#i mean...the walk...her earrings..THE FIT hoo buddy

[sabrocha]

#i’mnoi

[ask-anti-cosmo]

The return of Anti-Cosmo part 2

Part 1

Anti-cosmo stayed in the suite, knowing you had to come back sometime, especially since you told him you were a day out to land. You dreaded coming back to your room but found him on the computer on a social media site.

“Is there a Anti-fairy Facebook page?” you asked sarcastically.

“Anti-Fairies, as well as Fairies, are very well connected believe it or not. You just need to know the right sites to look for. And even then, only magical beings can use it, if you’re mortal you only see a blank page.” He explained, not looking up at you. “Won’t be long now.”

“Won’t be long till what?” you frowned.

“Till my wand comes to me. My subordinates are going to help bring it back here, by magic or whatever means it takes.”

“Where were your subordinates when you were in the safe?” you folded your arms.

“I go off on my own a lot, they probably assumed I was following a chosen victim.” He shrugged and turned away from the screen for a minute to face you.

“Is that how you got in that safe in the first place?” you asked expectantly.

His eye twitches slightly. “Hunting requires risk, surely you know that. They had just set up an…elaborate trap I was completely unprepared for. A descendant from one of my victims. One of the only victims I left alive. No matter, I won’t make the same mistake.” He insisted with dignity.

“Why did you let them live in the first place?” you asked curiously.

He sat quietly before picking up a pencil and started doodling on a nearby notebook. He drew a young girl with ringlets and a frilly dress. She looked almost like a sweet porcelain doll.

“My perfect little Doll…in her perfect little dollhouse...” he said fondly.

“Why did she need your help if she was perfect?” you frowned.

“Her family was so painfully flawed, she was trying to save them from their own stupid actions.” He explained. “Then one day, she decided she was done cleaning up after them, left to make her own perfect house, and sent me away. Most of the time my victims call me back, whether conscious or in their hearts, but she never did. The last I saw her was at a ball she threw. I had a lovely time.” He said, looking at the pictures longingly before starting to sketch another woman.

“Who’s that?”

“She was my date to that ball…” he sighed. “I actually might have fallen in love with her…alas, she was human and it didn’t last. I probably could have granted her my immortality but…” he sighed and set down the pencil. He glanced at the computer screen, looking for a response or message for him.

“But…?” you asked expectantly.

He sighed at your persistence, but smiled. “She slit her wrists one night. Humans have such limited mental capacities, and Misfortune follows in my wake. It was probably inevitable.”

“You couldn’t bring her back with magic?” you asked curiously.

“I am not so cruel, I let the dead stay dead. After all, there are plenty of living to choose from.” He shrugged.

He stayed by the computer for the rest of the trip to the harbor. You found a trench coat to wear that you cut the bottom off to fit him better, and hide the fact that he wasn’t wearing pants. You felt he was your responsibility and lead him to your penthouse in the busy metropolis.

“My my my, not such a fancy pants that you own your own place eh? Just a simple flat?” he teased.

“It’s the best you can get in such a place jack*beep*.” You glared. “Besides it’s not my only one, and I do have a house, just not here.”

“Boring.” He rolled his eyes and checked the phone you gave him to monitor his messages. So far there was still nothing, making him huff.

“Alright now, what is there to do around here?” he asked carelessly.

“Why don’t you go check out my closet? You’d look lovely in one of my ball gowns.” You smirked as you greeted your cat.

Anti-Cosmo rose an eyebrow. “You’re just jealous cause I probably would.” He mumbled. “I doubt you have my color.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself. Like, what’s with the Anti in front of everything?”

“We are Anti-Fairy dear, we are the equal and opposite forces of the regular fairies. Spelling our names backwards to prove that doesn’t always work. For some it does, but it’s often just easier to say Anti.” He stated simply.

“What, so there’s a regular fairy version of you?”

Anti-cosmo cringed slightly. “He’s an absolute idiot. A goodie goodie nuisance to all he meets. I want nothing to do with him.”

“So if you’re opposites, and you’re the annoying one…” you smirked as he shot you a glare. “Also, if you’re an all powerful magical being, why do you need to drink human blood?”

“Mostly to prevent a magic crash.” He shrugged.

