#fair warning this is pretty long if you pop open the readmore

[monicashipslokius]

Soulmates, Actually Pt 3

(read Part 1/Part 2)

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki paces the length of the small bathroom, turning after only two steps. On each turn they catch sight of themself in the mirror, as hard as they try not to. They don’t want to see the cowardice marring their own features. They don’t want to face themself, knowing they are standing here in relative safety at the cost of their soulmate’s.

Through the thin walls, Loki hears another pound on the front door. Mobius calls out, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Loki stops pacing and presses their ear to the bathroom door, straining to hear outside of it.

After the creak of a door opening, Mobius says, “Can I help you?”

“Are you Mobius M. Mobius?” Thor has a weakness for Midgard and its people. Even as he speaks to Mobius now, his voice isn’t quite as booming as Loki is accustomed to.

“That’s me. Are you selling something?”

“I...? No. May I enter?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t. I’m kind of busy, you know?”

“I see,” Thor says. “Wait! I’m looking for someone.”

“Sorry,” Mobius says. The door creaks again, loud, like it tried to close but was blocked by a hard shoulder.

“I must insist,” Thor says, and there’s the booming authority Loki expected. Heavy footfalls step into the apartment. Loki instinctively leans away from the bathroom door. “Do you live here, or is this a closet?”

“Hey, why does everyone think that,” Mobius says, his following footsteps much softer. “My apartment is not that small.”

“It is,” Thor says, blunt as ever, though perhaps his own time on Midgard changed him a small amount, because he immediately adds, “But... nice. Very... brown.” A long, awkward pause. “Seeing this... I feel apologies are in order. I cannot imagine Loki hiding here.”

Loki knows that their usual love of decadent flair is what’s saving them now, but the words still sting. It’s one thing for them to think disparagingly about their new home. It is entirely another for someone else to speak badly of it. Even Thor.

Maybe especially Thor.

“It seems silly now,” Thor says. “I had heard you are their soulmate.”

“It doesn’t seem all that silly,” Mobius says, voice much softer.

“I mean no offense,” Thor says. “Only that you are not their type.”

“Oh? Too old?”

Thor laughs. “Too human. But consider yourself lucky, friend."

"I don't know, I'd think it'd be okay to be the soulmate of a god."

"Not this god," Thor says, and that familiar self-hatred claws at Loki's ribcage from the inside out. They place their hand over their chest, physically pressing down on the feeling, but it does not stop.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mobius clips his words short.

Loki braces themself as Thor continues, "They never stay with anyone for long. They haven’t met a person yet who could hold their interest.”

“Maybe they just hadn’t met the right person,” Mobius says, stronger.

"Right people tend not to hang around my brother. You may have noticed that they are..." Thor pauses and Loki holds their breath. "A villain." Thor, at least, sounds pained to say it, though that is little comfort for Loki.

The word shouldn't hurt them. It is true. Despite their glorious purpose, they will never be seen as a hero, but only ever as the one who stands in the hero's way.

“Or instead," Mobius says, stronger still. Irritation oozes from his words. "Maybe they got so used to being seen as a villain that they started to think that’s all they are.”

The scratching in Loki's chest slows until it ceases entirely. Mobius.

But the calming effect of Mobius's defensive fury does not linger.

Thor holds his tongue a moment, and in that moment, a thick dread buds in the pit of Loki’s stomach. Thor may be oblivious at times, but he is not totally obtuse. And Mobius is angry enough for even him to take notice.

“Have you seen Loki, Mobius M. Mobius?”

“I think you should leave now,” Mobius says.

“So it’s true?” Thor asks, like he still doesn’t believe it. “You are Loki’s soulmate?”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

“They must be deceiving you. Tell me where they are, and I will take them back to Asgard. Then you will be safe.”

“Loki’s not going anywhere with you,” Mobius says, stupidly brave. Stupidly perfect.

Outside a storm brews. Thunder rumbles the walls, as loud as Thor’s voice. “Do not stand in my way, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“No, you don’t get to order me around,” Mobius says. “You barge into my home and try to kidnap my soulmate. You didn’t even do it at a reasonable hour. We were asleep!”

“I am a god.” Lightning cracks outside the window, the light so bright, it flashes under the door of the bathroom. “You are a human.”

Mobius huffs out a breath. “I’m not giving them up. You’ll just have to kill me.”

Every nerve in Loki’s body, every pulse in their brain, the very breath in their  lungs - all scream, No!

The bathroom door flies off its hinges from the force of Loki pushing through. Their daggers are in their hands, their armor has replaced their silk pajamas - there is no room for softness here.

Mobius glances behind him from where he’s standing, blocking the bathroom from Thor in the kitchen. “You broke the door,” Mobius says, entirely too calm for a man who was just about to throw his life away.

“We are going to discuss your blatant disregard for your own fragile life,” Loki tells him, stalking forward to Mobius’s side.

“I had it under control,” Mobius says.

Loki sucks in a deep breath to try to tamper down their roaring rage. “No longer will you risk yourself for me.”

“No, sorry, Loki.” Mobius crosses his arms. “You don’t get to boss me around either. I told you, soulmates protect each other. And that’s that.”

“You stupid, brave, impossible man.”

“Dying for you would be worth it.”

“And what am I to do at that point? Hm? Bid your corpse a fond farewell and move along?”

Mobius startles, like he hadn’t thought ahead that far. “Yeah, I guess.”

If Loki wasn’t holding daggers, they would grip him by the shoulders and shake him. “You have no idea what you are to me. You have no perception of how long I have waited for you. For us. For this tiny little room. For everything we shared last night. And all that we will share.”

Mobius’s eyes widen. “Loki -”

“No, Mobius. You will not be throwing your life away. Not now. Not ever. Not while I have strength enough to hold a blade.”

Mobius blinks. The surprise on his face lasts a moment longer, then softens entirely into fondness. “Let’s go to the store later. Buy some stuff. Spruce this place up a little. We can get a plant or two. And maybe a new bathroom door.”

Loki exhales, and the harshest of their anger slips away. “Only if we also buy you new clothes.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my clothes?” Mobius is smiling now.

Loki almost mirrors it. Until he remembers their thunderous brother occupying the entire minuscule kitchen. Thor seems to lack his usual righteousness. Instead, he looks between Loki and Mobius like he has no idea what to make of them. His mouth hangs open but no sound comes out.

A moment, Thor tries, “Brother, you...” He closes his mouth. Opens it. “You... actually care for this little man?”

Loki’s answer comes easier than even they expected, “Yes.”

“I’m not that little,” Mobius says.

Outside the storm clears away and starlight returns. Inside, Thor lowers his hammer to his side, no longer holding it ready to fight. He stares at Loki for a long moment. “We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

Loki’s impulse is to argue. They aren’t yet numb to the pain of Odin’s deception. Of Loki’s own monstrous truth.

But instead of drudging forward that pain, Loki draws strength from Mobius beside them. From the comfort of their home. From the promise of buying new drapes and bed sheets.

“I’m not going back,” Loki says, hating the way their voice cracks. Mobius inches closer to their side, and they stand taller.

“You cannot rule Midgard,” Thor says.

Loki glances at Mobius, who gives them a soft smile.

“Mostly,” Loki says, “I want to buy drapes.”

Mobius’s smile widens, and he dips his head, as if to hide it. Loki loses themself in the sight of such softness and warmth, until they remember their brother again.

Thor watches them, his confusion palpable. “This is not at all as father said it was.”

Loki tenses at the mention of Odin.

“A lot’s different since yesterday,” Mobius says. “Dubuque can really change a person, you know?” Mobius winks at Loki, and a fresh wave of comfort rolls through them.

“Yes,” Loki says. “Dubuque.”

“Perhaps I could return without you,” Thor says, confusion shifting gradually into something more sure. “If you hand over the tesseract.”

Loki pointedly refrains from glancing at the coat closet. As, to Loki’s surprise, does Mobius. Surely he had seen them place the scepter within. Surely he could parse together what the tesseract could be.

“You wouldn’t need it to buy drapes.” Thor’s grip tightens on the handle of Mjolnir, but he does not yet raise it again.

Loki’s body tenses like a bowstring. There is no way out of this then, without a fight. “You have no comprehension of its power, brother. Of what I could have, what I could achieve with it in my possession. With what I’ve been promised.”

“Promised?” Thor asks. “Promised by who?”

A chill creeps over Loki’s skin, inch by slow inch. They think of the creatures that invade their mind, that found them when they fell from the Bifrost.

You could have this, they whisper, even now. You are nothing without this.

“Loki?” Mobius whispers. “Are you okay?”

Shaking their mind free from the dark grasp, Loki thoughts travel instead to those same creatures wrapping Mobius in their viciousness. Tearing him down. Exploiting his deepest vulnerabilities.

The cold runs deep, all consuming.

With the tesseract still in Loki’s possession, maybe they could protect Mobius. Or, the opposite. Maybe those creatures will never stop hunting them until Loki finally does as they command.

When it was Loki alone, forgotten and fallen, following the icy commands was no question, when both vengeance and a crown were promised.

But Loki is no longer alone.

To Loki’s surprise, concern covers Thor’s face as well, and he has taken a step closer, hand half-lifted, as if in a halted attempt to reach out to them.

“The tesseract will not bring you happiness, Loki,” Thor says, and motions toward Mobius. “Not in the way your soulmate can. You must make a choice.”

“They don’t have to chose,” Mobius says. “I’m staying with them, regardless of what they want to do.”

“But they must,” Thor tells him. “I will be leaving here with either Loki or the tesseract. I’d prefer to do it without a fight.”

Mobius takes a step forward. “I already told you, Loki isn’t going anywhere.”

“If forced, I will take you both to Asgard,” Thor says.

Loki thinks of Mobius standing before Odin, of all the brave, protective things he would say to the All-Father in Loki’s defense. And Loki thinks of how fast Odin would cut him down, Loki’s soulmate or not.

“No,” Loki says.

Soulmates protect each other.

Loki disappears their daggers, then goes to the closet and draws open the door. They reach through Mobius’s brown suits and retrieve the scepter. It’s cold in their hand.

They could grab Mobius and teleport away. Together, they could go anywhere. Thor would need time to track them down. But they’d have to keep running. They’d never be able to stop.

Loki thinks of Mobius, sweating in the desert. Humans are weak, fragile things. Mobius would not be able to sustain that kind of life.

The scepter, the creatures, whisper to Loki, He will die anyway. Why shouldn't you have more?

