and long phone conversations or video calls, some rather suggestive than most, you were able to really learn a lot about each other. While you minded his glamorous lifestyle, each interaction erased all notions of it and he was just another normal human being.

If you were being truthful, a part of you was hoping whatever the two of you had was exclusive. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were in a way reserving yourself for Bucky because you felt there was something between you two and maybe he was just like you and too shy to be the one to bring it up first.

At times you’d find yourself being the one to initiate conversation...especially when the communication started becoming less frequent. They then reduced to just Holiday texts and suddenly they’d become unresponsive and you’d even be left on read. He never flew you to Brooklyn. He never followed you back on social media. You’d accepted he was most likely busy and the excuse of not wanting to attract unwanted attention to you, but the reality of it was he had seemed to move on.  

It’d been close to a year and things were really quiet. The Avengers hadn’t released anything new nor did they have an upcoming tour to rehearse for. You’re trying to not let Bucky’s silence bug you and do what you’ve always told yourself - keep living your life. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were angry at first for letting him get to you like that and realize that boys will be boys. They would never grow a real pair and be straight with women. They always had to go and sugarcoat everything. You had to accept it. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. You were just a one-night stand and the worst part of it was that you consented to it, so you couldn’t hold anything against him.

Things picked back up in your life, work demanded more of your time and you were dating again, taking it very slow and casual. You knew nothing more would come out of it, but it was enough to distract you from Bucky. Life was slowly returning back to normal, even though it never truly could be, until you notice Bucky is posting regularly on his social media accounts again.

It’s not so much that but is one of the comments from another user that is a constant in each sporadic post. You recognize the user as an international model from another country. Curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to check out her profile, noting all the photos of them together and realizing that while you thought Bucky went M.I.A., he was spending his free time getting cozy with her in exotic places.

Her comments start out harmless in the beginning, but quickly become more and more persistent until one sets the record straight. It read, “that’s MY man” followed by a number of heart eye emojis.

You didn’t even know Bucky and the model knew of each other, but why wouldn’t they? He was exposed to extraordinary people, so finding someone in the business was a better bet than settling with you. They lived in a totally different world than yours.

There’s a plethora of thoughts that run through your mind. This is why he isn't responding to you. He had a girlfriend, who was in a much different league than of your own, and he didn’t really go public with it on his end. It made you sad, that much you could admit to yourself because you held back for him, but you weren’t going to admit this feeling to him or your friend or the world. You were going to prove to them you’d do the same thing - move on. 

It’s a rather slow day at work and you’ve resulted in mindlessly scrolling through your Facebook newsfeed, but growing tired of lame memes and life updates from people you haven’t spoken to since high school, you switch over to Twitter for a more different kind of news and also a bit of some entertainment.

You’re not expecting the particular topic to be trending - #BuckyBarnesIsCancelled. You’d manage to move on from whatever it was between you and Bucky and returned back to your daily routine. You tried to remain a fan of The Avengers, but it wasn’t the same. The fling, if you could call it, with Bucky wouldn’t let you. You’d always be grateful for how their music impacted your life, but you’d have to keep living your life despite what transpired.  

Sitting up from your slumped position in your office chair, you ponder for maybe two seconds before clicking on the hashtag. Things were still pretty quiet with The Avengers, with the exception of paparazzi photos here and there, but this seemingly came out of nowhere. What stupid thing did he get himself into?

“No way,” you mock at the headline. Claims of Bucky being mentally abusive, and an addict were being made left and right.

You scrolled through the timeline and threads of replies to find the source of it all and you were shocked that it came from none other than his own girlfriend...well now ex-girlfriend you assumed. The vindictive side of you only allowed a small part in finding some humor in this, but if Bucky was any bit of the Bucky you spent the night with and got to know for those few short months then this was sad for him.

There wasn’t much you could do though. What were you to do? Send him a message of condolences of some sort? He’d probably just leave you on read. Whatever you two had was long over.

Bucky’s agency did well to defend him and save his reputation. They released one statement to clear things up. There’d been images before of him partying and no doubt high on some substance, but that didn’t prove he was an addict. Then again, did you ever really know him? You’d been exposed to that stuff around and because of him. Some people just had more access to certain things than others did.

In some time, when things leveled out once more, he seemed to be back in the clear, but at a rate where people have already decided whose story they believed over the other, whose side they were on, the damage had been done. If there was a recurring theme here, Bucky had one thing to do after the scandal - move on with his life.

It felt a little strange being here again. If you take into consideration some of the things that had already happened, a lot has really changed since you were last in a line to see The Avengers live.

The band had taken a short hiatus to let the fire die out from Bucky’s scandal. It was probably a smart move - to let people cool their jets and forget. It was last reported Bucky had turned a new leaf...something about getting help. Steve took time off to focus on other projects...something about humanitarian work. Sam released some solo stuff...something with a different sound, but still as successful. The time off was probably the best for the guys.

There weren’t as many people it seemed, but enough for them to play in one of the city’s largest venues. You suppose that’s what a span of three years could do to an artist. When the tour was announced you weren’t sure if you should buy a ticket or not, but it’d been some time since you had a night where you could forget about the stresses of the world for a few hours. Never mind the short stint between you and Bucky, you were still a fan of their music and the joyous feeling you got from it was timeless.

This time you were alone. You didn’t even tell your friend they were touring again. Bucky was almost a nonexistent topic for a good while now. Plus, she had her own life to live and couldn’t always be there next to you. You were the bigger fan after all. On top of that, she would’ve most likely have advised against you attending.

Your attire was not to impress, electing on something casual and comfortable with a simple pair of jeans, a leather jacket over a nice top that did a better job at controlling your cleavage than the last one, and cute boots. Yeah, a lot had changed, but the scene didn’t as there were still a mix of fans, old and new, over and under dressed.

The guys still had it. They looked great! They definitely belonged on the stage for the world to see. They even played a 3-song encore. You could tell they loved doing what they did and anyone who was a fan could feel the passion and energy they poured out in the performance.

You’re currently sitting in the seat of your car, head resting against the headrest as you try to unwind a little from standing for a few hours and from the walk back to the parking garage when your phone vibrates and chimes loudly.  

You glance over at the device you placed next to the driving console and your eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the name that appeared. Bucky Barnes. You’d never deleted his number and his text message thread had remained at the very bottom of your messaging app all this time. A sense of apprehension flows through you as you wonder what he could possibly want. How do you just text someone after ghosting them for over a year? Not to mention to someone you did something so intimate with and made all those promises to in the past. How does one do that?

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer or slip into restless thoughts about Bucky again because it wasn’t a walk in the park to forget about him, you open the text. It asks if you were in attendance because he claimed to have seen you in the crowd. This time around you’re not overthinking about what to respond with, you simply say yes. He’d been quick with his next message asking if you were still in the area to meet up.

The wise thing would probably be to reject the invite, but you find yourself once again staring at a hotel door waiting for him to open it. Initially, you’d suggested he tell you what he wanted to say via text, but he said it was something that had to be told in person. So, having been through what you had as a result of meeting up with him in the past, you had some sense of mind this time, you’d just have to make another mental note to not jump into bed with him again. If you were being truthful to yourself, the sex tape left you feeling a little cheap. He didn’t even send it to you as some form of fucked up courtesy or assure you that it wasn’t ever going to get leaked and luckily it hasn’t. You hoped he’d deleted it.

It was almost like Deja vu. You might as well have been reliving the night the first time Bucky invited you over to his hotel room. In the beginning it was kind of awkward and quiet, and it was exactly that years later, just with added history of course.

You’d chosen to sit on the end of one of the beds while Bucky moved slowly around the room trying to gather his thoughts and where to start. He notices the change in you. You were more confident and as you should be. Bucky Barnes couldn’t intimidate you this time. He had more to be embarrassed about than you did now.

Even though you had nowhere to be in the morning, it was getting late and you really would just like to get this meeting over with and Bucky was stalling.

“Bucky, why did you invite me here?” You say, the one to break the ice. He finally stops fidgeting around and focuses on you.

“I...I wanted to apologize,” he starts off, and you’re unmoving silence allows him to continue, “I realize how much of a complete dick I was to you…”

“What do you mean?” You ask. It’s not like he spread any dirty rumors about you or anything. He didn’t need to apologize for anything that you’re aware of. Maybe for leading you on, but you came to terms some time ago that maybe he didn’t owe you an explanation or perhaps you’d never get one. Yet here you both are.

“I used you,” he explains, now you’re confused, and he can see you’re not getting it entirely, which pains him. You didn’t think anything he did with you was wrong because you consented to it. It took two to tango, right?

Except it wasn’t like that at all and he wanted you to know how he strung you along all just for a quick fuck in the beginning and to cover his tracks he acted like he cared in getting to know you afterwards not realizing something purely good could come out of it for him. The confession wasn’t meant to hurt you again, but for you to realize your worth. He messed up with someone so special.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I remembered you from years before when you tripped in front of me,” there’s a small trace of happiness in the fond memory, “...and when I saw you in the crowd that night, fuck you looked so good and you still do…” he ended up a flustered mess after that small admission.

“Where is this going?” You ask hoping he’d get back on track and reveal the rest, trying to keep the fact he admitted an attraction to you in the back of your mind.

“Right...I’ll admit my ego got the best of me. The band was doing so well, everyone noticed us! I was getting attention from all kinds of people! I got hooked to different things,” suppose those articles were true then about him getting clean, you thought to yourself, “...it does get lonely on the road and I was so desperate for anyone,” oh you hoped and prayed he wouldn’t say what he was going to say next, but he does, “...and I knew there wouldn’t be that much effort on my part to get you to sleep with me.”

Great. Your friend was right then, and he was just like any other house name artist.

“Um...okay, that’s not something I was wanting to hear about myself,” you said after letting that sink in. Did you still appear to look easy?

“No, I’m sure it’s not, but when we were alone together everything was just easy-”

“Yeah, I got that. I’m easy!” You interrupt, and now you’re angry. As he’s trying to explain his actions, you started thinking about how mad and hurt you were when he started ghosting you. You couldn’t be upset about him getting a girlfriend, but the fact that he didn’t think he could continue even being your friend and instead just chose to ignore you was the better option was hella annoying.

“That’s not what I meant!” He says trying to justify his choice of words.

“Then how did you mean it?” You demand, and Bucky is a bit stunned with your new attitude. He foresaw that he would have a difficult time in explaining himself, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard dealing with how much his actions affected you.

“Everything was easy with you because you made it easy to feel,”

“I don’t know if I understand,” you say and attempt to get up, “...maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No, please. Let me finish,” Bucky is quick to get in front of you as he pleads for you to stay. You give him a slight nod and sit back down.

“Things with you were easy in a sense that being around you I was able to just be myself. I’ve never said those things to girls before you! I didn’t have to impress you with anything flashy. I even forgot I was some rockstar! You’re an incredible person, really-”

“I’m sorry, Bucky, but I just can’t,” you say, hating to interrupt him again, but you’re not ready to hear any of this, “...none of this still doesn’t sound right. It was just one night and then how do you explain just ghosting me the moment you get a supermodel girlfriend?” that last part came out unintentionally feisty but might as well let him know how you’d felt, “You couldn’t even be my friend when you were with her! I guess it was easy to just forget me too…”

Bucky lowers his head ashamed of how he handled that and just nods in acknowledgement of his actions, “you’re right. It doesn’t make sense, but what I feel is even harder to explain...”

“None of this accounts for her,” you demand. A part of you just wanted to know where she came from. How did it happen? Who asked who out? It wasn’t important information to know about, but the urge of human curiosity was large.

“She wasn’t even my idea,” he muttered, not really wanting to talk about her.

“What?” You ask.

“Getting with her was the label’s idea,” he admits, hating he was coerced into the idea of an on-screen relationship.

You scoff at the stupidity of fake relationships in the Entertainment industry. Why did people get their rocks off over it? Were OTPs really that a big deal? Are people so bored with their own lives that they have to push corporate into bringing two people who don't have feelings for each other together? However, Bucky thinks you don’t believe him and given how little you developed in trusting him with things, he’s not entirely wrong.

“I know it was a dumb thing to agree to and it’s one of the horrors working in this business, but I know now I should’ve just been forward with you,” Bucky says, voice still riddled begging for forgiveness.

“Why couldn’t you then?” You interrogate and notice the creases of distress on his face soften. “If I made it so easy to feel, then why wasn’t it just that to tell me the truth?”

“I-I don’t know,” he replies.

“Yes, you do,” you retort, and pretend you’re going to leave, but by doing so you know it’ll only get him to spill the beans quicker.

“I was scared!” He admits, stepping in front of you and keeping you still in your place on the end of the bed.

“Scared? Of what? Me?” You ask incredulously looking up at him.

“Yes!” He says and kneels down in front of you. “You’re so perfect! You’re real! You don’t treat me like I’m some celebrity. You didn’t even participate when people started cancelling me or whatever! You could’ve and you had every right to expose me, but you didn’t!” Your act did the trick, because the words just kept coming out of Bucky.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you, for not telling you I was with her, but the more I got to know you, a part of me got really scared that I couldn’t keep being the kind of man you deserved because of my problems,” by this point, Bucky has placed both his hands on either side of you, his arms trapping you, “...trust me, I had a lot of time to think about everything I did wrong and what harm my reckless lifestyle has on others…I just feared it was already too late, but the one thing that I always thought about that helped me get through it was the lone night I had with you. I was so happy! I wanted that again...I had to get back to that, so I invited you back to try,” you didn’t even realize how close his face was to yours. He looked so torn and you hated seeing him like that, but there was nothing you could say that could fix things right now.

Bucky now felt vulnerable and almost pathetic. Just because he wanted another shot of happiness, and with you of all people, what made it okay for him to think you wanted to try again? You weren’t so certain of what you wanted with him anymore.

“Wow,” is all you give. You’re not sure what more you could add. After all that, he actually liked you? Were you still sure you weren’t living in some fanfic world? You needed some time to think about that and much to Bucky’s expectations, you weren’t going to come to a conclusion before you left this room tonight.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” You offer him the floor, and he gets it. You’re not going to say anything particular to his confession, at least not now. He’s not upset at all. It was a lot to take in. He had time to think, and he had to respect the time you’d need now.

He nods and backs away, realizing the close proximity, “just one question,” you nod this time and let him ask, “do you regret it?”

You know what he’s referring to, sleeping with him, the sex tape, the countless conversations, meeting with him right now - everything.

“No,” you answer honestly.

He lets out a weak smile, looking down sheepishly and adds, “I’ve never done anything like this with anyone before, I promise.”

He could promise and swear up and down all he’d like, but how could you be really sure? The only response you could give him is a small, neutral hum in acknowledgement.

Bucky knew this conversation wasn’t going to go as he had hoped. He really didn’t have a plan, he just really wanted to see you again. He goes silent and you know at this point, everything was all laid out. Time would tell the rest if this was worth saving.

“I can forgive you. I know I can because in a way part of moving on allows one to do so but completing a session or doing time in rehab doesn’t really prove anything,” you said brutally honest with him, he looks up at you almost defeated and just waiting for the final blow.

“You said a lot of promising things back then and you said a lot more tonight,” you add on, and gently begin to remove his hands from the spots either side of you to let you free, and get up to head out, however not with one more thing he could reflect on, also giving him hope, “...you need to show you’ve really changed,” then the conversation was over.

In some ways, these events needed to happen. He had to hit rock bottom to learn from his mistakes and kick out the bad habit. He knew now that he had to work hard to give you a reason to trust him and maybe even in the long run be with him.

On the other hand, you had to go through this whole thing in order to not base your happiness on someone else. You could be happy on your own and open enough to be with someone that wasn’t Bucky. 

For the next few months, to your surprise, Bucky had actually made an effort to keep in touch with you. It wasn’t overbearing and he minded your space as well as he could from a distance, given that he was still busy with the band and other duties that came with his status.

While at times he could be flirty, you learned it was part of his charm. Your friend wasn’t entirely thrilled when you’d admitted to her that you visited Bucky that night. You might’ve not shown it, but she knew how much his past actions affected you. Granted it did its job in teaching you a lesson and in return allowed you to be more confident and to not take anyone’s bullshit, she’d be damned if Bucky tried to pull another act like that around you again.

By now, you were comfortable enough with him to even tell him about random dates you’d gone on; none proving to be long-term, but it was nice to confide in someone else other than your best friend and get an opinion from a male perspective.

You weren’t going to lie, there was a part of you that still liked Bucky more than a friend, but you weren’t sure when it was okay to willingly go all in again with him. Sure, you’d given him another chance, but just how low could people really go to get what they wanted? Some people could just be really manipulative, and you weren’t wanting to ruin what you’ve both rebuilt for yourselves. Either way, you’d be happy with him in your life even as a friend, which is how it could’ve gone if he’d been honest from the get-go.

The year was coming to a close and you’re at your job’s annual Christmas party. You’d managed to convince your friend to be your plus one, but she claimed she didn’t need bribery because your company always ordered outstanding catering and who in their right mind would turn down free food anyways?

Aside from pretending you were having a great time talking to your co-workers, most of which whom you barely spoke to at the office and as faux-friendly as they were tonight, you felt stupid for glancing at your phone every now and then hoping to get a message from Bucky. He’d been keeping you entertained the first half of the party until he just stopped responding.

Your friend had ditched you to take advantage of the open bar several minutes ago, so you were sitting at a table alone trying not to look pathetic. You started thinking of when an appropriate time would be to leave when the Market Manager of your job took the mic. Too late, you thought to yourself and decided to get comfortable in your seat and listened to what cheesy Holiday speech they had to give, but what you hadn’t expected was a surprise guest.  

“What the hell?” You said to yourself as you watched Bucky, Steve and Sam shake hands with one of your bosses before settling into what would appear as an acoustic performance.

How’d they manage to get in contact with your job? Who gave them the in? Bucky knew what you did for a living, but you never stayed on that subject long enough to think much about it. Then your friend slides into the empty seat next to you, a drink in one hand and a knowingly smirk on her lips, one that suggests she was definitely in on this act. You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at her with a stupid look of disbelief all over your face until your name is echoed throughout the speakers.

It snaps you out of your trance and you focus your attention to Bucky on stage, a huge smile on his face. All formalities set aside, he highlights you and your friendship before jumping into their new single, which was widely popular right now. Normally, you weren’t one to take compliments easily, not used to so much attention, but the whole world disappeared with Bucky.

Once their little set was over, the majority of your colleagues enjoyed the performance and asked for photos, to which the guys were more than happy to appease to. Your friend had managed to escape your clutches once more, this time abandoning you for the dessert table. You’re not alone for long as Bucky occupies the seat left open next to you. You look around your surroundings, hoping there aren’t any more surprises in store, and practically attack him with a big hug.

Bucky’s chuckle is muffled, his face buried in your hair, as he wraps his arms around you to return the gesture. When you pull away, you’re almost left speechless, but you’re dying to know how he managed to get here. He was technically still on tour and this was not one of the passing by cities.

“How?” You ask.

“Hi to you too,” he said with a cheeky grin, to which you playfully slap his arm, and he responds with your friend’s name. He explained how he’d wanted to see you and how much he had to grovel for your friend to trust him. She’d helped him arrange a meeting with your boss, who turned out to be a huge fan of The Avengers, and even sneak them inside the building all under your nose. She wasn’t easy to persuade, but if she was convinced enough to work with Bucky on anything then you knew this meant something more.  

The initial notion of wanting to leave the party immediately vanished and you wanted nothing more than to just sit there in Bucky’s company all night. Steve and Sam greeted you and you never realized that this was actually the first time meeting them formally and not outside of a venue. They weren’t rockstars to you any more than you were just a fan to them. They were Bucky’s friends, of course he’d confined to them on his end as much as you did with yours.

At some point they had excused themselves to catch the last flight headed back to Brooklyn, but Bucky had decided to stay longer. When it was time to leave, you found out Bucky hadn’t planned long enough to where he would stay the night in your city. The original plan was to fly back home with the guys and pick up on the remainder of the tour. They had a few days off, but it was just a few days shy of ending, and he couldn’t wait that long to see you.

It’s funny how life works because this time you’re the one inviting him to your place. You weren’t going to blame it on the open bar or how late it was or the underlying tension that was surrounding you two, but one thing was certain, it was mutual, and you both weren’t going to deny the attraction any longer.

You’d missed the weight of Bucky’s body on yours more than you’d realized as your hands held his face, keeping his lips attached to yours. You could taste the remnants of the unfinished drink he’d abandoned at the coffee table on his tongue. Bucky’s hands hiked your leg over his waist to get you to lie flat on your couch.

You’re the first to attempt to remove clothing by popping open the buttons of his button-up shirt before completely ridding of the item leaving him in his thin undershirt. You feel his hands slide up from your hips along your back as they dig into the minimal space the arch of your back had created for him to slowly unzip the back of your dress. With your lips both still attached, you manage to sit up, your dress falling down and bunching at the waist in the process, exposing your breasts. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect time to see you in an outfit that would not work with a bra.

Bucky curses breathlessly when he pulls his lips away from yours for a quick breather, but in the process, he takes a peek at your half naked body. You can tell he’s just itching to touch you and you take the commanding lead and place his hands on you. The atmosphere grows thicker, him kneading your breasts, you smash your lips on his in a sloppy lock.

You push Bucky down on his end of the couch and manage to kick your loose dress all the way down your legs and off your body. Bucky’s hands travel down to the curve of your ass before he grabs a handful of flesh, causing you to moan into the kiss. Your hands rake through his styled hair, the product he used unstiffening and his hair falls limp in your grasps.

Bucky’s hands started to aid your hips in moving roughly against his clothed member, desperate to relieve some friction, and you internally blushed remembering how thick he was, how full it felt to have his cock stuffed inside of you. You didn’t remain celibate during the hiatus of your relationship, you both had urges, but Bucky had really ruined others that came after him.

Your lips drifted down Bucky’s body, kissing at the skin of his chest in the pattern following the swoop-line seam of the undershirt that he was still wearing. You skipped the expanse of his toned stomach, until you’re met with the small amount of skin that peeked between his bottoms and hem of his undershirt. You slightly lift the material up and place small pecks at his lower abdomen, which causes a low groan to rumble in Bucky’s throat.

Your fingers deftly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, with the zipper pulled apart, you’re marveling at the imprint of his hard cock, already twitching and staining his boxers. You manage to break your gaze and look up at Bucky, who is desperately pleading with you to proceed. Your eyes never leave his as you lower your head closer to his member, tongue darting out to the dark spot of his boxers, tasting the precum.

The contact causes him to squirm and lips form in a tight line. You pull down his pants and agonizingly peel off his boxers slowly, dragging it down to his thighs, just enough to expose him enough for you to work with before you wrap a hand around his length. Bucky’s upper body is supported by his bent elbows so he could watch you.

You kiss the tip of his leaking cock, a small string of his precum sticking to your lips when you pull back, to which you run your tongue over. Bucky’s head falls back just in time when your lips enclose the head, tongue twirling around the ridge and teasingly at the slit and loving the sound of his breath getting caught in his throat. You inch your mouth down his length and your vacant hand gets quick to work on what you’re not able to intake while the other runs up his exposed abdomen, your fingers curling in and lightly scratching down as it runs down to massage one of his thighs. You can feel the muscle in his thigh flex at your touch the more your head bobs up and down on him.  

A plethora of curses spew from his mouth, but the rush of sucking his cock, the gurgling of your spit mixed with his precum and occasional choking noise when your throat contracts around him, is all you can hear from your perspective. When you part from his member, you’re breathing intensifies, desperate for more air to enter your system, eyes slightly watering, lips swollen, your hand lazily slathering the wetness all over him.

“You’re so good at that,” Bucky comments and he finally manages to pick his head back up to look at you. He reaches forward to swipe at the mess on the corner of your chin, but you’re hungry for more, and you move your head to the side to suck on his thumb, eyes closed as you hum at the taste of his skin and essence.

Your soft tongue running against the pad of his somewhat calloused thumb, it pops lightly when you release the digit, a small, devious smile on your lips as you scoot away to lie on the other end of the couch. He’s almost at aghast by this, but even back then you were just always full of surprises around him and he wasn’t going to deny the appeal of your sexual allure.

Bucky is quick to get to your side, completely riding himself off the rest of his clothes - the undershirt, pants and boxers - he had dressed to impress but right now nothing more than but overdressed. He gently parts your legs, kissing up your calves and thighs, until settles between them, you can feel his warm breath fanning against your scantily covered core.

Unlike last time, you’re not afraid to watch him and he sends you a knowingly wink, quickly ascending up to give you a sweet kiss, while his fingers slip inside your panties and between your lips. Your hips eagerly thrust upwards hoping his fingers slip in.

“Baby, we got all night,” he says cradling your face in his other hand. You let out a small whine, but regardless attempt to be patient. Bucky studies your face, mesmerized by every structure and unique feature, then what felt like an eternity, but in reality, was only a few seconds, he sinks a finger inside your wet pussy.