“A what?” you frowned.

“Oh dear, do I need to explain what a crash is?” he sighed.

“No I know how drugs work.”

“Not those kind of drugs!” he insisted with annoyance. “I told you I am full of magic in my veins, correct? So are Fairies. Only they can only let so much build up before exploding. So it’s just called ‘magical build up’. They use the wands and become godparents to help expel the magic as well as do, what they hope is good, by making children happy.” He said with disgust.

“And you what? Use your build-up for evil?”

“Have you not been listening? I am the equal and complete opposite power that is my fairy counterpart! Meaning, my magic regenerates when used, but it is usually at max capacity, that’s normal for an anti-fairy. That being said, when I cast a spell, it takes longer to build back up. If I use too much magic, I will run out, causing a magical crash.”

“Do you explode from mortality?” you teased.

“No.” he huffed then stayed quiet for a minute. “…I implode. It is reversible so it’s not possibly to kill us that way.”

“And you drinking blood comes into play where?”

“I’ve discovered that nothing makes ones magic regenerate faster than human blood.” He licked his lips. “ESEPCIALLY the blood of the misfortunate. Just the thought of meeting a poor soul who’s never succeeded in anything makes my mouth water! Anyways, I always use magic, for everything, so it’s convenient to have a blood supply nearby. However I doubt you’ll have the same effect, so after I get my wand back I will be bidding you a fond farewell.”

“Sounds just fine to me.” You huffed.

“So, what to do till then?” Anti-Cosmo said thoughtfully. “Go to a rave? Go night shopping? Hunt for ghosts in the park~?” he smirked and waved his fingers at you.

“How about sleep? It’s been a long exciting day and I’m exhausted.” You huffed and started getting ready for bed.

“Oh, you can sleep when you’re dead!” he whined and pulled at your sleeve.

“Why don’t you get back online and catch up on the past 15 years worth of memes?” you said and got into bed.

“Oh please, nothing could be funnier than the troll faces that say “u mad?”” he waved his hand at you.

“Oh buddy, you’ve got a lot to learn.” You smirked and went to sleep.

He stared at your sleeping form, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “Soon my sweet…so I will have my way with you, you lovely immortal thing~” He licked his lips. He then checked for messages for his lackies and found nothing. “*BEEP*.” He pouted.

In the morning, you laid on your back and Anti-Cosmo was flouting above you. You frowned at the sight of his face and turned over. “Its bad enough I’ve had to deal with you till late last night, but now you have to flout over me while I’m asleep like a creeper?” you huffed.

“What can I say? You enchant me.” He said and started walking his fingers up your back. You shivered and swatted his hand away.

“Still nothing from your people?” you asked and sat up

He sighed and leaned back. “No…which is really odd.”

“Maybe you can try again? Post something else?”

“That would make me look whiny and desperate, then more of them would be less inclined to help me.” He huffed. “Besides, I’d much rather wait and possibly get some breakfast.” He said, looking at you hungrily.

“Oh for crying out…don’t even think about it!” you glared and got up. “You want blood, you’ve got to go to the fridge for a bloodbag.” You said as you walked to the closet.

“People healthy enough to donate blood rarely have enough misfortune to satisfy me.” He pouted.

“Boo hoo, you’ll have to have your cocktails AIDS-free then.” You rolled your eyes. “And if that’s the case, my blood would be nowhere near satisfying.”

“You think living eternally alone is a blessing?” he asked with his eyebrows raised. This did stop you in your tracks.

He drifted towards you, suddenly shrinking down and sitting on your shoulder. “Come on now, you got to taste my blood! I’ve never had Vampire blood before, I’m curious!” he urged.

You hesitated dispute knowing you’d get no benefit from this exchange, as well as you know darn well you owed him nothing. Before you could decide however, a ding came from the phone on the bedside.

Anti-Cosmo zoomed to it, growing to his original size as he snatched it up and read the notification. His mouth grew to a twisted grin, his eyes shimmering with joy.

“Ah, Anti-Juandissimo, you never fail me dear friend.” He smirked.