"All my life, I’ve been in your shadow,” Loki says to Thor. Thor lifts his hammer, readying for the fight to come. “This is my chance to carve my own path. To find my own throne. The Midgardians are hapless. They are in desperate need of a ruler.”

Loki looks at Mobius and finds him watching Thor, body tense like he intends to jump in the way if Thor were to attack. He will die anyway.

“There is no happiness in the promise of a throne, Loki.” Thor frowns, and after a brief, sideways glance at Mobius, his eyes turn sad. “We have waited the same for a soulmate. You have found yours, while I am still waiting. I ask you, who lives in envy of who?”

A new feeling twists inside Loki - something like... pity? For Thor? No. Impossible. Thor has had a life filled with all of his whims being catered to. Ever the favorite. The favored.

Yet.

Thor has no Mobius of his own.

He will die anyway. But. Not yet. Not yet.

“To be honest,” Mobius says, drawing Loki’s attention. “Humans are kind of a drag. We fight all the time, can’t agree on anything. I know that’s half why you think you can fix it all, but really, it sounds like a bigger headache than it’s worth.” He shrugs. “You and I, we’ll do whatever you want. I’ve got your back 100%. But... if you were King of Earth, do you get any vacation days? Cause I got some places I really want to take you.”

Looking at Mobius, hearing his words, listening to the steady cadence of his voice, Loki warms from the inside out.

“We need to go to the beach. You saw my jetski picture, right?” Mobius turns to Thor. “You ever been on a jetski?”

Thor blinks at him. “...No?”

“You’ll love it. It’s so much fun. Out on the waves, just you and the ocean - with the wind in your hair, and the sun all bright.” Mobius turns his smile back to Loki, and Loki doubts any sunshine could ever be as brilliant as him. “What do you think, Loki?”

The cruel whispers grow dim. Thoughts of, You are nothing without a crown, are replaced with, What worth is a crown without him?

The chill burns away, until the scepter is too cold, too painful to hold.

Loki moves closer to the kitchen. Thor raises his hammer. Mobius hurries forward.

But everyone stops when Loki surrenders the scepter - the tesseract - to Thor. As soon as it is gone from their hand, Loki feels a heavy weight lifted away. The chill leaves entirely, and their mind is silent once more.

“You’ve made the right choice, brother,” Thor says. They lower Mjolnir to the ground to look closer at the scepter.

“Odin will not be pleased when you return without me,” Loki says.

Thor hums. “I will pass along your promise to behave yourself.”

“I made no such promise.” With Loki’s new weightlessness, a small, sly smirk slips onto their lips. It's shaky and unsure, but Thor doesn't mention it.

Thor slides his gaze to Mobius. “I think you will have your hands too full to do otherwise, with how quickly this one throws himself into trouble.” He pitches his voice low. “I like him. He’s small, but brave.”

Pride swells in Loki. They didn’t need Thor’s approval, but having it...

“Mobius M. Mobius!” Thor walks to Mobius and draws him into a tight hug. “Now my brother. I await the day our paths cross again!”

Mobius awkwardly pats him on the back. “Yeah, sure! Sounds great.”

As they break, Loki begins to steer Thor toward the door. Thor looks as if he also wants to wrap Loki in a hug, but thankfully thinks better of it. Instead, he simply says, "We will see each other again."

"We will," Loki says, a promise. And for now, it is enough.

Thor starts forward, when Mobius calls out, “Wait, you forgot your hammer.”

Loki and Thor both turn away from the door, toward the kitchen - where Mobius stands, hand gripping Mjolnir’s handle, holding it up off the ground. He brings it forward and hands it to Thor, who stares at him, mouth agape.

Mobius says, “Surprisingly light?”

Loki bites back a smile. They knew their soulmate was no ordinary mortal.

Thor looks at Mobius like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Only to those who are worthy. You are small in stature, but not in heart, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“Uh, thanks?” Mobius says. Softer, he adds, “I’m really not that small.”

*

When Thor is gone, with the slightly damaged front door bolted behind him, Mobius turns to Loki and says, “Told you I’d get rid of him.”

Loki reaches out, grabs Mobius by the shoulders, and pulls him into their embrace. They do not let go for a long time.

Mobius holds them back, nose tucked into the crook of Loki’s neck and shoulder. “I would have followed you,” he says, voice muffled. “You want to be king? We’d make it happen. You didn’t have to give it up.”

Loki will tell him of the whispers and the cold, of the dark promises made. Later. “Perhaps another time,” they say. “Plenty of life to find a throne of my own.” Though as the words leave them, they know they are only half true. Plenty of time for Loki. No time at all for Mobius. The creatures no longer whisper in Loki's mind but they still hear their mocking, He will die.

“I was thinking we could get a couple chairs while we’re out.”

Loki can’t help and doesn’t stop their grin, even as their heart aches. “See? My fortune is already changing.”

“I’ll buy you the best throne,” Mobius says. “You ever heard of La-Z-Boy?”

Loki closes their eyes, presses their forehead to Mobius's shoulder, and wonders how, with the cruel inevitability of human mortality, they will ever go on without this man.

[its-monster-mash]

Paul(The Lost Boys) X Michael’s Ex!Fem!Reader Imagine(Part 1)

Content Warnings: Vaguely Love-Triangley? (Reader and Michael are still good friends and broke up a while before Mike moved, but things are a little awkward because they were each other’s first serious relationship; so he’s more protective than he needs to be, and there might be a few hurt feelings, but I wouldn’t quite call it a love triangle), Brief Sexual Harassment

Part 2

This turned out SUPER long so I’m putting it under a readmore; also I think I’m going to make it a series because I want to go a lot further with this but I suspect I’m going to run out of space soon

• Michael Emerson had been your best friend since you were kids, growing up in Phoenix only a ten minute walk from eachother...if you knew the right shortcuts. You knew all of them, thought you knew everything when you were younger, and you got yourself and Mike into a fair amount of trouble because of it...but he had always been a good kid, and was able to temper your more destructive elements.

• It surprised exactly no one when the two of you eventually started dating, nor did it surprise them when you broke up a few years later. You had always been inseparable, and the love had always been there, but over time you just couldn’t help but feel stifled. You had spent your entire teen years with him, and so many people liked to joke that Mike tamed you...at the rate you were going it seemed like sundresses, picket fences, and a couple of kids weren’t far off in your future...and that scared you.

• Mike was heartbroken when you left him, and for the first few weeks he absolutely held it against you, but due to your shared friends and history your friendship survived. Unfortunately, his parents’ divorce separated your iconic duo once again.

• When Mike’s dad showed up on your doorstep a few days after the move, you tore him a new one for basically abandoning his sons. He set a box on your porch, Mike’s Tools...his Grandpa gave them to him when he was just a little kid and they were one of his most treasured possessions...they were forgotten in the chaos of the move...His dad thought you might visit him sometime...

• That’s what led to you hopping in your shitass El Camino and making the drive to Santa Carla. Lucy had given you their new address before they left...you knew she hoped that maybe you and Mike would get back together some day, but that just wasn’t in the cards. At the end of the day he was just too good, too normal, for you.

• Driving through Santa Carla, you can’t help but be drawn to the sheer...strangeness of it all. Looking at the people, you feel like you actually fit in here. You definitely plan on hanging around the town for a while.

• Mike isn’t home when you get to his Grandpa’s house, but his mom could not be happier to see you. It’s a bittersweet reunion for you; she had been more of a mother to you growing up than your own parents, but after breaking her son’s heart you just don’t feel like it‘s right for you to call her “Mom” like you used to. She has a million questions, and she even suggests you stay with them for a while...you politely decline.

• You didn’t tell her that sleeping in your beat-up old car was preferable to her hospitality, but it would just be too weird, with how recent your breakup was. You and Mike are still friends, but you think sleeping under the same roof might be weird for him

• You still want to see him though, so you decide to explore the town on foot for a while; maybe run into him. You’re wandering around when you hear a familiar voice coming from the open door of a comic book store.

• As soon as you walk in you see the unmistakably garish patterns of Sammy Emerson’s signature style and break into a wide smile. “Long time no see, huh kid?” Almost the second he sees you he practically knocks you over with a hug, backing away in embarrassment after a second of thought. You and Mike were already best friends by the time he was born, so Sam was almost as much your little brother as he is Mike’s.

• “Now What was that about Vampires?” You had overheard Sam and the Frog brothers when you walked into the store...Sam rolls his eyes, and the Frogs assail you with some insane story about how the town is overrun with vampires. Some imaginations these kids have.

• You bail out of there pretty quick in favor of wandering the boardwalk, seeing what Santa Carla had to offer...before you know it, the sun is starting to set

• Maybe going out alone in “The Murder Capital of The World” wasn’t your smartest decision, but you weren’t exactly known for your self preservation; that had always been Mike’s job...but he isn’t here now.

• You grimace as you notice a group of surfers take notice of you. You had wandered a bit aways from the main crowd, so you aren’t sure anyone would notice if things went south... “Hey Sweetie.”

• “Get Bent.” You sneer as they close in on you. “Awe well that’s not very polite,” the leader says, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “You should try being a little nicer.”

• You humor him with the sweetest smile you can muster as you stomp as hard as you can on his foot. He calls you a bitch and you flinch as his fist flies toward you.

• You open your eyes when the hit never comes, and are shocked to see that someone had caught the guy’s fist. You look up at him and your cheeks flush; when was the last time you saw a guy this handsome? “This guy bothering you, babe?” He asks as he squeezes the guy’s fist so tight you hear something pop. The guy falls to his knees and gasps in pain as his friends back away nervously. You smile wickedly. “Not anymore.”

• You watch the douchbags storm away with their wounded pride, shouting empty threats, only distracted when your Knight in Shining Tight-Pants tucks your hair affectionately behind your ear. “So what’s a pretty thing like you doing alone in a town like this?”

• You bite your lip, eyeing him appreciatively; now that you could get a good look at him you can tell he is definitely your type...and you hadn’t been with anyone since you broke things off with Michael. “Hoping to run into an old friend, but I haven’t seen him.”

• He grins, clearly appreciating your look. “That’s too bad, wanna make some new friends?” His eyes are fixed on you with a certain hunger, there’s a palpable danger to him; it excites you.

• You shift your stance flirtatiously, leaning into him ever so slightly. “That depends, are they all as cute as you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek with an amused grin. “Almost.”