As soon as the gasp leaves your lips, his lips swoop in and tongue instantly dipping in search of yours. The heated kiss only heightens the sensation in the pit of your stomach, your hips losing control and every buck up into his hand, your clit rubs up against his palm, invigorating it. The curl of his finger, lightly probs at the right spot inside you, you uncontrollably squeal against his lips, with a hand against his chest you gently push his body away from yours.

“Oh my God! Fuck, Bucky…” you say with your head tilting back to the curve of the couch’s arm. You feel Bucky’s lips kiss and suck at your exposed neck as his fingers continue their handy work, the lewd noises causing your eyes to roll back.

His lips find their way next to your ear, gently nipping at it, and you could just drown at the sound of his husky breathing and filthy words. “Can I taste you?” He asks. You’re not sure why he was asking, you’d want nothing less. You nod almost instantaneously before allowing him to remove your panties.  

Bucky’s hungry eyes remain fixated on your glistening core, “oh, I missed this pussy,” he comments before his tongue fondles the lips. He has a hand lying flat against one of your legs, pressed on the couch to keep them spread apart, the other blocked by his body. His routine contrasts his old with how his tongue moves in slow and calculated laps. His mouth was very talented, given whatever style he chose to play.

You’re tethering on an orgasm and Bucky wanted nothing more than to watch you come undone for him. Bucky’s fingers and tongue work in tandem and fast to help you reach a climax.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Bucky manages to ask in between, eyes peering up at you. You don’t actually answer because you can’t concentrate from the pleasure he’s bestowing and the impending release. “Good. I want you to cum. I want all this pussy has to give,” his voice hitting a different low, even his fucking voice was so sexy. Your hands clutch on fistfuls of the couch cushions when you feel the first wave of pleasure wash over your body, your hips stilled in place as Bucky laps up at your arousal.

“The sweetest thing ever,” Bucky mutters mostly to himself, but hearing that comment only feeds your ego, which never is a bad thing in an intimate setting. Your chest heaves up and down from the impact. Just as Bucky is about to crawl back up to parallel, you stop him with a foot at his chest. He grabs your small foot in his hand and blinks at your resistance.

“Sit back,” you command. He drops your foot and watches as your body maneuvers around to climb over his. He didn’t even realize his body had complied to your demand, absolutely hypnotized by you.

You lean in for a deep kiss, one that leaves his brain a mush, yours too almost that you have to steady yourself with one hand on the couch armrest. You reach a hand down between your bodies and grab a hold of his hard cock. Your fingers tracing along the vein before you start rubbing his head through your sensitive, wet folds. Bucky’s hands lay lightly on your hips, trying with all his might to not force you to take him all the way in. A large part of him liked this dominant side of you. There was so much about you he was dying to unearth.

“Baby, please…” he begins pleading as you barely press the tip of his cock just at your entrance before you slowly lower your body down to engulf his entire length. You sit still once you’re sure you’ve bottomed out, not noticing Bucky’s fingers digging into your hips, sure enough to leave crescent marks and tiny bruises.

Bucky’s face is buried in your neck, your cheek pressed against the top of his head, lost in the mop of dark hair. You feel his cock twitch inside of you causing your hips to ground on his. He was in so deep, you weren’t sure how long you were going to last in this position, but you’d be damned if you denied it.

You start with slow swivels before sliding back and forth on his cock. Bucky’s hands released their death grip from your hips, one travelled to the front to grope at your breasts while the other supported your body settling itself on the small of your back. Your hands set themselves on the back of the couch on either side of his head, using it as leverage to ground down harder on him.

“Mm, I missed fucking this big cock,” you lean down to whisper right in his ear, “you’re so deep, Bucky.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he spits out curse after curse at your dirty words. “You gonna cum on this big cock, hmm?” He asks. The question comes as a challenge and you weren’t ready to give up the ropes to him.

“Yeah, is this big cock gonna cum inside this tight pussy?” You counter the question, speeding up your gyrations until you start to feel the burn in your thighs and stomach begin to twist. He lets out a low, long growl, his eyes lulling shut and head falling back against the couch, ready to succumb to euphoria.

“No,” you say, suddenly ceasing all movements to pull at his hair. The sharp pain in his scalp causes his eyes to snap open and look up at you. “Keep your eyes on me,” you command much like how he did with you the first time. You watch him swallow the knot in his throat and give him a wicked smile before picking back up where you left off.

Your hands are sprawled on his sweaty chest as you bounce up and down his length. Bucky’s senses are on overdrive, the way your pussy naturally hugs his cock, walls squeezing occasionally, your breasts swaying right in front of him, your skin shining from the layer of sweat coating your body, and the look of immense pleasure written all over your face because of him.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he says over and over as some form of warning, hoping you’re not far behind.

The way his face contorted in ecstasy, lips parted, sweat building up on his forehead, the tip of his cock stabbing at your sweet spot, you were about to cum too. His words become a muffled mess when you attempt to silence him with a bruising kiss just as you reach your high, pussy clenching tight around his cock milking him of everything he’s got. Each spurt of his hot cum that shoots inside you causes your hips to stutter in response. Bucky attempts to keep them at bay with a hand pressed against your back, keeping your body close to him and in the process also instilling his seed is rooted deep inside of you.

“God...damn,” Bucky says short of breath when your body lies limp against his. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, you haven’t attempted to move just yet as you both sat there with his cock still buried in. When you manage to sit up, you stare back at Bucky with tired eyes, but there’s a smile on both your faces. It only slightly falters at his next words.

“I love you,” he says earnestly. Thankfully your silence doesn’t bother him, “...you don’t have to say it back,” he adds, “I just wanted you to know. You’re so special,” he proclaims and your heart leaps at the very admission. You only nod for now but give him another reassuring smile because in time you knew you could allow yourself to love Bucky and be loved by him in return. It wasn’t a conventional meeting, but this was your life, not everyone else's.

When you finally manage to pull yourself off his cock, it slips out fluidly with a trail of his cum following in suit. You knew you’d curse yourself later on, but you’re both too tired to clean the mess right now. The pair of you settle into a lying position, facing one another, encased in each other’s arms. It’s a moment of bliss as you both just lie there, his eyes closed and a smile seemingly permanently etched on his face, only around you.  

“Hey Bucky,” you pipe up breaking the silence. He hums in response, “I want to know something...” you start out with.

“Anything,” he says, eyes still closed, his hand running up and down your arm, an indicator that he’s present and listening.

“What happened between you two?” Curiosity getting the best of you once more, you’re hoping this doesn’t ruin the moment, but you had to know. What went wrong? Besides, if this was going to work, he was going to have to be honest.

“Uh, she saw something on my phone…” he said cautiously, “...that involved you.” Your eyes widen at that. It couldn’t have been the sex tape you hoped.

“Bucky, no!” You gasp, sitting up and just hoping he doesn’t confirm it.

“Relax!” He says pulling you back down with him, “She was psycho. She went through my texts and saw some of the photos we used to send to each other. She must’ve thought they were recent.” He explains like it was no big deal.

Your heart stops racing slightly, you’re a bit relieved that she didn’t go as far as posting any of the photos on the Internet. You knew you were risking it by sexting with Bucky, but what was that saying? Hell hath no fury…and in a blind rage, she lashed out only on Bucky, but if she was a psycho, who knows what else she might’ve found on Bucky’s phone.

“Bucky?” you figure you might as well know now.

“Yeah…”

“What did you do with that sex tape?” You’d been dying to know if it was safely stored away or if maybe he even still watched it or just deleted it.

A big toothy grin spreads across his lips, his pearly whites on full display as he laughs at the question before he reaches over to the table next to the couch, where his cell phone rested on.

“Want to make a sequel?” He asks suggestively with a smirk on his lips and waving his phone at you, to which you playfully attempt to snatch from his grasp. He’s too quick, but nonetheless he replaces the phone in its original spot before focusing his attention on you alone.

“You don’t think this is all weird?” He questions almost hesitantly while tracing the outline of your jaw delicately. You’re not thinking that at all. You’d both been through a lot during the last few years that the only thing that was normal now was what you both had.

You shake your head in response, too tired for words, and drowning in the blissful moment. Bucky nods before declaring, “good because you make so happy,” then ending the night with sweet kisses. 

“Hey, it’s me. I know you’re busy at the studio today...” you start, cell phone pressed against your ear. You’re attempting to leave a voicemail to your boyfriend, who was expecting your arrival later that day, “...but I just wanted to assure you that this isn’t weird, and I can’t wait to see you...I love you, Bucky,” you finish up the message and stuff the device into your bag just in time to hear the voice of the airline staff making the pre-boarding announcements booming loudly from the speakers.  

Now boarding Group B for flight #107 to JFK Airport...final destination Brooklyn, New York.

A/N: We’ve been in quarantine for so long, I don’t remember how airport announcements are like anymore and I was only in Brooklyn last Spring…RIP to the good times.

A happy ending was weird to write in the end and I actually don’t like this particular Bucky so it could’ve gone really bad, but I said to myself, no, not this time, I can do what the title says and let them be just that - happy. I too can be happy if you give this a like, reblog or comment! Thanks for reading!  

[poormeowmeowcollector]

We would name our children Jackie and Wilson

Relationship: Loki/Female Reader (Hozier did the gender first, don't @ me)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, mental health, alcohol.

Summary: Your relationship reminds you of a nice soft song. But things are not always so sweet.

Notes: this is part of a somewhat Collab with @lucywrites02, her part is done and can be found here, read it to soften the pain. I would say that I'm terribly sorry for the pain ahead, but I'm not. Meaning of the song can be found here, I used it for reference

Read On AO3

So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

Loki fights for a deep breath.

It's just your face, you idiot. What are you afraid of? This mean voice from the back of his head asks.

They manage to draw a shaky inhale and puff it out, finally opening his eyes and staring at the reflection.

But those hateful crimson eyes staring back is too much, even though they look at them behind tears.

"Maybe another day…" he sighs and wears the illusion again. But the bloodshot eyes stay, this time not because of the Jötunn form.

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

For how long will you hide from the monster you are? This same voice asks in the dead of the night.

Once again, it's not mistaken.

"I can't walk amongst mortals like this. This illusion helps me avoid some of the staring," they respond. It's a beautiful lie, Loki almost believes it.

Still, it will break down. Like everything does.

This argument stays and torments him for the rest of the night.

Soul deep in this swill with the most familiar of swine / For reasons wretched and divine

Stark had suggested another night out on a bar. Loki usually declines, but comes to this one.

Soon enough, everyone is drunk and happy. Alcohol from Midgard is like a beverage for Æsir, and Loki can barely get tipsy. But Loki still decides to drink.

This period had some very successful missions, and the avengers are celebrating it by drinking. Little do they know that Loki drinks for a whole more different reasons…

She blows out of nowhere, a roman candle of the wild

It's late. Loki's surely past the tipsy phase, but still has control. So, they just sit on a bar and watch the others have fun.

"Would you mind some company?" you yell from a part of the crowd. Loki tries not to flinch, loud sounds do no good at him.

Then they see you, all smiling and beaming like a firework, drink in hand as you walk closer and point at a stool beside him.

They have to admit, you look ravishing.

"You're free to sit, if you want to," he smiles back and nods at the seat. You grin and slide there, placing your drink in the bar and having your attention to them.

"Are you not afraid someone might drug the drink?" Loki winders, eyes on the cocktail.

"Sitting beside an Avenger is safe enough, don't you think? And it's rubbish anyways, I probably won't finish it,"

Midgard has different communication patterns, and Loki's inability to catch up in time has made their silver tongue rusty and useless. But you make a conversation with him out of nowhere, like it's the most easy thing.

Laughing her way through my feeble disguise/ And Lord, she found me just in time

A few days later after the night out, the sparks of happiness you casted on Loki's heart have died out. But Thor insists that being out of the four walls of their chambers will do good to him, and Loki gives in. They wear an illusion to hide the mess that he is in and join Thor on their afternoon walk around for some food, mostly.

During the hours long conversation, you didn't mention that you work for Stark, in the Tower. They smile and call your name the sparks igniting inside his heart once again. It gets stronger when you give them this glowing smile and walk closer.

"Brother, will you mind if I get stolen for a moment?" he turns to Thor.

"Have fun, brother," he smiles before greeting you and leaving.

"You know, there's a nice coffee shop with a big tea collection, what do you think?" you beam, knowing it's an offer Loki cannot resist.

It's not far away, and truly a sweet little place, crammed between the offices. You order your drinks and settle on a table nearby. You give Loki the chair with the view on the passers by, sitting so you can only see them and the wall behind him.

"You didn't say you work for Stark," they hum, taking a testing sip of the dandelion tea that caught his attention.

"That's cause I work for the Avengers, technically, not Stark. Mission support agent, Romanov brought me here," you shrug one shoulder. Loki can't hide a smile, they always had a soft spot for humble warriors, for they're so rare on Asgard.

"Odd, I don't remember you in any field," he mutters.

"I haven't gone on a mission with you. I find it insulting for a God to be supported by someone who learned how to tie their shoelaces at age 12," you laugh. Loki doesn't share the enthusiasm for the 'joke'.

"You'll be the best support, if you ask me," they smile, and change the subject. And then, you throw this damned question.

"So, how are you doing?" you trail off.

"Just fine," he scoffs. You see through it like they're the worst liar ever.

"I know we're somewhere public, but you are allowed to be honest," your eyes scan him.

He takes a deep breath and makes an illusion of you and them just talking. Then, he lifts his own.

Your face stays almost unreadable as the green glow reveals the mess of them. Expect for the eyes that speak of sympathy.

Underneath the table, you cup his right hand, your thumb petting it. "If you want to, we can go somewhere more private. Your call,"

"Only you can see this. Don't worry, I'm not making a fool out of you," they laugh without humour, voice almost breaking. You now squeeze the hand.

"You'll have to actively try to make a fool out of me, your highness. It's your boundaries I'm worried about," the playful tone leaves you as you speak.

You've barely done anything, but Loki is already determined to kill for you.

Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done / I need to be youthfully felt 'cause, God, I never felt young

"Forget it, I'm not doing it. It's stupid!" he tries hard not to yell at you.

"But it's going to be fun! Come on, you can cast an illusion if you're embarrassed. Didn't you have fun as a teen?" You grin, pleading for them to come.

Little do you know that the last question feels like a knife in the guts.

"No," he whispers.

"Okay then. I'll be there with Sam, you can pop up if you change your mind," you sigh. It takes some minutes for them to realise what you just said.

"Allow me to rephrase it. No, I didn't have fun as a teen, I had to prepare myself for the throne I wouldn't take. And… this park will do nothing but remind me what I've lost. I'm sorry but I can't come nor change my mind," he fights against tears as he talks, your eyes on them. You walk closer and cup one cheek, letting them rest their head.

"Society says that you must have certain experiences at certain time frames. It's wrong, especially for someone who will live for as long as you. There's always time to replace things you've lost, the question if if you'll do it or not,"

Loki gazes at you and takes a deep breath, in, holding it, and out. Almost like he's smoking the air.

"Fine. But don't force me to stay if it's too much," they smile weakly, but it's genuine.

"Have I ever forced you?" you grin and place your forehead against his. "And anything critical to your physical health doesn't count,"

They laugh before nodding a no, a small kiss being blown in your nose.

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime / Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Out of all the things Loki expected his fallen heart to do, daydreaming was last on the list.

They're a realist, always have been.

But the image of him and you in a nice stone castle in the middle of the woods is too perfect to resist. How you two would wake up and sleep together, have no one and nothing to make you feel anything but bliss. The two Monarchs in your little kingdom of two residents

Norns, they haven't even talked to you about these feelings. And he's already scheming his retirement with you.

How are you doing this to them?

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside / We'd sit back and watch the world go by

"That's it, Laufeyson," he's glaring at the mirror, one finger pointing at the glass, "no more lies. Fuck those illusions and games and just say the damned words!"

They sigh and run their fingers through the hair, testing if the smell of smoke is still in there, after five sessions with the shower. He has noticed that you don't like the smell, when you keep some distance on his bad days. And stinking on a moment like this is the least they want.

"Alright… into the battlefield…" he conjures his weapon, a bouquet of black irises, your favourite flowers. They finally teleport themselves on the field, outside your door.

Goal of the mission: be vulnerable.

He rings the bell, fixing his already perfect posture before you open the door. This smile they know and love so much is on your lips.

"You didn't have to! Come in," you exhale, beaming as you make space for him to walk in.

They call your name, the tone making your smile drop. "I have to tell you something I've been hiding from you for a while…" he sighs.

You nod, the agent face on. A green shimmer makes the flowers rest in a vase on the coffee table, Loki's hands now free to pick on each other.

"I appreciate your friendship, more than you can ever imagine. You're the only person who has reached out to me like this for eons. But, my heart has started to yearn for more. I've fallen for you, hard. And I can't keep the illusion anymore," they recite, eyes scanning your unreadable face. You stay dead serious, making Loki's nerves eat him up.

"Took you long enough," you grin and bring them down to a kiss.

It's nice and warm and slow, one devouring the other while also offering the best you can. Then, a salty taste makes you break the contact and cup Loki's face.

"Love, why are you crying?" you whisper, wiping away the thin paths the tears have crossed. He hasn't even noticed he's been crying.

"You can't imagine how happy you make me… I love you," they whisper.

You barely have time to say anything before he pulls you into the tightest hug possible, tears streaming down to your shirt and those three words coming out of their lips again and again like a prayer.

Loki has no idea how many lifetimes he washed off within just one hug, but a weight they never noticed they carried was gone when you break the embrace and stare deep into his now puffy eyes.

"I love you too,"

She's gonna save me, call me baby / Run her hands through my hair

"I'm telling you, you have to be more careful in the missions. Yes, you are a God, but don't be so reckless," you groan as you rinse them with water and try to remove the blood and dirt from their hair.

Just the right amount of strikes, and he now can't lift his hands enough to wash his own hair. If you weren't so good at it, they would refuse to stoop so low.

"It was supposed to be abandoned. How would I know that it wasn't? I'm a God, not a prophet," he sighs, holding his sides. Even talking is making their scattered ribs pierce him… "And I did call you to save my arse, that's the exact opposite of recklessness,"

"If you say so. But what will I do if one day my baby comes home with something more than a wretched ribcage?" you laugh.

They try to answer but both the pain and the pleasure from your fingers on his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo, are making his tongue a knot and his throat release one moan of pleasure after another.

She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily / Better yet, she wouldn't care

You walk through broken mirrors and scattered furniture, reached out to Loki, who's hiding their head between their knees.

You don't say anything, you just play with his hair. It's cold, much colder than usually. But you don't care.

"Leave, please. You'll get hurt," their voice is growly from the smoking but weak.

"Forget it. I'm not leaving you alone in this state," you declare matter–of–factly. A sound comes out of his throat, something between a chuckle and a cough.

They snap their head up, blue and scarred cheeks wet with tears and flaming red eyes with blue veins all over them drilling holes in you. "Do you dare say this in my true face? Declare that you care about a monster?" He spits, lips shaking as they try to hold back another crying fit.

You face stone, you grib his cheeks to stop them from breaking eye contact. "I am not leaving you alone like this, because I care about you and I love you. And, I don't give a fuck what others have made you think of yourself, you're anything but a monster," you keep your voice steady, trying to physically pin those words in his mind.

They sigh and lean against your hands, eyes closed and breaths slow as tears start rolling down his cheeks again. They turn to kiss your palm, now the rest of his body relaxing and hands bringing you close to a hug. "Thank you," they breathe out against you, the weakest of smiles forming slowly.

We'll steal a Lexus, be detectives / Ride 'round picking up clues

"Feet off or I'll chop them off and put them in the truck," you snap, eyes on the road as you try to find a place to park.

"Relax, it's not ours," Loki brushes off the threat. You sigh and park the car among some trees on the edge of the road, hoping no one will see it. He tries to mask it, like always, but you can see how the pain is making their features harsh.

"You can drop some spells, we're well hidden," you point out, watching as the pale skin starts melting and dark azure replaces it. Your skin crawls, you don't know if it's the cold or the awe. Loki breathes out, head resting back on the seat. "I didn't know the illusion is so painful," you think out loud.

"When running so low on rest, everything is painful. Now, where are those files…" they mutter and turn around, searching for the yellow case in the back seat. "Here. Do you have any idea?" he asks, giving you the file.

"I'll probably find something to milk. Now get that rest before you pass out on the field," you glare at them with that Look. He grins and nods before laying against the window, a thin layer of frost already forming.

Then, they start laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask, not looking up from the report you're reading.

"Before I even talked to you, I had the honeymoon trip already planned in my brain, with too many versions to count. This wasn't even on the list," he straightens up and smiles. You laugh too.

"Well, it's not exactly as bad as you make it sound,"

"Norns, are your standards so low or are you so disappointed in me?" They raise one eyebrow.

"Neither, love. Now get rest before I have to knock you out," you smile through threatening him.

"Kinky, might try it later," they wink and lay back down, his breathing deepening some minutes afterwards.

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson / Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

You're laying against them, smiling like an idiot as he runs a hand on your stomach and feeling this new anomaly.

"Are you sure?" you ask, watching a small wrinkle from between their brows.

"Yes. Two of them. Perhaps boys but I can't tell yet," he whispers, hand still resting there even though the spell is over.

"Twins… we will become parents," you smile, breathing out and laying against their shoulders.

Loki calls your name. You turn around and he rests his forehead against your own. "I love you so much, you know that? All three of you," they grin. You chuckle and close your eyes, accepting the kiss that's definitely coming.

"You know, we'll have to name them something," you point out after they break the kiss.

"Narfi and Vali," he's… quite fast on picking up the name.

"No way,"

"Why?"

You freeze. "It's silly…" you mutter.

They cup your face, glowing green eyes on yours. "It's bothering you,"

"It's the myth… how Narfi and Vali suffered in the myth because of your… because of Loki's mistakes… I don't want this to happen to the little guys," you sigh.

"Then, do you have to suggest another name while I'm trying to think of a second choice?" he smiles.

"It's even more silly," you giggle.

"At least it won't be your mythological dead kids,"

You take a deep breath. "Jackie and Wilson, from the song," you are ready to hear them laughing at you for the suggestion. But he just smiles.

"Jackie and Wilson…"

Cut clean from the dream that night, let my mind reset / Looking up from a cigarette, she's already left

Loki has no idea how long they've been staring blankly at the ashtray, the suit in front of him mocking him.

It's maybe the first time they're so hesitant about wearing all black.

It was supposed to be a small mission, nothing dangerous. You were supposed to be back, safe, within an hour.

You were supposed to raise your sons and retire in that castle in the middle of the forest.

Why was he so foolish to believe that he deserves a happy ending?

"You have to collect yourself. You have to say the farewell, a fucking thank you for all you've got from it, you coward!" they spit at the mirror opposite to them, hand tensing and breaking the cigarette in half.

A deep breath, in and out, a tight squeeze on the wedding ring hanging from his neck, and they stand up to put the damn suit on.

I start digging up the yard for what's left of me in our little vignette / For whatever poor soul is coming next

The funeral is over, the farewell has been said. But there's a small dinner coming afterwards.

Out of all the public appearances, this is by far the worse. Malevolence is something Loki has learned how to deal with a long time ago. But these eyes of pity are unbearable.

The strangers, probably reporters or Stark's acquaintances, coming to express their "condolences" are at least few enough to allow Loki to slip away to the bathroom.

He sits on the cold floor, this numbness drowning him. They hoped you had made it go away, but you just suppressed it. He wants to cry, to scream, to beg to whatever cruel Deity did this to bring you back. But their mind cannot give the order.

He takes your phone out, opening the music app and wearing your earphones. They press play on the last song you listened to, only to hear some familiar chords echo from the small device.

You were muttering this song all the time since you found out about the pregnancy, it's no wonder it's the last tune you listened to. But the upbringing melody of the song and the dark emptiness in Loki's heart are painfully opposite.

He sits there and listens to the whole song in silence, trying to milk some happiness out of it.

But they only manage to whisper along the last two lines, or an alteration of them. Just before he starts weeping at the tile floor until Thor finds him.

"We would name our children Jackie and Wilson, Raise 'em on rhythm and blues,"

[midoriyashotos]

Anguish of the Quirkless

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shoto (could be platonic... though I ship them a lot lmao)

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shoto; MENTIONED - Bakugo Katsuki

Summary: Izuku doesn’t explode.

But burn after burn, he can’t take it anymore.

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: I had no reason to write this other than the fact I’ve been really angry and I needed to write something down.

I guess this is technically my first Tododeku fic? But like, it isn’t the focus here, so interpret it the way you want (if you can). I hope this didn’t turn out to be too OOC, though.

Please be aware of the tags and disclaimers below. Be safe. <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS - childhood trauma, past bullying/abuse and injury

*NOT BAKUGO/BAKUDEKU FRIENDLY!

--

Izuku doesn’t explode.

If anything, he’s more than scared of explosions. The explosions that silence him, that burn his tongue and his arms and legs, and the notebook of his fanboyish train of thought. The blasts that keep happening no matter how far away he is.

So no, he doesn’t explode. He probably can’t.

--

Though every time he stares at the blond spikes of his classmate, Izuku is sickened by a cocktail of years of combustions.