He suddenly stood up and held up his hand. A black wand with a star at the end appeared in his blue skinned hand. His face broke into a villainous grin as he spun it around and gave it a wave. Magic erupted from it and made his old clothes appear on his body, but they were new and pristine. His monocle returned, dangling from his earlobe before swinging up to it’s place over his eye. Small silver jewelry were placed on his clothes, ear, and wing. Lastly a bowler hat flouted above his hair.

He sighed with relief and stretched slightly. “Yes…perfect. I feel whole again~”

“You look like a Magical girl transforming.” You chuckled.

He looked back at you before waving his wand at you. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, smoke surrounded you, and your clothes changed into a vampire themed Magical girl outfit. Short skirt, a cape, even little bat wings on your head. Your costume was also adorned in silver jewelry and mirrored Anti-Cosmo’s black and blue.

“There, now we match.” He smirked.

You tried to pull the skirt down to cover your legs. “What the *Beep*?!” you yelled at him.

“What? You look cute~ oh yes, I have a wish to grant, be right back.” He grinned and vanished.

You huffed in irritation and immediately started stripping the cutesie outfit off. “What an *beep*!” you whispered angrily. “I thought he was awful before the wand…”

Part 3

[partlycharlie-archive]

february 20, 1937

part 1 of lines don’t have ends

summary: So. Now they’re here, in a tiny one-bedroom apartment a couple blocks east of the Brooklyn Bridge, in a neighborhood with the most queers east of Greenwich. Sharing a room, and a bathroom, and a kitchen, and a living-dining-office type room. It’s everything Bucky had been dreaming of, and he can’t even get the goddamn chance to enjoy it. word count: 1568 warnings: n/a a/n: welcome to the first part of LDHE! posting this for @fandomtrumpshate 2019 - hope y’all enjoy!

read on ao3

---

It’s been a couple of months since Momma - Miss Sarah Rogers, as most other people knew her - died.

It seems wrong, almost, that after everything Momma’s been through, it was the tuberculosis that eventually got her.

(Bucky had tried everything he could think of - lit rosemary in Momma’s room, knelt and prayed next to her bed (only the one time - holding Steve’s rosary felt too wrong), helped Steve with filling baths and getting water and buying jars of honey for tea whenever he could get his hands on it. He even spoke with Rabbi Joseph almost every day, that week, and Ma hadn’t even tried to stop him. He probably shouldn’t have, in retrospect - Rabbi Joseph almost definitely knows something’s wrong with how attached Bucky is to Steve and Momma - but it’s too late to change anything now.)

He knows it’s bad, but Bucky can’t help being grateful Momma was the one who passed, not Steve. Those few weeks before when Stevie had been sick - not with tuberculosis, with scarlet fever, which wasn’t as bad but still so, so worrying - had been the worst of Bucky’s life. Steve couldn’t get out of bed on his own, and Momma had to cover too many shifts to help, so Bucky ended up staying home most days to take care of him. He’d always known Steve was sickly - he’d been catching colds left and right ever since they met - but it was one thing to know that, and another to see him on death’s door and be terrified he might step over.

He knows it was worse for Stevie, though. Not catching the fever - Steve’s been dealing with sickness all his life, by this point he’s pretty much used to it - but having to watch his mother go through almost exactly what he had most of his life and fail to survive? It tore Steve apart. He was wracked with guilt, and what made it even worse was that Bucky could understand why.

And Bucky hated to even think about it, and he’d never dare say it to Steve, but.

But nothing, really.

It’s over now - Momma’s resting, wherever she went, and all they can do is grieve and tell themselves she went to someplace better than the shithole they’re all in.

Grieving is hard, Bucky gets that - Ma went through a miscarriage and a stillbirth before they got Annie, and losing Emma and Aidan still gets to him when he lets himself think about it. Steve, though. It almost seems like Steve’s just… drifting, really.

Bucky hasn’t said anything to him about it; to be honest, he’s mostly just grateful Steve agreed to live with him at all. He's not gonna lie - there’d been a couple of weeks there right after Momma’s funeral where Steve had flat out refused to move in, and it had driven Bucky crazy . He didn’t really sleep, during those days, too busy tossing and turning to the thought of Steve, alone in that tiny apartment that feels far too big without Momma’s spirit filling it up.