• He takes your mischievous smirk as agreement, and throws an arm around you, leading you back to where his friends are gathered by their bikes. “This the chick you ditched us for?” The curly-headed blond asks, humor in his tone.

• “Well I for one am grateful for the timely rescue.” You grin. “How grateful?” The blond on the bike asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively; making you laugh. Your hero slaps at him playfully, and the favor is returned.

• Seemingly the leader of the group, the spiky-headed blond interrupts the roughhousing. “Paul, Marko, knock it off and let’s go.”

• Paul nods, climbing onto his bike and grinning at you seductively. “You wanna go for a ride, babe?”

• His smile is infectious, and his innuendo isn’t lost on you. Maybe it’s not your safest decision, but you climb on the back of his bike; earning a loud “HELL YES.” From him, and hooting and hollering from Marko.

• “Make sure you hold on tight babe, I’m about to take you on a ride you’ll never forget.” “Shut up and drive,” you tease as you wrap your arms tightly around his midsection.

• They all laugh deviously as they rev their motors to life, and you’re glad you’re holding on tight, nearly falling off when they take off from 0 to 100. “HOLY SHIT!” “What’s the matter sweetheart, can’t handle a little speed?”

• “That all you got?!” You ask, acting tough. It was a mistake though. “That all you got, Paul?” Marko asks, mocking you. “I dunno girl, I think that’s all he’s got.” The big brunette says, first time he’s spoken since you met the boys. “Fuck off, Dwayne!” Paul shouts. The leader gives his engine a rev, egging Paul on. You scream, forced to cling tightly to his back as his bike tears into the night. Marko pulls up next to you, mimicking you with a falsetto squeal.

• “Damn babe, already screaming for me,” Paul teases over the roar of his motor. You’d sass him back if you weren’t too busy burying your face in his back for dear life. You’d ridden on the back of Mike’s bike plenty of times before, but he was never this reckless. You’re as terrified as you are thrilled.

• By the time you start to get used to the speed, the boys are slowing down, and much to your surprise, they pull right up to Michael, who is standing with a girl you haven’t met. His eyes snap to you instantly and go wide with confusion, he hadn’t even been aware you’d come to town. “(Y/N)?”

• “This that friend you were looking for?” Paul asks. “Yeah, (Y/N), care to introduce us to Star’s new friend?” “David please.” You watch the exchange a bit uncomfortably, shifting on the bike, arms still around Paul. “Yeah...Hey Mike, I uh, your old man dropped your tools off at my place so I took them up to your mom.” Your chest feels impossibly tight. You aren’t jealous to see him with a new girl, but you had hoped that maybe he’d be a little happier to see you here...and him, the earring and that jacket...it doesn’t feel like Mike at all. Paul can feel you shrink against him.

• “Hope I’m not stepping on any toes here,” Paul says, giving your thigh an unsubtle squeeze; deliberately antagonizing Michael. You smile a bit awkwardly as Mike scratches the back of his head in discomfort. Star looks between the two of you, avoiding eye contact with David. “No, Mike and I used to date but...” “But it’s over,” Mike says, a bit too shortly, trying to cover the awkwardness with an unconvincing smile.

• David shoots him a not-all together-friendly look. “Well, you seem to be moving on well enough,” he says, gesturing to Star, who shrinks beside him. “So’s (Y/N),” Paul interjects, looking over his shoulder to smile at you. You smile back at him, despite the awkwardness.

• “We should go, Star,” David urges. Star hesitates, but climbs on the back of his bike. Michael looks mortified, and you can’t help but feel awful for him. You’re shocked when David nods his head toward Mike’s bike. “Come with us, Michael.”

• You know the look on Mike’s face; his first instinct is to back out, avoid trouble...but then he looks at you, and he looks at Star; like he’s worried what will happen to you if he doesn’t come along. “Mike,” You don’t have to come, you start to say, feeling Paul tense in your arms. “I’m coming.”

• “This is gonna be so sick,” Marko says with a practically manic grin, before Dwayne swats him upside the head. “Don’t be an ass.”

• “Don’t forget, (Y/N), hold on tight,” Paul says, side eyeing Michael a little less than subtly. Mike rolls his eyes and you shrug apologetically. This is awkward, for sure, but one way or another you want to see this through. Paul and the boys seem cool as hell, and at the very least seem like a good way to get back on the horse after getting over a long relationship.

• You squeeze Paul a little tighter, heart pounding against his back. He revs his engine. “You ready, babe?”

[telesthisia]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; mun & muse - meme.

TAGGED BY: @hyaciiintho​ thank you so much!!! <3 TAGGING: @rcguna​ @cadcnce​ either or whatever works for you bear, @panickypeachboy​ @paintmaid​ @emfiliae​ @windmcge​ and you as well!! The person reading this

FILL OUT & REPOST ♥ this meme definitely favors canons more, but i hope oc’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. multi-muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. <--- leaving this here because this is super sweet ALSO FAIR WARNING my blog has right click turned off. I’m going to be placing this under readmore but I think you can see it on dashboard view! If not lmk we’ll work something out!!! 

MY MUSE IS:   CANON / OC / AU (Verse dependent) / CANON-DIVERGENT (Interactions & verse dependent) / FANDOMLESS

Is your character popular in the fandom?  YES well kinda at least thanks to ssbu before she wasn’t that well known I MEAN PPL KNEW HER BUT SHE DIDN’T HAVE AS MANY FANART AS OTHER ZELDAS SDJBKHJABSD/ NO

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK because not too many people talk about her and by her I mean ALTTP Zel, people are bonkers over SSBU Zel! 

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO if we’re talking about the canon of ALTTP and OoX series rather than ssbu it’s a hard no, she has enough magic to be considered a sacrifice to break barriers and revive the dead but not enough to fend herself off from evil mages who want to talk over the world / IDK

Are they underrated?  YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO / MAYBE

Were they relevant for the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG

Are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO / MAYBE

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON?   NOT THAT STRICT HONESTLY, she’s just an OC at this point haha because she has zero substance in her own god damn game ;v; she’s just exposition.txt with dulcina effect playing into view though it is somewhat justified since she is the princess and the only thing that stopped Agahnim from breaking out Ganon.... I MEAN!!! SHE’S NOT AT ALL A DEPRESSED CALM ROMANTIC IN CANON LET’S PUT IT TO YOU THAT WAY SDBKASDJHBDASD. 

SELL YOUR MUSE! AKA TRY TO LIST EVERYTHING, WHICH MAKES YOUR MUSE INTERESTING IN YOUR OPINION TO MAKE THEM SPICY FOR YOUR MUTUALS.   TAKES A DEEP BREATH

Tiny funky elf princess trying her best to rule elf kingdom. HJKA there’s more, I’m lazy but not that lazy. She’s the descendent of essentially a mortal god, more than likely acting as an avatar of sorts to the goddess Hylia, as such she’s gifted with fantastical abilities that’s been passed down her family for generations and she intends to use these powers to protect her kingdom that’s still on the road of recovery, as the sole survivor from Agahnim’s destruction upon Hyrule and thus sole scion she’s left picking up the small fragments from the tragedy that occurred ages ago where the Hero of Time had fallen. But here’s the downside to these powers: she was born with a very weak body and poor health as such she can’t utilize the abilities she has from her bloodline aside from a few powers without affecting her low stamina issues. Namely telepathy, clairvoyance, healing, sealing things away, creating barriers, and connection with the spirit realm. As such, she tends to rely on the wisdom given to her by her naturally bright mind and enhanced by the mythical object known as the Triforce of Wisdom. Surprisingly, she can be cunning despite her soft-hearted nature and is willing to do whatever it takes to protect her kingdom and people she loves, her silent determination more than makes up for the lack of powers she may have. That in mind, she’s often the target of more nefarious plans that means the downfall of her kingdom. She may not have the amazing light magic spells her ancestors did to prevent darkness from taking over but that doesn’t mean her magic isn’t any less potent, she just can’t tap into it. She’s an easy target for enemies that wish to use her sacred powers to revive the dead Ganon or break pass whatever powerful barrier or seal that’s in place. 

Her future is pretty grim as well, considering she has a shorter life span. But it’s fine, things are fine she may have a gloomy outlook on certain things but that doesn’t stop her from living life!! Despite how sour this may all seem Zelda is still that encouraging young woman whose kindness defines her, she’s playfully innocent around friends and enjoys exploring old places of decay that’s rich with history! She tends to bottle up her more negative aspects to not worry others since she’s the pillar of an entire ass nation, she needs to maintain her placid demeanor as a means to calm and soothe others around her. Because the truth of the matter is that the events of ALTTP (before the game where harsh plagues among other things happened before Agahnim arrived to fix everything as well as after the events of the game) and OoX, instances where she’s witnessed death of loved ones, the downfall of her kingdom, and coming across death herself has affected her greatly. She suffers from grief and depression that needs to be addressed but... ;v; 

NGL I’M ABOUT TO CRY 

NOW THE OPPOSITE, LIST EVERYTHING WHY YOUR MUSE COULD NOT BE SO INTERESTING (EVEN IF YOU MAY NOT AGREE, WHAT DOES THE FANDOM PERHAPS THINK?).   HJKA TAKE OUT MY BULLSHIT TAKE ON HER AND YOU’RE LEFT WITH EXPOSITION AND DAMSEL IN DISTRESS!!! She’s not at all interesting if you don’t take into account her roles in the mangas which I somewhat base her personality and thoughts on... she’s just.... nice pretty princess that needs to be rescued. A tale as old as time.... 

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE?   GOOD QUESTION!!! BECAUSE I STARTED OUT WITH HILDA BEFORE DECIDING TO GO WITH SKY ZELDA BECAUSE I WANTED TO DO A MORE OUTGOING MUSE and then I opened up a sideblog for this Zelda out of whim. There’s no reason why I choose the most obscure Zelda, I just did it because I thought it’d be fun. I did not expect this much characterization for someone like her ngl. I guess what keeps me going is the fact that she’s a fun character to write for! 

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING? HA!!! NOTHING!!! Mental illness is a bitch, I will have my down... weeks. Not days, literal weeks or months depending on how long my episodes last. It sucks, and I try to work around it but there’s not much I can do. That said, inspiration depends on motivation and want to write. As well as focus because god knows I have so little of that. 

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO I TRY BUT UNDERSTAND THERE’S NOT MUCH TO WORK WITH IN CANON YOU EITHER LIKE HER OR DON’T 

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO but I honestly should???