Maybe he does admire the beauty of the explosions when far away. Depending on them, they can actually be quite beautiful when done for the greater good. But when he’s so near, to try to reach them, Izuku gets injured. It’s probably his fault to begin with.

But even with patience and care, Izuku is always exploded back to where he’s been stuck in since he was four.

Izuku is always behind Katsuki. He can’t go around him and walk away. He can’t push him aside, he can’t as much as talk to him. Katsuki will forever be a wall, a minefield that will remain activated until the end of time.

And most importantly, Izuku can never explode back.

He hates explosions, after all.

--

The flaming blend of feelings, however, reach his mind at times he should be feeling okay.

The image of himself exploding Katsuki, of yelling at him, beating the crap out of him sickens the young hero to no end.

But it replays in his head still, even when they’re not fighting and instead having fun with their other classmates. Izuku stares at Katsuki for mere seconds and the thoughts come to him. The freckled boy swallows it all back, until it comes to haunt him at night. Until the burns sting his arms and his heart.

Izuku has tense nights, yet he never explodes. Ever.

--

You’d think Izuku would be happy here. He is happy, though, to be where he’s dreamed of for so long.

But each day that passes, he seems to get worse, he’s sick and tired and angry, and the combustions are closer to his heart. The fantasies become more violent, they’re disturbing. Izuku stains his hands, massacring the remaining of blond hair and hateful red eyes.

Izuku could never take blood from someone. It’s awful – he’s being awful. What would others think? What would everyone else think? All Might, his mother, his friends?

Izuku knows he can cry, but what about the rage? What about the ticking bomb inside him? The bomb that might be close to destroying all around him?

He can’t let anyone see.

Least of all Katsuki.

--

Thankfully, U.A. owns several gymnasiums for the students to train. Few, though, are somewhat left aside due to the new ones, but they don’t really close them. His classmates don’t seem to use them either, as far as he’s concerned.

Izuku finds the classic training tools, including several, big punching bags – different from those you see in common gyms, obviously. They’re able to take up a lot more damage, useful for physical-focused quirks.

He prepares and attacks. Holding it back, Izuku knows to be careful, to protect others. He hates explosions. He hates hurting others.

(All everyone has ever done was hurt him. Why? He was powerless. Quirkless. Deku.)

(That’s why he reclaimed the name, to transform it into someone who could be trusted, someone who could never hurt.)

Izuku kicks, dodges, as if in a real fight. He gives the bag mercy. Probably unnecessary.

(No one gave him mercy.)

(Midoriya Izuku, a boy who could never do wrong, who did nothing but exist.)

(He was exploded like no one ever was.)

The boy’s hands shine red with One for All, as do his eyes. The punching bag absorbs the power, becoming harder to punch and overcome. Izuku continues to spare it, to no avail.

(No matter what he does, he’ll continue to be blasted on the face.)

(Whether he’s powerless or not. The explosions will punish him until he’s gone.)

It’s then that the bag’s energy turns against him and blows him away, Izuku falling back and failing, once again.

It’s all too familiar.

Izuku roars.

He advances with his all, at the same speed as Gran Torino’s, but with a rage unknown to others. A rage from no hero. Heroes don’t feel hate, only towards evil – yet never, never to this extent. With revenge comes nothing. No hero should be selfish.

(This doesn’t come from a hero. It comes from… a boy? A monster?)

And Izuku is attacking the bag with no barriers holding him back. The second time it attacks, Izuku doesn’t let himself fall again. He returns at full speed and destroys the bag. He’s yelling this entire time, his throat hurting yet he’s far from quitting.

“WHY?!” Izuku demands from the bag. “WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

As always, he gets no answer, only blows and ignorance. And he’s punching it again.

The red of the bag infuriates him, it’s all he sees, and he wants to eradicate.

All those years, all that time never fighting back, never looking for solutions after years of rejections; they all come back to stab him again.

You’re useless.

Pathetic.

You need to deal with it.

“You RUINED MY LIFE!” Izuku screams, eyes shut but red, dams overflowing. “AND YOU DON’T EVEN CARE!”

Despite his cries and punches, they’re not moving, they’re not listening. When have they ever? When?

“I HATE YOU!” Izuku yells, his most disliked words. He’d never say to anyone.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

“I

HATE

YOU!!! ”

 CRASH!

He yelps at the force thrown back at him. Smoke enters his nose, painful coughs echoing.

When Izuku looks back, he gasps without making a sound.

He didn’t destroy just one bag – it fired back and damaged the other ones, now abandoned on the floor.

And even then—

Izuku growls and punches the floor, this time without any power left.

He’s still burning.

It doesn’t matter. It never matters.

Now everything smokes and suffocates him, and he’s crying the most he’s ever did.

That’s why he hates explosions.

--

Izuku doesn’t go to Recovery Girl, nor does he tell anyone. He hopes Aizawa-sensei never finds out what he’d done. He looked for cameras and, thankfully, found none.

He lies to his friends he trained in the woods and got a little ahead of himself. As a response, Uraraka tells him to be careful and Iida insists Quirk training should be balanced for him, as a hero in training. Two important statements, of course.

Todoroki, however, observes.

It’s the most he does. Todoroki watches and sees all, barely saying much. He reads people like no one else does. He was the first to realize something would go wrong with Iida, when the latter had wanted to seek his brother’s almost assassin.

This is different, though. So much different.

Izuku ignores it the best he can.

--

Late at night, he can’t sleep. The green-eyed boy sneaks in the kitchen, to grab some tea to make. His classmates seem to have healthy sleep schedules, especially when exams are out of the scene.

So slow steps take him off guard, and Izuku hides his arms under his sleeves.

“Midoriya.”

He sighs deeply. “Oh, Todoroki-kun… it’s just you. What’s up?”

Todoroki shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh. Me neither.”

“Hm.”

Todoroki is doing it again, he can tell. Watching him. (Judging.)

Izuku hates being watched – he’s watched the entire time.

The tea doesn’t take much longer to be ready, so Izuku barely bats an eye to Todoroki and makes his way to the stairs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbles.

“Wait, Midoriya—”

“What ?”

Izuku regrets the moment he hisses, but he’s so tired.

“Just…” his classmate hesitates. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Todoroki’s tone has… softened.

Izuku doesn’t turn around.

“… Good night, Todoroki-kun.”

--

The days go by like usual. It’s like nothing happened. No one has found out, or so he hopes.

Todoroki hasn’t talked to him since that night. Or well, Izuku tries to avoid looking at him for too long in the first place. They have lunch together with the rest, but there’s no direct contact at all.

Todoroki isn’t the kind of person you can make excuses. He reads into your tone, he knows something is wrong. While Izuku’s relationship with him has definitely improved since the Sports Festival and Stain, he still finds that aspect of him a little intimidating. Because Todoroki, in contrast, is hard to read most of the time.

Izuku might as well be avoiding him. Of course, he’s polite when Todoroki has a question or when he asks for a favor. Though he rejects the suggestion they train together in the next day. Mostly, because Izuku’s wounds still sting, and he refuses to go to the infirmary.

At last, Izuku finds himself going to the old gymnasium, with no intention to seethe like before, even if the urge screams in his brain. It looks… the same, on the outside. As for the inside…

Instead of the gray smoke and destroyed reds, Izuku stops as soon as he catches white strands connected to wine, fire red. A fire that doesn’t explode, but fire, nonetheless.

Izuku’s veins fill with One for All, and before he goes Full Cowling to get as far away as possible, he’s less than lucky to expose himself.

“Midoriya?”

Nononononono—

Even though Todoroki isn’t using his Quirk, Izuku feels like he’s frozen by his giant ice spikes, caught to explain himself.

Why on earth is Todoroki here? Does he also know this spot? Oh, of course. Todoroki often trains alone but Izuku never knew where. Oh my god.

There are no words shared or spoken, least of all whispered. Izuku can’t bring himself to look up. There’s only shame to be shared. No one was supposed to find out and yet he just revealed himself. Stupid. Idiot!

A step.

“Midoriya…”

Izuku shakes his head.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Todoroki stops. “What?”

“… that I’m supposed to be a hero, right? That I shouldn’t have done this? I- I know I shouldn’t have.” Izuku clenches his jaw and his fists, to contain the trembling rage. “I shouldn’t be angry.”

The fallen punching bags stare.

“But I didn’t know what to do with this anger. It only kept growing and- and it keeps growing inside of me, these thoughts, this scream in my throat,” Izuku spits out without much thought. “I’ve been hurt my entire life and I hate- I hate hurting people back, I hate wanting to hurt them, but I hate them, too, I hate-!” For a moment, he bites back the poisonous name, yet he can’t take it anymore, he’s tired of being silenced by the explosions.

“… I hate Kacchan. I hate that he always explodes me in the face, I hate that he used to go after other kids, too. He always explodes and hurts people, and he doesn’t give a shit.” Izuku’s tone is wet, soaked with weight. “He doesn’t give a shit about me, he still hurts me no matter what I do, and I’m sick of it. And god, all I want is to punch his fucking face and scream, because he never cared about making me cry or burning me at all, he- he doesn’t care! And I don’t know why I still do, why I even try to communicate with him! Nothing I do is enough for him!”

Izuku observes the multiple layers of old wood under his feet, each second finding new details, new splinters.

“This is why I don’t explode. Why I never burst out. I-I don’t want to hurt anyone… but I’m still so angry, Todoroki-kun. I’m only feeling worse than before.” The freckled teen pathetically dries his drowned face. “It’s like nothing is ever going to get better.”

The temperature is a bitter cold, despite the sun outside.

Izuku cries like that boy he’d known in Middle School, the one that would weep to himself in the shadows after getting burned on the face.

“W-What should I do?” He asks to no one.

It’s, again, a question without an answer.

Except…

His arms are taken by two hands that slowly pull up his sleeves, revealing the wounds from the hazard. The hands brush against his blistered skin as gently as possible. One hot, the other cold, but equally mindful.

“I think…” Todoroki whispers, “you need someone.”

Izuku’s face is close to the piercing gray and blue eyes, the ones who always read him… but not in judgment, he realizes. They read each sentence, each word of himself and take it to their heart, hopefully to come up with a meaningful response.

“Because then… who will protect you from the explosion?” Todoroki questions, his right hand reaching Izuku’s left.

The question is one he’s never considered. Izuku makes sure no one gets hurt, and maybe he’s successful at that, yet…

Todoroki’s face is close enough for their heads to touch, some of his red and white bangs touching Izuku’s forehead.

“It’s okay to be angry, Midoriya.”

“You’re… not mad at me?”

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku gulps, “I feel… disgusting.”

“I understand. But you’re not disgusting. You were hurt.”

Izuku’s mouth quivers. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

Todoroki’s hands move from his arms to his shoulders, pulling him forward. Izuku shivers.

He’s…

Todoroki has never hugged him before.

Sure, they’ve gotten so far as friends. But after all this time, they’ve never touched each other; least of all Todoroki, who is, reasonably, a more reserved person.

The hug is far from awkward, nonetheless. It’s… good. Izuku has never been hugged like this. Even with the crime scene of his anger right there for Todoroki and everyone else to see… the red-and-white-haired boy chooses to hold him.

(After all, he’s also a boy. A boy afraid of his thoughts. Afraid while no one knows.)

Izuku returns the contact, his face somewhat under Todoroki’s chin.

“I’m sorry Bakugo is a piece of shit.” He adds quietly, “Well, more than he already is.”

That manages to attract a miserable laugh.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

Izuku hums, not up to protest as he melts in his touch. He could never have imagined Todoroki to be this… comfortable.

The permanent smell of smoke and dust does eventually bother him, so Izuku suggests, “Want to get out of here?”

“Sure.”

And they leave the gymnasium behind, hopefully their secret will be left alone.

Todoroki takes Izuku to a tree, the leaves green like the latter’s hair. There’s enough of a shadow to cover them from the sun, from the burning flames far away. Todoroki helps a little with the burns, his ice the most soothing Izuku has felt.

Until the sun sets, their hands are intertwined, scars only they know.

[theawkwardterrier]

When in the Depth of Winter

Summary: Peggy notices how the cold troubles Steve and tries to fix it. 

The first part of my Steggy Secret Santa outtakes posting. This one was rejected because it refused to stay as light as I wanted, so take that as you will.

Read on AO3

Something happens to Steve as the temperature begins to drop below freezing. Peggy doesn’t think that anyone else has noticed - when asked if he seems different to her, Angie declares, “Nah, swell - and gorgeous! - as always,” and Bucky points out that just because the current war is a cold one, doesn’t mean that Steve feels he’s through with his responsibilities - but it’s terribly obvious to her. Or perhaps it’s only that no one else is around to see him walk through the house in his warmest socks or take an extra quilt from the linen closet to add to their bed. No one else thinks to notice how odd it is for him to bundle in gloves and a scarf and a hat, even though his core temperature stays consistently high regardless. She seems to be the only one who sees him turn from cheery window displays and tuck himself even quieter and farther inside at the parties they’re invited to.

She asks him about it, of course she does. They’ve been married for a year and had been seeing each other nearly daily for months before then, ever since he’d been recovered from the Valkyrie. There’s no one she trusts as much as she does Steve and she doesn’t think it flattery but mere fact that she holds similar esteem to him. Still, he only frowns and shrugs in response to her questions, says he’s feeling the same as usual, kissing her gently on the temple or crown or mouth and thanking her for worrying about him. And she doesn’t think he’s intentionally lying; sometimes, however, your feelings are buried so deeply that you don’t even recognize them. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t there. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything to be done.

Somehow, as if knowing that Peggy has other things to think about and can’t stay in the office until all hours or pop in for emergency sessions on weekends (or perhaps because she isn’t the only one whose family has her focus just now), her agents are closing cases at a top clip and the criminal underworld seems to have settled into some sort of hibernation.

And so Peggy is able to stop at the delicatessen on a Friday and still be home by suppertime.

“It’s the absolute perfect evening,” she says as soon as she comes through the door. “Come for a walk with me.” There’s an excitement to the declaration rather than any martial strictness; after an assessing look at her - this isn’t precisely normal for the two of them - he stands and dons his coat to join her outside.

They live away from the main street and most of their neighbors are already tucked away inside their homes. When they do encounter someone, they exchange nods, but for the most part there is only the soft sound of their boots atop the leftover snow, their exhalations of breath which fog in the air.

Through the larger front windows they can see families eating and couples reading side by side, silhouettes of Christmas trees, and once, a couple sharing a kiss in a dim sitting room. One or the other of them will point out some particularly pretty decorations. It is not late but the winter darkness is so complete that when they step through a streetlight the reality of the brightness is nearly a surprise, a brief dawning which reminds them of how lovely the velvet night can be too.

Pressed close as they are, she feels him shiver as a breeze blows past them. Leaning up, she touches her chilled cheek to his warmer one, both their eyes closed. And without speaking, they turn around and start for home.

Their fireplace has never been used before now, but they light it tonight, sit in front of its bathing warmth to eat the chicken soup that she had brought home, reheated piping hot. They don’t speak much but it is enough, unhurried and peaceful. She can feel him watching her, trying to figure through her intentions, but in the end he seems simply to accept it, leaning back and allowing himself to be thawed.

“What do you think of ice skating?” she asks him as they finish washing the breakfast dishes one Saturday morning.

He gives her an odd glance. “Walking but on ice and with knives strapped to your feet?” he tries.

“Well, I’m sure there’s nothing we have to do today which can’t keep until tomorrow, and I’ve bought you a pair of skates which should fit.”

Steve is her husband, and before that he was her friend, and he is above all her partner. She doesn’t often use with him the tone of voice she does for stubborn politicians or agency heads who disagree with her, the one which is simultaneously so firm as not to brook complaint and a bit blithe, as though whatever is being discussed has already been decided in Peggy’s favor and aren’t they silly for having forgotten. By the way his eyebrows furrow even deeper, she knows he recognizes it and he even opens his mouth to say so, but in the end he instead goes to get his coat.

Their house is a ten minute walk from the skating pond - not even that if you’re Steve - but they’re usually too busy to even contemplate availing themselves of it. It’s already midmorning by the time they arrive and the day is perfect, sunny but frigid, so no one has to worry about softening ice. They are far enough into the season, however, that the novelty has worn off and only a few other groups are taking advantage.

Steve has, through mutual effort, become a passable dancer beyond back and forth swaying and turning in circles (not that the style doesn’t have its own charms). That skill doesn’t seem to translate to the ice, however, and he spends their first turns around the pond clutching her hands with the trembling ankles of a newborn deer taking its first steps. But he picks it up more quickly than she had expected, his serum-induced athleticism activating as he continues to practice, and soon his hand in hers has nothing to do with balance or security anymore.

They get competitive, they can’t help it, laughing as they race, taking care to swerve around the others with whom they are sharing the ice. Steve tries a couple of jumps - daring and occasionally reckless as he might be, he’s smart enough not to attempt flips just yet - and even when he falls, he just laughs and shakes himself off as he stands again.

It doesn’t escape Peggy’s eyes as they switch back over into their street shoes that Steve has stuffed his gloves into his pocket, that he drapes his coat over his arm deference to the sweat they’ve worked up. But she doesn’t mention anything, merely takes his hand once again for the walk home.

They go to watch Angie playing Martha Cratchit in A Christmas Carol the next week, and treat her to supper and hot apple cider afterward. (Steve crinkles his nose but keeps taking baffled sips from his mug, as if a preference for it might sneak up on him if he only keeps trying.) The week after that, it snows again and they spend Sunday in Prospect Park with Bucky so Peggy can experience the site of their youthful sledding exploits.

“Well, we didn’t exactly have a sled then,” Steve points out as they climb Lookout Hill. “But there’s plenty you can do with a garbage can lid or the old instrument trays that the hospital was getting rid of.” It’s the sort of statement which would have Peggy’s mother making faces like she had just sniffed sour milk, but Peggy herself actually smiles at the picture of her husband small enough to curl himself up for a trip down the hill and brash enough to try it.

“Can’t believe you’re forgetting my masterpiece,” Bucky jokes. “Weeks of collecting scrap wood and old nails, borrowing my dad’s hammer to put it all together, and you don’t even mention it.”

Steve shakes his head. “My mother was certain I’d get tetanus just from being near that thing when she saw what you’d made.”

“I think my ears are still ringing from her shouting - and don’t think I’ve forgotten that it was mostly at me.”

“You were the one stupid enough to build it!”

“You’re the one who was stupid enough to ride it.” With a grin, Bucky adds, “I didn’t think anyone could shout louder than my ma, so I guess I learned a lesson in more than woodworking that day.”

“Now I’m even more disappointed that I was never given a chance to meet her,” Peggy says as they reach the top before Bucky can play any further with the word woodworking. He had been discovered in Russia by a SHIELD spy and extracted a year before they found Steve; he is quiet about the professional help he has been getting to manage the pain of the things that happened to him during the war and after, but it’s clearly making a difference: his terrible sense of humor is returning in fuller force even than she knew it could. Steve’s hip nudges against hers, and she knows that it is not by accident. She looks up at him and catches his smile.

After a morning of racing down the hill until the crowds arrive, after they’d handed over their sleds to a group of kids without their own and, picking up food on the way, gone back to Bucky’s apartment to eat and talk and laugh together, Peggy and Steve take the train back home. His cheeks are still somewhat rosy when she looks at him, and the remnants of laughter still dance about his mouth. Halfway there, a pair of seats opens up and they sit side by side, leaning into each other a bit, watching absently through the steamed window as the city passes them by.

“I can tell what you’re doing, you know,” Steve says as they climb the porch stairs, returning from helping out at the Red Cross rummage sale. Steve has plenty of volunteer projects he’s associated with around the neighborhood - the soup kitchen, the community center - but she had been the one to suggest this; she remembers how welcome that bright symbol had been on the battlefield, in the same way as Steve’s shield.

“Unlocking the door?” she asks as she plucks her keys from her bag.

He is so near to her that she can feel his heat and practically his narrowed eyes as well as he says, “Not—Well, sure, but what I meant was that I know that you don’t just suddenly find winter outings appealing.”

She lets them through the door, unbuttoning her coat with her other hand. “Perhaps I’m only just becoming comfortable enough with you to share my love for them.” Until he comes out with what he is thinking, she isn’t going to simply believe the jig to be up.

“Peggy,” he says, and to anyone else listening it would just be her name, but she hears the real sharpness to the word. She turns to him, coat still draped around her shoulders. He’s shut the door with his foot and they haven’t had a chance to switch on the lights; his face is shadowed, difficult to make out in the muted light of the late afternoon.

“When you asked,” he says, and then makes himself take in more air. “When you asked if something was wrong, I didn’t know that there was. But it’s just that—” He ducks his head, then lifts it again, making himself look toward her. “I keep thinking of all those winters of never being quite warm enough, never having a good coat or shoes to keep out the damp, the way I knew that I was getting sick by the way my breath would catch when I laughed or when there was a certain taste in the back of my throat. I can’t forget the smell of trench foot from guys who’d been walking in wet boots for days, or the times I had to be the one to keep digging the graves because the ground was so frozen no one else could get through it. There are nights I close my eyes and see Buck falling, that jacket of his all dark against the snow, even though he survived, he’s back now and safe. And sometimes, when the wind is really bad, I feel like I remember—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, though his shoulders shake as well, broad as they are.

They have talked about their time apart, as they call it, but he has always wanted to keep the focus on her end, on the things she had done and the way she had felt and all that had happened to her, pushing off talk of his end of things with reminders that there wasn’t anything to tell about what was essentially a prolonged sleep. They both know that he shouldn’t be able to recall any of it - he swears he was knocked out by the impact of the crash and he only woke up again long after he had been removed from the shell of the Valkyrie and completely warmed - but even the thought that he might remember a moment of his time frozen beneath the ice stabs at her.

“I could see that this time of year was difficult for you,” she says, and she doesn’t look away from him even as she folds herself inward. Typically her bulling forward has worked in her favor; the idea that it might have backfired and hurt the person she least wants to is intolerable. “I thought we might try to cloud some of the associations for you, to give you some new memories for the season. But perhaps it was a bit too much to overcome.”

He ducks his head and steps toward her; he is very near in the darkened front hall. “You weren’t wrong to try. The thing is that you did give me good new memories: helping people get through the worst of the cold, spending time with our friends, all those new moments with you. Those memories have to fit inside my head along with the old ones; you just made sure that sometimes when it’s cold what I’ll remember instead is kissing you with snowflakes on your eyelashes. I’m just never sure which is going to be the one my brain’ll bring up.”

“I know as well as you do that it’s impossible to erase the other memories,” she says. “But it’s terribly important to me to make sure that you have an entire lifetime’s worth of happy ones too.”

“You’ve given me a million wonderful ones, even when you weren’t trying,” he says staunchly. Captain America isn’t just a persona or a symbol, it’s who he is, the bolsterer, strong and entirely reliable, she’s always known that. But it is so clearly Steve Rogers who, after a pausing moment, asks, low and a bit worried, “But what about—I don’t want you to feel guilty if sometimes the good memories aren’t always enough. It’s only that the bad ones are still in there too.”

She closes her eyes; how particularly privileged she feels for him to allow himself to say such a thing when he spends so much time considering himself last, trying to make sure no one thinks of having to extend a hand on his behalf.

“Well,” she says, stepping forward and tucking herself beneath his coat with him, wrapping arms around his back to hold him tightly to herself. “In those moments, we just stand together and wait for spring.”

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-Min Yoongi 🎃

Halloween Series: Incubus Min Yoongi

It all starts with a dream, the most beautiful man you have ever seen, and the faint hint of a name upon the tip of your tongue when you wake-Yoongi. And soon-though you may be crazy-he’s not just appearing to you when you sleep. You see him everywhere on the streets of Greece-hints, flashes, hopeful glances in the crowd-a slight taste to bide you over until you can be with him once more in slumber. And then, one day, he appears to you in broad daylight-altogether too real-and tells you he’s come for what is his.  

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Halloween, Spooky Season, BTS Drabble, Min Yoongi, Yoongi, Suga, Yoongi x you, Yoongi x reader, Incubus Yoongi

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

Title: Mine

(Image Credit: @gehenna1986​ )

You blink open your eyes, and you instantly know-you are dreaming. 

It is apparent in the way the edges of your chamber haze in and out of focus, apparent in the way the darkness of the night seems muted and slightly softer, as if barely hiding the light from twinkling stars 

And it is altogether too apparent, when you meet the gaze of the man hovering above you. 

He is the most beautiful man you have ever seen-ebony hair falling over his brow and into amber colored eyes, warm and swirling with caramel color, fine, porcelain features, and full pink lips. And from his back, sprouts a pair of magnificent, leathery, onyx colored wings. 

And though you know you should be frightened to see a strange man above you, his closeness incredibly intimate with you, in the safety and space of your own bed, you are not, because after all-it is only a dream. 

As you consider this, the man speaks, and his voice-low and husky and smooth-makes your stomach clench in a pleasant manner, and fills your head with thoughts not becoming of a Greek lady. “(Y/N). You have my word, I will not take you unwillingly.” 

Curious, that he knows your name. 