It had taken Winifred Barnes herself - with a personality louder than her voice - to finally shake some sense into Steve’s odd sensibilities. She filled up that apartment to bursting without even flinching and took joy in reminding Steve about the family he’d been ignoring in his grief-fueled isolation.

There was a sort of smug satisfaction, Bucky can admit, in seeing Steve get chewed out by the woman who was basically his mother at this point. He got to see the expressions on Steve’s face - righteous indignation when Ma started to yell… slack-jawed surprised when the first tear dripped down Ma’s face, followed by another, and another…

And Steve can’t help it, really - he’s a sympathetic crier, always has been, especially with Ma. Bucky can count on the fingers of one hand how many times he’s seen her cry, so he was almost as shocked as Steve was when Ma’s voice had started to shake.

She’d gotten over it soon, though - gathered herself together in that certain sort of way he’s only ever seen her do, grabbed Stevie by the ear, and told him to pack up his stuff.

He did, obviously. He’s not an idiot.

At that point, Ma’s relatives in Europe had been talking for a while about coming over to America. The whole Hitler business is frightening for everyone over there, not just the Jews, but it doesn’t help that they’re the ones being blamed. Something dangerous is about to happen, and everybody knows it.

It wasn’t until recently, though, that Ma had been able to save up some money to sponsor their immigration. Four kids under one roof is a hell of a lot to take care of, so Bucky had officially dropped out of school (not like he had been going much before that, anyway - he’d been taking shifts down at the docks since he was fourteen and they went four days without anything but beans and bread to pave the way) and got his own place.

It was a little tenement in Gairville, just big enough to fit him and Becca and not much else - except Stevie, maybe, who was small enough to share Bucky’s bed without people saying much of anything, (not that they would, in a place like this), who ended up moving in with the both of them.

So. Now they’re here, in a tiny one-bedroom apartment a couple blocks east of the Brooklyn Bridge, in a neighborhood with the most queers east of Greenwich. Sharing a room, and a bathroom, and a kitchen, and a living-dining-office type room. It’s everything Bucky had been dreaming of, and he can’t even get the goddamn chance to enjoy it.

“Steve?” he calls, noting the hunch in Steve’s posture and the way he keeps flexing his fingers - subconsciously, as if he’s been working for too long but hasn’t realized it yet.

He doesn’t look up, just hums and picks up the pencil-type-thing laying by his waist.

Bucky sighs. This is Steve on one of his good days - too wrapped up in whatever he’s doing to notice anything around him.

Bucky thinks maybe he’d have more energy to be annoyed by the shit Stevie pulls if he wasn’t so hopelessly gone on him.

He leans against the wall, rubbing a hand down the side of his face.

Shit like that only gets more dangerous the more you think about it.

“Stevie?”

Steve looks up, eyes unfocused and squinting, from where he’s hunched over the old desk in the living room/dining room/kitchen (when Bucky says they don’t have a lot of room, he means it). “Hey, Buck,” he says, setting down his pencil.

“Y’know, one day your back’s gonna get stuck like that, and no braces or stretching is gonna be able to fix it.” Bucky crosses over to where he’s sitting, grabbing the other stool and plopping himself down.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning over the back of the chair and groaning softly as his spine pops. “Yeah, yeah - tell me something I don’t know, why don’t you?”

“Well, it’s one AM, for starters.” Steve jumps, a little bit, obviously surprised at the time.

“What?” Bucky nods, a small smile on his face. “But - shit. I could’ve sworn we just had dinner…”

“Mmm… yeah, around four hours ago. C’mon buddy, let’s get to bed.” Bucky presses a hand to the small of Steve’s back and pushes lightly, feeling almost no resistance as Steve lets his body go limp.

“I don’t want to,” he says mulishly, closing his eyes against the weight of Bucky’s stare.

He rolls his eyes. “Hoo boy. Yeah, no, we’re not doing this. We’ve both got early days tomorrow.” In one smooth motion, he lifted Steve out of the chair, bending to slide an arm under his knees and lifting him up with nothing so much as even a grunt.

(Steve weighs approximately a pound - it doesn't feel like there's anything to lift, really.)

Steve doesn't even fight it, he's too tired; he just curls up a little bit more, huffs a sigh into Bucky's chest, folds his arms over his own. "I could walk, y'know."