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day?  YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal?   YES where’s the kinda opition, because I personally love her and think she’s interesting enough but I’m still working a lot on her NO

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / HA HARD NO

Are you a sensitive person?  YES fun part of having ADD is that you feel emotions more intenstly, I’m naturally a senstive person too so :’)))) / NO

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL?   YES OF COURSE!!!! As someone who wants to grow more in writing any sort of feedback is appreciated! 

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER?   If you give me the chance to ramble about this stupid elf I will literally love you so much like I love all sorts of questions anyone may have about her!! Though I feel my rambles don’t really make much sense since I just type whatever pops in the mind and put it down as fast as I can without double-checking well enough. 

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY?   Sí! Again, I want to grow more as a writer and rper! So if someone were to come across a headcanon they don’t like I’d like to know why so that I can think more critically about it and fix it so that it better fits Zelda. If someone were to say “I don’t like this” without saying why it really won’t help much aside from letting me know that you don’t like the thing, which is fine and valid but pls let me know why! 

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT?   Eh, fine with it. I honestly don’t mind if someone doesn’t like my characters, any of my characters I play as! Sometimes, certain portrayals aren’t someone’s cup of tea and that’s perfectly fine. I won’t take offense to it, at the end of the day while I’m still working on Zelda I’m happy with how much she’s grown over the years I’ve played her as... which were just two but it feels longer dude!!! 

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT?   Again, I wouldn’t care that much lol. It’s just rping, it’s really not that deep. It’s no different from someone not liking a book because they just don’t vibe with the writing style among other reasons. I may be sensitive but I don’t really take a lot of things personally. 

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS?   Ye uvub! I’m a literal dumbass behind a keyboard, don’t be afraid to say “hey this wasn’t spelled right” or “hey this doesn’t make much sense mind checking it over really quick”. 

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN?   I THINK?! I MEAN HONESTLY I’M SUPER ANXIOUS AND A WORRYWART I JUST DON’T SHOW IT MUCH AAAAAAAA I’d like to think of myself as chill ;v; I try to treat others how I want to be treated and just try to be nice. Idk if I come across as that or not, it’s hard to convey feelings through text sometimes to some. 

[in-tua-deep]

OKAY remember that snippet that got too long and i asked about how I should post it?? Well here it is - 

and a copy under the readmore for tumblr people

When Five Hargreeves is four-years-old, he discovers his power.

He also discovers a whole lot more than that.

They’re all figuring out their powers, and as a consequence they all move out of the nursery into their own rooms after a somewhat unfortunate incident regarding the discovery of Six’s powers. Regardless, Five isn’t very fond of the new arrangement because he’s lonely.

He can’t sleep without the sounds of his siblings around him. One’s sleepy whuffling and Four’s random exclamations, Six shuffling around and Two kicking his blankets off in the night. It’s too quiet.

That is, of course, when the man falls into his room.

He arrives in a flash of blue. The same blue that Five himself recognizes like an old friend, because it’s the one he embraces and falls into because it feels so incredibly right, the one he pulls to him to jump. At the abrupt arrival, Five had scuttled backwards and curled into an alarmed ball, like a hedgehog.

He scrubs at the tears that definitely weren’t falling as the man on his carpet groans.

“Who - who’re you?” Five asks, definitely not scared, because he’s not. He’s not a baby. The man just groans in response. And now that Five is looking, he’s not like. Old old. He’s not Dad old. He’s not a grown-up, but he is a big kid.

He’s not quite as scary now that he’s not so old, so Five gingerly scooches to the edge of the bed to lower himself down to the floor. He pads across the cold bedroom floor and kneels down, hesitating before patting the boy on the cheek.

“You gotta wakey.” Five whispers, “Dad’ll be really really mad.”

The boy rouses at least, eyes snapping open and pushing himself up to his elbows with a loud groan. Five shushes him, because it’ll be real bad if his Dad comes in and finds the guy.

“What the fuck.” The boy wheezes, and Five tilts his head at the unfamiliar word.

They stare at each other for a solid minute. Five gets impatient enough that he reaches up and rests his hand against the boy’s cheek again, like he patted him into wakefulness the first time. The boy leans back, as if startled.

“What’s your name?” Five asks the boy. He feels like he should probably ask some other questions, like what this guy is doing in his room, and how he has the same powers as Five, but he feels like he already knows. Or at least, the answer he’ll get now is a confirmation of a suspicion.

“How old are you?” The boy asks him, instead.

“Four.” Five holds up four whole fingers proudly. Next year he’ll get to hold up five fingers, the most superior of all the numbers.

“Fuck.” The boy says the word again, bringing up his hands to his face and wheezing into them.

“Are you me?” Five asks bluntly, since he’s pretty sure he figured it out. The blue light was his blue light after all, familiar as the back of his own hand.

The boy sighs again. He sighs an awful lot. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” He mutters, which makes Five frown in confusion. He’s a very confusing version of himself, this boy.

“You’re weird.” Five informs his older self very seriously.

“Well I am you.” The boy says reflectively, and Five almost feels like he should be offended but he’s too busy being curious.

Five frowns as he chases a tendril of thought to a logical conclusion, “If you’re me,” He starts slowly, sounding out each words, “If you’re me and you’re old, then you’re from… the future? So that means… I can jump time?”

“No.” The boy cuts him off, frighteningly pale all of a sudden. His eyes are wild in a way that makes Five flinch backwards, putting just a little bit of distance between him and, well, himself. Five can’t help but look doubtful, because really it’s the only obvious answer.

The boy at least looks somewhat apologetic for his sharpness, though he doesn’t say anything about it. Five knows that the nannies would insist on someone saying “I’m sorry” so that they make up, but Five can think of half a dozen things his dad has done that the nannies would say would merit an apology and he never does it.

“Hey,” The boy says, breaking the silence that has fallen between them. He looks older all of a sudden, and Five almost reconsiders his judgement of the boy’s age. “Hey, do you want to hear a story?”

And of course, those are the magic words. Five loves stories and has been known to constantly badger the nannies for one. Eyes bright, Five nods hard enough that he almost loses his balance before running over to the bookcase full of children’s books with big fonts.

He’s supposed to be learning how to read for himself, so he can tell himself stories, but that’s never seemed half as much fun.

“No, no.” The boy shakes his head, making Five look back. “Not one of those, I have a story for you, but it isn’t in a book.”

The boy hauls himself up, crouching low to the ground with his arm curling around his stomach. He huffs and puffs like the wolf in one of Five’s storybooks as he staggers over to the bed to sit down. It’s a little bit like when Four doesn’t want to do something and makes a big production out of everything, except much quieter.

Five shrugs and pads over, but when he crosses the patch of floor where his older self had appears he automatically jumps back a few feet in a flash of blue light, eyes wide. But jumping doesn’t change what startled him - his feet are wet.

Cautiously, he tiptoes forward and crouches down. There’s black shiny stuff on the floor, puddled and smeared with a sharp metallic smell, like rust in the rain. He recognizes it in a way no young child should. He pops up and fixes an accusing eye on the older boy. “You’re hurt!”

“I am, yes.” The boy admits easily, waving one careless hand. The other hand stays firmly tucked against his side. “Should’ve warned you, my bad.”

“I can go get a nanny!” Five says urgently, already walking to the door, “I’m sure they’ll know - ”

“No!” The boy once again cuts him off sharply and just a little bit too loudly. They both freeze in place, waiting to see if they’ll get caught, but nothing stirs in the house that they can hear. The boy sighs, again. “Don’t worry about me, it’s fine. Just come here - like I said, I have a story to tell you. It’s very important.”

Five is somewhat doubtful that a story is more important than getting fixed up and getting magic kisses, but he figures his older self probably knows more about that kind of stuff anyway. So against his better judgement, Five trots on over and allows the boy to help him scramble up onto the bed until he’s tucked against the older boy’s side.

“You have to stay awake for this.” The boy whispers, jiggling Five’s arm when he doesn’t respond fast enough. “It’s important.”

“Dad says that stories aren’t important.” Five whispers back.

“Dad’s wrong.” The boy says firmly, ignoring Five’s little gasp. “This story is the most important story you’re ever going to hear, okay? This story is going to save the world. And it starts on October 1st, 1989. On that day, forty-three children were born, which would have been unremarkable except for the fact that none of the mother’s were pregnant when the day began…”

Five listens, and any time he starts to drop off the boy shakes him awake again and makes sure he’s paying attention before continuing. He listens, even as the boy has to pause more and more often, as he starts wheezing in between sentences.

But the boy is patient, more patient than Five thought he would be.

“I like the names they got.” Five whispers, patting the boy’s cold hand a few times to get his attention. Luther, Allison, Diego, Klaus, Ben, Vanya. “Do we get a name?”

“My name is Five.” The boy tells him softly, as if imparting a secret. He smiles, and Five pretends he doesn’t see the blood on the boy’s teeth. “But you don’t have to be, maybe this time around you’ll pick something out. I don’t know. Isn’t the future a wonderful thing?”

Five rather thinks the future is a scary thing, considering the story he’s just been told. But rather than think about that, Five has another question. “How come you forgot about Seven’s powers?”

The boy falls silent. Five thinks it’s a fair enough question. Seven blew him into a wall yesterday because someone’s car alarm went off outside, he still has the bruise. He doesn’t think he’d forget about that just because she went away for a week or something.

“Go get me one of your books,” The boy says, putting a clammy hand on Five’s shoulder and giving him a little push, “And the blue crayon.”

If nothing convinced Five that they were the same before, it was that. Sheepishly, Five hopped down and went to retrieve the requested items. This time, he made sure to avoid the blood still pooled on his floor.

“Grab me your favorite, the one you read every night. But not the one that the nannies read.” The boy asks, and Five obeys.

He scuttles back and hands the book and crayon over, hoisting himself back onto the bed so he can watch. He almost protests when the boy flips it open and starts writing on the pages, but holds his tongue.

As if sensing this, the boy looks up. His eyes are soft and just a little bit glazed. “You were right,” The boy tells him, which makes Five preen just a little bit, “You - I should have remembered Vanya’s powers. It seems dumb that we just forgot, which means something made us forget. I’m just - I’m leaving you a reminder.”

The scribbling continues for a good while, and Five almost protests at how much his blue crayon is being worn down by all this but holds his tongue. Five is slightly more concerned by the fact that the boy’s hands are trembling and that he’s breathing really loudly. But eventually he comes to a stop, closing the book gently - like it was the most precious thing in the world.