You cock your head to the side, studying the way the foggy atmosphere of the dream slides across his sharp features, softening and dulling the curves of his jaw and nose, and without thinking-it is only a dream after all-you reach up, and cup the side of his face with your palm, letting your fingertips slide across the stretch of his cheekbone. “I am not unwilling.” 

His pupils darken at your murmured consent-blowing wide and black as he leans down toward you-and your breath catches in your throat, as his hands slide up the bare skin of your arms, making you shiver-before his lips slant to fit with your own. 

The kiss-unlike the man-is rough and sloppy and fiery, your teeth knocking together and tongues fighting to find space in each other’s mouths. 

His fingers find the straps of your night gown, pulling it down expertly and easily in the dark, even while keeping his mouth on yours, and as his fingers dance their way across your newly revealed skin, making you gasp, you cannot help but tangle your fingers into the dark hair at the base of his neck. 

It is just a dream after all. 

There is nothing, in the next few minutes, besides skin flush with skin and ravaging heat and mumbled words under panting, harsh breaths, and the moan of your name from between his lips and clenched teeth. 

And then, there is quiet, and the sound of the ocean waves from the open balcony and crickets chirping loudly from beneath the window that looks out over the garden, and you turn your head on your pillow to look at him beside you-eyes closed and chest still heaving as he fights to regain breath you stole from him-and you reach out, carefully, gently, and push back dark, damp hair from his forehead, admiring the flawlessness of his bare skin in the warm, comfortable feeling of the dream. 

He turns his head, and his honeyed eyes, still slightly out of focus, meet your own, and the corner of his lip curls into a half smile, revealing sharp, pointed front teeth in contrast to pink gums, and then he says hoarsely, “See you tomorrow, little dove.” 

And before you can respond to him, the room fades to black, and when you blink next, you are awake. 

********

“Two please.” You flash your fingers with the desired number to the old woman before you, and she nods, reaching out to brush aside the palm leaves covering her butcher table, as she grabs two haunches of venison for you and begins to bag them. 

You glance around the open air market-bustling with activity in the early morning-and the hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stand on end, making you feel uneasy, although you brush off the feeling, attributing it to the group of men three stalls down that are sniggering and talking about you behind their hands. 

Thanking the woman as she hands you the wrapped cuts of meat, you turn from the stall, just as a group of young boys-kicking a leather ball-stampede past you, almost stepping on your sandaled feet. 

Gasping, you stumble backward, catching yourself on the stall, and as they pass you in a cloud of dust and yells-through the residue they leave behind-your startled eyes connect with those of a stranger. 

Or almost stranger, because the sight of him-something oddly familiar and intimate swirling in his golden eyes as he watches you-is enough to freeze your breath in your throat. 

And then, as the woman at the stall asks if you are all right, you blink, and he is gone-taking the air of intimacy with him-and you are left trying to place where you know him for the rest of the day. 

And why he looked at you with such raw and unhidden desire. 

*******

The man visits you again that night-in the world of slumber and unhindered dreams. 

It is once again the same-flushed skin and slow, unhurried explorations of each other’s bodies, and kisses that bump teeth and intertwine tongues and leave you both wanting for more. 

Although, tonight, there is something different. 

“Yoongi.” You whimper out, as the sharp points of his teeth graze the hollow at the base of your throat, sending the pulse beneath the skin there into a frenzy. 

He pulls back from you-his eyes suddenly guarded-and his features are now stern and hard as he stares down at you, and you are caught off guard, wondering why he switched attitudes so quickly, until he says seriously, “Where did you hear my name?” 

“I didn’t.” You say, words stuttered, because you are worried suddenly, that you have upset him, even though he is merely a specter of your dreaming imagination. You continue. “It just came to the front of my mind and left the tip of my tongue naturally.” 

He visibly relaxes at your answer, his shoulders slouching, and reaches up with one of his hands to push a tendril of damp hair back from your skin, as he says softly, “Oh. That’s good, then.” 

“Good?” You question, tilting your head slightly, as you look up at him, curious what he means. 

“Yes.” He nods, and his lips pull back, just briefly, to reveal white teeth and the customary flash of his pink gums, as his longer fingers, still playing with your hair, swirl a strand around his finger as he studies you thoughtfully. “Not only are our bodies becoming one, our thoughts are as well.” 

You digest his words for a moment, mulling them over, and then you smile in return, reaching up with one of your own hands to trace over the sharp line of his cheekbone and then down to his jaw, admiring the way his bronze skin gleams in the light from the moon. “You know,” You say, as he closes his eyes and leans into your touch, and you move your admiring gaze to the strong pair of dark wings that sprout from his back. “You’re very beautiful, Yoongi.” 

He opens his eyes once more and meets your gaze, and his irises have darkened, as he reaches up to cover your hand with his own-palm warm and soft. “Not as beautiful as you, little dove.” 

His words and tone send a shiver down your spine-you’re not sure if it’s pleasant-but you can’t think too much into it, before his lips are back on yours and all other thoughts are gone from your head. 

********

“I think you’re crazy.” Nefeli scoffs, taking a sip of her drink as you sit-gathered at a table-in your garden a few days later. The brunette crosses her bare ankles, the long tunic she wears-edged in gold-brushing the cobblestones beneath where you sit as she raises a brow at you skeptically, watching you over the edge of her cup. 

“I could be.” You shrug, not really looking at her, as you aimlessly stir your drink around your own glass, watching how the red wine swirls and swirls like a crimson whirlpool-or like the warm, amber swirling of Yoongi’s irises when he looks at you. The thought makes your stomach clench, and you finally look back at your friend across the table. “Maybe I am crazy.” 

“You’re not crazy!” The other girl sitting across from you at the table leans toward you suddenly, looking at you seriously as she says, voice raised with irritation, “Don’t listen to her. Haven’t you heard the stories?” 

Nefeli rolls her eyes, but Zoe ignores her blatant mockery, as you glance over at your other friend, before asking curiously, “Stories?” 

“Yeah.” Zoe nods eagerly, her glass clutched tightly in her hands, as she leans toward you even more, if possible. “The stories about the Incubi.” 

“Zoe, you know those are just an old myth-just like the stories of the Gods and Goddesses coming down to earth to visit men.” Nefeli interjects heatedly, and Zoe shoots her a glare. 

“Not so!” She exclaims, waving her finger between the two of you, as she continues firmly, looking toward you once more, “Incubi are real, (Y/N). They’re nightmare demons-they enter your room while you sleep and take advantage of you-hopeful to spread their supernatural spawn among humans.” Zoe’s eyes are large, as she shivers, suddenly nervous. “My aunt experienced one. She said it was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to her-she was paralyzed, she couldn’t move-and the demon just had his way with her while she watched, mouth open in a silent scream.” 

“Hmmm.” You hum under your breath, already back to stirring the wine around in your glass once more. “But I don’t feel afraid. Yoon-” You start to say his name, but think better of it, since they already thought you were insane. “The man has never hurt me, and the entire experience is actually really enjoyable.” 

“He’s definitely tricking you.” Zoe goes on, as Nefeli rolls her eyes once more at your friend’s antics. 

“You don’t know that.” Nefeli interrupts Zoe, who turns to her, as they start to bicker heatedly between themselves over what is real and to believed, and what is all a farce. 

You glance up from your glass, the sounds of your friends’ fight fading, and suddenly, your heart thumps in your chest, as you catch a glance of a very familair-and very well known-male figure among the orchard trees at the back of the garden. 

Could it be....? 

And then the figure is gone, and the black wings you thought you saw upon his back are no more than a memory, as you shake your head and try to pull yourself back to the present. 

It was probably just a gardener, you reason with yourself, but you can’t help yourself from glancing once more to the trees, hoping to catch one last glimpse. 

******

Yoongi is like clockwork-appearing in your dreams every night for the next week-and though you are usually exhausted when you wake in the morning after one of his visits, you cannot help but hope to see him again. 

The way his long, slender fingers know your body now-inside and out-the way his mouth slots perfectly with your own-hot and insistent and pleasurable-and the way he looks so beautiful in the moonlight-ethereal and unreal-it’s all worth giving up sleep for. 

And so, when you sit in the cafe of the open street market that morning-exactly a week from the day you had been there last, when you felt the unnerving, somehow intimate gaze on you from across the street-you stifle a yawn, and take a sip of your drink, lazily watching the flow of people pass you. 

The merchants are loudly hawking their wares-meat and vegetables and animals and clothing-and the air is filled with a thin layer of dust, kicked up from dozens of sandals and the clopping hooves of horse drawn carts. 

You have always loved the lively atmosphere of the open air market-it is in direct contrast to the quiet, loneliness you feel pervades the air of your estate and garden. 

“May I sit down?” 

The deep, low voice-quiet and reserved-startles you, and you glance up at the man standing in front of the other empty seat at the table, and instantly, you get that feeling again-the same one from the market last week and the same one you experienced days earlier in you garden. 

A feeling of familiarity. Of home. 

“Sure.” You manage to say, although your heart is in your throat and your fingers are suddenly shaking, as the man-who you still do not know, even though he feels so intimate-offers you a polite smile and sits in the empty chair. 

“Do you know who I am?” The man asks, leaning toward you, fists propped under his chin, dark eyes scanning your face intently. 

What an odd way to start a conversation. 

“I don’t....” You begin to say, but your voice dies in your throat, because why, why does he seem so familiar? You swallow hard, and try again. “I’m not sure.” You answer honestly, fingers trembling against the handle of your cup. 

“Ah.” He sits back, a slight look of disappointment on his face, and then he cocks his head, like a curious bird. “It’s probably this disguise.” 

“What?” You ask, shocked into speaking by his odd choice of wording. “What’re you talking about?” 

You feel nervous, as you wait for his answer, glancing around you in case you suddenly need help, saving, from the strange man sitting across from you. 

The man smiles-and there is another pang of knowing in your chest-evident by the way your heart thumps painfully against your rib cage. “Shall I show you something, little dove?” 

That nickname. 

It can’t be. 

Before you can wrap your mind around what the man has just said, he sits back, and a slight shimmer of dark mist ghosts over his features and body, and then, as it clears, he is leaning toward you, and suddenly, you cannot breathe. 

It is him. 

Yoongi. 

The amber, swirling eyes, the dark, endless pupils, the slight curve of full lips up into a smirk-sharp teeth and pink gums peeking through with the expression-the ebony hair hanging over his forehead, perfect, elven features still as he watches you, and on his back-the pair of leathery, beautiful black wings. 

“Recognize me now?” Yoongi asks softly, lips still pulled into the hint of a smile, as he takes in your obvious astonishment. 

“How....”You stutter out, but change your tactic halfway through your sentence. “You’re real? I wasn’t dreaming?” 

He shakes his head, rustling the black bangs that fall into his eyes. “You weren’t dreaming. I’m real.” He reaches out a hand-palm up-across the table, but makes no move to touch you, letting you come to him. 

And you do so, resting your fingers gently in his outstretched hand, as you struggle to comprehend what’s happening, feeling his very warm, and very real skin, beneath the touch of your fingertips. 

“What are you doing here?” You breathe out, suddenly very aware that he sitting across from you-wings on full display-in the middle of the daylight. 

He tilts his head to look at you curiously, and then, eyes darkening as he stares at you, he says seriously, “I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” Your eyes widen, and his fingers curl around your own in a tight, unyielding grip, as he murmurs darkly, “I’ve come for you, little dove. Because you are mine.” 

And though his possessive words-and the way his features darken just slightly-should scare you, they don’t. Because this is Yoongi-the man who has visited you in your dreams for the past few weeks, the man-no the demon-who, though it went against his kind, would not take you unwillingly, who let you come to him. 

And so, following the pattern, you willingly come to him once more, one more time. 

You offer him a gentle smile from across the table, your fingers still clenched within his own, and once more, admire the way the sun reflects off the large pair of ebony wings that adorn his back, before you nod, and say, “That’s right. I’m yours-now and forever.” 

[feynavaley]

What do you think about the slavic siblings? Their personalities and relations to each other?

Wow, that’s one loaded question! 😅 I’ll try to answer, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to in a satisfactory way.

First of all, a premise: like I have said in regard to other characters, the Slavic siblings aren’t among my favourite characters so I don’t have such a solid and well-analysed characterization for them as I do for others (chiefly, the FACE family members). Moreover, they’re quite complex characters and they appear a lot in canon which means that, without focusing specifically on them, it’s easy for me to have missed something. Nevertheless, I can try to give a brief answer (just touching what I think are some core aspects of their personalities) to the best of my abilities.

Ukraine

I’m starting with her because she sounds like the easiest one to pin down. She’s stabler than her siblings, at least. I see her as a woman who witnessed a lot of suffering during her childhood and had to mature quite fast because of it – but, instead of becoming jaded, she turned her suffering into empathy and compassion. Knowing so well what suffering means and how it can damage people, she does her best to always treat others with kindness and patience, to give them a chance to get better before writing them off as ‘bad people’. She has seen what violence does and she wants to break the cycle.

Her compassion makes her very motherly, too. Once she gets fond of people, she actively looks after them and their well-being. She’s the kind of person who is at her happiest when she sees the people around her happy. She thinks more about others than about herself – but not because she values herself little or because she has low self-esteem, it’s because she thrives in helping other people. She’s mostly happy with herself and wants to externalize this happiness, to see other people reach this level of satisfaction as well.

People can see her as weak because she isn’t loud, she has a tendency of being quite emotional, and she doesn’t assert herself unless it’s truly needed. She’s the kind of person who prefers to smooth things down instead of being stubborn. Yet, she can also be very firm when she wants to. In particular, I can see her being very protective of her family members.

Russia

Oh, where do I even start about him... he’s such a complex character that I really am not sure of how I see his characterization. I’ve seen many different takes and I found myself agreeing with and enjoying wildly different ones.

The thing about Russia is that I see him as a living, walking contradiction. The fandom is past the days when he was simply dismissed as ‘cruel’ or ‘evil’ and now tends to acknowledge his loneliness, the suffering he had to endure during childhood, and the wish he often expresses to get closer to other people. However, he also undeniably shows a cruel side at times. I can fully acknowledge that this may come from the fact he was subjected to so much violence that he ended up internalizing it as an acceptable way to behave, but this doesn’t change the facts. He doesn’t seem to care too much about hurting other people as long as he reaches his goal. I think both aspects of his character needs to be acknowledged. This duality is part of him.

The impression I ultimately got from Russia is that he’s an extremely self-serving person. He does care about other people, but only in relation to himself. If he’s nice to someone, it isn’t because he genuinely wants the well-being of that person but because he wants what that gesture brings to him: that person’s gratitude and potential friendship. I also think he can get to genuinely care about people (his family, for example) and, in this case, be upset if something happens to them because they are suffering and, conversely, try to make them happy not only because it would make them more well-disposed towards him but also because he just wants them to be. However, this is limited to a small circle of people. When anybody else is involved, I have the impression he just doesn’t care. Not that he would hurt them out of nowhere, but he wouldn’t see it as a problem if he needed to in order to get something he wanted. I don’t think he would enjoy it – but he wouldn’t regret it too much, either. Likewise, he wouldn’t stop to help them unless there was something in for him as well. It’s almost as if he didn’t actually have a sense of morality and of what’s wrong or right. He just takes what he wants and cares when he wants to. Almost like the way a child reasons.

Belarus

Belarus is another mystery, as far as I’m concerned. Like Russia, she seems to carry the scars of a harsh childhood. She’s determined and strong-willed, always working hard and doing her best to get what she wants, but also pessimistic and carrying frankness to the point of rudeness; she doesn’t seem to care at all about people outside from a few selected ones. Personally, I see this as the sign of a person who has suffered much and is trying to protect herself from further suffering by distancing herself from anything that could become a weakness. Moreover, I read her as one of those people who use the strength of will they developed to overcome their trials as a way to scorn people who didn’t manage to find the same strength. In other words, Belarus feels justified to hold in contempt ‘weaker’ people because by enduring what she did, she proved it’s possible to do so. Those who don’t manage just don’t try hard enough, in her opinion. They don’t deserve compassion. Just like her, they must bear their suffering alone. (This is why she’s always so blunt, too. She doesn’t see the point in softening the blow. If people can’t take the truth, they’re weaklings. They need to learn to do so.)

At the same time, Belarus isn’t a loner – from her interactions with Russia and briefly America, it almost looks like she needs to attach herself to somebody. And once she has found this person, her attachment and devotion reach unhealthy levels. Once again, this may be a result of her trauma. Maybe, having witnessed so much suffering makes her fear the same could happen to those few she cares about and she goes overboard trying to protect them. Or maybe, she feels lost without somebody ‘leading’ her. She spends so much energy building a wall around herself (to protect herself) that she has never had the time to figure out who she wants to be. She ends up dedicating herself fully to somebody because without that, she’d be nothing. She needs external validation and inputs to thrive. It may also be something else, or a mixture of things. As I said, Belarus is a character I have an extremely hard time pinning down.

The Three Siblings

Regarding the interactions of those three siblings as family, instead, I have to say that their familial unit looks almost healthier than the single individuals as it’s somehow adjusted around their flaws.

The one who brings everybody together is Ukraine. As I have already said, her big heart and maternal tendencies mean that she cares immensely for her siblings. She’s able to excuse their flaws because she sees where they come from and at the same time, she genuinely loves them. She wants the best for them; to see them thrive and at the same time, to be part of their lives. She’s the one who constantly checks on everybody and keeps suggesting they hang out together. She’s extremely protective if somebody hurts them, too.

Russia loves Ukraine deeply, of course. How could he not, when she offers him exactly what he yearns the most, affection and warmth? But it isn’t only this. I think Ukraine belongs to those few people Russia genuinely cares about. He mostly lets her do her own thing because he knows she’s capable enough, but he’s also very protective of her. Hurt Ukraine, and you’re dead. No questions asked.

Belarus cares for Ukraine just as much. She also often criticizes her sister, though. Ukraine is one of those people Belarus would consider ‘too weak’ due to her soft-hearted nature. However, Belarus also knows Ukraine too well to dismiss the strength her sister hides behind her kind nature. Belarus begrudgingly respects Ukraine. Moreover, for how much she doesn’t like to admit it, even Belarus is touched by how much Ukraine cares for her and treasures it deeply. Belarus is also very protective of Ukraine and may even be willing to behave a bit better if her sister is present.

In regard to the relationship between Russia and Belarus, instead... Two people with such baggage aren’t a good starting point for a healthy relationship. If we look at canon, the one between them isn’t.

Now, I want to spend a few words on Belarus’s ‘obsession’ towards Russia. I think her attachment stems from both the familial bond they have and her admiration for Russia’s strength; with her bleak outlook, she wants to associate with strong people. And, as I’ve said before, completely devote herself to him. About the ‘marriage’ thing, though – personally, I don’t think there’s a romantic feeling involved. The way I see it, what nations call ‘marriage’ isn’t actually a wedding but a mere political union, a contract. One that grants a personification some rights over another one, basically. There’s nothing about it that is like a human wedding, it’s mutually understood that no kind of feelings (or romantic/sexual relationship between the two parts) is involved. This is why even blood-related siblings can ‘marry’. So, Belarus wants to ‘marry’ Russia because this would be the best way to serve and protect him – both by being always by his side and by ‘rescuing’ him from other unions that could not be as favourable for Russia. Of course, she goes about it completely the wrong way, but all Belarus wants is to protect Russia and to be acknowledged by him as his ally and useful subject.

We know from canon, however, that Russia doesn’t answer well to Belarus’s obsession. He’s creeped out and annoyed by her. Still, I don’t think he hates her. He’s almost like an older sibling who doesn’t have patience for the younger ones. But deep down, he still cares for Belarus because she’s his – his sister and his family. He probably doesn’t enjoy Belarus’s company as much as he enjoys Ukraine’s, but that’s because of the way she behaves. If Belarus were a bit less obsessive, Russia would tolerate her better. He also isn’t so overtly protective of Belarus as he is of Ukraine, but this is because Belarus is more than capable of defending herself (and unlike Ukraine, she doesn’t let anything slide). I think that if somebody ended up actually hurting Belarus, Russia would react just as bad.

...

All these are just my impressions, though. And they might not even be all canon-compliant as I may have missed something. I still hope they make sense! But if you want to explore the slavic siblings, I’d recommend you to have a look at @chessna2, she’s certainly more expert about them than I am!

[10boys]

MLQC : Oral (receving)

♡ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

Gavin:

-Ugh ok so Gavin is 100% a giver

-He loves you more than life literally and theres nothing he wouldn’t do to show you.

-Naturally , hes a super bashful guy and gets a bit embarrassed when its time for he himself to be taken care of. He’s so used to being responsible for others that showing his vulnerability is something that took time, which you gladly gave him. You and Gavin have such a comfortable bond now he could do anything infront of you but ya know only things that make him look cool infront of you

-He came to your house superr late at night since after being on one of his week-long missons, still in uniform and smelling of “outside” to his airborn location

-after quick ilys and imys you offer him a shower to wined him down of his journeys

-The moment he stepped in and left you alone with your thoughts, they went wild

-His thick body fit into his uniform so well, his chest heaving from fatigue of his flight. His masculine smell filled your nose when you first embraced, the same one emanating from his steamy shower. Your thighs twiched as you imagined his body elongated and streached out to wash himself in the shower. His musclier arms reached above to rub the conditioner into his hair, the white bubbles dripping down his muscles coming together in the creases of his back. They’d dip into his V-line , as if showing your eyes where to go. Just as your were getting to the most delicious spot..

-“Babe..what are you looking at?”

-Actions speak louder than words......

-He layed beneath you on the bed as you kissed and sucked at his neck and ears. His fresh wet scent was tantalizing, his skin was soft and delicate beneath your fingertips. He held a tight grip on your waste, seemingly trying to keep you close as possible to him.

-Feeling your breast smothered onto his chest , nipples supply poking into his skin made the heat rush to his dick at an unbelievable speed

-Gavin has a very...active imagination. A small peak at your collar bones or the back of your lower thighs and he already has a saucy full-body image of you in his head. Saying something vaguely suggestive to him is the equivalent of your whimpers in his ear. You’ve ever wondered why those cheeks are always red?

-Plus the boys just super horny in general lol he always wants saucy times when hes with you. You don’t even have to ask and at the blink of an eye he’s shirtless ( he loves being shirtless for you ‘baby pls look at my hot bod pls love me the most’ )

-He poked you from beneath his navy boxers, hips slightly bucking into you as you continued to grope as suck at his neck and chest. His face flushed pink as his head started to cloud in his light waves of pleasure.

-As you began to kiss him lower, golden eyes poured into your own. He watched the way your lips connect and parted with his skin, leaving sheen pelts of spit his torso. Your tongue danced down his happy trail as you sucked light purple circles onto his lower abdomen.

-Gavin is a grunt and groner. He’s still shy, so he’ll be quiet at the beginning, but its hard to keep his cool when your figure is present to use at his leasure. Heavy breaths and pants will escape as he lets himself roam. His hands will never stay in the same spot when you’re around...They’ll start on your thighs, then to your waste, then your chest, then behind your head, then back to your chest, then to your ass, waist and chest, thighs and chest you get the idea

-Actually, most of the moans you hear from him are simply cause he failed at holding them in

-Btw Gavins v gentle with you but his ass grabs are superr hard. He probably just gets carried away at the sensation of it filling his palm but you usually still feel his grip long after he’s let go.

-He just wants to be everywhere, to take and claim all of you.

-You kiss and smell along his length, palming him over his briefs. The smell was so intoxicating you couldn’t help but clench your thighs, trying to create a heat of your own. You quickly disregard of his boxers revealing his beautiful fully erected cock. Pre-cum dribbes down as the cold hair hits his tip, or maybe cause the view of your face so close to his cock is just that hot.

“Mmm Babe stop looking” srry baby ur just so beautiful. Ofc you can’t look for long without him getting bashful.

-He has a large vein ranging from ball to tip and it feels amazing when you run your tongue across it. Like Victor, Gavin loves watching you play with it. Its almost too much for him to watch. Lick him all around with as much spit on your tongue as you can get, kiss his tip with his balls in your hand. And for the sake of our boy make alllll the dick-sucking noises too- They’re his favorite. He even trys to stay quiet to hear them better.

-You don’t tease Gavin as much as you do the others. Although he would take it for you, hes way too impatient. He’s got great stamina from his daily workouts and could fuck for years, but his first nut usually comes rather quickly. Like i said, it doesn’t take much to rile him up.

-A wet mouth and hollow cheeks get the job done for him. His grip in your hair is kinda massage like, he rakes along your scalp in un-rythmic patterns. In other words, he totally fucks up your hair everytime.

-In usual circumstances, your body is usually draped over him in the 69 position while you suck. Gavin absolutely, and i mean absolutely loves the smell of pussy. He is 100% a panty stealer. He loves to have your backside smothering his face as he thrusts up into your mouth. The smell is absolutely engulfing to him, he can’t help to suck at you from over your panties.

-But for sessions created just for catering to him, he likes to sit on the edge of the bed with your naked body quivering below him. He likes watching the liquids from your mouth dribbling off your chin to rest on your bouncing chest. But his favorite part is your legs spread wide for him exposing your opened heat. His tongue often peaks out in in-voluntarily licking motions before he can bite his lips. Your clit is his eye candy as he thrusts himself closer to his release.