"Yeah, I know, but you won't if you don't have to, so I may as well carry you." Bucky stands up fully and walks to the bedroom, shifting Steve's weight in his arms to turn out the light.

"Ugh... I gotta finish my project - art class t'morrow, you know that -"

“I gotta say, I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference. I mean - you know Jenny loves you, right? I don’t really think she’s gonna care all that much about whether my eyes are the right shade of gray.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m well aware, asshole. Sorry if I’m not tryna slack off for this class - she’s already letting me in for cheaper than she should, I don’t want to take advantage of her.”

Bucky dumps him on the bed, tugging off Steve’s pants and shirt. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Steve huffs out a long sigh, sinking into the mattress. He rolls over. “Mmmf.”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve shoves an arm out, flailing it around until Bucky grabs it, and then he pulls (with a surprising amount of strength, considering the size of him) Bucky into bed. “G’night,” he says.

He twists as Bucky watches, not moving, just watching Steve make himself comfortable. Eventually, they end up so that Steve’s back is facing him, pressed all along his front, knees curled up somewhere by his chest.

Bucky huffs out a breath, smiling helplessly. “Night, Stevie.”

[greekowl87]

Holiday Fic: Ugly Sweater Party

A/N: This was inspired by a photo someone made of Mulder and Scully wearing holiday sweaters, Scully's had Bigfoot, and I have no idea who to credit, but this inspired this fic. If you know what I am talking about, please tag me so I can link to it. Thanks! 

I could have probably have done so much more with this but after sitting in the library for nine hours today and working on a research paper, my mind barely functions and I was lucky enough to get this written. Thanks for reading.

Tagging @thexmasfileschallenge and @today-in-fic

The emergence of Mulder and Scully from the basement office was not an unusual event, especially when their boss, AD Skinner summoned them to his office without telling them why.

"Why do you think Skinner wants to see us," Mulder spoke softly into Scully's ear as they walked.

"I don't know, have you pissed him off for anything recently?" she teased.

"I hope not. Maybe it's a new case. We have been pretty dry lately."

"Maybe."

Kimberly, Skinner's sectary, smiled at them as they entered the office and told them. "The door is open. He is expecting you."

Mulder pushed open the door for Scully as she strolled in first. Skinner did not look up from his paperwork as his agents took their respective seats in the two chairs facing his executive desk. Skinner signed something and finally looked at Mulder and Scully, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "You're probably wondering why I called you here this afternoon," he said.

"Not particularly, sir," Mulder replied, glancing at Scully.

"I have a favor to ask of you two." Skinner sighed. "I have been roped into throwing a holiday part with my sister and brother-in-law coming into town this weekend. An ugly sweater party I think they called it. As I," he shifted uncomfortably before continuing, "don't have many work acquaintances, I need you both to come. I have already invited a few Core buddies and my sister has friends. But I need some guests from the FBI."

"Is that a request, sir or an order," Scully asked.

"An order. Saturday night, 8 o'clock. Bring your alcoholic beverages and something to share," he said.

"Is that all?" Mulder asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you have something to tell me, Mulder?"

"No, sir.

"Then dismissed."

He went back to work and the agents, casting quizzical glances at one another, left without saying another word. When the got back to the basement office and they looked at each other. "I guess we got to go sweater shopping, Mulder."

. . . .

They lingered in her car together, taking measure of the ugly sweaters they had bought each other. Scully glanced at Mulder and then grimaced as she looked down at the blue and white snow inspired Bigfoot outline. "Why did you get me Bigfoot, Mulder? Could you think of nothing else? Where on Earth did you ever find it?"

"It's a yeti technically, Scully and I could ask you the same." He looked down at his green and white sweater where the periodic symbols of elements formed in shape of a Christmas tree proclaiming 'It's a Chemistree!' "Science. Really?"

She chuckled and said, "It seems fitting, doesn't it? I mean, since we are involved now, you could say it's a couple's outfit. Maybe we should do a Christmas card to?"

"We haven't exactly gone proclaiming to the world," he murmured. "Skinner must suspect something."

"As far as he knows, we're partners, nothing more. Now, did you bring the bottle of vodka?"