The boy hands it to Five with a nod, “Go put that away, okay? Dad - Dad’d never think to look in a kid’s book. But, but you have to remember. Keep it secret, don’t let anyone see it, okay? It’s only for you.”

“What about Four and Six?” Five asks, aghast. They’re his bracket siblings, the ones on either side of his own number. They share everything. But even as he asks, he’s scooting off the bed to return the book (and the crayon) to their rightful places in the room.

The boy’s lips quirk up into something almost like a smile, or Five thinks it might have become one if the boy didn’t also look so terribly sad. “You can’t tell anyone about any of this. You can’t tell them you met me, you can’t tell anyone I even existed, okay?”

“Why not?” Five demands to know.

“You’ll get in trouble.” The boy whispers, looking terribly serious. “More trouble that you’ve ever been in before. Worse than when you drew on the wall. You can’t tell anyone, you understand?”

Five doesn’t understand at all. But the boy looks very serious.

“Promise me.” The boy says fiercely, “You promise me you won’t tell anyone about tonight.”

Five considers this for a moment before tentatively sticking out a pinky. That’s how people make promises in his books at least, though Five has never made a big enough promise to necessitate it. This feels like an appropriate time though, and it makes the boy smile just a little more than before which is another win.

A finger much bigger than his own wraps around his and squeezes on just that side of too tight before being released. They nod at one another in confirmation of a deal made.

“Alright,” The boy wheezes, sitting up a little straighter and looking a little more pale as he does so. “Now here’s what’s going to happen now. You’re going to go to one of the others’ rooms to sleep, okay? And in the morning, tell - tell Dad you were scared and left early. You didn’t see or hear anything strange last night. You weren’t in your room. You didn’t meet me, you didn’t hear a story, and you definitely don’t say anything about the book, okay?”

“But I’ll get in trouble.” Five protests, because Dad told them that sleeping together was for babies and that they weren’t supposed to do it anymore. Admittedly he also doesn’t want his siblings to call him a baby, either. But he gets a harsh look for his concerns.

“If Dad finds out we met, you’ll be in even more trouble.” The boy bares his teeth, and maybe Five should find it scary but he just feels a little bit sad.

He can’t help but ask - “What about you? Will you get in trouble?”

The boy wheezes out a quiet laugh, “No. I’ll just - disappear. I won’t get in trouble with Dad, I promise. But you probably won’t even see me again, okay?” The boy shakes his head at Five’s frown, “I’m not supposed to be here, anyway. It’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. Off you go now, go to Be - go to Six’s room. He’s probably the one most likely to back you up without asking too many questions.”

Before he can go, FIve scrambles back up on the bed. The boy’s reaction is too delayed to stop him, and Five manages to clap both his hands against each of the boy’s cheeks to pull his head around to look him in the eye. “Don’t worry.” Five parrots, and then gives the boy a cheeky grin, “I’m gonna make things better, ‘kay? No ‘pocalypse.” And then, before he can think better of it, he leans forward and presses a kiss right between the boy’s eyebrows, the way the nannies do when one of them are terribly upset and beside themselves.

The boy brings up a trembling hand to pat at Five’s head, lopsided grin small but sincere. “I know. I believe in you, kid.”

And it’s on that note that Five creeps down off the bed and tiptoes out of the room, only pausing once to wave to the boy for the last time. He sneaks down the hallways, into Six’s room, and slides into a bed. Admittedly, it is very late and his eyes are heavy with sleep so it takes no time at all for Five to just… slip away.

-

He’s abruptly woken in the morning by being yanked out of bed. The grip on his arm is bruising and he cries out, tears springing up in his eyes. Distantly, he can hear Six starting to cry as well as he’s hauled to his feet and shaken a few times.

His father’s face looms before him, and Five tries to yank his arm away even knowing how futile it is.

“What are you doing in here, Number Five?” His father demands, and suddenly the last night comes rushing back to him in vivid technicolor. Suddenly the tears in his eyes aren’t due to the rough treatment.

But he remembers what the boy had said, about getting in trouble for sneaking out of his room versus the amount of trouble he’d get in if it was discovered he’d spoken to his future self. Admittedly, the boy had had some very colorful opinions about their father that he’d made clear during the story.

Five remembers the promise he made, and looks up at his dad as his tears overflow and drip down his cheeks. “It was - it was too quiet!” He sobs, and the fact that it was also the truth certainly helps. “I just - I’m sorry! I’ll sleep in my room from now on, I promise!”

His father pauses, face smoothing out just a little. His grip on Five’s arm hurts a little less.

(There will still be bruises though, stark against pale skin that he’ll examine later that night before pulling his pajama sleeve down before pretending it doesn’t bother him.)

“You were out of your room all night?” His father asks, voice even and calculating. Five knows what he’s really asking, he’s asking if Five was in the room when the boy appeared. If Five saw the boy.

And for the first time, Five looks his father in the eye and he lies. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles, and maybe a four-year-old shouldn’t be thinking quite so calculatingly, but Five could never be accused of being normal. “I just - It was so quiet an’ I couldn’t sleep an’ I’m sorry!”

“You didn’t wake up in the night?” His father continues to press, but he doesn’t look suspicious. In fact, he looks just a tiny bit relieved - though it’s difficult to tell behind the monocle and mustache. “Didn’t hear anything strange or see anything odd?”

“Uh uh!” Five denies, shaking his head with wide eyes, “Six was ‘sleep when I got in an’ he didn’t have an accident, promise!”

Six makes a protesting noise behind him, but considering that an unfortunate tentacle incident is part of the reason why they got split up into separate rooms in the first place. Five figures that if he really has no clue what had gone down last night, that’s what he’d assume his dad is asking about.

“This incident won’t be repeated.” Reginald demands imperiously before turning on his heel and walking out the door with nothing more that an irritated, “Report for breakfast immediately!”

That had both Five and Six scrambling to brush off their pajamas and out the door to head downstairs. Five was almost thankful - there wasn’t enough time for Six to interrogate him about anything or ask why he’d been a big baby by sneaking in to sleep or anything.

The day is almost distressingly normal, except for the fact that the Nannies bring down their clothes instead of having them all get dressed in their rooms today. All of them know better than to question Dad’s orders, but all but Five share puzzled looks between themselves regardless.

As soon as they find themselves released for the day, Five trots up the stairs and tries not to look too eager to return to his room. Thankfully, it’s not abnormal for Five to spend his free time absorbed in his books and begging the nannies to read to him, or else sounding out the words on his own.

He enters his room and the first thing he notices is that it’s spotless. The bed is made, the floor is clean, and there is a distinct lack of anyone else. It’s like last night was erased, like it never even happened.

Five could almost convince himself that it had been a weird dream, except for the fact that when he looks down there’s a tiny brown drop near his pant cuffs that he’s almost positive is dried blood. Though thankfully, Reginald had missed it. And when he crouched down where he knew the boy had appeared, he could smell chemicals.

He walks over to the bookcase with careful steps, pulling down a familiar book and flipping open the pages to gaze at the blue crayon words. He doesn’t understand a lot of them, and some were really long, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of book he could take to someone and ask about, either.

Five sits cross-legged on his floor, and decides to try anyway.

(Later that week, he watches his father install cameras all around the mansion, including in each child’s bedroom. Five’s is the first to have the camera installed, and he wonders.

A year later, he frowns down at blue crayon writing and traces his fingers over the fact that apparently his ordinary sister has powers. He is sure he would remember something like that, sure he would remember Vanya being as powerful as the words said. Surely Reginald would use Vanya if she was as powerful as this implied? His father was so scornful of them wasting their talents, after all. He traces his fingers over hurried letter and he doubts.

He watches Vanya take her pills, and he wonders. And maybe that attention makes him Vanya’s closest confidant, makes him pay her more attention than he would have otherwise. Makes him insist on her inclusion instead of just shrugging apologetically and leaving her behind.

He reads his book, with its hastily scribbled notes, and defends it valiantly even when Luther teases him about still having a baby book. After that, he carefully transcribes what is written in childish handwriting, including also every scrap of information he could remember from the boy’s story that night.

He jumps into Klaus’s room after training nights and presses his hand into his brother’s, rubbing gently to bring warmth back to cold fingers. He escalates into jumping into the mausoleum when he thinks he could get away with it, armed with a flashlight and playing cards and a determination to not let Klaus drown.

He sits at a table at thirteen-years-old, suddenly furious. He clenches his fists in his pants and tells himself to breathe through his fury.

He doesn’t expect, the next day, when the woman in blond with the bloody red smile shows up. He knows her, in the same way children know a comic book villain. He knows before she even opens her mouth who she is - the Handler. She asks him, all saccharine sweetness, if he’s a good little boy who obeys his father.

He knows what she’s doing, he knows she’s trying to goad him into disobeying his father. Probably so that he’ll try to time travel. He’s off schedule, after all.

He wonders if the changes he’s made will be enough. He wonders if maybe the Handler will leave his family alone if he doesn’t conform to her expectations. He wonders if he can afford to take that chance.

That night, he pulls out a new notebook and writes a new story. He writes about a child who, one night, has a boy fall into the middle of his room and tell him a story. He writes about mopped up blood and a disappeared body. He writes about the child’s sister, who has powers and doesn’t know it. He writes about a woman with red lipstick who won’t rest until she gets what she wants, won’t stop until the world has ended, and how she has her sights fixed on him. He writes about how scared he is, but that he’ll see his family again in seventeen years if all goes well.

He slips his notebook under Vanya’s pillow with a big don’t read until Reginald Hargreeves is dead on the cover. He trusts his sister, that she won’t look.

He writes another note to Ben, a piece of paper that only says the year that Ben is supposed to die. He begs his brother to live until he returns, begs his brother to just run away if nothing else can be done, and to look after Klaus in the meantime.

And then, and only then, does Five walk outside. The night air is cold - it’s November, after all. He stares at his reflection in a shop window, and sees the same face that showed up in his room all those years ago. That face had looked more pale, more tired, but Five figures he has time to get there.

He clenches his fists, and let’s blue wash over him and Five -

falls.)

[27dragons]

Name of Piece:  So Into You Square Filled: A4 - writing format: perspective flip Rating: M Warnings: None Summary: This is not what Bucky wanted. But it might just be what he needs. (Bucky’s POV for the events of square T1, My Better Half.) Created For: @tonystarkbingo

Bucky dragged his gaze away from Tony’s ass. He was the fucking Winter Soldier; he could manage to keep his attention on the mission for five goddamned minutes. Even if Tony Stark did have the most delectable ass known to mankind.