-Typically lf hes layed across the bed he uses his forarm to hide his erotic faces from you he must not know how orgasmic you find them

-Gavins orgasims come on strong, erupting a deep growl from his throat as he shoots his loud into your mouth. His tense face softens , eyebrows rising showing his state of complete bliss. He stiffens, holding you down on him until his very last wave.

-Once he’s done, he releases his grip resulting in an erotic view of his white semen spilling out from your mouth, it drips down onto your breast piling up with the rest of your liquids. Your wattering eyes look up into his sending an intense blush across his cheeks

-If Gavin were in an anime he would be the boy with massive nose bleeds when he see’s you

-ooh no he’s horny again

-yes he will clean u up first

Kiro:

- Kiro is also a giver in theory

- Now dont get me wrong- this bright bubbly ball of sunshine loves to give his acts of service to you, but he is , very much so, a boy. He loves when you go down on him, he loves being the center of your attention and all your gestures.

-Kiros definitely a pint up boy- going from show to show and interview to interview, he barley has enough time to sleep let alone relive himself. When you two first got together, he was very modest and a bit shy to show his manly desires for you. He respects you for being such an important person in his life, having ungodly thoughts about you made him feel like a nasty boy. But as time passed and you escalated in your intamacy, he is absolutely shameless in letting you know what he wants or if he’s ‘in the mood~” “babee.. stop working..i wanna play~” “Those shorts look very good on you miss chips...so... short”

-Kiro doesnt talk much to let you know what he wants anyway, in fact, one glance into those ocean blue orbs and you know his intentions. He’ll act super cutesy at first, slowly inching his body closer to yours for ‘innocent cuddles’. Kiro is a very hands-on affectionate, so this part was normal. But soon his hands will start to wonder and grope while a devious smirk spreads across his face he knows you see him as a sweet little angel and he will play that role to his advantage

-He’ll nuzzle his head into your chest demanding you take notice to his actions like a freaking puppy, And once you lower your gaze to find his figure latched around yours, his seemly sensual orbs pour into you, sending you notice of his want for you. When kiro uses his cuteness to fight for dominance he will always win.Always. And you’re okay with that.

-Kiros not necessarily shy about his noises for you , especially after all the praises you’ve whispered to him about how good they sound. He’ll moan and whimper to you as your hands massage his length over his boxers, peppering kisses down his neck and across his chest. Your kisses feel like heaven to him, leaving small waves of heat at every peck and nibble left on him.

-With that said, when you start kissing and sucking at his lower abdomen , his mouth immediately hangs releasing a steady breathy moan for you. The view when you looked up at him was godly..

-Kiros pleasure face is absolutely erotic. His pleasure state in general is mouth watering. His eyes are dark and low, his face twists and contorts, he grabs at everything; His hair, the sheets, the pillows, you, anything that might fall into his grasp is being pulled and scratched at. As much as you would love to spend all your time planting kisses on his skin, you quickly relocate to different spots making sure not to leave any marks. Kiros shirt lifts a considerable amount of times from him jumping around on stage, so its better not to ruin any of his fans’ day by new-found knowledge of his intamacys. This service is for you but that is fan-service for them.

-Kiro loves being teased :)

-Blow your heat onto his head from over his boxers for a easy and quick way to wake up little kiro. Kiss him around the spots he wants you too, and make sure to keep eye contact. He gets super off from you watching him he just loves attention

-Please pay all attention to his balls. Lick them up and down for a while with his legs spread wide, nibble and suck at them. This will make his hips a thrusting mess as he trys to create more friction for himself.

-He’ll use his own hand to push his dick in your mouth, but first, he’ll watch as you lay there mouth wide and tongue hung for him. He’ll press his tip against your face, letting it roll over all your features. He lets out a soft giggle before letting the tip roll over your hot wet tongue. The wave immediately made his cock twich infront of you, a dribble of pre-cum leaking from his tip.

-Kiro is def a hand holder. Pls expect him to want your fingers interlocked to bring a loving gesture to your vile actions. He’s internally lovey-dovey during sex. Even if he’s not verbally spitting soft phrases at you, his mind is filled with fluffy thoughts of you “ahh.. so pretty” “she uses her mouth so good..” “she’s so lovely” “im so lucky” “..m-more there...ah...perfect” “i love her so much”

-Kiro nuts very well <3

- The boys orgasims...are mighty. His hip thrusts might get a little rough as his head fills with waves of pleasure, subconsciously bobbing your head down a little harder than intended. Short moans tumble over eatch other as his breath quickens considerably. He trys his hardest to keep his eyes open, the view of you teary-eyed engulfing his length is enough to finish him and it does .

- A few more deep sucks and his back arches, his body stiffens as waves of hypnotizing pleasure take him over. His moans were as pretty as his singing coming close, but as the shocks of heated kisses reminisce through his nerves , he sits silent, mouth hung open only to release small high-pitched gasps and a maybe dribble of drool.

-As he comes down from his high he’ll wipe your face and spit beautiful praises at you. He’s a fluff after sex so expect lots of mushy gushy cuddles and pillow talk <3

“Wow...that was the best one...”

“you said that the last time...and the time before...”

“Yeah !!! Until next time too~ !!”

-

Yayyy the continuation is done! Pls lmk what you think, and my ask is currently open ! Gavins is a bit short cause he’s my fav, so im a perfectionist in representing his image lol. Will add the links once im off work -Myk

[swanslieutenant]

an extravagance of candy hearts (1/1)

Happy Valentine’s Day! My turn for posting for the @csrolereversal​, with the art by @kmomof4​. Hope you all enjoy this short fic for Valentine’s Day, set in the six weeks of peace during S4. 

Read on AO3

Summary: As Killian's first Valentine's Day in Storybrooke approaches, Ruby and Henry take it upon themselves to make sure that both he and Emma have an incredible, extravagant time they won't forget.

Emma and Killian walk hand in hand down the main street of Storybrooke, headed towards Granny’s diner. It’s a quiet Saturday in early February; in fact, it’s been peaceful since Elsa and Anna returned to their land and since Gold was banished from Storybrooke. The absence of the Dark One seems to have lifted a cloud over the small town, freeing it from the darkness lurking in every corner and in the now shuttered pawn shop.

While Emma has returned to her day-to-day activities as sheriff, Killian spends most of his time trying to help Belle in figuring out a way to rescue the fairies from the Sorcerer’s Hat. It’s frustrating and fruitless work, and so when Emma had dropped in to take him to Granny’s for lunch, he was only too happy to oblige.

Just outside of Granny’s, Leroy and one of the other former dwarves (whose name escapes Killian’s mind) are in the midst of a shouting match.

Emma sighs as they approach, shaking her head in irritation. “Best go and see what that is about,” she mutters, before stepping on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “See you in a minute. Order me a grilled cheese, yeah?”

He nods, and steps away while Emma moves to confront the arguing duo. Inside, it’s the end of the lunch rush, most of the tables littered with used plates and cups instead of patrons. Instead of cleaning up the tables, however, Ruby is perched precariously on a tilted chair at one of the front windows. A string of scarlet cartoon hearts dangles from one edge of the window as she leans over to pin it up on the other side. From the centre heart hangs a strange looking blonde baby on a string, a bow and heart-tipped arrow clenched in its hammy fists.

“What the devil is that?” Killian blurts out, unable to stop himself at the sight the monstrosity.

“It’s a cupid,” Ruby replies, pressing the string firmly into place with a pin. She hops down to admire her work, and chuckles at Killian’s expression. “It’s for Valentine’s Day.”

She says it as if it’s obvious, but as with many of the parts of Storybrooke – cellphones, cars, the internet – the words are empty to him. “What’s Valentine’s Day?”

He glances around the rest of the diner, and realizes that it’s not only the front window decorated with the strange little cupids. Ruby has been busy – strings of hearts adorn the bar’s overhang, large heart decorations and cupid babies are splattered on the windows leading to the kitchen, the white napkins at each table have been swapped for scarlet, and the tables are covered with plastic tablecloths instead of their bare tops. Even the usual plain pastries have been replaced by ones with pink icing and colourful sprinkles.

“It’s a day for lovers,” Ruby explains, and at that Killian’s interest is piqued.  A day for lovers, is it?

“Indeed?” he says slowly, his tone of voice making Ruby laugh and swat at him with a cleaning rag as she steps behind the counter.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. There’s more to it than that; it’s all about love and romance and sweetheart candy and mushy valentines’ cards. You give your partner something cute and romantic like chocolates or a piece of jewellery that they’d like, and then go for dinner or do something fun that you both like. It’s every February 14th.”

“Hmm,” Killian replies, thoughtfully. He glances out the window, where he can see Emma’s cascading blonde curls down her back, still dealing with the arguing dwarves. Is she going to be expecting something from him on this day?

“Is that something… everyone does in this realm?”

“Oh yes,” Ruby says earnestly, her eyes sparkling. “If you’ve got a significant other, it’s a must. It’s like New Year’s or Halloween or July 4th, something that everyone celebrates.”

Killian doesn’t know what those other things are either, but he nods. He’s trying to adapt to this world the best he can … if this is something they always do, then he’ll participate too.

“Right. Okay. What day is it again?”

“It’s the 14th,” Ruby replies, grinning before twirling away to pick up a new order of food. She returns a few minutes later after delivering it to the next customer, chatting more about Valentine’s Day and what it is, while Killian takes a seat at the bar, ordering himself and Emma lunch and coffee in the moments Ruby takes a breath.

As he waits for the food and listens to Ruby about the romantic day, half-watching Emma outside to see if she is almost done, his eyes drift back to the hanging hearts and the ugly baby Ruby had called a cupid. He’s not sure what a demented flying baby has to do with a holiday supposed to be for lovers … unless it’s a warning to be careful with the long-lasting consequences of a romantic night.

“And Ruby? What does that thing have to do with this Valentine’s Day?”

She follows his eyesight, and through a laugh, does her best to explain to him what a cupid is. As far as Killian understands it, the little babies with wings are a bastardization of ancient mythology about a god of love who shot arrows at people to make them fall in love with each other. Emma often mentions how strange and foreign she finds the Enchanted Forest, with its ogres and chimera meat, but he must say – her land is just as strange as she claims his is.

The door to Granny’s swings open then, a tinkling bell ringing out to announce someone’s entrance, but instead of Emma, it’s Henry instead, bounding in with a wide grin.

“Hi Killian,” he says, swinging into the bar seat beside Killian. “My mom said you were in here. She’s still trying to figure out what Leroy is so mad about, but said she’d be here as soon as she can.”

Killian sighs, and shakes his head. Typical dwarves.

Ruby, who had stepped away to fetch the coffee, returns and grins at Henry, winking conspiratorially at Killian.

“I was just telling Killian about Valentine’s Day, Henry.”

“Right! It’s your first Valentine’s Day with my mom, right?” Killian nods, before noting that it’s his first Valentine’s Day ever, and Henry’s grin widens. “I’ll help you get some things for my mom! I bet she hasn’t had a good Valentine’s Day in a while.”

“You’ll help?” questions Killian, abruptly. He doesn’t think Valentine’s Day is very appropriate for a child – a day for lovers, hadn’t Ruby said?

But Henry nods eagerly. “We celebrate Valentine’s Day at school,” he replies, oblivious to Killian’s train of thought. “So I know what I’m doing. And plus, I know my mom – I know exactly what type of candy and treats she likes too.”

At that, Ruby and Henry begin listing off different items that he absolutely needs to get for Emma at rapid fire pace, so quick that Killian can barely keep up. Chocolates, all different types. Candy hearts with words printed on them like sweetie and love and romance. An expensive bottle of wine. Red and pink flowers, with loose rose petals to scatter around. Candles that smell sweet and strong, a delicate gold or silver piece jewellery in the shape of a heart, small teddy bears holding hearts or their arms open for a hug. They’ll have to make sure his ship is appropriately decorated too, with heart and cupid decorations, glittery and bright.

He opens his mouth, ready to cut them off – they are not hanging a cupid up anywhere on his ship if that’s the last thing he does. But before he can speak, the doors open again, and Emma finally steps in.

Her face is flushed with annoyance, and she marches over to them, blowing out a hard breath of air. “If I have to hear Leroy’s voice for one more minute today, I will lose my mind,” she mutters. She pauses, taking in Killian’s expression (which he is sure one of pure bewilderment) and then the grins on Ruby and Henry’s face, and frowns. “What are you all talking about?”

“Nothing,” Ruby and Henry say quickly.

“Just getting your lunch ready,” Ruby adds. “Killian knows your order by heart now.”

Emma smiles at him, the tension between her brow easing and her eyes softening. “Thanks.”

“Of course, love.”

Grinning, Ruby flitters away to get their food. As she brings it back and they start to eat, Killian enjoys his lunch with Emma, as he always does. Henry and Ruby retreat to the other end of the diner, and Killian can’t help but notice their grins and the list they are starting to make between them. He may not know a thing about this Valentine’s Day, but Killian is sure about one thing – he is going to regret getting Ruby and Henry involved in it.

xxxx

The night of February 14th, Emma finishes her shift at the sheriff station and heads over to Granny’s to pick up some takeout. She and Killian have settled into a routine in the last couple of weeks of having dinner together Thursday nights on his ship. She ducks Granny’s, a takeaway bag in her fist, waving in departure to Ruby’s wink and suggestive comment to have fun with Killian tonight.

Before reaching the docks, Emma makes a short stop at the corner store to grab some snacks for after dinner. She’s made it her mission to introduce Killian to the food of this world, and that, of course, includes junk food. His palate is still mostly rooted in salted fish and hard bread, and there are some processed sweets that absolutely do not agree with him. But they have found a few things that both of them can agree on other than Granny’s takeout, which seems to satisfy the taste buds of anyone from any realm.

Emma picks up some chips and a bag of cheddar popcorn – a new favourite for Killian, they’ve discovered – and then heads to the front desk to pay. However, she pauses by the greeting card section, bright red cards for Valentine’s catching her eye.

At breakfast this morning with Henry, he had reminded her, in his blunt and not so subtle way, that it was Valentine’s Day today and had she gotten Killian anything yet? She’d laughed and ruffled his hair, telling him to mind his own business, though it had gotten her thinking.

She hasn’t got him anything, because, well, she’s never had anyone to buy a Valentine’s Day card for before. It just wasn’t on her mind as something she should do. She’s only been in one serious relationship during the month February before, and her and Neal weren’t really the couple to get each other mushy cards with funny animal puns or an elaborate poem that would take up multiple paragraphs.

Besides, she doubts Killian has any idea what Valentine’s Day is or that they even had an equivalent in the Enchanted Forest. She’s noticed him staring at the decorations around town, his brow furrowed, and she keeps forgetting to explain it to him.

(Okay, that’s not quite true; Emma has thought about explaining it, but she doesn’t know how to, not when it’s a day about romance and that could mean mentioning the word love or feelings or something along those lines and Emma does not want to go there.)

Emma turns away from the cards, but then pauses, Henry’s words echoing in her mind.

Have you got anything for Killian yet? It is Valentine’s Day, Mom! He is your boyfriend, right?

Well … she supposes he’s got a point. While Henry’s idea of Valentine’s Day is still mired in innocence, mostly of candy and mandatory valentines’ cards exchanged between classmates, the sentiment behind the holiday finally feels like something she can get behind. Getting something for some you lo-care about, a day to show how much someone means to you? Alright, fine. She can do that.

Especially seeing as he almost died a few weeks ago … nothing like a brush with death to put things into perspective.

So, with her arms full of chips and popcorn and praying no one like Regina or her parents pop in to see her and make some knowing or snide comment, Emma turns back to the greeting card section.  

The Valentine’s Day cards are the most prominent given the current date; the cards are mostly glittery and pink and truly revolting if she’s being honest with herself, but she forces herself to look through them, searching for the least offensive card she can find. There are many that make her anxiety soar or cringe with second hand embarrassment – no cards with the word love, she thinks firmly, or ones that profess undying devotion (nothing with the word dying either, not after the incident with Gold and Killian’s heart a few weeks ago).

Finally, one catches her eye. It’s pale pink, devoid of glitter or the dreaded L-word. Emblazoned on the front is a boat floating through a sea of crimson hearts, the inscription inside reading You Float My Boat underneath a picture of the same ship, its sails unfurled to that the main sail is a bright red heart.

She snorts, but it’s perfect. Not too cheesy (compared to the some of the others, at least), maritime related, no mention of anything too serious, and if anything, hopefully something will make Killian laugh.

After paying for her items, and borrowing the clerk’s pen to sign her name on the card and write Killian’s name on the envelope, Emma heads out to the docks. It’s a cool evening, and as she approaches the ship, all is quiet on deck.

“Killian?” she calls as she boards. “Are you here?”

“Down below, Swan!”

She slips the card into her jacket’s large inner pocket before she moves to join him in his cabin. As she climbs down the ladder, unable to see the cabin until her head clears the deck, she says, “I got us some chips, and that cheddar popcorn you like – what the hell happened in here?”

The cabin is utterly unrecognizable. The lighting is dim, as usual, but instead of being lit by lanterns, there are countless candles around the cabin, low and flickering. The neat collection of maps and books on the centre table has been replaced by several bouquets of scarlet and pale pink roses, bowl upon bowl of candy hearts, a stack of chocolate boxes, and several bottles of wine. There are more flowers and rose petals around the entire cabin, with heart streamers wrapped around the chairs and taped to the bookcases. It looks more like a cabin you’d see in one of those cheesy love cruises than the sleeping quarters of a dreaded pirate captain.

“What – what is all this?”

Killian, who is standing at the bottom of the stairs, extends his hook to help her down the last few steps of the ladder. In the dim light it’s hard to see his expression, but when he speaks his voice is tinged with embarrassment.

“I was told this is the norm for Valentine’s Day in your land, but now I see that Henry and Ruby have certainly taken advantage of my naivety surrounding your realm’s holidays …”

At once, it all falls into place. That day at the diner, Henry and Ruby’s strange behaviour then and today, Killian’s bewilderment. She should’ve known that they were up to something, especially with Henry’s pressure this morning. It’s a little over the top, and she can definitely see Ruby and Henry’s influence in this, but the fact that Killian allowed the pair of them to bring all this stuff into his ship and make it up in this way, without knowing anything about the holiday, well … it’s seriously one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for her.

Killian is still talking, something about how Ruby and Henry are responsible for all this and he’s sorry if it’s too much, when Emma steps forward, interrupting his rambles by pressing a firm kiss to his lips. She drops the chips as she wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her as he does the same.

“I love it,” she says against his mouth, and then pulls away to look at it all again. They move towards the table together, admiring the chocolates and the candy, and Killian’s expression shifts into one of mischief, his eyes dancing.

“Even the extravagance of candy hearts?” he asks teasingly, gesturing to the numerous bowls. “I must confess, I had one earlier and nearly broke a tooth.”

Emma laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Even the rock-hard candy hearts.”

He grins, and then picks up one of the loose roses from the table and hands it to her, bowing his head slightly in reverence. “For you, love. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She takes it from him, smiling at the memory of when he’d last given her a flower, at their first date, and then pulls the envelope from her jacket pocket, thankful that she listened to Henry and got him something too. It’s far less than all this, but she hopes he’ll love it anyways.

“I have something for you too. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Killian’s eyes brighten, and he quickly opens the card, delicately ripping the top of the envelope with his hook. He laughs as he sees it, delighted, and he kisses her again.

“Thank you, love. I take it ‘float my boat’ is a good thing?”

Emma grins and nods. “The best.”  

They wrap their arms around each other, and Emma glances back to the cluttered table, grinning, her earlier apprehensions around Valentine’s Day and what it means and feelings and all that put to rest – maybe this holiday isn’t so bad after all.

[cystali]

BNHA Halloween Opinions

I am not super into Halloween, but the season did make me think about whether or not these characters would be. SO! Have another batch of BNHA headcanons! (I am particularly fond of All Might’s.) Feel free to add some thoughts, or maybe some people I did not do! I hope you enjoy these.

Midoriya Izuku is a nerd. He is the biggest hero fanboy out there, and his All Might costumes are well known in his complex. Does he stop when he gets into elementary and middle school? Yes. After that day they went to the doctor, after he was deemed useless, he still tried, but his neighbors gazes’ lingered, pitying or disgusted. He stops by middle school, almost ashamed. But by gosh he loves Halloween, remembering the days before when he was able to be whoever he wanted when he was little, and he encourages any and all Halloween celebrations in UA after he realizes that maybe dressing up as his favorite people isn’t actually all that bad. He isn’t actually unworthy of it.

Uraraka is a Halloween fan, but not super into it. She loves the cheap bargains on bulk packages of candy, and she really likes the cute costumes! But spending money on a holiday without any underlying purpose? Not her thing. So she sits and watches horror movies with her friends, thoroughly enjoying watching Midoriya startle at all the jumpscares, and munches on candy if and when someone’s up to share.

Iida Tenya is rigid, following rules to the letter unless for some reason he can’t. Halloween is a time when teenagers and adults alike break the law and go wild. It is a time to unwind, to have fun with friends, and Iida has those now, has ones he wants to keep. Even still, he certainly doesn’t like it, not one bit, no sir, so if he maybe sneaks bowls of candy and little fake pumpkins around the dorms when the holiday gets close, no one suspects a thing.

Todoroki didn’t celebrate Halloween when he was little, though Fuyumi (and at times Natsuo) tried her best. Candy was a waste of caloric intake. It soiled his body. Why play dress up when he could be training? Todoroki didn’t celebrate Halloween - but now, he finds he does. It doesn’t seem like his thing, at first, and even after he definitely doesn’t become quite as avid a fan of it as Tokoyami, Kaminari, or even Midoriya, but Midoriya’s form of persuasion always seemed to work on him. He finds he is alright - more than alright - with wasting some caloric intake and putting on a witch hat or fake fangs if he is doing it with the rest of 1-A, with his friends.

Kirishima isn’t... the biggest fan of Halloween. It’s gotten better, after he dyed his hair and got rid of most of his insecurity, but still it lingers. Halloween is a time to dress yourself up as someone new, and that should be an attractive idea to him all things considered. But it isn’t. Halloween is a time to stand out, to have people look at you, to make your costume worth seeing, to make yourself better by not being yourself. Yeah, he still likes the candy and the jovial atmosphere of being with his friends, but he doesn’t dress up, not yet. He wants to be seen as himself a little while longer.

Bakugou is confident in who he is, confident in who and what he likes, so he by no means denies his Halloween feelings. He loved Halloween, and still does, but it’s different now. He used to dress up, eat candy, and stay up a little later every year without fail, but now he has his body and career to think of, and he likes being well-rested and free from stomachaches. So he snatches a few pieces of candy from Deku’s personal stash and scares Pikachu in the hallways by exploding his dumb costume’s tail, true to the season, but he doesn’t dress up as All Might anymore, his childhood costume hung up in the back of his closet. 

Tsuyu has a lot of younger siblings, and if you think she wasn’t the one taking them to her neighbors’ as soon as she was old enough, you are dead wrong. She doesn’t have to do that at the dorms anymore, but she enjoyed having that time with her siblings. So instead, she leaves fly shaped hard candies in a large bucket outside their dorm building, happy to play into the stereotype, and watches for students passing by.  (Uraraka, despite not being super into it, definitely helps Tsuyu with her Halloween traditions. She respects the familial meaning behind them, and she wants her to be happy.)

Tokoyami - do I even need to say it? This boy loves Halloween, no holds barred, and by gosh he will celebrate it enthusiastically. Shoji and Kouda get pulled into his shenanigans, helping him decorate the dorms with realistic fake spiders, cobwebs, jack o’ lanterns, fake gravestones, and anything they can find. (Aside from severed limbs. Shoji didn’t have to remind them.) Their decorating escapades are only stopped when they, in a Halloween-induced haze, thought a blanket-wrapped Aizawa was a long, oddly-shaped cushion and wrapped him in cobwebs, fake spiders, and fake blood. It wasn’t their best moment.

Yaoyorozu likes Halloween to a certain degree. On the one hand, everyone appreciates her quirk with increasing enthusiasm this time of year, but on the other hand, she gets very tired very quickly when Kaminari asks her to make him a Pikachu costume for the fourth time. Where do the other ones even go? So no, she does not enjoy the holiday very much, but seeing everyone dress up and unwind for a little while makes it worth it. They have all gone through a lot, without that many breaks to soften the blows, and if they rely on her for this happiness, then she supposes she is alright with it. She finally has a role, and she loves being able to fill it. She’ll just have to impose a limit on how many Pikachu costumes one person can have. (The answer is four. No more.)