"Did you bring the green bean casserole?"

They both grinned at each other and got out of the car and took the elevator to Skinner's Crystal City apartment. By the time they stepped off and into the hallway, the party was already in full swing. They could hear laughter and music from the closed apartment door. "Look's like we have the right place," Mulder murmured, nudging Scully to go first.

As they stood in front of the door, Scully raised her hand to knock, balancing the casserole with her other hand. A light knock and Skinner opened the door widely and with sudden gusto. "Mulder! Scully! I'm glad you could make it! I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show."

Scully smirked noticing Skinner's own ugly Christmas sweater, a gingerbread man holding a candy cane with the words 'Let's get baked!' beneath it. "Nice sweater, sir," she managed.

"I could say the same for you both, very...you," he chuckled. "Come in, come in, let me introduce you to everyone!"

He ushered them into a chaotic Christmas party with a huge group of people and children weaving in and out of the adults with laughter. Skinner took the casserole and the bottle of vodka and nudged them to his sister and her husband, who introduced themselves. "I'm Charlotte," the older woman said, who looked like a very feminine version of Skinner, "and this is my husband Robert."

"Dana," Scully supplied, holding out her hand. "This is Fox."

"Pleasure," Mulder smiled. "I'm sorry, but you and AD Skinner look awfully alike."

"Twins," Charlotte laughed. "I'm the older one of course. Please feel free to have fun. We have a contest for the ugliest Christmas sweater, however, should we count you two together or separate?"

"We come as a package," Mulder answered, wrapping his arm slightly around Scully's waist, "isn't that right, Scully?"

"That's right," she grounded out, panic rising in her chest as Mulder's intimate display. She tried to pull away, in case Skinner saw them but Mulder only held tighter to his side. "A package. Two peas in a pod."

"Lovely. Don't forget to vote. Well, I must see to the others, feel free to give me a shout and enjoy yourselves."

Skinner's sister left them and Scully glanced sharply up at Mulder. "What the hell?" she hissed.

"Skinner's drunk, as is everyone here, he won't mind or notice. Come on, let's make like normal people and mingle."

She bit her lip and forced herself not to reply. The hours passed, eventually striking midnight, with the party showing no signs of slowing down. Mulder and Scully found themselves loosening up and actually having fun. By midnight, Skinner was clinking a beer bottle down on a table, calling for attention.

"First off, I want to thank everyone for coming. First off, Charlotte, despite you being my older sister, I'm still the best looking in between us," he called, laughing.

"Well, baldness must be the ticket," she called back.

"Must be. Secondly, to my buddies from the Core for inspiring my sweater," he continued, clearly intoxicated. "We remember those marvelous nights in Da Nang smoking that good stuff."

"Hoo-rah, Mr. Clean," one of the older men wearing a Vietnam Veterans hat called.

"Mr. Clean," Scully whispered into Mulder's arm, amused.

"Better than Skinman," he answered.

"I would also like to thank two of my agents for coming," he indicated to Mulder and Scully. "As much as you make me lose what remains of my hair, Mulder, I still have the best agents in the FBI with you and Scully."

"Thanks, Mr. Clean," Mulder called back, saluting with his beer.

The group chuckled and Skinner answered with mock severity, trying not to laugh, "Monday, 10am, my office, Mulder."

"Yes, sir."

"Lastly, I just want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, Happy Hunkunah, and Happy Holidays. It would not mean a thing to mean if it weren't for you all." Skinner raised his drink to toast as the room mirrored his actions. "Cheers!"

"Cheers," everyone echoed.

Scully had melted to Mulder's side affectionately and looked up and stole a kiss. "Merry Christmas, Mulder."

"Merry Christmas, Scully."

"Walter, don't forget to announce the winners of the sweater contest."

"Oh, right. Did you already tally the votes?"

"Shit, no." She looked around, rushed. "I can't find them, Walter!"

"Forget about it," Skinner shouted. "Everyone, let's continue to have fun!"

Scully nuzzled Mulder's chest. "Well," she sighed softly. "I think you have the best sweater."

"Well, what can I say, my partner has impeccable taste."

She smiled. "You wanna get out of her and head back to my place? Brunch tomorrow?"

"Sounds good. Let's get out of here."