Mission. Right. They’d had a nice little fight with the villain and his henchmen, but that was over now, and they were on to the tedious chore of going through the villain’s hideout to remove all the traps and particularly nasty items before the SHIELD cleanup team came in behind them. Bucky needed to be alert – there was always the possibility of the building being booby-trapped, or that the villain had left behind a key minion or two to avenge him.

Bucky lifted his weapon to cover Steve and Sam as they ducked into the next room. No immediate threats popped up to start shooting at them, so Bucky let his gaze drift again as the rest of the team started reviewing the contents.

God, Tony had a nice ass. Even in the suit! It was too bad that Tony hated his guts, because Bucky had always been an ass man. He’d give about anything to get into that ass, just set up camp and live in there—

The explosion caught him by surprise.

[’ware the readmore!]

“You must have been wishing for something strongly to have caused such a reaction,” Wanda said, and Bucky felt a blush run up his right cheek. Which was all he could feel, because he’d apparently wished himself right into Tony’s body.

“This is bullshit,” Bucky said. This wasn’t what he’d wanted.

“It’s like a ‘Get Along Shirt’ but more,” crowed Clint. Bucky wondered what a Get Along Shirt was, but he knew damn well what his response should be. He flipped Clint off, and felt oddly justified when Tony followed up with a similar gesture only a fraction of a second later.

Shit, he really was stuck in Tony’s body. The right half of it. He couldn’t stop staring at his own body on the floor. It was sort of novel not to feel the constant low-level ache in his shoulder and back from the weight of the metal arm. It was nice, but not so nice that he wanted to stay in this situation.

He lurched suddenly, and felt just a little bit of vibration in his (Tony’s) throat as Tony made frustrated sound. “We’re leaving now, is that okay?” Tony demanded.

“Okay, okay.” Bucky was going to have to pay more attention to Tony now, just to pick up on those little cues. He hesitated for a second, and then took a step.

Holy shit, he could feel Tony’s ass flexing. Oh god.

He took another step, and another, and abruptly realized that he’d been so fixated on Tony’s (their) body that he had no idea what they were doing. “So, uh. Where are we going?”

“Back to the ‘jet. I want to contact Strange, see if he can get us out of this mess.”

“Fair enough.” Bucky took another step, and then became aware of an awful, tight squeeze in his chest. “Wait. Something’s… wrong.” He pressed against his (Tony’s) chest, running down the catalogue in his head of potential problems. “Did we get hit with some kind of gas? Or—“

“Slow your jets,” Tony sighed. “Feels tight, like you can’t get enough air?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. He had to forcibly stop himself from trying to take a deeper gulp of air.

“Yeah, that’s just me.”

“No, this is not normal,” Bucky said. It felt like there was a crushing weight on his chest.

“It is if you spent five years with an electromagnet where your sternum used to be,” Tony said. “The reconstruction team did a great job, but I’ve got a permanently reduced lung capacity. That’s just how life is.”

Hydra had once tortured Bucky by strapping him down and putting weights on his chest until he had to struggle for every breath. “You fight like this?”

“Don’t have a lot of choice,” Tony said. “I’ve got some filters in the suit that keep the oxygen content a little on the high side so I don’t strain as much, but yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’re benched until you’re back in your own perfect body.”

Now that he knew it wasn’t the sign of an enemy attack, the pain wasn’t really any worse than what Bucky lived with in his shoulder. Just in a different place. “My body ain’t perfect.” Of course, it wasn’t any better, either, and Tony didn’t have the assurance of the serum to keep him strong. The thought made Bucky stagger a little.

“Just hold still and let the robots do their thing,” Tony said.

Bucky still flinched a little when the removal rig reached up around them. It was too much like Hydra’s brain-burning gear closing in on him. He closed his eye and prayed for it to be over quickly.

He could feel the pieces of armor sloughing away. He could do this.

It wasn’t too bad, as long as he didn’t look. After a moment, he felt the angle of his leg change and knew that Tony had taken a step, which meant it was his turn now.

“Undersuit next,” Tony murmured.

Oh, Jesus, they were going to undress. Bucky hoped the heart, over on Tony’s side of the body, didn’t lurch. It took him a moment to gather himself and start to help unfasten the seals.

It’s just a body, he told himself. Pull yourself together.

They peeled down the top half of the suit, and Bucky made himself focus on the scars on Tony’s chest, and the pain that must have come with them. He didn’t let himself touch Tony’s body any more than he had to.

Then they got the suit down farther, and without warning, there was Tony’s dick. “Shit!” Bucky closed his eye tightly. “You’re not wearin’ any underwear!”

“Why the hell would I wear underwear in a suit this tight?” Tony asked. “It’s practically underwear on its own!”

Which was a point, but Bucky still had to work hard at not watching Tony’s dick.

“I’d think you were in the Army long enough to not be so modest,” Tony snarked at him.

Not to mention that Hydra’s only concern for Bucky’s clothing had been to ensure it was protecting him on a mission. “You didn’t sign up for this. I’m tryin’ to be polite.”

“Look, let’s just get this done,” Tony said, “and I’ll be dressed again.”

That was probably for the best.

Tony was frustrated with the situation. Bucky understood that, because he was pretty frustrated with the situation, himself.

So tempers were running a little high, despite Bucky’s resolve to be calm and polite. But really, what could he do when Tony was so obviously wrong? It felt weird and strange to put pants on left leg first, even weirder than not being able to feel his left leg (Tony’s leg) at all.

And Bucky had never understood some people’s enjoyment of spicy food, though he’d been willing to humor the insanity from a distance, right up until Tony wanted to eat hot peppers with the tongue he was sharing with Bucky. No. Bucky’d had enough involuntary pain in his life to willingly subject himself to more of it.

Though maybe he should have given in on that battle, because arguing about it had just served to remind Bucky that he was sharing a tongue with Tony. Which meant that the inside of the mouth that he was tasting was Tony’s. This was the taste of Tony’s mouth.

This was what Bucky would taste if he kissed Tony very, very thoroughly.

Fuuuuck.

And then, to make matters worse, they had to get ready for bed.

Which meant another change of clothes. Bucky tried not to sneak another peek at Tony’s dick while they were doing that, he really did, but then--

“You’re lucky I even own pyjamas. I’ve been sleeping naked since my teens.” Of course Tony said that while Bucky was balancing them on his one foot. They nearly fell over and smashed their face open.

And then Tony jerked his thumb toward the bathroom.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Bucky didn’t argue about the way Tony squeezed his toothpaste (the wrong way) because he was too busy sweating about what was inevitably going to happen before they left the room. Sure enough, as soon as they’d fumbled through flossing, Tony turned toward the toilet.

“Do we gotta?” Bucky would like to say that he didn’t whine when he said that, but he’d have been lying.

“No way I’m holding it all night. Come on, let’s get it over with.”

Bucky could hope that Tony did this backwards, too -- but no, of course not. Tony used his hand to tug open the pyjama fly and waited not entirely patiently for Bucky to reach in for his -- their -- dick.

It wasn’t quite where Bucky expected it to be, and he wound up groping it a little more than was probably strictly necessary just because of the awkward angle. “You curve the other way.”

He half expected Tony to mutter something about how that wasn’t surprising considering all the other things they were opposites on, but instead he just started mumbling about science and surveys.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about how that meant if they were face to face, their cocks would line up perfectly. “Can we just pee and save the science for later?” he snapped, his half of their face flaming.

“I like how you’re not trying to talk me out of the science,” Tony said cheerfully.

Bucky rolled his eye. “I grew up with Steve Rogers. I know when it’s futile to try to talk someone out of something.” And this wasn’t so bad. This was good, this was banter and camaraderie. Bucky could do this.

If he could just stop thinking about Tony’s dick.

Bucky couldn’t feel his left hand, but that wasn’t entirely unusual; sometimes it took a while to come online. In the meantime, his cock was demanding his attention, and oh, that was nice. Bucky’s dick had been a little off-and-on since Hydra, either a raging inferno of need or no interest at all, with very little in between. But this felt like a good morning, a nice normal morning wood.

Lazily, Bucky curled his hand around it. It was a little less sensitive than he was used to, but that was nice, too. Maybe he’d be able to make it last instead of going off like a bottle rocket.

He stroked upward, rolling his hand over the head, and oh, yeah, there it went, just a little precome to make things slick and easy. Oh, god, that was nice. He did it again and that was a little odd, it was like half his dick was numb, down the left side. But it was still responding to his touch just fine, so maybe it was another weird healing thing. He squeezed a little, and--

The sound of a soft catch of breath reached his ear. Not him, but--

Memory flooded back, all at once. “Shit!” he hissed, yanking his hand off Tony’s cock. “Shit, dammit. Fuck.” Who knew how pissed Tony was going to be about that?

Jesus Christ. Tony was notoriously lacking in modesty, but surely he’d draw the line at having his dick jerked for him while he was sleeping.

“Mmwha?” Tony mumbled. “Matter?”

Oh thank god, Tony had slept through it all. Bucky wasn’t proud of taking the easy way out, but he absolutely wasn’t fucking stupid enough to pass it up. “Nn, musta been a dream,” he said, trying to make himself sound closer to sleep than he actually was.

Tony didn’t call him on it, so Bucky figured he’d gotten away with it.

He spent most of breakfast trying not to think about how good Tony’s dick had felt in his hand, or how adorably rumpled Tony had looked when they’d peered in the mirror.

It took them a while to hit their stride in the gym. Tony had to keep reminding Bucky to set the weights to levels that his strong but non-serumed body could handle, and the difference in their gaits made the treadmill an exercise in comedy.

But then Bucky took them over to the punching bag. “Look,” he said, “we can do this as long as we keep to the same rhythm.”

“And how do you propose making sure we do that?” Tony wondered.

“Marching songs,” Bucky said. “We used ‘em all the time in the Army to keep fellas marching in time. Ought’a work for this, too.”

Tony huffed a little. “Okay, we can try it.”

It took them a few tries to really get into it, but the old marching cadences worked perfectly. Bucky taught Tony one of his favorites, a blue chant that never would’ve been allowed in front of an officer but which had got him through more early-morning hikes than he could shake a stick at. By the time it were done Tony was laughing so hard he could barely keep up his share of the punches.