Shinsou never liked Halloween as a kid. At first, he tried to dress up as who he wanted to be, as All Might, as Eraserhead, as a hero - he even tried to dress up as a cat one year. But each time, he heard someone say something about it. It was ironic, the hero costume. Who is he even trying to be? But cats are so... cute. Dressing up stopped appealing to him, eventually. But Midoriya and the rest of the hero kids kept saying he might good dressed like Aizawa (an opinion vehemently supported by Todoroki, for some reason) or a mummy, or a hammer (suggested by Tetsutetsu), or even a kitten. And while he doesn’t go so far as dressing like Aizawa, much to Todoroki’s disappointment, Kaminari does manage to get him into some cat ears and Sharpie-drawn whiskers. Somewhere among the chaos, Shinsou enjoys himself. (Kaminari calling him cute might have contributed to that.)

Aizawa likes the idea of Halloween. Dressing up and eating sweets might be childish, but most of the people in his life are children on some level, and besides, it could be fun for some people. It’s the reality of Halloween that he doesn’t like. Villains tend to be more active on Halloween, especially at night, and that is when Aizawa is at his best. He stops kidnappings and other atrocities, as well as lighter crimes, and the emotional energy of seeing and handling it all exhausts him. When he goes to check on the dorms on the way to his room, he is only emotionally ready to do a head count and go to bed. Especially after the Tokoyami incident. He thinks both All Might and his kids sense this, because they ply him with sweets (as well as a startlingly large amount of juice packs and mysteriously, a small fake pumpkin), but they usher him to sleep. At first that just makes him plain suspicious, but Midoriya’s earnest eyes and Shinsou’s dry brand of concern convince him to go. His kids, as dumb as they were, made him smile sometimes.

All Might finds Halloween endearing. Before his deflated form was revealed, he spent his time at events on Halloween, handing out candy to small children dressed just like him. He heard all about their dreams and quirks, and he loved that. It was why he did what he did, smiled like he did - he wanted to create hope for the future, and these children were just that. After he was exposed, though, he opts out of some of the events, the thought leaving an acidic taste in the back of his mouth. After all, he was Yagi Toshinori, now. Just Yagi. So, he stays home, and for a little while, he visits Midoriya and the dorm, blatantly avoiding his protege and Aizawa’s knowing stares. But the growing heroes all appreciate getting little suckers with his catchphrase printed on them, even Bakugou, who stares at it in his hands for a while before carefully pocketing it. In the midst of the candy-giving, one of Midoriya’s old All Might costume gets revealed by a mirthful Uraraka (who may or may not have been told about it by Todoroki), and when Midoriya reluctantly pulls the themed jacket on, All Might gets whiplash. He sees Midoriya and sees in him what he saw in the children at all those events, but Midoriya’s version is refined into a maturity that leaves his eyes watery; he sees in his scarred arms and sparkling green eyes a hope for the future that might just stick, with the help of all the people around him. And All Might’s appreciation for Halloween grows a little more.

[makeste]

ITP: speculating on the rest of Deku’s SIXQUIRKS

(cont.) ...working on the basis that each power is an activator type that doesn’t mutate the body or cause you to grow 3 extra libs to use- based on the glimpses we’ve seen of the past wielders they all had normal body types- and that each power will work in tandem with the others to give deku more options without conflicting with each other’s usage.

similarly to how todoroki’s quirk combines the temperature manipulation needed to generate fire and ice and uses that to offset the drawbacks of each power usage on the other, I think these powers will all interlink somehow into one large powerset that lets deku rapidly switch between fighting styles based on the situation and whether he has to focus on fighting or rescuing- for example, we’ve seen how Deku fights with just the strength boost- using it to increase his speed and recently, fire wind blasts, but when he uses that in tandem with Black whip, he can suddenly create black webbing that lets him hold and restrain his opponents, letting manoeuvre around the battle field with more mid-air control than he did before, and potentially letting him throw them into buildings if he boosts the strength of the tendrils- we saw 20% was enough to throw him around like a ragdoll and tear up the surroundings even with him trying to actively supress it. With that in mind I think some of the powers he may have would be

(1) black whip webbing- no-brainer, since we already saw this- but if he controls it more, he may be able to leave constructs of the restraining tentacles behind that stay active even when not connected to him or in his presence, giving him instant ability to restrain and leave his foe immobilised like spidey does for the cops

(2) combat tentacles- again we saw this, so obvious, but if he still has the tentacles connected to him, he can boost their strength and let him lift and throw opponents or objects even if he’s not physically touching them, plus it may also give me more metaphorical ‘hands’ to punch/restrain his opponents with- this may also be handy for rescue operations letting him lift and safely maneuverer civilians out of the danger zone, or create temporary load-bearing tendrils to lift rubble away from those in need

(3) wall crawl- based on the way black whip plastered itself to the surroundings, if Deku layers it over his hands or body parts, it may allow him to stick to whatever surface or ceiling he applies it to, letting him manoeuvre around the environment like spidey, though it’d probably take more mental control to keep active or to turn off and on to move around, similar to miro’s quirk

(4) defensive capabilities- black whip seemed to cover the whole of Deku’s arm when it was being used, which means it could probably cover more if he pushed it further- I actually have the idea of some kind of black venom/bunny mashup when I imagine the end result of completely covering himself, but regardless, the fact that Black whip can hold and touch stuff means it has physical mass, albeit temporary, so if deku completely covers himself, then he may be able to cushion or soften blows against his body- on those lines, I’m also curious as to how Shigaraki’s decay would work against that- we’ve seen that he can’t affect semi-solid stuff he can’t touch 100% like sand, but we’ve never seen how it does up against energy constructs like a force field or similar- something that’s both solid and lacking a substantial body.

Even if Shigaraki can only count up to 7 right now, I think in future chapters this potential defensive capability could be key to letting Deku fight head-to-head with him- I dunno what makes me so sure of this but I keep thinking their showdowns will somehow include a physical aspect outwith their quirks- we know shigaraki can take some hard knocks, but he needs to be capable of confronting and threating deku’s overwhelming power to demonstrate his own strength as the successor to All For one, much like that last battle nearly had All Might losing in a head-on fight- to me, evil needs to able to match good on it’s own terms to prove it’s a true threat, or there’s always the possibility of the heroes quickly and anti-climatically turning the fight around in an instant if they get the upper hand- the ‘unstoppable force’ of evil needs to prove it can match the power of the ‘immovable object’ of good to bring a sense of danger to the battle.

As for the other’s I’m not so sure, but I do have a few options-

(5) defensive ability- I already kinda covered this with black whip, but this is more of a full-body defensive power like Kirishima’s- I’m thinking Deku hardens his body’s density to the point where attacks shatter and stop against him- though a potential issue with that is that he needs to focus and get in the right state of mind, and initially can’t move whilst using it, also he’s become another copycat of kirishima’s power (sorry dude)- whilst black whip would provide some defence, deku still takes too many hard knocks, and it seems like the high-end nomu’s are being built on a similar power level to OG Nomu, capable of physically wreaking anybody not on all Might’s power level if they get their hands on them. Since All Might, and now Midoira, have a bit of a Superman theme going on, i’m thinking this defensive quirk may let deku imitate the Man of Steel invulnerability for a few seconds to let him keep fighting when realistically the threat’s already liquefied his insides, or he needs to stand in the way of an incoming attack against civilians that he can’t block or deflect, though the drawbacks and stress of maintaining such a power may mitigate it’s usefulness to avoid making him too OP right now

(6) enhanced senses- again, basing this off the superman idea, but deku may gain access to something that enhances all 5 of his sense to superhuman levels, letting him keep track of more of his environment, see different spectrums, and utilises his analysis and predicative fighting style to a greater effect than before, though all 5 of his sense may backfire, if he’s scratched and feels like he’s lost an arm, or get hit with a flashbomb and incapacitated etc

(7) laser eyes- yeah I’m bringing up a lot of superman stuff, I don’t have a large imagination for the potentials beyond what I’ve got right now, but given the energy theme that seems to be common between full cowl and Black whip( it manifested in almost lighting-like black tendrils when he first used it) deku could potentially end up using this power by focusing power in his eyeballs like he does when using All For one on his body parts initially, and getting it to explode outwards as high-energy beams, which can be focused as needed, though using this would temporary blind him due to the intensive light being refracted through his corneas

(8) slow healing- I’m kinda ripping this off from the Dresden Files, but in there it’s explained that Wizards live to a ripe age because their bodies channel magic and are capable of creating absolutely perfect copies of their cells when they get cuts or broken bones letting them heal without scars or damaged limbs, as opposed to inferior copies like our bodies do, resulting in lasting damages piling up over our lifetime- given the damage Deku’s put himself through so far, he’s already in danger of permanently losing his ability to be a hero, so this could potentially mitigate the drawbacks of his reckless fighting style so far, at least in the long run - it’s explained that the healing cant regenerate missing body parts, and can’t be sped up past the speed of normal healing- it’s just keeps healing away at wounds slowly until they’re completely gone, which could take years- the main character gets his hand flame-broiled to the point it’s recommended he amputate, yet several books later he still has the hand and full dexterity, though he’s still got some nasty scarring that’s yet to fade away.

That’s all I’ve got for now, if you can think of any others, or get suggestions for any others, feel free to list them- I’m curious as to what alternative powers you think Deku could use.

---

sounds like fun! I’m gonna pass on the possible-combinations thing because I’m not particularly good at that kind of thing, but I like your suggestions, particularly the wall-crawling one. we all know how much Horikoshi loves his Spider-Man.

but the SIXQUIRKS!! speculation sounds like a great way to put off reading the rest of Vigilantes chapter one (lol I’m sorry guys. I’m making my way through it, slowly; it’s just really long, and I’m having trouble staying focused. but I have started it and I also read the preview chapter already, so I’ll have that post ready in a day or two at least), and I’m sure my answers will all be 100% wrong too, so I look forward to seeing just how wrong they are lol.

a couple of notes on my reasoning process:

I agree with you that all of the quirks will likely be emitter or transformation quirks rather than mutant quirks, since it doesn’t seem likely that Horikoshi will make any dramatic alternations to Deku’s basic appearance. after all, one of his most distinguishing characteristics is (ironically) the fact that he’s ordinary as fuck to look at. since a key aspect of mutant quirks is that they’re impossible to turn on and off, and thus any change would wind up being permanent, I think we can safely rule this out.

I still have no idea what’s going on with the Bakusilhouette, or whether this implies that one of these quirks could potentially be Explosion. but I’m hoping not (because get your own quirks, Deku!!), so I’m gonna leave that off of the list.

there is going to be at least one quirk that lacks any constructive use whatsoever and is basically just comic relief. please Horikoshi. I need this.

lastly, Horikoshi is going to have to be very careful to keep Deku from becoming overpowered. he can keep things in check for the most part just by making the powers difficult to control, but even so he’s going to have to be smart about it. we can have one or two more badass powers, maybe, but if all five are as awesome as Blackwhip, Horikoshi is going to end up writing himself into a corner real fast. the last thing you want is for your protagonist to be able to solve every single problem with barely the slightest effort. so for this reason I’ve done my best to keep the rest of the SIXQUIRKS as balanced as I can manage.

now on to it!

  1. flying quirk

listen guys. if this doesn’t happen Deku will be fucking heartbroken. he wants to be up in the air so bad. he wants to get away. he wants to flyyyyyy away. yeahhhhh yeahhhhh yeahhhh.

but he really does though. so Horikoshi should just give up and give him an actual quirk for it already so he can stop mooching off of all of his friends’ flying abilities and slingshotting himself off of temporarily elastic steel beams.

 2. spidey-sense

disclaimer: this is not my original idea. @interstellar-elf sent me an ask like months ago suggesting this and I think it’s perfect tbh.

I think this one is all but guaranteed. it’s relevant to heroing but not too OP; it pays homage to Horikoshi’s favorite hero of all time (because he hasn’t paid him enough homage already lol); and the power itself has always been a great way of adding dramatic tension to a scene. it’s both useful and highly cinematic -- it’s basically carte blanche to throw in as many close calls and near-death escapes into a scene as you can manage. really, is there anything more shounen than coming within a hair’s breadth of dying horribly but somehow surviving to tell the tale? that’s what spidey-sense really is at the end of the day.

 3. psychic shield/immunity

first of all before I continue, this seems like a great time to post another long-unanswered ask from @interstellar-elf!

the problem with psychic powers is that they do tend to be overpowered as hell, though, and given that Deku already has a ton of awesome quirks, that makes me wary of giving him any kind of psychic abilities on top of that.

but! I think there is a workaround for this, which is to give him powers that only work as a defense against other people’s psychic attacks! you know, kind of like Occlumency in Harry Potter, where you can stop someone from reading your mind. or like the power to shake off someone else’s mind control -- oh, wait.

(and then later on...)

hmmmmmm.

I’m not saying Deku already has this power, mind you. but I’m also not not saying that. it would fit, basically.

 4. the ability to create extremely specific and totally useless objects at will

okay so remember how I said I’m placing my bets on at least one “joke” quirk that’s basically useless aside from being used for comedic purposes? so I racked my brain for a bit and this is what I came up with. I just think it would make for a really great visual gag if Deku all of a sudden started making a bunch of stuffed kitty tsums out of nowhere and had no control over it and everyone was like, “DEKU WHAT THE FUCK” and he was like “I’M SORRY I DON’T KNOW EITHER I CAN’T STOP IT” and there are just kitty tsums everywhere, just strewn all over the damn place, and for a while every time he panics over something it’s like BOOM! KITTY TSUM. and Bakugou is like “DEKU YOU ASS, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GOT MULTIPLE FUCKING QUIRKS, WHICH IS FUCKING UNHEARD OF, AND YOU WENT AND WASTED ONE OF THEM ON THIS BULLSHIT” and Deku’s like “I LITERALLY HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER IT’S NOT LIKE I PICKED THEM OUT OF A CATALOG” and Bakugou’s like “AT LEAST PICK SOMETHING ORIGINAL ASSHOLE, PONYTAIL GIRL ALREADY HAS THE OBJECT-MAKING QUIRK FOR FUCK’S SAKE” and Deku is like “ARE YOU BREAKING THE FOURTH WALL” and Bakugou is like “HAH?” and so on and so forth.

bonus points if the quirk actually ends up saving their lives later on in some really stupid way.

 5. super-op time-stopping quirk that can only be used under Extremely Rare and Specific Circumstances

okay so for the fifth and final quirk, I wanted something that actually is outrageously, insanely powerful and a huge upgrade. but as a check to keep it from getting too out of control, I think it should be something that can only be used if the circumstances are exactly right. like he can only do it during a full moon, or once every six months, or only if he knows the exact year, month, date, and time the target was born, or something ridiculous like that. maybe not quite that specific, lol. but you get the idea.

basically I’m looking for something he can only use once or twice in the entire series, but when he does it’s a game-changer. and time-fuckery seems like the best bet as far as game-changing goes. we have not had any time-fuckery quirks yet precisely because they’re so absurdly powerful, but at the same time, you can’t just write a manga about superheroes and not have someone with a fucking time quirk at some point. it’s gotta happen. you’ve gotta do it. so you might as well do it with the main character then. you’ve all seen that one scene from X-Men: Days of Future Past? technically that’s a super-speed quirk, but hey, same difference. but yeah, to avoid plot holes Deku can only do it during a planetary alignment for thirty seconds at midnight or some shit.

 so that’s all five! tbh the only one I have even the remotest bit of confidence in is the spidey sense one, because it just ticks a number of boxes that are too good for Horikoshi to pass up. but for the rest I really have no idea; I hope and expect to be completely taken by surprise. 

but I will forever have an AU headcanon now where Deku develops a Kitty Tsum quirk and is just. sitting in a big ol pile of these things like Captain Fucking Kirk while everyone is like “SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK DEKU” sob.

[joelyjo]

Fic - Everything in its Place

Author: joelyjo

Rating: Strong R (sex and birth)

Summary: Scully is determined that the new baby will be born at home. Will it be peace and calm and everything in its place? Or will it be drama-filled all over again?

Author’s Notes: Written for the Nursery Files Labour (Sorry, I can’t bring myself to miss out the U) Day challenge, although it’s a bit late because I’m a bit rubbish at deadlines. Any feedback is very welcome. I’m fairly new to the fandom on tumblr, if not to writing, and eager for anything, be it positive or negative! Thanks, all.

 Tagging: @marinafrenzy and @today-in-fic

 William came into the world like a storm. When Scully thinks back to that night in Democrat Hot Springs, all she remembers is the white-hot pain and the burn of anxiety. She’d never felt more alone in a room full of people. Never been so terrified.

This time, she is adamant. It will be a peaceful birth. It will be at home and she will have Mulder with her through every contraction and every push. She tells her doctor all this and he listens, calmly and patiently.

“It’s lovely that you have such a clearly outlined birth plan, Dana. But you must remember that babies come when they are ready and things rarely go to plan. Be prepared for your plan to get shot all to hell.”

Scully sees Mulder looking from the doctor to her and back again and can read his thoughts like an open book. He does not fancy this doctor’s chances at appealing to Scully’s sense of reason and logic. “Mulder,” she says, pre-empting his interjection. “You know this is what I want.”

“Oh, I know it, Scully.” He glances again at the doctor, their gazes conspiratorial. She knows they will speak when he can get her out of earshot. Well, let them plot, she thinks. She will have this baby at home and everything will be in its place.

Six weeks before her due date, she begins to nest. The house is cleaned from top to bottom. She gets down on her knees and scrubs things that haven’t been scrubbed in decades, turns out cupboards and drawers, vacuums until she breaks the vacuum. Mulder tries to help, but most of the time his efforts end in him failing to meet her exacting standards and giving up before they come to blows over the right way to fold tiny onesies and stack diapers.

Her mood is alternately calm and zen then raging like a hurricane. She can’t sleep properly, can’t get comfortable in any position… and, just when she thinks things are at their nadir, they have a heatwave. July sun pounds down on the house and every room is hotter than hell. She curses Mulder for not fixing the AC and casts him from the house to find an engineer, but every engineer in the state is booked up for weeks. So instead she basks in front of a desk fan, takes to wandering the house in her underwear. Mulder stares and spends the week trying to hide a series of persistent erections. She is almost ready to climb into the refrigerator when the heat breaks in a massive thunderstorm that lasts most of the night.

In the morning, he brings her coffee and rye toast in bed and she feels like a different woman. She realises why when she stands naked before the bedroom mirror and sees that the baby has dropped. Mulder comes from behind her and wraps his arms around her, his big hands cupping the massive watermelon of her abdomen. “I can breathe again, Mulder,” she tells him, almost dizzy with the rush of oxygen. He smiles and kisses her neck.

“Not long now,” he murmurs and she smiles back at him. She is ready.

But nothing happens. Days pass and her due date approaches. Her bad mood returns and Mulder does his best to keep out of her way. Even that is not enough, though, and one day she follows him into work, waddling down to the basement to complain about the mess and try to take over his latest investigation. Skinner finds them arguing an hour later and nothing can hide the expression that passes across his face when his eyes fall on her swollen belly.

“Agent Scully, what are you doing here?”  His voice is full of concern, but there’s just enough chastisement to make her blood boil. She rounds on him.

“This is my office. I can be in it if I wish… sir.”

Skinner glances at Mulder and the two men share a beleaguered look. Scully’s fury mounts. She is standing behind the desk, her hands on her hips, and she knows she is more intimidating than an angry bull.

It takes them two hours to convince her to go home.

Two days later, the midwife comes to the house. Her name is Joy and she is a sweet, middle-aged Hispanic lady with amazing hair and a no-nonsense manner. She wastes no time at all in scoping out the house, sizing up where to place the birthing pool, the foetal monitor, the weighing scales, the gas cylinders. Scully is heartened by her professionalism and tells Mulder how pleased she is that they found the extra $500 for a nurse-midwife. “It’s not that I’m expecting anything to go wrong,” she tells Joy. “I’m a medical doctor myself and I’ve done this in somewhere with no electricity and no running water.” She leaves out the bit about being surrounded by alien witnesses. Joy may appear no-nonsense, but that detail is likely to send her packing. “But I am glad you are going to be here.”

“It’s nice that you’re happy and feel secure, Miss Scully,” Joy replies. “But I want you to remember that birth is a funny old game. It happens when it happens and how it happens can be anybody’s guess. Be prepared to find yourself back in the hospital because I won’t allow anything to happen that puts you or your baby at risk.”

Mulder nods in the background.

That evening, they fire up the grill and Mulder cooks steak and spicy vegetable kebabs. Afterwards, they sit together on the porch swing in the gathering darkness and watch the night insects crowding around the lamps. Mulder cradles her belly, rubbing gentle circles over the taut skin and Scully finds herself softening with his touches. “I’m sorry if I’ve not been very easy to live with these last few weeks,” she confesses.

Behind her, Mulder chuffs out a laugh. “I think I preferred being dead.”

She scowls at him and bats his bicep with her hand. “I’m huge, my feet are so swollen I can barely get my shoes on, my whole body aches, I want to pee constantly, I can’t get comfortable, I can’t sleep but I’m so tired. It’s enough to put anyone in a bad mood.”

“Yeah,” says Mulder ruefully. “I guess I never thought about it before. I didn’t really pay attention last time – there were other things on my mind.”

“I know.”

She twists and leans up to kiss him. He is warm and there is the lingering taste of spices on his breath. “I love you,” she says against his mouth. He doesn’t reply, but he takes her face in his hands and kisses her thoroughly and she hears him anyway.

Three days later, she wakes with backache and an odd feeling in her abdomen. It’s not pain, as such, but a kind of tightness. She goes to the calendar and crosses off the previous day, a habit she got into around 30 weeks and mulls the sensation over. Her due date is tomorrow. The day after Labor Day. She can’t remember clearly feeling anything similar before, but then, she muses, everything happened so fast towards the end that, like Mulder, she didn’t notice much of anything with any focus.

She showers and dresses while he goes out for a run, setting some coffee to brew when she thinks he’s been gone about his usual time. Taking her own mug of green tea out onto the porch, she unfolds one of the loungers and is dozing in the sunshine when he bounds up the porch steps, sweaty and breathing hard. He greets  her with a kiss and a cheerful, “Enjoying the holiday weekend, Scully?”

She opens one eye and regards him critically. “Ugh. Go shower and then we’ll talk. There’s coffee in the pot.”  

He nods, grins and withdraws upstairs. A moment later she hears the water start in the bathroom, then some time later, he returns in chino shorts and a tank, hair wet and with the scent of shower gel on his skin. He hoists himself up and perches on the porch rail with the kind of nimbleness that makes Scully ache with jealousy. Sitting there with his tanned, muscular limbs on show he looks all of twenty-five instead of fifty-something. “It’s Labor Day, the weather’s great,” he says. “What shall we do?”

“Have a baby?” she suggests.

“Well, yeah, there is that,” he agrees with a grin. “But what if baby’s not playing ball?”

Scully sighs. She is done with being pregnant, done to the point that any activity other than giving birth seems an unattractive option.

“I know you’re sick of this, Scully,” he says.

She makes a face. “No kidding, Mulder.”

“Yeah… No kidding. But is it better to be sick of it stuck indoors sniping at each other or sick of it outside in the sunshine with a chance of being distracted?”

Considering his suggestion, she thinks that she could quite easily hunker down here on the lounger for the rest of the day, but she can see the look in his eyes and knows that if she chooses that, he might just go anyway, without her, and that she absolutely does not want. “Okay,” she agrees.

“A walk and an ice-cream at Burke Lake?”

The idea surprises her with how good it sounds. “Yeah… Okay. You’re going to have to help me tie my shoes though.”

The lake is glorious in the early September sunshine and after she manoeuvres herself out of the car, she has to stand a moment, flexing the muscles in her back and admiring the expanse of twinkling water. Scully wonders briefly why he chose here, of all the places he could’ve picked, but can’t put her finger on a reason why. The place is sort of familiar and she figures she must have visited before with her family or maybe with Daniel or Jack – it’s the kind of place you might come with a romantic partner. He comes to stand behind her and looks out at the lake too. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” She nods. “You up for a short walk, then?”

There are other people here, but it is not as busy as she imagined it would be, so they set off on one of the flat, easy trails along the lakeside. She feels huge and ungainly and walks so slowly she is sure Mulder must be frustrated, but he seems content to fall into pace beside her. She reaches for his hand and he takes it, interlocking their fingers and then smiling down at her, his eyes obscured by sunglasses. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

They walk for a mile or so, then she has to stop. Her back is still aching and although she had thought the exercise might have helped it, it doesn’t seem to have had that effect. She perches on a boulder and rolls her shoulders, stretching herself out. Mulder leaves her alone and jogs down to edge of the river to skim stones across the gently lapping surface. “Hey,” she shouts after a few moments. “You promised me ice-cream!”

He turns and grins up at her. “I sure did, Scully. You want to head back?”

“I want ice-cream.”

On the way back to the car, Scully spots a picnic area and a kiosk selling snacks and ice cream and instructs Mulder to make good on his offer. While he goes to fulfil his duty, she wanders vaguely amongst the empty wooden tables then beyond through the parkland. She finds a shady spot beneath a tree and eases herself down onto the grass, feeling a little like a camel trying to get its awkward limbs folded in just the right way. Mulder returns with two enormous cones of ice-cream drizzled in strawberry sauce and drops down beside her. They sit and eat in silence for a while, then Mulder pauses and frowns. “You are sure about this home birth thing, aren’t you?”

She blinks and turns to him. She had guessed this was coming, in fact, she’s surprised he hasn’t said something already. It’s felt like he’s been holding back since Joy visited. “It’s just… If I’d had to place a bet on where you’d want to have this baby, it wouldn’t have been our lounge.”

She is half a breath away from snapping at him, tired and defensive as she is, then stops herself. Instead, she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Mulder, when William was born, I was surrounded by aliens, in a place I’d never seen before, with nobody I loved nearby. It was the most frightening experience of my life.” Mulder’s face is still, but his eyes are locked on hers. “I don’t know why I’ve been given this second chance, why we’ve been given this, but I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that things are as far removed from that first experience as I can make them. So I don’t want a roomful of people, and a strange hospital suite. I want home…” She reaches out to take his hand in hers. “And us.”

“Even if it’s dangerous?”

“There’s no reason to think that it will be dangerous,” she assures. “I’m fit and healthy, all the scans have shown the baby is fit and healthy too. We have Joy. We’re not hundreds of miles from civilisation with an alien threat hanging over us. I’ve done this before.”

He stares at her for a long time, then starts to nod. She smiles as she realises he is acquiescing to her wishes and squeezes his hand. He returns the gesture and then places his hand on her belly, palm flat, and holds it there. Scully watches him, remembering another time when he touched her in the same way, when she lay in a hospital bed and neither of them was sure about anything. “Home,” he says, and his voice is rough with emotion. “Us.” He leans in to kiss her, softly at first, then with a growing passion.

Breaking away, she looks around them. It is quiet but still a public place, and she can hear the distant sounds of children whooping and yelling down by the lake, the hum of a motorboat. The sun glints off faraway car windows. She hunkers closer to him and presses her mouth to his neck. “You know,” she murmurs against his skin, “they say that one of the most reliable ways to bring on labour is to have sex.”

Mulder pulls back and regards her amusedly. “Here?” She arches her brows. “My, my, Dana Scully, what has got into you? I’m not objecting, but…” Her hand closes around his crotch and his breathing hitches. “But… wow. You must really be sick of this.”

“You have no idea, Mulder,” she tells him and kisses him again. Desperation has made her bolder than she’s ever been and right now, she couldn’t care less if her priest spotted her across the parking lot.

“I’ll warn you now, Scully, I’ve had several fantasies about this.”

He bites her lip and watches, looking somewhat punch-drunk, as she straddles him, the fabric of her dress stretching and rucking up so her knees are revealed.  “Tell me about them,” she commands, and grinds down on him. Mulder’s answering groan is like fire coursing in her blood. Sex has been the last thing on her mind for months but suddenly she is consumed with aching desire. She wants him and she wants him bad.

Mulder rubs his hands up and down her thighs. “You really want to know?”

“I do,” she replies. She is rocking herself against his leg now, and she can see him through his shorts, hard like a bar. Her hands are on his button. It is crazy that she’s contemplating fucking him right here, in a public park, but her entire body seems to be humming with need for him.  

“I’ll be honest, Scully,” he says, breaking her train of thought. “Doing it outside hasn’t been in that many fantasies of mine. But…” He glances around them, listening dog-like a moment. “Making love to you somewhere where we might get caught… Now we’re talking. That one has always been high on my list.”

She’s hot now and can feel herself throbbing with eagerness. She slides his zipper down and reaches in to feel him, stroking hard from root to tip. His eyes flutter closed a moment. “Have we ever been caught?” she asks. “In these fantasies of yours?” He lifts himself and she undresses him so that he’s free. A moment later and her hand is on his cock, skin to skin, and she revels in the way his face changes. She is pretty sure she could ask him to deny that aliens exist in this moment and he’d lurch to his feet and shout it as loud as his lungs could make him.

“I did once imagine that Skinner caught us,” he says, his words made breathless by what she’s doing to him. “But all I could see after that was his face and it kind of ruined it for me. So, no, let’s say not.” He thrusts into her hand. “Is there anybody about?”

“Not a soul,” she tells him with a smile and eases up his body. His hands reach and pull aside her panties so he can push inside her. “Now shut up and fuck me, Mulder.”

And he does.

Later, they lie curled up together in the haze of orgasmic bliss, alternately kissing and dozing. He strokes her belly and teases for more until she has to push him away because her back is driving her mad now. He pouts a little, but relents and uses the rejection to rise to his feet, button himself back up and stretch. “Why here, Mulder?” she asks him as he holds out his hand and pulls her to standing. “It’s lovely, but there were lots of other places we could have gone – fireworks displays, outdoor parties, concerts…”

They start to walk back towards his car.  

“You don’t remember, Scully?”

“Remember what?”

“Long time ago… eighteen years ago, actually. I came here on a lead. There’d been a bigfoot sighting in the woods on the other side of the lake – it was a load of bull, but it was something to do on a Saturday afternoon. And you called me and we talked about stuff. We made arrangements to go for dinner that evening.” He looks down at her, his smile years away and drifting on the recollections of memory. “And when we finished up talking, just before you hung up, you told me you loved me.”

She can’t help the grin that breaks on her face. “So I’ve never even been here before?”

“Well, no, I guess not.”

A laugh burbles out of her. Mulder looks wounded.

“It’s not that funny. It’s a special place to me.”

“Oh Mulder,” she giggles, “that is so perfectly you.”

“The hazards of a eidetic memory…” He holds out his hand and she takes it. “Come on, let’s go home. We can pick up a pizza on the way back.”

They take a detour into DC to get her favourite pizza and while they’re waiting for their order, watch as a fireworks display over the Potomac kicks off. He suggests taking the pizza and going to listen to the National Symphony Orchestra on the West Lawn but she’s been before and so has he and all she really wants now is to get home, take off her too-tight sneakers, put on her pyjamas and feast on garlic stuffed crust double pepperoni and mushroom pizza.

So he takes her home and juggles the pizza in one hand as he offers the other to her to help her out of the car. The light is failing now and after he dumps the pizza on the coffee table, he goes around flicking lamps on while she climbs wearily upstairs to dress for bed.

She’s at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas when she feels a popping sensation in her abdomen and seconds later, fluid pours down her legs and onto the floor. Scully starts and takes a step backwards, gasping involuntarily as she observes the puddle she is now standing in. “Mulder!” she shouts.

“Yeah?” he calls back from the kitchen.

“I need some help here.”

He appears at the bottom of the stairs, beer bottle in hand and frowns up at her. “What’s the matter?”

“Um… I need a cloth, I think.” She looks down at the pool on the floor. She feels a bit dislocated, like she’s hovering above her body and watching rather than actually being here.  

“Oh,” he says, realising. “Okay, um. Yeah.”

Mulder makes a move to go up the stairs, then seems to remember he has a beer bottle in his hand and goes back down, darts into the kitchen and returns with a roll of kitchen towel. Working with an obvious sense of panic, he mops up the pool of fluid then looks up at her. “Are you okay?”

“Mm… Yeah?” She frowns as her abdomen tightens in a clear and obvious contraction. “Ohhh, I think this is it, Mulder.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course it is. I, er… I’ll call Joy. Can you get downstairs okay?”

She nods and, gripping the bannister, she descends slowly. Another contraction hits as she takes the final step and she balks, groaning. Things are happening faster than before, she thinks. That was just about thirty seconds between contractions. She’s about to open her mouth and explain this to Mulder, when he appears in front of her, pale-faced. “Scully, I’m making my panic face. Joy’s not answering. Her phone is going to answer machine. I’ve, I’ve left a message, but I don’t know what else to do. Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

“No!” she barks and Mulder flinches. She does not want an ambulance, because ambulances take you to only one place, the ER, and there is no way she is having this baby on a gurney in the ER. “No,” she repeats, steadier. “Keep trying Joy. She’s maybe out at some kind of party and can’t hear her phone.” Drawing in a deep breath and feeling her uterus relax, she adds, “We’ve got time. This isn’t happening right away.”

Mulder nods. He looks a little lost, which strikes her as vaguely amusing. A man who has faced mutants and alien bounty hunters and serial killers is overcome by the prospect of the birth of his own child. She reaches out a hand and pats his arm in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. “It’s going to be fine, Mulder. We got this.”

“Hm, yeah, you got this, Scully. Me? I’m not so sure. I’ve never delivered a baby before.”

“You won’t have to. Joy will answer her phone soon.”

Her belly tightens again and this time she has to close her eyes with the strength of it. How long was that apart, she thinks. “Mulder, you’ve got to time the contractions. I need to know how far apart they are.”

“Okay. Okay, I can do that.” He pulls up his sleeve and glances at his watch.

“And we need to fill the pool with water.”

Thirty minutes later and the pool is inflated and filling with water. Mulder, happy to have some distraction to keep him busy, is standing over it in a slightly proprietorial manner, watching the water rising up the sides. “You going straight in, Scully?” he asks, turning to see her in the grip of another contraction. She nods, breathing too hard to reply. She’s been walking about the lounge and kitchen, stopping only when contractions hit. Sweat is pearling on her brow and she reaches up a hand to wipe it away. She’s naked but for one of his t-shirts, her hair scraped back in a scruffy ponytail. It’s undignified, for sure, but right now, she couldn’t care less.

She climbs over the side of the pool and sinks down in the water, the t-shirt darkening. It’s warm and soothing and when the next contraction grips her, it feels a little less like she’s being held by a vice. “Have you tried Joy again?” she asks.

“Still the same.”

Scully closes her eyes and wills calm to embrace her. It’s all right, everything is fine, she can do this. Mulder can do this. She does her best not to see the anxiety behind his eyes. “We need to think of what to do if she doesn’t answer.”

Mulder takes a deep breath. “It’s pretty clear what needs to be done, isn’t it? Either I help you, or we call an ambulance. And since you seem quite against the latter option, I guess it’s you and me, Scully.”

She hums her way through another contraction, shifting position in the pool. “It’s not going to be long, Mulder.”

And it isn’t.

Forty minutes later, the contractions are unrelenting and she’s feeling an intense need to push; Mulder is behind her, hands on her shoulders, his voice in her ear, coaxing, urging, breathing with her.

It’s coming.

She can feel it in her very centre.

She shouts his name, gets up on her knees and holds his arms, vice-like, desperate. He’s still as a rock. She leans forward, presses her forehead to his, breathes his air. “Push, Scully,” he tells her. “Come on, you’re doing this. Push.”  

Behind them, the door clicks and in walks Joy, but neither of them notice. With one last, tremendous effort, the baby is born and Scully looks down to see the water blooming pink and twists around. Joy lifts the tiny body from the water and the air is instantly filled with that beautiful sound of a newborn cry. “Here you go, Mama, take your baby.”

Scully brings the squawking, bluish child to her chest and laughs deliriously, her eyes filling with sudden tears. “Oh my God, Mulder, look…”

She looks up at him and the wonder on his face is worth every hardship she’s ever endured. “She’s beautiful,” he whispers. He kisses the top of her head, then with his thumb, strokes the wet, dark hair on the baby’s forehead.

“What you going to call her?” Joy asks from the side-lines.

Their eyes lock. “Ellen,” replies Mulder. “Ellen Margaret.”

“Ellen Margaret Mulder,” Joy repeats. “Born on Labor Day 2018.”

“Kid’s already got a sense of the apt.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” explains Joy, reaching into her bag. “I was at the concert on the West Lawn. It was just by chance that I checked my phone and realised I’d put the ringer on silent. What an ass I am!” She stands with hands on hips beside the pool, smiling down at them. “But look at the three of you! What a bit of teamwork! You going to cut the cord, Dad? Then you can hold her if you like, while I sort Mom out.”

Mulder looks at Scully and smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.” She can tell he’s nervous and that he’s thinking back to that time in her apartment all those years ago, when he first held William, only to have to run and leave him mere days later. For his sake, she wants him to hold this child and never have to let go. She wants it too, but for Mulder, even more.

Joy clamps the cord, waits a moment, then instructs him to cut. “There we go,” she says. “Good job, guys. You’re an independent being now, Miss Ellen. You go on to your Daddy now while we get your Mama all cleaned up.”

Leaning down and taking the naked baby, Mulder wraps her in a soft muslin blanket. He cuddles her into his body and Scully thinks that her heart might explode from the look on his face. She’s seen this scene in her head over and over, in a thousand dreams and daytime fantasies. Sometimes the baby is William, other times she’s been unsure whether the baby is even hers. But every time, it’s been the smile on his lips that has remained with her, long after the rest of the vision has gone. And so she watches, and takes it all in… the silence in the room, the tick of the ancient clock in Mulder’s study, the creak of the floors as he waltzes aimlessly about the lounge, the softness of the light and the gentle sounds of a newborn baby, the murmur of his voice as he breathes words of love in her tiny ear, and as she watches, the undimming smile on Mulder’s face.      

 The End.

[circe-poetica]

Lunar Eclipse July 2019 Astrology

At 24°04′ Capricorn, the July 2019 lunar eclipse is only 2��13′ from the dwarf planet, Pluto, making this an intensely emotional lunar eclipse. The eclipse is square another dwarf planet called Eris by only 0°15′. This suggests the lunar eclipse will expose many dark secrets and bad behaviors. In turn, this will cause conflict and turmoil, and a dramatic transformation in relationships, society, and culture.

Looking at the lunar eclipse July 2019 astrology chart below you will see Saturn is also close to the Moon. But over 7 degrees is a bit too far away to have a noticeable influence, especially considering Pluto is so close to the Moon. Yet Saturn makes two other much stronger aspects worth considering. Venus opposite Saturn is not a good omen for love relationships, but Saturn sextile Neptune brings hope that something good will come from the strife and discord.

There are no major fixed stars within orb of the lunar eclipse but the Sun is closely aligned with fixed star Pollux in Gemini Constellation. This adds an aggressive and destructive Mars-like influence to the eclipse, but I will talk more about the stellar influences later.

Lunar Eclipse Conjunct Pluto

Moon conjunct Pluto brings such deep feelings that they can overwhelm you. A personal interaction or event may trigger a memory or emotion buried deeply in your subconscious. You might even become obsessed about your feelings and have trouble focusing on anything else. Dreams, visions, psychic impressions or intuitive insights may have a profound influence on your mood. Interactions with women will be particularly intense and revealing.

Your intuition may be correct but could obscure your rational thought processes and conscious judgment skills. In relationships, you may have to deal with controlling and manipulative behaviors like jealousy, guilt-tripping, threats, intimidation, violence or self-harm. Transcend your own challenging emotions and behaviors through meditation, self-analysis, or other technique to understand your feelings.

Sun opposite Pluto can bring some sort of crisis with your self-esteem, a relationship or an event. This may be related to abuse of power or due to a self-destructive character trait such as addiction, spying or stubbornness. Events may include the breakdown of an appliance or car, theft or violence.

Avoid being overly assertive, egotistic, or resistant to change. Challenges are more likely if you stubbornly resist change, or have engaged in some habit that is destructive to yourself or others. Even though you may experience a bruised ego, there is also great potential for positives if you are open to change.

Dwarf Planet Eris

The dwarf planet Eris was discovered in January 2005 and named after the Greek goddess of strife and discord. Eris takes 558 years to orbit the Sun, more than double that of Pluto’s 248 years. According to Nick Anthony Fiorenza:

Eris challenges patriarchal authority. As a powerful warrior female force, Eris especially uncovers and challenges patriarchal dominant miss-deeds and acts of misuse of power, especially about male dominance over, or exploitation of, women. Eris takes a stand to reestablish balance to our gender dominance/subservience imbalance by disclosing such discordance… and Eris abhors, will provoke and will challenge the assumption of the reality of a situation when based on false pretense. She provokes change by upsetting the status quo, by upsetting the apple cart. Eris discloses and exposes clandestine affairs, or simply what lies hidden behind innocent but naïve assumptions about reality. She opens our eyes to what is covered by lies, often revealing something deceitful, shameful, ugly, or simply what is unacceptable behavior, often driven from greed or inflated pride. [1]

So Eris square the lunar eclipse and Pluto is going to give more power and influence to the #MeToo Movement. The Sun opposite Moon at a lunar eclipse already highlights differences between masculine and feminine energies. The lunar eclipse will shine a light on abuses of power and all the ugly, cruel, disgusting, immoral, unethical and illegal behavior in society. It especially emphasizes the mistreatment of women by men in positions of power and authority.

Following this lunar eclipse, bad behavior in the domestic and work environment will no longer be tolerated. Annoyance and irritation will turn to aggressive reactions, the exposure of secrets, separations and legal cases. Perpetrators will be shamed, vilified, demoted, fired, fined and imprisoned. Victims will be acknowledged, vindicated, emboldened, promoted and compensated.

Other Aspects of the Lunar Eclipse

Venus opposite Saturn brings sadness and loneliness because of delays and limitations affecting your love life and finances. It makes it harder to give and receive love and affection. Physical or emotional distance can add more strain on love relationships. The best way to show you care is to work hard and do practical things. Try to work out where you are responsible for any relationship difficulties and do some work on self-development. Try to pay off any debts and if you can’t, at least organize them so you know where you stand.

Venus trine Neptune is good for relaxation and daydreaming. It softens the cold Saturn influence and makes it easier to connect through empathy. It heightens your sense of compassion and wishes to serve to others. So Lunar Eclipse July 2019 is good for joining a charity or some other organization to help less fortunate people. This wish to help out may even lead to political activism. Connecting to a companion at the spiritual level will be easier and make up for the lack of affection from Saturn.

Saturn sextile Neptune brings material gain from spiritual pursuits. You can make your dreams come true with hard work and a sensible, realistic approach. You will understand your own limitations but will be optimistic at the same time. Through practical help and spiritual support and encouragement, you can help others follow their dreams. You might become attracted to groups or clubs with similar values or beliefs to your own. These may include churches and other religious or spiritual groups, charities, welfare and support groups, animal rights and environmental causes.

Lunar Eclipse Fixed Stars

Fixed star Pollux (23°28′ Cancer) makes people spirited, audacious and brave. According to George Noonan [2], it portends eminence and renown, while the energy of Mars can be extremely valuable in such areas as war and business and politics. But Elsbeth Ebertin [3] calls it ‘the wicked boy’ of the Gemini twins. It can give a cruel, rash nature with an aptitude for getting into quarrels. Vivian Robson [4] said it gives a love of boxing, dignified malevolence, and is connected with poisons.

Sun conjunct Pollux: Brutal and tyrannical, violent and cruel. [3] Occult and theosophical interests, blows, stabs, serious accidents, shooting, shipwreck, murderer or murdered, extreme sickness and diseases, fevers, ailments affecting the stomach, homosexual, riches, and honor but final ruin, blindness, injuries to head and face, quarrels, rape committed or suffered, banishment, imprisonment for embezzling, violent death, decapitation. [4]

Venus conjunct fixed star Canopus (15°12′ Cancer): Emotional, sensitive, stubborn, strong passions, scandal through an intrigue by which reputation will suffer, public disgrace, bad for gain. [4] Immunity from disease and unrequited love. [2]

Saturn conjunct fixed star Vega (15°35′ Capricorn): Strong passions, opinionated, original, many Mercurial difficulties, reputation suffers through wrongful accusations, trouble with superiors, domestic difficulties, few if any, children, the latter half of life more favorable, sudden death. [4] Deflation of masculine pride. [5]

Summary

The partial lunar eclipse on July 16, 2019, with Pluto, brings intense emotions and compulsive behavior. It brings the potential for a personal crisis revealing deeply buried memories and psychological trauma. Power struggles, abuse of power, manipulation, jealousy, and lies are possible. Dark secrets will be exposed and this is also caused by the eclipse square Eris.

Eris represents the female warrior archetype and strengthens the feminist cause. At the personal level, expect the calling out of sexual abuse and misogyny to result in more criminal cases. At the social and cultural level, the attack on the patriarchal authority will intensify.

Other planetary aspects widen the gap between men and women. But Lunar Eclipse July 2019 also gives hope that empathy and understanding will lead to lasting changes out of the strife and discord. This should result in higher ethical and moral standards, especially regarding the treatment of women in the workplace but also in the domestic environment.

Fixed star conjunctions to the Sun, Venus, and Saturn highlight the unrequited love associated with sexual misconduct, and “wicked” behaviors like brutality, rape, violence and cruelty. The attack on the patriarchal authority will result in a loss of masculine pride. The stars also show scandal through intrigue and the resulting public disgrace and destruction of reputations. However, the Me Too Movement fight against abuse of power will itself be taken advantage of. Reputations will suffer through wrongful accusations.

https://astrologyking.com/lunar-eclipse-july-2019/

[gray-autumn-sky]

Sleepless in Seattle, Chapter 11

May 28, 1993- Seattle, Washington:

He’d had the talk with Emma, and she’d easily admitted that she was okay with keeping things casual. She liked him and she enjoyed his company, but she didn’t want to get in too deep or disrupt his life or put labels on things and try to fit into some traditional role that didn’t really work for either of them.

So he decided that if she was okay with the way things were, so was he.

Or he could be.

Or should be.

But when it came down to it, he wasn’t.

This wasn’t the sort of relationship that he wanted.

He wanted someone who would curl up on the couch with him and Roland and spend an entire day watch The Great Mouse Detective, The Little Mermaid, and The Rescuers Down Under. He wanted someone who would go to Roland’s Cub Scouts activities with him and tell him that giving junk food to children wasn't good idea no matter what Roland said, and would replace pizza rolls with apples and peanut butter. He wanted someone who’d come to him, who’d involve his son on their dates, and someone who wanted to be a mother. He wanted someone who’d fight with him, someone who stood her ground, and someone who he’d have passionate makeup with. He wanted someone who could offer him more, someone he could build a future, someone who would make him fall in love all over again.

Emma had helped him to rediscover parts of himself that he’d forgotten about, and for that, he’d always be grateful--and though it seems cliche and the sort of line you’d give without actually meaning it to soften the blow of a break up, he genuinely hoped they could still be friends.

Now, he just had to figure out a way to tell Emma.

And now that he’d come to this realization, he needed to do it sooner rather than later.

Drawing in a breath, he reaches for the the phone, slowly dragging his fingers through the dial as he tries to figure out what to say--and all he manages to decide doing this over this over the phone probably isn’t his best option.

But, of course, it’s ringing and it’s too late to hang up, so he decides to ask her out for lunch--and then he’ll her over pizza. Nodding, he decides that’s a much better plan, and holds his breath waiting for her to pick up--and for brief moment, he thinks she won’t.

“Hello?” she asks, picking out the phone and sounding both irritated and out of breath.

“Hey, Emma. It’s me… it’s Robin.”

“Oh. Hi.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to grab lunch, but it sounds like I’ve interrupted something.”

“No, no. You haven’t, and an hour ago I would have had plans, but not I don’t.”

His brow furrows. “Oh…”

“My car died. So, I’m stuck here.”

“Oh, were you… going somewhere?” He asks, trying to remember if she mentioned something to him and coming up blank. “Or do you need to be going somewhere?”

“The airport,” she says briskly, still sounding annoyed. “In, like, an hour.”

“Did you… call a cab?”

“Yes! Of course, I did. He never showed.”

“Oh. That’s...that’s weird.”

She sighs. “He was having trouble understanding me. We had a bad connection or something. He probably went to the wrong address and now someone else has my cab.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “Well… I could take you, I suppose,” he says, glancing toward the stairs. “Or well, Roland and I could.”

There’s a long pause, and for a second, it seems like she’s searching for a reason to say no--but then, she offers a tentative-sounding okay and asks if he could get her there by the time her flight takes off--and though he doesn’t have an answer for that, he says he’ll try.

He gets to Emma’s in record time and somehow, miraculously, he gets her to the airport in time.

On the way there, Emma explains that she’s meeting some friends she grew up with, kids who were in and out of foster care, like her, and kids she lived with through her teenage years at a group home. They were the closest thing to family she had, and though she wanted to see them, seeing them always set her on edge a bit.

She left it at that, not explaining anymore, and he could only assume she was on edge because seeing them reminded her of everything she lost and everything she didn’t have. But he didn’t press, he just listened and nodded, and every now and then, glanced in the rearview mirror to check on Roland who never once looked up from his gameboy.

When they reach the gate they exchange hasty goodbye and quickly, without a kiss or a hug, Emma turns and follows the crowd to board. He sighs and looks to Roland who giggles and makes a face. Robin rolls his eyes and drapes his arm around his son’s shoulders, turning him away from the gate and suggesting they grab some chili fries from the food court before heading home--and that’s when he notices her.

He stops dead in his tracks as he watches a woman with shoulder length dark brown hair step into the gate. She has a little boy with her and she’s rummaging through her purse. The little boy says something to her and she looks up at him, laughing--and from where he’s standing, he can hear it, soft and musical--and beautiful as her laugh is, it doesn't compare to the smile that accompanies it.

“Dad, the fries,” Roland whines, tugging on his hand and forcing him to take a step back. “Come on.”

“I just--”

“Dad!”

“One second,” he says, tightening his hold on Roland’s hand as he takes a step forward--and then, before he can take another, a man approaches her, carrying a bouquet of flowers. He slips a hand around her and presses a kiss to her cheek and as she accepts the bouquet, the light catches the stone on her ring--and though it’s completely irrational, he can’t help but feel disappointed.