Tony had a really nice laugh.

Of course, then they had to get in the shower and Bucky was back to blushing. He almost sprang wood while he was soaping up their balls, but some determined consideration of one of Steve’s inspiring do-or-die speeches deflated him. Thank god.

Bucky hoped they got this fixed sooner rather than later, because otherwise Tony was going to catch on to him.

Shaving, at least, held no hidden traps. Tony’s goatee was fussy and complicated, but Bucky knew how to move steadily and decisively. By the time he was done, the tension in Tony’s side of the body had eased a lot, which was gratifying.

He tried to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. Black coils snaked out of the shadows and wrapped around his legs from ankle to thigh. He tried to fight, but the shadowsnakes caught his arms, tangling them, too. They stretched him out, spread-eagled, and as much as he fought and struggled, he couldn’t move, even an inch.

There was a mirror in front of him, a distorted fun-house sort of terror, and for the first time, Bucky saw what was behind him. He opened his mouth to scream, and the tentacles filled it, pushing past his lips and down into his throat until he was gagging on them, choking.

The giant blade whirred and spun, a sawmill’s deadly circle, and descended. He tried again, desperate, but couldn’t even turn his head.

Slowly, the saw cut through his head, dividing him in half, a surprisingly neat line straight down his center. Gibbering creatures waited in the shadows, waited to take the halves of him away. His left side pulled away, and as it did, it melted into Tony’s features. No! You can’t have him! Bucky tried to scream, but he couldn’t move. Tony’s eye met Bucky’s in that dark mirror, and--

Bucky jolted awake, panting. Tears leaked from his eye, and his throat felt thick, as if those awful shadows were still in it.

“Stop it,” the other side of his mouth murmured.

“Tony?”

“No, don’t,” Tony whimpered. “Stop it, no!”

“Tony! Tony, wake up!” Bucky reached over to smack lightly at Tony’s side of their face. “Wake up!”

Tony gasped, dragging in a harsh breath. “Oh god.”

“You okay now?” Bucky patted down Tony’s face to his chest, pressing lightly against his heart, feeling the way it raced. “You back with me?”

“Yeah, I...” Tony’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been screaming. “Sorry. I was...”

“You’re not the only one with nightmares.” Bucky kept his hand on Tony’s chest, couldn’t resist stroking lightly with his thumb, reassuring himself that they were together and whole.

“They were going to kill you. And you thought I was going to let them.”

Bucky’s throat ached. Tony wouldn’t. Not even when Bucky had first come and they’d barely been able to be civil to each other. Tony wouldn’t have let someone else hurt him. Bucky had known that from the very beginning. “I was being cut in half,” he offered. He didn’t -- couldn’t -- tell the rest, that it was Tony that was being cut away from him, that he was so terrified of losing.

But he kept his hand over Tony’s heart, and they talked, making light of the darkness. Joked and cast their fear back into its own teeth. And just before they drifted off to sleep again, Tony’s hand covered his.

It was too bright. Bucky froze for a moment, then opened his eyes. The white ceiling and fluorescent lights of medical greeted him.

Bucky blinked. He lifted his left arm, shoulder aching, and looked at his metal hand.

It was over.

He ought to be relieved, he knew, but somehow, he already missed that strange closeness.

He wasn’t hooked up to any monitoring devices, though, so he got up and stretched -- two days of magically-induced semi-coma would make a body stiff -- and then realized that his stomach was ready to stage a revolt if he didn’t feed it soon.

He slid off the hospital bed and padded on bare feet through the facility, heading for the common kitchen.

It was nice to have complete control of both sides of his body as he took ingredients out of the refrigerator and cabinets, and slid a large pan of frittata into the oven to bake. Then he went back to the counter to cut up fruit. A full house of Avengers ate a lot.

Hurried footsteps were followed by a gasp of, “You’re okay.”

Tony had worried about him? Bucky looked around with what was probably a somewhat dopey smile. “I woke up down in medical,” he confessed. “They’re going to be pissed when they realize I left without checking in.”

“Probably,” Tony said. He came closer, as if drawn by a magnet. “Then they’ll want to run all the tests on us.”

“So many tests.” Bucky scraped up the pieces of mango he’d been dicing and dumped them into the blender. “We should have breakfast before they catch up to us. You want a smoothie?” He winked at Tony. “I’ll even throw in a hot pepper for you.”

And then he was going to spend some quality time in the shower, remembering the taste of Tony’s mouth. He glanced up and caught Tony watching him with something like confused wonder. Maybe soon, he thought, he’d try to get another sample.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

How about Bucky takes tony to a fair for a date/his birthday cos Tony's never been to one before and bucky using sniper and assassin skills wins everything tony wants, plus getting trapped on the ferris wheel at the top and lots of kisses

[A/N: Happy Steve Rogers’ Birthday, everyone! In celebration, @tisfan and @everyworldneedslove have written this mostly-fluff side-fic prompt fill to go along with their much longer fic, Safe and (the) Sound! This one is still long enough that normally we’d split it into pieces here on IT&B, but in celebration, our benevolent mod/admin has agreed to let us post the whole thing at once! Chapter One is posted here; if you like it, there’s a link at the end to go to the rest of the fic on AO3. Or if you’d rather read the whole thing on AO3 (for instance, if you’re on mobile and the readmore is misbehaving AGAIN), the title just below this note is linked as well.]

Lord of the Swings, Chapter One

Tonywasn’t really a morning person, but there were a few ways to wakeup that he didn’t mind. Bucky bringing him a mug of fresh coffee.Bucky nibbling at the back of his neck, hand sliding lazily overTony’s skin. Bucky singing ridiculous 80’s pop under his breathas he pulled on jeans to go out on the deck for his morning smoke.

Couldhe help it, if all his favorite ways to wake up involved hisboyfriend? Bucky had alreadybeenabout the best part of Tony’s mornings.

Dogslobber, that was notonTony’s list of favorite ways to be woken.

“Ug,Lucky, stop, gross, get off,” he whined, pushing at the lump of furthat was panting hot dog breath into his face. Satisfied that Tonywas awake, Lucky jumped down off the bed. Tony shoved off theblankets and sat up, scratching at his neck where one of Bucky’slove-bites was healing and itchy. He leaned over to squint at thealarm clock. “Ughhh,” he complained again, and glared at the dog.“You’re awful.”

Lucky’stongue lolled out in a canine grin.

Tonysighed and climbed out of the bed. He didn’t bother with pants,just shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. Emptied his bladder,washed his hands, splashed his face. Checked out his reflection as hebrushed his teeth. None of last night’s bites and hickeys were highenough that he’d need to borrow Nat’s concealer, at least. Hegrinned at them, and decided he could wait to shower and shave untilafter coffee.

Buckywas already in the tiny kitchen, humming and dancing as he cookedsomething. Tony dropped a smacking kiss on his shoulder beforereaching for the full mug Bucky had left on the counter. “Morning,”he said into the first sip.

Insteadof dancing impatiently by the front door, Lucky was sitting at theentrance to the kitchen, watching Bucky with all the attention in theworld, waiting for something to drop. “You already walked him?”Tony said in surprise. “Christ, how long have you been up?”

“‘Boutan hour, or so,” Bucky said. He flicked his gaze over to Tony, thenpaused, noting the marks with a wry grin. “The sunrise was realpretty… not that you haven’t already given me your opinion onsunrises, so I didn’t wake you.” That had happened, Bucky’sdesire to be romantic running smack into Tony’s utter loathing forthe crack of dawn. Sometimes, Tony thought, his boyfriend wasabsolutely the worst;beingnudged awake to watch the sun come up had seemed more like apunishment than a special event. It was funny now, though.

“Youdo realize that we literally work until almost midnight, most nights.We’re allowed to sleep past six in the morning,” Tony said,hiding his smile in his mug. “What’ve we got planned-- Wait, it’sthe Fourth. Day off, hot damn.”

[mobile users, ‘ware the readmore!]

Buckyshrugged. “I just can’t, anymore,” he said. “Get twitchy if Ilay around too long, an’ you were sleeping.” He flipped thepancakes onto a plate and moved the griddle off the burner. “Here,blueberry pancakes, bacon, and… well, it was going to be an omelet,but pizza dog nudged me at the wrong time, so scrambled eggs withsome add-ins.”

Tonytook the plate and stole a kiss. “Sleeping in and coffee andbreakfast?I think I’ll keep you.” He fished a fork out of the drawer andtook his plate and coffee out to sit on the sofa to eat. Bucky had alittle dinette table and chairs, but if Tony sat on the sofa, Buckywas more likely to come and sit next to him.

Buckyfried up one last batch of bacon and recovered his own plate from theoven where he’d been keeping it warm. “Wait, Lucky,” he said,pushing at the dog. “It’s hot, you stupid mutt.” Lucky sat backdown, then heaved a great sigh and trotted over to give Tony greatbig sad eyes of starvation. “You’ll want to eat all that. Busyday today. An’ the food’s gonna be expensive. And notparticularly good, at that.”

“Captiveaudience food,” Tony agreed. He broke off a piece of bacon andtossed it for Lucky, then dug in, himself. “When’re we leaving?”

“Parkopens at ten, so,” Bucky flicked his eyes at the clock. “Ninetyminutes, give or take. Steve’ll be champing at the bit, but there’sthis time delay between when the parkopensand when the rides get started, a fact that after so many years,you’d think he’d learn, but oh, no… and he’ll get real loudin the park if he can’t get his vertigo on right away.” Buckyrolled his eyes. Steve was a champion rant-and-raver, when he gotgoing.

Tonylaughed and shrugged. “It’s his party, he can bitch if he wantsto?”

“Mmmmhmmm.”Bucky made a noise of agreement, rolling up one pancake and stuffingthe whole thing in his mouth, returning his plate to an elevatedstate to keep it away from the dog. “Spoiled.” He handed hisplate to Tony. “Guard that for a minute, would you?” He brushedcrumbs off his shirt, which Lucky promptly attacked. Bucky checkedthe bacon and dumped a few strips and some scrambled eggs intoLucky’s bowl and sat it on the floor.

“There,greedy thing,” he said, patting the dog fondly. “Probably a goodthing he doesn’t speak English, he’d be all sorts of confused.”Bucky threw himself back down on the sofa and while he recovered hisplate from Tony, he didn’t eat, just sort of watched Tony sidelongas he twiddled his fork in one hand.