“Dad! The fries! I’m starving!”

With a sigh, he looks to Roland at his side. “You aren’t starving.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re hungry, not starving.”

“Same difference.”

“No,” he sighs, looking up to steal one more glimpse of the woman at the gate--and again disappointment washes over him when he finds she’s already disappeared into the crowd.

“Daaaad--”

“Okay, okay,” he says, turning back to Roland scooping him up, lifting him onto his shoulders. “Let’s get those fries.”

“Can we get cheese on them, too?”

“Brilliant.”

“And eat them while we watch the planes take off?”

“Even better,” he says, taking one last glimpse into the crowd and searching for her--and feeling one last wave of disappointment washes over him when he realizes that she’s really gone.

____

May 28, 1993- Somewhere above Washington State and Seattle, Washington:

Regina rings her hands nervously as she looks to Henry, watching as he stares out the window, trying to catch his first glimpse of Seattle, and she reminds herself that this trip to Seattle will be totally and completely different from the last.

She’ll be sure of it.

In the nearly two months since her last visit, she had done her best to forget everything about it, including Sleepless in Seattle.

But now that she was on a plane descending into the city of Seattle, suddenly, he was all she could think about--the way he lifted his son onto his shoulder, the way he smiled and laughed as the boy threw the fish back into the water, the way his shirt tightened subtly around his arms.

And that feeling of guilt that she’d lived with since she heard Doctor Hopper’s show on Christmas came rushing back, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

Taking a breath, she nudges Henry, grinning when he looks over at her. “Do you need some gum?”

“I’m good?”

“Are you sure? Once we start dropping down toward the runway, your ears might pop.”

Henry considers it. “What flavor?”

“Spearmint and regular mint.”

“Regular mint,” Henry says, holding out his hand. “Just in case.”

Grinning she hands Henry a stick of gum, watching as he fumbles with the wrapper. “So, what do you want to do when we get to Seattle?”

“Will we have time to do stuff? We’ll only be here like two days.”

“Well, while Daniel’s working, you and I have all that time to ourselves to go sightseeing.”

Henry nods, considering it. “Well, I wanna see the Space Needle,” he says. “And Daniel said I’m not supposed to tell you but he got us tickets to the Mariners game.” A guilty little grin stretches over Henry’s lips as he shoves the gum into his mouth. “So, I guess I wanna do that, too.”

Regina’s eyes narrow. “It’s a secret?”

“Yeah. He got tickets from somebody.”

“Oh--”

“And you’re really excited?” she asks, narrowing her eyes as she remembers the time Leopold tried to take Henry to a Yankees game and half way through, he’d asked Leopold for some money to buy a slice of pizza and called her to pick him up instead. “I thought you didn’t like baseball.”

Henry shrugs dismissively. “He’s excited, so I guess I am, too.”

Regina frowns--that sounds like something she’d say.

“Well, maybe we can figure out some other stuff you want to do,” she says, trying not to dwell too much on all of the ways her own problems have influenced her son. “I’m sure the hotel we’re staying at has some of those brochures advertising different attractions. Maybe you’ll find some things in those.”

“Yeah,” Henry nods as he looks back to the window and smile. “Maybe.”

The captain of the plane announces that they need to make sure they’re in their seats, that their trays are up and that they’re buckled into their seats because in just a few short minutes, they’ll begin their descent into Seattle. Henry shoots her a look and rolls her eyes and she grins, caught red-handed in the lie she’d told him as they boarded the plane in Hartford when she told him he’d have to stay buckled in for the entire flight.

But it doesn't last long because as the plane begins to drop, Henry’s face scrunches up and he covers his ears with his hands--and when she stretches an arm around his shoulders, pulling him as closer as the confines of the plane will allow, he lets her. And as guilty she feels for being glad for her son’s discomfort, it serves the perfect distraction because as the plane touches down her last visit to Seattle and the man she came to see is the furthest thing from her mind.

When the first few rows ahead of them clear out, she reaches into the overhead compartment to grab Henry’s jacket--and when he protests, she points out the planes window, pointing to the gray skies that look like they’re about to bust open. He sighs and puts on the jacket as she grabs their carry-ons--then, drawing in a breath, she takes his hand a pulls him to the gate, laughing as he tries to pop his ears.

“Plug your nose and puff out your cheeks,” she tells him.

“What?”

Laughing she repeats it, then laughs again, as he looks to her as if she’s crazy, but nonetheless, tries it.

“Mom! Mom! I swallowed my gum.”

Her brow furrows as they come out of the gate. “You swallowed it?”

“Yeah, I gulped back some air to get my ears to pop and I swallowed it!” She grins as his eyes widen a little, completely unaware that he’s yelling. “Am I gonna get sick?”

“No.”

“But Mal told Lily if she eats her gum, it’ll stay there forever and twist around her organs and--”

“You’ll live,” she cuts in, shaking her head and laughing softly. “And your organs will be just fine.”

“But will it live in my stomach forever?”

“No,” she tells him, her voice dropping an octave. “You’re gonna poop it out.”

For a moment, Henry just stares at her with wide eyes, a slack jaw. and rosy cheeks, horrified that she’s talking about his poop in public and watching as she fishes the directions that Daniel gave her to get from the airport to the hotel--and she bites down on her lip when she can’t find them, hoping she didn’t leave them on her desk at work. After all, this trip--like her previous one--had been a spur of the moment decision and she wasn’t quite prepared to be traveling.

“We might have to stay here,” she tells him, still rummaging through her purpose. “At least until Daniel’s out of his meeting.” Glancing up at him briefly, she grins. “Maybe we can grab some chili cheese fries or--”

“You’re going to let me eat chili cheese fries?”

She nods, motioning in the direction of the food court. “Yeah. I don’t know. I just saw a sign from the corner of my eye. We can get something else if you don’t--”

“No. Chili cheese fries would be awesome. But… you never let me eat stuff like that.”

“We’re on vacation. Calories and cholesterol and saturated fats don’t exist on vacation.”

Henry grins. “I think I like Vacation Mom,” he tells her, just before his face falls. “Or are you just being nice to me because you know my gum is strangling my organs?!”

At that, she can’t help but laugh out as she looks to him. “Henry, if I thought something was strangling your organs, I’d have already hijacked a plane and had you halfway to the nearest hospital.”

He giggles. “True.”

“Now--”

“Daniel!”

She looks up, watching as Daniel pushes his way through the crowd, carrying a bouquet of bright pink flowers. “Hey, you! I thought I was meeting you at the hotel.”

“Change of plans,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she accepts the flowers. “I got out of my meeting early, so I figured I’d surprised you guys and pick you up.” Grinning, he turns to Henry and hands him a little bag. “And this is for you.”

Henry grins as he takes the bag, unrolling the top and grinning. “I don't know what King Caramels are, but I know that I’m going to eat them all before we get to the hotel.”

Regina laughs. “Thank you--for meeting us and for the flower and--”

“Those are coast rhododendrons, the State of Washington’s--”

“That sounds like a fungus,” Henry says, scrunching up his nose.

“They’re definitely not, but the place I am taking you two for lunch most certainly has fungus on the menu.”

For a moment, Henry looks grossed out--and then, he rolls his eyes. “Oh. They serve mushrooms.”

“You’ve got it.”

“So, where is this mushroom-serving place,” Regina asks, reaching for his hand. “And what else do you have planned for us?”

“Well, I was thinking we’d have lunch at this place at the Pike Place Market, then do a little sightseeing and--”

“That’s very Seattle.”

Daniel nods. “Well, since you two have never been here, I figured that was the best way to spend our time.”

Her stomach flutters and she nods, forcing as smile. “Perfect.”

Daniel gives her hand a little tug then loops his arm around Henry’s shoulders, turning them in the direction they need to go in to pick up their bags--and as they turn away from the gate, something catches her eye.

Or rather, someone.

There, just a few yards away is Robin and his son--the man she’s forced herself not to think about, the man whose mere voice attracted her, and the man she’d spent a whole day stalking. Her heart beats a little faster and she swallows hard, her stomach churning as all the things she’s refused to let herself think about since her last trip to Seattle come rushing back--and irrationally, she nearly turns herself in his direction.

But then Daniel tugs her in the opposite way and she reminds herself what a colossally bad idea it’d be to put herself in Robin’s orbit, and while she feels some deep--and probably a bit disturbing--connection to him, to him, she’s a complete stranger.

And that’s what she keeps telling herself all the way to baggage claim.

[kaylahill94]

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[leonawriter]

Numbers (pt. 2)

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Characters: Sephiroth, Cloud, Genesis, Barret, others.

Notes: Follows on from the first part, and has the same warnings (clones, amnesia, PTSD, references to violence).

A few things are clarified, both for Sephiroth and also the reader. And yet, as is evident because of these things, he continues to be an unreliable narrator.

...

Cloud comes by another couple of times - both times bearing small amounts of simple, easy to eat food - and perhaps it's due to the fact that the room that he is in has neither windows nor a timepiece, but his internal clock is still unable to tell if it happens to be day or night or anywhere in between.

Then again, with what he was told, what he had known was true from the moment he had heard the words from Cloud's mouth, the possibility remained that this body had no internal clock system yet, that it would need to be trained into understanding such simple things as if for the first time.

Every so often, he heard voices coming from outside, sometimes ones that had him sure that he should know them, others that he had no familiarity with whatsoever. All were muffled by walls and distance, even with his naturally enhanced hearing.

Solitude brings about the ability to take apart what has been happening to him, done to him, which memories he can access without the pain threatening to split him apart, spots dancing across his vision.

Cloud hadn't exactly talked to him, much less spent very long at all in his presence, since the first visit. He'd said a few words, and on the second time he was graced with the blond's presence he'd been gifted clothes. Nothing special, or familiar, but better than what he'd had, which was all that he'd had.

Footsteps were now coming steadily but confidently toward the room he was being detained in, and then stopped outside of the door. The lock was undone, and then, the door swung inward.

The person who came in had wild, waist-length red hair that seemed to sometimes only be obeying gravity due to length, and was wearing a threadbare, obviously patched up coat. Other than that, the general look of him seemed to suggest SOLDIER in some way, much the same way that Cloud had.

He noticed a rip, a tear in the fabric of the coat that hadn't been mended but rather had seemed to have had the edges softened off somehow, when his new visitor turned to close the door behind him.

Something about the hole in the coat set him on edge, but other than that and a faint feeling of unease as though he was forgetting something, he felt nothing else.

"My, my... so Cloud really was telling the truth. The great Sephiroth, laid low at the whims of scientists. Although I suppose that wasn't new even before, was it?"

The voice.

He glared at the man's features, noting the way that his eyes glowed a steely blue, the nose, the cheekbones, the single earring that glinted off of the light when it moved-

"Genesis."

He remembered Cloud's words, the first time they'd spoken, after he'd woken up here.

"Ah, yeah. He was going to come down here anyway, sooner or later. I'll tell him you asked, though."

His mouth went dry.

"I- remember. The last time I saw you, I told you to rot."

And then... nothing. Or rather, if he tried to push further, past that one glimpse, his mind punished him and made him relieved that he had been able to move around at least somewhat, so that he by now had the strength to find a bucket or, if that failed, make his way to the bathroom before his bed was covered in vomit.

"As you can see," Genesis said, now coldly compared to the mocking tones from before, "that is far from the case. I am no longer even degrading, no thanks to you."

Degrading... something about that was important. 

His frustration over his inability to remember, and his inability to do anything, made him wish that there was something he could do, some way he could relieve his stress. 

Memories formed more of emotions than anything told him of kata that he had once danced to with the weight of his sword in his hand. Masamune, however, was not here, and he doubted that they would give him access to it.

"You seem to be under a mistaken assumption. I may have some memories, I may look as you expect I should... and yet, according to Cloud, I am nothing more than a clone." He paused, focusing on making his message known, clearly. Not paying attention to the shocked and disturbed expression on Genesis' face, that seemed to border on disgust. If that was how it was to be, then so be it. "I therefore cannot be anything more than an inferior copy that you found."

"You think you know anything about copies, Sephiroth? You think that is all that you are?" No, not just disgust. There was anger there, too. He always did get angry easily.  "Copies... clones  -those are things that are controlled by the original. They might look the same, but they have their own idiosyncrasies, their own quirks. You can't make someone into a Copy who works best with an axe and expect them to fight as well with a sword. It simply won't happen. Trust me, I know."

Something about the information felt true, but no matter how much hope he had for another sliver of memory to surface, nothing came.

"Then what am I? I can remember- I shouldn't be alive, and yet, here I am."

Genesis snorted, sending several strands of red hair flying upwards before falling back over his nose at a more sedate pace, eyes going half-lidded.

"That would make both of us, then. My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath found salvation at the end of my journey... and your eternal slumber. I suppose that could ring true for either of us, now."

For a single moment, the air was still.

"LOVELESS, Act Four."

Genesis' eyes snapped open, fixing him under their gaze and seeming to search him for - something. 

"You remember."

It felt almost as though he were re-enacting something, rather than conversing, letting his mouth run by reflex.

"How can I not, when you've beaten it into my head." Genesis' eyes, now wide, continued to watch him. He frowned, as flashes of... something... ran through his mind. "We fought. But I didn't want you dead." He tilted his head, picking at something that wouldn't let go of him until he had addressed it. "You shoulder. Is it...?"

A gloved hand went to the shoulder that he remembered having been injured - almost an unconscious action. 

"Cured, now. So, you really do have memory issues. But you're definitely Sephiroth." Disgust and shock had both faded, and in their place was an odd sense of shared discomfort, although he wondered if it were for the same reasons. As well, Genesis seemed suddenly uncomfortable, needing to move, as though the room was too small.

"Some things are easier than others," he allowed. "Although it is easier if I am not... actively trying to remember. Also, most of the time it feels more like they're things that happened to someone else, rather than... me."

The sensation of cold steel biting into him, not just once but countless times in countless places but always the same blades and always the same face with blue eyes and blond hair delivering the blows-

Those, were harder to feel a disconnect from.

Genesis stopped the agitated movements he'd been caught up in, and then leaned his back against the wall.

"I'd hardly say that's proof that they belong to someone else," he said airily. "From what I can see, you're different from how you were. Or at least, looking at things differently... context is important." He gave Sephiroth an odd look, one he didn't know how to decipher. "We aren't confined to one role, no matter what we may wish."

Sephiroth looked away, feeling unable to match what Genesis was seeing - just as as he had felt an imposter before, now he simply felt reduced.

"Somehow... I don't think that I did very well at being the hero everyone seemed to think I was."

Genesis stared at him for a moment, and then started to laugh.

"Perhaps neither of us were much better than the other, then," he said, with a smile still on his face, full of teeth and nostalgia. "I have it on high authority that I wasn't the hero I seemed to think I was, either."

Sephiroth looked back, considering what he knew of Genesis from the few clear memories he had, and the man before him now.

"You really have changed."

He was given a sharp look, and the restless energy that had dissipated before seemed to have returned, a red glove finding the door handle.

"All of us have," was all the response he got before the door swung open, and he was left alone again.

...

He dreamed of villages burning, when he could no longer stay awake. Fear and pain and loss and heartbreak and pure rage enough to keep the fires burning coursed through him, mixing emotions that he was able to recognise as having possibly been his, sometimes definitely his, and ones that could easily have come from someone else.

The fire burned, smoke was in his lungs, and somehow - impossibly - he was holding the sword that had impaled him.

I will never be a memory-

He woke up drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, blank grey walls looking back at him, and the only light coming from the hallway, shining through the underneath and window of the door.

...

Cloud came by again some time later, recognisable by the steady steps and the distinct sense of it being Cloud. He brought with him several notebooks - some with plain paper, some with lined.

"The Reno made sure he got all the files and data from that place he could before we burned it down. Your medical files included. From the looks of things, you're... in late stage mako addiction. Your cells were built for it, pretty much, but it's still a shock to the system, no matter how adjusted you should be. That'll be why your head's such a mess, if I had to guess." He nodded at the notebooks. "Using those might help. Sort things out."

"Why."

"Last thing any of us wants is you mixing up who you were. And if we know what you remember, we can tell you if you've got things wrong."

That made sense. But it didn't give him the answers he wanted - that he needed.

"You could have let me burn," he said, eyeing Cloud while not fully looking at him straight on, images of burning villages flickering in his mind. "Is it pity? Because of my fear? Or foolishness, because I was unarmed and too weak to have made a fair fight?"

"That..." Cloud hesitated for just an instance, torn with indecision over something. "Neither. If anything, I just didn't want to turn into you."

Ah, came the thought as he closed his eyes. I see.

Spite, then. Perhaps. Or some other goal.

"I don't think you get it," Cloud said, voice level. "Back then, I was... like this. My head was a mess. And you... you took advantage of that. Made me do things. When I walked in there, I realised that for once, I had the upper hand. I could have... I still could. But I won't, because I don't think I'd have been able to look myself in the eye again after, even if no one blamed me for it."

Sephiroth didn't realise that he had tensed until he felt the pain in his muscles, the sensation of his nails digging into the palms of his hands. 

Something about what Cloud had just said made him feel the same as he had when he had first come to, opening his eyes to doctors and scientists in lab coats, a needle in his arm.

"And so, you are keeping me."

"We don't trust you," Cloud said bluntly. "Plus, even if we wanted to get rid of you, we couldn't. You're still sick." He shook his head. "Besides, like I said before. Aerith thinks you're worth the effort, and I trust her. I figure, if you can prove her right... that'd mean something. So - don't let her down."

...

"It's damn creepy, is what it is," Barret says. They're in Seventh Heaven, but the bar is closed, because everyone's together - or most of them are, at least - and they're having lunch. "Don't get me wrong, but every time I remember he's in there, I just wonder why we took him outta that place alive and not in a body bag."

Cloud sighs. it takes two of the normal tables together to fit them all - he's next to Tifa, who's got Vincent next to her, and Yuffie's on his other side. Barret's the other side of Tifa, with Genesis opposite him and Nanaki sat up on the chair next to Barret.

Cid's one of the few who's not here, but that's just because he's busy working for Reeve, and Reeve's in his offices with Cait watching over the place where they'd left Sephiroth.

Sephiroth. Alive, though suffering from mako addiction due to having been plucked out of the lifestream by ghosts and given some kind of second chance. He sometimes wondered why just like Barret himself, before reminding himself that leaving the man to die or worse at the mercies of the scientists not much better than Hojo, or killing him himself... 

He hadn't just made his promises to the others. He had promises he'd made to himself, as well. 

The air is awkward and tense. Even more so, after those words. At least the kids are out, so they didn't have to hear the adults talking like this. 

Genesis looks at him, glowing blue eye to glowing blue eye, and there's a sort of understanding, in the way that only two people who've known Sephiroth in such an intimate - compared to the rest of the world - way, could ever have.

It only lasts a moment, and then Tifa's hand is on his shoulder, potatoes forgotten.

"You've been there more often than you've been home, the past week," she says, and it's true. "He shouldn't have to be your responsibility."

He pushes his fork on his plate, keenly aware of everyone's eyes on him, and wishes he could look away, somewhere that didn't mean he'd bee looking at someone else he didn't want to answer to.

"But if he isn't mine," he says at last, quietly, "who'd do it? No one wants to, and I don't blame them. It is creepy... 'cause he's a clone, and he's so damn human." He shrugged. Not knowing what else to say. Shovelled food into his mouth.

He didn't want to admit the rest to the others yet. Not the fact that he was afraid, not the fact that the other day he'd woken up in a sweat from nightmares of Nibelheim and things he can't possibly have been through or felt because they weren't his-

It had just reinforced how opposite their situations were. How much control he had. That he didn't want.

"He said that he remembers telling me to rot," came Genesis' lilting tones, making even the disturbing words seem poetic.

The redheaded ex-SOLDIER smiles behind his glass of Banora White apple juice, and Cloud can recognise the mixture of bitterness and resentment and confusion.

"Should've known you'd go visit," Barret says gruffly, and Cloud knew that his old friend was still often unsure where he stood with Genesis. Though Genesis bringing up his past as a friend of Sephiroth's did tend to make things tense, even at the best of times. "See?"

"And then," Genesis continued, "he later recognised which Act of LOVELESS I was referring to, and practically re-enacted an old conversation that I'd almost forgotten."

Barret stared, dumbfounded, and then started choking. Yuffie snorted, and began to laugh herself, because the idea of Sephiroth reacting in any way other than as the monster they'd known him as enough to act like that was, he had to admit, more than a it ridiculous.

Cloud shook his head, bemused.

It wasn't like he knew all that much about who Sephiroth had been before Nibelheim; perhaps he ha, before Hojo, but now most of what he knew was from afterwards, in the wake of swords and blood and mako and lifestream and wings and more blood. 

Whoever it was that he had been before, that wasn't the Sephiroth who had nearly killed him and Zack, and it wasn't the Sephiroth who'd called down Meteor and killed Aerith, and it wasn't the Sephiroth who'd come out of the lifestream and taken over his Remnant. 

But then, it looked like the Sephiroth who'd somehow come back - Aerith had suggested that Lucrecia had something to do with that, but she probably wasn't acting alone, either - probably wasn't going to end up being either of the two men who'd come before him.

He stole a glance at Vincent, who had been more quiet than even his usual in all of this, only to find him eyeing everything vacantly, an expression of distant longing on what little he could see of the ex-Turk's face, of the kind he hadn't seen since they'd found Lucrecia's cave.

It wasn't the first time he thought, this would've been so much simpler if he'd just acted like we'd expected him to, and had to kill him back there to defend ourselves.

[mwtarotscopes]

TAROTSCOPES for the NEW MOON in LIBRA

WELCOME BACK TRAVELERS! Aside from today's New Moon, Jupiter recently moved into Scorpio- collectively and individually this typically means a deep and expanded understanding of the themes of change and transformation. What can we learn from diving into our own depths, from looking our own shadow in the eye? By the time Jupiter leaves Scorpio we may have more answers to these questions. 

NEWS

Please see the Schedule a Reading section of my website for NEW rates and specials. I have a new introductory rate for first time clients. Also, you can now book a one hour reading and add-on up to two 20 min check-ins to redeem within 2 weeks of your appointment.  Please don't hesitate to contact me for an appointment if you have any burning questions, spiritual, metaphysical or metaphorical knots to untangle.  

A Tarotscopes horoscope is located on the back of the menu at Dimes in NYC !  It will change monthly so consider making Dimes a regular pit stop for food and fortunes.

THANKS TO ALL ALWAYS AND ALL WAYS FOR READING AND SPREADING TAROTSCOPES!!

new moon in the sign of the scales, by comparison pales, hammer and nails, puppy dog tails, a strong wind- a gale, comes in the mail, rain or hail, lifting the veil, 

XX JUDGEMENT

It’s been a long time since I had a flying dream, but what I remember was the effort it took to get up- flapping my arms, kicking my legs, treating air like water. I don’t remember flying in a dream the way flying sometimes feels in an airplane, with the ability to look down on everything as if you didn’t belong to it, as if you didn’t live there too. No, even dream flying required my full participation, complete awareness of my body in space. Maybe if I had stayed in the REM state a little longer I could have gotten enough lift to give me some perspective.

The card I have pulled for the New Moon on October 19th is in the Venus-ruled sign of Libra, is XX Judgement. The name of the card is a nod to the belief among many major religious groups that we will all be held accountable by God for the choices we have made and the actions we have taken in our lives. I choose to interpret this card slightly differently. My understanding of the indications of the Judgment card is that it asks us to locate the part of ourselves with the ability to examine our situation at some distance. 

For halloween one year my brother decided he was going to be a table with his head as the gory centerpiece. I remember watching him assemble his costume, it was something he was going to wear, something he was going to become, but in order to understand how it would look and function he had to dance around the outside first. Once he put it on new challenges were presented, he had to make sure that the circular cut-out balanced on his shoulders. My mother helped him glue a few more things to the cardboard so that it didn’t lean too much to one side or another. He wanted to know if he looked like a table, my mother was supportive. I don’t remember my reaction, but I’m sure as a sibling I was less encouraging. He probably replied, “I didn’t ask YOU.” For a table he was rather touchy. 

At the New Moon, exact on October 19th, 12:12pm, Uranus opposes the Sun and Moon indicating that the self-awareness suggested by the Judgement card may be brought about by an outside source. It could be delivered bluntly, the way I dished out a critique of my brother’s costume or it could be offered in a more helpful manner, the way my mother assisted my brother in balancing out his costume. As humans, emotionally we can’t be tables, even if we dress like one, but we can look at our situation objectively. Awareness of a situation or of self is difficult to swallow without some sense of direction or some understanding of the means by which we can change our behavior to receive and activate the gifts that Libra brings- peace, love, beauty, harmony. The suggestion of the Judgement card softens the shattering blow or punch that may accompany a Uranus opposition. It asks us to go way up, to the highest point of ourselves, and see our situation with compassionate honesty, to be objective.  From that point we can see most clearly what needs to be done in order to restore balance or peace in our lives. 

(Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat)- Digable Planets)