“What?”Tony demanded after a bit. “Is my hair all sticking up again?” Heshoved his fingers through it, trying to make it less fluffy.

Buckyleaned over, crowding into Tony’s space, his eyes glinting withinterest. Easily, he divested Tony of his plate, setting it down onthe battered coffee table. With an almost predatory motion, like astarving vampire, he swooped in on Tony’s throat and licked overone bruise there. “God, you’re so…” Bucky said somethingelse, but as his lips were moving over Tony’s throat, it was alittle difficult to concentrate.

Tonytipped his head, letting Bucky in, sinking into the sensation.“Nnngh, you’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned,dropping his fork so he could slip his fingers into Bucky’s hair.

“Can’thelp it,” Bucky said. He trailed his mouth up the side of Tony’sjaw and then planted a very light kiss on his lower lip. “You’rejust… tempting.” He backed off again, taking a bite of eggs andtrying to pretend that he wasn’t still ogling.

Tonysighed and picked up his fork again. “Don’t you dare make me walkaround this place all day with a hard-on,” he warned. “There arechildren there. Impressionable young children.”

“Whoare not the slightest bit interested in what’s going on in yourpants,” Bucky pointed out. He polished off his eggs and pulled on avery prim and proper attitude. “But I’ll keep my hands tomyself.”

Tonydidn’t believe that for a hot second, but Bucky might give him timeto finish breakfast, at least. “As you should,” he said primly.“Except in the Tunnel of Love, of course.”

“Theydon’t actually have one of those,” Bucky said. “Shame, that. Isuppose we could--” But whatever it was that they could have donegot lost as Nat’s little commuter car pulled into the lot and Stevelaid on the horn. Which might have been more annoying, except thecar’s horn was barely louder than a kid’s bike. Meep! Meeeeeeeep!Meep. “Well, so much for that idea.”

Tonyblinked, and leaned to look out the window. “You said ninetyminutes!” he said. “I’m still in my boxers!”

Buckyleered. “I’d noticed that. I said we’d leave in ninety minutes.Go shower, I’ll delay the birthday boy.” He swatted Tony’s assas Tony scurried for the shower, muttering and complaining the wholeway.

Tonyrushed through the fastest shower ever -- not like he wasn’t goingto be drenched in sweat again by the time mid-day rolled around, hemostly just needed to rinse off the evidence of last night’s funand get his beard soft enough to shave. He didn’t rush shaving --he’d done that before and the results were worse than if he skippedit altogether. And if the park didn’t open until ten, then theycould wait five more minutes.

Finally,wearing shorts and his thinnest white tee -- it was going to bebroiling, no way was he wearing something dark or jeans -- he duckedout the door and jogged down the stairs to the parking lot. “Youare in a very big hurry to stand in line,” he observed to Stevewith a grin. “Happy birthday.”

“Youare too pale,” Nat complained. She frowned at him, then pulled abottle of spray sunblock out of her backpack. “Come here, beforeyou turn into a crawdad.” She proceeded to attack him with thespray-on, which smelled weird and kept getting caught up in thebreeze, which meant he got sunscreen in his mouth. Yuck.

Natstarted digging through her bag again, handing Tony stuff as if hisnumber one job in life was to be her portable shelf. “Bandaids,chapstick, granola bars, ziplock bags, hand sanitizer. Oh, here,you’ll want this.” She frowned, realized Tony had his arms fullof her crap, and sighed. “Useless.” She snagged Tony’ssunglasses and fitted a bright orange strap onto them before stickingthem haphazardly on his head.   

“Um.”Tony looked at Bucky, but Bucky just shrugged and grinned at him.Tony sighed and just waited for her to finish fussing. It was Nat; itwas easier, always, to just let her have her way. It usually turnedout that she was right, anyway.

“Canwe go now?” Steve said, looking at his watch. Tony hadn’t seen itbefore; Steve usually didn’t wear any jewelry while in the kitchen.It was heavy gold with a well-scratched face and looked like the sortthat actually had to be wound. “If we get there by nine-thirty,we’ll get to park in England.”

���It’sthe 4th of July,” Bucky pointed out, like Steve didn’t alreadyknow that. “We’re parking in Italy and you know it. Just suck itup.”

“Thisis why I think we should get a hotel,” Steve said. “We could getstarted firstthing.”

Buckyslid his sunglasses onto his nose for the sole purpose of being ableto glare at Steve over the lenses. “No, we can’t. Relax. The parkain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Tonyturned to Nat. “Is this bickering going to stop once we’reactually there, or is this pretty much how the whole day is going togo? I just want to be prepared.”

Natpacked her stuff back into her bag and gave Tony a wide, somewhatsharp-toothed grin. “Worse. It will get worse.” She linked herarm with Tony’s. “I claim Antonishka for bumper cars, just so youare aware, Bucky.”

“Doyou?” Tony asked. “You’ve never seen me drive.”

Shepatted his hand. “But I have seen them drive. Both of them. Believeme, I am safer with you.”

Buckyscoffed. “Keep that up, woman, and I will veto eating at theFesthaus this year.”

Natglared. “You will not dare do that.” She turned to Tony, excited.“They have cake! The size of your head!”

“Nobody’sgetting any cake unless we getgoing!”Steve protested.

Buckysighed and gave it up, unlocking his truck. “Pass, please?” Nathanded him a badge attached to a lanyard. Bucky tossed it on thedashboard and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Tonyopened both passenger doors and gestured grandly. “Waiting on you,now,” he told Steve, smirking.

Stevescoffed, but climbed into the truck behind Tony. “Can you move yourseat up?” Tony continued to be amazed that Steve fit in thatcommuter car of Nat’s because he could already feel Steve’s kneesdigging into the back of his seat.

Tonyalmost said no, just to be a smartass, but it was the man’sbirthday, after all. He’d half been expecting Steve to call shotgunand push Tony into the back with Nat. So he groped for the lever andyanked the seat as far forward as his own knees could stand. “That’llhave to do.”

“Stevegets first pick,” Bucky said, tossing his CD book into the back,then threw the truck into gear and spun out, churning a huge plume ofgravel behind him as he peeled out of the parking lot. “BuschGardens: bad food, long lines, and sunburn, here we come.”

Stevethumbed through the collection and finally selected a CD, handing itup. “This,” he said.

Buckyglanced at the disk. “Oh, god,” he said, then shoved it into theplayer.

JustinTimberlake started bringing the Sexy Back as Bucky pulled onto theinterstate and headed north.

Natsnagged a map and started poring over the show schedule just as oneof the roaming park photographers hounded in on Tony to get them allto pose for a picture in front of the wishing fountain. Two “sayVacation!”s and two clicks later, Bucky put the paper claim sheetin his pocket. Might be funny; the second picture they’d allmanaged to get rabbit ears up behind Steve -- Tony was actuallystanding on the lip of the fountain and leaning on Bucky’sshoulders to get up there -- and Steve hadn’t noticed.

“So,what is your thing?” Nat asked Tony, holding out the map.

“Whydoes he get first pick?” Steve demanded.

“Hedoesn’t,” Bucky said, reasonably, “but it’s going to take himlonger because he doesn’t know what any of the stuff is. And wealready know what Nat’s pick is.”

“Cake,”Nat said, nodding her head.

Tonystudied the map; like a lot of amusement parks, it was arranged inmore or less a circle, with a few side-loops. The place was dividedinto areas that were along a theme of various Western Europeancountries (except for what appeared to be French Canada, which...why?), There were lots of rides, and shows for the non-thrillseekers, and (of course) shops and food stalls and restaurants. “Idon’t know,” he said after a minute. “I don’t know anythingabout any of these rides.” He cocked his head at Steve. “What’syour first pick, then?”

“Griffin.”

Buckygroaned and rolled his forehead against the back of Tony’s shirt.“One of these days, he’s gonna give over getting revenge for mydragging him on Rebel Yell until he puked.”

Natgrabbed the map and started drawing on it with a pen from her pouch.“This, these rides, they all do loop-de-loops. This one is MachTower, good view of the park, but drops you sixty feet. This one ismagnetic, fun, fast, but breaks down a lot. Water slides. RomanRapids, more water, a lot more water.”

“Hm.Water should be right after lunch,” Tony mused, “when it’salmost as hot as it’s going to get and when we have enough time todry off before we go home.” He glanced up at the other touristsstreaming past them. “Any particular reason we have to pick? Ifigured we’d just... follow the path and do whatever lookedinteresting.”

Natstepped back and pointed at Bucky and then at Steve, doing the VannaWhite arms. “Exhibit A and Exhibit B. If we each pick one thingthat we must do to make us happy for the day, it prevents a couple ofovergrown man-children from acting like squabbling siblings.”

Stevemock-scowled. “When have I everstoodin the way of you having more cake than can possibly fit in thatstomach of yours?”

Buckyfacepalmed. “Oh, now he’s done it.” He snatched the map andlooked down the schedule. While he was going through the list ofshows, Nat started listing a very precise number of times and visitswhere Nat did not get to do her things that ended with a very large,loud complaint about having never evergottento feed the lorikeets.

“Uh,okay then,” Tony said faintly. “And Exhibit C, I see.” Helooked over Bucky’s shoulder.  “You got any hanging‘coasters? The kind where your feet are swinging free? I lovethose. Feels like you’re flying.”

“AlsoGriffin,” Bucky said, “and Alpengeist. France… and France.That’s convenient. And there’s ice cream in the middle, whichmight get Miss Deprived of Caloric Goodness to cool her jets.”

“Okay,well, if Steve’s called Griffin, I’ll claim Alpengeist, and thenI get to ride both.” Tony grinned at Bucky, so happy it felt likehis face might split. “What’s your pick?”

“PetShenanigans.”

“Theanimal show? Really? Dorrrrrrrk,” Tony teased. He laced theirfingers together and squeezed. God Bucky really was a total dork.Tony loved it.

“What?It’s cute,” Bucky protested, absently rescuing his hand to tapthe description of the show. “And Lucky came from a show, once, youknow. I mean, not this nice, this is a nice show. Rescue animals andstuff.”

“Right,”Steve said. He snatched the map and folded it up, stuffing it in hisback pocket. “We’re on a mission. Come on, people, daylight’sburning!”

Tonyrolled his eyes. “We are not soldiers,” he told Steve, but theyall followed him anyway, deeper into the park.

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That’s the end of Chapter One! Continue to Chapter Two on AO3!

~ @everyworldneedslove & @tisfan